#king richard and the true commons

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

something im only a little insane about is how robin hood's earliest folklore portray a darker character. he became an outlaw by committing manslaughter. the "steals from the rich and gives to the poor" aspect was less pronounced. he was a yeoman, a commoner, and not a nobleman like in the later tellings. he wasn't loyal to the "true" king richard. he played tricks on people and got into fights just for the hell of it.

meanwhile, it's less clear since we have no early sources for loki, but it's commonly agreed upon that the mythological figure, before christianity's influence on norse myth, was not nearly as sinister as he's portrayed in the prose edda, which was heavily influenced by christian ideas of the devil. loki was a trickster and an underdog, but he wasn't evil.

neither extreme is the truth. the establishment turned both loki and robin hood into black and white figures that fit better into their society. were easier to digest. more palatable to those in power.

the truth of akechi lies somewhere in the middle.

[cadotoast]

Chapter 1- Jousts and Announcements

Minors DNI please.

About 5k word length

Content warnings:

Lances readied. Visors lowered. Steeds pawing the earth. The crowd holds its breath.

The thunder of hooves! The jangling of armor! The collective gasp!

You stand on your toes, heart in your throat as you watch your brother's lance shatter, his body swaying in the saddle. His opponent thunders past towards the other end of the list field, dirt flying from his horse's hooves. The crowd lets out a cheer, and you exhale, albeit a tad shakily, as your brother stays in his seat. He guides his mount to where his squire stands ready with another lance, sparing a glance over to where you stand on the sidelines, hands clasped at the front of your breast in anxiety. His grin is free, comforting, and you smile back at him, wishing him luck. He taps a small cloth tucked at his neck, your token of favor to him being your personal handkerchief.

"How exciting!" Your attention is momentarily pulled to your best friend, Jenny, who is clinging to the fence post in front of her. Her eyes practically have hearts in them as she stares at your brother, her cheeks flushed with the anticipation and thrill of the moment. "I always knew your brother would make a wonderful knight. He is proving himself true, in witness of the royal family no less!"

At the mention of the royals, your gaze flickers up to the raised dais where the king, queen, and crown prince sit with the rest of their court. They seem to be enjoying themselves just as much as the commoners that mingle in the stands and on the fairgrounds below them.

"He is doing very well." You agree, leaning gently against the fence in front of you, tugging lightly on the sleeves of your dress. "I was worried when he told me he would be joining the tourney. The Kings' Men are participating, after all."

"But that's not a Kings' Man." Jenny points to where your brother's opponent is readied once more, silver armor gleaming in the light, the emblem of a crimson griffin his standard.

"You don't need to be a member of the kings' inner circle and guard to be a formidable foe," This voice comes from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to smile at your father. His eyes twinkle at you as he squeezes your shoulder gently, before looking to the knight in question. "That man there is Ser Mathis. He's a shoo-in for King's Champion in a few years."

The next run has started, and you lean forward with bated breath once more as the two knights thunder towards each other. The harsh clang of lances meeting shields accompanies the surprised yelp your brother lets out as he is launched from his saddle, landing heavily on his back in the dirt.

"Jonas!" You leap onto the lowest rung of the fence, heart in your throat.

"Relax! He's fine, see?" Jenny grabs your arm to prevent you from hiking up your skirts and vaulting into the arena. Sure enough, among the cheers of the crowd, Jonas is getting to his feet, greeting his squire as the young man runs to attend him.

Ser Mathis is heading off in the other direction, surely to rest up before the next joust with whichever opponent in the tourney bracket he would next be facing.

"Who is jousting next?" Your father asks, looking up the field to where standards and flags wave in the summer breeze. You cast back in your memory, trying to remember the roster.

Before you can speak, two more knights are approaching the listing field, their standards held aloft. Your father makes an impressed sound in the back of his throat.

"This is going to be a good fight," Jonas has rejoined you, his squire Richard at his side. "That's two of the Kings' Men, Sers John and Kyle."

You look between the two knights, comparing the stature of each. Ser Kyle is slimmer than his opponent, but both are similar in height. You watch as Ser Kyle waves at the crowd, his expression jovial, before he places his helm on, lowering the visor. Ser John appears more somber, his eyes narrowed slightly, his frowning expression framed by a rather becoming set of facial hair.

"Ser Kyle Garrick was the squire of Ser John Price." Jonas says with a smile. "We started as Pages together. I am sure the student is looking forward to unseating his master."

Both knights have acquired lances, and now Ser John's face is obscured by his visor. The men salute the King, and then ready themselves. You lean once more against the fence, eyes darting between the combatants.

The fight is indeed thrilling. Both knights' lances shatter on the second pass, and suddenly there is a ringing of steel as Pupil and Teacher go sword to sword. You find yourself cheering as long with the crowd, caught up in the excitement.

"Put him in the dirt, Kyle!" Jonas roars.

The swords engage and disengage, the horses rearing, their masters urging them onward. But in the end, Ser John proves the better, looking down at where Ser Kyle lies winded on the dirt, sword knocked from his hand. The crowd erupts in cheers once more as Ser John dismounts and helps the other up. They embrace and slap each other on the back, ignoring the armor apparently, as men often do. When they lift their visors, both are grinning at each other, and you can't help but recognize the older's handsomeness when he isn't scowling.

"Ser John is one of the commanders of the King's forces." Your father remarks, leaning against the wooden rail next to you. "It would be telling of his aging if he was bested by his former squire so soon." His eyes twinkle as he glances sideways at you. "It was a close fight, though. I think the commander has some old war wounds that bother him."

You hum thoughtfully, eyes trailing the knight has he leads his mount off of the jousting field, making room for the next set.

Your face is red from the sun and sweat is collecting in your hairline and along your back when the jousts finally finish, emerging with a Ser Simon Riley as the victor. It's not surprising, seeing as he is a mountain of a man all donned in black-polished armor. You and Jenny leave your father, Jonas, and Richard to discuss the jousts, choosing instead to wander the fairgrounds, examining various wares from vendors as you make an attempt to cool down from the unforgiving summer sun.

"Did you hear that there was supposed to be some sort of special announcement done by the King in the evening?" Jenny asks as she examines a glass bauble. "I wonder what it could be?"

As a matter of fact, you have not heard of this, at least not yet. You purse your lips thoughtfully, counting the silvers in your purse as you contemplate buying a necklace with a charm that claims to offer the wearer good luck and protection from evil spirits.

"Maybe he is lowering the taxes for the townspeople?" You offer, handing over your silver coins to the merchant in exchange for the charm. "It has been a good year so far, and we aren't at war. Maybe he will ease some of the burden of the lower class."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Jenny sighs, a bit wistfully. Her own purse only holds a few coppers, the most she could spare from her laundry washing earrings. You pass her a silver coin, which she tries to give back. You refuse.

"I never got you a gift for the winter feast. This is my late gift to you, buy something for yourself." You make sure that no sound of pity escapes from your voice, and keep your eyes on your friend's face, and not the worn, patched clothing that she has to call her "Sunday Best" Jenny gives you a sheepish smile, and then hands over the silver piece to the merchant, a small glass figurine clasped gently in her hand.

The two of you continue to wander the fair grounds, admiring the young men in their armor and the pretty ladies vying for their attention.

"Would you ever want to be married to a Knight?" Jenny asks you as you watch a group of young women surrounding a dashing Knight with a rather peculiar haircut. He wears a plaid kilt around his waist instead of the traditional armor of the knights of the kingdom.

"I'm not sure," you confess, beginning to walk over to where the local tavern has set out tables outside, drinks and food being sold to the festival goers. "With them having to go out and lead armies for the King, I would be worried that he would never come home."

"Even commoners like our fathers can be called to arms at times of war," Jenny reminds you. "How is that any different?"

Leading the way to an empty table, you ponder the question. "I suppose in the grand scheme of things, they are quite similar." You tuck in your skirts around your legs as you settle on the worn, wooden chair. "Maybe I just think that having a knight for a husband would be aiming above my class. My status." Never mind the fact that your brother is a knight himself. "We need no rumors spreading that I am simply looking for a higher rank in society."

"Hmm..." Jenny settles across from you, flagging down a young woman who is carrying a tray of pints. You run a nail along the grain of the wood, turning to people-watch those wandering the town square. The queerly-dressed man has been joined by Sers Simon, Kyle, and John. All have changed into more comfortable garb, but Ser Simon has his face covered with a black cloth so that only his eyes peek out. They all seem in high spirits, and the kilted man stretches up to place a flower crown on top of Ser Simon's clothed head.

"All four of them are in the Kings' Men." Jenny says, her gaze following yours. "The man in the kilt is Ser John MacTavish. Though I hear that his close friends simply call him 'Johnny'."

The men in question move as a group under the shade of a tree nearby, settling at a table. You watch them subtly as they banter and laugh, your attention only diverted when a tankard of chilled cider is set in front of you, along with a plate of hearty stew and a thick crust of bread. You thank the tavern maid with a smile, and take a sip of the soup. It's delicious, as to be expected from this particular tavern.

You find your attention drifting more and more to the table of knights, your stew cooling and your cider warming in tandem. It takes several repetitions of your name, and a harsh kick to your shin under the table before Jenny can pull your attention back to her and the conversation. "You're staring," She says bluntly, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "Which one of them's caught your fancy?"

Your face floods with a heat not caused by the summer sun, and you take a hasty gulp of your lukewarm cider to chase away the mortification stuck in your throat like a dry piece of bread.

"It's nothing," You deflect. "My head was in the clouds is all."

Jenny raises a skeptical eyebrow at you, then tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder with a snigger. You in turn glare at her playfully, before ducking your head to eat some more of your meal. Your ears, however, stay piqued towards that particular table.

"How are ye feelin' after that joust, Captain? I hope I didnae batter ye too badly," It's the kilted man who is talking. His accent is thick and foreign, exotic, you think. I bet it's barely understandable when he's deep in his cups.

"If you think I'm huffin' and groanin' after a few bouts with you lads, then I might as well turn in my sword today," Grumbles Ser John, but his expression is playful. "I ain't in the grave just yet."

"I'll say," It's Ser Kyle this time. "I'm going to be sore until next summer. You sent me flyin' with that lever you call a lance." A chorus of playful jeering erupts, and there is some shuffling as the men push and shove each other in their banter.

With a meaningful clearing of her throat, Jenny draws your attention back to her. You blink at her a bit owlishly, a sheepish smile turning the corners of your lips. Jonas is standing above the two of you, wearing a cheeky grin.

"Searching for a suitor, darling sister?" He drawls. You try to glower at him, folding your arms across your chest.

"Not at all, Jonas." You try for a cool and collected tone. "Just observing. One must stay vigilant at all times."

"Vigilant of all the eligible, dashing knights, that is," Jenny's wearing a wicked grin.

"You are one to talk," Your gaze cuts momentarily to Jonas, and then back to Jenny's face. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as she narrows her eyes at you, and you simply beam at her, the picture of benevolence and Innocence. Jenny huffs, rolling her eyes, as she gets to her feet.

"Jonas here was going to take me to see the stables, do you want to come along?" Something flashes in her expression, and you have to bite your lower lip to suppress a grin.

You shake your head, waving both of them off. "I'm just going to stay here and cool down. Don't let me ruin your fun." The responding smile is answer enough to your unspoken query, and you watch as Jonas, ever the gentleman, lends Jenny his arm as he leads her through the crowded fairgrounds.

Now alone, you find yourself feeling a bit awkward. You fidget with the new charm around your neck, pressing the cool, smooth glass to your lips. The tavern maid refills your cider and takes your empty bowl, as well as a few silvers for the meals you and Jenny ate.

You're contemplating getting to your feet to wander the fair once more, when a loud scream sounds from behind you. Startled, you jump to your feet and spin on your heel, searching for the source of the commotion.

A heard of horses, which had presumably been picketed at one point, have been spooked into a stampede, still tied together by lead lines. The crowd is scattering, some getting out of the way quick enough, some not. And just to your luck, the herd veers sideways and right towards you.

Cursing in a very unladylike fashion, you rush to escape the horses' path, but your skirt snags on a split in the wooden log that makes up the bench, and you tumble over it to the ground, landing with a pained grunt. Winded, stuck, and in the path of a deadly stampede, you're frozen in place, watching your demise trample towards you.

You barely register the ripping of fabric as two strong hands wrap themselves around your upper arms and pull, jerking you free and dragging you backwards over the dirt. The herd of horses blunders past, shrieking and whinnying as they crash into tables and benches, and overturning barrels of mead and ale.

A rushing in your ears drowns out most sound as you stare at the spot where you had previously been lying, now deluged with hoof prints. The scrap of fabric from your skirt is pummeled into the soft ground. Belated in their arrival, a troop of guards runs in the direction the horses have fled to, shouting orders and trying to clear the way of injured townsfolk.

"Are you okay?" A deep voice sounds in your ear. You're leaning back against a warm, broad chest, its steadyness contrasting to the trembling of adrenaline shaking your body. With a deep, shuddering breath, you pull your gaze from what would have surely been your early grave, to look into the face of your rescuer.

Ser John looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed low in concern. He wears a frown, his brilliant blue eyes looking you over, assessing you for damage. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

"I think I'm okay..." You absently run your hands over yourself, feeling for anything amis. "Maybe a little bruised." Your shin smarts from where it had collided with the bench.

"Looks like your skirt took the worst of it, lass," On your other side kneels Ser MacTavish, his own gaze wide with concern. "Tha was a narrow scrape ye had there."

Ser John assists you to your feet, and supports you while your knees tremble. After you have gained stability, you step cautiously away from the knight, turning to face him as you brush grass and dirt from your skirt to the best of your ability. Sers Kyle and Simon watch from their table, the former's gaze twisted with concern.

"Thank you so much Ser," You say to Ser John, lowering your gaze respectfully. "Without your help, I would surely be injured."

"You're sure you're alright?" The man in question asks, his gaze roaming your body in a cursory examination. "Did I hurt you at all?"

Your hands rub your upper arms where the man's hands had nearly swallowed you, a phantom heat lingering. "No, Ser, you did not hurt me."

Ser John straightens as he looks down at you, hands on his hips. He gives a soft grunt of acknowledgement, settling down in his seat only after giving you one final once over.

"You're Jonas' sister, aren't you?" This question comes from Ser Kyle, who has gotten to his feat and pulled up a seat for you. It seems rude to refuse him, so you settle in the chair, mournfully fingering the rip in your skirt.

"Yes, I am." Your lips curl up at the corners. "He mentioned that you and he were squires together, Ser Kyle."

"What a lad," Ser Kyle beams, his teeth shining on contrast to his darker skin. "One of the best in our group. I don't understand why he ever declined the position."

You blink. "The position? What position?"

"Ye dennae ken?" Ser MacTavish stares at you. Heat wells in your cheeks self-consciously. "He was offered a place in our ranks as a Kings' Man."

The table falls silent as you process that information, watching absently as the tavern keeper rights some of the tables. You note your spilled pint of cider and mourn its cool refreshment silently.

"He never mentioned it," You finally admit. "Granted, he doesn't like to talk about his work too much when he comes home to father and I. Prefers to stay on lighter matters, I suppose." You glance once more at Ser Kyle. "He was supposed to be a Kings' Man?"

"I was second pick for the opening when Ser Richard resigned to his manor by the sea. Your brother was the first pick, the King asked him to join pretty much as soon as he earned his title and standard."

You chew on that for a moment, curiosity itching at you. "He's a rather modest man," you say. "My guess is that he probably thought he wasn't up for it. That someone more capable should take his place."

"Not that I am ungrateful for the position," Ser Kyle glances at his former Knight-master, "but it should have been Jonas."

"If I had to take my guess," Ser John is the one to speak, his sentence broken as he takes a sip from a pint of ale. "He declined it to stay closer to you." At your confused expression, he pushes onward. "Even as a page and a squire up at the castle, he spoke of you often. More often than not, actually. He desired to be able to support you, especially after the passing of your mother, and with your father becoming more elderly and declining in his health. He wanted to provide for you until you wed, and even then, to be close by if you ever needed him. Us Kings' Men are sent all over the realm to do the work of the King. If he had taken the position, he would not have been able to remain as close to your side."

You don't know whether to be embarrassed by your brother's apparent coddling, or touched by his thoughtful nature. Gazing down at the grains in the table, you run a finger over your lower lip in thought, turning over the Ser's words.

"Ae, sounds like somethin tha lad would do." Ser MacTavish agrees.

"If it is as you say," You muse, a smile gracing your features, "It seems rather fitting of him."

"Speak of the Devil," Ser Simon speaks up, looking over your shoulder. You glance behind you, grinning when you see Jonas, Jenny still on his elbow, walking in your direction. Jonas is wearing a flower crown of daisies, which Jenny keeps grinning at, a bluish sitting high in her pale cheeks.

"Heard I missed some action," Jonas calls, his gaze roaming over you. Despite his cheery expression, you can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in your rumpled condition. "Is everything alright around here?" The underlying question about your welfare rattles in your brain like a gong.

"The Tavernkeep might be needin' to seek out the carpenter, and the las's skirt might need some mendin'," Ser MacTavish replies, leaning back to pull up a few more chairs for the new arrivals. "but as far as we can tell, she is no worse for wear. Ser John here kept her out of harm's way."

"And for that, I thank you, Ser," Jonas dips his head to Ser John, a respectful look in his gaze. He then looks to you once more. "You are uninjured?"

"A little rattled," you say with a smile. "But my pride, a bruised shin, and my skirt are the only casualties."

Jonas leads Jenny to her seat, right beside the rather imposing Ser Simon. Jenny gives the large knight a rather nervous look, taking in what features were not hidden by the face covering he wore, and managed a small smile as she gathered her skirts around her. Jonas sits easily in his chair, his arm slung over the back of Jenny's.

"We were just discussing your promotion to knight," You tell your brother, raising an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me the King offered you a position in his guard?"

"Wasn't for me," Jonas replies instantly. "I do my best work close to home. There is plenty for me to do here, I'll let the other more adventurous knights such as our present company go gallivanting around the kingdom."

The other men chuckle good-naturedly, and Jonas calls over the tavern maid to order a round of drinks for the table.

"Hey Jonas, did you hear about Prince Aldous?" Ser Kyle suddenly interjects, his expression conspiratorial. Jonas leans in immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What about him?"

The other knights groan in synch, and you and Jenny look at each other in interest. The crown Prince is a good-looking, but rather pompous young man. Despite his attitude, many women in the kingdom seem to be falling over themselves to get his hand in marriage if possible.

"He failed out of his test of Knighthood."

"Again?!"

"Again," Ser Kyle can't seem to keep a mirthful tone from his voice. "That makes three times."

"Must be a record," Ser MacTavish chuckles.

"Careful," Ser John admonishes, his voice a low grumble. "He is still the Crown Prince."

"Well the Crown Prince is a--" Jonas' words are cut off as you kick him sharply under the table, eyes flashing in warning. He gives you an embarrassed sort of smile, then clears his throat. "well, he leaves something to be desired," he finishes, albeit a little lamely.

"He's still young, there is time to learn." You say, drumming your finger against the wooden table, smiling at the tavern maid as she sets a fresh pint of cider in front of you. Ser Simon makes a noise of agreement into his ale.

"He's only a year older than yourself," Jonas reminds you with a smirk. "Maybe you should try for his hand."

A flush fills your cheeks, and you shake your head adamantly. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"You'd be a Queen, too," Jenny's eyes glitter. "When he takes the throne. I think you would make a wonderful Royal."

You merely shake your head again, taking a sip of your cider to cool the flush in your cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Too much attention, for one thing."

"The royals are always under constant scrutiny," Ser Kyle says with a nod. "It is a lot of pressure. Not everyone is fit for it."

"Maybe you should try for his hand, Jenny," You tease, knowing full well her answer. She narrows her gaze at you, pursing her lips at your grin.

The conversation flows easily, and time speeds by as the sun descends towards the horizon. As the sunset approaches, Sers Simon, Kyle, MacTavish, and John excuse themselves from the table, begging pardons, but they have to return to their duties as Kings' Men. Not long after, you can hear trumpets sounding from the festival grounds.

"That's the call to assembly," Jonas says, stretching. "Whatever announcement the King is going to give is going to happen there, we will probably want to be there."

Jonas takes the lead in heading towards the festival grounds, clearing away through the crowd for you and Jenny to pass through safely. You keep your eyes peeled for potential troublemakers. As vigilant as the local guards are, instances of pickpocketing and sudden brawls are not exactly unexpected on festival days.

A large crowd of people are gathered on the green lawn, facing a large wooden podium set up underneath a pair of ancient oak trees which provide a natural canopy. The King, Queen, and Crown Prince sit on makeshift thrones up on the podium, flanked by some now-familiar knights. Ser John stands almost directly behind the Crown Prince, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. Sers Simon and MacTavish are behind the King and Queen, with Ser Kyle standing off to the side with a handful of other knights belonging to the Kings' Men, whose names you can't recall at this time.

Jonas picks his way to the side of the crowd, where a small copse of trees offers some shade to some lower-level knights who shelter there. They greet Jonas with friendly waves, and don't protest when you and Jenny settle in the lush green grass.

"How were the horses?" You ask Jenny, settling your skirts around yourself modestly.

"Oh they were wonderful!" Jenny giggles, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Jonas took me to see all of the knights' mounts, including that bay he rides. Her name is Anika. She likes carrots, daisies, and chewing Jonas's tunic." You both giggle at that last bit, and you turn to examine your brother. The shoulder of his shirt does appear a little gnawed-on. Jonas himself is chatting with the other men, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms.

"He probably forgot to take a bath, and that was Anika's way of telling him he smells," you joke, biting your lower lip as you chuckle. Jenny snorts quietly, shaking her head back and forth.

"His Majesty, the King!" A herald shouts, and the buzzing of the crowd dies down to a hush, raptly focusing on the podium. King Cassian Godfrey is a handsome man, dark haired and tanned skin. His eyes are a dark brown, almost black, that demand the attention of everyone around him. He is a good king, though the graying along his temples reflects his age, and the promise of his son someday taking the throne is a rather daunting one. His Queen, Helen, bares a remarkable resemblance to their son, her fair blonde hair shining like gold in the dying sunlight. She is known to be kind and philanthropic, a mother of the realm, so to speak.

"I come before you today with a joyous announcement for our Kingdom," The king says, his voice projecting across the lawn. "My son, the Crown Prince Aldous, has come of age. After much discussion, it has been decided that he will be allowed to pick a bride of his own choosing." A murmur ripples through the crowd, mixed with some gasps from some women in the crowd. Aldous looks rather bored up on the dais, turning a ring over on his finger and watching it glint in the dying light.

"Every eligible woman will be sent a summons to the palace where they will be required to present themselves before the prince. He will then make a selection of ten women with which to court for a period of time. Of those ten, he will chose his bride."

"A summons?!" The word slips out of you, hushed and shocked. Your sympathies seem reflected by those in the crowd.

"We always knew the family was a bit eccentric," Jenny murmurs, worry in her gaze.

The buzzing of the crowd has risen slightly, emotions melding together in a mixing pot as the realization sets in to the citizens. A mandatory summons. That means equal possibility for all of the eligible women in the kingdom to potentially win the hand of the Prince. But that also means that the initial summons are not optional. Weather or not you are interested in becoming royalty, you are required to present yourself to the prince for his approval or dismissal.

"All unmarried women of eligible age will receive a date of which to present themselves. If they are selected at the end of the first presenting, they will be offered accomodations at the palace for the rest of the courting season."

A headache starts to develop behind one of your eyebrows, your previous words from the evening slamming against your skull like Athena prying herself from Zeus' skull. "Me? A Princess? No thank you."

"Summons will be delivered to those eligible beginning next week. The first presentations will begin the week following. To the families of the ten selected women, a monetary stipend will be paid to cover any loses of income should the women in question be employed to support their families." You and Jenny glance at each other, both thinking of the meager jobs you have managed to acquire to assist your families.

"What if someone who is selected for the ten women does not wish to be?" Someone in the crowd yells. The King pauses, looking in the direction of the speaker.

"It is the belief of the royal council and of myself that it is a service to the country to be accepted to this position, and that any women selected should be honored to do so."

"So in other words, its not optional. You can't decline." one of the knights behind you says in a hushed tone. Jonas grunts, glancing down at where you and Jenny are sitting.

"I suppose if one didn't want to be selected, they would just try to appear as unappealing as possible," Your brother muses, but there is a dark lilt to his tone, and his jaw clenches.

The crowd murmurs among itself, the mixed sentiment evident.

"Thank you for gathering and enjoying the festivities today." King Cassian finishes, before stepping down off of the podium, his family and the King's Men following him.

You sit there on the grass, gazing down at your clasped hands, your heart beating out what seems to be your funeral dirge as reality sets in.

You are unmarried.

You will be presented.

[sugasiren]

~ARIES~ The Queens of Romance 👑❤️👑

Aries Women are always the ultimate Leading Ladies in the most memorable Romantic Films. Have you ever noticed?! Especially in those with a classic or historical edge to them. And deeply whimsical ones that truly make you feel swept up in a Fairytale. ✨️ The examples are endless!

In most of these films, the female Protagonist knows how to challenge the man without losing her Feminine Essence. 🦋 She's authentic & stays true to her beliefs. Youthful yet mature. Lively, smart, adventurous & beautiful - she [Aries] easily captures the heart of her Knight In Shining Armor! 💪 And truly blossoms.

In addition to that, these women are often paired onscreen with Venus-Dominant Men who offer the perfect contrast to her Martian Energy. Venus + Mars together makes for a truly fiery & sensuously juicy romantic affair! ❤️ With much dignity still intact. It's also quite common to see these Aries Actresses matched with Plutonian Partners due to the loyalty factor & the deeply intoxicating intensity between them as Lovers. 🔥 And! the joint Mars-on-Mars Energy creates explosive passion for viewers to sop-up like a biscuit. So it all makes sense.

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

👑 Starring: Keira Knightley (Aries Sun)

👑 Partner: Matthew MacFayden (Libra Sun)

Dangerous Beauty (1998)

✨️ Starring: Catherine McCormack (Aries Sun)

✨️ Partner: Rufus Sewell (Scorpio Sun)

Romeo + Juliet (1996)

👑 Starring: Claire Danes (Aries Sun)

👑 Partner: Leonardo DiCaprio (Scorpio Sun)

Romeo & Juliet (1968)

✨️ Starring: Olivia Hussey (Aries Sun)

✨️ Partner: Leonard Whiting (Cancer Sun)

Bridgerton (Season 1)

👑 Starring: Phoebe Dynevor (Aries Sun)

👑 Partner: Regé-Jean Page (Taurus Sun)

Bridgerton (Season 2)

✨️ Starring: Simone Ashley (Aries Sun)

✨️ Partner: Jonathan Bailey (Taurus Sun)

Little Mermaid (2023)

👑 Starring: Halle Bailey (Aries Sun)

👑 Partner: Jonah Hauer-King (Gemini Sun)

Cinderella (2015)

✨️ Starring: Lily James (Aries Sun)

✨️ Partner: Richard Madden (Gemini Sun)

Maleficent/Sleeping Beauty (2014)

👑 Played by: Elle Fanning (Aries Sun)

👑 Partner: Brenton Thwaites (Leo Sun)

Sleeping Beauty (1959)

✨️ Voiced by: Mary Costa (Aries Sun)

✨️ Partner: Bill Shirley (Cancer Sun)

✨️💛✨️💛✨️

~HONORABLE MENTIONS~

Atonement 2007: Keira Knightley (Aries Sun), James McAvoy (Taurus Sun)

Emma 2020: Anya Taylor-Joy (Aries Sun), Johnny Flynn (Pisces Sun)

Little Women 2019: Saoirse Ronan & Emma Watson (Aries Suns), Timothée Chalamet (Capricorn Sun) & James Norton (Cancer Sun)

Sense & Sensibility 1995: Emma Thompson (Aries Sun), Hugh Grant (Virgo Sun)

Walk The Line 2005: Reese Witherspoon (Aries Sun), Joaquin Phoenix (Scorpio Sun)

Mr & Mrs Loving 1996: Lela Rochon (Aries Sun), Timothy Hutton (Leo Sun)

Beauty & Beast 2017: Emma Watson (Aries Sun), Dan Stevens (Libra Sun)

♈️❤️♈️❤️♈️

I hope you enjoyed the read! If this resonated with you please like, share and follow. ✨️

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | 2.1k | cw: major character death (temporary, as in reincarnation) | tags: soulmates, starcrossed lovers, reincarnation | summary: In every life, in every universe, they will find each other again. What's a lifetime if you measure it in eternity? | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is a fire that never goes out | AO3)

1

Troy, 13th century BCE

Achilles often marveled at the serenity of the sea at night. His mother is tempestuous by nature, unpredictable and untamed, and most days the sea reflects her nature. But not tonight. Tonight the waves are shallow, a gentle rocking of their ships that had lulled Patroclus to sleep in his arms.

The lone candle on his bedside bathes the room in a warm orange glow, casting shadows across the naked skin of his lover. He can see his marks on the alabaster skin, pale as the moon to Achilles' sun-kissed skin.

Many people have said that they are a study in contradictions, one the perfect antithesis of the other. They're not entirely wrong, but they miss the point. The most important fact of all.

Patroclus is the other half of his soul, and they only make sense together.

The war rages on, and deep down Achilles knows he can't sit this one out forever. Everyone thinks he refuses to fight out of spite, a bruised ego and a prideful, stubborn nature, much like his mother's, that keeps him away from the front lines.

Sure, it feeds his ego to know they're losing without his sword, but it's not pride that keeps him from joining the Greeks in this senseless war.

It's fear.

He's not afraid for himself, never has been. Achilles is a hero, he's destined to die at the hands of another. It's a cold comfort, this knowledge of the path that awaits him: Glory, honor, death.

It's what will make him a god one day.

No one ever asked him if he wanted that. No one but Patroclus, half his soul, all his life. Being a god, worshipped and admired by the masses, pales in comparison to the feeling of dark brown eyes looking at him with nothing but love and devotion. They don't see a half god, Achilles knows that.

They see the lonely boy who only ever wanted someone to see him and love him for that. For what he is, not for what the prophecies say he will be.

Tomorrow he will take up his armor again. Not to win a war for a man blinded by pride and greed and stupidity.

For the man whose love burns as warm and bright as the fire on Mount Olympus, and only for him.

2

England, 15th century

Public executions are Stephanos' least favorite of his princely duties.

He hates to see men and women die by his father's hand, no matter who ties the knot or sets the stake on fire. It might as well be his father's hand swinging the axe. The only thing he hates more is the cheering of the crowd, the spectacle. How they enjoy the suffering, the death, being played out before them. They're probably glad it's not them, but that's no excuse in his eyes.

Stephanos vows that when he becomes king, he will be a more just ruler.

It hasn't always been this way with him. When he was a young boy, he wanted to be like his father. There had never been any question in his mind that the people who were executed for public entertainment deserved their fate. They had it coming, bad people needed to be punished.

Edmund showed him that wasn't true.

Disguised as a commoner, he had taken Stephanos out of the castle and into town. He had shown him how the people of the kingdom really lived, and who the villains really were: his father's men, who tormented and abused and exploited the people they were supposed to protect and serve.

Edmund, who had lost his parents to King Richard's cruelty and still retained his kindness and warmth, and who had shown Stephanos what true love really meant.

Love for his people, who deserved a king who would rule them justly and kindly.

Love for the friends he made along the way, as Edmund taught him about the suffering that was happening right under his nose.

Love for another man, a man who found it in himself to love the son of the murderer of his parents.

It's the only thing that keeps him upright when he's forced to watch his love burn at the stake for having bewitched the young prince. Witchcraft, the only acceptable explanation for what they had caught Stephanos and Edmund doing in Stephanos' chambers.

As the flames die down, long after the painful screams of the only man, the only person, Stephanos has ever loved, the fire within him burns brighter than ever. He vows to avenge his lover and honor his memory by being a ruler Edmund would be proud to call his king.

3

Normandy, 1944

"God, they tell you about the bullets and the bombs, the blood and the death, sure. But they never talk about the rain and the cold and the bloody mud, do they?" Stephen knows it's a rhetorical question because Edward loves to ask them.

"Ever wonder if our commanding officer has a map, or does he just like sending us on scenic tours of enemy territory?”

" Wonder if the rats in the trenches have formed a union yet. Bet they're negotiating better living conditions than we are.".

"Do you reckon the General's war strategy involves a magic eight ball? I mean, that would explain a lot."

At first it had pissed him off. It was bad enough that they had to fight alongside a British battalion with soldiers who talked funny and were trained in ways Stephen didn't really understand. Most of what they did didn't make sense to him and he just wanted them all to fuck off back to where they came from. Maybe take some Germans out on the way, because even in his irritation he could admit that they could use all the help they could get.

That didn't mean he had to like the hand attached to that help.

It's just that during the last two months they've been hunkered down somewhere in the north of France, with rain pouring down almost constantly, he's gone and fallen in love with an Englishman.

How embarrassing.

Even the accent kind of does it for him now, all thanks to Edward ("Would you just call me Eddie for Christ's sake, you literally saved my ass.") and his charming, if slightly odd, ways. He was infuriating, but kind and funny, always trying to cheer everyone up even when he was barely holding it together. Eddie made him laugh and blush and curse up a storm and roll his eyes fondly and cry exhausted tears into his surprisingly strong shoulders.

Eddie makes him feel alive. He makes Stephen want to be alive, too.

Most of all, he wants Eddie to be alive.

The gaping bullet wound in his chest tells Stephen that he may not get what he wants.

Eddie's hand in his is wet from the rain and too cold, as if the life has already begun to seep out of his limbs and with it all his warmth. Which is ridiculous, because no one burns as warm and bright as Eddie, even on the darkest days he would be their beacon of light. A roaring fire of life and love and hope.

A fire that couldn't be put out just like that. They needed him, all those young soldiers, barely 18, if that, who looked up to Eddie and worshipped the ground he walked on. Who would look out for them now? Who would keep their spirits up, their will to fight and live?

Stephen couldn't do it, not without Eddie.

"I can't do it without you, Eddie." He is not ashamed of the way his voice breaks as he holds the love he has just found in his arms, only to lose it again.

Eddie's eyes are warm and soft as they gaze into his, even with the pain clearly visible in them. "Yes, you can, sweetheart. They need you."

"I need you," Stephen sobs, his tears mixing with the rain that falls on a face he knows will one day be a fading memory. The thought hurts. It fucking hurts.

With the last of his strength, Eddie squeezes his hand. "You have me, Stevie. You'll always have me. My love will keep you warm long after my body has grown cold, I promise. I'll always be with you, in every life to come."

4

Hawkins, 1987

"Hey Eddie, it's me. Steve." Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve sighs, a sound as tired as he feels. "God, this is so stupid. You barely knew me. I barely knew you. I shouldn't be sitting here mourning you like we were anything more than two strangers thrown together in this fucking mess. Not that you don't deserve to be mourned, man. It makes me so fucking angry how they still refuse to see who you really were. A hero. A friend."

It's cold where Steve sits on the ground in front of a slab of stone that reads "Edward Munson".

"It's just... I don't understand why it hurts so much. It feels like, fuck, like there's a fist in my chest, in my stomach, squeezing so hard I can barely breathe some days. We all miss you. Not just the kids, although it hit Dustin the hardest. He's not the same and I don't know how to help him. Christ, I can't even help myself. I sleep with your vest under my bed, right next to my bat, how crazy is that? Most nights I can only sleep for a few hours if I touch it."

He runs his hand through his hair and grips it tightly, as if the pain helps make sense of everything he's feeling.

"You'd probably call me crazy, a fucking nutcase. Or maybe not. I don't know you well enough to say for sure, but I feel like maybe you wouldn't judge me too harshly. What I'm trying to say is this: I feel like when you died I lost something I didn't even know I had. Like, ugh, I dunno, I'm not good at this, you should have seen my college essay, Nancy told me it didn't make any sense. But it's like your death should be the period at the end of our story, right? The sentence is over, the story is told. Only it feels like it's just a semicolon and part of the story is still coming. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Sighing again, this time because he's annoyed at himself for not finding the right words to explain himself, he climbs to his feet and slaps his hand on the cold stone.

"Right. Sorry for disturbing your rest. You deserve some rest, Eddie. Thank you for saving us. For saving Dustin. And for, y'know, saying those things in the woods. I never told you that, but it still means a lot to me."

The you still mean a lot to me swings in the space between the living and the dead, the thread that holds both worlds together.

5

Chicago, 2023

Steve knows they should go inside. They're too old to sleep out on the cold, hard ground, even if the night air is mild at this time of year. Steve and Eddie aren't 20 anymore, they're twice that age, and he knows they're going to regret not sleeping in a real bed in the morning.

"We should go inside, it's getting late," he says to Eddie, but his husband just hums where he's nestled into Steve's side, his cheek on Steve's chest. Right over his heart, where he's carved out his own space in the two decades they've been together.

"Just a little while longer, love. I don't want to miss it."

Eddie sounds wide awake, as excited to be lying in the garden outside their little house on the outskirts of town as he is about anything else in their lives. It's one of the most endearing things about him. Every day with him is a new adventure, even if it's Sunday morning reruns of Friends.

"Miss what, babe?"

"The shooting stars. Didn't you listen to Dustin when he said there was a meteor shower tonight?"

Steve chuckled. Of course his little brother would know such things. He has to admit that he didn't listen to his ramblings when he stopped by for lunch, too distracted by the way the autumn sun had cast shadows on Eddie's face. Not that he'd say it out loud.

"Mhhh. Must have slipped my mind. So, what do we wish for?" It comes out more earnest than he intended, his teasing feeling oddly displaced in the face of the pure love and adoration on Eddie's face as he leans up on his elbow to look down at Steve.

"For another lifetime with you. What more would I want than more of what we already have, preferably an eternity of it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees the first shooting star streaking across the night sky, and as he pulls Eddie down for a kiss, he wishes for just that.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

A Spark of Magic

Continuing the cursed Steve train because I just love it too much. But with a twist. Fairytale/fantasy setting. Not a full drabble, more of a collection of ideas.

The old king finally decided to fuck off, that's what the kingdom called it. The old king Richard of Harrington was a piece of shit, cold, uncaring, asking for more and providing less. He only had one son, Steven, but he was rumored to be a disappointment - so much so that he hadn't been seen in public for years. Yet another rumor was that the boy was cursed by a witch as a way to punish his father. Maybe he was in a castle guarded by a dragon. Or perhaps he was in deep sleep after pricking his finger on a hedgehog. There was probably something about the witch thing though...especially because the former king Richard, may he rest in pieces after he went to hunt a wyvern, the old snobbish idiot, banished all witches, druids, wizards and sorcerers from the kingdom.

Life without magic hadn't been easy. Sickness was rampant because witches no longer provided herbal remedies, a lot of wildlife migrated to the neighboring kingdoms along with the banished druids, crops were at the mercy of turbulent weather because sorcerers and wizard could not regulate temperatures on the fields. Still, the king wouldn't budge, he punished every attempt at re-introducing magic to his land.

Lo and behold, the old king disappeared in the woods and the captain of the guard only delivered his bloodied helmet to the grieving widow. Well, not so grieving, there wasn't any love between her and her husband, but she nodded at Captain Hopper and to the surprise of everyone in the throne room said: "Fetch my son, please."

The kingdom gradually learns quite a few things, mostly because the head of the kitchen, Murray, is a terrible gossip.

The son was a huge disappointment to his father for many a reason, but the main one was - when he was ten years old, he begged a local with to turn him into a cat because he really, really liked cats, but they were scared of him, and he loved witches in all the stories he read. She obliged and added the usual "true love's kiss" formula to her curse, just to give him the full cursed experience. Young Steven had a blast running around, napping in the sun and all, and when it was time to turn back, he didn't wait for the witch. He ran to his mother and asked her for a kiss because surely she loved him, surely her kiss would break the curse. Except her kiss did nothing - while the queen wasn't an evil woman, she had little love to give after years in an arranged marriage.

And to make things worse, before the king could call for the witch to lift the curse, another boy, a nephew of the town's blacksmith, wandered in and kissed Steve's furry head, turning him back to normal. So not only did the queen not love her son enough, but a boy from the common folk loved the young prince enough to break a curse. All that shame just because of one spell. In his rage, the king banished all those who practiced magic and made sure his son would not be seen in the public again. The story was that he was sent to the neighboring kingdom for his education.

When the queen asked Captain Hopper to bring her son, the nobles perhaps expected a messenger, a letter or something. Instead, Hopper returned shortly after with one of his guardsmen...a young man named Steve. Steve who herded the local children and made sure they'd make it home safely before the sun went down. Steve who sang in pubs in a booming voice and made friends easily. Steve who had been living in the barracks for at least ten years.

And so King Steven started his reign and things were...different.

Steve - as his subjects kept calling him - fired most of his father's advisors and disregarded the whispers of nobles in his ears. A few assassination attempts had been made, of course, but that very quickly ended when a) the assassins found out that literally the entire royal guard decided to ensure the young king's safety, b) Steve was trained well by Captain Hopper and one of the assailants was hit over the head with a mace the king kept under his bed and tossed out the palace window (the king made sure to apologize to the servants for the broken window and the blood they had to clean, he asked Murray to prepare a few of his famous dishes as a compensation).

To add insult to the injury, five new faces found their way into the castle.

The sorceress Nancy who practiced her art in secret and sent a fireball after a noble who insulted her. King Steven didn't move a muscle and simply added that such a language had no place in his court.

The scholar Jonathan who was tasked by Steve to create educational system for the kingdom's children, renewing both public education and identifying potential magic wielders. He and Nancy would make sure the new generation would know how to use their gifts safely and for the public good.

The herbalist Argyle who took it upon himself to provide healing herbs to whoever needed them, at least until Steve managed to fix the small problem with magic they had.

The royal advisor and spokeswoman Robin who had a bit of a tendency to ramble, but her language skills brought much embarrassment and hilarity when she loudly commented on foreign diplomats shit talking Steve in their own languages.

And finally, the bard Eddie, the same boy who kissed Steve and turned him back from a cat. Eddie who always lounged at Steve's side, quietly strumming and observing any danger to his king with sharp eyes and even sharper blade hidden in his tall boots.

It takes over a year, but gradually King Steven manages to persuade most of the magic users to return. He offers a sincere apology, presents his vision for the kingdom and even offers a small petty revenge on him as a price of their return, magic wielders have their pride and not all of them can be swayed by words. However, being allowed to turn the son of the man who banished them into a broom for a week, well. That's something else.

Robin takes care of the negotiations. "My apologies, King Steven has already made a promise to spend the next three days as a dragonfly, then he has a meeting with King Thomas, but next Sunday should work for him. What form do you intend for him? A wooden stool? Very poetic, he will definitely agree to spending two days like that. Please make sure to include the true love's kiss in your curse, thank you kindly. We shall see you next week then, thank you for your time!"

Steve is a man of his word, but of course he wants to prove his good intentions to his new allies. And so when those two days are up, the witch visits again and watches as the bard hops down from the hand rest of the throne and gently smooches the stool/dragonfly/curtain/whatever form Steve agreed to. Gradually magic returns to the kingdom and with it, prosperity.

And if there was someone who couldn't look past the wrongdoings of the previous king? Then Steve invited them to a private room with a golden cage where a very old and pouty parrot stared at them, glaring daggers. "Would you like to say something, Richie?" smiled Steve and tossed some bird seed into the cage.

The bird scoffed. "Stop this foolishness now, Steven!" and oh, okay. The voice was very familiar. The old king Richard was dead, long live the parrot Richie.

King Steven kept his wide smile and gave Richie a fresh slice of fruit before covering his cage.

As another vindicated wizard left the castle, Steve caught Eddie's eyes and blew him a kiss.

Eddie returned the gesture, his fingers sparkling with magic as he played his lute.

(if you're wondering, yes. Guardsman Steve and his lover Eddie were getting sick of the magical oppression. It was actually Nancy being found practicing magic that spurred them into action, they waited for King Richard during his hunt and Eddie, a bard who learned to control his powers with Nancy, turned him into a parrot. Murray provided some blood from the kitchen, Hopper stepped on the helmet several times and then presented it to the queen who decided not to ask any questions because the less you know, the less time you have to spend with your parrot husband.)

[magnecalliope]

Mammon is a Caterpillar

and NOT just in the Wonderland merch. Though the merch casting him as the caterpillar is what made me finally make the connection! See, there's several aspects about Mammon's design that just do not match with the popular assumption that he's a spider.

For one thing...

he has too many limbs. After his transformation he has ten visible limbs. Plus the legs that he has in his normal form, that's a total of twelve limbs. And we have precedent for how Spindlehorse would handle a spider inspired character...

so it seems unlikely that this design principle was simply thrown out the window with Mammon.

What's particularly interesting to me is that caterpillars only have six "true" legs, like other insects. The rest of their legs are what are called prolegs, or a "small, fleshy, stub structure found on the ventral surface of the abdomen" (per wikipedia). These prolegs often look distinctly different from the caterpillars true legs, which is similar to how the eight legs in Mammon's full demonic form are unlike the rest of his limbs.

But if that's not enough evidence, consider:

He has too many eyes. The number of eyes a spider has can vary, but they never have more than eight. The number of eyes visible on Mammon depends on the shot, but the most he's ever depicted with, shown above, is ten. While it's more common for caterpillars to have twelve eyes, there are some species with ten! And once again, if we refer back to Angel Dust, we can see that he has eight.

While it could be argued that Mammon is intended to be a sort of "spidertaur" it would be, in my opinion, egregious to get the number of limbs AND the number of eyes wrong in his design.

So what's the deal with the webbing seen around the arena, specifically where Mammon sits during Fizz's performance? I have a theory about that!

1.) This element of his design is in reference to silk worms. Bombyx mori are a species of moth most known for being a primary producer of silk, a fiber used in textiles and well known for being luxurious and expensive. The silk worm's cocoon doesn't look very similar to a spider's web, of course, which brings me to my second point...

2.) Mammon is a performer who wants to associate himself with a predator known for luring its prey into a web over something most known for getting boiled to death for a byproduct of its pupation (yes, that's really how silk is obtained). It's his entire shtick, and I think he's performing at being a spider as much as he is at being a clown. Mimicry is a well known defense mechanism of caterpillars, after all. Lastly...

3.) Spiders are simply more marketable than caterpillars. After all, Spider-man has a long history in comic books and a zillion film reboots, but you've probably never even heard of a Caterpillar-man, have you? :P

There's a lot of caterpillars out there that I think Spindlehorse could have drawn inspiration for Mammon's design from. A quick google search for "green caterpillar" will return a diverse amount of results, but here's some of my favorites:

Eastern Black Swallowtail, Orange Emperor, Lace Emerald, Imperial Moth.

For fun I also looked into literary symbolism for caterpillars, to see if there was any precedent for an association with greed, and here's what I found:

The caterpillar appears in the Old Testament as a pest that devours crops; it is included with "pestilence, blasting, mildew, locust" ... and associated with the locust as one of the plagues of Egypt.

Shakespeare's Bolingbroke has it in for King Richard's friends, "Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, / The caterpillars of the commonwealth, / Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away" ... Jack Cade and his rebels are more radical: All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, / They call false caterpillars and intend their death"

excerpts from "A Dictionary of Literary Symbols" by Michael Ferber.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. c:

[wonder-worker]

The magnitude of what [Richard III] did should not be played down. Edward V was not of an age to have caused personal political offence. He could not be accused of tyranny, like Richard II, or gross incompetence, like Henry VI. He had begun to reign, but he had not yet ruled. The usurpation of 1483 was of a fundamentally different order to those of 1399, 1461, or even 1485. Those, whether justifiable or not, were acts of the last resort. In 1483, uniquely, deposition was used as a weapon of first resort.

-A.J Pollard, Richard III and the Princes in the Tower

It is of course possible that Richard only advanced his own claim to the throne after he was informed by a deeply troubled Bishop Stillington that Edward V and his brother were illegitimate. It is possible, but highly implausible. The case finally put together concerning the bastardy of the princes, and enrolled in a parliamentary statute of January 1484, is theologically sound. It was that Edward IV had entered a pre-contract of marriage with Eleanor Butler before he had married Elizabeth Woodville and that this rendered his children by her illegitimate. Under canon law, had Edward IV entered a pre-contract of marriage with Eleanor Butler, all the children born of a later union, before or after Eleanor’s death, even if Elizabeth Woodville had been ignorant of the previous liaison, would have been illegitimate. In this respect the fact that Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville had married clandestinely made matters worse. Moreover, it was perfectly acceptable in law to raise objection on these grounds several years after the event. The pre-contract story, in its final form, presented a strong legal case.

There are, however, several sound reasons for doubting its truth. While it is the case that parliament was a proper body to adjudicate on matters of inheritance that resulted from illegitimacy, in England in the later-fifteenth century an ecclesiastical court should have heard the original charge. And if it were true, why was it not put before such a court so as to remove all doubts? Moreover, even if it had been proved that Edward V and his brother were illegitimate, deposition was not the only course open to the protector. The stain of illegitimacy could have been removed by the ritual of coronation. Edward V, like Elizabeth I later, could have been declared legitimate and all doubts removed. Above all, the revelation of the princes’ bastardy was so timely and convenient as to leave little doubt in the minds of contemporaries that it was but the colour for an act of usurpation.

There is, too, a suspicious degree of confusion over the precise detail of the charge of illegitimacy as it was first advanced in June. Mancini’s account of the sermons and speeches hints at a change in the story. At first the charge appeared to be that Edward IV himself was a bastard; two days later it seems that the princes were. The first official government statement appears in a letter dated 28 June to the captain of Calais informing him that his oath of loyalty to Edward V was no longer valid. Many people, he was assured, had made similar oaths in ignorance of Richard III’s true title which had been shown and declared in a petition presented by the lords spiritual and temporal and the commons on 26 June, a copy of which was to be sent to Calais for publication. Unfortunately that copy has not survived. The earliest surviving version is, therefore, that transcribed as part of the parliamentary act settling the throne on Richard. This purports to reproduce that petition verbatim, but doubts have been cast on its veracity. It is possible that the final, official version, had been subsequently amended. Even so, there is no reason to doubt that the substance of the original petition of 26 June was the same as that reproduced in January: namely that ‘all the issue of the said King Edward been bastards’

It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Richard III usurped the throne in June 1483. Perhaps in retrospect what happened appears more controlled and more deliberate than was in fact the case. We tend to favour a conspiratorial view of the past, where often a ‘cock-up’ theory might be more applicable. Did Richard III mastermind a brilliantly conceived and skilfully executed coup d’état? Or did it all happen in confusion, ignorance and fear? Richard might well have had a plan to take the throne by one means, but found that he had to change it as events developed.

... We should not assume that the usurpation was conducted according to a timetable; but there are nevertheless several observations that can be made with some certainty. The first is that Richard took and never surrendered the initiative. It is hard to sustain the idea that he was forced into usurpation by circumstances or by his rivals’ actions. He did not need to seize Rivers and his companions at Stony Stratford; he did not need to execute Hastings on 13 June. On both these occasions experienced politicians walked unsuspectingly into a trap. None of Richard’s victims in the summer of 1483 anticipated the fate awaiting them. In modern jargon, Richard was proactive, not reactive. The second observation is that Richard acted with unprecedented ruthlessness. His enemies were executed without trial. They were not in arms against their sovereign; they were not taken after battle and slain even under the colour of the law of arms. There was no pretence of lawful process. They were murdered in cold blood. The third observation is that Richard faced little opposition. Potential opposition was removed by pre-emptive strikes. The fourth observation is that he deposed a boy of twelve, his nephew, who on his own insistence had been placed in his trust.

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

The Tudor chest- who has a podcast with some historians that come on, on Instagram said Elizabeth woodville was a commoner who captured the kings heart. Is this true?

The whole 'commoner' thing bugs me because, in absolutely every sense of the word, Elizabeth Woodville was not a commoner. She was, on her father's side, the daughter of a well-known and quite celebrated knight who fought alongside some of the top brass during the early part of Henry VI's reign. Her father also held a high position in the household of John duke of Bedford, uncle to Henry VI and the English regent in France. His family had held lands in Northamptonshire for more than a century and several of his ancestors had served as sheriff. Which is all to say that the Woodville family, while not amongst the highest echelons of nobility, were firmly part of the landed gentry.

And that doesn't even take into account Elizabeth's mother, Jacquetta de St. Pol, whose father was a liegeman of the dukes of Burgundy, and whose extended family had married into both the French and the Burgundian royal families. She was also married, for several years, to the aforementioned John duke of Bedford, which made her the literal second lady in England after the dowager queen Catherine of Valois. After Bedford's death, she scandalously married Richard Woodville, but it is worth keeping in mind that she continued to style herself Duchess of Bedford until her death.

So, no, Elizabeth Woodville was not in any sense a commoner. A lot of that rhetoric comes from anti-Woodville propaganda spread first by Richard earl of Warwick, and eventually picked up by George of Clarence and Richard of Gloucester (later Richard III), from whence it made its way into the official Tudor historiography of the civil wars.

[adoriels-tears-if]

I'm the anon from the plushy-familiar ask. See, while I was writing that ask I got to wonder about something I often end up asking many IF authors: names, and naming conventions.

While I do appreciate the fact you've given suggestions in game (there is nothing worse for me, someone who likes to name my MCs in a way that fits the world as much as possible, when a fantasy game does not include suggestions for names), I'm also someone greedy for knowledge. So, I came here to ask about names.

As I have noticed, most humans seem to have rather common names that could fit in our world. Names like Arthur, Tobias or Liam. That said, those names all have different etymological origins. Arthur is celtic (most likely, is not entirely certain), Tobias comes from Hebrew, and Liam is germanic (as is a short form of William). So, would it make sense to have names like Tom, John, Richard, Henry or Duncan for a human male? It so seems to me. Basically, names that could make sense in medieval England (although Liam feels very modern to me, yet is the name I chose for my MC simply because I like how it sounds, but I may change it later).

Yet elves seem to have especial fantasy names. While both Dwarfs (courtesy of Tally) and Orcs (courtesy of Corden, if I'm not mistaken) have real world names, just very unusual.

So, I was wondering. Given how MC is likely given a human name, both because our mother is choosing it and because we are supposed to blend in amongst humans, am I correct on my observations? Or do you have a more complex, or more free, way of seeing how to name human characters? Like, are human characters also able to have fantasy, or uncommon, names?

In any case, unless it's too much of a bother, could you give examples of names you've considered giving as a suggestion for MC? Or names you think would make sense for MC to have in world? You already gave some in game, so you don't have to do this. I'd just like to know your thought process behind it.

there's no real reason why I chose these names, I think I just chose them because I like them.

although Liam actually comes from a character in one of my fanfics that will never make it onto Tumblr. Tobias is for a video game I used to play on DS when I was little. and Arthur because I love King Arthur.

I also wanted to suggest ESCA for the character of the Eagle of the 9th Legion, played by Jamie Bell if I remember correctly. so now it's true that I tend to use English names, but I think that's because I write in English. When I write in French, I tend to use French names. it's not out of the question for there to be characters with more French or other first names as the story progresses. in general naming characters is a pain for me, I hate it and tend to use generators

it's true that when it comes to skiing the names of orcs and elves, I tend to be a little more exotic.

if the names of the dwarfs may seem a little banal, I do have a kind of reason - I don't know if you've noticed, but I only use names beginning with T. Tally, Tallion, Telio, Tazio, Troye. and there's a reason for this: the deity to whom the dwarves are attached is called Telemandir. As far as humans are concerned, I think any name can be used.

as long as they're fairly old names, I mean, I wouldn't want to have a Kevin in my world. 😆 as for the elves, I like to have sounds that are a little musical, so Lessica, for example, is pretty, I think.

as for the orcs, I think I found the name Corden in the game Banish. if I remember correctly, but I have the impression that there's a sort of pattern emerging since one of the other orcs I have in mind who comes from the cardan family is called Oren.

Another piece of information I can share with you, for example, is that the Princely Family ruling men, their first names all start with a K.

it's a tradition that's been going on for a little over 300 years. The men decided to give up their crown and their title of king and queen to take only that of prince, since Amandine was acting up.

Another small piece of information but MC has a human name chosen by Eliana but he or she also has an elven first name chosen by Ash.

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 9: Heal the Injury

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: angst, violence, blood, gore, injury, some scenes may be triggering for those who are sensitive to sexual assault/abuse, so tread carefully! ❧ Word Count: 6.9k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: In Alexandria, the man who calls himself Jesus offers his help in an effort to defeat Negan and the Saviors. Meanwhile, at the Sanctuary, you appease Negan's desires in the hopes of killing him when he is most vulnerable, but when an attempt backfires, you learn the true meaning of despair.

❧ A/N: Another rough chapter. Well, the bad stuff is bookended by some good stuff. But yeah, definitely pay attention to the warnings again for this chapter. Sorry, but I have to make Negan terrible ok? And again, Negan is ramped up to be worse than he is in the show (but tbh he is still ruthless in the show so he is really not even that much worse). I don't want to spoil it tho, so I will just stop talking. Enjoy!

In the once pristine great hall, where now the floor was littered with the bodies of dead walkers that had yet to be cleared, King Ezekiel sat upon his throne, his leg anxiously shaking as he and what was left of his court awaited for the guards to bring in the guest.

Jesus, he called himself. The irony was not lost on Daryl, who began to wonder if perhaps this man who called himself Jesus was the real messiah, whose arrival on Earth was foretold in the Book of Revelation. At this point, such an arrival would be welcomed with open arms. If Jesus had truly come back, bringing with him Heaven’s army to fight the forces of evil that plagued this land, including the man who took his princess from him, then Daryl would not send him away. 

But, alas, there was no sound of trumpets, no seven seals, no parting of the clouds to allow His descension upon the Earth. This Jesus had to have been a mortal man, and if there was anything Daryl knew of mortal men, it was that they were not to be trusted. Especially not at a time like this.

When the man was brought in, hands tied behind his back as he was led forth through the great hall by two armed guards on either side of him, it was not immediately obvious that the man wasn’t the son of God. 

After all, he looked the part: long hair of umber hue that touched a little past his shoulders, and a stately beard to match. Standing not far from the king’s throne, Daryl took note that the man was well kept, with vestments made from the finest imported threads, colored with rich dyes. He was half-armored, wearing a fitted gambeson with plate pauldrons strapped to his shoulders, under which was draped a long cloak of vibrant tyrian purple. 

What was most striking about him, though, were his eyes―deep-set, intense pools of azure that seemed to oscillate between stern and friendly, though always calm, cool, and collected. In fact, he did not seem rattled by the guards’ rough handling at all, nor by the way one of the guards forced him to kneel before the king. The man simply held the king’s gaze, his lips curling ever so slightly into an earnest smile.

He began to speak, his voice not fearful nor threatening. “Your majesty, it’s an honor to―”

“You will speak only when you are spoken to,” replied the king, his voice much harsher than Daryl had heard it before, except when he spoke to Negan. “State your business, Jesus.”

The man straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Well, seeing as your situation is dire, I will cut to the chase. I’ve brought my people here because you are in need of our help.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “And what help do you have to offer?”

“Fighters, for a start,” replied the man. “Capable fighters. Over a hundred of them. Combined with your forces, enough to stand a chance against a common enemy―the Saviors.”

This intrigued the court, Sir Daryl notwithstanding.

He exchanged a curious look with Richard, who seemed skeptical, but equally interested in whatever else the man called Jesus had to say.

“Go on,” said the king.

Jesus’ smile upturned just a little more, as though he was hoping the king would say those exact two words. 

“I am the ruler of a small principality called the Hilltop. It is likely that you have never heard of it, as we are located far from your kingdom. We, too, were ravaged by Negan and the Saviors. They took everything from us, including countless lives. That was over a year ago now, and we’ve grown since, building up our arsenal and training our people for battle. The Saviors neglected to kill all of us, and we’ve been hiding in the shadows ever since, living as nomads, and waiting for the opportunity to attack.”

A chattering emerged in the hall, members of court whispering amongst themselves before the king stomped his foot with several thuds that echoed through the high ceilings. “Silence!” he ordered. Turning back to Jesus, he spoke again, still suspicious of the man’s intentions “And why have you decided to come to our aid now, the precise point at which my kingdom is severely weakened?”

Jesus’ gaze dropped for a moment, as melancholy overtook his once confident features. “I am truly sorry, your majesty, but we set out a fortnight ago, traveling in caravans once we had heard word that the Saviors were beginning their assault on your kingdom. It was only when we arrived this morning that we realized that we were too late… But we are here now, ready to fight for you, for all those whose lives have been torn apart by Negan and his cronies.” 

It all seemed too good to be true. Could this be a trap, some cruel joke of Negan’s own sick and twisted fabrication? Then again, why would he bother with such a chore, when he had already gotten what he wanted? And Jesus seemed earnest, albeit a little naive with his unyielding sense of hope. Perhaps taking a chance on him, though, was the only option. At least, it was the only immediate hope Daryl had of getting you back. 

But he knew the king might not be swayed as easily. 

“Even if, by some miracle, we had a chance of defeating Negan’s army, we do not even know where the Sanctuary is.”

And then, a full smile split Jesus’ face. “Well, your majesty, I happen to know precisely where the Sanctuary is.” The court broke out into hushed murmurs again, while the king leaned forward in his seat, intrigued. 

“How?”

“When the Saviors came, I was taken prisoner, held in the dungeon and tortured for hours on end until I pledged allegiance to Negan. I never gave in—I escaped. I know that castle inside out.”

Without the composure to keep himself silent, Sir Daryl stepped forward, making himself known to the foreign prince who knelt before the king. From the corner of Ezekiel’s eye, he watched the knight stand tall, beginning to speak directly to Jesus. Despite his confusion, Ezekiel did not silence him. 

“The princess was taken by Negan last night,” said the knight. “She is imprisoned somewhere in the Sanctuary against her will. If we make an assault on the Sanctuary, with your people, would you help us find her?”

Jesus looked wide-eyed between the knight and the king. “Of course,” he said. “I can lead you through the Sanctuary to find her.”

The king, however, was a little more skeptical. Perhaps Daryl’s desperation to get you back was clouding his judgment, but he was about ready to get on his horse and go with this strange man and his people to find you right now. Ezekiel was a little more experienced in dealing with foreign dignitaries and their negotiations. 

“And why should I trust you?” he said. “There must be something you want in return from Alexandria.”

“Well, in return for our services, the Hilltop simply asks for future alliances with Alexandria. And, if you’re amenable to it, we’d be willing to offer our help with repairing your kingdom in exchange for citizenship. The Hilltop has an abundance of grain, livestock, steel, all of which we would bring to Alexandria… And, to be frank, your kingdom has no other choice but to trust us. Your chances of getting your daughter back are low, unless you accept our help.”

He was right, the king knew that. 

As he stood from his throne, he gestured to the man who knelt before him. “Arise, Prince Jesus of the Hilltop,” he commanded, his voice strong and echoing through the great hall. 

Jesus stood to his feet, meeting the king’s eyes as he walked towards him, dignified and head held high. When Ezekiel placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder, the court knew that the king had accepted the Hilltop’s aid.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Sir Daryl stepped forward again, his impatience growing with every second that you were gone. Perhaps he was lacking chivalry, or even making it too evidently clear that he loved you, but in his desperation, he did not care one bit.

“What the hell are we waitin’ for?” he said. “Let’s do this.”

You’d been counting down the days like a prisoner—the world’s most pampered prisoner. Seven days, when the clock struck midnight. Seven days trapped in the Sanctuary. 

Negan hadn’t come to see you in that time, with only servants bringing you meticulously arranged dishes on silver platters, with the finest cutlery money could buy. Somewhat infuriatingly, you had recognized the steak knife you’d been given, that intricate detailing on the handle that had been carved by hand with the crest of Alexandria. 

You’d wondered if it had been a coincidence, but you knew better: it was a subtle way of taunting you, reminding you that your kingdom had been ravaged by the Saviors, just as you would soon be ravaged by Negan.

That is, whenever he would be reminded of your existence.

Tonight, it seemed he finally considered you worthy of his presence again, after you’d struck him in self-defense the night you arrived. Either he had brushed off the incident, or his lust overshadowed his bitterness. In any case, you’d been summoned to his chambers, but not before lifting your feather pillow to reveal that steak knife, the one you’d been so bold to keep to yourself before the last servant could take your platter away. 

It was freshly sharpened, too. Last night, you’d tested its ability to cut through meat, and sure enough, it cut like butter. Negan’s flesh couldn’t be much different.

But you’d have to get close to him, to obey him, to submit to him. It would be difficult, trying to act as though you’d come around to the idea of being Negan’s wife. Even the thought of it threatened to cause a bout of nausea, but it couldn’t be much worse than having to live the rest of your life in devotion to him. An hour or two of flattering him, entertaining him, perhaps even accepting his advances… God, it sickened you, but it would be the simplest way to catch him off guard just long enough to strike. 

Daryl had helped you practice against walkers at times, but never living men, never men who could just as easily hurt you back if you made the wrong move at the wrong time. You could always run away from walkers, not men. 

Still, your hatred for Negan fueled you. With every step you took towards his quarters, guards on either side of you escorting you the way there, you thought of every horrible thing he had done, and all the horrible things you hadn’t known he had done. Killing was never something you had thought you would ever do. You’d been taught that no mortal could ever take the life of another man—that such a thing was God’s decision and God’s alone. 

If you knew God, though, if you knew what God stood for, you knew that God would not punish you for ridding the world of a man like Negan. If He did, then perhaps God was not as just as you’d been told to believe. 

The fact that a man like this was still breathing, while Daryl was not, was proof enough that there was no divine justice in this world, and that sometimes, a mortal would have to take matters into their own hands.

When the guards led you into Negan’s chamber, you were greeted by the man, whose back was turned towards you as he poured himself a goblet of wine. The door was hurriedly shut behind you, with the low-pitched click of the turn of a lock quickly following. 

The man’s eyes gazed over his shoulder, taking stock of your appearance—as it was the middle of the night, and you’d been practically woken from sleep, you were clad in only a semi-translucent white chemise that reached your ankles, over which you’d draped a scarlet colored housecoat to protect your modesty, and to conceal the knife you’d hidden in its inner pocket.

“Did my summons disturb your sleep, princess?” He turned, revealing not one, but two goblets of wine, one in each hand as he sauntered forward, towards you. 

“No.” In fact, it didn’t. You hadn’t been able to get to sleep before midnight since you’d been captured. 

“Good.” With an outstretched hand, he offered you a goblet. “Wine?”

Wine disgusted you… You took it. “Thank you.” 

With only a moment’s hesitation, you raised the goblet to your lips and took a small sip, then a much bigger one as you tilted the goblet upwards and gulped down the rest of the red liquid. You would need it, though you swallowed it with a grimace.

“You just keep surprising me, princess.”

“I was… quite thirsty.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from, if you’d like.”

Your head was already beginning to swim. “No, no… Thank you. May I sit?”

The man raised an eyebrow, then turned to gesture towards the bed—canopied and shrouded in dozens of ornately decorated pillows. 

“Be my guest.”

He seemed both surprised and amused by your ease, watching you with a widening grin as you crossed over to the edge of the bed to sit. As he took another sip of his wine, he sat himself beside you, sending a shiver down your spine that you hoped would be concealed by your attempt at calmness. 

As he sat, you took note of his appearance. He wore no armor, of course. In fact, he seemed to be only clothed in a robe not unlike yours. It would be easy to penetrate his skin, when the opportunity would present itself.

The more he leaned closer, his eyes unabashedly trailing over your chest, which began to heave noticeably underneath your chemise, you felt fear rise up within you. How could you not be afraid? He looked at you as though you were prey.

“Milady,” he began, the word from him like millions of little daggers penetrating your eardrums. Only one man deserved to call you that, to refer to you as his. “I want to apologize for my crass behavior. You see, it’s just… You’re so beautiful, and to think of anyone having you before me…”

Despite your disgust, you played into it, attempting to be the submissive maiden he wanted you to be. 

“No one has had me, sir.” To say that caused you immense heartache, knowing that you had denied the love you shared with Daryl, but in order to gain Negan’s trust, just for the moment, you’d do anything. Almost anything. “I should be the one apologizing for my lack of decorum… I—I just…”

Negan swallowed the rest of his wine, letting the empty goblet dangle in his hands and fall to the floor with a quiet thud. As he leaned closer, you watched his hand settle on your thigh, long fingers curling into your flesh. The heavy pet of his touch all but silenced you. When he leaned so close that you could feel the sting of his heavy, wine-scented breath on your cheek. 

“You don’t have to explain.” He squeezed your thigh, as his other hand touched your lower back, moving in circles just above your bottom. It was a filthy, lecherous touch, one that made you nauseous and dizzy with disgust. “Do you like when I touch you like this?”

His lips were so close now, the wiry hairs of his freshly trimmed beard scratching the soft flesh of your cheek. Leaning ever closer, he did not kiss you, but dragged his wanton lips over your skin, as if to taunt you. 

“Yes.” You weren’t sure how many more lies you could tell without being deemed a sinner. 

While his hand inched up your thigh, his lips pursed to kiss the side of your face, the feeling of which made you shut your eyes tight, until a few tears began to fall. 

You felt vile, impure, desecrated. Though you were no longer a virgin in the carnal sense, you had not felt this growing defilement rising in you, polluting your mind, body, and soul. Not when Daryl looked at you. Not when he touched you. Not when he made love to you. 

With him, it felt like a fresh spring daisy blossoming for the first time. Now, it felt like you were wilted, decaying, rotten. It only fueled your anger, your back straightening and your lips tightening as you tried to ignore his touches, his mouth contaminating your once pure skin as he licked your neck, his hand squeezing desperately at your mound from over top of your nightgown. 

“Please,” you whispered, somewhere between a plea and an aggravated groan. 

“My princess.” You squeezed another few tears as you winced at the phrase, which had so potently reminded you of your true love, whose princess you truly were. Not Negan’s. “I knew you wanted me. I could see it, the way you look at me, all innocent and scared, like a little wide-eyed fawn… Even now you tremble.”

Indeed, your tenseness had given way to jitters, your heart shivering as if it was encased in a thick block of ice. That’s what he felt like to you, too—his touch icy and bitter, with his bony chest digging into your shoulder and his slimy fingers violating you with more and more desperation as he fondled you. He was more like a skeleton than a man of flesh and blood, and you were in his grasp. Not for long, you assured yourself. A moment would present itself, and you would end him. For your kingdom. For Daryl. For you. 

He grasped at your chin, forcing you to face him as he smiled at you, his eyes focused on your agape lips that trembled with each nervous breath.

“You’re mine,” he said. “Say you’re mine.”

Never!

But you could not say that, not now. Not when you were so close to getting his guard down just enough to turn on him. With the words struggling to form, their weight being tugged out of you like tattered rags tied together and shoved down your throat, you appeased him. 

“I am yours.”

Your tear-soaked voice faltered as you spoke, but the man did not seem to notice, drunk with his own arrogance at the sound of those words on your lips. A part of you wondered if he even cared whether or not you told the truth—you wondered if he just wanted the illusion of being wanted. 

Apart from his panting breaths, a silence hung between you for a moment, with an air of anticipation drawing out those several seconds into what felt like a century. You knew what he was about to do, and though you could not stop crying, much to his lack of care, you prepared yourself, straightening your back to face the assault of his lips.

They were cold, just like everything else about him, but your lips warmed them, much to his satisfaction, and to your sorrow. They fit uncomfortably, but perhaps that was because you knew your lips weren’t meant for him. In fact, you were certain no human lips were meant to suit a mouth like his. He was so vile to you that you were sure he did not deserve the pleasure of love. But there was no love in his kiss to begin with, only lust. A dark, demanding lust. 

His hand clenched around a chunk of your hair, nails scratching your scalp as you whimpered into his mouth, your lips being manipulated by his as he mangled you with his kiss. But you did not fight back, not yet. You only let him control you, his body leaning into yours to get you laying flat on the bed behind you. Underneath you, you could feel the handle of your knife digging into your side. It made your eyes shoot open, though he did not see. He was occupied with your mouth, violating its sanctity with his wiggling tongue.

If he were any heavier, you might not have been able to loosen your arm out from under him, but you managed to free yourself, only to place your hands on his back, with the hopes of encouraging him despite your stiffness. 

But the longer he kissed you, fondled you, licked you, you began to slowly remove one hand, using it to dig into the pocket of your robe, where the sharp blade of the knife had nearly torn a hole.

As you clenched your fingers around the handle of the knife, the man on top of you mumbled that same sickening phrase against your open mouth. “You’re mine.”

When he said it, it was more possessive, almost victorious, as if he’d won you. It was not a matter of being yours because you wanted to be his, but because he had decided you were. Being under him now, physically oppressed by the weight of his body, represented how powerless you had been made to feel most of your life. Only in recent times had you felt free, and that was because of Daryl. He made you feel free, not only because he freed you, but because he loved you. His love had freed you.

And now, he was dead because of the devil that had you in his snare, his filthy mouth soaking yours with his rancid spit. You hated him, and as you raised the knife higher, you did not fear the consequences of your actions. You did not even fear death. Death would only bring you closer to your love, whose desperate cries of pain echoed in your weary mind. Tears flooded over your cheeks now, whimpers lost in the cavernous void that was his mouth. 

Daryl… His name repeated in your head, your internal voice crying out, pleading. You felt sick to your stomach, nausea threatening to overtake you. Though he was dead, and what you did now was only to get Negan as close to you as possible, distracted just long enough to make your strike, you felt you had betrayed him, he whose loyalty was stronger than you believed you could ever be. 

All you wanted was for it all to end, and you could end it now. Squeezing that knife, you thought only of him, of your sorry excuse for a knight. How you cried, your sobs mistaken by Negan to be moans of pleasure from his kiss, but the truth remained—your heart was broken. I am so sorry, my love. 

“Say it,” he said between his vulgar kisses. “Say you’re mine. Say you belong to me.”

His now serpentine voice stung your ears, reawakening you to the moment at hand, to the knife your fingers clinged to as you raised it higher, Negan unaware.

You aimed the blade downwards, its sharp, shining point just several inches from his back, just about where you knew his heart would be, if he had one in that bony body of his. 

“I—I belong…”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you held the blade with a shaky hand as you thought of him again, those sparkling blue eyes. That sinuous, often messy hair of caramel brown. That voice, raspy yet soft, tickling your ears in the most pleasant way. Those hands, big and strong and always so very warm. And that smile… That was your favorite part of him. It was rare to see it in all its glory, but you counted yourself lucky to have beheld its presence, to have felt it against your cheek as he kissed you. 

And oh, you hadn’t been able to kiss him enough. How you wished for more time, for more long nights wrapped up in the embrace of his muscle-bound arms as you shared in whispers until your voices faded into each other. You could never forget him, not ever. Above all else, you could never forget who you really belonged to, and how you belonged to him because you wanted to be his. 

“I belong to…”

Finally freeing your mouth, Negan trailed his lips to your collarbone, beginning to suck on your skin in an attempt to mark you there, though you did not feel it, instead focusing on the image of your knight, with that crooked boyish smile.

Still, holding the knife, you opened your mouth to speak, with one name on your breathy voice: “Daryl.”

With a jolt, Negan pulled away, furrowing his brows as he looked down at you, with only the dim candlelit glow to illuminate his confusion. “What?”

Your eyes wide, you panicked, bringing down the knife in a frantic motion, but Negan was faster, lifting himself up and grasping hard at your wrist, where your trembling hand held the knife. 

You could see its silvery glimmer reflecting in Negan’s wide eyes, his breath quickening and his chest heaving as the veins in his forehead and neck swelled. He tugged the knife from your hand, while you only could lay there frozen, still in disbelief of what had happened. You had gotten so close to freedom, to vengeance, and now, you were sure you’d be killed before you could ever get another chance at killing him. 

“Princess,” he said, his voice somewhere between sick amusement and utter, total rage. “Either you’re a lot kinkier than you look, or you just tried to fuckin’ kill me.”

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, followed by a silence, during which you sat up, breathing heavy, teary breaths. “I—I’m—”

The back of his hand cut you off, the weight of his smack sending you stumbling off the bed and onto all fours. You had half a mind to crawl towards the fallen knife in front of you, but he kicked it across the room just as you began to reach for it. 

“You really are a dirty little bitch.”

In your shame, you could only hang your head, weeping. Never in your life had you felt so humiliated, so devoid of whatever poise and honor and dignity you’d ever had. As if to hide your sobbing face, you curled your head into your hands, but Negan would not let you have even that last shred of self-respect you had left. You felt his foot underneath your stomach, kicking upwards to forcibly flip you over onto your back, your spine hitting the hard timber with a painful thud. 

Two long, spidery legs stretched out on either side of you as he towered directly over you, looking down at you now almost with pity, but mostly with a snarling fury. 

As you choked back on the lump in your throat, you lifted your chin in one last attempt to appear like the dignified princess you were supposed to be, but the words you spoke through forcibly tight lips betrayed you: “Just kill me.”

In his cruelty, he only laughed, that arrogant chuckle that usually made your skin crawl, but now you couldn’t feel anything, not even the pain from his strike, which would surely manifest itself in a bruise.

“Killing you, princess, would be a waste. Besides, I don’t kill beautiful women.”

I am so flattered.

But you only repeated those words, this time throwing your head back as you screamed, your voice breaking into a pleading cry. “Just kill me!”

With a tilt of his head, he studied your face—your swelling, reddened eyes and your lashes decorated with little globules of tears, like the dewdrops on gossamer in a cool spring morning. He was right—you were pretty when you cried. It was a sight too beautiful to rid the world of. Well, to rid himself of. Everything he did, he did for himself, after all. 

“No… I’ve got a better idea. Guards!” The door burst open to startle you just before two Saviors marched in, their eyes not on you, but Negan, who stepped over you as he spoke. “Since my bride is so very ungrateful of the luxuries and splendors I have granted her here, I believe the only solution is to show her just how much more… inhospitable we can be.” 

You watched him gesture to the guards, not even caring enough to look your way. He was angry, but too angry to yell. It was that eerie, quiet anger. The kind that was so much worse than the belligerent type. 

All you could feel as your body went numb from the sheer overstimulation of emotion was the grip of the two guards, one on either side of you, pulling you up by your arms, though you did not protest much—you did not have the strength within you. You were broken, defeated. The conflagration of rage had washed away with the deluge of your tears, leaving behind only a sea of sorrow and despair. 

“Take her to the dungeon,” he said. “If she cannot learn to show gratitude, and to love and please her husband, we shall teach her.”

Now feeling barren, with no tears left to cry, you were all but dragged through the corridors, barely able to carry yourself on your weakened legs. They took you further down, until you reached the dungeon, the cold, damp stone under your bare feet causing you to cringe in disgust. 

Through a corridor shrouded in the darkness of night, lit only by the flames of the torches upon the stone walls, you were taken to a row of cells, all of which were unoccupied, except for half-decayed remains scattered around, some hanging in iron cages, others strewn about indiscriminately. 

You had your eyes stuck on one particularly fresh looking corpse as you walked, its flesh almost resembling candle wax that was melting off the bone. Flies swarmed the place, and you grimaced at the maggots that gushed out from the corpse’s eye socket as they toppled over each other in a small avalanche. 

In your distraction, you did not see the severed foot that you tripped over, eliciting a chuckle from the Saviors who led you down the dank, gory chamber. 

The horrible creak of the rusty old bars opening had stirred you from your thoughts, along with the sudden thrust as the other guard pushed you forward, your knees hitting the cold hard ground with a searing pain. 

If you had any strength in you left, you might’ve risen to your feet, lunging yourself towards the bars of the cell as the guards locked the padlock around the chain to beg them to let you go, but even if you could leave, where would you go?

Your home was destroyed, and even if you could get back there, you had no idea how to find your way back. Your father could be miles away by now, and the only other hope you had once had was in Daryl. 

Daryl, who was gone. 

You had nothing, nowhere, no one. 

Yet, in the cold, dark, dank dungeon you found yourself in, surrounded by the mutilated, decaying corpses of those who had been tortured by the Saviors, there was one living truth you could cling to: you were safe from Negan, for now.

From this distance, it was difficult to make out the exact layout of the castle, but Jesus seemed sure—this was the Sanctuary, and tomorrow, Alexandria and the Hilltop would lay waste to Negan and his Saviors. Well, that was the hope, anyway. 

It was several acres away, far enough for the guards in the battlements not to see the camp that had been set up for the night, but close enough for the knight to study the shape of the castle, its towers with tall, conical roofs and flags bearing Negan’s crest billowing in the cool night air. A full moon lit up the otherwise dreary tableau, along with the few flickers of firelight between the crenelations in the castle’s curtain. 

Though the night was quiet, with only a cool, gentle breeze softly whistling through the trees, Daryl’s mind was full of disquiet, as it had been since you were taken a week ago. The army of three hundred or so soldiers from Alexandria and the Hilltop had been traveling for three days, the other four days spent preparing for battle. Still, he could not wait, not even allowing himself sleep but only for a few hours each night. 

Even when he did sleep, it was uneasy, with the lingering dread of what evils you might be exposed to keeping him on edge. It was as though his mind was punishing his body, depriving it of sleep as discipline for losing you. At every waking moment, he was thinking of ways he could’ve kept you from being taken, of things he could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. He knew, though, that ultimately, there was no stopping Negan, and that, sooner or later, he would’ve found you. 

But the only hope he had was in knowing that you were alive, that Negan could not kill you. After all, you were his prize, his symbol of victory over Alexandria. Though he shuddered to think of all the ways he could hurt you, at least that one hope was still keeping him going. 

Now, the knight stood alone, far away from the glow of the campfires the other soldiers had built. Though the others seemed content to chat amongst themselves quietly, some even sharing in a few laughs, all Daryl could do was think of you. 

I will find you, my love. his own voice echoed in his head. I will bring you home. I promise. 

But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a voice he recognized, though he could not believe was speaking to him. 

“Tis dangerous to be so far from the camp, good sir.”

There were few moments he had shared alone with the king, and though Ezekiel was a genial, kindhearted king, there was an air of prestige about him that made the knight nervous. Perhaps it was the very fact that he was royalty, or, more likely, the constant worry that he might suspect Daryl’s true feelings for the man’s daughter. For all he knew, the king could have known of your trysts all along. 

“But it is nice, the quiet,” added the king, followed by a deep breath as he took in the fresh, clean air of the woods. “Savor it, for tomorrow, there will be no quiet.”

Daryl turned to the side to meet the king’s noble gaze. He looked weary, but hopeful, with that spark of faith in his eye. 

“No Savior left alive,” said Daryl, repeating the phrase the king had spoken earlier during the arrangement of the plan. “If what Jesus said is true, though, there are women and children there. Elderly, too.”

“Then they are to be spared.”

“Only men big enough to carry a sword,” agreed the knight. “That’s always been the rule in battle.”

“And Negan. We must kill Negan.”

Indeed, Daryl had been meaning to ask: who would get the pleasure of sending the bastard to Hell?

“How do you want to do it?” asked the knight. “We could capture him, take him back to Alexandria for a public execution, or we could kill him on sight. What say you?”

The king only held Daryl’s gaze. “I want it over with tomorrow,” he said. “I do not care who gets the kill, and I do not care how. I do not care if he suffers or if it is a quick death, I just want to see that vermin’s head on a spike, on display before the ruins of the Sanctuary. I want him to pay for his transgressions with his life, and I want Satan to torture him in Hell. More than that, I just want my child back.”

“That is my top priority, I assure you. I will—” He stopped himself, realizing that he was speaking too much from his own perspective, but in his mind, you were solely his responsibility, and his alone. He was quick to catch himself. “We will find her.”

But Ezekiel seemed to catch on, at least a little.

The king had known more than you or Daryl thought he’d known, but it was only as far as the friendship that had blossomed between you. As for the excursions, and your true feelings, he knew none of that, as it had been so carefully concealed from his knowledge. Still, he knew that Daryl cared for you, and it was not becoming increasingly obvious the more he devoted himself to getting you back. 

“You care a great deal for her, yes?”

I love her. 

“Yes, your majesty.”

Ezekiel smiled, and in his smile was that same warmth and kindness that graced your face. “She cares for you, too. In fact, at the tournament, she was worried sick about you. She begged me to all but stop the joust, lest you get hurt.”

Daryl’s cheeks heated against the cool of the late night breeze as he lowered his head, hoping to hide the obvious blush. Despite being so flattered by the idea, he cleared his throat in an attempt to seem nonchalant. Inside, though, he was so very giddy at the thought of his sweet princess, whom he had tried so hard to impress that day. But that happy memory gave way to seriousness again.

“She is… good-hearted.”

“Indeed, and she cares for her people. All of them—the young and the old, the prosperous and the destitute, the healthy and the ailing. The strong and the weak. She has always been selfless. I know one day, she will be a great queen.”

The knight could only nod in agreement, while his heart ached for you, to know you were all right. The more your father praised you, the more he became desperate to get you back home, and the more he felt as though it was his responsibility, and his alone. 

“She will.”

Ezekiel’s hand weighed heavily on Daryl’s shoulder now, as he stepped aside to face him more directly. Though his lips were pulled into a kind smile, his eyes portrayed an earnestness that caught the knight’s attention.

“I must ask something of you, Sir Daryl.”

As if by instinct, Daryl straightened his back in an attempt to be the picture of knighthood he knew he should always display. “Anything, your majesty.”

“When we get to the Sanctuary tomorrow, I want you to be in charge of finding the princess.”

It was both a shock and a relief. Though he was already planning on separating from the battle to find you as soon as he could, to know the king had made an explicit request was a reassurance and an honor. Besides, he certainly was not going to let Jesus, the only person who knew how to navigate the inside of the keep, go looking for you alone. Though he was almost certain that the prince was sincere in his loyalty, he could not risk a blindspot. 

“I know you care for her more than anyone else here besides me,” the king continued, “and you’re her bodyguard. It only makes sense for you to be in charge of her safety… And I trust you more than Jesus.”

That went without saying.

“My king,” began the knight, keeping his gaze level with that of Ezekiel’s, “I will gladly find your daughter.”

“Good man,” replied the king with a pat on the knight’s shoulder. He began to make his way back towards the camp as he spoke again: “It would do you good to retire soon. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Indeed, Daryl knew of the challenges laid out before him, of the blood that would be shed tomorrow, of both Saviors and his own. He knew battle well, though he had not seen one against fellow living men in quite some time. It never got any easier, but this battle was different. He could feel it.

To take someone’s life indiscriminately, without consideration for the pain and suffering that one would inflict, was always difficult to grasp. Now, though, Daryl was not simply fighting a king’s war. He was not fighting for the supremacy of a religion or for claim over territory. This was personal.

Tomorrow, he would have no remorse, no compassion, no sorrow. He would not mourn the deaths of countless Saviors who were just as evil as Negan. Oh, and Negan… 

That man would not escape Daryl’s wrath this time. In fact, he’d face the worst of it. It was not just the fact that he had taken you from him, but that he had taken your home, pillaged it until the place was left to ruin. Beyond all else, he had frightened you, hurt you.

A knight’s most chivalrous duty was to protect the honor of his lady, no matter how gruesome the act of doing so may be. He had an obligation to kill that man, to make him pay for the suffering he had caused you, his lady to whom he devoted his mind, body, and soul.

Though the king did not care who got the final death blow, Daryl knew one thing above all else to be true: he was going to kill that man. After all, he had told the man to his face that he would be the one to kill him, and a knight never breaks a promise.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

[vacantgodling]

re. wip master list

an ever updating list of all of my wips and ideas that i juggle in my brain at any given moment, laid out as simply as possible for y’all’s convenience. obviously PARAMOUR & TCOL are my main wips right now so you can check my main pinned for more information about those, however, these are for all my other wips that are backburner in some way.

this list will probably update often as i revamp old ideas or come up with new ones

these are also in no particular order

THE CHRONICLES OF LATHSBURY BOOK I: THE WRATH OF THE DEMON KING

summary: five adventurers from different backgrounds must face The Labyrinth as the deep magic that keeps the chaos within it at bay begins to rip apart at their seams

wip intro || character intros || crash course || s: tcol (main tag)

THE LIMINAL SPACE SERIES

summary: a series of 5 continuous books and 1 spinoff tale centered around this universe’s concept of liminal spaces. what they all have in common is they center on death, Reapers, Witches, magic, possession, and horror, but above all liminal spaces.

Liminal Spaces are defined as the place a person is in during a transitional period. this can be emotionally, physically, metaphysically or all of the above. in this series liminal spaces are more akin to separate planes of existence where death and horror reign supreme and magic is in the air. nothing is impossible and your worst nightmares usually come true.

wip intro || tags -> s: donut wip / s: noi alone / s: jenna the reaper / s: jenna the witch king / s: mason at the airport

GOD EATER

summary: the sun is stolen, drenching the upper in darkness and spelling certain doomsday for the world as its known it if it’s not returned. nevaeh is sent down to the treacherous under to find the god responsible for the sun’s disappearance and return it as soon as possible. to do that, they’ll need to find the last god eater. and they only have 13 weeks.

wip intro || character list || tag -> s: god eater

THE GRAVES WE DUG

summary: graves is a bounty hunter on the run after betraying his organization following the death of his partner, dove, in a mission gone horribly askew. however, one night in a seedy saloon far removed from their old stomping grounds of the city of rapture, dove shows up and demands that graves finish what they started before he “died.” emotional turmoil ensues.

wip intro || playlist || chapter one || tag -> s: the graves we dug

VAMPIRES DON’T TAKE ROAD TRIPS

summary: 20 year old darren de leon is content with just living his life as is, with his father dave, step-sister (kinda) olice, and not including his father’s girlfriend veronica as much as possible. that is, until someone he never thought he would meet shows up at their doorstep—his absentee mother, lizette rouzet blanc who… incidentally is a vampire. someone is out to hunt darren down and so they have to leave town to get to safety… leading to the most awkward and life changing road trip he’s ever been on.

wip intro || powerpoint intro (more accurate than the wip intro tbh) || how vampires work || tag -> s: darren and co

DEAD RITES

summary: nathali “n” blackburn is the top reporter at the small firm aurora press, and has had it up to here with the fear mongering surrounding the vampire group the marauders after the death of rising politician richard lindsey, which they have no proven involvement with. seeking the truth, n manages to arrange a meeting with a marauders chapter worker, a vampire named beau bellerose, and the rabbit hole his search leads them down may start a civil war.

wip intro || tag -> s: dead rites

LUKEWARM REJECTION

summary: aidan “di” absyna has it all—or so he thinks. he’s a guitarist in a punk band with his best friends, his boyfriend, the lead singer maverick loverde, is perfect, so what if he’s not out to his extremely controlling religious parents yet? things however come crashing down around him when the day before they’re supposed to go on stage at the biggest and probably most important event in their budding careers, maverick walks out on them, ending he and di’s relationship suddenly in the process. their leader nix, frantic to not let them crash in burn calls in a “best friend” that none of them have ever heard of—a mysterious, good looking, powerhouse vocalist toph. and toph well… toph’s a demon. literally.

wip intro || tag -> s: lukewarm rejection

ALIZATH

summary: kirsi sunniva and her aunt lady jeanna sunniva (posing as her governess) make their (hopefully) triumphant return to alizath’s social scene; to repair the tarnished reputation their family and of her father who still waits outside of the country for his banishment to be lifted. in order to do this, kirsi must make connections, and connections she makes. but even from the beginning something seemed slightly… off about why her family was banished—and who she even is. and if she happens to uncover those secrets… what will the state of alizath be once they come to light?

wip intro || the major courts & characters || tag -> s: alizath

PURPLE HAZE

summary: calvin im and jake deluna have been best friends since they were 5 years old. they’ve been with each other through thick and thin, all throughout high school… at least until two things happen on the eve of their high school graduation: jake tries and fails to commit suicide, and calvin’s long term girlfriend breaks up with him without warning shortly after that. both spiraling, but trying to put the pieces together two years removed from these events, they must slowly learn to heal, to love, and to remember what best friends are for in the first place.

wip intro || tag -> s: purple haze

THE VIRGIN OF MOUNT HEREDOSA

summary: nyoka is destined to die. a foreigner in this land that worships gods unfamiliar to them, nyoka was taken in by the council of elders when their parents passed away from a strange illness many years ago. this grace came with a caveat; that when their time came, they would be thrown into the mountain as a sacrifice to the gods. nyoka has no intention of dying for a cause they have no stake in—however when they’re suddenly bumped up the chopping block and are next in line to die, they need to think fast. the only way to get out of this? well, if they’re no longer a virgin. and perhaps, the mysterious spice merchant verin is the key to defying this fate.

s: wip intro || character intro || tag -> s: mount heredosa

NONDISCLOSURE (previously: NAD)

summary: nyseah nicoletti is an overworked nurse who suddenly has psychic powers awakened in her after a one night stand. alona springwell is a college student who works part time at the largest corporation in the city and during her first night shift sees a trail of blood leading from one of the rooms she’s forbidden to enter. donte macbride is a jaded PI who’s dragged into one last case by an offer he can’t refuse. 3 storylines, each seemingly unrelated, weave together to uncover a sinister underground of extortion, experimentation, and evil—even more than what’s already expected from the city.

wip intro || tag -> s: nad

GOTHICA (title pending)

summary: lennon rhapsody granger is sent to a private prep institute for troubled youth after she gets expelled from school for the fifth time. there, she meets and becomes romantically involved with bad boy heartthrob aurora o’rion, who is a lackey of a group called the centurion, who do not take kindly to outsiders being so close to their secrets. but lennon has always liked playing with fire… she just isn’t prepared for it to burn this badly.

wip intro || tag -> s: gofficka

NOBLE

summary: found adrift in space, noh bell is taken in by a cargo vessel and dropped off at the nearest planet. he doesn’t remember anything about himself, other than the rudimentary finger spelling for his name. yet, when he enters the tavern with the crew who saved his life, his name and face are plastered all over message boards, a billion dollar bounty on his head. he’ll need to find out what he did, and find out fast before he’s killed.

wip intro || tag -> s: noble

THE WHITE SHIRTS

summary: twins prosper and jane morning have been living life in a rural town in what used to be the united states, it’s backbone the fire department—tasked with stopping the endless raging fires that the dry heat blows in through the prairie. but everything changed when men in white button down shirts showed up, armed to the teeth, and raze their town, leaving them as the only survivors. but the thing is: there aren’t meant to be survivors. faced with annihilation without a cause, the twins begin to run with no destination in mind until they meet a fellow survivor of a white shirt massacre marin; who’s heard rumors of a ship on the east coast that can take them away from here to europe. the only problem is making it there alive.

wip intro || tag -> s: the white shirts

SUPERNATURAL DADS (title pending)

summary: hue rvynwell really doesn’t know what he’s doing with himself. as a recently divorced werewolf single-ish father of two overly powerful witch girls, he’s kind of got his work cut out for him. meddling family and friends can’t understand why he left his vampire husband of over 20 years, jihan, but so much of it boils down to that age old struggle of mortality. but he’ll have to face his demons, and his ex, when the government requires the two of them to cohabitate so that their eldest daughter can start at (essentially) witch U. and their daughters are more than ready to parent trap this situation.

wip intro || tag -> s: supernatural dads

LITTER SUPPORT

summary: kaspian or kas, has made a lot of mistakes in his life - and chief among them is unintentionally having so many litters! with so many children to look after, having custody of none of them, and trying to just get by, romance and doing things for himself are a huge afterthought. however, he knows that he should try to live a little more. its just... hard when you have your hands full. (this takes place in the same universe as supernatural dads)

wip intro || tag -> s: litter support

CELESTIAL WEDDINGS

summary: dagmar of dattenmaow (or the 8th sphere) is one of the eight hopefuls set to try their hand at becoming the new celestial ruler; after the previous one rava died only 50 years into their reign. after 27 years of rigorous training by the celestial lovers, the hopefuls begin the most important part of their journey; traveling to each realm to woo and marry a member of the royal family of each sphere. polyamory, love, weddings, and uncovering the truth behind rava’s demise await.

wip intro || pinterest board || tag -> s: celestial weddings

TRAIN MASTER CHIDORI

summary: chidori jonson just hit his 1 year anniversary of being a train master—and things are just starting to kick off!

notes: train master chidori is more of an art project/potential webcomic so not much writing mostly art will you see if this wip.

playlist || tag -> s: train master chidori

SIXTEEN CANDLES

summary: ranger, nanette, tucker, vani, and roger have been friends for 16 years, and with that much history in one group chat? shenanigans ensue.

notes: this is a chat-style wip, so any writing will be in the form of characters messaging each other. i love the emerging language that is internet linguistics, so there will be a lot of playing around with how words are showcased. remember: no typo is just a typo in this wip!

character list || tag -> s: sixteen candles

TEARDROPS OF THE GODS

summary: quill is half-merman; he’s known this since he was a boy, but the fear of capture by his pirate father has kept him from returning home to the sea. until, a string of town decimating pillages begin down the coast—quill knows his father is coming to look for him. and frankly, it’s high tide (heh) that quill get revenge for everything that man did to him.

wip intro || tag -> s: teardrops

RED DEATH AND THE ORACLE’S FAVOR

summary: red like blood, that’s what she named herself when her sister was stolen. red like death. she has been scouring the land for her missing sister and it has been endless years of empty leads and dead ends until she finally meets the man called oracle, hel lovendusky. he, who knows everything about everything and could know the whereabouts of her sister, and with the promise of protection and one unnamed favor, he agrees to traverse these war battered lands with her to find her.

wip intro || tag -> s: red and hel

PERI & DANDY

summary: when you die, your spirit is taken to the library—a world between worlds where you’re allowed to read your book of life, make peace with it, and pass on to whatever your idea of an afterlife is. librarians guard these sacred spaces; not man, nor woman, but angels or bookkeepers, who guide souls on. one spirit has always been the sacred rule. so what is she to do, when two souls show up at the exact same time; named vesper “peri” and andrew “dandy”. and this is not the first time they have died at the same time. in fact, this ongoing phenomena may break the very fabric and principles that she holds dear. what can you do, when a soul loves itself so much that it splits in two to never be apart?

wip intro || tag -> s: peri & dandy

DREAM TEAM

summary: yeah tbh no fancy summary here, 4 kids traverse to a fantasy world in their dreams where they’re the chosen ones meant to stop a great evil. they continue to visit dream world every time they fall asleep and they can see the changes irl but eventually when they all go to the same college they end up meeting in person for the first time. which is yknow. bad cuz that means the evil is about to strike but yknow. GOOD bc shenanigans.

notes: this wip will probably never be formally written it’s just funny to think about and i’m allowing myself to be a kid with it since i technically thought of this idea as a kid. bless.

wip intro || tag -> s: dream team

MARVIN & LINDA

summary: after finishing a recon mission with freelance special agent “linda”, “marvin” is ready to finish these file downloads and get onto his next mission. they receive sudden correspondence from his employers however, that they will need to wait (i have to decide how long) before they can be extracted and they are not to leave the hotel. this forces two extremely private and dangerous agents in one room to unfortunately tear each others walls down and bear each others souls before parting once again.

wip intro || ending || tag -> s: marvin and linda

ITRI & THE GIANTS

summary: i’m still working on the plot but this is a thumbelina adjacent reimagining. i’m thinking itri is a “dwarf but not how we think about them” and his nickname is thumbs because he’s great with his hands and always has the “thumbs” to fix things. i know the giants to them are essentially like past gods or something like that. So. gotta figure this out.

wip intro || tag -> s: thumbs and the giants

BROKEN CLOUDS

summary: utah and slug's mother has been missing since slug was born, and almost 20 years later, utah wants to find her. at the same time, their aunt, official but absentee caretaker, and their mother's elder sister, risky game, receives a letter in the post from someone claiming to be her long lost sister. this leads to the three of them, plus utah's hacker partner gator to head out on a fucked up roadtrip to find out what happened to their mom annnnd a bunch of other shit happens too.

wip intro || s: broken clouds

[baublecoded]

“One authority recently wrote, ‘The notion of an “Angevin empire” is nothing more than a convenient invention of modern historians.’ Historians tend to reject the possibility of the Plantagenets’ collection of lands achieving permanence and political stability, seeing them merely ‘as the lucky acquisition of a quarrelsome family and not as an institution’. Although these lands are lumped together under the convenient term, Angevin or Plantagenet ‘empire’, few see much evidence for any Angevin concept of imperial doctrine or permanent union. In the Middle Ages the only true empire was the Roman Empire’s successors in East and West. Richard I and John’s seals bore the inscription Rex Anglorum, Dux Normannorum et Aquitanorum et comes Andegavorum; they had no name for the bloc of lands assembled by their father. […]

Henry II and his sons’ concept of their ‘empire’ and its permanence proves a difficult question; no concrete notion of unity for this ‘empire’ seems to have taken shape. Despite centralising tendencies in England and Normandy, the Angevin monarchs made no attempt to impose a uniform administration on their other continental territories. While Norman and English law and administration under Henry II followed closely parallel lines, he followed his father’s advice in his other domains, avoiding imposing uniform laws or institutions and ruling according to their different laws and customs. It is impossible to know exactly what notion John had of his inheritance other than a bloc of family possessions and feudal rights, source of his family’s wealth and political power. Many of his subjects, however, were coming to see the Plantagenets’ congeries of lands as ‘a curious anachronism’. […]

Scholars note too that the Angevin monarchs provided no unifying principle, no common culture that could bind their Anglo-Norman, Angevin and Aquitainian subjects together. Their ‘empire’ was a new creation, and Henry only began to construct administrative machinery in its constituent parts after the 1173–4 rebellion.”

— Ralph V. Turner, King John: England’s Evil King?

[queenmarytudor]

Mary I's Fight For The Throne

11th July - Mary decides to move

Mary receives a reply from the Privy Council to her letter:

Madame, we have received your letter the ix of this instant declaring your supposed title which you judge yourself to have: the Imperial Crown of this Realm and all the domains thereunto belonging. Our answer whereof is to advise your forasmuch as our Sovereign Lady Queen Jane is after the death of our Sovereign Lord King Edward VI, a prince of most noble memory, invested and possessed with right and just title in the Imperial Crown of this Realm, not only by good order of old ancient laws of this realm, but also by your late Sovereign Lord’s letters patent signed with his own hand and sealed with the Great Seal of England in the presence of the most part of the nobles and councillors, judges, and divers other grown and sage persons assenting and subscribing unto the same. We must therefore (and of most duty and right we ought to) profess and declare unto you that forasmuch as divers divorces made between the King of most noble memory Henry VIII and the Lady Katherine your mother was necessary to be had, both by the everlasting law of God as also by the laws and by the most part of the notable and learned universities of Christendom and confirmed also by the divers acts of parliament removing it, therefore and thereby you made illegitimate and inheritable to the Imperial Crown of this Realm and the dominions and possessions of the same. You will upon just consideration thereof and of divers other causes lawful to be alleged for the same, and for the just inheritance of the right, and goodly orders taken by the late King our Sovereign Lord Edward VI, and agreed unto by the noble and great personages aforesaid, cease by your pretence to vex and molest any of our Sovereign lady Queen Jane’s subjects, drawing them from the true faith and allegiance unto Her Grace. Assuring that if you will for respect show yourself quiet and obedient as you ought, you shall find us all and several [ready] to do you any service that we, with duty, may be glad with you to preserve the common state of this Realm, wherein you may otherwise be grievous unto us to yourself and to them. And thus we bid you most heartily well to fare, from the Tower of London the IX *July. Your ladyship’s loving friends, showing yourself an obedient subject. 1 *misdated, should be the Xth

After conferring with important local magnates including Lord Thomas Wentworth, Sir Thomas Cornwallis, Sherriff of Norfolk and Suffolk, proclaims Queen Jane in Ipswich marketplace. Soon after, Mary's servant Thomas Poley arrives and reads out her proclamation:

"Know ye all the good subjects of this realm that your most noble Prince, your sovereign Lord and King, Edward the VI, is upon Thursday last, being the 6th of July, departed this world to God’s mercy. And that now the most excellent princess his sister Mary, by the grace of God is Queen of England and Ireland, and very owner of the crown, government, and title of England and Ireland, and all things thereunto belonging, to God’s glory, the honour of the realm of England, and all your comforts. And her Highness has not fled this her realm, nor intends to do, as is most untruly surmised." 2

He leaves hurriedly, "taking refuge in flight." 3, for fear that he will come to blows with the leading men gathered to support Jane.

In Norwich, they refuse to proclaim Mary queen because they are "not certain of the king's death" 4, while in Great Yarmouth, the town council meet to discuss the situation after having visited Mary. They adjourn their meeting until the next day “to make a plan and definite agreement whether the Lady Mary her grace shall be proclaimed Queen of England”. 5

Back at Kenninghall, Sir Richard Southwell, who had recently helped Mary with the matter of her stolen hawks, arrives with money, provisions, and armed men to "make the most humble submission that he could to the queen, repeatedly recalling in his petition the many favours heaped on him by Henry VIII." 6

Southwell's arrival, with "reinforcements of men, a store of provisions and moreover money, the sinews of war, as they call it, not to mention his own skill in counsel and long experience" 7 prompts Mary to make plans to move her household from Kenninghall.

The decision is made to go to Framlingham, and Mary sends a messenger to the Imperial ambassadors in London informing them. She also begs for further aid, ordering the messenger to tell the men she sees "destruction hanging over her" 8 unless she receives help from the Emperor.

Meanwhile...

Jane writes to the Marquis of Northampton, lieutenant of Surrey, and the sheriffs and chief justices of the peace in that county "Right trusty and right well beloved, we greet you well, advertising the same that whereas it hath pleased almighty God to call to his mercy out of this life our dearest cousin the King, your late sovereign lord, by reason whereof and such ordinances as the said late King did establish in his life time for the security and wealth of this Realm, we are entered into our rightful possession of this kingdom, as by the last will of our said dearest cousin our late progenitor, and other several instruments to that effect, signed with his own hand and sealed with the great seal of this realm in his own presence. Whereunto the nobles of this realm for the most part and all our council and Judges, with the Mayor and Aldermen of our City of London, and divers other grave personages of this our realm of England, have also subscribed their names as by the same will and instrument it may more evidently and plainly appear. We therefore do you to understand, that by the ordinance and sufferance of the heavenly Lord, and by assent and consent of our said nobles and councillors, and others before specified, we do this day make our entry into our Tower of London as rightful Queen of this realm, and have accordingly set forth our proclamations to all our loving subjects, giving them thereby to understand their duties and allegiance which they now of right owe unto us, as more amply by the same you shall briefly perceive and understand, nothing doubting right trusty and right well beloved cousin, but that you will endeavour yourself in all things to the uttermost of your power not only to defend our just title but also assist us in our rightful possession of this kingdom, and to disturb, repel, and resist the feigned and untrue claim of the lady Mary, bastard daughter to our great uncle Henry the eight of famous memory. Wherein as you shall do that which to your honour, truth, and duty appertain, so shall we remember the same unto you and yours accordingly. And our further pleasure is that you shall continue, do, and execute every thing and things as our lieutenant within all places according to the tenor of the commission, addressed unto you from our late cousin King Edward the vi, in such and like sort as if the same had been, as we mind shortly it shall be, renewed and by us confirmed under our great seal unto you. Given under our Signet at our Tower of London on the xi of July the first year of our reign." 9

Gilbert Potter, the young man who said Mary had the right title is set on the pillory where both his ears are cut off. In the evening, his master drowns. 10

Richard Grafton, the royal printer, issues a pamphlet of the town criers announcement yesterday, reiterating Mary and Elizabeth are "proved illegitimate and born unlawful and clearly discharged from the crown and from all manner of possessions of the king their father Henry the VIII." 11

The Imperial ambassadors report Jane will not be "crowned for a fortnight or more." 12

A man from Lowestoft comes aboard The Greyhound asking how Captain Grice and the rest of the crew fare. They "demand if they could with their hearts serve Queen Mary [...] unto whom every one of the company answered and said they would live and die with her grace." 13 Grice changes out of his livery and goes abroad with the man into Lowestoft, asking what news there is. Hearing that the country is up in rebellion, he is then questioned if he is a servant of the Duke of Northumberland. He denies it, but the sailors with him reveal he is. He is then “by the townsmen taken as an offender." 14

Sources:

1. The Reign of Mary I, Robert Tittler

2. The History and Antiquities of Hengrave, in Suffolk

3. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

4. Chronicle of Queen Jane and Queen Mary

5. Great Yarmouth under Queen Mary

6. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

7. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

8. Spanish State Papers, 14th July 1553

9. The Loseley Manuscripts

10. Diary of Henry Machyn, July 1553

11. The Chronicle of the Grey Friars: Jane

12. Spanish State Papers, 11th July 1553

13. The Navy of Edward VI and Mary I

14. The Navy of Edward VI and Mary I

[bitter69uk]

I finally watched the 2023 documentary Little Richard: I Am Everything. Director Lisa Cortés succeeds in making it feel cinematic, and the archival performance footage of Richard in his prime alone is worthwhile. The best “talking head” contributors are Richard’s late exotic dancer girlfriend Lee Angel and pioneering transgender nightclub entertainer Sir Lady Java - and John Waters, of course! (Waters recalls he used to shoplift Richard’s records as a kid, and that his signature pencil-line mustache is a direct “twisted tribute”). By comparison, big name guests like Mick Jagger and Tom Jones mostly offer show biz platitudes (and Billy Porter is self-aggrandizing).

One thing it accomplishes nicely: so often hidebound rock critics and filmmakers get hung up on "who influenced who" which descends into "who ripped off who" as if it’s always a negative thing. It's common knowledge that when Richard was just starting out as a performer without his persona cemented, two flaming queer Black male rhythm and blues musicians - Billy Wright and Esquerita - inspired his musical approach and appearance (the towering, processed conk, thick make-up and mustache). As one of the talking heads savvily argues, Richard didn’t “steal” from them: rather, they provided a mirror for Richard to see his true self. Similarly, Cortés gives Ike Turner his due. A musical expert notes that Richard's piano playing was beholden to Turner’s, something Richard admitted (he raved about the impact of hearing "Rocket 88", the 1951 Kings of Rhythm track widely considered the first-ever rock'n'roll single). Yes, Ike was a monster to Tina, but his trailblazing musical genius must be acknowledged.

The finale where Cortés demonstrates Richard’s effect on modern pop culture with a montage presumably meant to represent his spiritual descendants (Cher! Harry Styles! Lady GaGa! Lizzo!) is misbegotten. Are we meant to think anyone who EVER wore sequins owes Little Richard a debt? (At least the inclusion of Lil Nas X - a modern flamboyant Black male performer – is apt). Richard was instilled with a sense of shame and guilt as a child, and throughout his life alternated between extreme hedonism and extreme fundamentalist Christianity. Sadly, as one commentator argues, Richard set a great liberating example for other people but never truly enjoyed that liberation himself.

[heartofstanding]

Will queens who pass away before the king in England not leave a will? Did Anne of Bohemia leave any wishes for her husband before her death?

A married woman required her husband's formal permission to write a will, since all her property technically belonged to him. It wasn't necessarily strange or rare for women to do so but it's hard to tell exactly how common a practice it was since we're dependent on the wills surviving and they don't always do. Isabella of Castile, Duchess of York (d. 1392) and Elizabeth de Bohun, Countess of Northampton (d. 1356) both left wills made with permission by their husband. We have evidence that Edward II granted Isabella of France permission to make an will when she was around 8 months pregnant with the future Edward III but her will doesn't survive (she appears to have made a will after she was widowed, however). Since Edward II's permission was recorded in Rhymer's Foedera and in the Calendar of Patent Rolls, it seems possible that if other queens had made their wills in their husband's lifetime, we would have evidence of the king's formal permission in these records and it doesn't seem like that is true.

We don't know enough about Anne of Bohemia's death to say. There is no evidence that Anne of Bohemia left behind a will and there is no record of a deathbed conversation between her and Richard II. As Louise Tingle says, Anne may not have made any deathbed requests "because she died at a relatively early age, and with no children or grandchildren to leave legacies". As Anne's biographer Kristen L. Geaman points out, Anne seems to have died quickly and suddenly which could have meant she had little time to prepare for her death. It is generally accepted that she died of plague (i.e. the Black Death) and if so, the high fever that's symptomatic of plague might have meant she was not in fit state to make any requests. Given how contagious plague was known to have been, it's possible that Richard II wasn't able to attend her deathbed. Her tomb monument was commissioned after her death and by all accounts, her death was sudden and unexpected - there's no evidence of a long term illness - so it is unlikely she had any input on its design. @shredsandpatches might have more insight than I do, however.

[princesssarisa]

Character Ask: Maid Marian (Disney)

Favorite thing about them: Her blend of sweetness, elegance and romanticism with playfulness and adventurousness. She's both a quintessential "lady fair" for a hero of legend to love and a true kindred spirit to Robin Hood.

Least favorite thing about them: I wish her role were bigger, and while it's perfectly fine that she's not much of a fighter, I wish she were slightly more involved in the action than just throwing one pie in a guard's face.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I like pink and lavender.

*I get along well with children.

*I admire people who defy oppressors and help the poor.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm not a king's niece.

*I'm not British.

*I'm not an anthropomorphic fox.

Favorite line: When Robin proposes marriage mid-battle:

"Oh, darling, I thought you'd never ask me! But you could have chose a more romantic setting!"

brOTP: Lady Kluck.

OTP: Robin Hood.

nOTP: Prince John, Sir Hiss, or the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Random headcanon: I'll take this one from TV Tropes: She's the niece of Berengaria of Navarre, King Richard's wife, making her Richard's niece by marriage. This explains why she's a vixen instead of a lioness, and why neither she nor Prince John behave as if they're related to each other.

Unpopular opinion: I don't think I have one.

Song I associate with them:

"Love"

Favorite picture of them: