#among other tales that make me swoon

[yanmuffins]

SAFETY IN IGNORANCE.

Yandere! Prince! Gojo X fem! Isekai! Maid! Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve been transmigrated to the world of an otome game, taking the place of one of Prince Satoru's personal attendants, a measly side character with no name or relevance to the story.

As it turns out, life in the castle isn't so bad, and the certainty of food and shelter is welcome when finding a way home isn't ever guaranteed. Besides, your boss isn't as insufferable as you thought he would be. It could be worse. Isn't it nice, knowing you're safe?

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words (😮)

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONCON (no intercourse), somnophilia, mentions of past s/a, mild yandere behavior (if you squint?), mild derealization, AU setting.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please be aware my writing is quite rusty!! this is the first piece of writing that i finish IN YEARS and it's a fucking jjk darkfic. sigh. writing smutty scenes is also so awkward lmao, forgive me if it sucks severely. at least i hope you enjoy this little fucked up fic in have cooked up. it's hot and ready to be consumed! (๑>؂•̀๑)

-> MINORS DNI !

“TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE is a visual novel that takes place in a fantastical setting, where you can find your happily ever after with the character of your choice.”

It's been years – in this world, at least – but you still remember every word skimmed with dry, irritated eyes, as you stared at a bright screen, surrounded by the darkness of your own bedroom. It was another restless night among many, spent watching YouTube videos and reading pirated manga in questionable website, sipping on valerian tea.

So, like any other night, your adblocker dutifully served its purpose, shielding your browser from annoying, abusive, virulent ads.

Except for one.

“Enter the enchanting world of TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE through SARA, a kind-hearted peasant, as she meets all sorts of swoon-worthy suitors!”

You should have closed the page, sketchy as it was, but it had piqued your interest. It was a Friday night. You were sleepless. It was past midnight, tossing and turning in bed had done little to welcome slumber. Your home was tidy and organized from insomniac hours from nights before. You were bored.

“Play with a cast of handsome men, make the right choices and uncover exciting secret routes...”

Nothing about the web design told you the game was anything but a harmless dating simulator for an adult audience. Maybe it was the pastel color-scheme, with soft pinks, yellows, blues, purples and greens, or the elegant cursive font and colorful flowers adorning the page. In fact, other than the initial synopsis, there wasn't much to look at. No content warnings, nothing about the capture targets or the heroine you were supposed to be playing as, not even the usual information on how many endings or CGs you could get.

At the bottom of the page, “ENTER.” and “LEAVE?” buttons waited for a decision.

Maybe... you could give it a try? Hopefully it would entertain you until your eyelids finally grew heavy, allowing you to drift off before sunshine seeped through your window signaling dawn had arrived.

You clicked “ENTER.”.

... And here you are now, mending Prince Satoru's shirt before another hunting trip.

It's been ten years since you've come to this world. Your own body replaced that of a nameless background character with no narrative purpose, allowing you to exist as yourself in this entirely alien reality. You're not sure how much time has passed in your original world, whether you've been dead for a decade or simply unconscious for a couple of minutes, and you haven't gotten any closer to finding out.

You sigh, weary, looking down at the flax linen shirt laid over your lap, needle in hand. Simple, at first glance, a bit worn, but a nice piece of garment not everyone could afford to have in their wardrobe. One of its puffed sleeves now torn at the shoulder lining, an unfortunate result of it being caught by a tree branch during horse-riding. Nothing you couldn’t fix, however, skilled as you’d become over the years.

Ten years in this world.

Ten years working as Prince Satoru’s personal maid.

You got rewarded for that.

The luxurious pearl necklace that became a part of your distinguished blue uniform, accompanied by a gold pendant encrusted with gemstones shaped like the Gojo’s family crest. It was an honor given to faithful, dutiful servants to the crown, closest to the royal family.

Satoru and you were both eighteen when you’d first presented yourself as his new personal maid. This body, undoubtedly yours, seemed to have aged down a few years, most likely to match the age of your predecessor. They had, apparently, been working hard to better their lot in life, aiming for an often-vacant position at the prince’s small circle of personal attendants. You inherited the skills they’d nurtured, bettering them along the years, allowing you to secure your spot as long as you have.

That, and Prince Satoru Gojo’s character trivia really came in handy an absurd number of times.

There were worse fates out there, especially for a transmigrated person like you. Sure, maybe life as a privileged noblewoman would have been ideal, even more useful in searching for a way home, but being a personal servant to Prince Satoru, as… Eccentric as he was, gave you advantages compared to other peasants, even other castle servants. Plenty of food, fine fabrics, individual accommodations, not having to exhaust yourself scrubbing floors all day or sweating by the heat of the kitchen fires – besides, the Gojo heir wasn’t quite as terrible a boss once you got used to him.

You remember finding his route in-game quite boring, full of cliché tropes and little to no conflict. He was also kind of an overbearing asshole the entire time, unlikability salvaged only by his elven good looks.

But nothing could have prepared you to the otherworldly beauty he posed standing right in front of you, in the flesh, for the first time, glacial orbs eyeing you up and down. You admitted to yourself – although begrudgingly, as he was your least favorite character among the ones you’d played – that Satoru Gojo was as handsome as they come and had every right to be smug about it.

Smiling to yourself, you put aside the needle and thread to hold up the shirt with one hand, gently tracing over the repaired sleeve with the other. You tug at it to test its resistance, nodding absentmindedly when its stays in place. It’s good as new, just in time for his hunting trip. You get up, taking a moment to adjust your skirts and straighten your white linen apron and coif, neatly folding the shirt and draping it over your arm. According to your pocket watch, his attendants should be waking him up at any minute now.

You grab the doorknob, wondering when you’d become so accustomed to this life.

And then you’re heading towards the prince’s chambers.

Gojo’s head snaps in your direction as soon as he hears the door creak open, a lazy smile gracing his features. You bow to him, respectfully averting your eyes as an attendant removes his undertunic to reveal his naked form.

“Good morning, Your Highness.��

He doesn’t regard you immediately, arms raised as William, one of his attendants, quickly fetches the shirt from your arm and slips it over his head. It’s a morning ritual familiar to you by now, efficient movements shared between all three blue-clad servants in the room to make sure the prince will be properly dressed for his daily affairs.

Kai, your other colleague, hands you a black leather surcoat. It’s undoubtedly fit for royalty, handcrafted by the best tailor in the land; buttons of silver, western dragons embroidered on each side of its chest, facing each other, with gold thread some miller’s daughter had spun from straw – or so you’d heard. You feel his gaze upon you as you button up the overgarment, knowing exactly what he expects.

Gojo steps back when you’re done, doing a slow spin to show off his outfit.

“What flattery does this little doll have for me today?” He asks, “Do I look dashing?”

“Yes, my lord Prince, as always.” You respond, with a courtly nod of your head.

“What about my hair?”

“Soft like the finest silk in the land, fairer than the first snow of the season, Your Highness.”

“What about my lips?”

“Tender and pink like freshly bloomed petunias in springtime, Your Highness.”

“And my eyes? And my eyes?” Gojo goads you on, a boyish excitement to his voice, his face coming a bit too close for comfort as if pleading to look up at him.

Playfully, your eyes meet his, granting his unspoken wish, holding his gaze for nothing more than a few seconds, a simpering smile as you speak.

“So strikingly blue it would put a midday sky in a summer’s day to shame, Your Highness.”

He releases an exaggerated sigh before grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks – his touchiness hardly phased you anymore; harmless, albeit pestering –, head slightly cocked to the side and a pout on his lips.

“You tease.”

Kai, newer to the group, shoots an alarmed look towards William, who merely shrugs him off.

And just as quickly he releases you, storming out the door as you and your colleagues follow after him, hurrying along the hallway steps behind him like ducklings after their mother.

Gojo Satoru is exactly seven minutes late to meet his guests. Not his servant’s fault at all, of that, you are sure. You had checked your pocket watch while walking through the castle hallways, confirming he would be on time to meet his guests at the open area of the stables – that was, of course, before all the meaningless detours he took along the way. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose.

William had his weaponry arranged, waiting at the hands of a servant, while Kai had personally spoken to the Marshal to have his Highness’ horse ready, both having woken up earlier than usual to make the proper arrangements.

Naturally, they would follow him to the hunting trip, as part of his entourage, while you stayed behind and made sure all was perfect for their return.

Your arrangements included waking up as early as the kitchen staff, the sun barely peeking through the horizon, to revise the ingredients you’d requested in advance with the head cook, so a kitchen maid could go and fetch them from the forest or the market. You’d love to be able to traverse the markets or the woods freely, exploring, meeting new people, finding out new things about this world that could potentially lead to a way home — but alas, being a personal attendant to the prince meant tasks such as picking herbs at the woods or buying strawberries from a merchant were, per your colleague’s words, below you.

It's a nice day out. A faint breeze caresses your skin, cool enough to be refreshing, and the skies are clear and blue with not a cloud to be seen. The autumn sun shines gently upon the earth, sparing of its overbearing heat. Your presence isn’t exactly necessary, but Gojo has made a habit of you seeing him off and you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be outside.

“Fashionably late as always, Satoru.” His grace, Geto Suguru, is the first one to speak up.

A swoon-worthy duke, with a storyline much too… disconcerting… for your taste. Though the number of times you’d spoken to Geto could be counted on your fingers, being in his presence still put you on edge. Not that he had ever done anything to you, but you’d accidentally met his eyes countless times, caught him staring at you with a gaze so invasive it made you feel like a criminal awaiting judgement.

“Late? Treason. A prince is always on time, Suguru.” Gojo replies with a nonchalant shrug, “You were the ones here early!”

Awaiting his arrival were a group of familiar young men. Most you had seen in-game through the extensive selection of capture targets, coming to meet them in-person over the years due to their ties with the prince. You had played some of their routes, but with the exception of Megumi – Gojo’s protégé – you hadn’t a reason to talk to them, merely exchanging a word or two or none at all when in their presence.

“Finally.”

Nanami Kento looks mildly inconvenienced as he speaks, tone flat, arms crossed over his broad chest and a visible scowl creasing his features. He was a retired knight, born a peasant, presently a Baron; a personal favorite of yours. You couldn’t help but steal a glance or two whenever he was around. You remember kicking your feet up in the air during his playthrough. Sometimes you still do.

Next to him stood Prince Yuji Itadori, too entertained by his own horse as he fed him a carrot. You have faint memories of playing his route, although you don’t remember finishing it. He was a sweetheart, from what you knew, periodically visiting from a neighboring kingdom to learn from Nanami and Satoru and cultivate friendly diplomatic relations. You’d cracked your head trying to recollect bits and pieces of his story, unsuccessfully. You had a pesky feeling it was relevant.

Fushiguro Megumi was last. Broody lost prince, currently hidden under Prince Satoru’s protection – you hadn’t played his route, but he was a constant side character in Gojo’s. He was still a child when you met him, shortly after Gojo brought him into the castle.

When Megumi notices you, there’s a smile; faint, barely noticeable, and he waves. You respond with a brief curtsy.

“Can we go?” Yuji protests, interrupting some petty squabble between Satoru and Suguru, “I hear there’s a huge wild boar running around causing ruckus around the village, I want to catch it!”

Mounted on his white steed, Gojo is a cliché as old as time; a trotting reminder of your being in a world that isn't your own. The anodyne sight of him looking down on you, pink lips softly curving upwards to gift you a kind smile as the sun shines from behind him is almost identical to one of the game’s CG’S. It shouldn’t – you’ve grown used to him, to living inside this game, material as your own world – but for a moment, and just a moment, the sight of a whimsical prince on a white horse wiggles an uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling of surrealness, unreality into your mind, making your stomach churn.

You ignore it. Mentally sweep it under the carpet of your subconscious. This is nothing new. You can spiral into an existential crisis over the absurd condition of your circumstances later, when you’re lying sleepless in bed staring at the ceiling.

You’ve run out valerian root, anyway.

“I am obliged to be away for an entire day!” He whines, words punctuated by dramatic sullenness to his body language.

You step closer to him, taking a respectful bow before offering him a pair of neatly-wrapped sunglasses, which he takes – a distinctive feature of his character.

“So, you must, Your Highness. Go, and may the mother of good luck be with you.”

Satoru extends an arm toward you, presenting his hand. You kiss it – your own lips touching soft, pristine skin; a needed reminded he was a person, made of flesh that could be touched and not pixels limited to a screen.

From your peripheral, Kai elbows William as discreetly as he can.

You return to the prince’s sleeping quarters immediately after their departure. Overseeing the chambermaids, you watch them change the bedding for a fresh set, correcting the pair on your favored arrangement of pillows, fussing as they dust around the priceless ornaments around the chamber, amiably warning them to be careful.

When they’re done, you move onwards to the kitchen.

There are people watching you as you march through the hallways. Spying little peepers full of envy or admiration, or both, and you know what they’re looking at – the telltale blue fabric of your dress, a color so inaccessible to many, and the necklace you bear from years of service. Despite your own wishes, it makes you an intimidating figure, as if you’re an extension of royalty. Being a personal attendant to the prince meant upholding that image, keeping yourself unapproachable, discouraged from socializing and making merry with anyone but servants considered to be on your level.

Still, you greet the kitchen staff with a smile, trying to be as cordial as you possibly can. You know all of them by name, from the head cook to the scullery maid, all exceptionally busy for tonight’s private feast. It’s not your job to review the selection of dishes to be served, but you do so anyway, even if superficially, reminding them to provide a non-alcoholic beverage for the prince. Attentively, you listen to the head cook as he showcases the ingredients for the pastries you requested, assuring of their quality.

It's a bit of a hollow feeling when you leave the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, knowing the rest of your day will be spent alone. Without Gojo, there’s nothing much to do. Without William and Kai, your social circle has been just about reduced to zero.

But you do know where you’ll be spending all of those long, unending hours.

Being a personal servant to Prince Satoru gave you advantages. Privileges, if you will.

When he asked you what you would like for your latest birthday, you made quite a bold request. It’s the newest addition to the key bunch hanging from your waist – full, unbridled access to the royal library. The thought of having an entire day to search through never-ending shelves, making notes and finding books that could possibly lead to finding a way home cheers you up a bit.

“Are you fornicating with the prince?”

You nearly choke on your drink when the question abruptly comes out of Kai’s mouth, unable to speak from the utter shock. William is at his side, chewing on a chicken leg, and can only stare wide-eyed at his colleague’s bluntness. It’s been a while since the hunting party returned, clear blue skies fading into shades of orange adorned by heavy, rumbling clouds. Outside, tree branches sway to the force of the wind, preparing to welcome a starless night of rain and cold. Gathered at the table on Prince Satoru’s solar room, the three of you were having dinner to replenish your energy before the feast while Gojo entertained his guests.

It was usually a casual moment to decompress. Not tonight, Kai had decided.

“What– No!” You retort, scandalized, “What could have given you that impression?!”

“What hasn’t given me that impression, you mean.”

“Kai–” William tries to interject, but you’re quicker to rejoinder.

“I am not… fornicating with anyone, especially not prince Satoru. There’s nothing like that between us. That’s… How he is. You’re just not used to him yet.”

“But–”

“I think we’re better off cutting this topic of conversation here.” William interrupts, slightest bit of panic in his voice, eager to deflect conflict, “I know you’re still adapting to your new position, Kai, and that’s why I’m sure (Y/N) will be kind enough to let this slide.”

William looks at you expectantly, almost pleading, and you scoff before crossing your arms over your chest. The mere notion seems ridiculous – you, doing the deed of darkness with one of the game’s capture targets, destined to fall in love with the heroine regardless of whether she decided to pursue him or not? It would be a disaster waiting to happen. You were nothing if not a professional, serving your boss to the best of your power, and all of Satoru’s affections stemmed from his own outlandish personality. That was all. Your dynamic could be less than orthodox, but it was platonic in its nature.

“Come now, we can’t afford not to get along. Kai, apologize to (Y/N). I have worked alongside her for ten long years, and if she says she’s not engaging in improper acts with the prince, then she’s not.”

Kai silently looks between the both of you, finally letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s a reasonable question, seeing you two…” He insists, shifting uncomfortably on his seat, “But I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, I guess. No one has ever insinuated that before.”

“Not to your face, doll.” Kai shrugs, nonchalant.

You want to snap back at him, but in comes the realization that he’s not wrong. Perhaps it was living within your bubble, mostly limited to your coworkers and your boss, had made you clueless to people outside and what gossip ran about you. William and Benji, Kai’s predecessor, had accompanied you in serving Gojo for a decade; neither of them would ever dare question your relationship with the prince or the harmless liberties involved; they were accustomed to it. And, well, you were accustomed to the point you thought everyone else saw it as you did: normal. The sudden realization that not all would find Prince Satoru’s affections towards you something ordinary was a staggering concept in your mind – but it was so simple. So obvious.

Then again, it never occurred you to ask…

“Do you think it’s weird, William? Be honest.”

“I have no opinion of anything, ever.” William stated, crossing over his heart with his right hand, “But now that you mention it, Benji did confide in me, shortly before he was relieved from service. Said something about ‘inappropriate displays of affection towards a heedless maiden’, I believe?”

“Oh. Benji never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t. Between you and me, he had a soft spot for you, so I do believe that statement was a little biased.”

On your face, an expression of utter confusion. You never noticed any signs of Benji liking you romantically, but then again, you apparently don’t notice much around you. The chicken seems to have lost its taste when you bite into it, mind too preoccupied with the conversation you just had. Not that there’s any use reminiscing about Benji – the man having been released from service only a month prior, after prince Satoru arranged him a marriage to a marquis’ daughter.

Now that you think of it, he didn’t seem too pleased about the match. Or about leaving.

The stone-walled bathroom smelled of fresh flowers and citrus. Sliced oranges and grapefruits, calendulas, sunflowers, rose petals, mint leaves, forget-me-nots, floating in the steaming hot water that filled the circular, wooden bathtub. Night has long since arrived, and even with the shutters of the only window in the room closed you can still hear the heavy rain pouring against glass and the rattling of wood caused by unrelenting wind.

Despite that, the candles illuminating the room, as well as the small fire burning underneath a boiling pot of water, kept the room pleasantly warm.

On the other side of the door, William and Kai undress the prince. All had retired to their respective bedchambers by now, and it’s not long before the pair of attendants are dismissed for the night. Gojo is already disrobing by the time he enters the bathroom, excitedly blabbering about the hunting trip as he plops the velvet garment onto your waiting hands, stepping into the warm embrace of the thoughtfully drawn bath. Suddenly, the ceiling becomes particularly interesting.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“… Not that I’m complaining about tonight’s banquet, though. I’m just a bit disappointed, you know? All the fuss people were making over a silly boar, and it made a passable meal at best…”

You hang the robe. From a tray placed beside the fireplace you select a pink macaron, feeding it to him before you start to work a soapy sponge along his skin. It had been a deeply embarrassing experience at first, aiding him in his baths; with time, however, like many other things, it had faded into normalcy. Nothing but work, is what you tell yourself when you elevate one of his sinewy legs with your hand, sponge inching closer and closer to his groin. You steal a quick glance at him, half-listening to his words, seeing Gojo laid back, unashamed by your ministrations, playing with the petals of a soggy sunflower.

“Ah– Megumi! His aim is getting better. He’s gotten really good at shooting with a bow and arrow…”

You wash the soap off your hands when you’re finished with his body. You feed him a small tart, topped with vanilla cream, strawberries, and blueberries. Still, he prattles on, words muffled by his munching,

“… mmph… And Suguru is still being weird about that wife of his… Something-something ‘she’s different from before’ and refused to elaborate…”

He quiets down a bit once you retrieve a warm compress, placing it over his eyes, fingers moving to either side of his temples to massage them with gentle circular motions. He relishes a bit on the relief it brings after a day straining his eyes. As he relaxes further under your touch, you let your mind wander, recounting the frustratingly slow progress with your research.

Even with access to the great royal library, the sheer number of books on varying topics was discouraging enough to tempt an emotional breakdown. You scoured through shelves, gathering a collection of sorcerer biographies, spell books, history books, encyclopedias – anything that could hold the subtlest bit of information regarding transmigration. And still… Nothing. Your eyes still felt a bit dry, a lingering headache from reading within the ill-illuminated library. All you had at this point were your own theories – and that wasn’t saying much.

If only you could leave the castle for a bit. A frightening thought, of course, as you could count on a single hand the number of times you had seen the world beyond the castle walls, never straying too far from the place you now called home. All of those occasions you had been following Prince Satoru on some of his trips, mostly diplomatic, with no freedom to walk around and talk to people as you pleased.

Perhaps a vacation was all you needed. Your “parents” lived not too far, if you remembered correctly, on one of the neighboring villages subservient to the Gojo crown. A favored place for merchants to gather, fairly populated, maybe if you tried investigating–

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N)??” Gojo’s fingers are snapping in front of your face, his eyes still covered by the compress, “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Your Highness. I think my mind just wandered for a bit…” You apologize, hurriedly forgoing his temples in favor of washing his hair, “What was it?”

He remains oddly silent as you pick up a smaller bucket of ambient-temperature water, delicately wetting his hair. You weren’t giving mere empty flattery earlier in the day; running your hands through his hair truly felt like touching the finest of silk.

“You know…” He starts, “I notice your mind tends to wander a lot, especially these days...”

There’s an edge to his tone, one you rarely hear him use.

“Your eyes seem to wander an awful lot, too, lately.”

Another pause. There's no silence in the room, just an uncomfortable absence of words; You hear the fire crackling. You hear the water boiling and bubbling, thinking for a moment you should check the temperature of his bath to see if it needs to be warmed. You hear the muffled sound of rain against glass. You hear wooden shutters rattling. There's a strange shift about the air, and you're confused, unsure of what he could mean.

He answers your unspoken question before the words have a chance to leave your mouth.

“I saw you stealing those little glances at Nanami.”

You stand, bucket in hands, mouth agape – embarrassment. The heat of complete embarrassment that overtakes you feels like cold water poured down on your body. Your hands feel a little weak as you quickly try to regain your composure, looking away from Gojo despite knowing his eyes aren’t on you.

Fiddling with the hem of your apron, you try to find your words.

“When… When did you–” You stammer, “How…”

“Ah-ha! So, you plead guilty. That’s soooo shameless, flower.”

The familiar playfulness in his tone brings back a bit of confidence. Still, there’s something about it you can’t quite place; for a moment, you think there’s a bark to it, bitterness. Perhaps it’s something unpleasant about his day that he’s hung up about, increased by you not listening to him. He’s just teasing, you conclude, trying to vent whatever annoyance peeved him by picking on you.

You massage Prince Satoru’s scalp with shampoo – or the closest thing they had to it, in this world – hoping to placate his abrupt change in mood. Maybe you’ll hand-feed him another macaron.

“I was just… Looking.” You offer, cautiously, unsure if any explanation would make it better or worse for yourself, “There’s no harm in looking. Lord Nanami was admirable as a knight, and he’s handsome…”

Worse, if the crease between his eyebrows is anything to go by.

“… But not nearly as handsome as you, my prince.”

That seems to appease Gojo who, with a petty harrumph, relaxed into your touch again. Appealing to his ego always seemed to get you out of trouble. You’d never thought to be grateful for his petulant grouching, but it's music to your ears compared to the spitefulness from a few moments ago.

“I just find it vexing. Why would you ever bat those little eyelashes at Nanamin when you have the Morgan le Fay of men right in front of you to admire?”

“There’s no need for jealousy, Your Highness.”

You were just a humble fangirl admiring your bias, after all. You weren’t made of stone.

“At the stables. During the banquet. Would you like to have a portrait of Nanamin, so you can gawk at him when he’s not here, too?”

You rinse his scalp, running your hands through locks of his hair.

“I am so very sorry, my prince. Speaking of... Uh... Speaking of banquets! I hear there will be a ball."

It's a poor attempt to change the subject, and you can only give Satoru a sheepish, almost apologetic smile when he raises one side of the compress to acknowledge it as such, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

There will be a ball. In a month, to be exact. You know that not just from the growing agitation within the castle, or the coming and going of unfamiliar faces hired for temporary work, but because you had been counting the days for this very event ever since you realized this was the ball that kickstarts the main story, taking place towards the end of the prologue. It meant the heroine would finally show up.

You're not sure what it will mean for you.

“Sure, a ball...” He says, “My old folks said they would invite all the eligible maidens across the land because they want me to find a wife.”

“I'm sure you’re not too psyched about this...”

Prince Satoru vehemently nods in agreement.

“... But who knows? Give it a chance, you might just meet the love of your life there.”

“Pfft– Right, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“And why not?  

“Well, what if I already met the love of my life?”

Then that would be some pretty weird timing, Your Highness. Prince Satoru wasn’t supposed to meet the heroine until a few days before the ball takes place, in a beautiful clearing out in the countryside, where they’ll share a lovely meet-cute after he nearly tramples her with his horse.

“Alright…” You spouted, unsure, “Why not bring her to the ball, Your Highness?”

“She’ll be there.”

His rosy lips curve into a conspiratory smirk, mostly to himself, blissfully unaware of the can of worms he just opened inside your mind. Had he already met the heroine? But it was way too early! It couldn’t be– or could it? You’ll have to check the makeshift calendar on your notebook. The timeline you wrote down, as well. There has to be some sort of plot hole you’re missing, or maybe the events have been thrown out of place for some reason.

“But you’re right, maybe a ball won’t be so bad. They said any eligible maiden across the land, rich or poor, of high or low birth. It’s an opportunity!” He announced, the last word said with enough enthusiasm to make you jump.  

Once again, you don’t have the time to ask what he means– or to avert your gaze as he abruptly steps out of the bath, getting an eyeful of his bare ass against your will. You pat him dry with a towel as he helps himself to the tray of tarts and macarons. He extends both arms when he’s done so you can slip on the velvet, deep blue robe back on his body. Another towel is wrapped around his head.

The robe keeps him warm as he sits on a chair, waiting for you to come and finalize his night routine. You stay behind in the bathroom, emptying the bathtub, turning out the fire, disposing of the unused boiling water since Prince Satoru had decided to cut his bath short tonight.

When you close the door behind you, the smell of flowers and citrus is still in the air, stuck to his skin. You hum a tune as you brush his hair, its strands like gossamer, offering no resistance to the bristles.

“(Y/N).”

Gojo lifts up his head, not a hint of playfulness in his face or his tone.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

And yet his eyes are soft as they burn into yours, as if thinking, evaluating.

“Who, in this land, is the fairest of all?”

Every time he asks you this, you wonder if there was some dialogue you missed in the game. Nevertheless, the blatant reference makes you want to laugh; with him, though, the answer is always the same. There is no one to overshadow his beauty, objective, obfuscating, infuriatingly incontestable, and he knows that– you know that.

“You alone, my prince, are the fairest of all.”

If you were anyone else, you’d swoon at the smile he graces you with.

“By the way, I have something for you.”

There is a small box on the table he’s seated by, simple, with a golden latch, inconspicuous enough to only catch your attention when Gojo slides it closer, opening it to reveal an assortment of herbs tied together with a string.

“Since you ran out of valerian root…”

There wasn’t a single herb you could recognize, at least not with the dim candlelight. Despite this, you were pretty certain there was no valerian in that box.

“How did you know, Your Highness?”

“Those eyebags under your eyes, I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” He says, matter-of-factly, “Some old hag passed by the hunting lodge today, selling all sorts of things. Said this was a potent mixture of herbs for those with sleeping problems. It’s all safe, I’ve had the royal apothecary check it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, retrieving the box and holding against your chest. You hope it knocks you right out. Heavens know you need it, after today.

“This is so generous, Your Highness… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need.”

He latches the box closed.

“Just have a deep, dreamless sleep for me.”

It was the very witching time of night, and the castle lay silent. Darkness reigned in its corridors, desolate and cold, broken only by flashes of lighting tearing through stygian skies.

Take pity, take pity on one who is sick of love.

Fire dances at the top of a candle, threatening to vanish at any moment, as one living soul treads through slate flooring, airy footsteps growing closer to your chamber door.

Satoru feels guilt twisting inside his stomach, that nauseating feeling of contrition before consummation. It doesn’t stop him, it never did – he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin, but at least he knows he isn’t fully without a conscience. And yet, what is the point of guilt, overridden by excitement, conquered by overwhelming love, as he turns the key to your bedchamber, to defile you once again?

Defile, Satoru thinks to himself, is such an ugly word.

Your door doesn’t creak when opened. A simple spell to ward off prying ears, lest he has to replace another servant; Satoru had come to learn how thin those walls could be, sensitized to the littlest of noises in the dead of night.

He locks the door behind him, placing the candlestick holder on your bedside table.

There’s not much to see in the darkness, except for your pliable, sleeping form. You don’t feel the weight of your mattress shifting, so deep in slumber, as Satoru sits by the edge of your bed with the familiarity of a husband; and he likes to pretend, too, that these late-night rendezvous have an amorous twist to them. Isn’t it romantic, to be visited by a paramour so secretive you’re neither awake nor aware to receive?

What is he, if not a dedicated, twitterpated, infatuated princely lover sneaking through the hallways of his own castle to meet his beautiful dove, his golden trinket, his falcon’s eye–

But he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

Satoru knows there’s nothing appealing about exploiting your vulnerabilities. If you were to ever find out, if you were to open your little eyes at this very second to see him stripping of his undertunic, the lovely relationship you’d built would crumble in a matter of seconds. It would break his heart into a million pieces, to see the horrified look of realization upon your face. And he feels the burning of guilt at the back of his mind, easy to dismiss, as his hands roam your body, past your clocked stockings of cotton and up your white shift.

He would hate to hurt you.

Which is why you’ll never find out. Your relationship can bloom into something far more precious that way, and soon he won’t need these nightly visits to fulfill the base needs you ignite in him. He often dreams of your wedding night, with you awake, receptive to his embrace, and then he’ll finally cross the one line he hasn’t dared to trespass all these years.  

The shift is carefully slipped off your body. His cock is dribbling with pre-cum, twitching at the sight of your hardening nipples. He bedews one digit with his saliva as he lays by your side, spreading your legs just enough to slip one hand between to stroke your clit, peppering your breast and neck with kisses, nibbles, and nips.

Your body is more than accustomed to his touch by now – and for a moment, he wonders if you’ll be confused on your wedding night when, just like now, your folds grow wet with so little stimulation. Soon he hears the change in your breathing as it becomes heavier, increasingly ragged, little whines starting to come out of your lips.

Still, you don’t wake. 

Not even as he slides a finger inside your soaked entrance.

It’s tight, temptingly tight, torturingly tight, but Satoru has enough self-control not to push himself through your folds. Not tonight. He can wait, he will wait until, eventually, you’ll be awake and willing to take his cock. He takes comfort knowing that day is not too far.

Satoru sits between your legs to rub his cock as he fingers you, biting his lip as not to let a wanton groan out.

"Fuck..."

It's not very regal to swear. He's never done so in front of you.

His voice is already strained, not above a whisper, when he sits up, settling between your legs to rub his cock with one of your limp hands. There are two fingers inside you now, Satoru biting his lip as to repress a moan stuck in his throat. He hates having to keep quiet, but the walls are thin, and it would be a lot more trouble than it's worth to deal with nosy neighbors.

Satoru isn't alarmed when you stir, eyebrows knitted slightly as he kneaded your clit with his thumb. It's not a sign you're waking up.

His fingers are coated in viscid, clear juices, thrusting in and out of your pussy with practiced ease. He can barely keep them inside when you tighten up, little tremors running through your body as you cum with a strangled whimper.

Satoru forgoes your hand in favor of positioning himself on between your folds, using your wetness to rub his length along your pussy, prodding at your clit with each upward motion. He’s lying atop you now, muscled chest glued to yours, gently suckling on your neck and muffling his low, guttural groans on your skin. His hips move at a controlled pace, refraining himself from how rough he wants to be with you – he’s still hung up about Nanami, after all –, feeling his own orgasm approach.

Your bed doesn’t creak, either.

He thinks of finally being enveloped by your insides, how your velvety walls would choke his cock when he made you cum. How your lips would touch his and you’d kiss, really kiss, how your body would respond to his touch when awake. What faces would you make for him? Would you look away, embarrassed, throw your arms around him and hold him tightly to you? He was dying to see you, to fill your womb as he looked deep into your open eyes.

Satoru Gojo isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

He’s delusional to a fault. And as much as he feels bad for you, for his horrible acts of debauchery against your unresponsive body – and all other perversions along the way – there’s hardly any guilt when he grips his cock with a tight fist, tugging at his length as spurts of pearly-white cum land on your bare stomach. His chest heaves, breath labored, half-lidded blue eyes staring at his handiwork with a dopey smile on his face.

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by thunder rumbling so deeply across the earth he swears he feels the walls shake. Candlelight flickers.

He cleans you up, not a trace of arousal to be found when he’s done, shift slipped back onto your body. For a moment, he sits at the edge of your bed again, leaning back on his arms. How he would love to wake up with you between his arms – but alas, you’d be much alarmed to see him by your side when morning comes.

He dresses himself, not before placing a chaste kiss goodnight on your forehead.

A ball, he ponders, that ought to be fun.

And as he leaves, candlestick holder in hand, locking the door behind him, there’s no guilt badgering his mind – only dresses. A selection of skirts and frills fluttering about, an appointment with the best seamstress in the kingdom; Satoru wonders which design he’ll choose for you to wear at the ball, smiling smugly to himself as he skips down the hallway, back to his chambers.

You wake with a startle, groggy, disoriented.

Resting in its usual spot at your bedside table, your trusty pocket watch indicates you’ve woken up a little over fifteen minutes later than you’re supposed to – Not too bad of a delay, which eases your initial panic. You’ll have to hurry up a bit when getting ready, but at least you won’t be late for work.

The herbs have worked a little too well, you conclude – gifted you dreamless sleep, devoid of interruptions, knocking you out barely an hour after drinking the tea you brewed. Although you had yet to fully wake up, there was newfound motivation to get on with your day after a much-needed good night’s sleep.

You make a mental note to properly thank Prince Satoru again. It was unexpectedly considerate of him to notice.

A shiver runs down your body as fresh air enters through your bedchamber window, caressing your face with its gelid touch. You see movement downstairs, servants and knights who have begun their day earlier than you. Beyond castle walls you saw the city, merchants coming and going through dirt roads among trees painted in breathtaking yellows, oranges and reds, its fallen leaves scattered over green grass. In the distance, you see neighboring villages and castles so far they nearly fade into the horizon. The sun is out again, blue skies adorned by white, fluffy clouds.

The faint, comforting smell of freshly baked bread hits your nostrils.

You should get ready– you don’t want to be late, of course. But there is time for a quick look in the mirror, to check if your exhaustion-induced eyebags have been minimized, even if ever-so-slightly. It’s only then that you notice, attention diverted from the area around your eyes, three small, faint red spots on your neck and collarbone.

You touch them, briefly wondering where they could possibly have come from; but you don’t have the time to dwell on it for more than a few seconds, your neck will be covered regardless. One last look at the mysterious marks and you shrug, brushing them off. It’s nothing to worry about, anyway.

Must have been a bedbug.

[beensbaee]

𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

summary; neteyam's clumsy self manages to charm tuktuk's beautiful teacher

word count; 2.5k

neteyam x tuktirey's teacher - THE CLANS KARYU

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The girl was born to teach.

She was born to heal, to understand, to spread her life through the clan.

Y/n believed Eywa had one purpose only for Y/n; to love.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"Come, come children!" Her voice rose above theirs, as she made the gesture of a circle with her hands

Their voices quieted, excited whispers as they tumbled over each other, running and racing and laughing as they tried their best to get front row seats to hear whatever tale their beloved teacher had for them tonight.

They sat on the grass, huddled close together with smiles so big it made Y/n's own heart swoon

To hurt the heart of a child, any child, felt like a physical wound to her

Their innocence, their purity- was a beautiful thing. A thing Eywa had given her the privilege of being able to see

How she yearned to help them grow, watch them turn into warriors, into healers- watch them fill the role they were born for, just as she did

As they quieted down, they looked towards her with round eyes filled with wonder and waited patiently for her to begin.

"Tell me children, who among you know the story of Toruk Makto?" Her voice rang out, clear as day as they all rose their hands upward excitedly, their laughter a rising wave

"Many of you, I see..." She started, but trailed off as she recognized Toruk Makto's youngest daughter, Tuktirey, staring at Y/n with something she hadn't seen before

The girls gaze did not fail to make her heart skip. Yes, children looked at her with admiration, appreciation, giddiness even- But this girl, her gaze held nothing but absolute love.

Y/n's own eyes softened, as she sent the girl a small secretive grin. She jumped a bit, surprised she had been noticed, but did not fail to send a grin ten times as big back

Y/n laughed as the girls small fangs peaked through her smile, turning back towards the other awaiting children as her voice rose once again

"The story of our hero, who lives among this very clan. And the one's before him too," She spoke, her voice projecting to every child's awaiting ears

She continued her tale, the children occasionally bursting out in laughter at her entertaining tale telling, some brought to tears as she recited their beautiful history in such a voice that had the children closing their eyes and envisioning every word

Every now and then, her eyes would trail back to Tuktirey, only because she couldn't help it. The way she had looked at her was the way Y/n dreamed to make a child feel. Safe. Happy.

As she concluded her story, the children would always be quiet. In deep thought, thinking solely on the story they had just been told.

Today was a little different however, Tuktirey's hand found Y/n's as she stared up at her 

"Y/n! You were talking about my dad! Did you know this? My dad is Toruk Makto!" She said, hands clapping excitedly

"Yes Tuktirey, one of the greatest warriors! And you're just like him, aren't you?" She responded, bending down to the young girls height with a smile

"I want to be, Y/n" She replied dreamily, her hands squeezing Y/n's before she turned to her once again

"And my mama too, she is the best! She makes the best food and is the best with her bow. Did you know it was my grandfather's?" 

The two of them spoke for a while, Tuktirey talking about anything and everything, the two of them giggling at the silly things she said

"Tuktirey, it is late. Come now, let me walk you home." Y/n said, standing up and lending a hand to the small girl, who stood with a pout

"Eclipse already?" She asked sadly, as Y/n squeezed her hand

"Yes, already." She replied laughing

They walked back quietly, holding hands as the sounds of Pandora's many creatures at night  filled the silence

Once she spotted Neytiri and Jake, she gently let go of Tuktirey's hand and bent down to her level to say her goodnights

"Now, you're going to be a good girl and get some food to eat, yes? It is very important, not only for our bodies but for our minds-" Y/n said as she gently tapped the girls forehead, who turned her face away giggling

"Yes, yes! I will eat, but- won't you say hello to my parents? You can tell them how they were in your story!" She said excitedly, not even waiting for an answer before latching onto her hand once again and pulling her in their direction

"Oh, no no it is ok, you must not worry about that- I don't want to disturb-"

"Mama! Dad!" 

Well, too late for that.

Y/n stumbled forward so flustered she didn't even have the time to react as Tuktirey ran and stood on the other side next to her parents, smiling from ear to ear

Neytiri was the first one to see her, her gaze softening as she recognized the young girl in front of her. Jake's eyes were on her next, a curious glint in them as he watched his daughter and wife smile at the girl

"Toruk Makto-Neytiri, I see you" She started, bowing her head as she tried to calm her heart

"I see you, Karyu Y/n" Neytiri said, bowing her head as Jake's ears perked up at the name

"Y/n? The famous Y/n we've been hearing all about?" He said, voice so happy she was genuinely surprised

"Oh, yes. That is me! Though, I would just like to ask, how did you hear of me?" She said giving the man a confused smile as she tilted her head curiously

He was the clan's leader, there were many aspects he had to know about, but teaching was not one of his main priorities. That responsibility had been taken by the elders, who took great pride in helping the children with this - especially the orphans who had lost their parents and family in the war.

"Neteyam, that boy, he's always talking about you! Did you know-"

A sharp intake of breath was taken by Neytiri as she quickly interrupted him

"Yes, but Y/n is known for her wonderful teaching, isn't she Ma'Jake?" She asked, her gaze something piercingly lethal, as if she was daring him to utter another word

"Well, yes of course. You are, the best at that. It's just that-"

"Y/n and Tuktirey, will you tell me of the stories told tonight? I know you are a wonderful storyteller, I would love to hear them" She said, her voice strained as she looked at her husband in a gaze she did not understand

She was beginning to panic. Their son spoke about her? Neteyam? The warrior? 

She tried looking for Tuktirey for help, but her eyes landing on another figure, Lo'ak.

He was laughing as he watched his parents, and not a moment later, running off as if to find someone

Her heart beat quickened, and she was sure she had never been more confused in her life

"I can leave, if that it was you want? I would not want to intrude on any private discussion-" She said, her feet already moving to take a step back as all three, Jake, Neytiri, and Tuktirey responded with a quick "No!"

"You should come eat with us, yes?" Neytiri finally decided to say, a satisfied smile on her face as she finally ended the very thorny conversation

Y/n stared at her, eyes blinking rapidly as her gaze went from Neytiri to Tuktirey to Jake, all who were looking at her awaitingly, Neytiri almost seeming to be holding her breath

Finally, Y/n smiled, and nodded her heard vigorously 

"Yes, Yes thank you - I would be honored."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It wasn't everyday you got to eat directly with the clan leader, Toruk Makto, himself.

But there Y/n was, talking to seemingly the friendliest man ever, and the Neytiri, during dinner.

Initially, Tuk was with all three of them, until she'd run off with her friends. Y/n started with feeling another surge of panic as she was left alone, but Neytiri simply placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and led her to where she and Toruk Makto were eating their food together

The conversation started with Y/n feeling overwhelmed and a little embarrassed, but before she knew it, she was giggling with the biggest smile ever on her face as Jake cracked joke after joke, Neytiri only shaking her head with her own smile as they all conversed together

They talked about many things, but Y/n found herself distracted as her mind strayed to a certain boy

Y/n would be lying if she said she didn't find Neteyam attractive. She'd be lying if she said she didn't admire him-his ways of handling himself and how brave and loving he was with his younger siblings.

She remembers the few times they had made eye contact, how fast her heart would beat as it seemed like he was staring straight into her soul. She remembers the even fewer times she was absolutely sure he was staring at her during dinner

But those nights, when she would lay in her hammock and look towards the stars in the sky, she'd shake her head in frustration

Of course he wasn't looking at me. You can't think that way, silly .

She'd always brushed if off, figuring it was her imagination having too much fun

But now when she thought of what Y/n figured was a slip-up on Jakes part, she realized maybe, just maybe, her gut was right. He had admitted that Neteyam did know who she was and  had spoken about her, to his family of all people!

She forced herself to pay attention to the two people in front of her, as she emerged herself into the conversation completely to keep herself of making anymore crazy possibilities.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"NETEYAM!" 

Neteyam watched as his prey, the one he'd been tracking for the past hour, stood upright at the horrible sound of his baby brothers screaming voice and ran away with so much speed, he barely saw the blur that whipped past

He hissed, turning around to see Lo'ak tripping over branches as he ran towards him

"Lo'ak, you scared my prey away you idiot!" He snapped, gently slapping the back of his head as he sighed, turning to look at the panting boy in front of him

Neteyam gave a small smile at him, as he realized he must've ran all over the forest looking for him

"Now, what do you want Skwang? And why did you run all the way here? You do realize-"

"Y/n!" He managed to heave between pants, hands on the forest floor as he looked up to see his brothers reaction- a sickening grin on his face as the color completely left Neteyam's face, his once grinning expression replaced with one filled with so much fear that Lo'ak had to physically restrain himself from laughing in his face

For a moment, all he could hear was the blood rushing to his head.

After a couple of seconds, he managed to respond

"What?" He said, while Lo'ak only managed to let out a wheeze at the sound of Neteyam's voice

"You heard me bro, Y/n. Mom and dad- they were talking to her. You know what dad said? He goes- he goes- " But Lo'ak couldn't finish his sentence, as it seemed his heart failed and he fell into a laughing fit while Neteyam looked at him, mortified.

"What?! Lo'ak, what did he say? Lo'ak! Oh Great Mother!" He said desperately, shaking Lo'ak to get him to stop laughing. Once he saw the tears of laughter in the boy's eyes, he realized how badly his parents must've accidentally embarrassed him. 

Knowing his dad, he'd probably said something he most definitely was not  supposed to say without knowing.

Slinging his bow over his back, he yanked Lo'ak off the ground and began running back, yelling over his shoulder that he won't forgive Lo'ak if he's lying.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Lo'ak, unfortunately, was not lying.

He'd managed to watch the clan have their dinner from afar, keeping an eye out for his parents as he crept around 

Once his eyes landed on them, he physically winced as he watched the girl he'd been crushing on for years talking to his mother and father.

He knew with the way his father kept looking around expectedly was for Neteyam, but he didn't step out of his hiding spot without making a quick prayer to the Great Mother to ease his embarrassment as much as she could bare to

He fixed his hair, positioned his bow as perfectly as he could, and stepped into the clan like a warrior walking into war

It might as well have been that with the way his parents eyes latched onto him in an instant, like a predator to prey.

"Neteyam! Come here boy!"

She turned around, curious eyes finding his, and his heart physically stopped beating

Jake blinked, watching Neteyam completely freeze about a dozen meters away from them, staring at Y/n like he'd just seen a ghost

Jake let out a nervous laugh, as he waved his hand, gesturing his son over once again

Neytiri winced as her son made their way towards them, bumping into two other na'vi on the way and clumsily standing in front of them in a way she'd never seen before. He looked tense, his tail flicking behind him with his ears up in alert. He quickly bowed his head to greet his mother and father

He turned to her next, and finally let out the breath he'd been holding for so long

Up close, he was able to see features he hadn't been able to see from afar

A beautifully unique set of freckles he'd never seen before lined her face in a way that was alarmingly beautiful. Her neck was delicate, and adorned with a handmade necklace - his mind immediately imagined her bent over vine and holding a knife, expertly creating the jewelry with her slim brows pulled together in concentration

Once he reigned in his thoughts, which were crashing together like waves in a storm, he could only think of one thing clearly; Eywa took her time in creating her. And as he looked into the brightest eyes he'd ever seen, he knew in an instant he would never meet someone like her again. 

"I see you, Y/n," He breathed out, slightly surprised with himself for being able to get the words out.

" I see you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'ita," She said, her lips pulled into the prettiest smile he'd ever seen as his heart skipped a beat again

He grinned at her, noticing the faint pink blooming on her cheeks

Was that from him? Or was she just shy?

"Acquainted now, aren't we?" Jake said from behind, grinning like he'd achieved the match of the century

Neteyam knew in that moment, he'd never be more thankful for his father's intervention as he watched the girl smile softly at him, a knowing look in her eyes that said she knew exactly how he felt for her

Neteyam had a feeling he knew how she felt about him too.

[popmusicu]

Spring Awakening and the dangers of miscommunication

Spring Awakening: A Children’s Tragedy by German writer Frank Wedekind, released in 1891 has transcended it’s time and proves to remain relevant 130 years after it was first published, now adopting a new form, and even furthering it’s message in the format of musical theatre.

Spring Awakening’s first musical incarnation debuted on Broadway on December 10, 2006, a bit less than two decades after it’s conception by Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik. The original Broadway production starred Lea Michele, Jonathan Groff, and John Gallagher Jr., among others. The musical follows the story of teenager in 19th century Germany who begin to discover and their own sexualities but lack the tools to do so safely, for they are abused and dismissed by the adults in their life.

We first meet Wendla Bergmann, who, in the song “Mama Who Bore Me” -along with the rest of the girls in “Mama Who Bore Me (Reprise)”- expresses her frustrations to her mother as she does not understand how she’s about to become an aunt for the second time but does not know where babies come from, question that her mother refuses to answer. An important aspect to note is the anachronism in the setting of the story and the musical pieces, as the score consists of mainly rock music with folk influences, and to further enhance this choice, the characters break out into song by pulling out handheld microphones, breaking out of the diegesis of the story in a moment of teen angst.

Then come Melchior Gabor and Moritz Stiefel, best friends. Melchior is an intellectual and an atheist, ideas that make the girls swoon over him. In the song “All That’s Known” he reflects on the shortcomings of adults and specially the current schooling system, a place where, we just learned before the song, kids such as Moritz and himself get beaten up for making mistakes and standing up for themselves. The story goes on as Moritz explains he hasn’t been able to study or sleep because of night terrors plagued with images of women’s legs, wet dreams, as Melchior later explains to him, showing him a diagram of the male and female anatomies during “Touch Me”. Long story short, a romance begins between Wendla and Melchior, resulting in the unexpected pregnancy of the first, which leads then to her death during a clandestine attempt at an abortion. Moritz is kicked out of school for his deficient performance and sees no other choice but to take his own life. Characters like Martha have equally tragic developments, as she admits her father has been repeatedly abusing her both physically and sexually as her mother looks the other way but refuses to come forward against him lest she end up like Ilse, another girl of the group who is now homeless, having shared a similar fate as Martha. The musical ends with “Song of Purple Summer”, a very metaphoric song that gives us time to reflect over the dangers of miscommunication and how necessary is that adults change their perspective on how to raise their children, making this a cautionary tale against an adult centric world where children and teenagers can’t live freely.

I recommend the 2015 Deaf West revival of the show that further explores the themes of the original by casting deaf and hard-of-hearing actors (performing in American SIgn Language) making the miscommunication between the generations even clearer, as well as featuring the first wheelchair user in the history of Broadway, performer Ali Stoker.

By María Jesús Espinoza

[autolovecraft]

I am no practiced teller of tales.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been mocking. Birch heeded this advice all the rest of his life till he told me his story; and when I saw the scars—ancient and whitened as they then were—I agreed that he was wise in so doing. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider.

He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave. As he planned, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course.

At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it.

Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. Great heavens, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you always did go too damned far! It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Davis died. I live. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; so that he was reduced to a profane fumbling as he made his halting way among the long boxes toward the latch. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness.

He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. Clutching the edges of the aperture. God, what a rage!

Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you got what you deserved.

Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor.

That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things.

He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. Birch, just as I thought!

Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to use it when Asaph Sawyer died of a malignant fever. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you always did go too damned far!

[forgottencassandra]

"But you are! And I do not think it could be considered vanity for you to agree with me. Who has had a more exciting life than you?" And this from the daughter of a man who had conquered twelve countries -- most of which in Cassandra's own lifetime. But how did that truly compare to Cillian Ormond, when each tale of his adventures was even more exciting than the last. "Is it true that you once spent months stranded upon a dangerous deserted island, with nothing but the clothes on your back?" This was the latest adventure that Roisin had relayed to her.

"... but how did you manage to sneak past everyone?" As someone who was watched, perpetually, Cassandra did not exactly know what it was to be completely free of it. And this was almost more perplexing to Cassandra than him surviving and escaping from an island. How did one slip into anonymity long enough to enter a crowded room without anyone knowing?

Her eyes darted round the room, looking for other ways he might have gotten inside. The windows? The fireplace? Neither seemed particularly likely. She crossed her arms in a pout, "Or do you insist on being mysterious, as well as adventurous?"

Cassandra was a bit thrown when Lord Ormond stated that his own tastes were simpler than the grandeur her father had put on display. While she could agree that not everything was exactly to her own tastes, making it less grand wasn't exactly what she would have changed. "How do you mean? What would you change?" She tilted her head, slightly, curious as to his response. Would an evening without such spectacular displays be as enjoyable.

"Oh, the metal is my father's influence -- as are the excessive drums," She couldn't help but giggle, "Perhaps it is because he is more comfortable on a battlefield than a ballroom," She said this teasingly and affectionately, but even so she spoke softly -- even she was not so bold as to wish this comment to get back to her father. It might become misconstrued. "But otherwise, I should say it reflects tradition. Although, it isn't so common to have prayers and devotions before the celebrations begin. At least, it wasn't until my father became king. He is, you see, very devote." Cassandra, herself, tried to be but her mind always drifted to more exciting things when she ought to be in prayer -- especially when it preceded something so divine as a ball! "Most would have a simple prayer, traditionally before the food is served, in which the food is blessed and thanks to god is given."

Cassandra followed Cillian's gaze towards the men he had declared her other admirers. In truth, she had not noticed them before -- so eager had she been to find Cillian among them. But now that Cillian had pointed them out, she needed little more convincing that it was she who held their gaze (the prospect that some of them were eying Lord Ormond did not cross her mind).

She felt her cheeks blush again under his compliments -- it wasn't that she had never received such attentions before (she had) but never quite so brazenly with both her father and her brothers present, nor with someone she found so appealing as Cillian. She found it terribly romantic and if she had had a weaker constitution, she was sure he would have made her swoon.

"But you -- you are not afraid, my lord?" She asked, timidly, looking up at him through her lashes as she felt her heart beat faster in anticipation of his answer.

Lord Ormond | Cillian & Cassandra

The evening's blanket of dark was punctuated everywhere by burning torches, guttering and spurting by turns in the cruel winter wind. Cillian didn't consider himself particularly supersticious, but he a night like this couldn't help but bring his old Móraí's stories. On such a night, divine brothers dueled for supremacy, she'd say. Her voice -- gravelly with age -- would drop a decible or two, near-blind eyes narrowing as she leaned forward to make her point to the wide-eyed children gathered round her chair at the hearth. It had been a particularly popular tale with her, after all: the older she got, the more continously cold and so, it seemed, king winter was forever fixed firmly in her mind.

Cillian had been intended, he knew, to take the sleigh to the stables and then await the Malconaires' convenience with the other servants and, certainly, this would have been the safer route. Instead, however -- Cillian knew the Malcoanires' habits well enough by now to know without doubt that he hneed have little fear of them wishing to leave any time soon -- he'd crept to the hideyhole where he'd long since stored some of Lord Ormond's finery. Do nning this, he'd then slipped into the revelries, careful as always to avoid anyone who might recognize him.

Like many others, Lord Ormond had been one of the unfortunate souls to lose their lives in the battle for Astaira's freedom. With him had died a long and noble lineage, but Cillian was putting in some rather decided effort to take that House very much alive in the minds of others. Though, in truth, that was in no way his object in borrowing the young lord's name as his own.

Swooping in towards the food table -- Cillian was quite miserably famished -- he quickly liberated a piece of cake and, turning, came face to face with Cassandra Varmont.

Grinning, he swept a gallant bow. "Your Imperial Highness, well met." Straightening, he took her in and his smile deepened somewhat. "Your Higness -- may I just say how very well you look this evening?" In truth, she looked half an angel, her honey locks glowing golden in the firelight, her eyes and color bright from dancing. But, surprised as he was to have met with her so suddenly, he didn't quite possess the words to articulate that. "I suppose you must be enjoying this festive occasion very much? Difficult though it must be not to outshine your sister on her day."

[comfortscripts]

To The Bookkeeper ¬ Remus L.

Plot -Dusty books, pining hearts and romantic gestures are truly the key to starting the perfect romance novel

Genre -☁️️ Fluff ☁️️

Pairing - Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Notes/Warnings - Soooo cheesy and in the 2nd/3rd person. Enjoyyyy <3

Word Count - 1.7k

Specks of dust stilled in the air, a permanent fixture in the rustic shop. Hoards of loose pages stacked against shelves that were sturdy with the weight of hundreds of books. Shiny colour-filled books written by youthful souls shared the bustling space with the withered classics authored by the wisdom of decades gone by.

Hidden amongst the shelves and towers of novels, an oaken cashier’s desk sat. Intricate carvings of alluring floral patterns wrapped around the wood, as a simple machine rested between scattered paper and worn books. The desk looked like it held stories that these pages could not fathom, but that isn’t what caught the eye of the young man.

His tender gaze was entranced by her.

Sat buried in a book that seemed to be falling apart at its seams, wide eyes running across the pages as her body leant closer to the book, almost if she were wishing to be transported into the lines of ink. Strands of hair escaping, framing the beauty her face held, as her skin glowed with the dying light of the sunset. Remus was sure it was darker outside, but he understood that if he were the sun, he would want to spend every remaining second lighting up the beautiful bookkeeper.

She was aware of the tall young man who had been lurking among the rows of leather-bound pages the past few weeks. His scarf faltering as the hours went by, revealing the delicate scars littered across his skin, and she couldn’t help but pray he never found the book he wanted as it would mean her hours spent adoring him from afar could continue.

They fell into a routine. He would admire her from afar between his searches, and during those searches, his being would hold her attention.

Everyday Remus begged his bravery to fire up and approach his bookshop beauty, he wanted to hear her velvet voice directed at him, rather than at those other customers who didn’t even take the time to appreciate the symphony her voice conducted.

But today was different, today Remus decided to act on his love-struck urges. He spoke to her.

“Sorry, but could you possibly recommend a book for me? Haven’t seemed to find anything that truly connected with me.”

Her eyes raised to connect with his. Breath hitching as her heart pounded against her chest, trying to break free and profess her adoration of the attractive man standing expectantly in front of her, finally speaking to her after all this time.

“Um, yes, of course. What genre are you feeling? Got to make sure that my recommendation matches your mood.”

“Romance ideally”

He didn’t mean to blurt that out but finally gazing into your stunning eyes made his heart ache for love, and his mind chose to vocalise his need for romance. The deep blush that took over his scarred skin made her soften as she fought back the blush her body was threatening to show.

“One second. Wait right here”

Remus watched as she scurried off with a step of excitement, knowing she had thought of the perfect book to offer the man. He watched her fingers delicately weave through the array of covers, before landing on one and spinning to rush back towards the patient man.

Smile carved into her cheeks as she clings to the golden leather hardcover, evidently pleased with her choice of recommendation. Offering the romantic pages of ink to the lanky man, who took it gladly without his gaze ever leaving her eyes.

“A Room With a View by E.M Forster. An all-time favourite of mine, especially if you are looking for a romantic tale. I’ve probably read it 12 times already. Might just be searching for some type of romance, even the fictional type.” A feeling of caution took over as her mind wondered if that titbit of personal angst was causing him to think less of her.

But little did she know, his heart swooned at the idea of offering her that romance she craves, and little did she know, his search for romance had brought him to this very moment.

He inspected the book, taking in every detail of the cover before asking her the price. Only to be met with a shake of her head as shy smile appears on her adorable face, making his heart beat just a little faster.

“It’s a gift. I recommended it so if you hate it, then at least you didn’t have to pay for it, and if you loved it, the satisfaction I’ll feel will be enough.”

Lupin went to protest but the shushing that surrounded his words felt him stumped, and glowing red with a face full of blush. Goodbyes filled the air, both wishing to get in the last mutter of goodbye as the man retreated from the shop, clutching the book close to his chest.

Days went on without Remus’ usual bookshop visits, and soon enough, a week had gone by. Each day customers came and went, and each day, she wished for him to return even for a minute.

Hope dwindled with the closing of the shop each night, until a package was delivered early one morning. A burgundy paper wrapped parcel with simple words swirled across the top.

“To the bookkeeper who gave me a book and stole my heart”

Hiding in the little nook in the deepest part of the shop, barely touched by the eyes of others and soften by patterns of blankets. Pulling the paper from the parcel with caution as eyes widened at the contents; an eggshell letter laid upon the same romance novel she had given Remus all those days ago, but for now, the letter intrigued her more.

Dear Y/N,

I am sorry that I haven’t visited like I normally do, but I was busy with this book.

You were right. It was exactly what I needed, and whilst the story sent me through all the emotions, the feelings it made me realise for you were what truly made this book worthwhile.

Everyday for the past month I have wandered around your shop, just waiting to build up the courage to talk to you, to ask you out. But every time I saw that smile or looked in your eyes, my heart tripled in speed and all those words I had rehearsed left my mind.

So, with this letter, I offer an idea.

Read this book (for the 13th time), and if you feel anything for me, please meet me at 8 o’clock tomorrow night. You’ll know where once you’ve read the book.

Forever your shy admirer,

Remus Lupin.

If her heart was not already full, it would have been as she dove into the pages, only to find the annotations and intricate drawings scribbled amongst the lines. Pastels of highlighted text, thin marks of meticulously penned thoughts, and scrupulously drawn doodles of lovers that bared closer resemblance to herself than the protagonist.

Minutes ticked away and each page was devoured with such attention that her eyes begged to rest a moment, but her heart fuelled her with energy to continue. And so, she did. Word after word, line after line, and comment after comment pulling her feelings for the tender man to the surface.

The final pages came into sight and her heart fell an inch in desperation to read more of Remus’ loving insights, but the thought of meeting the adoring man brought new life into her bones.

Closing the book as the clock struck 7:30pm, knowing that her search for romance was about to be over when she finally allowed her feelings to come to fruition, when she was finally able to confess that hidden desire of hers to the man who held her heart.

Rushing about to make herself presentable as the journey began to the place your heart will be fulfilled.

Reaching the Garden of Godric as the glimmering of the crescent moon lit up the rows of beautiful flowers and offered safety to the arrays of gentle creatures who play in the night. But, amongst all the beauty stood the picture-perfect sight, Remus Lupin clutching a single gardenia.

“there are shadows because there are hills.”

Turning to meet her gaze as all the fear that filled his veins trickled away as it replaced with hope. She came, she cared, she felt the same.

She strolled up to him as she continued with her explaination of his choice of location. “The gardens are shaded by the mountain range, which is quite peculiar for a city to have which makes it a rarity. And you, Remus, are a rarity”

Holding his large hands within hers, their heartbeats started a duet of anticipation, waiting for confession. Watching every emotion swirl through her eyes as he inches ever closer before pulling his bravery to speak truly.

“There is so little I know about you and yet, you take up my every thought. Part of me believed this idea of love at first sight was a cliché trope used to sell books, but then I met you and all of these feelings started to bloom. Maybe it isn’t love quite yet, but I am hopelessly falling with every second.”

Her eyes watered with joy as she clung to every word he spoke, resting a soft hand against the rough of his scarred cheek. Leaning closer to meet his lips in a desperate need for that hidden love to be fulfilled after all this time.

Lips collided and hearts were warmed. Kissing him felt like a fairy-tale, a distance dream she had only read about. Kissing her felt safe, as if she was his saviour that he had searched high and low for. Clinging to each other as they prayed the moment could continue forever, but alas, breath was the enemy of affection.

Pulling away as she remained in his arms, hoping to never be without his touch again. Remus stayed clutching onto her figure, praying that she would always be his. The two bookworms who had searched for love amongst pages of romantic ink were now in their own fairy-tale, and their love could defeat any fictional love story ever written.

Taglist - @yogirl-willow @messers-moony-lupin @silverose365 @fairycirclebrat @wolfstarkiss @carmellasworld @scandalous-chaos @comfort-reads @gracepotter26 @guccixgemini

[stories-in-the-wind]

Cosmic - he/him, Clan Taloncry (Black Market Trader)

“Veneration, fear...it’s all the same to me. Achieves the same effect, forces others to look upon you with respect. And that respect is true power.” (more under cut)

Cosmic is a charismatic imperial who can make just about any dragon swoon with a side glance. He is smart as a whip and can best just about anyone in a battle of wits and cunning with word play being a favourite pastime of his. He is always a welcomed sight in any clan, quick to stop and help anyone in need. Cosmic is far from humble, but he exudes a successful and trustworthy aura which draws others to him in reverence. His presence is seen as a blessing due to the way he is said to act as a guide for young dragons on explorations throughout the world to discover new clans, but this could not be farther from the truth. Behind the scenes, Cosmic is manipulative, cocky, short tempered and conniving. The hatchlings he “guides” into a new world are in reality sold at the black market to the highest bidder. He enjoys framing Aeron and other Exalters for his own devious deeds by spreading tales of their supposed acts of terror. Where Aeron aids hatchlings in their journey to the gods service, Cosmic enslaves them for his own honour and rank among the other traders. He cares naught for kindness or good deeds, simply for gold, treasure and an overdose of worship as if he were a god himself.

Aeron: Companion art

[peachbear88]

Tale as Old as Time (Pt 2)

A/N: Part 2! We're getting there people!

-----------------

The metal gates swing open with a rusty whine.

Your eyes snap open and you grab your chamber pot, and club the figure over the head.

"Ow!" The figure exclaims, falling over.

You brandish the pot as menacingly as possible, given the awkward angle.

"Who are you?" You demand, your voice cracking. He rubs the growing lump on his head.

"You hit hard madmoiselle," He responds, ignoring your question. Another set of footsteps, heavier ones echo off the stone tower. You gulp, as the figure arrives to reveal a skinny but tall man wearing what appears to be a gold pendant.

"Don't scare the poor girl Pietro. In fact, you shouldn't even be letting the prisoner out!" The man chided. The blond boy (supposedly) named Pietro laughed, ruffling his hair. He zooms over to where the man is, leaving a faint blue mist behind him.

"What's wrong doc? Scared what'll happen when my sister finds out?" He teases and the doctor shoves him away, wrapping his floating red cloak tighter around him.

"Oh shut up." Pietro turns back to you.

"So. You're the new prisoner." He looks you up and down. You drop the pot and it hits the floor with a loud clang, making him flinch.

"Yep, that's me. Come to kill me at last?" You question, raising your arms as if to embrace death. He bursts into laughter, slapping the tall man on the shoulder.

"Oh man! Strange, did you hear that? She thinks we're going to kill her!" He keeps laughing while the man named Strange rolls his eyes, muttering something about stupid kids.

"So... You're not going to kill me?" You inquire hopefully. Pietro's laughter dies off as he wipes tears from his eyes.

"Kill you? When you could be the one to break the curse? I think not." He shakes his head as if you were the foolish one before thrusting his hand out. "After you."

You walk down the stairs hesitantly, the bright walls of the hallways a stark contrast to your dim cell.

After a few moments, you can't take it anymore, your curiosity getting the best of you.

"What was that you said about a curse?" Pietro instantly pales, shoving you rather forcefully along the hallway.

"Did I say curse? I meant uh-" He stutters, his eyes frantically scanning the area for an excuse. "I mean purse!" He waves the bag in front of your face. "Break the purse!"

You stare at him.

"Break the purse." You repeat skeptically. Strange pushes you along, seemingly in a hurry.

"Oh look! We've arrived at our destination." He pushes the grand golden doors open and your jaw drops. A beautiful, extravagant bedroom lays behind the doors, the ceiling arching up and curving into a golden dome.

"Wow..." You gasp, twirling around in the room.

"Mistress wanted you to have the finest." Strange replies, bowing low. You snort.

"That girl from earlier?" You look him up and down. "No offence but you look more like you should be her master." He opens his mouth to reply but Pietro cuts him off, shoving him out of the room.

"Well, we'll let you get settled! We hope you'll join us for dinner!" With one last shove, the two disappear from the doorway, leaving you to your own devices.

The moment the door slams shut behind them, you scan the room, your eyes landing on the silken sheets adorning the mattress. You make quick work of it, tearing it into long, thin strips.

"Okay. I can work with this."

------------

A small knock sounds out and you frantically shove the long strip of cloth away.

"Come in!" You call out and a menacing looking woman comes in, followed by a boy around the age of 15, wearing a red and blue costume with what appears to be a spider on it. You gape at the odd duo.

"Is that... A spider?" You murmur and the boy bounds into action, sticking his arm out for you to shake.

"Hi! My name's Peter. Peter Parker." You smile at his bubbly demeanor.

"Y/N." The woman's eyes never leave you, examining you. You shrink under her gaze.

"Right! This is Ms Natasha Romanoff. She may look really scary but she's actually a massive softie." Peter whispers confidentially and Natasha smacks him on the head. You laugh at their familial dynamic.

"It's a pleasure to meet you sweetie," She curtseys and you smile. "Please ignore this dumb child." She gestures to Peter.

"Hey!" He exclaims indignantly. You giggle.

"Well, we came to welcome you to our humble abode. Cup of tea?" She proffers and you smile, accepting it. The scent is heavenly, the right amount of sweetness and bitterness. "I find that a perfect cup of tea is just what we all need when it gets rough."

You smile weakly.

"Thank you. Why are you being so nice to me?" Natasha sighs, watching Peter swing around your room, little webs coming from his wrists.

"Well dear, we're all prisoners here as well. Might as well make the best of it." She shrugs and ushers Peter out of the room, leaving you deep in thought.

------------

Steve sighs, his feet in Sam's lap, warming his frozen fingers by the fire. The noise of the pub does little to raise his spirits.

"How could she possibly reject me? The most handsome man in the village!" He sighs again while Sam massages his feet. Sam throws the feet off his lap.

"Gosh it disturbs me to see you Steve,"

"Looking so down in the dumps."

"Every guy here'd love to me you Steve!"

"Even when taking your lumps." He cries, massaging Steve's ears.

"There's no man in town as admired as you,"

"You're everyone's favorite guy."

"Everyone's awed and inspired by you,"

"And it's not very hard to see why."

He drops a few coins into the bar musicians hand.

"No one's slick as Rogers,"

"No one's quick as Rogers,"

"No one's neck's as incredibly thick as Rogers!' He exclaims, twisting the neck of a rather large man rather violently, a large crack echoing around the pub.

"For there's no man in town half as manly."

"Perfect, a pure paragon!" The fair girls pipe up from behind Sam. He hops onto the bar, sitting in between 3 very drunk men.

"You can ask any Tom, Dick or Stanley,"

"And they'll tell you whose team they'd prefer to be on..." He slaps them on the back of their heads, giving them a pointed stare until they catch on.

"Who plays..."

"Darts like Rogers!'

"Who breaks..."

"Hearts like Rogers!"

"Who's much more than the sum of his parts like Rogers!"

Steve warms up to the attention, flashing a debonair smile at everyone.

"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating!"

"My what a guy, that Rogers!" The people cry, raising their mugs and splatters beer everywhere.

"I needed encouragement,"

"Thank you, Sam." He exclaims, slapping Sam on the shoulders.

"Well there's no one as easy to bolster as you!" He wraps Steve in a tight embrace for a bit too long.

"Too much?"

"Yep." They disentangle their limbs from each other.

"No one the fights like Rogers,"

"Douses lights like Rogers." To emphasize their point, Steve licks both his hands and slaps them onto the candles, extinguishing them with a satisfying hiss.

"In a wrestling match, nobody bites like Rogers!" Sam pulls his shirt up to reveal a deep bite on his abdomen. A few people squeal.

"When I hunt, I sneak up with my quiver,"

"And beasts of the field say a prayer."

"First I carefully aim for the liver,"

"Then I shoot from behind."

"Is that fair?" Sam pipes up.

"I don't care."

"No one hits like Rogers,"

"Matches wits like Rogers,"

"In a spitting match, nobody spits like Rogers!"

"I'm especially good at expectorating!" He throws his head back and hocks up a good chunk of spit which lands in the pot Sam is holding.

"Ten points for Rogers!"

"When I was a lad, I ate four dozen eggs,"

"Every morning to help me get large." He grabs nearby woman by the waist and lifts her onto his right arm. The fair girls swoon.

"And now that I'm grown, I eat five dozen eggs,"

"So I'm roughly the size of a barge!" He slowly grabs Sam and lifts him onto his left arm, making the crowd gasp.

Steve drops them both and jumps onto the long table, tap dancing with the two other ladies. Sam grabs decorative swords and tosses them to a few men while Steve keeps dancing. They jump onto the table, brandishing their swords menacingly. The ladies jump out of the way as Steve draws his own sword. He clubs one over the head, spinning around and pretends to stab another dramatically. With a large flourish, he raises the sword to mimic the mural of himself on the wall behind him.

"Who has brains like Rogers?"

"Entertains like Rogers?" Sam belts out but Steve pushes him aside.

"Who can make up these endless refrains like Rogers?" Steve bellows, raising his arms.

"I use antlers in all of my decorating."

"Say it again!"

"Who's a man among men?"

"Who's the super success?"

"Don't you know? Can't you guess?"

"Ask his fans and his five hangers-on."

"There's just one guy in town,"

"Who's got all of it down..."

"And his name's S-T- Uh... I believe it's a D after?" Sam begins tentatively as Steve glares at him. "It just occurred to me that I'm illiterate, and I've never actually had to spell it out loud before..."

"Steve Rogers!"

The crowd bursts into a final round of applause, settling down as they dive deep into the hazy fumes of alcohol again.

"Ah, thank you Sam! I don't know what I'd do without you." Steve exclaims, plopping back down into his cushioned armchair. "How is it no woman has picked you up yet?"

"Well, I've been told I'm clingy but I don't really get it." Sam mutters obliviously, his arms draped around Steve's shoulders. Steve nods awkwardly.

A loud bang echoes into the pub and Tony comes rushing in, disheveled.

"You must help me! She's got Y/N! Please, you must help!" He cries, falling to his knees. Steve stays back while Sam rushes forwards.

"Tony, calm yourself. Who's got Y/N?" He asks soothingly.

When Tony looks back up, fear shines through his glassy eyes.

"The witch."

--------------

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112 @yeetus-thyself

[minuyu]

undying love [yandere! prince! x female! reader!]

Warning: This story may contain dark and unsettling themes. Proceed at your own risk.

01: The Three of Swords.

               “The prince may be the finest man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He is so light-hearted and sparkles like the most expensive jewel in the spotlight. He truly is perfect. I mean, have you seen his countenance ¹? His face has been sculpted by the very gods themselves. Not to mention, he excels in everything that he does. If he so much as looked me in the eyes, I would reach enlightenment. I do not have a doubt in my very words. Oh, he has lips that were made for kissing a maiden’s rosy cheeks. He has eyes that hold me hostage with their beauty, by much greater than the night sky ever could. His accent and words roll off his tongue like silk rubbing against bare skin, so soothing. I tell you, he is the love that all women want but no woman can receive.” The young, golden-haired maiden spoke in a hushed whisper on the streets to a small group of friends who huddled around her. With every dreamy sigh she took between her description of him, white puffed from her lips due to the cold weather. Despite this, the miniature crowd of women were warm in their hearts and cheeks, just at the very thought of the young prince.

               “Can you believe that he has never looked at a woman with desire? Despite of this, I can’t blame him. Somebody who deserves their body to be placed in the stars as a constellation is much too good for me. Nonetheless, I still dream every night of him. His love must be the greatest treasure a woman can get.” One of the women among the crowd continue on. The women continue to swoon, packed on the side of the cobblestone street.

               The kingdom of they called ‘home sweet home’ was one of cold weather throughout most of the year. Resting on the top of the tallest mountain that was surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains, it granted extra protection from possible enemies. At the foot of the mountains, about a two day walk from the kingdom, laid a deep and dark forest around this ring of mountains that gave them a great advantage over invaders. Tales about the forest had spread around the kingdom like wildfire due to it being so mysterious, but longer than any of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Perhaps, one of the reasons that the people were hesitant to leave the kingdom by foot, was the dark forest. Despite this, Spring still managed to peak out and greet the people with warmth and gracious nature every year. The kingdom was freezing, but with technologies advancing everyday, such as better ways of insulation and heating of homes with radiators throughout the floors and much more, they only got better at surviving the extreme temperatures. One must grow accustomed to the cold before they even think of treading in the King’s territory.

               One may be surprised, however their King was one of the very best in centuries. He was one of great kindness and care for the people, a true father of the nation. In that respect, his son made the future of the kingdom seem brighter. Excelling in just about every field, prince Bastiaan, the only son and child of the King and the late Queen, seemed to be a promising leader. One subject of the kingdom could not even batter an eyelash at the royal family. Instead, she preferred to focus on those who were near to her, like other lower-class people who lived among compact housing.

               Across the street from where the women had been gossiping, there laid a place where one could get their fortune told to them at a low price. Despite not giving a care in the world for the dearest prince and his father, women often came to her for tarot card readings that would hopefully predict that they would become the prince’s future queen. The shop, rugged in appearance yet strikingly colourful was her home. A big, wooden door with prune paint chipping off due to being worn out by harsh breezes during the dead of winter. On the door was a wooden sign hanging by a thick thread on a nail messily put into the door, that read ‘ Fortune Teller’.

               Inside of this shop, their was a small table and multiple beanbags and cushions spread around the floor. Shelves were fulled to the brim of tattered books about astronomy, myths, tarots, readings and so much more. A small chandelier hung from a cracked ceiling, painted with a beautiful mural of golden and purple-toned flowers seeming to rain from the night sky. The chandelier had a purplish hue that made the shop seem all the more magical. In the back, through an empty threshold with a curtain of silver star-shaped beads, was a table higher off of the ground with symbolic carvings of gods and holy symbols in the purple paint of the table. Freshly lit incense stands in a painted ceramic bowl filled with rice, imported from the warmer climates down South, at the center table surrounded by the cloths design.

               At the moment, two chairs were occupied. One, was taken up by a frequent client. Her name was Abella, who had also been entranced by the prince but not as much as other women. She came every week to the fortune teller, as she was always paranoid about the future. The tarot card readings gave her a sense of control, or at least helped her to prepare for any events that would take place. Abella had wavy white strands of hair that looked like the snow that fell outdoors much too often. Despite her young age, the white strands of hair were natural. Her face was long and clean, with little makeup placed upon to hide things that she called ‘flaws’. She wore a large, red trench coat that complimented her ruby crimson eyes beautifully. Only her grey, wide-ankle pants were able to be seen under the large coat she wore. She leaned in over the wooden table with the purple carvings with anticipation.

               On the other chair opposite from her, sat a young woman with [hair colour] strands of hair. She wore a large and over-sized coat as well, except hers was made out of a porcelain white faux fur. Her [eye colour] eyes seemed like a maze easy to get lost in, and her black eclipse-like pupils focused on the cards as she swiftly laid them out with her [skin tone] toned hand. The back of the cards were identical, all with the same simple symbol of a round, golden circle on a plain, pitch black back. The cards were placed neatly in unison with ease that one could easily tell that the fortune teller, who was called [Name], was a master with the cards before she could likely even speak. Her soft gaze averted to the Abella, inspecting Abella’s face that was scrunched up due to the difficulty of thinking which card to pick. They all looked the same, but let to very different outcomes.

               ”Pick a card, any card. Your fate will remain the same. Choose the ones that call for you, and it will be true.” You reassure her. Abella was always terrible at making decisions, but with reassurance from the very person who she trusted to help her every week, Abella squeezes her eyes shut and quickly chooses three random cards. [Name] picks up with cards that Abella had chosen, and inspects them.

               “For your past, you have gotten Death in the upright position. Death means that you have moved onto a new era of your life quite recently. It may have required some sacrifice and difficulty.” You tell Abella, who looked at you with her eyes as wide as saucers.

               ”I guess the Death card isn’t too bad.. when it’s the tarot explaining my past. Please, carry on to my present.” Abella says, biting on her lip afterwards in anticipation for what the next card would be. You move your attention back to the cards in your hand and put down The Tower card. Abella had never gotten this card before, so she quirked up at the sight. “What does it mean?” She asks desperately, as if her life depended on it. You chuckle slightly, and gently remove your touch from the tower card, leaving it in front of her and beginning to tell her what it meant, after you could hear the card speaking to you.

               ”The Tower in upright position. It means that there are big changes coming your way. These changes mean that any part of your life can be affected. Relationships, your job, or even financial circumstances. The chaos that the tower unleashes in this position will usually only affect one part of your life, but quite thoroughly as well. If the structures of your tower of life cannot handle this disruption without collapsing, then I suggest that it is best for you to add some new structures into your life.” You tell her, keeping your gaze focused on her to see the reaction you would receive from such a card. It wasn’t the luckiest card to get in present, but it also wasn’t the worst. The Tower meant that a part of her life will be heavily impacted. And that may be a good thing, as it will also give Abella a chance to build herself up again and choose better decisions in that part of her life.

               To your surprise, Abella doesn’t speak out and shout in a blaze of worry, she continues to bite her lip and nods her head, seemingly accepting the card in front of her. It seemed as though she knew what you were talking about and knew that in the end, it would have a positive impact on her life. “Carry on, [Name].” She says, in a more serious tone. She was properly thinking about the road of her life and obviously looked like she wanted to take caution and just live the best life that she possibly could.

               Finally, with the last card in your left hand’s fingers, you place it down on the table and tell her what was coming in the future, “You have gotten Strength in the upright position. This is a very powerful card and is generally a good omen. It means that anything bothering you at the moment will seem like nothing in the near future. Time will deal with all of your problems, but this happens all the time. You are lucky, Abella. The Strength card is a very good card to receive.” You tell her, a smile on your face at the good news. You feared that all the readings would be bad omens, but it seems that the Strength card turned the whole table around.

               Abella smiles delightfully, tapping her shoes on the ground with joy. “What wonderful news! I was scared that The Tower would lead to more bad. It turns out it will lead me to Strength. I must go through the hardships against me, mustn't I? Thank you once again, [Name]. Knowing what is coming my way truly helps to calm my nerves.” Abella thanks you, before pulling her sleeve up slightly to show a silver watch, which produced the subtle sound of time ticking away. “I’m going to be late for lunch with my friend if I don’t hurry. I’m afraid I may have taken my sweet time.” She says before taking two silver coins out of her coat pocket and placing them on the table. “Thank you kindly for the services once again, [Name]. I’ll be back for another one next week, as per usual.” Abella says, a pleased smile on her lips, completely different to the serious and frightened expression on her face as she was biting her lip earlier. Abella rises from the wooden chair and walks towards the exit of the shop, her white hair looking like a waterfall of snow as it drifted to her tailbone. Soon, you heard the door open and slam shut, meaning that she had left. Now, you sat alone in silence, with the muffles of life outside barely able to be heard. You get the cards and shuffle them up once again before placing them inside a box.

               Standing up, you place the pack of tarot cards within a small wooden box on one of your shelves, where it was now accompanied by at least a dozen other decks in the box. Closing the box, you decide that perhaps it was time for yourself to grab of something to eat, after all you could hear your stomach crying out for something pleasant to the tongue. You walk to the other side of the back room and pull open a black curtain, revealing a dark wooden set of stairs to the second story of the building. In the kingdom, most people usually had a shop on their lower floor and their home on the upper one. You found it quite functional and began walking up the steps calmly, despite the planks of wood moaning out with the threats of snapping in two due to wear and tear for decades. You lived in quite an old building. While it was not the best, it still had cheap rent and was home to you.

               Alas, your home could never compare to the gleaming white palace of pearl and golden detailing. The palace had towers that stretched up to the heavens and large windows that could barely give one a peek at their lavish lifestyle among the riches that their ancestors had collected through the eras. It may surprise a newcomer, however they were the only family that had ever been on the throne. True, pure blood royalty.

               The main doors were large and plain white with golden detailing and a large star in the middle that was made out of stained glass. The stained glass changed, depending on who’s reign it was. During the current King’s reign, it was red with a white flower in the middle of it, standing for fortune, purity and hope. At the back of the palace however, things got even grander with a garden too large for one to walk around in one day and manage to admire every single beautiful thing that it had.

               In despite of this, the prince’s keen, dark pearl eyes stared into the forest from his bedroom window, wishing for some adventure, or at least something new. Being forced to try your best at everything was tiring, and it was more tiring having to live up to everybody else’s expectations of you for your entire life. The prince was tall, standing at about six feet and three inches tall, about 190cm. He had a slender build, but his black outfit hid his well-toned muscle that had been build up over the years. Nevermind the fact of him being the best in combat, such as sword fighting especially, he didn’t have a single scratch on his skin that was as pale as the snow. Naturally, his cheeks were dusted with red due to the cold weather and slightly around his eyes as well, that were narrow and accompanied with orbs that were dark like the night sky. His lips had a slight red tint to it, but so subtle that one could tell if they examined him for a moment. His jet black hair was wavy and medium-cut for a man with it split in the middle of his forehead. His hair was undercut as well slightly, giving him an even cleaner look.  His hairstyle was truly charming, and was one of the most trendy hairstyles every year. The prince nonchalantly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair and stood up from the window seat, the grey light peaking out from the clouds falling on his shoulders. The prince wore a long-sleeved black shirt was a button-up, however the shirt went past to be buttoned up at the left side of his chest. His buttons were also black. There was a golden dragon embroidered on the prince’s shirt, but nothing was embroidered on his pants. They were plain black as well, and his shoes were pointy-toed and gleamed with ever step, but could never out-shine the prince no matter how much one polished them.

               “Your highness, the king awaits you in the amber private tearoom. He wishes to discuss your future.” The prince, named Bastiaan was being spoke to by a man who was neat in countenance despite the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. This man was his personal royal adviser. He had his grey hair slicked back, and the usual uniform of a white dress shirt and black pants but with red detailing, showing that his status was high thanks to the fact he was working closely for the royal family. The only person in the palace who ever dressed to show off their wealth was prince Bastiaan’s father, Alaric Beaumont Marchand Oscar D’Aramitz, who’s old age didn’t restrain him from wearing heavy red cloaks and jewels and badges all across the sash he wore. His pale grey hair still held some black streaks from his early, younger days.

               ”Very well then.” Prince Bastiaan responds monotonously, face void of emotion. His shoes clacked against the gleaming floor with elegance, and as he reached the expensive door, it was opened by two royal guards on either side. Walking past them, the prince makes his way to his father, the king himself. He could feel a nervous lump in his throat.

               As Prince Bastiaan walks along the polished halls, the floor tiled with black and gold marble. The wallpaper was extravagant and light in colour. There were paintings of past rulers and paintings done by famous artists, some of the paintings centuries old. Soon, he regretfully arrived at the end of the hall at a door much larger and grander than the rest, so detailed by gold that you could barely see the canvas that the gold had been laid upon. Prince Bastiaan dusts his outfit off and fixes himself up before running his hand yet again through his dark, silky smooth locks. Then he clears his throat and stands still. At last, the guards open the grand door for him and he is wet with the conservatory. Despite it being winter, the glass was so thick that it was warm inside. The room felt cosy despite being fairly large due to the large fireplace that roared on viciously behind his father. There he was. The man of the era. The man that ruled the kingdom. The man that ruled his life. He sat deep in thought, not noticing his son’s glamorous arrival. Several of his knuckles rested upon his chin as he contemplated deeply about god knows what. The room was dim, most likely ordered to be by his father who disliked bright light, complaining about the strain it placed on his eyes. Instead, the orange light of the fire lit up the room, accompanied by several lavender scented candles scattered about the room.

               Prince Bastiaan coughs, gaining his father’s attention. The king turns his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, having not noticed him enter. “You wished to speak with me, father?” He questioned, looking at his father’s grey orbs that matched his hair like the grey stone walls that had protected the kingdom for decades.

               ”Indeed. Please, take a seat, my boy.” His father responds. The king takes a porcelain teapot with fine blue designs on it from the table, and pours chamomile tea into two matching tea cups. There was a small three tiered tray of savoury treats, all attractively colourful and delicious. Their smell mixed with the lavender, making the room that tiny bit more enjoyable. Following his father’s wishes, the prince swiftly sits down on a matching, large wooden chair that was cushioned with soft, velvet, maroon fabric.

               ”It is time to speak about a certain topic, my boy. Your future. However, I would like to focus on a specific part. Which is, love. Every king and every queen has had a partner by their side. Love makes us stronger. My son, you are a gift from the heavens. Everyday, with each new achievement you make, I think to myself, ‘Is he really my boy? He’s so talented, and capable, someday maybe he will be as great as me.” The prince’s father begins. The prince stays silent, grabbing his tip of tea gently with his left hand as he pays attention. The only thing interrupting his father was the slight cackling of the fire.

               “My son, I wish for you to find a beloved. Perhaps, even a wife. Or even, a meaningless fling with a noble lady to your liking. You must relax. Sometimes, I look at your listless face and ask myself, ‘What happened to the little boy who used to smile at every single thing, as if it meant the world to him?’. I do not wish to find you a wife myself, however I may feel inclined to if you do not find one within the next six months. Or at the very least, a love interest. Every woman in this kingdom rests at your feet, worshiping your status, beauty and intelligence. Surely, it will not be an issue.” The king states.

               ”Father, this is unfair. I hate to argue with you, I truly do, but I do not wish for any of these women. There is no challenge. They all fall to my feet and would willfully marry me if I so much as glance at them. They claim to love me so deeply, they claim that I am god’s lost child, however they do not know me at all. The noble ladies wish to marry and converse to me for the status and money. My looks and capability are just a bonus. If I marry women like them, what will become of me? I must set an example, and if I get married, my wife shall be an example to the rest of the kingdom as well. I refuse for you to control my love life. I am perfectly capable of ruling this kingdom on my very own. When the time is right, I will marry. If that time never comes, it is of no importance. It is only love.” The prince responds, hands tightening around the arm rests to restrain his temper. In his head he could hear multiple voices of those who have commented on his love life before.

               ‘Prince Bastiaan is perfect, so why doesn’t he marry already?’, ‘I wish he would look at me and realize that I’d be willing to marry him. He’s a gift from the divinity I tell you.’, ‘Have you seen the prince? He must be quite a loner if he hasn’t ever had a lover at his age.”

               You could visibly tell that Prince Bastiaan’s calm response had set the king off with rage. “You will marry. You have six months at most. Do not dare defy me once more.” The king threatens, his voice dangerously low. Full to the brim with anger and disappointment towards his father, the prince raises up to his feet and begins taking swift and large strides along the halls towards his bedroom. Once he reaches his destination, he opens the door himself, leaving the guards slightly confused, only to realize what had happened when the prince slams the doors behind him

               His back was now pressed against the door and he looked down at his feet. He knew that he couldn’t impress everybody. He knew that everybody admired him, or at least, everyone except his father. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to find a partner in life, and he truly didn’t wish for one. He had read multiple romance novels from the palace library and all seemed to be filled with heartache and tragedy. He was not about to sign himself up for something that he knew would inflict emotional pain on him. If he was hurt in any way, he couldn’t continue being the perfect man that he was, and it seemed that only god knew how difficult it was to live to people’s standards. With the marker set up so high, even if he was slightly off target, everybody would be disappointed. The prince clicked his pointy tips together before walking towards the window and inspecting the kingdom that lay before him. The kingdom that he was set to reign over.

               Prince Bastiaan had heard from whispers on the street that there was a fortune teller. One that could tell fortune with great accuracy, and who’s abilities brought those who didn’t believe in her to their knees. He gazed out, looking for his answer in his mind. If he hired the fortune teller, perhaps it would help with his love life. Especially if she would tell him about his progress every week and what is to come. That way, he could be prepared for any emotional storm that would come. That way, he would learn how to win a woman’s heart with his personality alone. Despite of this, the prince felt his hope slip through his arms as he realized that he did not know what his personality really was. He was a puppet, or even a mere doll that everybody played with. The doll had to be whatever the people wanted, and they wanted a true idol. One that could compete against the greatest gods. Before he could think any further on that matter, a loud knock sounded on the door.

               “Your highness, lady Isla from the house of Brodeur has come for your meeting. She is waiting for you inside of the amber private tearoom where you once were. Your father has retreated to his private quarters, so you two will have the tearoom to yourselves.” The royal adviser's voice informed the prince through the door, slightly muffled.

               ”Yes, I’m on my way.” The prince says. “That’s today?” He whispers to himself surprised. He sighs, deciding that perhaps lady Isla was his only choice at the moment. After all, she was obsessed with him. She stuck to him like glue and whenever they were at the same ball or gala, she would follow him despite the weaves and turns he would make. She often bragged to her group of friends with how she was childhood friends with the prince, despite him not considering them friends at all for that matter. Her affections were completely one-sided yet she never stopped chasing after him. The prince looked back at the kingdom and sighed. Perhaps he should gather some suitable choices for himself before making his final decision. He needed somebody suitable to be the mother of the country. He wanted them to be great, or even greater than his late mother.

               The prince spun on his heel and went through the same corridor and door to return back to the tearoom. He had managed to recollect his thoughts, and felt much more calmer now. However, he had no idea how he would appeal as amorous or even properly flirtatious to a woman. After all, he did not find Lady Isla even the slightest bit appealing, not as a lover or a queen.

               When the prince entered the room, he saw Lady Isla standing tall and joyfully. At first glance, she seemed neat and mature. She was quite tall for a woman, standing at around 5’9. Shiny dark brown hair cut into a bob. Her diamond blue eyes scan over the prince, taking in all of his beauty with a pleased smile on her face.

              “Your highness, thank you for meeting with me today. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She says thankfully, grabbing the back of the chair where the king himself had once sat, and curtsied, bowing her head much deeper than required to show how grateful she was. In all honesty, the prince had only agreed to this meeting in order to tell her straightforwardly that he was not interested in her. The love-sickness that was tied to him had grown annoying and was interfering with his work. Now it seemed that we had to do the complete opposite of what he desired to save face.

               ”You may sit.” Prince Bastiaan says motioning to the chair in front of him. Lady Isla blushes as she sits down on the maroon chair. The fact she was in his presence and could have his full attention for a small while made her feel like her heart was about to pound of its chest. The prince saw her as foolish, especially since she had sat down. Yes, he may have told her to, but she should know that it is required that any royal blood sits down first. It seemed that she had failed in the department of manners. How could a queen not even know the rules, manners, and laws of her own country? Prince Bastiaan sat down opposite Isla and felt pressured by her large eyes piercing at him intently, not leaving his figure for a split second. He felt uncomfortable but decided to use his confidence. He was a prince after all.

               The prince looked Isla directly back into her eyes with a listless face. She could feel that her heart was skipping beats like crazy, she was surprised that she had not fallen over with a heart attack. Though she didn’t know that the prince was testing out one of the moves he had learnt from reading romance books. His heart was supposed to flutter at the very sight of her, he was supposed to feel his heart skip a beat. But there was no warm feeling, no happiness, no sped up heartbeat. Nothing. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that he had been granted the gift of being talented in return for his ability to love.

               “How was your morning?” The prince asks, as a servant comes over and begins to pour them a pot of freshly brewed green tea. He breaks gaze with Isla and picks up his teacup, taking a small sip out of it to take the warm liquid in.

               ”It-It was alright. And yours, Bastiaan?” She asked, longing for his dark orbs to stare into hers again. Even if the interaction was over, her heart would not stop beating quickly. Prince Bastiaan put down his teacup as he tried not to flinch with repulsion and her poor manners. Was she a noble lady or a slave? He decided that she really was not the one that was worth the status of being Queen.

               ”It was lovely meeting you once again today. I have my studies to attend to. Thank you for coming, perhaps we could meet again in the near future. However, I am quite busy today.” The prince lied with his cold tongue. In whatever way though, the noble lady’s heart could not be cooled down.

               “That is...is quite alright,” She stuttered out, in disbelief that he had actually said that he hoped that they could ‘meet again in the near future’. Had something changed? Perhaps the prince was finally paying attention to the sort of things that other men his age would. Regardless, the prince just wanted to get out of this situation and as far away as possible. He didn’t want to appear rude after what he had pulled today, it may damage his reputation.

               “I’ll be off.” He vocalized, before standing and retreating back to his chambers. He rushed to the window and placed his hand on the clear glass, as if reaching out. Taking a deep breath in. He needed help, desperately. He was afraid to admit it, but this fortune teller seemed to be his only choice. If he was to find his perfect bride within six months, he needed to get help in avoiding women who didn’t live up to the standards. He needed hints. So with that, the prince walked over to the part of his room where a rope hung from the ceiling. Grabbing it with his hands and pulled, ringing the summoning bell. Several moments later, the royal adviser walks inside of his bedroom.

               “Summon that fortune teller near the compact housing. The one that the common folk and nobles alike speak of.” He demanded, not seeing any reason to justify his actions. He was simply complying with his father’s wishes, but not so much in the way that the king expected. He spoke with utmost certainty, determined to find the perfect queen, even if there were no feelings of admiration.

               The royal adviser simply compiled, slightly caught off guard by the request. “Right away, your highness. I will come back to you with them soon.” The adviser responds, before disappearing once again, the doors shutting closed silently behind him.

               Prince Bastiaan sighs sorrowfully, and sits down on a large couch in his bedroom. His room had a black and white marble floor, with wallpaper that was black and golden. Black was his favourite colour. It was practical and fit every occasion. Parties, afternoon tea, funerals, ceremonies, etc. Not only that, but the young prince swore to wear black for the rest of his life after his mother had passed, at the age of eight.

              Entering your shop, you move to take your coat off but are interrupted by insistent knocking on the front door. You open it a smidge and peek through to see a young man in full plate armor.

               “Are you the fortune teller of this shop?” He asks eyeing you down.

               “Yes…?” You answer, opening the door a bit more. You are about to ask what kind of fortune he wants to be read, when he speaks again.

               “Prince Bastiaan of the royal family requests your audience.” You stand there with a confused look on your face. You had just gotten home from finishing a late lunch, and several minutes later, a palace knight had come knocking on your door. To tell you that the prince “requests your audience”.

               ”Why?” You ask, hoping to get some answers. The whole scenario makes you scratch your head, wondering why the prince would want a simple fortune teller.

               ”You are expected at the palace by ten in the evening, tonight. A carriage will come to pick you up at nine in the evening. Have a splendid day. Long live the king.” The knight states, completely dodging your question. It seemed that your question was either confidential information or the guard did not care to answer. You sigh, seeing that you had no choice. You slam the door shut with anger at the knight who hadn’t even bothered to give you a simple answer. Now, your thoughts will wander until ten in the evening, when you were supposed to meet the prince. Then, you froze. Akin to a statue when you realized that you were meeting the acclaimed perfect prince from fairy tales that young ladies dream about. You had to look your best. If you looked the slightest bit scrappy, god knows what would happen to you. The prince may think that you are disrespecting him with informality and as a result, his father would behead you. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but it was still plausible.

               You hurried upstairs. It was already six in the evening and you only had three hours to make yourself look better than you ever have before. You admit, you didn’t care much about royalty or wooing the prince. However, you did care about paying respect to where respect was due. Though you hated to admit it, the prince had a heart of generosity. Not only did he give 90% of his homeless subjects homes and jobs, he helped fill their stomachs until they were stable and able to survive on their own without his aid. Prince Bastiaan had even risked his life in battle more times than you could count for the kingdom, returning without a scratch. He was the rightful owner of the title, Angel of Beauty and Blood. It sounded quite cliche to you, but you knew that it was true.

               Your wooden planked floors creaked with every step you made, begging for repair and threatening to break. You paid no mind to the creaks and entered your small box of a bedroom. It was full of herbs, orbs, and dried out vegetables, specifically for making medicines. The white wallpaper was stained yellow and was chipping off of the wall. Some of the wall was covered by a large tapestry of a purple eye, which was pinned up with two small nails. In the corner of the uncomfortably small room was a dresser, with your clothes hung up with thin, metal hangers. There was a drawer at the bottom, where inside were your underwear, tights, shirts, and pants.  You reached out for a hanger that held a purple and white dress. It was lilac and strapless, and the chest area looked as though it was a purple-toned water lily. The bottom was quite puffy and had translucent fabric stacked on top in order to add that extra volume. It had small, silver shimmers that seemed as though they could catch the moonlight, and overall, was quite cute and elegant. It had matching, long lilac gloves that went up a few inches past your elbows, and had silver ends with white flowers embroidered on neatly. This dress was once your mothers from what you could tell judging by the tag inside having the words ‘from mother’ sewed into it. You only wore it on the most special occasions, and this one was certainly a special occasion.

               You slithered out of your day wear, abandoning your old clothes on the floor before picking them up and placing them in a small laundry bag that hung on door’s knob, handcrafted from an old sack of potatoes. Afterwards, you proceeded to put on your special outfit. You admit that perhaps you had grown quite a bit since your last special occasion, as it was slightly more difficult to zip yourself up into the dress. As you put on the rest of your outfit on, such as the gloves and your white tights due to the cold weather. Afterwards, you went into the bathroom and stared yourself in the mirror. You wanted to give yourself a speech to psych yourself but as your lips parted, nothing came out. You had the lowest rank a person could have, and the second highest rank, only to the king, that belonged to the prince wished to get in touch with you. Yes, you. The [hair colour] haired girl staring right back at you in the cracked mirror. Perhaps you had the right to believe that broken mirrors granted you bad luck. If word got out you met with the prince, wouldn’t business become better? What if they gave you free snacks there? What if you were making a big deal out of nothing? What if you showed up to palace looking like a purple doll while the prince was in his pajamas? Wouldn’t you look like an idiot? In fact, what if business went south? What if people got jealous that you talked to the prince? What if all the women in the kingdom couldn’t accept you?

               You shake your head before the anxieties driving around your mind could come back to you any faster. You gripped the edges of the sink with your fingers turning white due to how hard you gripped it. You breathe in. “One, two, three. Breath out gently.” A young man with golden hair and snowy white orbs, looked you right in the eyes as you opened them gently. “Better, isn’t it? If you feel worried, then remember to breathe. I won’t always be here to remind you of that.” He says, a small smile on his rosy lips.

               “I feel much more calm now. My nerves.. aren’t as tense. Too bad the sweat on my hands can’t be taken back into my skin, I feel like I’ll form a river. I just.. I’m so nervous for this. I truly believe in this, Florian. I truly do. If I can make even the smallest change-“ You were cut off by Florian’s small, melodic chuckle.

                “Yes, I know, I know. [Name], you can change the world. You can do much better than your pathetic excuse of a friend. Keep your head held high. As a famous poet once said, ‘a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world’. Stay smiling bright like you always are. Now, get out there and knock their socks off!” Florian reassures you, his hands gripping the sides of your arms and encouraging you. His smile shone brighter than a million suns and you felt blinded by his beauty and grace. Your soft fingers gripped into the sides of his arms in return, with stress and darkness. It was as if there was a rain on your parade and the sun had come to personally greet and save you. You regretfully let go of his arms, your own dropping to your sides. You bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling determined.

               “You sway the heavens like the branches in the wind. Surely, you can sway this crowd of people with your talent.” Florian says, before squeezing your sides tightly then letting go.

               You pant, your eyes wide and shaky. Your legs tremble and you fall down onto your backside, colliding with the hard tiled floor of the bathroom. Who was Florian? Yes, it seemed like a memory, but you weren’t sure if flashbacks got that intense. Your hands felt numb and your fingernails hurt from how hard you had unknowingly gripped upon the sink.

               Though you did not like to spread the information, you had amnesia. The earliest memory you ever had was waking up on the side of the street completely stripped of any memory or coin, as though you had been brutally kidnapped then abandoned. You’ve been dealing with it for seven years. Seven years of never knowing who you were, where you came from or what your family was like. It did not make you too sad because you couldn’t miss a part of your life that you couldn’t remember. You occasionally got, what you believed to be, glimpses of your past. They put you through intense emotions, and left you feeling as though you had experienced a panic attack about a hundred times within a minute. Your head ached desperately as your fist weakly hit the floor. God, you wished that you could remember something. Your fist raised from the cold floor and onto the top of your head. However, your hit against the top of you head was weak as well. Your fingers, covered by gentle cloth intertwined with your [hair colour] strands that rose messily out the top of your head.

               Getting back up shakily, you stare at yourself in the mirror. There was a small, wooden clock that ticked sorrowfully in the lonely bathroom, signalling that it was already at seven in the evening. Had time really flown by so quickly? Well, time is a construct. It flies by when you long for it to linger for longer, and lingers for longer when you long for it to fly by.

               You pick up the brush that rested on the sink and brushed out the tangles in your hair, and styled your hair in a way so that it was neat and tucked behind the ears. Doing so gave you a clean look, as if you were a completely different class. You practiced smiling in the mirror. As you practiced, you suddenly halted. Had you become crazy? Why were you practicing how to smile?

               Slightly angry at yourself for wasting time by getting carried off on a tangent, you hurriedly finished up your hair, using all sorts of products to make it smell luscious and look better than it ever had in its lifetime. You finished several minutes after the clock had hit eight. Now, you lightly placed some natural appearing makeup and hugged your faux fur coat tight around your body. You looked at yourself and took out a pearl necklace. It was on sale, and perhaps fake due to the cheap price you managed to get it in, so you had bought it just in case something like this had come up. You slipped on some white flats, not willing to risk a mishap in heels.

               It was now half past eight and you were pretty much ready. All that was left was to pack the things you’d need. The prince most likely called upon you as audience due to your fortune telling abilities. You made your way downstairs, switching the light off in the bathroom.

               You picked up a white satchel with some embroidery done into it of purple flowers. You had gotten it for such a cheap price despite it being quite the steal, especially since there was purple. You felt connected to the colour, even if it maybe wasn’t your favourite. Your empty satchel felt like a feather as you wrapped it around your body, then proceeded to look around the shelves. The small, brown box called out to you from the shelves, driving you to pick it up. Inside, there was a small, glass orb. The glass orb could give the user a warning to one’s future at the price of a drop of blood. This let the orb know whose future to read, and helped it to accurately show a glance at one’s future.

               You began your course of action for the drab, amber box that held around about a dozen different tarot cards. You selected the one that stood out of the pile. The cards had a back of black with the national flower painted upon. It was truly a beautiful selection of cards, so you put it into your bag as well, with all the cards held together inside a black card box. It wasn’t in top condition with numerous scratches on the cover, however you didn’t pay any mind to this, considering it was the tarot cards that mattered.

               Deciding to not travel too heavily, you simply place your purse into the satchel, now ready to go. You wait several minutes while sitting at the round table in the back room, eyes straight at the rusty clock. It was ten minutes away from nine in the evening, which was when you were told to be picked up. However, you jumped slightly when you heard a loud, firm knock upon your wooden door, causing the door to threateningly shake, as if it were to fall any moment.

               Quickly, you advance towards the oak door, unlocking it shakily. Your hands shuddering slightly as the brass key in the lock turned. You opened the door just by a peak, to see the royal knight’s eyes shift from staring straightforward at the door, towards you. His eyes widened slightly, yet he was quick to conceal his feelings. The royal knight seemed to be around his early thirties, still looking fairly young despite signs of ageing beginning to form. He wore a cerulean and argent uniform with a plain white sash around his slightly built form. There were several badges on it, indicating that he was of a fairly high status.

               ”Greetings. I came here early to warn you, but it appears that you’re ready.” The knight says, able to see part of your outfit and how nicely you had done your hair compared to beforehand. “Well, I’m glad that we’ll have no rush. We can leave early if you’d prefer. That way, we can be positive, with the utmost certainty that you won’t be late.” The knight suggests, his grey gaze staring at you, waiting for an answer.

               “I guess that’s logical. Let’s be on our merry way then.” You respond, stepping out of your house and locking the door behind you. Afterwards, the guard leads you to a black car that was as spotless as a ballroom floor. Waxed so greatly and excessively that you would’ve mistaken it for some sort of gorgeous eclipse. The windows were lined with a pale gold and there were two small kingdom flags on either side of the back. The guard holds the golden handle and opens the door with ease, gesturing for you to go into the car. In all honesty, this felt a bit sketchy, as though you may be getting kidnapped.

               Despite your thoughts, you complied and simply stepped into the vehicle, resting against the fine, red leather. The front of the car was separated from the back with a wall, which had a screen inside, allowing the person at the back to open or close it as they pleased. You stay still and gaze outside the window, reality starting to come to you. You really were about to meet the prince. You really were in a royal car. You really were summoned. As all this was processed, you gulped nervously.

               “You did amazing, [Name]! I’m so proud of you.” Florian tells you, a bright smile on his lips.

               “I know this is a competition but my god, you are good. I don’t think I can win this.” Florian adds before gazing towards the mountains. Your gaze follows his, resting on how the snow fell gently, like a million feathers upon the ground. You smile gently to yourself, seeing the sunset paint the sky purple and red, all as though it was from an expensive painting brought to life.

               “I only did well thanks to your great advice. Remembering to breathe helped me much more than I would have thought. All of the methods you teach me are very helpful.” You reply gladly.

               ”Gosh, this is tiring. I guess we’re working together now instead of going solo. On the bright side, there’s only one more mountain to go.” Florian reminds         you before pointing his pale finger towards a tall, dark mountain. Clouds hid the top of the mountain, with shadows from the sky cast a cloak of mystery and dread.

               “Are you sure that’s the right mountain? I thought the instructors said that we wouldn’t have to go up a mountain that high.” You speculate, hand on your brow in confusion.

               ”Please, [Name]. My navigation skills are top tier. You’re lucky I’m helping you. Look at the map, I’ve read it perfectly.” Florian responds harshly, obviously stressed. He didn’t have the best map skills, but believed that he could manage. So, he handed the tattered map over to you.

               “Oh, this is supposed to be a competition. Why are you so supportive? Do you have some ulterior motive?” You interrogate him, your gaze breaking away from the frosty mountains and towards your friend with golden strands. His diamond eyes squinted slightly before turning to you. He pouts as he turns to gaze at the mountain again.

               “You’ll feel relieved to know that I don’t. I understand how this competition can benefit us both, however. Enjoying these moments with you along the way is much better. I’d be happy to let you win, [Name].” Florian responds, before his smile fades away and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. While you both chat, you continue to look at the map.

               ”Florian, the map is upside down!” You yell, before sighing heavily. “I can not believe this. This is outrageous. We’ve been walking for a week in the completely wrong direction, Florian!” You complain, a whine escaping your mouth as you kick your legs in a childlike manner.

               “What?! Since when-?” Florian is cut off by a knock. Wait, a knock?

               ”Ma’am, please wake up. I’m terribly sorry to disturb your doze, however we have arrived.” The knight tells you from outside the window, his knuckles gently acting as an alarm for you to wake up to. The knocking had brought you to your senses as your [eye colour] eyes examined the real world around you. Two flashbacks in one night? This was too much for you. You noticed you had a blanket of goosebumps on your skin and that you had been lying there in a cold sweat. Slightly embarrassed, you nod your head.

               ”Yes, it is no problem. Do not apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize for falling asleep in the car.” You reply, your fingers reaching for the handle, only for it to be pulled away by the guard opening the door for you. He had no need to bow, especially since your rank was lower than his. In fact, you were lucky that he was being kind to you at all. You heard many stories of knights who were disrespectful and rude to those in the lower class.

               You step out of the polished black car and as soon as you do, a butler steps inside and drives the cab away. You watch it for a second before following behind the guard towards the palace. As you looked up at it, you felt your jaw drop to the ground. It was more beautiful than the paintings or stories could have ever told you.

               The palace consisted of pearl and white marble on the outside, with gold intricately interrupting the sheet of white, adding more elegance. The palace was so large yet sparkling clean, as though there was a layer of fresh snow, glimmering with beauty and grace in the moonlight. Marble steps led up to the palace. Taking note of this, you were careful of each step you took towards the top of at least dozens of steps, especially as marble was slippery, and looked freshly washed. This made you thankful for the light blue carpet that extended from the landing at the top of the steps and through the closed doors of the palace that hovered over you.

               “We’ve arrived ten minutes early, so please wait in the staff room. Once the prince has summoned you, I’ll ensure somebody comes to guide you to his private library.” The knight informs you. As you both walk towards the main door, two other knights equipped with gleaming gold did some sort of knock on the door, signalling for it to be opened. As the large doors open, you felt all the luxury hit you in the face. Standing in shock at the perfect fairy tale scene. You had no idea that the inside would be able to compete with the extravagance of the outside.

               The walls of the palace were tall and were not shy to show off the expensive foreign wallpaper plastered upon them. The floor was made of black jade, with golden symbols detailed upon the jade. On the ceilings hung chandeliers as if they were made of the most expensive pure diamond, crying droplets of light that illuminated the hallway. There was a bright red carpet on the floor that led up to a set of silver and golden double doors at the end of the hallway.

                “Please follow me, ma’am.” The knight who was accompanying you stated, leading you down the long hallway. You were still in the hall, your eyes gleaming like a child eyeing their Christmas present and your legs nervously wobbly from the thought of the person you were about to encounter. One’s home reflected the person, and if the prince’s home was this grand, then perhaps, you had underestimated just how meaningful, important and powerful the royal family really was. You knew they had the power to kill you without a single person questioning the act, but you had never known that perhaps the empire was larger than you had thought. How were you supposed to know? Books were not exactly of easy access to you, as you had to buy them or pay the entry fee to go inside the public library.

               The knight takes a left, leading you down a different hallway. Stopping at the third door on the right. The door was extravagant, however looked less expensive than the others. The knight proceeded to open the door for you and stepped to the side, his arm pushing the door open.

               “Go inside, ma’am. You will be summoned shortly.” The knight states as you walk through the door, only to jump slightly as the knight lets it slam shut behind you. You look around to see several maids sewing and gossiping on a purple velvet couch. Several butlers and cleaners seemed to be resting as well. It seemed as though you had been put in the staff’s resting quarters. Your feet tapped against the grey and white marble floor. You approached a small, round table colored brass. You sat down on the matching chair nervously, hoping not to catch too much attention. Despite your attempt, one of the maids seem to notice your presence at long last and whispers to the other maids before putting down the scarf she was knitting to approach you. She sits down on one of the four chairs surrounding the table, and smiles kindly at you.

               The maid was wearing the usual black and white outfit, with her hair a shade of premature grey. Looking to be in her late twenties.

               “Hello there, I am Guinevere. I’m the co-head of the south wing’s maids. Are you here for work?” She asks, tilting her head with curiosity.

               “Actually, I’ve been summoned by the prince to tell his fortune. It is lovely meeting you by the way, I am [Name].”

¹ countenance ; a person’s face/expression

Status: Edited

[ship-ambrosia]

Chilumi Week Day 1 - Angel Wings (Family)

I’m so excited to participate in a ship week again, you guys!! I have sooo many ideas for this ship it was really difficult choosing just one prompt for each day lol

Summary: Tonia admires the angel her brother brought home with him.

   It was the first thing Teucer had mentioned after being escorted home.

   No apologies, no hugs for his parents or other siblings. Not even seeing their brother, Ajax, was the first thing out of his mouth. No, it was-

   “I met the nice lady that big brother wrote about in his letters, Tonia!” Teucer exclaimed excitedly, nearly jumping out of his skin. “She was so pretty, and she watched over me while he was away selling his toys! She took me all around Liyue!”

   Her first thought was Wow, Ajax pawned off Teucer to some poor girl he’d only recently met. Of course, Tonia’s interest was still piqued by this - her older brother had never really liked anyone before, never been a people person, while they were growing up. On top of that, she knew the truth about his job; he was a Harbinger for the Tsaritsa, and while he spared her much of the details, she heard stories. She knew what they did. She really wanted to know what this girl was like, to have caught her brother’s attention while he was fulfilling his job for the Archon.

   Once Teucer had been scolded by their mother, Tonia was back to watch duty. They had all been worried sick when he disappeared, relieved only when her oldest brother’s letter arrived and explained that Teucer had somehow made his way to Liyue, and that he would make sure Teucer got back safely. She had him seated in the kitchen with her while she cooked. On and on, Teucer continued to babble about the girl, Lumine.

   “And then, she showed me the courtyard at the top of Liyue! She told me that was where she and big brother met! She said she was in a lot of trouble, but big brother saved her! My big brother is amazing!” Teucer excitedly threw his hands in the air, which made Tonia giggle. She thought she’d like to hear the story from Ajax, himself, when he returned home.

   “I made the nice lady promise to come visit when she gets to Snezhnaya,” Teucer continued. “She’s a traveler! But she made me a pinkie promise, so she has to come!”

   “Oh, then she will definitely be here,” Tonia agreed. “You told her what happens when you break a pinkie promise, right?”

   “Mhm!” He nodded enthusiastically, then began to recite the rhyme. Tonia wished she could have seen the look on the traveler’s face, because she knew the rhyme was a little much for people not from Snezhnaya.

   “...the frost will freeze your tongue off, so you never lie again!” He finished, a proud look on his face.

   “Very good, Teucer,” Tonia turned to him, smiling. “Now, why don’t you tell me about what big brother got you?”

   Her younger brother’s eyes widened comically. “I almost forgot! Big brother took me to his Toy Research factory, where he makes all the Mr. Cyclops! And then he gave me my own Mr Cyclops! Oh, and the nice lady was there too...”

   She continued to listen to him, giggling all the while, wondering what the real story behind Ajax and Lumine taking Teucer through the “Toy Research factory” was.

   There was a restlessness that stirred among the entire family throughout the day, and settled as dusk fell. The Tsaritsa’s Winter Festival was upon them, and Ajax had sent ahead that not only would he be returning to Snezhnaya on the Holy Day, but that he had a guest to bring with him.

   Tonia knew it was Lumine - it had to be. The only other person she could ever see him actually wanting to bring home to them was the Tsaritsa, and even then he’d made it clear he was trying to keep his family away from his business as a Harbinger. She was sure the rest of her family knew it too; Teucer, however, excitable as he was, was the only one to voice their collective thought.

   “Mama and papa are going to meet the nice lady!” He exclaimed. “Tonia and Anthon too!”

   Most of their replies were laughter and encouraging Teucer, but for the rest of it they stayed relatively silent, like they were collectively holding their breath. Even now, as their mother was watching Teucer, Tonia sat with her other brother and the two of them remained quiet. She wasn’t nervous, in fact she was bursting with curiosity. There was just something about it that made no one want to speak.

   The door to their home opened suddenly with no warning, though it swung open agonizingly slow. Both she and Anthon were on their feet in an instant, sharing a glance of bewilderment. Neither of them were truly prepared, and they would be the first to see their brother and his guest.

   Ajax appeared through the door first, and despite her burning lungs, Tonia couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face upon seeing him. It had been so long since she last saw her brother, and yet he looked like he hadn’t changed a day. If it had only been him stepping through the door, this would have been a wonderful day. But it wasn’t; once he had fully crossed the threshold, she saw that there was a white-gloved hand in his own, guiding this girl he had written so much about into their home. She noticed Ajax turn his head to look toward his guest before she saw the Traveler herself.

   Lumine, this girl she had read so much about, how what a strong-willed and skilled warrior she was, looked surprisingly bashful as she followed Ajax inside. Tonia was struck immediately by how pretty she was. Blonde hair and eyes the color of amber honey. She wore a knee-length coat that was also feather white, adorned by white fur that gave her the silhouette of angel wings. Truly, Tonia didn’t think she’d be any more surprised had the girl walked into their home with wings spreading out from her back. She was so ethereal, they would only make sense.

   “Lumine, this is Tonia and Anthon, my other siblings,” Her older brother was the first to speak, probably because both she and Anthon were stunned. “Of course you already know Teucer, wherever he is.”

   The Traveler bowed her head politely toward them. “A pleasure it is to meet you,” her voice was gentle, sweet. Tonia thought it sounded like how she imagined spring, growing up in a land of eternal winter. “Both of your brothers told me so much about the two of you.”

   “Likewise,” it seemed like Anthon had gathered his senses before her, walking over to shake her hand. Tonia was snapped out herself by seeing the look in her younger brother’s eyes. He was starstruck.

   She followed him quickly, instead collecting the other young woman in a warm embrace. She was smiling again when she pulled away. “Jaxy has told us so much about you.”

   Lumine giggled, a sound just as predictably pretty as it could be. “Jaxy?” She looked up toward him, and Tonia watched as her brother suddenly became very interested in the floor. 

   He rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose I forgot to mention what everyone likes to call me.”

   Tonia was so dumbfounded by the blush she saw appearing across his face, that she nearly missed what Lumine said next.

   “Understandably, since all you ever think about is fighting with me!”

   Before either Tonia or Anthon could comment on that statement, she watched as his face rose back to meet her gaze. Ajax put an arm around Lumine, resting his hand on her back. “Come on, let’s go find Teucer. He’s going to lose it if he thinks you didn’t come find him immediately.”

   “You’re probably right, he hasn’t stopped talking about her since he returned from Liyue,” Tonia agreed after she had recovered, indicating them toward the back of the house. “He’s in the den with mother.”

   “Well then, if you’ll follow me, my lady,” her brother flashed his guest a brilliant smile, leading her toward the den. Tonia noticed his hand slide down to her lower back as he guided her.

   She jumped a little, hitting him lightly on the arm, trying to escape his grip. “Ajax!” Her brother simply chuckled, and pulled her closer. But just the sound of his name on her lips made her brother visibly swoon, as though she had never said it before.

   His gaze hadn’t once left Lumine’s face since he looked back to her in the doorway, except for when she had teased him over his nickname. It was even better than Tonia could have imagined. 

   She thought Ajax hadn’t changed a bit from the last time she had seen him, but she saw now that she had been wrong. He was so much softer, his expression, his eyes, his body language. They were quite the sight together, her brother a mix of ginger hair, black and gray and red, while the girl beside him contrasted his appearance with white and gold, like she came down from Celestia itself. Tonia didn’t think it could be more like something straight out of a fairy tale. She had barely known the Traveler for a few minutes, and she knew immediately that her brother was in love.

[musicallisto]

Hi Clara!! Congratulations on 800 followers again!! (also I was looking through your blog and we have the same birthday!! 🥳) I was wondering if I could please have a male Bridgerton ship? I’m an ENFJ, libra, and Hufflepuff if that helps at all. I can be a bit introverted a times but I’m usually a pretty outgoing, kind, and optimistic person! (although I can be a bit sensitive at times lol) Currently I’m studying to be a teacher. My friends/family are very important to me, and I will always try my best to help them it whatever ways I can. As for some things I enjoy, I love to read and write, as well as spend all day watching movies. I’m also interested in signing, acting, etc. and making things with my hands (ie. knitting, embroidery). Thank you so much in advance!! 💛

hiii birthday twin!! <3 you seem like the most fantastic person ever, I love your personality - and your writing, but it goes without saying. I hope you like your vanilla milkshake, but don’t get caught sipping on it unchaperoned with benedict bridgerton, that would be quite the scandal...

Now, was I influenced by your profile picture? Probably. But even without it, you’d be perfect for each other, and let me tell you the story of you both.

For your first society outings, and following your debutante ball, you became the talk of all London. Sure, you were praised far and wide for your beauty, but there was something else, ineffable and far more tender, that caused your name to linger on most gentlemen’s lips.

It was your first season, and yet you had already shown a mesmerizing elegance and poise, as well as an acute optimism and enthusiasm, making your conversation all the more enjoyable to all those you encountered.

Benedict had noticed you on your first ball, when whispers of your name and your every move had spread among the crowd like wildfire, and he had to admit that you were radiant, and your warm and welcoming smile gave you beauty like no other, but bright eyes and rosy cheeks were legion this side of London, and he knew the superficiality of these pretty little faces all too well. He wasn’t intrigued enough to start up a conversation or ask you to dance, and imagined you would be married in a matter of weeks.

But as time went on, and you apparently gracefully declined each proposal you received, Benedict couldn’t help growing a little bit more captivated each time he heard your name. What could you possibly waiting for? You’d had dashing young men bring you presents, you’d had the wealthiest nobles serenade you with flowers and compare you to a summer’s day; you’d had sonnets and promenades and bouquets and jewelry... and yet you had rejected them all, but not out of malice, still with this grace that everyone knew you to have.

Perhaps, and it was a little pretentious of him to dare entertain the thought, but it pleased a small part of his soul nonetheless, perhaps what you were waiting for was a portrait.

Eventually, after having theorized for days about what could possibly prompt such unambiguous refusals from a lady who seemed to have plethora of choice, Lady Whistledown must have deemed your situation to be less worthy of attention, because not scandalous enough, and you, like most other trends and fashions in that everchanging society, became an old tale before you’d even reached your prime.

But paradoxically, exactly when you were no longer the subject of Whistledown’s tittle-tattle, were you the most intriguing to Benedict.

It was then that he finally asked you to dance, under the watchful (and, though she did not show it, agreeably surprised) gaze of Lady Violet Bridgerton.

“You look positively radiant, lady Y/L/N. Your gown is exquisite.”

And he immediately regretted every single word that he had just said; he sounded just like those boring Lords you had rejected one after the other; but he meant it, he truly meant it, for he was just then seeing the hues in your eyes and in your smile, all those colors like those of a vibrant landscape...

If there ever was a time to show the depths of his soul, it was then; but he had always been good at avoiding conversation, not prompting it.

Still, you didn’t drop your beaming smile, and answered with a slight blush.

“Thank you, my lord. It is... oh, you will think it’s silly.”

“Not at all, I promise.”

“You see, you are the first to say that. Other lords have reproached its simplicity, but I am rather fond of it, because I sewed it myself.”

“Really? That’s impressive!”

He found he had little trouble continuing with the conversation after that, because you were so easy to talk to, so understanding of everything he said and so enthralling to get to know. You were creative and great with your hands, an artist, just like him, and it was the first of many things he would love about you.

“Tell me, lord Bridgerton... I have heard that you are quite the artist yourself.”

“Oh, that’s a gross exaggeration, they are but half-good sketches, nothing of interest, truly...”

Yet as he danced the night away with you, he felt as though a new blood surged through his veins, ready to craft the most beautiful pieces the world had ever seen, if only they could resemble the colors of your face.

“Well, I would love to see these half-good sketches someday, if you allow. I am sure they are brilliant.”

You had never seen a lord blush before, especially not a Bridgerton. It made your heart soar like it had rarely before.

“If you so wish. I couldn’t possibly refuse a lady.”

All along the ride back home, Benedict has the hugest, silliest grin on his face as he looks wistfully at the night sky.

“If it is what it takes to see my beloved brother swoon like a simpleton, then I will come to society balls more often.”

“Eloise, do not talk of your brother like that!”

But she’s right - it only took one night for him to be completely enraptured by you. He understands what they all meant when they couldn’t keep your name out of their mouths, when they said you were delightful and spirited... but they all hurried with their proposals, without getting to know you first, without listening to you, without discovering the depths of your character, and it’s all he wants all he can think about.

The next morning, he’s at your doorstep with a bouquet, and, of course, tightly wrapped inside it so as to not draw suspicion, a few of his sketches, ones that he drew the evening prior because his mind was too restless to sleep.

And thus begins a long period of courtship that has all of London in a frenzy. Surely no one expected the second eldest Bridgerton and the former diamond to have an affinity for each other. Truly no one.

“My Benedict has his heart set on an accomplished lady, a beautiful and clever one at that - this truly is the season of surprises! All a fulfilled mother would need now is for your brother to be the next to mend his ways...”

“And all his brother would need now, mother, is an escape from this interminable paperwork, but alas.”

You can often be seen promenading together in Hyde Park - you enjoy the company of the squirrels and the geese as much as he loves taking in the sceneries to later paint them.

“Y/N, pardon me if it is too bold of me to ask, but why are you not engaged yet? Surely you must have had a plethora of charming young men propose to you...”

“Handsome they were, but hardly charming. Oh, they all had plenty of qualities... an estate by the sea, a racing stable with twenty horses, a spot in the throne succession... but, oh, I care little if this is unbecoming of me to say, they were all so boring! None of them had half the charm that you have. The hours fly by when I am with you, Benedict, and I am entirely truthful when I say I have never felt as content as I feel with you.”

Everyone is London is awaiting the moment they’ll see you with a ring on that finger, but it seems to never come; yet everything is idyllic and your courtship and, beyond that, in your friendship, and he sincerely knows that he is irrevocably and utterly in love with you. But he just doesn’t dare ask.

To the point that Benedict’s entourage give him signals that it is now or never. Even Anthony, though with varying success.

“If you don’t propose to Lady Y/L/N, brother, I will.”

(And no one believed that.)

“Fine, I will, then!”

“Eloise!”

But what he has with you is so special that he’s terrified of rushing things. What if you are not ready, what if he is not as interesting, just as boring as the other men you turned down? What if he read everything wrong? What if...

Until he shoots his shot. It’s not nearly as romantic as he expected, because he fumbles over his words a few times and almost drops the ring in the Hyde Park lake...

... but given the enthusiasm with which you nod and embrace him - not caring about the passerby’s judging gazes -, he’s not sure why he agonized over it so much.

It’s self-evident that your love story is one for the ages.

800 follower sleepover

[vminity21]

Brittle Leaf | jjk

Pairing: elf!Jeongguk x Princess!reader, fantasy!au

Word Count: 2,010

Genre: magic/fluff/soft

Warning(s): none other than I did not edit; Rated: pg

Summary: When you are distraught over your future of becoming queen, an elf shows up to give you the magic of adventure, making all of your dreams come true. credit to @suhdays​ for creating such a beautiful cover!

Elf ears hide beneath the blanket of dark strands bundled into an Archer’s hat shifting through the tall grass until he nears a slight opening. Every day he comes here. Always around the same time when the sun is at its brightest, and the singing birds melodize the atmosphere with songs of exuberance, and the woodland creatures dance along the open paths. Searching the clearing, he finds you in the same spot, wearing a chiffon dress, next to the Giant Tree of Dreams dawning a rose crown, anxiously speaking of frustrations without taking a breath.

Fascination spills over his expression each time he sees you, yet he remains unseen in hopes of one day gaining the courage to approach you. He knows who you are, and he knows one day you will be coronated to rule the kingdom, but with the stresses pouring from your tongue, he has gathered that it is not a duty you wish to fulfill.

“I do not understand why it is my responsibility to rule a kingdom that I know nothing about! I want to create a bakery or a flower garden or-or-or an undergarment facility!” Silence follows from your response as you awkwardly shake your head in evident desperation. “I just do not want to be a Queen! I want to be free!” You speak to the tree as if it can hear you, and the myth of its powers have not been heard of in centuries. The mere beauty of the tree is what draws individuals to visit it, but you always pick a time of the day where you assume you are alone. “I mean really, who wants to listen to a woman like me? I have no desires to create rules or force people to do as they are told. I want to create lemon cakes or roses or lace dresses. Why must I be succumbed to- Ah!” Gasping, your head spins to where the towering grass sways in the light breeze for you heard an unexpected rustle. You do scare easily as your servants have learned to wear bells around their wrists when entering your designated areas of the castle, and your father has never understood your skittish nature nor have you. Eyes sweeping the scenery for any clues, you swallow roughly in preparation to continue your rampage.

“Hello Princess.”

“Oh!” The one syllable scream reverberates into the cloudless sky, jolting to face a timid man who bows at your presence. Furrowing your eyebrows, mouth still horrendously ajar, you observe the gentle way he poises himself upright, a hat gripped within his fingers. “I- Since you seem to know who I am kind sir; may I ask who you are?” Sparse leaves flutter from the tree, nestling onto the ground surrounding the pair of you though it goes unnoticed. Magic zaps through the roots of the tree in response to the moment unfolding for it has not felt an encounter so delicate in what seems like an eternity.

“I am Jeongguk, Madam,” he speaks softly as if to calm you and your pounding heart, “I generally do not make an appearance to humans, but I could not help but notice how distraught you are.”

“Distraught? Me? Distraught is an understatement.” You scoff incredulously to appear tough, but the way his umber eyes greet your soul, you almost feel at ease. Almost. You feel an urge to step closer to him in genuine curiosity, a strong feeling to connect with him, and fear uptakes for you have never felt so enchanted by anyone before. “You say humans as if you are not one. If not human, what are you?”

“I am an elf, Madam,” he replies peacefully, thumbs pressing tightly into the rim of his hat, “I watch over the creatures of the forest. It is my duty to ensure their safety as well as the nature they reside in.”

“You? You are an elf?” Mesmerized by his beauty, you are elated to hear that elves still exist in your world for you have heard of their golden souls but have yet to encounter one. “I thought they had gone extinct! You are responsible for the liveliness of this world. You are what makes this place special.”

A smirk quirks shyly at the corner of his lips at your words, “And you are what makes this kingdom special. That is why you are meant to be queen.”

Doubt clouds your countenance because deep down, you know you are fearful of being a ruler, and you feel as though you need more time to adjust to your hobbies before latching down to be what is expected of you. “I don’t know,” you murmur, sadness etched in your voice. “I hardly think I am ready.”

“What is it you dream of?”

His question sparks you by surprise, and despite him already having some ideas of what you long for, he waits patiently as your eyes flit in concentration, “Adventure.” You reply, finalizing your thoughts with the one simple answer that collects all definitions into one. “I want to bake a pie, grow a sunflower, run through the mountains, design a magnificent dress….” The words die on your lips with the other dream you have always wished for but never have been given the chance, and unbeknownst to you, the Giant Tree of Dreams has heard your every word for the first time since you have stumbled upon it. “And,” you whisper, “I dream to fall in love.”

Love is a mystery to you, especially the thought of meeting a prince that promises to make all your dreams come true. It has never happened- even attending the annual ball, you lounged through the crowd anticipating the sudden lock of a gentleman’s eyes, but alas, it never came. What has ignited your frustrations to be ranted to the massive tree, is the orders your father gives you that makes you dread the day you are crowned Queen. You have not even had the slightest taste of adventuring in the unknown, and it would be nice if your father would let you experience a life before being forever adorned.

Jeongguk is quiet, taking your dreams in when he catches purple sparkles glimmering sporadically along the tree trunk which widens his eyes. He has heard of the myths growing up, he was taught of the old tales by his parents, and one remedy for reviving the tree was the quest of two individuals, who are destined to be together, meet in the one place where both of you are standing. So, it is true, his mind whirls in a cycle of mixed emotions because he never thought the universe would unify an elf with a human especially a human of royal descent. I knew it was you.

“Sir, Jeongguk?” You voice after what feels like an hour of silence, “Are you alright?”

Returning his gaze to you, he nods, “Follow me,” and he offers his hand while confusion enters your expression.

“Wha- Where are we going?”

“Exactly where we are meant to go.”

When he takes your hand, he runs- nearly tripping you in the process, but with the energy booming across your heart, you know this soul before you is about to make everything worthwhile. Magic. You have never felt something so surreal, something so flawless the moment he clutched your hand; running through the fields, he brought you to a bustling town where elves are seen left to right. The tips of their ears exposed through their hair, and their attire coinciding with the country view. When smells of scrumptious delights waft along your nostrils, your immediately turn to him, “Is there- is there a bakery here?” The way he smiles down at you. The way his eyes bring happiness. Your heart leaps in reaction.

“The finest around,”

Giddily, he leads you into a bakery where oversized tarts, cakes, puddings, and breads welcome you among the workers, and you are pleasantly surprised when Jeongguk swoons the women to show you how to bake your most favorite lemony treats. Flour and sugar dust the entire kitchen, Jeongguk flicking some ingredients at you teasingly while you swipe icing across his cheek. The next endeavor brings on a dress shop, where a dainty elf named Hoseok bows at your arrival, sunshine gleaming off his skin while he shows you the latest designs.

“I have always wanted to design my own dress, but I do not think I will ever compare to the masterpieces you have sewn.” You say in awe, fingers gliding along the fabrics of the most majestic gowns to have ever blessed your vision. “Oh, Sir Hoseok, I must have them all!”

His chuckle brings warmth to you and Jeongguk’s soul as he bows in flattery, “Why thank you, my fair lady. Whatever you wish, I will design.”

“Construct what you feel will make the most beautiful queen in all the land,” you wink wholeheartedly though inwardly any dress he construes will make any woman the most beautiful in all the land.

“As you wish,” he bows one more time before you and Jeongguk exit the dress shop you have seen in your slumbers. It was then, after hours of excitement, you wonder where Jeongguk will lead you next. Fondly gazing at him, you wonder how someone so genuine could make a woman, you assume he has never seen before, so happy to the point that she is flying. And you wonder why he is doing everything in his power to make your dreams, no matter how small, come to life in the most serene way.

You are not even aware of the countless rows of numerous flowers decorating an entire field, even standing as tall as trees, bending over to make a colorful path, because your eyes have yet to leave him. Farther into the lush the pair of you venture, laughter serenading the world as the sun shines brighter, and you hope it never ends. If this is what it is like to find a future of love, you hope Jeongguk will always stay. Grasping his forearms, you plop into the fallen petals while he gapes above you, carefully steadying your rolling frames while his nose scrunches with the widest smile you have ever seen. His indescribable beauty. How did he know to find you?

“How are you real?” You whisper, head spinning with so many questions, yet so little time before you must return to the castle. It will not be long until your father notices your absence, yet you could care less. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I did not know where,” his tender stare leaves you breathless, “I just happened to hear your voice one day while I was checking the grounds. I could not take my eyes off you, and for months, I always came to listen to your heart for I felt that you needed someone who heard your wishes.”

“You have known me for months?” Widen eyes show your honest realization, “But why did you not introduce yourself sooner?”

Sorrow heavies his lids, but only for a moment, “Because I no longer wanted you to doubt your worth for ruling the kingdom… And I wanted to give you an adventure of other depths of the world so you will know who else would bow to your glory. We only want to serve you, my Queen.”

There are no words that form. Rendered speechless, your fingertips move to trace his face that is now lowering a few centimeters from yours, his breath warming your lips, deepening the desire tingling along your skin. “Kiss me,” so quietly for only his ears to hear, completing your final wish, he leans in, capturing your kiss as effortless and soft as a delicate flower petal. Fingertips smooth into his hair while he kisses you- tethering every doubt, mending every sadness, completing every mystery you wished to know.

This is not the end of your future with this beautiful being.

For he has plenty adventures, he is destined to show you.

[way-to-the-future]

#29: Blaire - Debonair

((cw: explicit sexual content))

Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain is the best of us. Genial, athletic, brilliant. Sincere, stalwart, and accountable. Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain’s leadership is natural: he is a cousin of Dzemael blood, through the marriage of his aunt Euridice to Silvain de Dzemael-Hauteville. Yet he is not pretentious or churlish, but always fair-handed, even with those who are his lesser. His good humor is endless and quite mild, and he restricts himself always to maintain that veneer of high courtesy even when among his peers, knowing how young men of that age can often lead themselves to ruin through low morals and the encouragement of friends. The demoiselles swoon when he passes; the professors always turn to him first in seeking an answer. Fortunate me, that I can share in a fraction of his glory: Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain has roomed with me these last few months, each of us squires to the honorable knight lady Elodie du Pont de la Gardie.  Even in this matter, he exceeds me, being far better suited to the physical and the servile.

               I hate Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain.

               Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain smiles his cloying smile, each trite and dismissive look a question unasked, why are you not more like me? Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain cozens up to our joint mistress, flattering her arm and her grace, whose favor I would hardly contest did it not mean that I was left with the more egregious of our chores. I am jealous, yes; Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain can run faster, longer, bear a greater weight, weened as he was on the milk of only the stoutest hinterlands nursemaids. Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain, with his golden cropped hair and shining grey eyes, brings a different lass every second night into our chambers, uttering in hoarse ravings the same tired promises: I love you, I need you, please stay. He cannot think that I do not hear his graceless humping through the door that separates our rooms. None of this would I mind very much, were it not for that look the following morning – how did you sleep? Any bad dreams?

               Yet for all the more he has, still Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain is capable of envy, the glutton. More than once has he noticed my stumbling return from screeching nights in the lower city; more than once has he asked me how the common folk ‘really get on,’ presuming that I could describe to him some suitably vulgar tale to encapsulate decades spent kissing his sole. I note the unconscious edge to his tone, his stance: how could it be, in this city of his birth, that there remains anything outside of his dominion? And there, the root lies.

               Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain hesitates but a breath too long, and it forces him to encounter his pride. He’s not afraid of any brute or brigand with whom I associate in my few hours away from his gleaming palace. He could outdo any one of them, if it came to it.

               He follows me in his darkest cloak, hood drawn, forgetting that sable and soft felt don’t do anything to help one blend in down here. He sticks close, even through the door of the Knight’s Gibbet; I can almost hear his scandalized mutterings, even with my face turned to greet the tavern floor. His presence hangs behind me as I find us a suitable table among the stifled hunters and pickpockets, frightened and all the more volatile for it. Do you know how to play dead king’s round, asks one of our tablemates, haggard from weeks in the western forest. I can learn, says Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain. Of course he can.

               The atmosphere is unfamiliar to him; the weight of the smoke, the quality of the drink, the way the draft makes all patrons huddle together around their dice and cards. Don’t mind, Aubrey, the way they look at you past their cards. A hand under the table, gripping the thigh, is merely a sign of friendship. It would be an insult for men of our means to wager coin.

               Aubrey’s hands are clammy and clenched around mine in the dark of the back rooms. Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain has never been so scared, nor quite so unable to dismiss me, as when he watches one of our victorious fellow patrons shuck me of my silk breeches and put his tongue between my cheeks, bending me over a creaking table. At my request, none of them touch him; none of them would stop him, if he were to flee. But Aubrey, grey eyes gleaming under his hood with a kind of new jealousy, watches the other three step up one or two at a time to take out all the frustrations of a wasted life in the brume on soft, pale flesh. Is there anything of another man you will not wish to possess for yourself, having seen it?

               I’m resting my sweat-streaked brow on the table when I feel his hands, delicate and strong, take me by the hips. It’s Aubrey’s voice that apologizes, that stifles a sigh when he realizes what these brutes and brigands have enjoyed and he has been denied for months. I hear that voice curl in stunned delight when our friends crowd around to touch him. Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain, poor and fallen knight, scarcely has time to put the evidence of his jealousy so deep it makes me quiver when he’s bent over my back, too, and I hear him cry out. The weight, the force of it is almost too much to bear, but I will bear it to hear him pant and struggle, trapped by his own misplaced desire. Finally, something genuine.

               Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain snivels and weeps with need all through it, pressing desperate kisses to the back of my neck when he can keep himself from flailing about. I love you, he sighs, I need you. My nails dig into the coarse wood of the table as I feel him pulse again, overcome by the stimulation. Please stay. With suppressed, exhausted humor, I realize the fool means it; for a moment, perhaps, I am obliged to feel the same.

               Not that it matters. Not that Aubrey will acknowledge the shame, nor the lack awoken in him, once we have left the delirium of that darkened cellar. Aubrey du Val-Ceaustain does not smile at me again for the whole period of our service to Elodie du Pont de la Gardie – but nights pass, when we are both alone, that I can hear him through our thin wooden walls, visiting me in his very worst dreams.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar's Dreamscape: The Garden of Two Lovers

@miki-13 asked "Okay I know we didn't get a lot of Oscar backstory, but I really do think that after the V8 finale, there's a new avenue to explore with Oscar. Why? Because as far as he knows, his friends, partner and love interest are dead. The people he's grown to care for over the course of V5-8 are suddenly gone. There's no way that's not gonna hurt him, even if Ozpin assures him that they're not dead. Because either way, he's been forcibly separated from them.

Heck, this could actually open up an avenue for him to talk about his own family life and why he lives with his aunt. Not to mention one of his allusions is to The Little Prince and he just arrived in a desert after leaving his Rose behind, and the whole story deals with death in general.

Actually, maybe that's how Oscar gets his semblance/ branches out with his magic! He wants to find the people he loves so badly and refuses to give up on them, that he finds a way to get the void/ communicate with them and possibly find a way to lay the groundwork for bringing them back!

Squiggles Answers:

Hey there Miki-chan. Pardon the late reply but I wanted to reserve my response to this as a new Pinehead headcanon post considering that, ironically, you and I share the same thoughts and theories about Oscar reaching out.

The idea I had is that Oscar would be able to connect to Ruby in the Other World in his dreams. Once again, I return to my old Oscar’s Dreamscape Pinehead headcanon from donkey years ago. Essentially, through his unyielding love for his rose and his deep desires to reunite with her again in some shape or form, Oscar unintentionally creates the Dreamscape.

And what the Dreamscape is is that it is this magical place that transcends reality and only exists through the shared bond between Oscar and Ruby. Picture a shallow stagnant sea that mirrors an endless sunset sky. A perfect blend of the warm embrace of the sun and the tranquil beauty of the moon that paves the path towards a small garden that sits in the middle of this mysterious magical place.

And it is in this garden where Oscar meets Ruby in his dreams and vice versa.

Remember how it was said that the Little Prince fairy-tale ended ambiguously with the reader never knowing the truth of the prince’s fate after he was poisoned by the snake and “went to sleep”.

Some iteration believed the prince to have died and gone back to his home planet in spirit to be with his rose while another interpretation described the Prince returning home only to discover that his rose had died in his absence without him present to take care of her.

Either way, the allusion is that the prince does indeed reunite with his rose but in a manner that is still tragic when you look at it. Going off of that, this is why I love the concept of Oscar connecting to Ruby in sleep with the two meeting and communicating with each other in their dreams through unknown power originated from Oscar. Only it’s NOT exactly a semblance. Nor is it exactly magic either.

One of my favourite quotes from the Lost Fable episode back in V6 is when Jinn described a power much greater than magic that caused Salem and Ozma to recognize one another in their new lives.

“…Call it magic or call it something stronger, but in that moment, the two knew exactly who stood before them…”

In the Lost Fable, Jinn made it seem as if loveis an element more powerful than even the likes of magic; as cheesy as that might sound. So if love is able to transcend life and death to cause two kindred souls to recognize each other in another life in another time time, what’s stopping it from transcending worlds to bring together another pair of kindred souls?

So as corny as this is going to sound, the hopeless romantic in me cannot help but swoon over the thought of love being what creates the Dreamscape and/or brings Ruby and Oscar together in such a place that only they can traverse.

It is a power that was born from Ruby and Oscar’s shared love for one another and desire to reunite with each other and thus it’s a power that only they share together. The Rosegarden in the Dreamscape is theirs.

In the beginning, on the first night the two reunite in their dreams, the Dreamscape was believed to be solely of Oscar’s doing but in reality, it was a special new world that belonged to both the little prince and his true rose alone.

Okay, hear me out with this one. The reason why I’m thinking the Dreamscape was believed to be Oscar’s power alone in the beginning was because when it all started, the Dreamscape mainly reacted to Oscar. On his end, let’s say…Oscar wished so desperately to see Ruby again that unbeknownst to him; the Dreamscape was forged just so Oscar could accomplish his heart’s wish---to see his rose.

Thus, Oscar is able to see Ruby in their dreams and she in turn is able to see and talk to him between worlds but only in sleep. However, that is extent of the Dreamscape through Oscar’s influence. The two can communicate but they can’t physically touch or feel one another.

Because I have this idea of Ruby and Oscar growing closer to each other than they’ve ever been before since they’re able to meet in Dreamscape. However it’s also this painful thing where despite being together in their dreams, they’re still not together when they are constantly reminded that they can’t touch each other.

Like imagine a moment where the two rosebuds are bonding in the Dreamscape, trying to come up with way to reunite together, swapping backstories and secrets about themselves with each other that they’ve never told anyone else only for one of them---mainly Oscar--- to get lost in the euphoria of the moment and attempt to reach out and touch the other person only to be painfully reminded, that they’re not truly there. They’re still separated despite how close the Dreamscape has brought them.

The only time when the Dreamscape is actually able is to make Ruby and Oscar interact physically is when that becomes Ruby’s wish.

Okay, hear me out again.

I have this scenario in my head where Oscar suffers a mental breakdown as a result of being poisoned during an encounter with Tyrian Callows. Remember how Tyrian’s venom caused Qrow to suffer and hallucinate back in V4?

Well picture something similar with Oscar where he falls into a sort of light coma as a result of being poisoned. Let’s say…as a result of the venom, Oscar is transported to the Dreamscape where ALL of his inner demons---the true feeling and fears he’s been suppressing for a long time---suddenly manifest inside this world to torment him and berate him.

And let’s say…on the other end, in the Other World, Ruby becomes worried for Oscar’s well-being when he doesn’t make contact with her in the Dreamscape for some time. And let’s say…due to her connection with Oscar, which became stronger as a result of them bonding in the dream world, Ruby is able to sense when something is wrong with Oscar due to her having a weird feeling in her chest. Almost as if her heart was beckoning her somewhere else. To take her to the person she wanted to see who needed her help. Or something like that.

In a nutshell, Ruby is able to enter the Dreamscape on her own through her connection with Oscar. At first, Ruby mostly relied on Oscar to bring her to the Dreamscape but when Oscar was in trouble, Ruby used their link to take her there as an alternative means.

To make a long theory short, Ruby arrives in the Dreamscape to find the once magical dream world in dark chaos ---basically imagine being on the outside of a tornado.

The Dreamscape had turned into a rampant storm to reflect Oscar’s darkest inner emotions which were spiralling out of control before Ruby’s very eyes.

Remember how in Steven Universe, in the episode that debuted the “Here Comes A Thought” song, remember how Steven’s true feelings about Jasper, Bismuth and his mother started to manifest before him and Connie while they were fused as Stevonnie during training?

Picture a moment like that with Oscar in the Dreamscape where Oscar’s fears take form---at first taking on the appearance of Oscar’s old self dressed in his old farm boy attire belittling Oscar for leaving home to be among people who he didn’t fully believe trusted or even actually cared him---unearthing Oscar’s thoughts and repressed emotions from the events of V6.

Then the Dreamscape manifests Ironwood to belittle Oscar for his repressed emotions from the events of V7. Then it transforms into Salem to taunt and humiliate Oscar over his repressed trauma as a result of being her prisoner during the events of V8 and being tortured.

You get what I’m saying, right? Whatever Oscar has been repressing for so long, the Dreamscape manifests it as a being of spite to through it all back in Oscar’s face when he was most vulnerable. Finally, as Ruby enters the fray, the Dreamscape takes on a new form.

Here’s another concept to toss onto the Fake Rose table. Imagine if…the Fake Rose isn’t another silver eyed warrior or rose-themed person who takes an interest in Oscar.

What if…the Fake Rose is actually a replica of Ruby manifested by the Dreamscape to reveal Oscar’s true feelings and fears in respect to Ruby?

Assuming that you’re an ole-school Potterhead like yours truly Miki-chan, remember the last book/movie?

Remember that one scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows involving the locket? Remember how the locket made an apparition of Harry and Hermione appear before Ron to voice his jealousy and inferiority when compared to Harry especially in the eyes of Hermione who he believed loved Harry over him.

Picture something like that with a Fake Ruby Rose---Mocking Oscar over his “childish” love for his rose, as if he actually stood a chance of being with her given the Merge and any other insecurities that Oscar secretly harboured that he’d supressed for so long.

Picture that. Imagine…something like that happening so that it could ultimately lead into Ruby denouncing ever fear of Oscar’s voiced by her fake copy as this rose---the one true rose did her best to comfort her prince.

It’s a moment where Ruby words unfortunately don’t reach Oscar. Thus, Ruby tries to one way she’s always reached out to him. Through a gentle comforting touch. In that moment, Ruby wishes for Oscar to feelher there beside him.

To feel her arms wrapped around him and the warmth of the hug she dared to give him since she wanted more than anything to be able to comfort him through the storm. And for a second time, through the power of love (mixed in with just a smidge of their share magic inherited from the God of Light possibly), the Dreamscape grants Ruby’s wish and Oscar is able to feel her for the first time since they met in the dream world. To feel her arms around him as she embraced him tightly with all the love and care for him she could channel in that moment.

And just like that, all becomes calm as the storm disappeared; softening to a gentle breeze against a beautifully sunlit sky; revealing two hearts embraced; once seperated but now together at long last in the world of their own created from their shared love.

Basically picture the Dreamscape as this magical world brought to life by the love and heart’s desires of two star-crossed lovers separated by fate and lost to two realities. Thus the Dreamscape mirrors the feelings and grants the desires of these two lovers since they are the rulersof said world as its creators. Thus it is a world that is only attainable by them. A world of their own. A world of dreams to grant the wishes of two lost souls in love.

I’d love to go more in depth into this revised Dreamscapeidea of mine for the Rosegarden pair. However for the time being, this is concept that I have in mind and is all that I have to share for now. What do you think?

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

[bladesappreciationweek]

Resources for Day Five: The Realm of Light

From Prince Aerin to Farin Starfury, the Realm of Light is full of inspiration! Looking for something off the beaten path? You could illustrate some of the old Myths, make an edit of a mythical beastie, or tell of a story about that overly-attractive side-character we were blessed with for a single scene. The possibilities are endless! 

Assembled Transparents | Lore 

Quotes: 

”There’s so much wonder and beautiful in the realms, [MC]. It’d be a shame if you didn’t experience it all.” Mal

Characters: 

Kade | Threep | The Royal Family | The Starfurys | Kaya | Ellara and Xiaus | Skull Crusher & Ventra Tal Kaelen | Mermaid | Voxper

signal boosts appreciated

Prince Aerin:

“It’s not just that he’s the oldest. He’s also the favorite. Handsome, bold, outgoing...a great hunter and warrior...nothing like me. 

“At least i have my books. I love reading of all the realms, even if I rarely get a chance to visit them.”

“Is it really so hard to believe? My reflexes are well-honed after a life with him as my brother.”

“I’ve learned how to defend myself...I just wish I’d started defending others sooner.”

“I’ve already accepted my place. And it’s in my brothers shadow.”

“The scholars of White Tower say that once something is lost, it cannot be restored. Once something’s corrupted, it’s impossible to bring it back to the Light.”

“You know, this is all extremely un-princely of me.”

“it’s silly but I used to believe there must be some kind of magic that could make my brother like me, or my parents notice me.”

“I fear there are more trials to come. For all of us...”

“Dearest brother, may I suggest paying the terrifying orc mercenary what she’s owed?”

“Until the stars align for us again...”

“As far as princes go, you’re not half bad.” Mal

Threep

“Every day my wisdom is valued less and less around here.”

“It’s true, we’re pampered little things.”

“I am quite a gift, aren’t I?”

“May I remind you that I am a nesper, imbued with nearly two millenia of wisdom, from a far more glorious age than you can even imagine?”

“Offerings of food are always acceptable. Elven cream cakes and honey-wine, perhaps?

“I’m not a prude. I simply don’t understand why you people must burden the mating process with all that messy...kissing and such.”

“I somehow imagined nespers would be more...majestic.” Tyril

“Fine, but when you wake up in the middle of the night and find the adorable cat-bat gnawing on your face, don’t come crying to me.” Mal

“Wait, ‘Exalted One’? The cat?” Imtura

Adrina Starfury:

“I’m this one’s little sister. Though he likes to pretend he’s an old child.”

[To Duchess Xenia] “We are nothing like you!” 

“It was Adrina who attacked Duchess Xenia when she had us all under her spell. It was Adrina who saved us all. She is the future of House Starfury.” Tyril

“I swear, if you’re more excited about the nesper than me...” Tyril

Lord Valir Starfury

“My son. I thought you were dead. We all did. That you’d been overcome with the same and...and...”

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen both my children smiling at the meal table.”

“Adrina, you are a worthy heir to my house.” 

Farin Starfury:

“You cannot trust anyone outside our house, son of my blood. Did you not learn that at your father’s knee?”

“You cannot trust in friendship, nor love, nor vows of loyalty, only to the strength of our house and our blood.”

“The Lords of Starfury do not flee. You cannot show cowardice before the other houses.”

“[MC] is right, honored ancestor. It is my friendships, my love for my friends that will let me restore our house. Not posturing and competition.” Tyril

Kaya Duskraven: 

“She was humble, funny, compassionate. She cared deeply for those in need, and always kept my ego in check. She helped me see how to be a better person. She opened my eyes to the world.” Tyril

“We shared great Kilvali, emotional connection. Our souls sang together.” Tyril “I think what kit’s asking is if you two...you know...did the thing.” Mal

“Kaya Duskraven was a kind, caring, and compassionate friend! And you’re not worth the earth she stood on!” Tyril

“Kaya Duskraven was the bravest, cleverest, noblest elf I have ever met. She abhorred injustice and fought for knowledge and understanding. She taught me so much. To honor our past as elves but to also challenge it. To right the wrongs of our forebears. She gave her life trying to under the harm done by the Shadow Court.” Tyril

“We miss you greatly, Kaya. May you walk among the stars.” Tyril

King Arland:

Prince Baldur:

“I’m something of a collector of exotic beasts, you see...”

“And I yearn for the swooning damsels who will flock to my palace to hear my heroic tale of slaying the drakna queen.”

“All his life, Baldur’s been told he’s destined for the crown. He acts as though he’s invincible...because he is.” Aerin

“I just wish he would change. Open his eyes to the world. Set aside some of his pride...be a good brother.” Aerin

“In case you haven’t noticed, he isn’t the brightest.” Aerin

Ellara:

“Looked like you could use a hand, my love.”

“The shadow forces are many, but they are weak.”

King Xiaus: 

[Ellara asks what to do] “We fight. We die. And we pray that one day, a hero will rise to avenge us.”

Mermaid:

“You’re not...going to lure me to my watery death or anything are you?” asks MC.

Scholar Vash:

“Save your energy, Priestess. These are no mortal wounds. The rot of darkness has infected me.”

Skullcrusher:

“[When you stare] Lookin’s free kid, but everything else will cost ya.” 

“I said no re-matches.”

Ventra Tal Kaelen:

“I have an entire army at my command. I say the word, and they bring me the sun itself. What I need is an heir. Someone reliable. Someone i can trust to carry on my legacy.”

“She’s too busy focusing on whether I’m a suitable princess to see what my true talents are.” Imtura

‘To be honest, I’ve always hoped that if I run long enough, or far enough away, she might give up on me...” Imtura

Voxper: 

“By the laws of the old pact, forged between man and beast, you have played with me. I now owe you a boom.”

[mommymooze]

Gautier Girl

You are a proud member of the Blue Lions. Land of honor and chivalry, knights and duty, respect for the monarchy and the territory that you hail from, at least until you came to Garreg Mach and join the Officers Academy. Your father is a proud member of the Gautier soldiers protecting the territory from the invaders of the north. You had never been to the Margrave’s residence, they were a very private family and kept to themselves. The first time you had actually met the son of Margrave Gautier was when introductions were made on the first day of class. Certainly, Sylvain looked the part of the son of the noble house. His bright red hair is unruly curling loosely across his forehead, his strong chin, and coppery eyes sparkle in the sunlight prove he is an attractive and dashing young man. Then he opens his mouth and that all falls by the wayside. If he is not rudely and disrespectfully taunting and tormenting his friends, he is chasing after or drooling for almost every girl in the academy.

You head to the training grounds after dinner to work on your lance skills. Ingrid is there and helps you find tune your warmup exercises and drills. When you both stop for a drink of water you casually ask her how she knows Sylvain. Ingrid immediately stops what she is doing and looks you straight in the eye.

“Take my advice, stay away from Sylvain. He has broken more hearts than I can count!” She angrily snaps.

“Oh, it’s not that. Not at all. I am from Gautier territory and had not met him until I came here. I’m shocked by his behavior. I am in awe of you trying to keep him in line.” You say, not quite truthfully.

“Good.” Ingrid says. “He is terrible. He even flirted with my grandmother when we were young, can you believe it?”

“Yeah, definitely a heartbreaker.” You laugh in response.

You continue practicing as Ingrid leaves. You feel ashamed of yourself, lying to a noble, lying to Ingrid! Yes, you had seen Sylvain in the past, riding through the towns of Gautier, looking like a hero with a purpose, his hair waving behind him like it was on fire. He was the most impressive man you had ever seen, so handsome, and you had fallen in love with him at first sight.

However, here at the officer’s academy, Sylvain hardly gave you the time of day. On a good day he smiles or winks at you, but that was it. Yeah, you were a late bloomer and more of a tomboy than a girly girl, but why did it frustrate you so much? When you accompanied the Blue Lions in battle, he was always focused on his friends. How could you get him to notice you?

You head to the library and check out every single book on the Gautier territory and the Sreng. When you go to the market you would beg the booksellers to find books regarding Sreng, their history, their stories, anything to find out more about them. You were able to procure a few books, but not a lot of information.

Then the war started. Everyone heads home, including you. You join the army protecting Gautier territory. You march alongside other soldiers, working hard to get yourself transferred to the forces closest to the borders. You learned about the towns and villages in the area and finally strike paydirt. You find Betka, a Sreng woman. It takes knowing her some time before she admits to her heritage. She tells her story of how she had been out hunting close to Gautier lands. An elk had turned on her, she was seriously hurt. A huge storm was on the way when a Gautier soldier found her and brought her in from the storm. He sheltered her, helped her heal from her injuries and fell in love with her. They have been married for ten years now. Any time your garrison was stationed at the town, you would stay with them. Betka and her husband teach you Sreng customs, tell you their tales and stories, speak of their gods, and most importantly, the language.

It was summer in Gautier territory, four years after the war started with the Empire. There were less soldiers to guard the borders since so many were demanded by the kingdom to boost defenses in Fhirdiad. You were on a watchtower, scanning the lands at the border. You notice a Sreng hunting party coming closer. You decide you need to engage them before the other soldiers catch sight of them. Taking your lance you run in their direction. Fortunately, you were not followed. The Sreng party notices you. You hold your spear in both hands above your head. They talk among themselves then one of the hunting party walks towards you and throws their spear into the ground at your feet. You throw your spear into the ground next to theirs. You then begin speaking with the Sreng female in front of you. You talk for almost twenty minutes, she then turns, whistles, makes a motion with her hands, and the hunting party heads the opposite direction. You both pick up your spear and head back over the border line.  

As you approach the watchtower there are now quite a few soldiers gathered around the base of the tower. You feel odd as they don’t say a word. Then they tell you to go up the stairs. Waiting at the top of the tower is Sylvain.

“Hello (y/n), it’s been a while.” Sylvain’s face is hard to read, there is a bit of a smile but also a look of concern.

You are gasping for breath after running all the way back here and having to climb several flights of stairs to get to the top of the tower. You bow to the son of the leader of your military forces before you speak.  “Sir Gautier.” You gasp. “I am surprised to see you. How may I be of service.” You manage to get out, still gasping for air.

“Well, first of all, what was that?” The redhead gestures out to where you were speaking with the Sreng.

“That was a hunting party. They were coming close to the border and I wanted to speak with them to convince them to go back into their own territory, I was happy when they did.”

“Since when do you speak Srengi?” He asks, looking back at where you were talking to the hunters.

“Since we left the academy. I’ve been working in different garrisons and different towns. I’ve met a few people that came from Sreng that live in the kingdom now. They have taught me much about the Sreng people. They really aren’t that bad.” You say.

“You know, my father would have you killed for allowing the enemy to escape. You were seen walking out there, fraternizing with our foes. Letting them get away. You are certainly not following his orders to kill every Sreng on sight.”

You hang your head. “They are people. Not wild animals. War is coming at us from both sides. I thought if we could talk to them, maybe we can stop the fighting here. I wanted to bring it up to the Margrave, but I had to see if we could talk to them first. I accept my punishment. I am not sorry though.” You remove your weapons and drop them to the floor.

Sylvain puts his left hand on your shoulder. He’s going to have you carted away and hung as a traitor. You sigh heavily.

Suddenly his other arm comes around your back and he hugs you to his chest. “You are so lucky I’m not my father. What you did today was amazing! I can’t believe you did that. What led you to do something like this? I’m just flabbergasted!”

You are almost in tears. Your emotions are a whirling tornado in your brain.  But right now you can’t breathe because he is squeezing you so hard in his arms. You give him a few taps on the back, hoping he will let you breathe soon.

Sylvain finally lets you go. He sits on a bench, asking you to sit across from him. “So tell me why. Why’d you do it?”

“I did it because I wanted to help you, Sylvain. I know you hate your crest, that it’s so important to your father. You are the only one that can wield the Lance of Ruin after him, the one thing you know the Sreng fear. So I thought, if we could talk to the Sreng, stop the war, well, he can’t hold it over you that you have to stay here and you could do what you want.”

“Okay. I get that.” The redhead acknowledges. “But what’s in it for you?”

“Um…” You think try to think fast, you only did this to help him. “Oh. If we can make peace with the Sreng, more soldiers could be freed up to help fight the war. The people close to the borders can rest easy. And if we can end all of these wars my father can come home and rest.”

Sylvain leads you down the stairs of the watchtower and pulls you onto the back of his horse, telling you to hold tight because you’re going to speak with the Margrave. You want to swoon from putting your arms around him and holding on for so long, and had it not been for his armor being in the way of really touching him, you probably would have. He takes you to the residence where he leaves you in their library. He will have to speak with his father first.

You try to busy yourself with looking for some interesting books to read, finding a few about the Sreng. You notice notes in the margins that are more interesting than the book itself. Your reading is interrupted by loud shouting from upstairs that does not quiet down. You begin pacing anxiously as the voices are loud and angry but you can’t exactly make out what they are saying. You jump as a woman comes in from the kitchens with a small tea service.

“Sorry ma’am. Tis going to be a while. Have some tea. Don’t mind them, they’re always like that.” The matronly woman smiles at you, leaving the tea next to a table by the window.

“Thank you for the tea and the reassurance.” You say to her.

You have your tea. You ask to use the powder room. You are getting restless. Anxious. Angry. Upset. Furious. The more time that goes on, the more you decide you can’t stand this. Finally, your pot boileth over. You go upstairs and knock at the door. There is no response, they probably did not hear it over the shouting. You take your dagger out, using the butt of it, you knock on the door very loudly. There is a dual scream of “What!” answering your knock. You open the doors quickly. You enter you see two red-faced redheaded men toe to toe in the most antagonistic stance you have ever seen. Deciding you are at your wits end, you thunder into the room.

“Eee-Nough!” You spat between them, calling for a cease fire.

Both men look at you shocked. Who would dare to barge into this room and interrupt a serious conversation such as this?

You do not flinch, marching straight up to the Margrave, stepping between him and Sylvain you take your index and middle finger, stabbing it in the center of his chest. “You! Sit.” You point to a chair on one side of the table in his office. You do not move until he backs up, Hrumpfs, and takes a seat.

You turn, stabbing Sylvain in the chest with the same two fingers. “Sit.” You order him, and he obeys like a scolded puppy.

You stand at the end of the table the men seated to your left and right. Your hands touching the table in a steepled position, only your fingertips are on the table, a completely controlling and aggressive posture.  Your eyes are fierce, piercing through them into their souls.

“I came here for a serious conversation regarding peace with the Sreng. We will discuss this like civilized adults.  If you insist on acting like little schoolboys, perhaps we should take you behind the woodshed for 10 lashes with a strap and put you to bed without any dessert tonight.”

Both of the redheads are taken back by this serious, controlling woman ordering them around, however neither one wants to step out of line, afraid of what she would unleash upon them. The three are able to draw up a proposal to be delivered to the Sreng, an offer of 3 years truce as they work to agree on the boundaries of the borderlands between the people, learn to understand each other better and negotiate through terms of a permanent peace treaty.

The Margrave is very much pleased with himself by the time it is complete. Somehow this was his entire plan from the beginning, and that he had thought of this in the first place. Of course he was just seeing if Sylvain would come to the same conclusion he had already determined. He invites you to a late dinner and to stay at his modest home for the night.

After dinner Sylvain takes you to the library. You sit on the loveseat, leaving a space next to you, and he sits in the chair to your left.  At first you talk a little about the truce. Then you both become very quiet.

Sylvain gets a sheepish look as he raises a hand behind his head to rub his neck nervously. “Um, (y/n) I just want to thank you for uh, everything you’ve done for me, for us, er, well for everyone today. “

You blush a bit. “But Sylvain, it took all of us. Certainly, you and your father, but the soldiers not overreacting when I went out there. The villagers that helped me find some Sreng people, the Sreng themselves. I think everyone wants this particular fight to be over.“ The room again is quiet. A clock ticking on the wall echoes through the room.

Sylvain fidgets in his chair. He puts his hand on his chin, staring at the table. He still looks at the floor in front of you when he begins to talk. “You know, back when we were in school, I never asked you out. It was because every time you looked at me I knew you could see right through me. Your eyes looked into me and saw the truth. All of my lies, wanting to hurt those girls because they really did not want me. They wanted my crest and my family name. I was angry and mean, a real terrible person. I saw that terrible part of myself reflected in your eyes. I never wanted to hurt you like that, so I ignored you. And yet here you are. You came to save me. I didn’t ask, you just…did it. Why?”

“I grew up in this territory too. We didn’t have to live with you to know many of the things going on in your house. We heard of how you cried sometimes when you had to go home after visiting Dimitri or Felix. Your father’s expectations forced upon you. You were ordered to do as he says. He turned a blind eye to what Miklan had done. You will wield the lance, marry who he wishes and bear the next lance wielding child. Then I saw you with your friends at the school. You were so kind and supportive. You would do anything and everything for them. You nearly died so many times throwing yourself in front of attacks meant for them. It was like you were two different people. I couldn’t stand to see you suffer any more. I thought that maybe if we could stop the need for you to have to wield the lance in the first place, that part of you could be free and you could be whole.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Sylvain realizes for the first time in his life he has no idea what to say to a girl, no, a woman, particularly this woman.

“You look exhausted. It’s been a busy day. I think it is time to turn in.”  You say covering a yawn.

Sylvain escorts you to your room. You nod and wave, going inside.

The next morning you find a note slid under your door. The Margrave has completed his proposal to the Sreng. You are to translate it to their language, leaving a copy here and taking a copy to Sreng for them to ponder. You ignore the servants call to breakfast, determined to finish this as quickly as possible.

Entering the dining room you bow before the Margrave, holding out both copies in Srengi for him to review. Not that he can read it, however he can compare the two and see that they are written the same, no change of words or marks between the two documents. He signs one and keeps the other. You take the two documents, one in each language with you as you head out the door and grab a horse to ride to the border of the lands, to watch and meet with the Sreng people.

Sylvain helps you saddle the horse. You nod as you work together to quickly get it ready. He smiles and wishes you good luck as he slaps the horse on the flank, speeding it on its way. You are at the borderland in no time. You forgo the watchtower, jumping the fence and heading straight into Sreng territory. Just a short distance beyond where you met the hunting party you stop and wait.

You wait for a few hours. Suddenly a Sreng warrior steps from behind a tree. You hold your spear in both hands over your head. They take the same position then slowly walk until they are in front of you, throwing their spear into the ground between you, you follow suit. You are instructed to kneel and keep your hands on the ground. Walking towards you is a beautiful warrior woman, covered in white bear furs, the huge skull of the bear is on her head. She is decorated in gold and colorful beads. She asks you to come with her and you follow. The warrior takes your horse and lance. You are led back to where their horses are waiting. There are fifty or more Sreng here. You are told to mount up and you are taken further into the territory for several hours riding at top speed. You see a valley ahead and a huge Sreng village.  The large stone building is the residence of the Chief of the tribe. You are taken down several corridors until tall double doors are opened before you. Thick dark carpeting is on the floor, your eyes follow the path to the dais at the end of the room. To the left and right are many Sreng, seated at tables with parchment and glasses in front of them. All are silent as you are led to stand before the Chief. The Chief sits on a throne surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. A tall slender woman in black approaches you. You are surprised as she speaks the language of the kingdom to you.

“Why are you here?” She states in a commanding voice.

You feel compelled to answer. Slowly reaching in the bag at your hip you pull out the two parchments. “I have come to discuss ending the fighting on the border at the south.”

She walks toward you, looking into your eyes. “Do you have power over the lance of fire?”

“I do not.” You look into her face. Her look is strong and deadly serious. “I came from those that wield the lance. The one who controls it wrote the document, offering to begin talks of ending the fighting. I am but a messenger.”

She holds out her hand and you hand her the documents. She does not turn around as she tells you to leave. You bow first to the Chief, then to her, then the others of the room and head back out the double doors. You are led to a small comfortable room where there are two Sreng women around your age. They are not dressed as soldiers, but only what you can guess as common clothes. Speaking Srengi, they invite you to sit and eat with them. They ask curious questions. Is everyone a soldier? Is it true that everyone in Fodlan was taught to fight as soon as they learned to talk? Do you remove the hearts of those you have killed to eat their strength? Do you worship devils of fire? Do you not fear the wrath of the gods of the Sreng for your transgressions?

You try to allay their fears. The people to the south are simply people like themselves. We eat vegetables and animals. We are sad when we have to take the lives of others, but we do so to defend ourselves. We do all sorts of jobs cooks, tailors, farmers, sailors, builders, masons, blacksmiths, teachers, bakers, etc. You compliment on their beautiful and colorful jewelry and the bright beads they have woven into their hair. One of the women has a large stone that sparkles in a rainbow of colors in her necklace. You have never seen such a stone. They explain they wear this stone as a protection, calling it the eye of the gods. They associate each of their gods with a color, this special stone having all of the colors within it.

The dark clad woman comes to you from the Chief’s room, the women that were with you scatter. They clear the table and place both of your parchments down. She demands clarification of the wording from your translation. You explain your intention, your knowledge of the Sreng language is certainly lacking. Once she is satisfied with the corrections, she leaves again saying she will return later.

You are left alone in the room. You wait quietly when one of the younger women hesitantly enters the room. She places a necklace around your neck, the pendant is of the stone you saw before. “So the gods will watch over you.” She says before quietly leaving. You thank her and tuck it inside your clothes. You’ll take every blessing you can get. You are happy that so far your head is still on its shoulders. That can change any minute you think as the door opens again and the tall woman is back to take you to the chief. As you approach you hear loud sounds coming from the room, like many voices shouting. The doors open, there is a yell and all is quiet. You follow the darkly dressed woman and stop where you were standing before, she moves to her position in front of the Chief.

The Chief stands, then speaks in Srengi. “We accept your terms.”

The room becomes loud once again with whoops and yells. The spectators to the sides are chest bumping everyone around them. One Sreng male is very excited, he jumps over the table and stands in front of you with his arms out wide. You look to the woman in front of the Chief briefly and she nods. You open your arms and chest bump with him. Now everyone wants a piece of you. Food and drink appear in the room. Feasting and partying goes well into the night. Before the night ends, you have been adopted into four different families as their child, been asked for your hand in marriage by  numerous warriors (you respectfully decline), become an honorary member of the Sreng and are given a tattoo on your back that you have been blessed by the goddess of wisdom. Your ribs hurt from being mashed by chest bumps so many times.

The next morning you are laden with gifts, some for you, some for the Margrave. You return to Gautier territory. All of the trees on the border are already marked by the Sreng. On the side facing Gautier is an open eye. On the side facing Sreng is a closed eye. This is a sign to the Sreng that their gods cannot protect them beyond the closed eye. It is a sign to the intruders from Fodlan that this is Sreng territory and they will be watching. You cross into Gautier territory There, at the border to escort you, is Sylvain smiling as bright as the sun.

“We did it! They agree to the terms!” You say as you run up to him.

Sylvain grabs you, spinning you around as he holds you in his arms. “You did it! I am so happy. Thank you so much.” He gasps as he squeezes you against his chest. You are not sure which feels better. That you have accomplished this or him holding you in your arms. You smile wider because you have both.