#best Matrimonial Portraits

[munsonmuses]

Emperor Geta x Fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, gladiatorial combat, animalistic tendencies, uhhhg there’s a breeding kink. This was not proofread.

Word Count: 2.3k

Authors Comments: Iiiii was a major Roman Empire nerd as a kid, so if there’s stuff you’re like “that seemed specific” about? I promise you the research was done and I had to consult my notebooks from when I was a teeny tot (like a young teen). And yes, thumbs up signified death because it represented an upturned sword for combat, and the thumbs down signified sparing the loser, by turning your sword down to sheath

The light fabric of the linen chiton you wore felt like chains, the beautiful gold brooches holding it in place and the belt that rested low on your waist like the shackles. Leading you to a life you’d never wanted. To a future you knew you’d loathe so deeply. This wasn’t the life you’d dreamt of as a young woman. Bringing peace to an empire, marrying a man who was made perfectly for you by the gods.

All of these opportunities had been ripped from between your fingers. Your life slipped away the moment you’d heard that Emperor Geta had set his sights on you. He was callous, pompous, the human equivalent of a promenading lion. He thought nothing but the best of himself, and believed he deserved things equally as good. One of those things being you.

Your finger delicately worked on adjusting the raw leather straps of your sandals. The stephane felt like it was weighting your whole body down, veil swishing against your nape, sending chills down your spine. That the earth may swallow you whole in one fell motion was a wishful thought as you carefully examined the large hall.

It was egregious, how much gold one man could have. How many statues of himself an individual could bare to own. Slowly standing from the large chaise you’d been guided too and approaching one. tracing the curve of his nose, the apples of his cheeks. The manic look they’d managed to capture in his marble portrait, captured perfectly within the massive pupils. Scoffing lightly before hearing a laugh from behind you that caused your skin to pebble viciously. Turning around to face him.

The statue somehow didn’t manage to perfectly capture his mania. Pupils so wide they looked almost entirely black. A wolfish grin. His entire body reeked of need and want.

“You, are even more beautiful than Caracalla described…just look at you-“ his hands clamped down on your upper arms. Holding you in place as he hummed. “You’ll do nicely…” he murmured as you quirked a brow lightly.

You prayed that when you asked, he’d give you a different answer than what you’d been prepared for. Not wanting to surrender yourself to matrimony with a man so viciously bloodthirsty and self righteous. “What will I do nicely for, imperator?” You whispered as he let his eyes glaze over your body. Taking in every inch of you before nodding.

“Don’t be silly, you know what I brought you here for. I have chosen you to be my empress. Not Caracalla’s. Strictly my own.” He insisted as he moved a hand up to grip your jaw while humming. “You’ll take to the role with pride. A loving and affectionate empress…and you’ll give me my sons to lead the future of my empire once my time has come. Am I understood?” He questioned as you scoffed lightly to yourself. Fixing your rings and pulling away. Pacing the large floor of the hall as he kept his eyes on you. Ready to pounce if necessary.

“I am marrying you strictly for familial agreement. Through my loyalty for my empire and my dedication to my familial name…it has nothing to do with you.” You murmured as he sucked on his teeth lightly. You weren’t afraid of him, you saw yourself as an independent being, even a possible equal. An equal amount of hatred that matched his levels of obsession. Overall, he was clearly agitated by your lack of throwing yourself at him, the need for you to desperately present yourself to him. Though he wouldn’t push it. To get you out from under Caracalla’s thumb was difficult enough, so he’d take what he could get.

“Your chambers are prepared, you’ll be dressed for our wedding and you’ll smile. You’ll be grateful.” He ordered as you nodded, allowing the two women by the doorway to follow you out as you sighed in frustration to yourself.

These women were terrified to touch you, though they attempted to feebly conceal their terror as you hummed. Hair carefully arranged with an orange veil placed atop. Slipping into the white woven fabric of your wedding tunic, and slipped on orange sandals. Careful with them as you worked on fastening the knot of Hercules around your waist. Nodding slowly as you assessed yourself in the mirror.

It felt like lead lined your stomach as you approached the large garden, eyes meeting with Geta’s own. Your family and his court clearly anxiously awaiting your arrival. Your dowry had been exchanged, and Geta grinned delightedly at the sight of you approaching. Wringing his fingers, rings loudly knocking together as you frowned in mild fury. He was childish and cocky and self absorbed, albeit a bit handsome.

You stopped in front of him as the two of you read over the marriage contract. His eyes constantly flicking up to you as you lifted your metal pen from the inkwell. Scrawling your name with confidence as he followed suit. His hand suddenly clutching your left wrist as your head whipped to look at him. Geta removing the thick red stoned ring upon one of his fingers and slipping it onto one of your own as he hummed contentedly. Clearly awaiting reciprocation for his affections.

You carefully took his face, pressing a pursed lip kiss to his own plush pink lips as he cradled the back of your head and your waist. Satisfied with his win. Cementing your future with your new husband, as empress.

Your wedding was a few months ago, and in that time you’d been growing to know, like, and even love Geta. Although shrouded in cruel mystery, he did have a tender heart when it came to you. Gifting you lavishly, bathing you in riches and praise. You’d never gone to bed on an empty stomach, and you managed to share romantic pleasantries with him regularly.

You sat beside him as you watched a battle in the coliseum. Head perched on your fist in boredom as he smiled wide at you. The folds of your brooches and adornments complimenting the rich purples of your own robes. Your stephane crooked as his hand delicately reached up to adjust it. “Isn’t this delightful my heart?” He whispered eagerly as you scoffed in light amusement. Grinning lightly at him as you kissed his rings lightly.

“It’s alright. Gladiator fights have never…settled my nerves. If anything the bloodsport terrifies me…” you murmured as his own lips pulled into a tight frown. Though unlike usual, he didn’t have a smart or cold comment to make.

You carefully watched the two men fight, though you could barely call them that. Barely older than sixteen a piece as you chewed on your lip. The larger of the two slamming his sword into the smaller boys shield. Reminding you of the kind boys you’d known in your youth who had the whole world in front of them, stolen in war. Your heart heavy at the sight.

Geta’s eyes were trained on you. Noticing the paleness in your face, watering eyes as you left your chair to look over the edge of the balcony at these boys. Heart pounding in your ears as he sighed. He was furious, he was angry…love had “weakened” him, was what Caracalla had lamented before. But in his eyes, it simply made him better for you. Being weak for one’s own wife was impossible.

Your head whipped to look at him as the smaller boy was bloodied and bruised. Whipped to the ground by his foe as Geta stood slowly for the crowd to see.

He lifted his hand slowly, glancing over at you as his thumb rested on its side. He would typically give a thumbs up, signaling the death of the weaker boy…but instead his thumb dropped. The crowd gasping at the young man being spared at the Emperors command.

Geta’s eyes flicked to you one last time. Seeing nothing but adoration in them as he dismissed his co-contributors frustrated muttering, walking off with you to your shared chambers as he hummed in your ear.

“You’re welcome…” he whispered as you rolled your eyes lightly at him. Kissing his cheek lightly as you closed the large doors behind yourself.

With your back to him, you slowly worked on unhooking the brooches of your chiton, letting the fabric pool at your feet as you worked on removing your sandals slowly. Hearing his movements stop, eyes on you as you grinned lightly over your shoulder.

“You have shown such monumental growth…and kindness…and change, my emperor…” you whispered as you stalked towards him. His breath shaky and heavy as he carefully nodded. “I am so amazed by you…” you murmured as he watched your hands making work of the fasteners on his own tunic. It slipping down his shoulders as you smiled.

“I want…to reward you,” you murmured into his ear. Geta was a man who worked on praise, adoration and reward. He needed something for every “accomplishment” he made. This time you’d give him something more.

He let himself be lied back on your massive bed, his cock slowly hardening. Pressed to his stomach. Cheeks and chest flushed as you hummed lightly to yourself. He deserved this, even if it was simple human decency…it was a major turning point for him.

You kissed along his jaw, down his neck, his chest. Lightly nipping at his flushed skin as you worked lower and lower. Pressing kisses down his stomach and licking along the light indentations of his abs before finally paying attention to his desperate cock.

Already twitching lightly, Geta was not a hard man to work up. Lightly pressing warm, open mouthed kisses along his shaft. Tenderly massaging his balls as he whimpered lightly at your ministrations. Following your movements with frantic eyes.

He shivered lightly as he felt your lips lightly wrap around his tip. Lazily sucking and stroking the rest of his shaft lightly. Having used your kisses from earlier as a bit of lubrication. Stroking in time with your slowly bobbing head. Every few moments getting lower and lower. Relishing on the velvety feeling of his thick cock against your tongue. Finally taking your hand away and placing it on his hip. The other taking his right hand and leading it to the back of your head as he trembled lightly. “My heart…please-“ his whisper wasn’t much more than a breath.

The lewd noises of you taking him deep down your throat, slowly sucking while hollowing out your cheeks. Obediently tending to his needs as you groaned desperately against him. Your free hand trailing downward to massage your own clit as he bucked his hips lightly.

“You tease me…” he growled out. “With your desperate hands, your heavenly mouth, your body on full display…you tear me into nothing but tatters of a man…and you relish in my desperation,” he hissed as you pulled your head off.

Stroking his cock lightly as you maintained eye contact with him. Your own blown out with need and want as you continued to tend to your own clit. Sensitive bud twitching under your small, circular motions. Geta’s eyes trained on simply you. Filled with nothing but love and obsession as he growled.

Taking your wrists firmly, he pulled your hands away from both of your own sensitive bodies. Working on lying you back as he pressed his lips to your ear. “You’re a temptress…and you’ll understand just how deeply I want for you…and you’ll give me my sons,” he hissed as he worked one of your legs up around his waist. Keeping one hand on your wrists, pinned above your head as he lined himself up with your wanting cunt. Slowly easing himself into you.

You could feel every vein, every curve. A desperate moan being ripped from you as you arched your back lightly. Geta’s soft laugh and heaving breaths the only other noise you could focus on. His mouth greedily kissing along your soft skin. Nipping at your shoulders and neck. Trailing down to your breasts. Lightly taking your left nipple between his teeth. Sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud while lazily rolling his hips. Breeding you on his terms.

“Fucking…mnghhh…you’re so good~” he mumbled between mouthfuls of greedy kisses. His thrusts short and swift. Though deep enough to give that knot in your stomach a bit of reprieve. Humming contentedly to himself as he watched your lust clouded eyes. “I can’t promise that you’ll be able to do much once im finished…” he murmured as he began to focus on his thrusts.

Deep and swift, pressing deep into your twitching cunt, your wrists finally free of his grasp as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Holding him close as he fucked deeper into you. “It’s a blessing, to get to carry the future of our empire. Thank me for blessing you…” he growled out as he held your hips firmly. Your moans in time with his thrusts as you struggled to form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck!…thank you, for allow-…allowing me to carry your heirs, and the future of Rome!” Your voice cracked between moans as he laughed lightly. Working on bringing you to your orgasm as he hummed.

Your body felt like it was ablaze, each thrust causing that knot to unravel further and further. Whimpering in desperation and squawking desperately before letting your head fall back. His name spilling past your lips before feeling that knot come undone. Mouth falling open in incoherent babbles as Geta fucked you through your orgasm. Making sure you were thoroughly satisfied and gritting his teeth.

Unable to hold himself back much longer, his thrusts became short and swift before he hilted himself deep within you and came. His own mutters just broken up syllables of your name, trembling arms, and weak kisses along your skin. His body collapsing upon your own as he pressed hot and gentle kisses to your skin.

“I love you…” he murmured, allowing his eyes to close as you lightly combed through his hair. Your own growing heavy as you sighed.

“I love you too…”

[jyoongim]

Alastor and married reader but instead of the whole other thing, he kills her husband and is the shoulder for her to cry on (cliche, I know) not wanting her to hate him. And you know- smut somewhere along the way

The happiest day of your life was your wedding day.

The thought of living your days in matrimonial bliss with the man of your dreams had always been your future plans.

Until it wasn’t….

Your dreams of waking up beside your soulmate, having a big family, and living out your days in love were all crushed the day you were told to come to the coroner.

To identify your husband.

You stared at the casket as the pastor read the sermon and it was lowered into the dirt. 

You felt nothing.

Numb.

The heavens must of felt your sadness as there was an endless pour.

Many family members and friends gave their condolences but you didn’t even acknowledge them.

How?

Why?

what had your husband done so terribly that someone would…

The cold of the rain disappeared as a hand grasped your shoulder, pulling your soaked body into theirs “You’ll catch a chill standing like that dear”

Alastor.

He held an umbrella over the two of you as you watch the diggers throw dirt onto the coffin.

You felt hot tears swell in your eyes and your body shook as sobs ran through you. You turned to Alastor, eyes glassy and lip wobbling and you sniffed

“I-I just…why? This-this…it wasnt suppose to be like this” you sobbed as Alastor gathered you in his arms and ran a soothing hand on your back.

He patted your back, letting you cry in his shoulder as he hummed “there there dear, itll be all right. Cry it out doll”

You curled into him as he held you, a hand rubbing your shoulder and back in comfort, whispering gentle words to try and ease your pain.

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

You and Alastor grew up together. 

He was practically your best friend.

Hes seen you at your happiest and now at your saddest.

He was always your confidant and rock….until you met your husband.

You stopped coming down to the radio station.

You wanted to include him in on outings.

You wanted the two important men in your life to get along…

To share

Alastor would be damned if he gave you up.

But for you, he bared it.

He watched you marry the man you loved.

And he might could have lived happy knowing you were happy, but there was something inside him that just wouldnt go away about you withdrawing your affections from him and redirect them to another man.

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You sighed as you looked around the house. Your husband had just bought it and it was suppose to be a surprise after your wedding.

But now it just served as a reminder of what will never be.

“You should stay cher, the house is in your name” Alastor chirped, roaming around.

“I just dont feel right being here when…its just no longer what I thought it would be” you say glaring at a wedding portrait. Alastor smirked, rounding from the kitchen, wrapping his arms around you “Then redecorate! Add a bit of color. Make use of this lovely home”

You thought about it, you would hate to resell it. You didnt want to go back home to live with your parents.

You sighed again. 

“Then stay here with me…at least until” Alastor smiled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“You think i was gonna leave? Oh darling im hurt you even thought of me like that”

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

Alastor sat on top the man as he smiled cruelly down at him.

“She was never meant to be your wife.” he squeezed the man’s neck seething.

“Years. I spent years courting her. She might be a bit slow, but all I needed was a nudge. And then here you come. Bright and opinionated, always the knight in shining armor” The man gasped as Alastor’s grip tightened.

“Shes like a Doe, Shes cautious at first, feed her and be kind and shell come to you willingly. But I am the Hunter. I have calculated where and how my Doe reacts. I didnt need you messing up my plans.” the man stuttered in a choke

“Rest assure old chum, she makes a good wife” Alastor growled.

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

You felt bad that Alastor spent most of his time over. You had tried to encourage and reassure him that you felt better and that he should go home, but the man was stubborn and knew you well enough to decline.

”Al people will start to talk if you’re constantly here. I’m a widow now,  you’ll be  the talk of town if you linger.”

Alastor shrugged “when have i ever cared about what others think and besides…when have you known me to just let you wallow in sorrow.”

Never. Alastor always found a way to make you smile even when you were sad.

You admit that you have enjoyed having Alastor around these last few weeks.

Hes helped you decorate the house, find joy again in life, and even staying with you.

You didn’t want to admit it,  but what affections you already had for the man, had seemed to grow. You put it off as just a way that you were trying to cope from the loss of your husband.

But that wasn’t the case….

Because before your husband….it was Alastor.

But you had just chalked it up to silly childhood emotions.

——————————————————————————————-

The rain poured as the wind and thunder whipped around outside.

You and Alastor were cuddled on the couch looking through old photos.

You giggled as you flipped through the pages, reminiscing about your youth.

”lord what were we thinking….our mamas had a fit” you laughed shaking your head, Alastor chuckled “I think your mud pies improved”

You snort “Its the only thing I can actually cook”

The fire crackled as the storm raged outside and you leaned your head against his shoulder.

”you know…I can’t thank you enough.” You whispered, causing the man to flick his eyes to you curious

”For what my dear?”

You fiddle with the crochet blanket, burying your face in the crook of his neck, groaning in embarrassment “for always being there for me. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there at the funeral…You’re really my saving grace Al”

Alastor’s lips curled into a smile, nuzzling into your hair, a deep rumble rakes his chest as lanky arms bound around you.

”Oh ma cherie  don’t say such things. We’ve known each other for years if anything you’re my saving grace.”

You pulled back a bit to give him a funny look, to make a snarky remark but the way Alastor was looking at you made your throat closeup.

Such affection and adoration in those deep eyes.

Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

You ducked your head “Yourejust saying that” you mumbled.

Soft lips grazed your forehead. “I would never lie to you dear”

Maybe it was because it was a storm outside and you were cozy up by the fire

Maybe it was Alastor spending most of his time here.

Maybe it was his consideration for you, the flowers he got you , his cooking (that was AMAZING), the times he sang to you or danced to whatever the radio played.

Whatever it was, you didn’t realized that he had leaned towards you until you felt his lips brush yours. 

Your brain was telling you that you should stop this.

This was your friend.

Your husband just died.

Your shouldn’t.

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his, angling your head to slot your lips together.

The kiss was slow, steady, soft…almost like he was testing the waters, unsure of how you would react.

You nipped at his lips and a surprised gasp left you as he pulled you into his lap, deepening the kiss.

That small noise must have possessed something in the man as the once gentle kiss turn to something carnal.

Your arms were loops around his neck and your finger s were buried in his hair as he attempted to devour you.

His lips left your lips to trail to your neck, littering it in bites and suckling.

A soft moan escaped your throat “A-Al”

He pulled back, eyes blown and low.

”Tell Me you don’t want this and ill stop”

He peppered soft kisses along the column of your neck

”Tell me you don’t want me as much as I want you and ill pretend this didn’t happened”

is that what you wanted?

Your heart was pounding.

You cupped his face and gave him a soft smile, before pressing a soft kiss to his nose

”We shouldn’t…”

His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers dancing on your skin

”yea”

You twirled his hair

”But don’t please don’t stop”

That was all he needed to hear….

—————————————————————————————

Your shadows danced across the walls, the fire casting a glow on your bodies as you rode his cock.

”F-fuck!”you whined as pleasure ripped through your body.

Alastor’s hands were gripping your ass as you bounced on top of him.

He swirled his tongue around a perk nipple, groaning as your gummy walls gripped him.

”you feel so good” he mumbled, teething the mound, causing you to moan.

You threw your head back, a rugged gasp leaving you.

Alastor loved the noises you made, pushing his hips up to meet yours as if to carve his cock into your cunt.

”such a pretty sight you are my dear, if  only I could engrave you into my memory”

Your thighs were burning as you chased your release

”I’m-oh! Fuck fuck Al!”

He slipped a hand between you, thumb circling your swollen clit

”You gonna cum? Cmon baby cum on my cock, let me paint those pretty walls of yours white”

You whined and with a silent cry, you cummed, body shaking as you creamed around him.

Hot sparks ran through you as he toyed your clit, riding out your orgasm as you grind your hips against him.

With a sigh, you slumped against him panting as he planted his feet to pound into you until he came with a choked grunt, cock twitching as he filled you with his cum.

You pressed kisses along his clamming skin, humming as you came down from your high.

Thee two of you sat there, breathless, until Alastor intertwined one of your hands and brought it to his lips.

”Is it a bad time to propose?”

You laughed

[elizabethan-memes]

However, this has not stopped tudor portraits of Henry VIII’s queens being used by historians as a route towards understanding the psychological profiles of Henry’s matrimonial victims. This historiographic laziness is subjective at best, wholly unreliable at worst. It makes assumptions about identity, about likeness, and about the talent, technique, and interests of a Tudor portrait artist.

Brett Dolman, "Wishful Thinking: Reading the Portraits of Henry VIII's Queens"

[manish-punekar-photography]

Exploring the Diverse Categories in the Photography Industry

Photography is a dynamic field encompassing a multitude of categories, each specializing in capturing specific moments, subjects, or environments. From freezing fleeting moments in a wedding to showcasing the beauty of interiors or products, photographers across various specialties use their skills to immortalize precious memories or exhibit the essence of subjects. Let's delve into the diverse categories within the photography industry, including wedding photographer, event photographer, kids photographer, interior photographer, and product photography.

Wedding Photography: Wedding photographers specialize in capturing the magic of matrimonial celebrations. They adeptly document the entire event, from pre-wedding rituals to the ceremony and reception, immortalizing candid moments, emotions, and the essence of the couple's special day.

Event Photography: Event photographers focus on capturing various gatherings, from corporate events and conferences to festivals and concerts. They skillfully capture key moments, interactions, and the ambiance, delivering compelling visuals that narrate the story of the event.

Kids and Family Photography: Kids photographers specialize in photographing children, creating playful and natural portraits that reflect the innocence and joy of childhood. Family photographers capture cherished moments, creating lasting memories of family gatherings and milestones.

Interior Photography: Interior photographers showcase architectural marvels and interior designs. They expertly capture spaces, highlighting details, textures, and the ambiance of homes, hotels, or commercial spaces, aiming to showcase their aesthetic appeal.

Product Photography: Product photographers specialize in showcasing merchandise in its best light. They skillfully capture products for marketing purposes, focusing on details, textures, and features, ensuring that the product appears appealing and marketable.

Each category within the photography industry requires distinct skills, techniques, and creative approaches tailored to the subject matter. 

Whether it's the artistry of a wedding photographer capturing love stories, the technical precision of an interior photographer highlighting architectural details, or the attention to detail of a product photographer presenting merchandise, each specialty demands unique expertise.

Wedding Photographer: Wedding photographers excel in storytelling, using their skills to encapsulate the emotions, love, and moments of joy during weddings. They adeptly navigate different lighting conditions, swiftly capture candid moments, and skillfully orchestrate group portraits.

Event Photographer: Event photographers possess the ability to blend into diverse environments, capturing fleeting moments, interactions, and the essence of gatherings. They excel in adapting to fast-paced settings, ensuring they don't miss key moments.

Kids and Family Photographer: Photographers specializing in kids and family portraits create an environment where families feel comfortable and at ease, allowing for natural and authentic interactions, resulting in timeless photographs capturing genuine emotions.

Interior Photographer: Interior photographers possess an eye for detail, composition, and lighting. They work closely with designers and architects to highlight the unique features and ambiance of interior spaces.

Product Photographer: Product photographers master the art of lighting, angles, and composition, ensuring that every detail of the product is showcased effectively to attract potential buyers.

The photography industry is a tapestry woven with various specialties, each capturing unique aspects of life, moments, or subjects. Whether it's the emotional resonance of a wedding, the vibrancy of an event, the innocence of childhood, the beauty of interior spaces, or the allure of merchandise, photographers across these categories contribute significantly to preserving memories, promoting businesses, and showcasing the world in diverse, captivating frames.

[warsawmountain]

Promises

He was promised he would hear church during a fatal heart attack. That’s his fortune, from the 17th Ave. fortune teller just off from the HIV tattoo parlour a few blocks from where he first found a caterpillar suckling the bones of a dry brunette leaf.

His Dad ran the truck, or was it a van? He forgot as he left for Vancouver, never looking back, black sesame lingering, never letting the (older, more attractive) therapist alchemize more memories into hard trauma, reddening flags, lifted baggage,

He knew, when he was a child, helping her: Bread dough, soft belly, loveable horseshit across the table is flung like glowing fireflies. When he hears his mother has only two more weeks. He needs to stay, make more Bimbap(?)

Before he gets fired again, she stopped returning his calls until she was too weak, & now I’m here in stead, in wake in home & matrimony. Shelf life stable. Hard as volcanic sandstone.

The windchimes sound like glockenspiels // is what he’d tell me before we see his mom in hospice care the door needing a good shove before opening properly. a good hug. The therapist’s perfume on his shirt fading // fading.

Take me across a character portrait ## a man w/ the metal chest imbued with spit & sweat & drool & cum, marbled sculpture body when naked, a careful craftsman (G*d) decided his fingertips would be best suited for giving life to others, amid the nitrogen and sulphites of the fertilizers and holy horseshit.

He is a baker ?? Gardening behind the 1989 Chevy van his parents forced him to keep---when they died. Yr parents will die // too.

:: It always starts / ** // Across rope xylophone bells, kisses across caterpillar spines, the pale @@ // ** love crawls

The craftsman w/ meticulous thoughts, he is careful

@ the break of the waters, of dawn, of the umbilical cord holding us together. Careful. redo. Apologetics written for the forgotten gospel or the Korean food trucks

[chennaiportrait-blog]

Matrimonial Portraits Photography

The best phase of one’s life is marriage. And, wedding is the beginning of that best phase. Chennai Portrait Photography offers one of the best Matrimonial Portraits photography services in Chennai! We are experts in the event storytelling and our photo book is treasure for your lifetime. Cherish your moments with Chennai Portrait Photography!

Contact Us Call : 94444 41190 Mail : cpp.ambitions4@gmail.com Visit Us : http://www.chennaiportraitphotography.com/gallery/matrimonial/

[beananacake]

The Accidental Princess (Part 3)

Prince Kit x Reader

Summary: A contract has been found, after twenty years, bearing your name and Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.

Chapter Summary: Prince Kit gets to know more about you.

Word Count: 5.5k words

Warnings: Grand Duke is a bit of an a$$ but everyone knows that already, bit of period typical misogyng?? Louis and Kit both being adorable, not period accurate (but I try to stick to the real thing lol), FLUFFFFF, that's it??

A/N: Hey, guys! I know this was posted before but when I did a reread of it, it was all over the place. My bad!! It's the same thing but in the right order. Hopefully Tumblr won't c*ck this up this time. I love hearing your thoughts, you guys! Please don't be shy in leaving a comment or a review! Reblogs are totally welcome! Here is Part 3 of The Accidental Princess!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

“Kit, my boy, I have been looking everywhere for you.” The king called his son as he appeared from the corner.

Your words of his mother being benevolent had brought him to the Hall of Portraits. He had left you with his cousin, Louis, since you were so enamored with him than you were with your husband. And yes, he was free to admit to himself that he was jealous of the rapt attention you gave his cousin while you gave him nary a look since being introduced to Louis.

Kit stood in front of the portrait of his mother, looking at her for a while as he remembered the day of her death. Queen Amalie had been jolly that day, hugging him and kissing his cheek as she greeted him a good morning. All she had planned was to be in her garden, planting and caring for the new species of flowers and herbs the Grand Duke had brought over from his home country. She had always spent her time of rest in the garden she loved. She had slaved herself the day before, absorbed in finishing her proposal for more international trades for the kingdom. Kit had been eager to read more of it but it was not meant to be. She had passed on the day after that. Kit, his father, the whole palace, and the whole kingdom mourned the loss of such good and intelligent queen.

“I had received word that the Princess Chelina wishes to arrive earlier than she intended. The Grand Duke thinks it a fine idea for her to know more of her future people.” The king said as he stood beside his son.

Kit merely nodded, keeping his eyes on his mother’s serene face on the portrait. “Is there a day or time we are to be expecting her in the palace?”

He turned to his father and found him staring at his mother as well. There was a sad look upon his face, a longing, as his eyes roamed over the master’s painting of her. Kit knew better than to linger by his mother’s portrait. His father had aged a decade since that faithful day and his health started to decline once she had been buried. It had not gone unnoticed to Kit that he was soon to take his father’s place on the throne.

“Zaragoza is seven days’ travel by sea and land to our kingdom. We shall see her at the end of the week.” The king cleared his throat and patted his son’s shoulder. “Your cousins have arrived.”

“I know, Father. I left Louis in the company of Y/N in the garden.” Kit told him.

“It is best you stay away from her,” said the king in a tone that did not permit defying.

But Kit was his son and he sometimes defied his father, even in small matters. “Is there a reason why?”

“She will get ideas that you wish to remain wed to her.” The king looked at his son.

Kit raised his brow. “She wishes to help with this predicament she has placed upon us.”

“I think she has done enough helping.” When Kit did not seem to back down, the king sighed. “Your mother would have known what to do, Kit.”

“Mother would,” the prince agreed.

“I miss her every day,” the king admitted.

“So do I.” he told his father. “What shall we do on the anniversary of her death? Would it be in poor taste to hold a feast?”

“No. Your mother would have allowed festivities.”

“Shall we hold one for her, then?”

“Yes,” his father replied. “She would have loved for us to be happy instead of mourning her. We shall hold it when the princess arrives.”

Kit nodded. “Do you think mother would have liked her?”

“Princess Chelina?”

“No. Y/N.”

The king sighed. “Keep her out of your head, Kit. Once she and you are separated, she will be out of the palace and of our lives for good.”

“It makes me wonder, father, why you are so adamant that I marry Princess Chelina. Isn’t what you stipulated that I only marry before I ascend the throne? You did not say she needed be a princess or a noble or titled, even.”

“She has turned your head, my boy.” The king said gravely. “I worry about that. I know her father. He had boasted before that his daughter could be very persuasive.”

Kit raised an eyebrow. “She has not done any persuasion towards me at all.”

It is quite the opposite, in fact, he thought surly. He could still vividly recall how you smiled prettily when you called his cousin by his name readily. He had been trying to make you call him by his name and you were stubborn and insistent that it was improper. For his cousin, it appeared that it was not.

“Princes are made for princesses.” The king said with finality as he looked at his son with a stern brow.

“Father—”

“I will not hear any argument from you, Kit.”

“Can I, perhaps, try to learn more about her?”

“For what reason?”

“She is a citizen of our kingdom, is she not? If you do not think her the princess, then we shall consider her a citizen of it.”

“There are others you can learn from.”

“None of them live in the palace.”

“Kit.”

“Father.”

The king sighed and turned to the portrait once more. “Do you see how stubborn he has become, Amalie? Our boy has not changed.”

Kit grinned. “I took after you, father.”

His father chuckled. “Very well, Kit, but be weary of her. The Grand Duke says she is coming after the books on the laws of the kingdom. She might seem innocent to you but for the Grand Duke, he finds her ambitious.”

“The Grand Duke insulted her intelligence by suggesting she read a book on herbology. Her reason for wanting the books on politics was to help us find a solution for this impasse.”

“The books are in a foreign language.”

“She reads German.”

The king’s eyebrow rose as he turned to his son. “Has she told you that?”

“The herbology book was in German.”

“When did we get an herbology book in German?”

“Must be mother’s since she loved tending to her garden.”

They both turned to the portrait of the last queen of the kingdom.

“Let your cousin keep her entertained, Kit. Remember that you are to be wed to the Princess Chelina. Hers is a country that we are in desperate need of alliance with. Your mother would have wanted for you to do your duty.” The king said with a tired voice.

Kit remained quiet. His mother had ingrained in him her love of her duty as the queen. She loved the people, considered them her family when she had moved from her home country to her kingdom. She always placed their needs above all else, heralding their small territory into greatness in her short reign as queen. If there was one person he idolized more than his father, it was his mother.

“Of course, father. I do not wish to disappoint mother in her expectations of me.” Kit said as he looked at his mother’s face once more.

“Good. Now that we are in agreement, there is some other matter I wish to discuss with you.”

The days in the palace were monotonous.

Your trunks arrived with all of the items you had asked for but you were yet to pick up on the books your father had sent over because of the Duke of Granville. Louis had been a great source of companionship, even at times he did seem a bit tiresome. You had known him from before, when your family had been invited by his father to visit their stately home. You were at an impressionable age then, you sixteen and he nineteen, when you first met him. You had wished that he reciprocated your feelings of infatuation but as you saw that he merely viewed you like a sister, you dashed all hopes of having your sentiments returned. Louis had also been a bit of a braggart, boasting of his worldly travels to you, before he learned that you were much more well-traveled than he was. Since then, you had a certain kinship with each other, one borne out of your love for travels.

“I must say, being out of the palace is rather invigorating.” Louis said as he stepped out of the courtyard. “Is this why I often see you out here with a book to your nose?”

“The sea breeze reminds me of my travels. Other than the smell of the flowers in the garden, I rather like the saltiness of the sea.” You took a deep breath as if to prove a point. “The book is merely for passing time.”

You looked at the sky and smiled as the sun’s shine kissed your cheeks.

“Still an avid reader, I see.”

“It was never lost from me, Louis,” you said as you turned to him. “Books, much like traveling, can take you everywhere your heart desires.”

He hummed. “And speaking of heart, my cousin seems to be besotted with you, my dear Y/N,” Louis commented with a grin as you both walked down the gardens.

“Your cousin is betrothed to a princess. I am surprised you do not know of the news.” You clasped your hands behind you, traipsing the pathway towards the late queen’s secret garden. My marriage garden, you thought to yourself wryly.

“That does not connect with my statement, Y/N.” Louis plucked a daisy and presented it to you.

You took it with a smile. “What do you wish me to say to that, Louis? That I am as infatuated with him as well?”

Louis’s chuckle echoed through the wind. “That shall suffice. Was it difficult to admit the truth?”

You shook your head, flushing. “That is not the truth.” You looked away from him to hide the pink tint of your cheeks.

“Not the whole of it.” Louis teased. The duke, apparently, was very observant and you declined to show him that he was speaking the truth.

You turned from him and walked on. “I see you have been looking at the abigails in the palace. Please tell me you have not made advancements of any kind to my maid Abigail.”

“No but now that you have mentioned it,” your friend regarded you with a boyish grin. Louis was also a lothario of sorts, in addition to being a brag.

“Louis! Don’t you dare!” You scolded playfully. “She has her sights set on Captain Thibault. I think he returns her sentiment.”

Louis sat on the bench and patted the space beside him. You sat and placed your hands on your lap, cupping the daisy he had given you.

“What makes you think that the good Captain is infatuated with your maid?” he asked.

“He is flustered around her,” you said simplistically. “And she is flustered around him.”

The duke’s grin was positively devilish. You dreaded to know what was going on in his mind.

“Was it like how you were flustered around me in Granville?” he teased. “Squeaky voice and ungraceful curtsy?”

You gave an unladylike groan. “I should not have admitted that to you.”

“Too late now, my dear Y/N. Quite too late.” He grinned.

“You are forever going to tease me so. I shall have to travel to the ends of the world to be away from you,” you told him.

“Or you could come with me to the square?” said a voice above you. “Escape my annoying cousin for a while.”

You looked up and saw blue eyes boring into yours. Kit’s. You knew the hue of his eyes even if you had only spoke to him a handful of times and had looked into them for lesser than that. You shivered at their intensity as he watched you.

You scrambled to your feet, dropping into another ungraceful curtsy. Louis only guffawed and you skewered him with a glance.

“Your Royal Highness,” you chirped, which only had your friend laugh out loud some more.

“Y/N,” Kit said good-naturedly to you. “Louis,” he said flatly to his cousin.

“Ah, cousin. It is so good to see you. A refreshing sight to see, am I right, Y/N?” Louis said once he had recovered from his bout of laughter.

You rose to your feet and looked at Louis squarely in the eye. “Yes, Your Grace. Quite,” you nearly spat at him.

Louis only grinned that charming smile of his. He knew how to spite you, the devil.

The prince cleared his throat and looked at you once more. “What do you say, Y/N? A trip to the square?”

“Any particular reason you’re going to the square, cousin?” Louis asked as he stood, clapping Kit’s shoulder.

“To get away from you, perhaps?” you supplied in a small voice. You had not realized it was loud enough for Kit to hear as well.

“I understand my cousin could be quite peeving but I did not think he has caused you this great a distress, Y/N.” Kit said.

You looked at the prince with wide eyes, turning pink when you saw the way he studied you. Why was it that he always looked at you as though you were the most fascinating thing in the world? His eyes were always inquisitive and they always held that sort of wonderment in them whenever he regarded you.

“Oh, no,” you denied, flushing feverishly. “Louis—that is, His Grace—and I were merely playing a game.”

“And a fun game it was,” Louis agreed. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the duke.

Kit only looked at you. “I see.”

“Off you go, pet,” Louis told you. “I shall miss you while you are away.”

You glared at the charming man. “I do not think I share the sentiment.”

“Oh?” He said, pretending affront. Louis pulled away from his cousin and advanced towards you. “You think you shall not miss me, Louis Toussaint, the Duke of Granville?”

You stayed rooted in place. “No. I dare say I won’t, Louis.” You told him with a false air of affection.

He leaned his face to yours, near enough to be considered improper, looking into your eyes with his happy, joking ones. “Liar.”

Your lips broke into a smile. You only hummed.

Kit cleared his throat.

Louis winked at you before pulling away. “She is all yours, cousin. I shall have to suffer spending time with my sisters while my dear Y/N is with you.”

Kit looked at you again. “Shall we? The horses are being fitted for their saddles. We shall leave at once.”

“I shall have to inform the king that I am to leave the palace grounds.” You told him. “I would need a chaperone and he shall be informed of my itinerary.”

“Whatever for?”

“A stipulation for my staying here,” you answered.

“Even when I am to take you to the square?”

“Especially then, Your Royal Highness,” you told him with meaning.

Kit seemed to have understood because he nodded. “Of course. Captain Thibault will be coming with us.”

“I can be your chaperone, pet,” Louis said.

“No.” Kit declared.

Louis raised a brow at him but he smiled at you after. “Are you really going to subject me to an afternoon without your lovely company, Y/N?”

“Your sisters are fit company, duke.”

Louis heaved an impressive fake sigh. “No matter. I shall have your unmitigated attention tomorrow, Y/N.” He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, deliberately taking longer than what was appropriate.

You bent a much more elegant curtsy than the one you gave the prince. “Louis.”

You rose when Louis dropped your hand. Kit still had his eyes on you. You shivered despite being under the blazing glare of the sun.

“I must confess something to you, Your Royal Highness,” you told Kit as Louis ambled away.

“What is it?” Kit asked as he walked beside you back to the palace.

“I am… not trained to ride a horse,” you said instead. You wanted to tell him that you feared riding the fickle creatures but you could not admit it to him lest he laugh at you.

“That won’t be a problem, Y/N. We shall take the carriage instead.” He smiled easily at you.

He nodded at the footmen who opened the doors to his father’s study. You entered what seemed to be an annex of the library, what with the number of books strewn about the table and the shelves teeming with more leather-bound tomes.

“Father, I wish to take Y/N to the square today. She told me you require that she has a chaperone with her when going out of the palace grounds?” Kit asked loudly in the room.

“Why are you taking her to the square, Your Royal Highness?” The Grand Duke asked instead.

You bowed down at the man. “Your Grace.”

He did not seem to pay you any mind. “It is improper, Your Royal Highness, for you to take a commoner on your trips to the square. People will talk.”

“She is a guest of my father’s, Grand Duke. I don’t see any reason why she should not be afforded the same courtesy as with the other guests of this palace.” The prince said.

“People will talk—” The Grand Duke tried once again.

“People do not know that she and I are wed. I was under the impression that you and father made sure the secret remain thus.”

“Your Royal Highness, it is not proper.”

“So is your insistence that I not bring her wherever I please. I would exercise caution with my next words, Grand Duke. You are speaking to the prince.” Kit said. It was the first time you had heard him use such an authoritative tone of voice. “Now, where is my father?”

“Calm down, my boy. No need to argue with the Grand Duke. He is simply worried that people will think our guest is your chosen bride.” The king said.

You bobbed another curtsy at the king who had just entered. “Your Majesty.”

“You said she is to require a chaperone. Is there one you have chosen for her or is she free to choose?” Kit asked his father.

“One of your cousins could chaperone her, Kit.”

“Louis is spending his time with his sisters. Can’t she just take her maid with her?”

You saw the king wave his hand away in agreement. “Fine. Now, leave us. We are quite busy.”

“Very busy,” claimed the Grand Duke as he looked at you with his spiteful eyes. “Such a problem you have brought upon us, girl.”

You bowed your head, breathing deeply and quietly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, Your Grace.”

“Let’s go, Y/N.” Kit said. He touched your elbow and led you out of the study. He had left you to get Abigail while he went ahead to instruct one of the footmen to ready the carriage. When everything was ready and done, you both boarded the coach. Kit specifically asked that Abigail ride with the coach up front so that he may have time to talk to you about certain matters.

“Forgive me for being absent these couple of days, Y/N,” Kit said as the carriage rolled forward.

You were sat in front of him, your back to the road. Kit had changed into a less formal coat, its base the color of moss with golden ropes artfully embroidered to give its regal design. His cravat was the color of his eyes, blue and beautiful. He looked sinful as he sat before you with an air of nonchalance. He and Louis were cousins and although there were similarities between them, Kit was far more superior, not only in rank but in other things as well. Louis was a braggadocio whilst Kit was more reserved. He let his presence speak for himself.

“No need to apologize, Your Royal Highness,” you told him with a shy smile.

Truly, there was no need for him to apologize to you. You knew he had been quite busy, especially when you heard that the Princess Chelina was hoping to arrive earlier than was expected of her. The palace had been running amok with all the preparations for her arrival and for the feast that was for the anniversary for the death of Queen Amalie. You had wanted to help in any way you can but you never found the perfect moment to offer it. You also had not wanted to be a burden to them, remembering the unkindly words the Grand Duke had said to you.

“I wish for you to call me Kit, Y/N.” Kit said as he watched you. “You call my cousin by his name. What makes mine any different from his?”

You touched the daisy that was still in your hands. “The duke is… not as unattainable as you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Kit.” Kit insisted. “And unattainable? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I—”

The carriage lurched and you were thrown from your seat and onto Kit’s lap. You felt his hands on your arms as he held you steady. He peered down at you, eyebrows drawn in concern. Your hands braced his thighs and you felt the corded muscles under his leather breeches. Your heart thudded in your chest and you swore you heard them thunder in your ears. You swallowed as you looked at his mouth then his eyes.

“Are you all right, Y/N?” he asked, worry marring his features.

You nodded mutely, still entranced by the blue of his eyes.

“Perhaps it is best you sit beside me.” He helped you up and planted you beside him, securing you closer to him when the carriage lurched again.

He called for the Captain. You heard Kit instruct him the stagecoach to drive carefully should you be thrown from your seat once more.

You felt your body grow hot and you had no idea if it was because you were surprised at being thrown across the carriage or because you were sat beside your husband. You did not dwell overmuch on the feeling because you did not want to put a name to it lest it made you hope.

“I am fine now, Your Royal Highness. No need to keep me locked in my seat.” You told him, clearing your throat because it had suddenly gone dry.

Kit pulled his arm away and you breathed easier. “I shall have to teach you how to ride horseback so we do not encounter such problems like this when we travel to the square again.”

At the mention of horseback, you felt your heart wedge in your throat. You clutched your hands together, feeling them damp. “I—I thank you, Your Royal Highness.” You said as you swallowed thickly. “I look—look forward to it.”

He gave a thoughtful hum. “No, you don’t.”

You turned to him. You found him regarding you silently.

“Are you afraid of horses, Y/N?” he asked gently.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “An absurd fear, I know,” you said before he could.

“Is that where you got your scar from?”

You felt his finger brush against the side of your face, touching your healed skin. “I had been thrown off a horse when I was much younger. Its hooves almost trampled me if it weren’t for my father who had pulled me from under the angry animal. It instead caught my cheek and I was left with this as a reminder of that day.”

“How do you go about your travels if you don’t ride a horse?” he asked.

“I travel mostly by sea.” You gave a small wistful smile. “I confess I have found my sea legs long before I could properly ride a horse.”

He smiled at you. “Then we shall make a day of it. I shall still teach you. One of the mares has a very kind temperament. It shouldn’t be spooked so easily.”

“That’s very kind, Your Roy—”

“Call me Kit, please. And you have not answered my question. How am I unattainable while my cousin is?”

You looked down on your lap, playing with your fingers. The daisy had fallen on the floor of the carriage now, its white petals dirtied with boot marks.

“He is a but a duke. His… title makes me less nervous around him.” You told him.

“I make you nervous?” Kit asked.

You looked at him shyly. “Very much so.”

“We must remedy that, then. If all it takes is for you to be comfortable around me to call me by my name, then we shall do it.” Kit’s face turned thoughtful once more.

“There is no need for that.” you said.

“Then you shall call me by my name?” Kit watched you closely, his face now hopeful.

“Why do you insist that I do?” you asked, amused.

That seemed to have baffled the prince because he did not reply right away. You bit your lower lip, looking away.

“You have to forgive me again. I often speak too liberally. I am a curious person.” You said, avoiding his eyes.

“I shall forgive you if you call me by my name.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, smiling a little as you turned to the prince. “You are uncompromising, are you not?”

Kit chuckled. “I take after my father in that aspect. Now, Y/N, it is a simple favor. I hope you don’t deny me of it.”

“If it shall please you, then, very well,” you said. “Kit.”

The prince beamed and all of the air rushed out of your lungs. He looked much more charming than his cousin, much more handsome and princely as his mouth stretched into this stunning smile. Your eyes stayed on the curve of his lips for a while, feeling your body heat up and your cheeks go aflame with your blush. Never, never had you ever had this reaction before.

“It pleases me, Y/N, to hear my name from your lips.” He grinned.

You smiled as you settled in your seat, playing with your hands. You both were silent for a while but you felt the change in the atmosphere inside the carriage. It felt different… to be friends with your spouse. It was one thing you did not anticipate happening and one thing your heart should be wary of.

“Where did you learn German?” Kit asked as the carriage rolled to a stop inside the town.

“I had an unconventional upbringing. I wasn’t brought up by a governess because it had been hard to find one willing to travel the seas. Instead, my father schooled me on the history of our kingdom and the countries he had seen.” Talking to Kit had been much easier now that you had started addressing him by his name and not his title.

A liveried footman opened the door and the prince descended. You gathered your skirts in your hands, emerging from the door. Kit took your other hand as he helped you down. You clutched at him suddenly when your foot slipped, gripping tightly until you were secure on the ground.

“Thank you, Kit,” you whispered.

“My pleasure, Y/N,” he murmured. “Shall we?”

You nodded as you followed beside him. You straightened, calming your heart as you recovered from your near slip.

“I would assume you learnt the language through your father?” Kit asked as he stopped at stalls and looked at the various fruits and vegetables that were for sale.

You stopped beside him. “Yes, and through the people. While my father worked, I went on excursions. I talked to the citizens of the country and learned everything I could through experience.” You smiled at the merchant. “Your apples look quite delicious, sir. I think them worthy of a position in a nobleman’s table.”

The man preened at your praise. “I thank you, Miss. Please, have one as my thanks.”

“Oh, I thank you but I would not wish for you to miss on a sale.” You told the man.

“Do you want one?” Kit asked beside you.

You turned to the prince. “Only if you shall, Your Royal Highness.”

“Give us a basket of your finest apples,” Kit commanded and nodded at the Captain, who was standing behind him.

You heard the jingle of the coin. Kit passed you an apple and you thanked him, holding the luscious fruit in your hands.

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness, and Miss.” The man said as he pocketed his coins.

“I gather you not only read German but you also speak it?” Kit asked once you had advanced from the stall.

“I would say I speak many languages. I am often the topic of conversation when I come with my father during his meets with other dignitaries and noblemen. As I am a curious person, I took it upon myself to study their languages so I knew what they were talking about.” You smiled at a flower seller. “Your blooms are very beautiful, madam, and their scent so fragrant.”

“Thank you, Miss.” When she saw the prince, she bent into a curtsy. “Your Royal Highness.”

Kit nodded at the woman. “What is it they talk about?” He turned to you.

You had bent over at one of the flowers, smelling the sweet scent of the rose. “They are surprised that my father opted to bring his daughter with him, not his son. I have no siblings and I have nothing to do whilst my father is away. I always insisted that I come along with him because I am fascinated with his work. The other dignitaries and noblemen think me overambitious for wanting to be like my father, since the fairer sex can only be for the home.”

You straightened and turned to the prince, only to find him hand you a bouquet of lavenders.

“Your favorite, if I remember correctly?” he asked as he presented the buds and blooms to you.

You smiled softly, taking the bunch from his hands. “Yes, they are, Kit.” You shyly put your nose on the buds, inhaling its sweet scent.

Kit smiled and he thanked the flower seller. He gestured for the way and you both ambled on.

“Was your father made aware of these topics?”

You nodded. “It is a difficult situation for him; to try and defend his daughter and risk not brokering agreement with the country or to let them insult me but have an agreement done. I developed thick skin since then. I’ve learned to not care for their words because it would not give me success if I do let it dishearten me.”

You both talked as you made your way around the square. People bowed and curtsied at the prince while you commented on the things you have found beautiful or worthy of praise. It was not as beautiful as the markets in Castilla or in Florence but it had it’s own charm unique only to your kingdom. The people were friendlier and happier. They seemed to enjoy their labour, instead of whinging about it.

It was nearing nightfall when you both rode back to the palace. You had learned a lot from Kit as well. He had told you of his aspirations for the kingdom, the laws he wanted to pass and proclaim. He talked more of his mother and her plans for more international trade. He had even asked for your opinions because you had seen what it was like in the other countries while he only learned them from books. For the first time since you had decided you wanted to be a diplomat, Kit’s simple question made you feel like you were one step closer to achieving it.

The merchants all had offered a piece of their sale to the both of you and you arrived at the palace bearing one of everything that was available for purchase in the square. Your most prized possession was the bouquet of lavenders he had given you and you had only let it go for Abigail to bring to your chambers.

“I shall warm your bed for you, miss,” Abigail said when you all had arrived back in the palace.

“Thank you, Abigail. Please, take some of the fruits for yourself and for the kitchen staff. I shan’t be able to eat them all.” You alighted the carriage with the prince’s help once more.

Abigail smiled and bowed at both you and the prince. “Thank you, miss. Your Royal Highness.”

“Let us tell father you have arrived. Perhaps he wishes to know you would like to go have dinner as well.” Kit grinned.

You chuckled lightly. “Do not tease your father, Kit. He is merely worried.” You followed him.

“Then I shall be happy to report that there’s no reason for him to be. We have both survived the trip to the square unscathed.”

You both smiled at each other.

The doors to the dining hall opened and Kit strode in. You stepped behind him.

“You took your time, my boy, but it is no matter.” The king said. He stood from his seat at the head of the table. “Come, Kit, and welcome the Princess Chelina of Zaragoza.”

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[duckbeater]

Journal Entry / Those Who Stay

A previous version of this post included the title supplements “(The Butcher of Loneliness, pt. 2; [Courtship, pt. 5]),” which made the top aggressively ugly and also abstruse. None the less, one should consider this entry as the fifth in a much-dislocated series. —The Editors

—

A stranger messaged me the other day, congratulating me on my Anne Carson tour. It seems I’d avoided her for two decades and then this last month [November] I read most of her work and posted about it, indiscriminately, nearly every night, on my IG story. Obv the accolades piled in, unstoppable. Indeed, I read most of her books in the span of two weeks—whatever I could find at the booksellers or online or through resellers, eager for her matter-of-fact eloquence on Greek historians, Proust’s long “fairy tale,” and then the remarks on Woolf (and why? I’ve barely read thru Swann’s Way). I was walking nearly 12 miles a day like the city varmint they track on TikToks. These were long walks to wear me down and they filled my heels with a bolting pain that pulsed, even in bed, even after taking many ibuprofen. I became lean like varmint, too. Running was an absolute nightmare but I ran anyway and obv you know this. 

What did I imagine Carson wrote versus what does she actually write? | thought she occupied herself with academic exercises—frosty, formal reports from the edge of translation, with some personal assaying inside. Crone’s notes; old lady vibes; sententious from her years collecting the high-finance prizes. (Thus I am both stupid and sexist.) I liked Autobiography of Red in grad school but couldn't follow the plot. [Falling out of the plot is a great fear of mine.] Her compendium of chapbooks, Float, has flashes of Frank O’Hara’s chatty list poems (“Eras of Yves Klein” and “How to Like ‘If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso’ By Gertrude Stein”), and a very funny aside on style in “Merry Christmas from Hegel”: “You will forgive me if you are someone who knows a lot about Hegel or understands it, I do not and will paraphrase badly, but I understood him to be saying he was fed up with popular criticism of his terrible prose.” Ancient playwrights made themselves known as ghostships do by creaking thru fog. These encounters were diverting but not fastening, perhaps because they were, let’s be frank, scraps, one-offs, anecdotes, whose audience could be best described as friends and family. What was her deal with the Brontës? The difficulty with pronouns? I wasn’t family yet. I hadn’t read enough. I was a younger man. My circumstances changed. I was presumed to fall out of love, pathetically so. I fell back in love with someone who didn’t love me back—a feeling whose use-value accounts for a world literature rich in sympathetic losers. It was an excellent time to read one Anne Carson.

She writes a lot about not getting what you want. I discovered, with Glass, Irony & God, that she’s never found peace with the lover who abandoned her (“It is stunning... when one’s lover comes in and says I do not love you anymore”) and that her oeuvre may well be a perduring dialog with that loss. In Plainwater, published the same year, she opens her “Anthropology of Water” by prefacing, “Water is something you cannot hold. Like men. I have tried. Father, brother, lover, true friends, hungry ghosts and God, one by one all took themselves out of my hands”; and in the ominous poem “New Rule” from Men in the Off Hours, “The night of hooks?// The man blade left open on the stair?/ Not enough spin on it, said my true love/ when he left in our fifth year.” Then in Decreation, re the Bloomsbury set, with its members at last in matrimonial equipoise, Carson shits on the premise of their futurity:

I wonder if they paused to look at each other, these mated and unmated people, on the exposed plane of an ordinary moment of that curious, heavy, historic, wrong day. Sudden feeling of oldness. Black upland wind. Bring a coat, they had been told, and a piece of smoked glass. It will get cold. It will hurt your eyes. Totality is lightless, and should be colourless, yet may intensify certain questions that hang at the back of the mind. What is a spouse after all? Will this one stay, can this one keep me alive?

I mean, it wasn't exactly a great time to be alive. Two world wars, bad cures for cancer, and the ungenial environment for genius women. Still, you get the sense her worry’s sincere; she wants these aristocratic oddballs to find some warmth, some flame of reason. Carson’s apocalyptic scene-setting puts me in mind of Bo Bartlett's Dreamland, a painting full of strange celebrants on their way from a wedding. They are curious, serious, strolling up a hill. A few appear to look back at their viewers. There’s a bride, a pilot, a priest, a baby with a crown; a lady rich in her furs; and leading them all, a fool.

—

In The Paris Review, Carson describes a childhood moving past fixed friendships as her father moved from bank to bank in Canadian backwaters. Uprooted every few years, she regarded her schoolmates as bad bets; better to shy away from relations whose half-life guaranteed painful, present decay. (These are facts. My mom suffered same as a preacher’s daughter, leaving midwest ministries every three years or so for the next Methodist parsonage. I asked her what that was like, and she said, “I was always learning new rules. I never understood them. What music people liked. How I should dress. What was funny. I made good grades and was very pretty but was teased constantly because I was quiet and the minister was my dad and I tried always to be nice. I felt very alone.” Another comp: Anne Carson’s father and my mother’s father both died of premature, catastrophic, late-stage Alzheimer’s.)

When you’re young, you learn how to keep people close: you learn to trust that they last and even if they don’t last, you at least learn that faculty of trust (that people stay), which is a kind of peace. Trust-breakers remain outliers. They do not pertain to a worldview of paralyzing detachment. But “I’ll be leaving,” thought Carson; “this won’t last.” Her work continually makes evident that it has never resolved, never made sense of leaving, and that she has never learned enough from it to move on. Further, her work emphasizes that she has chosen not to move on. That, sometimes, choosing obsessive disappointment is as liberating and galvanizing as choosing what we superficially call “freedom.” “I’ve avoided enlightenment resolutely,�� she says. “As it is, I’m just sad.”

In her brother’s epitaph, Carson includes Michael’s note admonishing her, “Don’t go back to the farm don’t go alone,” and, “Put the past away you have to.” The siblings were not only worlds but timescales apart. He wrote from Copenhagen where he was hard-scrabbling, existing on cigarettes and shopkeeping—but wifed-up—still, insect-pinned to a crime he committed in 1978 and never going home. Meanwhile, Anne led university students in Michigan through cases of Attic Greek (nominative, accusative, genitive, dative, and vocative) and composed odd poems about ruined expectations. On the one hand, several millennia of precedent: Simonides of Keos, Herodotos, Sokrates [her characteristic spelling favors a k where other scholars rely on the less economic ch], Archilochos, Augustine, Basho, Sartre. On the other, she inhabited estranging tactics: Is this a poem or prose translation? Is this a poem or academic gloss? Is this a poem or… opera? And then too the voices of dead starlets, Free French mystics, Romanian-born/German-language suicides, and (famously, for Anne Carson) Sappho. Her brother wrote “don’t go back” and “put the past away” but seemed sorely oblivious to her present case. Up stakes? From where? How can you return to where you’ve never left? How do you come back from where you’ve never gone, etc. (I’m asking for myself.)

Alice, a character in Complicite’s Mnemonic, tells her ex-lover Virgil, “You have to wait now and this time you follow,” crazing him. “Can you hear the inherent contradiction in that?” he reports to a friend, continuing: 

You have to wait and follow. It’s impossible. And I suddenly realized what’s happening to her . . . What’s going on is that she’s feeding back on herself. It’s feedback, turbulence. Her internal state is like weather. Our internal lives are a mystery. We don’t even know what causes us to sleep. My doctor can tell me I’ve got insomnia but he doesn’t know how or why.

I write that Anne Carson has never made sense of leaving, never moved on, and yet her formative years were spent in transit, dislocated, grasping and still removed. In her “Praise of Sleep,” she ends remarks on Elizabeth Bishop, Virginia Woolf, The Odyssey, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and Plato’s Krito with an ode whose last line reads: “Exit wound, as they say.” I consider this a hypothetical—a pretense—of feeling, because she hasn’t exited. Anne Carson is standing stock-still on blue icy hinterlands in dark Ontario. Others left, she stayed, and the wound (this is odd to say—actually, it’s certainly painful to write)—the wound is that we stay. If we exit, maybe we can find a goddam bandage or two. If we exit, maybe we can avoid further harm? In a play, as in life, exits create new scenes. You actually have to leave to move elsewhere, to move on. Acknowledging this is obv v silly but that doesn’t make it wrong. I corrected a friend on the same matter a few days ago: “This is not a metaphor.” 

“An epitaph is a way of thinking about death and gives consolation,” says Carson, in The Economy of the Unlost. “Salvation occurs, through the act of attention that forms stone into memory, leaving residue of greater life. I am speaking subjectively. There is no evidence of salvation except a gold trace in the mind.” 

Here my patience quavers.

Memory isn’t stone; it’s a blood sponge with connective neural byways and low electric activity. And gold is not found in persons whatsoever—not the element [unless thru surgery]—and only meekly by virtue of right action, as a simile, and a tired one.

—

[The sorrow of] unrequited love compels its sufferers to do strange things. Sometimes monstrous things. Of course requited love feeds upon its own vagaries—obsessive texting; fucking in closets at parties; betraying your right conscience to do wrong things (e.g, the one time I went on a big gay camping trip while my grandmother died, not too far away, to shore up my relations with a man. My brothers, who’d flown in to comfort my mother, found my absence unspeakably bizarre). Success in love absorbs these bursts of mania and incorporates them rather too smoothly into the usual narratives of banal romantic triumph. A rehearsal dinner’s tear-stained anecdotes; the party fodder; nostalgia. And despite the severity of love’s work in these broken measures, the idiocy of courtship (and situationship and relationship) have become a civic pastime—a tax some lucky ones pay to perdure in the dreamscape of public life as married, home-owning child-bearers.  

You have to be absolutely nuts. Just out of your mind. You have to be so accommodating, nearly incorporeal, to integrate another’s habits and tastes. Their family—and that family’s customs? You have to know how much regular sex to expect, and money, and if perhaps you care to swing when you travel? Obviously I could not. But then, the happily-in-love don’t write essays on love. They bask cage-jawed behind love’s silencing muzzle. The happily-in-love are editors or novelists or reporters. There are no stings for them, no impalements, and they are galvanized to look elsewhere for the stories of their day. They’re great gossips, for instance, in the miseries of the unloved, because the unloved bring them news. 

[fragment ends]

[nurbanu22]

Giana Corleone: Arranged Marriage.

Masterlist.

Chapter 1 >>

Prologue:

When Giana was 10 years old, her mother decided to start teaching her how to sew, claiming that it was a necessity when becoming someone's wife. She hated him as soon as she told him the reason for her, but over time she knew how to put that newfound ability to good use, creating the expensive outfits and glamorous dresses that she wore to all the charity parties. When her father and her brothers went to fight in the Great War, she took over the accounting of the family business, and continued to do so when they returned. She had always loved art, since she was a child she made portraits of her family, clay sculptures, mostly of faces, and she painted pictures that decorated her family home. As a child she dreamed that she could take her part of her family money, buy a house far from the city and live on her art… but that dream was always that, a dream. A dream that was dashed as soon as she walked into her father's office, greeted by the news that her hand had been promised to a Birmingham gangster. From that fateful day, Giana was told little about the man she would marry or her family, but she was lured by information about what flowers would be in her bouquet, the cut of her dress, and the number of flowers. of guests. Of course the Corleones would spare no expense, after all it was her youngest daughter who was getting married.

_____________________________

Vito Corleone had heard that a London gangster named Thomas Shelby wanted to ask him for a favor, investigating him, he discovered that he was the leader of his family, with a business going up. A week later he received the expected call, short and simple. Vito promised Thomas Shelby protection and loyalty for life uniting both families. He knew for a long time that her youngest daughter, Giana, would escape to form a normal life and different from the one he led, leaving her exposed to all her enemies, marrying her was her only and best option. And so it was agreed, in 8 days, his daughter would be given to him in holy matrimony.

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 12 | " HEAR THE BELLS TOLL ! "

starring: enhypen ft. daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, angst, romance, slowburn, 18th century setting

warning/s: none

word count: 2.5k <33

taglist: @sooblvr @en-sun @ofaffectionate @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix-archive @gyeraniee @wizcode @stxrryemxlys @definitely-not-kyuzu @lost-leopard-beanie @hyunsunge @thonkingdeepo @sunshineshouchan @peachyun @youreverydayzebra @seoli-16

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ EPILOGUE ]

“The cold rain that once lasted for days enveloped the entire ton for over a month. The cheerless weather of the North tainted even the citizens themselves that neither silly frolics nor mischievous follies were heard and seen. It somehow seemed that the timing lasted in a great opportune as the storm left the town merely two days from the grandest and highly anticipated wedding of Northumberland.

The eerie atmosphere was now replaced by an azure hue as flocculent clouds draped over the populace. Everyone was gawking at how bright the horizon became after seeing dreadful and dragging days, and the air has been nothing but pleasant now.

Today marked the keenly awaited ceremony; the union of once separate and carefully observed souls. As it was written in the Royal Decree by the Queen, if a wedding needs to be rushed, an appeal must take place in the royal grounds two weeks before the matrimony and affront the Royal Highness herself. Miss Y/n’s and her soon-to-be husband’s family eagerly prepared everything up until the minuscule details that the pair’s appeal went smoothly and successfully.

Apparently, it was quite dishonoring for some to have left the Queen in tight lip with regards to the whole charade of the scandal after the triumphant appeal. The ton rather demanded satisfaction but fortunately, the Majesty saw the urgency right through the pair’s very loving eyes, and as the season is imminently closing, the monarchy sought to save the best nuptial ceremony for last.

Also known as “The Windsor of the North”, the Alnwick Castle reopened its entryways to the families of the nuptials as the Queen saw it fit to unravel the season’s denouement with a rather grand celebration. The castle’s church donned the ceiling with ornate chandeliers of incandescent glow as wedding wreath tulles were pinned against each side of the pew. Each row was occupied by the members of the family as their chatters bounced at every corner of the archaic yet elegant hall.

Fresh and pristine we all are in due preparation for the grandest wedding of the season. With the finest Swarovski jewels dangling along with the pretty layered chandeliers, you'd look twice for certainty if the oozing glamour is merely just the magnificent hall or the lovely framed portrait of the betrothed themselves!

The invited clans from the ton await the families of the couple and the nuptials from the marriage rites that are about to happen in Alnwick's church as we speak. As we are all gathered around one of the finest floors in the North, the guests will surely never be bored killing time as an abundant potluck is tending the folks generously, along with a quintet orchestra that's poignantly serving glorious tunes from the raised platform.

Donned with bedazzled shimmers and a glamorous, thickly petticoated dress, the Royal Highness is serving the ton with a look, topping it off with an elusive, yet gorgeous beehive updo. She sits among the pew reserved for the elite members of the ton, smiling at the wonderful sight that is the invitees savoring their time before the highly anticipated couple conquer the room. She shares brief exchanges to her servants, ever so kindly returning the same pleasant look upon their faces.

As an hour awaits the fate and the excitement of us all, The Daily Tattle is finishing the final stroke of their quill for a rather momentous moment to be carefreely bathed upon. Join me as we welcome the newly wedded couple from the finest clans of Northumberland!

Therefore I must say this now before leaving you all for a thrilling celebration, congratulations to the jewel of the North and her ever so charming husband!

See you in an hour!”

The betrothed bride was still concealed from both clans as she kept pacing back and forth in her bridal chamber with only her older brother’s company. She kept on fidgeting her satin gloves in contemplation all the while nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Seriously, sister, do you wish for your lips to be bruised before your husband kisses it?” Jay sat at one of the bejeweled chairs, arms leaning atop the armrests. His eyes trailed upon his sister’s fitted bodice which their mother pertained to as glamorous and comfortable. “Are you certain it’s not the corset that’s making you feel iffy? You look concernedly unwell.”

“I’m not iffy, Jay. I’m just nervous.” She stopped from her dizzying paces and turned to her brother. “It’s like I’m about to have a fever, or I may have already acquired it.”

“Unlucky for you this is a fever you can’t sweat. If it’s still weighing you down, I suggest you take a brief breather by the garden. There’s still half an hour to get yourself out there in the aisle.” Jay stood up from his seat and walked closer to his sister, carefully wiping away any evident sweat.

“If it helps, I remember seeing him taking a gander in the tiny greenhouse by the corner of the yard not too long ago.” Y/n shoots a worried look to her brother before giving away a smile and a grateful kiss on the cheek.

She rushed to the garden crumpling a handful of her dress to free her quick steps from possible hindrances. Huffing out in the process, she frantically searched for the familiar figure in the place where her brother directed her to. A tiny glimpse of the gent’s frock coat confirmed her whispered wishes before an audible sigh of relief made him swivel from the rickety old chair.

“You’re here,” she muttered under her breath. “but I… I thought… I thought you-”

“Shhh,” He placed a thumb against her lips, then softly caressed it before hiding his hand away in the comforts of his pocket. He cleared his throat from his attempts to sound bravado, but his barely bubbly eyes gave it away.

“I can’t leave without saying my goodbyes now, can I? Adversity can be a blessing too, Y/n. Some things are meant to happen, and I guess we’re both meant for something greater. The only difference is, you’ve already reached your pinnacle, and I can’t believe I’d be here to witness it.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” He chuckled lightly which made her feel a bit at ease with the sudden sound of comfort. “Don’t be. It was bound to happen, anyway. Just took me a little while to see myself on the way out.”

“Where will you go after all this?”

“I am to pursue my travels. I’ve already apprised my family about my wishes if I am not to marry by this season, not to you at least.” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“I had a marvelous time. I hope you know that I genuinely enjoyed every single moment with you.”

“Well, I gained the weight of it all just to watch and lose it. Hearing that raised my spirits, at the very least.” He paused for a moment, trying to muster up the courage to say the next few lines.

“To me, it was an affection so great and deep that I felt myself drowning with nobody to hang on to. I don’t want to think that every moment spent was wasting time, Y/n. I had the most wonderful time with you. As you've told me, only the greatest love will persuade you into matrimony, this certainly is the moment, and he is the most fortunate man in the world.” He paused for a brief moment to clear his throat, eyes following her tantalizing orbs.

His eyes soon traveled down to the detailed hems of her dress, making her nibble on her bottom lip in utter shyness. “You know, when I linger in your eyes, I still go crazy. But the burning passion, deep down inside, isn’t there anymore. And I’m grateful for that if not for everything, that way it’s convenient enough for us both that we settled things before my departure, and before your marriage rites too.”

“I won’t ever forget you.”

“Certainly, you won’t. I’d like to linger around your memories for long, might even stop by to meet your brood that's large enough to put others' to shame." She giggled at his light humor, sighing afterward, and thought about how much she'll miss his presence. He engulfed her in a warm embrace soon after, never minding that her soon-to-be husband could probably see them from the terrace.

It is only a platonic gesture after all; a friend seeing a friend off to his leave, and sadly nothing more.

“Come now. Let's not ruin a special day for something as minuscule as this. Like anything good, it's sad when it's over. But bear in mind the good parts, Y/n."

Unbeknownst to them, Ni-ki was courteously standing by the arched entrance, attempting to clear his throat to make his sudden presence known. The two slowly pulled away from each other's warmth.

“The time has come, sister. We must make haste, everyone's on their toes.”

“Thank you, Riki.” Ni-ki acknowledged the gent's sentiments and returned a rather genuine and warm smile, something that surprised the two even.

“I'll see you around. I heard business is booming in London, so I hope we can talk things over tea soon and settle some matters. It's been comforting, knowing you contributed a lot to my sister's cheerful moments.”

Y/n walked towards her brother before sparing one final glance at the chap. “I should...”

“As should I.” He chimed before giving Y/n and Ni-ki acknowledging nods, a sign that his leave should be on the move now. It was with a heavy and reluctant, yet reassured heart that the once-coveted pair exchanged their final farewells. It wasn’t long enough when the vibrating toll of the bells resonated among the grounds, making everyone turn to the place of origin.

“I’ve taxed your patience long enough. You must make your leave now, wouldn’t want your groom to be kept waiting otherwise he’d be pissed to land a knuckle up my face again.” They traded hearty chuckles for the last time before finally leaving each other’s magnetic presence.

Back at the church, the ladies were having their corsets almost up to their throats, and the men, merely an ample of seconds away from going mad with their tight fits and the now warm weather wasn’t doing much of a help.

The groom, on the other hand, was standing on tiptoes trying to meditate from the restless nerves he’s been having since a sennight ago. For the time being, their sense of relief relies upon the awaited entourage of the most beautiful bride of the season.

Time was barely wasted when the gigantic antique doors sprung wide, welcoming the most important person in the room with beaming smiles that could almost melt any existing threats in sight.

Clad in a short-sleeved, beaded ivory gown, her waist was gracefully wrapped in a fitted bodice with rhinestone sequins gracing the lower hems of her dress. Evident support of hoops and multi-layered petticoats adorned her lower half as an organdy sheer covered the manifold of satins from the outside.

The elegantly gilded light fixtures at the ceiling reflected against her immaculate dress, making it look more vibrant and charismatic. She pinned her thumbnail against her forefinger in an attempt to calm her nerves, fortunately, her brother’s got to it first. “Don’t want to sound immodest but it seems like your pretty do for today is making your man utterly impatient to slide that ring on your finger.”

The anxious longing for the ceremony suddenly vanished when the young miss of dainty nature slowly paced along the aisle, moving past the sweet-smelling rosebuds and beige-colored satins draping at the side of the pews. With a bouquet of Catalpa flowers in hand as the other rested atop Jay’s forearm, Y/n deliberately huffed out exhales and heaved in heavy inhales as her feet drew closer to her delighted man in each passing step.

In attempts to hide her nerve-wracked state, she smiled and nodded to the families in present all the while eyeing her lover from the platform whose eyes were sparkling with tears and forehead glistening with tiny droplets of sweat.

“Best of luck to you both,” Jay whispered before handing his sister’s gloved hand over to the dashing groom. She beamed a smile at the awestruck sight that is in front of her while he whispered a soft “You look perfectly beautiful as always, love.” making the young miss flush a tinge of pink across her cheeks.

After due speeches and acknowledgments from the bishop affront, it was now time to reveal her pure hand from the satin glove that concealed it. The charming lord slowly pulled the cloth off from each finger until it was smooth enough to be withdrawn.

He lifted the diamond ring before carefully sliding it into her ring finger, eyes never leaving her beautiful ones. Almost finishing the ceremony with the exchanges of their “I dos”, the bishop warmly smiled at the couple before raising his hands mid-air to announce the most awaited line, “You may now seal your vows with a kiss.”

“Just when I thought I wanted to save the best kiss for last, I am reminded of the particular one we shared during our midnight garden stroll. I’d be generous enough to shower you with love but for now, I hope this suffices.” The charming lad planted a chaste kiss upon Y/n’s pinched lips, a sweet smile formed in between the gesture.

“I love you. I always will,” he whispered.

“I love you too, my lord, always,” she replied.

“I now pronounce you man and wife!” The giddy families emitted a rather exuberant applause as the pair shared another intimate kiss after the bishop’s final acknowledgment of their union. Without any further ados, Jay approached the two, handing out his open palm for his sister to hold on to as she took careful steps from the raised platform.

“Congratulations, Yang.” He chimed as he gently patted the back of the fine eligible-no-more. Jungwon let out a sigh of relief, finally thanking the heavens above as the blissful moments of long and beautiful days awaited them with love in each other’s arms.

At last— at long long last, under the universe’s constant and meticulous efforts; a yearning of almost a decade long and restless heartbeats now ceased and the once friends turned enemies turned lovers, now came as hopeless romantics no more.

Burning passions and affections brimming over at the edges of their hearts, a love once shared in secrecies and illicit sheer forts now finally unmasked for the whole world to know and celebrate.

To everyone, it is a love so great and deep, they could feel themselves drowning, but this time, with each other to hold on to. —

*taglist is closed!!!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[sollannaart]

Why Józef Poniatowski never married

“A man with a reputation of a womanizer, with a couple of illegitimate children - and not married? Why so?” Knowing my interest in prince Poniatowski different people from time to time ask me these questions. So I decided to write this post to clarify the issue.

Prince Józef making a proposal, an engraving by F. Begat, 1821, from a French aquatint series illustrating Poniatowski’s life and death events - a  completely imaginary, but the best illustration combining both the topics of  “Poniatowski” and “marriage” I was able to find.

And to understand why Pepi remained a bachelor to the end of his days we need to have a look at his whole life, starting from the younger years. 

Because when prince Poniatowski was in his twenties he did want to marry, to make his first love, the Austrian countess Karolina von Thun, his wedded wife.

Maria Carolina Anna von Thun, miniature brush by Anna Hochstädt (based on the original by Friedrich Heinrich Füger).

But, as I wrote in the post dedicated to prince Józef’s women, Pepi’s uncle, the Polish king, didn’t allow the nephew to associate himself with a girl of his choice. So, in the first case Poniatowski didn’t marry because he was prohibited to. 

Furthermore, the king had his own ideas on which families it would have been convenient to become related with ordering prince Józef’s hands to their daughters. Among them there were a couple of cousins Czartoryskis (Maria and her younger sister, Zofia). Then Krystyna - the daughter of Ignacy Potocki. And one more girl - from Rzewuski family etc. (But all these projects remained on paper, and I am not even sure whether Józef knew about them.)

Anyway, the pressing of necessity to obey his uncle-king in matrimonial matters remained with prince Józef at least until Stanisław’s August abdication in 1795 (if not till 1798, when the latter died). And Pepi was finally “free” his first love wasn’t free anymore.

Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun, portrait of Lady Gillford, nee Marie Caroline von Thun, ci. 1792-95.

Yes, in 1793 the countess von Thun became the wife of a British diplomat, lord Gillford.

And approximately at the same time in Pepi’s life there appeared another lady, a Frenchwoman named Henriette de Vauban.

Felicja Pichor-Śliwicka as Henriette de Vauban and Józef Węgrzyn as Józef Poniatowski in Jan Adolf Hertz’s play “Prince Jozef Poniatowski”

First she accompanied prince Józef and his sister during their travel around Europe. And later, when in 1798 Poniatowski settled down in Warsaw, Madame  de Vauban not only moved together with him into his famous palace “Pod Blachą” but quickly took on herself responsibilities of the “hostess”. 

An unknown painter, a miniature portrait of Henriette de Vauban, ci. 1789

And the presence of Henriette in prince Józef’s life is thought by French (and even some Polish) historians to be a reason of Poniatowski’s indisposition to “tie the knot”.

Yes, being from 1798 to 1806 a Prussian subject and a private person Poniatowski theoretically could propose whoever he wanted. But Madame de Vauban was, from one hand, already married. And, from the other hand, she was giving prince Józef enough comfort not to seek consolation in a marriage with another woman. 

The feast arranged on occasion of prince Jozef’s birthday in the former royal library at the castle in Warsaw, Zygmunt Vogel, 1808

So it may be stated that prince Józef didn’t marry Madame de Vauban because she wasn’t eligible, and didn’t choose any other woman because he didn’t want to.

Ok, you may ask, and what about Zofia Czosnowska, the woman who gave birth to Poniatowski’s second son?

An unknown painter, a miniature portrait of Zofia Czosnowska

Considering this lady we first need to keep in mind that she herself was also married. (And though she separated from her first husband even before she became Pepi’s mistress, their formal divorce happened much after Poniatowski’s death, she during the time of his life Zofia Czosnowska wasn’t free either.)

An aside I couldn’t help but write: with all Pepi’s feelings towards beautiful Zofia, her appearance in his life didn’t change prince Józef’s lifestyle. As if nothing had happened Henriette de Vauban continued to live in Poniatowski’s house, prince Józef mentioned her in his will of 1812, and even shortly before his death he is recalled to say that “When it comes to dying ... to the afterlife I will take with me the unearthly smile of Henrietta ...”. All this IMHO eloquently says whom he really was attached to.

Poniatowski’s will

And there is one more thing we should take into account when looking at prince Józef’s later years. Namely - the creation in 1807 the Duchy of Warsaw.  

Napoleon issuing the Constitution of the Duchy of Warsaw by Marcello Bacciarelli (1811)

Because this event, definitely positive for prince Józef’s motherland, simultaneously turned him from a private person to a public one, with all the consequences. And though Napoleonic code, from one hand, allowed divorces, the emperor, on the other hand, preferred to arrange marriages to his people by himself. Which means that had prince Józef acquired a desire to marry a woman he liked he first should have persuaded Napoleon to approve such a choice. And this again put Poniatowski in a kinda gloomy state like it had been years ago when he was dependent on the wishes of his monarch. And this fact may in my opinion served an explanation if to ask why Pepi didn’t divorce one of his mistresses from her husband and marry her... 

And the last but not the least. Yes, by many people prince Józef is thought to have be a womanizer, but the more I learn about him the am I becoming convinced, that this might been a kind of “exaggeration”.

Antoni Uniechowski, prince Józef Poniatowski in Jabłonna, 1975

Because many a diarists recall that “he liked women, and women liked him”, but precise names are rarely mentioned, and if to count the ones of Poniatowski’s proven “love interests” the number is in fact not very high (especially to compare with such known “ladies' man” from the epoch like Napoleon, Talleyrand, Murat etc..) 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXV

Warnings: dark elements, dubcon (oral)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The wedding day arrives.

Note: Okay, okay. It’s the wedding and I know y’all are thirsty wenches. I’m gonna keep writing however I want in this series because you know what, it’s fun and whatever happens happens. This is an adventure and we’re taking it. So without further ado.

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

The two weeks spent at Heron's Ford were both the longest and shortest of your life. You were reluctant to leave behind the crystal lake and the wading birds for which the castle was named. With your mother as your only companion, you whiled away the days and nights in a tenuous state of anxiety. The days ticked off until your inevitable doom.

Two nights before your return to the capital, a physician arrived to examine you. The ritual was sterile and awkward. He knelt between your legs and scribbled upon a parchment thereafter. Your mother saw him off and returned to comfort you. It was over and better that it was.

You arrived at the royal abode the night before the wedding. You were spirited into the Fort where every queen had spent the eve of the marriage. Both Sarah and Eleanor had done so, though your mind lingered on the latter. She had returned the Fort in a vicious twist and she left it without her head.

Your mother asked if you should like to walk the grounds but you remained in your chamber for fear of stumbling upon the green. You could think of nothing but the blood dripping into the grass; the queen’s head upon the frozen ground. The memory kept you awake. You expected many brides spent the night restless but likely upon much different woes.

You rose before the sun. Your mother had little trouble sleeping upon your shared mattress and you did not disturb her as you stood and crossed to the vanity. You sat and looked into the square mirror. The darkness cast shadows across your face, an eerie line along your throat that had your hand reaching for it.

“Dear,” Your mother’s voice was thick with sleep. You saw her sit up behind your reflection and shimmy across the bed. “Is it time already?”

“The sun will be upon us soon,” You answered as you turned away from the mirror. “We should send for water.”

“And food.” Your mother suggested.

“I have little appetite,” You said as you touched your stomach. 

“Even so, you should eat. It will be a long day.” She advised as she rose and searched for her robe along the far wall. “My dear, do not trouble yourself so. It will go to plan.”

You hung your head and didn’t tell her how little you cared of whether it went to plan. Of the real troubles that stirred within. You nodded and stood to fetch your own robe and wrapped yourself up in it as you neared the window. The tower faced the castle and you looked down upon the spring dew through the fog. The sun would clear the mist though the light could offer little guidance.

👑

You were taken to the See at the centre of the city in a covered carriage. The streets were full of people enraptured by the festivities. A year before, none had expected to witness a royal wedding so soon; if at all in their lives. You glanced out the slit of the window shade as your leg shook uncontrollably beneath your skirts.

You were alone. Your mother had left you as you were led into the carriage. She would reach the See before you and join those gathered for the occasion. The voices without were raucous and filled your chest with sparks. The common folk cared little for courtly drama but were most agreed to the tables provided by the king in tents along the streets. Platters and cups would be sated on the royal coppers.

When at last the wheels ground to a halt, you waited in the vehicle and pulled the thin veil over your face. The thin coronet held it in place as you listened for the signal to emerge. A gentle tape came and the door opened. You stood and bent through the low door as a step was set out for you. You were offered a hand from a servant and took it as your vision was shrouded by your headdress.

The cobbled walkway that led to the holy edifice was lined with onlookers. Guards held them back as they reached to touch your silken skirts and grab at your veil. You carried on if only to avoid their grasp. The tall doors were open atop the wide stairs and you ascended with the help of the servant, several others tended to your skirts and kept them from snagging. 

At the top of the steps, the crowd within added to the buzz of voices. A sudden burst of horns echoed along the tall ceilings and were mimicked by those without, announcing the arrival of the bride. The guests quieted and the high vaults were deathly and still. You peered down the aisle between the rows of people and your eyes found the distant figure at the front of the hall.

The king stood in beside the bishop. His golden brocade contrasted the dark smock of the minister sharply. You gulped as the servant wrestled his hand from yours. You were left to stand upon your own and it felt as if time had stopped. The horns were joined by the plucking of harps. For a moment, you didn’t move as you forgot to breathe.

At last, you took your first step forward. The second one was heavier, and the third. And then it became habit. On foot in front of the other as you waded through the sea of skirts and doubt. You kept your head forward, afraid that if you saw a familiar face you might turn back to hide.

As you reached the altar, another servant stepped forward and helped you up onto the low platform. You braced yourself before you proceed to the men stood patiently at the centre. The bishop was a thin man with thick black hair and a crooked nose. His long fingers were woven together across his front. The king looked younger and for a moment, unfamiliar. He had shaved his thick beard and resembled the old portrait that had formerly hung over your hearth. You gasped quietly.

You turned to face your betrothed as the bishop nodded to both of you. The music faded and the paralyzing silence returned. You folded one hand over the other and held your head up as best you could. The coronet felt heavier than before. The veil seemed thinner and you felt entirely bare.

The bishop cleared his throat and began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of the lord to join together this Man and this Woman in sacred matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of our creator, and into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

The bishop paused and looked around the room. Skirts ruffled and benches creaked but no voice rose. No protest was spoken.

“I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment, why you may not be lawfully joined together that you confess it. For those who shall be coupled together otherwise than by the lord’s word are not joined together by Him; neither is their union lawful.”

The bishop paused again, this time for effect. He peered between you again before he focused on the king.

“Will you have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after the lord’s ordinance in the holy estate of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as you shall live?”

Steven stood straighter as your eyes widened. You were thankful for the shield of your headdress. He spoke loudly and his voice bounced from the rafters. “I will. With all my being, I swear it.”

The bishop turned then to you.

“Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after the lord’s ordinance in the holy estate of marriage? Will you obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as you shall live?”

Your legs wobbled but you kept yourself upright. You inhaled deeply and forced your voice from the depth of your stomach. You dug your nails into your other hand and declared, “I will.”

“And do you,” The bishop looked to Steven, “Present your ring to this woman as a symbol of your devotion; of your loyalty; of your love?”

“I do,” Steven replied as he reached into his jacket and pulled forth a golden band with a sapphire upon its face. He held out his hand as you tore yours apart and forced your palm against his. You wondered if he could feel you quaking as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

“And do you,” The bishop turned again. “Present your ring to this man as a symbol of your devotion; of your loyalty; of your love?”

“I…” You fumbled in the pocket sewn along your belt and fished the thick golden band from within. Along the inside was inscribed the words, my king. “Do.” Steven turned his hand so that you could place the ring on his thick finger. When you finished, he grabbed your hand and held it firmly as the bishop proceeded. 

“We call upon the blessing of the creator, that this marriage shall be fruitful, peaceful, and loving. We thank the lord for this union and that it should come to be. We do ordain this marriage as holy and binding before his eye and upon his word. I do declare, by his decree, this marriage to be true and legal. To be sacred and unbreakable. Praise.”

“Praise,” The crowd returned in unison and your lips barely moved as you stood with your hand in the king’s vice-like fingers.

“King Steven, I do call upon you to present this woman as your new wife.” The bishop said. “To unveil her to these witnesses and the world as your one and consecrated only.”

“Thank you, your holiness,” The king released you and turned to you. 

He smiled as he reached to the hem of your veil and lifted it slowly but determinedly. As he uncovered your face, you forced a smile of your own. You felt as if you would choke. He let the thin fabric fall back over your hair and took your hand once more. He pulled you to face the crowd with him.

“I do declare you to be husband and wife,” The bishop called as the king raised your hand in his. “May your lives together be most blessed.”

The crowd erupted in cheers as you stood in shock. You could barely believe it had happened so swiftly. Your eyes searched the room but with the king’s hand upon yours, there was no escape to be had. Your mother dabbed away tears as she clung to your father and the dowager watched with her implacable gaze. Lord Barnes didn’t look and examined the ceiling instead.

Steven lowered your hand and leaned down to speak in your ear. You could barely hear him above the din. “My wife,” He preened. “All mine.”

👑

You barely recalled your walk back down the aisle. You felt detached; as if the person you were when you arrived remained at the altar. If it hadn’t been for the king dragging you from the See, you suspected you would have stayed there for as long as you could. The streets were lively yet and the guards struggled to keep your path clear. The carriage door shielded you from the droves.

Steven fell against the seat and pulled you down beside him. He removed his crown and set it aside with a sigh. You exhaled and let your shoulders droop as you leaned your head back. His hand clung to yours as your skin stung with shock. This couldn’t be. It was a dream. A nightmare.

His fingers moved as he loosened his grip. He caressed the back of your hand and touched your pale skirts. He played with the fabric as you lifted your head to look at him. He turned and leaned in as he bent to kiss you. The carriage jolted and the horses hooves set off down the road.

“My wife,” He drew away. “My wife, my wife…” He repeated over and over. “And I am your husband,” He cradled your face with his hand. “Say it.”

“My husband,” You uttered as he dragged his thumb below your lips. 

“Our union has been blessed and we are ordained.” His hand fell and glossed over your chest. You went rigid as he continued his path and bunched you skirts in his hand. “It is our duty as husband and wife to consummate our marriage.”

“My king, should we not...wait?” You gulped.

“We’ve waited a very long time already,” He purred as he rubbed his nose against your temple and continued to tug your skirts upward. “A very.” His hand pushed beneath the silk and struggled with your shift. “Very,” He slipped past the bottom layer and tickled your thigh, “Long,” He crawled along your skin and you closed your legs around his hand. “Time.”

“We have the feast,” You squeezed his hand between your thighs as he wiggled it. “We are not far from the castle.”

“The people can wait upon us,” He insisted as he dug his nails into your flesh and you were forced to part your legs. “A taste…” He sat back and slid off the seat onto his knees. “That’s all.” He moved in front of you and his fingers grazed your most sensitive part as his other hand gripped your knee. “Did you not vow to be obedient?”

“I did, I did,” You flinched as he pressed deeper and his fingertip sent a spark through you. He repeated the motion as he flicked the bud nestled there. You squeaked as he held his finger firm and toyed with you.

“And I did vow to comfort you.” He grinned as he pushed between your legs. “And so I shall.”

His eyes drifted down and watched his hand. You couldn’t bear to follow his gaze as the warmth seeped from his touch. He bent his head and you watched his golden hair as he leaned in. You were mortified as you felt his warm breath along your vee and his finger grazed along your folds.

His tongue met your clit as it resumed the work of his finger. He spread his hand over his thigh as his other went over your dress and held your hip. Your breath hitched as he worked his tongue and his lips circled your bud as he suckled at it. He varied between the two; lapping and sucking as the tendrils coiled around you.

You planted your hands on the seat as you tried to withhold the moans that filled your chest. You’d never felt anything so peculiar. Anything so tingly. So wonderful. It chased away the dread that clouded your mind and you forgot that the man between your thighs was the same who created the storm.

Your legs bent as you pointed your toes in your slippers. You didn’t think as you arched your back. You could not censor the mewls that rose from you and interrupted the sloppy sound of his tongue. You gulped at the air that whisked from your lungs faster and faster and your voice could not be stifled.

He reached up and took your hand from the seat. He pulled it blindly to the back of his head and pressed it there. He hummed as he buried himself deeper and pushed his tongue down along your folds before flitting it back up. You closed your eyes as you felt every muscle tense in longing; for more, for him. 

You didn’t know what he was doing but he must’ve been doing it right. You couldn’t deny that you liked it. You couldn’t say you wanted him to stop. You wanted him to carry on forever. Your fingers molded to the shape of his crown as you urged him on. You murmured hazily as your head lolled back and forth.

You were panting madly. Like an animal. You knew, beneath the fog, that you should be ashamed but it felt too good to be ashamed. He brought your legs up over his shoulders as he tilted your pelvis against him. You held him between your knees as your other hand found his head and you kneaded his golden hair.

You babbled as your blood boiled over and your body seized in sheer pleasure. His tongue swirled around and around. All restraint was lost. Every bond, every rule, every little barrier fell away and you were free. Your voice piqued as your body did too and you writhed against the king.

You’d never felt anything so delightful. So raw. So delicious. If this was sin, it was worth the eternal cost. He did not stop until you were breathless. Until the strength left you entirely and your hands slipped away from his head and your legs hung limply over him.

Slowly, he raised his head and looked up at you. His lips shone as he smirked and ran his finger along your delicate bud. You were delirious. It had been but a lapse in your sanity as the glow faded. You looked down at your stockinged legs; exposed and trembling.

The king climbed up next to you and pulled your skirts down to cover you. To replace the modesty you’d so easily forgotten. You closed your eyes and turned away from him. He caught your chin and pulled you back to face him. He pushed his lips to yours and shoved his tongue in your mouth. He tasted sweeter than before.

“Oh, we will wait,” He pulled away and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Though I do not think I will be the one so impatient.”

[mwolf0epsilon]

Maybe a story about Norman being a good parent?

Summary: Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was a Polk, and the Polks did not hurt their young, or whatever they perceived as such.

You all knew it was coming inevitably...

---

[[MORE]]

     Norman's and Margarite's marriage had come as a surprise to the entire Polk family. A simple signature on a piece of paper, and a pair of battered rings that had belonged to Nanna and Poppop Polk (gifted to him by the former who always knew he'd be a better fit for them). No fanciful ceremony with pretty dresses or suits, expensive cakes and extensive guest list.

A disappointing waste, his mama had proclaimed over the letter she'd sent as a reply to his own that detailed his status as a married man in a far off city. She'd wanted to witness the event, shed her motherly tears as one of her little ducklings became a real man ready to start a family.

But, to Norman and Maggie, the marriage wasn't a motive of celebration like his mama thought. It was insurance against further discrimination towards them. They were, after all, the black couple that lived in a quaint apartment in New York city.

Already that was a challenge of its own, as said apartment was populated primarily by white hot-blooded tenants, with only one more laying vacant for a (hopefully) friendlier family.

Their downstairs neighbor clearly hated them from sight alone, and the others were unsure how the new additions fit into their "perfect" lives in the Big Apple. If any of them were to discover that they both enjoyed the full spectrum of the gender binary, well... Accidents happened in the big city. Accidents that targeted specific minorities for some "unfathomable" reason.

So yes, as shameful as it may be, their wedding was strictly business. Rings for show, public displays of affection to dispell the gossip, and overall just the usual married life arguments in the grocery store to sell the deal (neither of them could care less about which type of sugar made the best apple pie crust, or what brand of soap was better, but it sure made the couples they passed by smile knowingly at the common domestic disputes). There was just one thing left to do to really make a statement on their relationship status.

  "Three of my coworkers are getting maternity leave. It's been a few months, I think it's time."

Children were a sensitive topic. Both Norman and Maggie wanted kids, had a vague idea of how many they planned to raise, and were quite certain they'd make beautiful and healthy younglings with one another. The question was: Was it fair to bring in chidren into a farce of a matrimony? What if one day they found their actual ideal partner?

  "Yous better be sure it's the right time darlin'..." He'd urged her to think more on the subject. "Don't want to rush things like that now, do we?"

  "I'm ready." She'd stared him in the eye with a certainty and confidence he couldn't begin to imagine. He knew she was, but was he? Was he truly ready to bare such a responsibility?

That night he relented to her wishes and they had finally consummated their marriage. Nine months later, little Nancy was born a small but relatively healthy baby. Upon seeing his firstborn for the first time ever, and then holding her gently in hands that dwarfed her little head greatly, Norman immediately understood he was ready to be a parent. And a loving one at that.

-

     In total, Norman and Maggie had five children. Three boys and two girls. Nancy was their eldest child and the more levelheaded of the bunch. The apple of her mother's eye, and her father's baby girl, she was the perfect balance of their greatest qualities and teachings. A clever and determined young girl with big aspirations for her future. She wanted to be a doctor.

Aaron was the second eldest child and the one most like his father. Clever and with an eye for detail, enough so that he had taken up an interest that fits his perceptive nature: Photography. The walls of the Polk household were filled with his works, at first done with Norman's own old and battered camera, until he'd bought the young lad his very own fancy new model.

Louise was the middle child, and the troublemaker of the bunch. She was a bit of a tomboy, and liked to scrap with the boys in her class, to the point where it wasn't uncommon to see her with several bruises and band-aids, and haphazardly taped wireframed glasses. She kept both Norman and Maggie on their toes.

Albert was the second youngest and the quietest. A little bookworm that appreciated the art of literature over anything else. He wanted to be a novelist, even at a very young age, and often shared ideas for stories at the dinner table. There was no doubt in Norman's heart that his little boy would write a best-seller one day. Maggie fretted for his social life, however, as he was the least sociable of their children. Far too shy.

Finally the youngest child was Willard. An outspoken young toddler that was definitely as confident as his mama. A little tot with a very big personality indeed, that Norman couldn't wait to see grow up into yet another fine young boy. If any of their children was to ever get what he wanted in life, it'd definitely be Will.

Truly there was nothing in this world that Norman loved more than his offsprings, and indulging in their interests was always an adventure. One to be shared with three other members of the family.

The vacant apartment had been occupied by Norman's younger brother, Alfred, and his own two children. By then almost all their neighbors (minus the one that hated them from day one) had warmed up to them. So another set of friendly faces was a good addition to their home life.

Norman absolutely loved watching over his nephew and niece, especially because his children were delighted to have other kids around their age to play with.

It reminded him of being back home in Louisiana, his own brothers and sisters sparring with him and playing whatever games they could come up with on the spot. Watching Louise and Nelson tumbling about fighting as equally dirty as the other, really stirred up some good memories he had of his older sisters.

"Bite her Nelson! Bite her!" Lydia cheered as her older brother pinned their cousin to the ground.

"Louise tug on his ears! Pummel him!" Aaron called out to his little sister, encouraging her to fend off her opponent.

"Lydia and Aaron! What I tell y'all 'bout encouragin' yous's siblings t'fight all nasty?!"

"Not to...?"

"Exactly."

Granted some play-fighting needed to be monitored when most of the audience were enablers, and neither his middle child nor his nephew had any qualms sending each other to the hospital. They were still learning about consequences after all.

Still, there wasn't anything else in the world that built better character than teaching the children that they were equals to one another in all their shared activities. Respect was an important lesson to be learned. One Norman wished every parent taught their child.

The world would be a better place otherwise...

-

Sometimes the Projectionist would inevitably be unable to fend off sleep. The exhaustion would wear it down and give way to the nightmares of a life it could barely remember. Then it would wake up and scream, trying to rid itself of heinous visions of itself ripping its offsprings apart.

Norman Polk would reawaken inside its brutish body and lash out, hoping to either physically fight away his own broken psyche or perhaps cripple the Projectionist so that it could never fulfil these dreamt up acts of violence.

A Polk was all about family, and the thought of becoming the sort to bring harm upon his own children... Well, Norman had heard the stories. Knew why Poppop was such a taboo topic. He did not want to be the man besides his Nanna in the portrait above the fireplace... One he'd resembled if his eye wasn't wrong and he'd grown out his beard...

The Projectionist didn't have the mental faculties to understand this distress however, but it seemed to recognize that what it saw in dreams was bad. That what it did to the vermin, it should never do to those innocent little youngsters that looked at it with love instead of fear and hatred. So... Why did it do it in dreams? Why did it kill when it wanted to be docile? The children were not a threat, so why...?

It made no sense... But it didn't much care for elaborate existential crisis like that. Norman's consciousness would freak it out, but ultimately loosened its grip and go back to being dormant. The lumbering beast resuming its tiring trek through the endless maze. A cycle that would repeat itself the next time it fell asleep.

It was in the aftermath of yet another nightmare that the Projectionist came across something completely new to it. Something small and living, and very much intruding on its space. Something that very vaguely looked like it...

A living being with a body similar to the ones the horrible botched critters that ran around in packs had, yet with no visible imperfections to it. Its head though... It was kind of like a projector, but not. Square in shape, with a lens, a tube, dial and something very round that kind of looked like a big ear. A camera, like the one Aaron had gotten for his birthday.

It seemed to have gloves, shoes and a belt that sort of looked like the speaker lodged in the Projectionist's torso, but it was hard to tell since the strange being was on the ground flailing about like a dying fish.

The towering amalgam stared at the tiny new thing in dumbfounded silence, unsure how to react to such a strange discovery, until it realized why the thing was flailing about to begin with.

One of its legs was pinned under a crate that appeared to have fallen from a nearby stack, and the Projectionist could tell the limb was broken. Nearby lay a series of Ink Hearts that had been resting on the fallen crate.

On any other occasion it would have simply walked over, raised one heavy foot, and crushed the intruder's skull for daring to try to steal from it. This time however, was completely different... Something primal was urging the Projectionist to do something completely alien to its usually aggressive nature. Something instinctive.

The poor creature grew agitated upon finally noticing the Projectionist's presence as it approached, but its broken limb ensured it stayed put even after the crate was picked up and tossed aside. It shook fearfully once the Projectionist knelt down to pick it up by the torso. It stopped shaking once it was brought to rest against the much larger beast's chest, cradled gently like an infant. The Projectionist rumbling softly so as to reassure it that no harm would befall it.

The little creature, with a head that was not a projector but a distant relative of a sort, stared up with its own dark lens before reaching out to gently pat the Projectionist's "face". It seemed to understand its intention to help it, rather than exterminate it.

The lumbering beast carried on in its path, now carrying a most precious cargo. It would find something to help treat the injury and then it would begin teaching this newly adopted offspring to survive in the studio.

Mindless beast or not, the Projectionist was still a Polk, and the Polks cared for their younglings. This tiny sentient camera was its child now, and the beast would protect it from the horrors of this horrid studio.

[fundielicious-simblr]

Francisco & Zoe’s Wedding!

Francisco and Zoe were joined together in holy matrimony on a cool, but sunny spring day! Whilst they had to speed up wedding planning due to Francisco being deployed somewhere else soon, they wouldn't change anything about their special day. So many people came together to volunteer their time and energy in order for Francisco and Zoe to have their special day, and for that them and their families are thankful. Different members of their church family and their actual families really came through for them on their special day, a woman at church offered to sew Zoe’s wedding dress after hearing that Zoe didn’t have time to extensively search for one, Macie and other church ladies got together to sew the bridesmaids dresses, different family members drove into Newcrest to help with the reception prep, and many more. The day started with Zoe heading in to the church early to get her bridal pictures done with the photographer before the hustle and bustle started. 

Bridal Portraits

Ceremony

After Zoe took her pictures and moved into the back to wait for her walk down the aisle, while the ceremony began.

Once the guests were seated, the music started and the mothers were seated at the start.

Casandra was escorted in by Beckett

and Rosa was escorted in by the groom Francisco. (AN: Can we talk about how HOT Rosa is cause wow, I forgot how attractive she was until I had to edit her wedding outfit.)

After the mothers were seated, both sets of parents then lit the respective unity candles so the wedding party procession could begin.

The procession started with the Maid of Honour and the Best Man, the brides sister Macie and the grooms brother Antonio

Then came the rest of the bridal party

Bridesmaid Adalynn and Groomsman Reece

Bridesmaid Maggie and Groomsman Carter

Bridesmaid Priscilla and Groomsman Barrett

Bridesmaid Annette and Groomsman Ernesto

Bridesmaid Valentina and Groomsman Ruben

Next came the brides niece and nephews as the flower girl and the page boys.

Flower girl Chloe

Allan Collins (L) and Noah Leonard (R) leading in Paul Leonard

Next came time for Zoe to make her entrance and be escorted down the aisle by her father Allan

Once Zoe meets Francisco and is given away, then the ceremony can officially start.

They then said their vows to one another, with Zoe promising to love, obey, and respect Francisco, and with Francisco vowing to guide, cherish, and love Zoe.

After their vows, they proceeded to light their unity candle, then said a prayer together before returning centre stage to exchange the rings.

They then exchanged their first kiss and were pronounced man and wife! 

Introducing the new Mr and Mrs Francisco Moreno! 

Click Here for Part 2!

[lebontonrp]

                        HRH PRINCESS AMELIA, PRINCESS ROYAL

INFO

title: princess royal. age: 30. status: betrothed to the crown prince of portugal. social ranking: 10. house: house of hanover.  place in family: firstborn daughter, and third child of the king. faceclaim: sai bennett.

ABOUT

weaknesses: self - seeking, entitled, obstinate, meddlesome, vain. strengths: enthralling, generous, confident, non - chalant, quick - witted.

BIOGRAPHY

the middle child squished between many sons, but the first daughter, for a moment, amelia was the beloved child. whilst she had not been one more son to secure the dynasty, they already had two of these and, besides, she was a healthy, pretty babe, and her parents pushed aside their short - comings to dote on her. another brother soon came along, but it would be a few years until the youngest hanover was born, and, for that while, amelia could do nothing wrong, and, by the time her sister was born, the damage had already been done. 

a saccharine girl raised with no limits grew into a spoiled young woman — amelia was affable when she wanted to be, and she has a penchant for charming people, but her temper when she did not get what she wanted became as well known as her infamous beauty. while her father distanced himself from his wits and her mother grasped the helm, amelia fell through the cracks ; beautiful and rich, there was little she was not granted, and few could deny her, something she took advantage of by indulging herself in the best this world had to offer, including food and feasts and the season ( by far her favorite part of the year, even though she was far too high to compromise herself ). her position above the squawking debutantes and noble bachelors, however, did not stop her from meddling in their affairs, ever curious of the latest scandal and what match could she take the most enjoyment in concocting. it became a habit for the princess royal to become fond of some lucky souls and arrange their fate every year — either that be for better or for worse.

overly - indulged by her parents from an young age and with her youth marked by the political repercussions of the napoleonic wars, amelia was given enough freedom to believe herself without need for matrimony. why would she tie herself to a man? to become his inferior, whose only purpose is to bear babies until she dies in the child bed? her distaste towards a proper match was observed, even if begrudgingly, and amelia has enjoyed her freedom for over three decades now, reaching an age when lower born women would be considered spinsters, or almost matrons. she is, technically, engaged to be married with a portuguese prince — one of the most steadfast allies of england against france, the portuguese family has fled europe to brazil with the aid of the great britain in 1808, and for five years now, her hand has been promised to a prince she has no intention of ever meeting, much less marrying. the princess royal has been adamant in her dismissal of the match, forgoing correspondence with her intended and continuing her routine, without much regard for her impending marital status, going as far as keeping a few paramours to distract herself with.

though amelia is unconventional and, at times, troublesome, she is still a hanover, and despite her short - comings and rebellions, she does care for her family. from an young age, she has decided to overlook the issues between her parents and their management of the country, and, for most part, kept herself at distance from politics, absorbing but remaining tight - lipped and unintrusive on such matters if they do not disturb her, while gathering a soft pull with a part of the aristocracy, a power that is not entirely dismissive, even if not often used for anything particularly important. her peace seems short - lived these days, as her brothers become more competitive against one another, but amelia has already claimed she has no intention to pick a side, as she does adore them enough not to voice out who is her favorite ( albeit it is likely she, ever egocentric, would be inclined to pick the one brother who would bother her less ).

HEADCANONS

as much as she is interested in the life of others, so were them at hers, and amelia does not seem to hold many qualms to deny them a peek. from early on, she became a favored muse for artists who would sketch and paint and sculpt masterpieces after her ; often, when she was satisfied with the result, she would allow these nobodies to enter society and to become notorious artistas, all due to her patronage ( yet another thing that boosted her already bloated ego ). at times, her portraits differed from the conventional formal ones, and gave room to less than favorable talk — she did not mind this either, and has often been seen enjoying whatever is published about her, as long as it is not boring. if there is one thing amelia abhors is boring.

if she is interested in the artistic talent of others, amelia’s is subpar at most. her most prominient accomplishments lay in a gregarious vein, born from the urge to entertain and, eventually, to be entertained : she is proficient in several languages, including german, french, spanish and italian, having recently picked up on greek, and she is also a skillful singer, being yet able to play the harpsichord. foreign dignitaries from her mother’s homeland record that around the time of her sister’s birth, the five year old amelia performed a musical piece that enchanted the prussian delegation. to this day, she is one of the most enthusiastic about the foreign visitors in the hanover court, often attempting to acclimate them to the english society habits.

known for her good humor even in the face of criticism, amelia has a deep dislike — she will fight the idea that she is terrified of them, of course — for bugs, particularly flying ones. for that reason, she avoids spending too long outdoors, and often gives away flowers that have been sent to her.

CONNECTIONS

connection 1: lover — though amelia has been engaged with a prominent foreign royal for a few years now, she has her fair share of lords who seek to court her. publically, she entertains with some chastity and cheek, but it is a best known secret that she has a paramour she favors above all the other lordlings, even if there are no good intentions between them ( and, according to the two of them, no romantic feelings in the accord ).

connection 2: lady - in - waiting— ever since she was old enough to properly attend the season, amelia has been sent high - born maidens of honor. those who charmed the princess royal were often given a very favorable match, though, lately, amelia has been less willing to part with her friends, and purposefully kept one or two of these women at her side. it is likely this certain lady shares her mistress’ distaste towards marriage for whatever reason, and prefers to remain alongside the princess royal enjoying the passing seasons.

… this character is penned by robin ! / @amabiliter

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[lonedivinity-archived]

            tsaritsa did love someone once . . . long ago  .  his face still ingrained in her mind as there are no portraits of him in the vast castle  .  there was a time when the archon felt warmth in her chest and a reason to TRUST and be vulnerable  .  he was just someone that served the royal family  ,  with title but not high in status  ,  but that never bothered tsaritsa  .  fearful that harm may come to him  ,  she kept her feelings a secret . . . not wanting to be separated  ,  she hoped that no one would find out and take him far away  .             tsaritsa did experience heartbreak  ,  her heart still aches at the memory  .  she learned that the best way to give someone happiness was to LET GO  .  she was the one who oversaw his marriage and blessed the matrimonial ceremony  .  her seal decorated the couple’s wedding document  .  he was happy  ,  that should be enough  .  that was the instance when tsaritsa shut her heart in  ,  thickening the ice over her heart again  .  she loved him  ,  but she can’t have him  .  it was enough to watch him be happy and live his life to his fullest  .  they were good friends of the tsaritsa  ,  their children were loyal subjects to her court and as were their descendents  .             the heartache has lasted long  ,  as long as the forever winter that overcame snezhnaya  .  she remembers his bright visage like yesterday  ,  she still visits their grave  ,  she still stands in the window that oversees the courtyard that the knights practiced in  .  if she knew heartache was like snowy winter  ,  cold and bitter  ,  maybe she would have heeded her mother’s words more  .