#self ship royalty au

[woobab]

oh christ the spaghetti's are plentiful-

THIS TOOK ME LIKE 3 HOURS LOL

based off this image teehee

[iwriteloveletters]

Yes, my lord! (Royal! Eren x Reader headcanons)

You were his servant of four years, you watched from the sidelines as he aged into becoming a king and grow into his crown.

He was quite fond of you, he would watch you work any chance he got, he had one goal in mind; to make you his spouse.

He would ask how to win you over via the other servants that have worked closely with you for years. The told him various things you enjoyed, such as the flowers you loved and the foods you always dreamt of eating. He requested a garden of your special flower and even hosted a feast that involved your dream foods such as baked and glazed meat and cake, which he brought to you personally at the end of the feast.

You weren’t 100% sure of his feelings for you, you convinced yourself that he was only teasing you, you felt like he was meant for another member of royalty.

Despite you not wanting to come to terms with his and your own feelings he still persisted anyways. He was a prince afterall, he always got what he wanted.

After another year of his nonsense, you were able to see that he loved you, you saw the many ways in which he did. All the subtle dates he took you on, the lessened load of work you had, etc. With that the two of you got married just in time for his coronation ceremony.

[mydarlingdahlia]

𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜 — 𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝙳𝚘 𝚆𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎…?

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ : Prince!Veritas Ratio x Lady!Charlotte

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs + ɴᴏᴛᴇs : unrequited love, mentions of blood and death, basically incurable disease, brief mention of spiraling (into guilt/panic), Veritas denying his feelings, Hanahaki Disease, ghost winks (see explanation here), physical apparitions, major guilt, might be a little ooc, did I say guilt?, and fluff at the end

Also! In this story, for the plot, Hanahaki isn’t known or classified as a disease, but we all (probably) know what it is, obviously. Another thing, this story doesn’t have 18+ or NSFW content, but it does deal with heavy elements.

And it’s a royalty AU ting 🌚

ᴀ/ɴ — I like being allergic to happiness sometimes, so here we are. :) Also this is a self ship thing so just a heads up!

word count : 7.1k words

“My most sincere apologies, My Lady…. I’m afraid I do not feel the same way,” Was all that he could say.

Veritas was looking at Charlotte, standing by his side, but soon drifted his gaze towards the horizon. Dusk was rising, coloring the sky with beautiful warm colors of the crescendo of the day. In the morning, he had agreed for a rendezvous proposed by Lady Charlotte, well, to tell the truth, only having a stroll was asked. But the prince knew what kind of conversation would be brought up during that stroll. He wasn't wrong, he received a confession from her, he didn't know what to think of that situation, that got him fairly puzzled. After all, that was the first time someone ever admitted their love to him in person, and not by a letter or by indirect tellings.

What had he done to make him earn this love he couldn't even return? Or, for lack of better words, wasn’t sure how to return? Veritas didn't know, he didn't understand. That was what frustrated him.  They were merely in the same court, even if he was the prince and she was but a lady, sometimes having pleasant conversations when time allowed... Was it really enough for love to be born within one's heart? He didn't understand, but he was curious. 

“I hope I am not…intruding on any personal boundaries when I ask this,” Veritas began, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in between them. “But, why do you love me? I am curious to know of your perspective.”

“W-Why do I love you?” Charlotte repeated, her voice cracking slightly as she looked at Veritas. "I wish I could explain it better, but it's not a 'why' or 'how' question, really.... Love is just a...natural thing, for some people. It's human nature, I suppose." she replied, trying to keep a smile on her face, but the pain was evident.

"Human nature, I see,” Veritas echoed, repeating the last words. The prince had never paid attention to such matters, and now he was realizing how much he didn't know about things like this. 

"Is it painful when one can't return that love?" He asked solemnly, glancing at her worried features with a hint of concern. He couldn't find a better way to ease the probable pain she might suffer. He was a man of few words, but at least, he wanted to be gentle. After all, she was simply doing what she felt she had to do, and he respected that. Charlotte, after all, was just a lady of the court, while he was trapped in a delicate situation because of his true identity being that of the prince.

He felt deficient for not making her understand how it was impossible for him to return her love. Or, as he believed he couldn’t return it. It wasn't a lie nor a desire, but a simple fact since he couldn't even process those kinds of feelings, let alone return them. He just hoped Charlotte would find someone who could give her what she wanted, love, affection, and care. Someone humane could truly provide her what he couldn't.

"W-Well, yes, sometimes it's painful when love isn't reciprocated..." Charlotte replied, her voice starting to strain. "I don't want you to worry about it, though! I understand your feelings as well, Your Highness." she said. If she was trying to mask her sadness, it wasn't working very well, as he could practically see her heart cracking into pieces in her eyes, despite the smile she put on.

"I will not do anything that would make you suffer more,” Veritas stated, his voice barely audible as he looked into her sad eyes. He didn't want to see her in such pain, and if there was anything he could do to help, he would do it.

“Perhaps...we should continue our stroll. The sunset is quite a spectacle,” he suggested, turning around, facing the horizon with its breathtaking sunset. The sky, bathed by the warm tones, was painting their final strokes on the canvas before the night claimed its place. He hoped the sight would lift up her spirits a bit. It certainly helped him to unwind. There was something calming about the end of the day, watching the sun setting down, yielding to the darkness that would soon embrace the kingdom before a new morning was born.

"We can continue talking then, and I promise not to intrude on your feelings anymore." While he didn't understand the feelings of love entirely, he respected them and wanted to protect Charlotte from further sadness, even if it meant leaving his questions unanswered. Veritas, even in this lack of understanding of human nature and emotions, knew what it meant to hurt and didn't want to contribute to it in any way. 

"N-No, that's quite alright, Your Highness. I better be getting back, anyway," Charlotte said, her smile beginning to falter slightly. She gave him a slight bow before turning and briskly walking away. Her last facial expression that he saw made it clear that she was about to burst into tears, had she not turned away.

Veritas watched as Charlotte headed back home, unable to offer her more comfort. He was aware of his limitations, and he couldn't stand seeing her heartbroken. It pained him to witness that even if he didn't understand the reason behind it. He sighed and resumed his walk, contemplating the beauty of the sunset before him. He would have to dig deeper into this subject known as 'love'—that was the least he could do for Charlotte. Perhaps, in time, he could understand more about this emotion and the intricate feelings that came with it.

On the side, he wished that somehow, someone could return Charlotte's feelings, giving her the love and affection that she deserved, and that he couldn't render.

Then, the next day seemed to roll around without a hitch. Charlotte had shown up to the court, as per usual, but something seemed a bit...off. She seemed mostly like herself, but she didn't have as much energy or pep in her step like she always did. Not to mention the slightly dark circles under her eyes. Had his rejection of her feelings hurt her that severely? No, maybe she just had a regular sleepless night, everyone gets those once in a while…

But Veritas couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in Charlotte's demeanor when he saw her the next day. The loss of her usual energy and the noticeable dark circles were clear indications that she had a restless night. However, he chose not to inquire. This was a delicate situation, and he wanted to be cautious. He didn't want to aggravate her unintentionally. His inability to fully grasp her feelings frustrated him, but he promised himself to look into this love-matter thoroughly.

Yet, he also vowed to make sure Charlotte could maintain her position in court in the best possible conditions. He was her superior, and while he couldn't give her the emotions she desired in a private way, he could offer her a helping hand professionally. He wanted her to feel comfortable and supported under his care, especially now that her personal life was going through a rough patch.

The day went by, and Veritas focused on doing his part as the prince of his land to the best of his abilities. He hoped that in time, Charlotte could recover and perhaps even forget the disappointment she faced yesterday. It was, after all, not her fault that her love was not reciprocated.

But, Veritas couldn't shake off that nagging feeling inside of him. A feeling of responsibility, and a faint desire to make her happy. He was an enigma, a mind that very few could comprehend, yet he felt a kinship with the modern world, especially with its inhabitants. And the thought of her sadness caused him to take another step forward in his quest to understand love, hoping it could lead him to help her in some way. Perhaps not with his feelings, but with his knowledge and actions as her superior, her ruler.

By chance, Charlotte began to pass by him in the hallway as the day went on. Upon closer inspection, she did look fairly tired, and even a little sick. He'd caught glimpses of her throughout the day, and he had seen her coughing a few times.

Veritas paused, raising a finger for her to stay for a moment, waiving the cohort passing by, then he tilted his head a little, frowning. He scanned her features, searching for answers, but her condition was not able to be decided just by a mere look. Maybe it was just a common cold? After all, winter was starting to come about.

“Lady Charlotte, would you happen to be unwell?" His concern was evident in his tone, as well as how he stepped closer to her. His internal alarm rang when he saw her tired stature, dark circles, and coughing episodes, clearly an indication of her being unwell. His priority was now to make sure that she was alright, regardless of their previous conversation.

"Do not worry about your tasks today, I will assist in your duties. Rest at your place, and if possible, do not come to work for a couple of days. Recovering your health is more important." he advised firmly but gently, his voice laced with sincere concern.

Assuring her safety and well-being was something that he was willing to prioritize, no matter the situation. It was, after all, an obligation he held as her superior. Veritas may not understand love, but he was a responsible man in his public and private life. He couldn't allow his subjects to work while unwell, especially when he had the means to remedy the situation. Charlotte's welfare was important to him, and he wished to honor it in the best way he could.

"I-I think I'm fine, Sir.... It's just a small, cough, that's all," Charlotte said, offering him a weak smile. Her argument wasn't very convincing, however.

"You are not fine, miss. Trust in my judgment, please," Veritas insisted on sending her home, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Even if he couldn't empathize with the feelings of love, he hoped that his care for her health would enhance his bond with her. "The doctor of the Palace will be informed, and he'll come to check on you at your place. Don't worry; we'll get to your condition, and you'll be back to work in no time. Now, kindly head to your office, gather your things, and leave. You earned it."

Despite her hesitation, he gently nudged her towards the opposite direction with a hint of a smile. Veritas was usually a stern man, but in moments like this, his care and kindness shone through.

"I will handle everything until you are ready to rejoin us." hee assured her, pivoting, and striding away, his mind already focusing on how to arrange the missing tasks due to her leave.

"Are you sure? I don't mind working," Charlotte said meekly, still trying to put up a bit of an argument.

"Madam, trust me on this. It's not wise to work while in poor health, and I refuse to let you do so," Veritas said firmly, ensuring there was no room for further discussion. He already had a duty to be a good leader and superior. And now, he saw Charlotte's welfare as something personal as well.

With a nod, he conveyed that it was time for her to leave, and he'd complete her tasks while she was out. He had a reputation to uphold, after all, and a palace to run. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a genuine one, as he let his eyes linger on her for a brief moment. Veritas may not be able to make Charlotte happy in the way she desired, but he could be a good ruler, a reliable comrade, and, perhaps, a friend in need.

"Now, go. Rest. Recover. We'll see each other when you're ready." With those words, Veritas relinquished any further argument, watching from afar as she reluctantly complied.

And so, he left to attend to the affairs of the day, keeping Charlotte in his thoughts, silently wishing her a swift recovery. In the background, something shifted within the sovereign. He had gained a new perspective on, not love, but caring for a human.

But, a week had passed since that day, and Charlotte still had not returned back to court. A few servants had come in now and then to alert Veritas of her condition, but each time he was informed, she just seemed to be getting worse for wear. Apparently, no medicines were working, no amount of rest or herbs were helping at all, and the doctors that visited her couldn't even provide a diagnosis.

Veritas tried to focus on his work, but his thoughts kept darting to Charlotte's health. A week was a long time to be away from court, and he had grown worried. He had made it his job to ensure her well-being, and he was failing as he couldn't reverse her predicament. Veritas cleared his thoughts, his composure returning. He would not let his worries show at the palace. It wouldn't be fair to his duties and the people who depended on him. He needed to remain his resolute self. Only after locking the doors of his study, did he relent and pick up a quill and parchment. He needed to check on her, despite their awkward previous encounter.

With a pen stroke, he wrote to the chief physician of the kingdom an order to gather all details possible about the Lady’s condition. He inquired about her specific symptoms and the medicines prescribed. If a regular doctor couldn't cure her, perhaps he could. Then, with a second letter, he requested the presence of a herbalist, another scholarly in botanical science, that could assist in formulating a new concoction with both the medicinal herbs from the royal land and the ancient knowledge he possessed.

After he had sent out the letters, Veritas went to his library, pouring over old records of herbs and cures from ancient and modern times. He feared he was too late, but he wouldn't accept defeat so easily. As a prince, he had witnessed and survived the test of time, refused to let Charlotte's life fade before his eyes. Fueled by a sense of responsibility and, he dared not admit, care for her, Veritas looked for answers. He vowed a solution would be found, he wouldn't rest nor stop until he secured Charlotte's health. Whether or not she loved him didn't matter anymore; she was a subject in his care, and he would revert to his resources to help her recover.

Surprisingly, when the physician wrote him back about her symptoms, they were most unusual, like no other disease or malady before. It mainly seemed to be affecting Charlotte's lungs, hence the various coughing fits. But, the strange part was that she had begun to cough up blood, and petals. Like that of a flower. But, no herbalist had ever provided her with anything with flora in its ingredients, which proved her case to be even more difficult and an even more puzzling enigma.

Veritas read through the scroll, narrowing his eyes as he observed the unique symptoms. Coughing up blood was a severe issue, but flowers? It was an entirely unprecedented case. However, as perplexing as it was, it didn't deter the royal. His resolve to help Charlotte remained unwavering. Flowers, a somewhat celestial association, brought an idea to mind. He wondered if the godly domain had an influence on this illness. Veritas knew of several ancient afflictions that correlated with the gods' interferences. He scribed a brief note to an advisor, asking them to consult their knowledge and retrieve any information related to melding divine essence maladies with mortal symptoms.

Thus, a plan began to form, blurred lines between the divine and mortal, an ancient illness mixing with his kingdom. Veritas, with sheer determination, set on a path towards discovering a cure for Charlotte's baffling condition. He would not fail her. This was, perhaps, the first emotion-driven quest the prince had undertaken, and he was bound to succeed or die trying. 

But, even as more weeks and months ticked by, her condition never seemed to lighten or get better. What was worse, was that now instead of coughing up just petals, Charlotte was now regurgitating floral buds and even flowers in full bloom. The coughing was almost constant, another report told him.

Veritas’ heart clenched, a burning sensation surging through his chest as the reports of Charlotte's condition deteriorated. He was failing to save her, and as the days, weeks, and months continued to pass, she continued to fall victim to the unknown malady. He couldn't bring himself to give up hope, however, and instead, he sought solace through intense research and the summoning of various medical experts—even those outside of his kingdom’s domain. In his long days and nights, he pored over ancient scrolls and texts, seeking answers as to why she was afflicted in such a manner. With every new report, he felt his desperation grow. He would spare no resources, no sacrifice, to save her. If he needed to dive into the deepest seas, he would. If he needed to tread upon the moonlit paths of dreams, he'd do that too.

Veritas’ resolve to save Charlotte grew into a fire that burned within him. He ordered boats, ships, and his men to be sent in search of the rarest herbs, gathering all the information regarding floral bloom maladies, and bringing specialists to his court to seek answers. No single avenue remained unexplored. In his study, he was almost a shadow of his former self. Gone was the composed, almost detached, magistrate. He had become consumed by Charlotte's condition, often not sleeping, and barely eating, since he took a personal stake in saving her. He systematically checked and re-checked the data in search of patterns, inconsistencies, or something that others had missed.

The once-unyielding sovereign was showing cracks. Each passing day that Charlotte didn't recover weighed heavily on his scarred heart. As the leader of his realm, Veritas knew better than anyone that sometimes things sank beneath the surface, never to be recovered. But he could not let that happen to Charlotte, his heart refused to allow it. 

Then, one day, a particularly frightening piece of data surfaced. Charlotte was now seemingly suffocating with each breath, and the flowers she coughed up were no longer dry, but drenched in blood. This was the worst that her condition had presented thus far.

Veritas’ eyes scanned the parchment, his heartbeat racing as he absorbed the latest update. It was beyond dire, verging on the edge of nightmarish, Charlotte's condition worsening in unimaginable ways. He'd never seen or heard of anything like this. The sovereign felt a weight on his chest, threatening to suffocate him, just as Charlotte was, metaphorically speaking. He crushed the document, still not willing to admit his defeat. The chronicler gasped as the prince glared furiously, fury burning within his eyes. Veritas grabbed his attendant, who'd waited by the door, "Take me to her. Now."

Silently, the attendant obeyed, leading him to the place Charlotte was held. It took little time before they arrived, and his heart clenched seeing the once-robust woman, now barely holding onto life. His throat constricted as he took in her ashen skin, pallid lips, and hollowed eyes. If there was any man unfit to express his emotion, Veritas had been that man, but as he stood over the sick bed, a well of sorrow and regret swelled inside him.

Approaching the bed, he reached out a hand but hesitated, unsure of what to do. All he'd managed to do was watch her slowly fade away. The blame of her condition rested on him, he'd failed to protect her, even as she'd shown him vulnerability.

Once a being defined by his resolve and unwavering poise, Veritas was at his wit's end, and his composure began to crack. He cursed the heavens, why had he accepted to be one of the god’s instruments, why had he agreed to be the prince, if this was the price he had to pay? His heart began to ache, his grief slowly reaching to the very core of his being. If he couldn't even save Charlotte, how could he save others? His failures as Veritas Ratio, prince, and the sovereign of his realm began to haunt him. Tears streaked his face, hot and scalding as he reached out and grabbed her now fragile hand, kneeling beside the bed.

"My Lady...?" he asked in a soft tone, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Your...Highness...?" Charlotte said, turning her face to look at him, nearly gasping for each shaking breath. Her hazel eyes, once bright and full of life, were now dull and drained. And to think, she was barely into her twenties. "You...came..."

Veritas nodded, his voice barely audible as he replied, "I am here, My Lady," A tender, forlorn smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a small sign that despite his cold nature, this woman had carved a space in his heart.

"I should have done more," he whispered as he brushed his fingertips across her forehead, trying to smooth her hair—an action only those close perform. "Do not fear, Charlotte. I will find a cure, I promise. You will not die in vain." he said, his normally firm tone wavering but not breaking. Veritas might not be able to express love, but in that moment, he'd move heaven and earth to save her, to make amends.

"You gave me a chance to give, Charlotte, something I never thought I'd experience. I won't let that end here, not on my watch. I'll save you, I swear to you." His grip tightened around her hand, a silent plea for her to fight, to hold on just a little bit longer, for him. The fierce, unbridled will that so many feared in him now boiled within, fueled by a fierce need to save this woman, who dared to love him.

"Oh, Your Highness..." Charlotte continued, her own eyes brimming with tears. "You don't know how much this means to me but–" her sentence was cut off by another one of her described coughing fits, except now he got to see it in person. The flower that emerged from her throat was indeed drenched in blood, as the physician had described.

But, yet something so simple seemed so morbid and gory all the same. The flower even had a crown of thorns around it.

Veritas’ heart plummeted at the sight, a fresh torrent of despair and anguish surging through him. He'd failed her, and he could not find it within himself to look away from the gruesome display, the thorned flower a stark symbol of her suffering and pain. When the convulsion subsided, Veritas leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes meeting hers as he whispered.

"Forgive me, Charlotte. I'll find your cure, I'll end your suffering. You have my word," The sovereign's eyes shimmered with tears yet again, a display of emotion he'd never shown, even in decades past. Most would think he was hopeless, but Veritas was a creature of stubborn will and determination. He would not falter, not without trying everything within his power first. His tears moistened her forehead, a poignant trail of silent apologies, as he resolved to save her. He wouldn't let her down.

Charlotte's own tears began to fall as well, the scene of it all like a Renaissance painting of two doomed lovers, embracing death together. But that wasn't what they were, it was something they could never be. Not forbidden lovers, but lovers never meant to love each other in the first place.

"I know I don't have much time left," Charlotte managed to gasp out, her voice strained.

"You'll have all the time you need," Veritas spoke fervently, unwavering in his resolve. "I'm not going to let you go, Charlotte." The prince understood nothing of love, but what he now felt was powerful enough to confront the very gods themselves. For Charlotte, he'd wage war. With trembling hands, he cradled her face, his touch gentle, a contrast to his harsh demeanor. "You have given me a gift, a feeling I never thought I'd have. I'm going to fight for it. For you." He held her gaze, eyes ablaze with a newfound conviction, a bond between them forming in spite of the circumstances.

"You are worth every fight, Charlotte. You will survive. I promise you." Veritas pulled away slightly, a hint of determination etched in the lines of his face, a steeliness that hinted he wouldn't stop until he brought her back. It was a fight of epic proportions, a David vs. Goliath, yet he wouldn't relent. This was his purpose, and he'd see it through to the end.

A small smile graced her lips as Veritas cradled her head, and her eyes began to droop as her movements became more relaxed. "You lit up my days, Your Highness. You filled my dreams at night, made my every waking moment something to live for," she whispered, more tears streaming down her face, despite the weak smile she wore. Like the day when he had rejected her love for him, all of those months before. It seemed so long ago, like an eternity. Now, there was nowhere to go.

Charlotte slowly leaned up, pressing her lips against Veritas’, the sickeningly sweet taste of her blood on his lips. As he reciprocated her kiss, his heart was torn in two. He felt a warmth he never knew he craved, an affirmation he never expected to receive. Charlotte had loved him and confessed it with her final breath. A sorrowful warmth enveloped the sovereign, a flood of emotions that threatened to drown him in grief.

She leaned back after a moment, her eyes unfocused, seemingly dimming by the second as she looked up at him. "I love you, Veritas Ratio.” she whispered with a soft smile, before she went still. Her chest had stopped rising and falling, and her eyes had finally closed. But, that smile was still there, like she was still with him. But she wasn't. Not anymore.

When she fell still, Veritas’’ world crumbled in an instant. He didn't feel heartbreak; he felt numb, and yet, he screamed inside. Time seemed to freeze, as though the universe itself had halted, leaving him a witness to the fleeting beauty of life. Charlotte lay before him, lifeless—an inhuman act perpetrated by the divine seemed to have snuffed out the flicker of humanity that once danced in her eyes.

“No…no…no, no, no, no no no no!” 

Veritas held her close, stroking her hair with a tenderness that would have been unimaginable just months earlier. He could do nothing but hold her, tears pouring from his eyes in a river of mourning for his failure, blame, regret, and loss. The prince had committed one fatal error, he'd let someone in. His heart, once a barren desert, had now sprouted roots, only to watch them wither in the space of a breath.

His composure shattered, he wept as he'd never wept before, silent tears finally giving expression to the myriad of thoughts and emotions turbulently coursing through his breached defenses. He'd failed Charlotte, and he knew he'd carry that guilt forever, forever knowing he'd failed at something he wanted more than anything to succeed in. Then, he realized it. He loved her. Now, it was too late. He couldn’t save her. And it was his fault.

“I love you…” Veritas gasped between strangled sobs, holding her close, the heat of her body still present. “I’m sorry…I’m so, so sorry…”

Veritas stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to hold onto her for just a bit longer. This was what love was like. But why did it hurt him so? This was the price he paid for being such an insolent fool before. He felt like a king, stripped of his title and crown, and left a hollow shell of the man he once was. But, Charlotte still somehow found a way to comfort him, even after death. A birdsong could be heard from the window, and as Veritas turned to look, he saw a Violet-Backed Starling. Her favorite bird.

When the birdsong reached his ears, Veritas' heart constricted. Charlotte's beloved bird, a Violet-Backed Starling, perched on the windowsill, beak agape, singing. He didn't know if it was a mere coincidence or if the universe was conspiring to remind him one final time of the woman who'd left an indelible mark on him. With trembling fingers, he wiped the tears off his cheeks. He'd lost Charlotte, but he wouldn't let her sacrifice be in vain. As much as his heart ached, beat a lament for the love he'd never find again, he'd honor her memory. Charlotte had given him her love, sacrificed herself for it, and Veritas would do the same. He'd carry her love as a badge, an unyielding reminder of the power of love, an emotion he now understood, however late it was.

Slowly, with painstaking effort, the sovereign rose, clutching the hand of the woman he'd loved but couldn't save. Even in defeat, he'd continue the fight. Vowing to keep her love alive, he'd wage a solitary war against fate. Through cruel irony, he'd finally found an emotion, one he didn't know how to handle or express, and he'd honor it by doing the only thing he knew. Fight. He’d fight to find the malady that had caused her demise, even if it took his dying breath to do so.

In death, she lived in his heart, and in life, he'd keep her safe. In defeat, he found a purpose, and it would fuel him until his time came to join her. 

Charlotte's funeral procession was held just a week after her death. Family, friends, and others were in attendance, and so was Veritas himself. The rain was pouring that day, just like the silent tears that rolled down his cheeks. He stood beside the graveside, a single hazel ribbon slipped into Charlotte's hand. A symbol of the bond he'd never forged before, a color to mirror the eyes he'd grown to love. He'd failed her, but he'd honor her final moments, a simple gesture that held more meaning than he'd ever had to express.

As the coffin lowered, Veritas watched, a heavy weight in his chest, a wound he'd carry to his dying day. He'd pledged his allegiance to her memory, but he'd failed as a man and as a prince. He'd failed in the one piece of humanity he'd finally discovered in a mundane existence. Yet, despite the ache, a newfound purpose bloomed in him. He'd feel her absence every day, with every heartbeat, with every breath he took. But from her love, he would find a way to interpret the emotions he'd never understood, fueling him to become the protector Charlotte had wanted him to be.

With a final tear rolling down his cheek, he bowed his head, sliding a hand through his hair, a ritual he'd never performed, expressive, unguarded. For one last time, he whispered her name, a benediction to mark the end of her earthly journey, promising to follow soon.

But, somehow, in a means of grace, the universe let him know that Charlotte was still very much with him. Whether it would be her Violet-Backed Starling, her favorite song suddenly appearing on the radio, it was like she was there with him, even in the cold grasp of death. He visited her grave every day. Every dawn, every dusk, it was a sort of comforting ritual. 

Over time, Veritas’ wound started to mend, a scar on his heart where Charlotte once lived. It remained a constant reminder, a testament to love and loss, but with each visit to her graveside, the light of her memory lingered a little brighter. Charlotte wasn't just a gravestone in a cemetery; she was forever intertwined with his identity. As he sustained his visits, a small cluster of Violet-Backed Starlings began to follow him, congregating near Charlotte's tombstone, as though they too grieved for her. The sight did little to assuage his pain, but it brought with it a sense of solace, of companionship in his sorrow. Like her, they'd become a sort of anchor, a semblance of her presence in the world.

Music too provided comfort. Her favorite songs, played on the radio, on the streets, filled the void she had left, reminding Veritas that they'd shared something pure and wonderful. Through the anguish, he wove an intricate tapestry of remembrance, surrounding himself with her presence. Mystical happenings and coincidences became commonplace, and he'd come to understand that her spirit, as much as her life, would weave through his days to come. Losing her had been a tragedy, but her love had furnished his soul with the capacity to endure.

He had failed Charlotte, yet she'd given him something he'd never sought—purpose, love, and a wounded heart to remind him to fight for others, to protect the innocent. For all his power as a royal, Charlotte's love proved one of the greatest forces he'd faced, an unseen hand guiding him toward a more compassionate, loving self. 

Then, one night, it was like the unthinkable happened. He heard her voice singing in the halls of his palace, even through the pouring rain outside. He knew Charlotte's voice anywhere, since it was a habit that she used to sing occasionally as she resided in court, a quirk which Veritas had grown fond of. He stood still, a startling jolt of disbelief mingling with overwhelming hope. The sound of her voice, as clear as day in his palace, brought him to his feet. It was Charlotte's gentle, sweet melody, ringing through the halls, evoking memories of their time together.

Veritas’ long strides carried him through the halls, toward the sound of her voice. His heart raced, a palpable beat in the air as he went in search of the ethereal shadow of the woman he'd loved. Steps echoed as he explored—the chambers, the walls, the gentle swoosh of water that seemed to amplify the song's notes. Then, he found her. Well, merely an apparition of her. She was dancing alone in his ballroom, wearing a magnificent violet gown. She no longer looked sick, but as alive and well as the day they first met. Her gaze turned to look at him, as he entered the ballroom, and that same warm smile spread across her face.

He rushed over to her, the unyielding grief of the past days splintering into a million cracks. Veritas spun her around, holding her close, his laughter echoing throughout the room, feeling the warmth of her apparition. It was a physical impossibility, yet, his brain could no longer discern the difference between reality and illusion. All he knew was that he'd found her in a way that he'd never thought was possible.

In the swirl of dance, there was laughter, a resonant crescendo that echoed through the grand ballroom. Tears streamed down the prince’s face, mingling with his laughter. Charlotte, even as a breath of memory, had stirred an unrestrained joie de vivre in Veritas; it was a moment, ephemeral as the wind, yet ageless as the tides. 

"I missed you, mon amour..." Charlotte's spirit whispered, her form surprisingly warm for a ghost.

"And I have missed you more than I could ever articulate," Veritas whispered back, in tandem with the sway of their dance. The room, bathed in moonlight, seemed to pulsate with every beat, the rhythm of their hearts, the infinitesimal quakes their passage left in the very sands of time. It was a transcendent moment, one where reality, the law, and logic dissolved into a singular point of divine affection.

Veritas held her closer, savoring the sensation like a man dying of thirst in a barren desert. He couldn't taste her lips, couldn't feel her heartbeat, but it mattered little; he'd found her again. For a minute, a moment brief as a feather on the wind, he tasted love, happiness, and the bliss of reunion. Charlotte's whispered words, her form, and her expression, embedded themselves in his heart. This would remain his eternal balm of peace, his solace amongst the ashes of woe.

"I'll be back, my dear," Charlotte whispered to him, looking up at his face. "For every full moon, I shall wait for you here. Then, when dawn arrives, I must return to my rightful realm, until our next meeting."

Veritas’ heart leaped at Charlotte's promise, as he stopped their dance, gazing down at her, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He knew that Charlotte's visits would be once a month, as brief as they were. It wasn't fair, hardly enough for a man who'd lost his heart completely. But, for him, it was enough. It was the flame that illuminated his darkness, the beacon in his storm. He cupped her face gently, his thumb tracing her cheek, a silent pledge of the oath he'd made—to honor her memory, to love as she'd taught him. He'd never forget the promise of their monthly dances, a pact sealed in moonlight, and memory.

"Until then, my love, I'll await your return, my strength renewed by your visit," Veritas whispered back, a wistful smile tugging at the edge of his lips, an expression only felt by a man nurturing an insurmountable love. Charlotte then leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips. Was this what it was like, to feel the kiss of a ghost, like old poems had said?

As Charlotte leaned in, her spirit pressing a kiss to Veritas’ lips, there was a sense of déjà vu, an echo of the first kiss they shared. It was like stolen memories, a wisp of something that shouldn't exist. Veritas’s lips tingled, the sensation akin to petals gently brushing against them, numbing and exhilarating. For an instant, as their lips parted, his love had materialized, felt in that kiss. As the apparition of Charlotte faded from view, leaving him alone, the kiss remained, imprinted on his lips, a memento of their love. It would be his solace amid grief, his compass in a sea of sorrow. Every month, on the full moon, he would remember the sensation, and it would keep him sane.

Lingering in the ballroom, Veritas’ eyes met the empty space where Charlotte had danced, the memory of her kindness, sincerity, and love reflected in their depths. He would keep their dance alive in his heart, returning to it every full moon, as Charlotte promised. It would be his ritual of remembrance, a sacred vow to protect her legacy. And, as she promised, every full moon, she returned, her apparition's voice calling him through the halls, right back to the ballroom once more.

The full moon, a celestial symbol of everlasting affection, marked the return of Charlotte's spirit, her malachite eyes alight in the moon's pale radiance. With the rhythm of the dance, of their whirling embrace, Veritas was given respite, a sanctuary from the monotony of earthly duties and responsibilities. Here, in the transcendent expanse of starlight, love, and song, he became a mere man, lost in the dream of romance, mirroring the primitive pull of humanity.

Each dance was an echo of the last, punctuated with Charlotte's warm smile, her cheeks flushed as they twirled. She'd whisper into his ear, and he'd respond, their shared secret, a pact that bound them together in a state of enchantment. The whispers of love, the fragile touch of her spirit, would leave an indelible impression on Veritas’ heart. Sunrise, a fiery benediction, would dissolve Charlotte's apparition, sending her back to her realm, leaving Veritas alone, pining for the next full moon. As days turned into weeks, and months passed, the ritual remained unbroken, a constant in his quest to honor and memorialize Charlotte's memory.

As the years slipped by, the people came and went, the world and the kingdom evolved, but the gossamer thread of Charlotte's love remained unbroken, untarnished. The full moon, the call of her violet-backed starling, the sweet fragrance of lavender—all these served as silent whispers of her enduring presence.

In the presence of Charlotte's ethereal spirit, he became human, feeling the raw, unflinching emotion that love imbues, the very emotion he thought he'd never understand. Charlotte's visits, a whispered prayer of love, created ripples, transforming not just the heart of Veritas but the very heart of his realm.

These nocturnal dances, these stolen moments, borne in the gentle embrace of moonlit nights, laid the cornerstone of Veritas’ devotion, a mixture of justice, passion, and protection. Charlotte's spirit bred a symbiotic love, a reciprocity, where he protected the innocent and upheld justice as a testament to her life, a balm to his soul. As the years marched on, so too did the ballroom dance. The stars shifted, the world turned, yet the rhythm of their footsteps, the caress of her spirit upon his, remained.

And yet, even as Veritas’ hairs began to turn gray, and he wasn’t as graceful like his youthful days, his beloved was still there, waiting for him. She would always welcome him back with her melodic voice and open arms, and danced with him until the dawn reared its head.

Even on his deathbed, Veritas wasn’t afraid. While he never found love on the mortal plane, or started a family of his own, he had found all of the solace and love he needed in his beloved Lady, who was waiting for him in the realm beyond. And even as he passed on, they still danced in that ballroom. But now, it was every night. Every night, if one would listen closely, they could hear the faint music while the two danced in the celestial moonlight. Every night, if you stayed quiet enough, you could hear their voices, reminiscing about their mortal lives. And, every night, if you were lucky enough to get a glimpse, you could see the two of them, spinning and waltzing around the palace’s ballroom.

Like they never even left in the first place. They looked so happy, gazing into one another’s eyes as their ghosts danced around the opulent chamber, like they were the only two in the world that mattered. But, to them, that was true. Even in death, the only company they needed was one another. In death, for eternity, they waltzed and danced from sunset to rise.

 And that was enough.

@glitchtricks94 @v4mp-wife come get y'all food >:)

Rose banner by : @/thecutestgrotto

[rexscanonwife]

I saw @dudefrommywesterns use this pretty picrew and made a Rex and Brea that...accidentally turned into the royalty AU!!

[r0cket-spr0cket]

ermmmm i got nothing to post so here's an rando royal sprocket design I made shortly after I did their ref sheet

(i really like drawing dresses and a sucker for royalty aus ok shhhhhHHHh)

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

Miggy and the Royal AU?

So if it wasn't evident by my Sims save, I have 2 hyper-fixations at the moment competing for the top spot. One is Spiderverse, Miguel O'Hara, and my spider siblings, the other is FFXIV, all my loves, and my friends and family. So the only logical explanation is OBVIOUSLY MASH THEM ALL TOGETHER TIL IT GOES BOOM! (Duh!! /lh)

And since my FFXIV insert is my royal insert that means Miguel has to deal with that too. I am NOT sorry! Though in my head I have 2 ways of going about this. Either way, it's going to take place in the post-Shadow Bringers and into Endwalker.

The first way is that my Spider-sona finds an anomaly in the world of the First AFTER my royal s/i and the scions have left. She runs into Ryne who is still a bit saddened by the loss of everyone else so she confides in my Spider-sona who she thinks is the Rebecca she bonded with! When my Spider-sona learns the story, she can't help but feel bad for Ryne so she either steals a Multi-Dimensional Wristband from Miguel or gets Hobie to make one so she can give it to Ryne! Miguel finds out and IS NOT HAPPY! But my Spider-sona doesn't care and wants a happy family together. Miguel eventually comes around to allowing this and even bonds with Thancred about being a dad who lost his daughter and would do anything for her.

The second way is that Miguel detects anomalies within the Source and the other worlds of FFXIV! He didn't care/wasn't concerned because they're not a part of the Web of Life and there is no Spider-person there. But with the unsundered ascians wanting to bring about the rejoining and the End of Days, well, that's not good for ANY universe. So Miguel goes to check it out, only to find my royal s/i and think it's my Spider-sona meddling without him. Though it's very quickly brushed away, my royal s/i gives him the same warmth and care that my Spider-sona does so he can't help but linger despite arguing with his feelings! Also, my Spider-sona does get involved only to pull the classic Spider-Man meme and have all my loves have varying degrees of "THERE'S TWO OF YOU?!" and Princess and the Pauper shenanigans! Not to mention my loves seeing that I always fall for them and have the same friends no matter what world!

I also have a third AU which is basically just the second version without my Spider-sona! Just my royal s/i being like "Multi-Dimensional Spider-Man mad at me and wanting the world not to go boom... Sounds like a repeat of last Thursday..." then helping him blend in and acclimate to Eorzea!

Personally, I see him taking up monk due to his talons and physique/how we see him fight. But attitude-wise, I think Dark Knight is also fitting!!

AAAA I WANNA WRITE THEM ALL BUT HAVE NO CLUE WHERE TO BEGIN! But what do y'all think? Do you have any cross-over AUs??

Taglist: @maskedanarchy-ships @wanderers-wife @goldenworldsabound @floweringforgetfulness @disneymarina @nyandereneko @hadesgoddess @singingdeepinme @canongf

[roseyjustice]

just two gay disaster princes fawning over a mysterious king !

[rosedmuse]

hearts of roses; for harusoie 850 days

Everyday, a single stem of a rose is placed upon his lonely doorstep. Not once have I missed a day, and never will Iーa vow made and rooted in my heart. Thus a promise born from the moment I learned of the cursed prince.

Everyday. Everyday, a single stem of a rose is placed upon his lonely doorstep. Not once have I missed a day, and never will Iーa vow made and rooted in my heart. Thus a promise born from the moment I learned of the cursed prince. "A miserable, fallen fellow with the blood of the late King in his veins," as the clique of old ladies in the kingdom would so describe him. Having been treated nearly as an outcast myself for years, I can share in His Highness's current status. Has anyone ever seen him? Met him? Talk to him? For people to spread falsities far and wide about someone they find rather eccentric is completely unacceptable (well, in my books, at least). To think the prince is the common subject of ridicule by his own people... Just what kind of a person is he? I ought to find out. Determined to perhaps make a new friend, I set straight my approach, and never have I been more grateful to be working at the local flower shop. Right before the sun shines from its night-long slumber would I rise, and pick the flower in fullest bloom from one of the shop's vases, in trade of a few small coins worth of my earnings for that particular day's shift. I don't earn much to begin with, but I don't mind. Especially if I could get myself someone to laugh with, talk about my problems with, and come home to, finally in turn. And so, as do every young soul alive, what used to be hopeful enthusiasm soon turned into anxiety. Then confusion. Then doubt. Then, almost very closely now, defeat. "A rose a day, attracts a friend my way," I repeatedly say? Is it just my wishful thinking? But the roses... All the roses I've offered for him are gone the following days... As if, he had actually accepted them? Or did I assume too far ahead?

Regardless, my mind is made. I never once saw his face. Nor heard his voice. Nor felt his presence nearby. But at least one of those has to change. Hence today, as I fulfill my promise towards the unrequited friendship I've become so loyal to yet again, I devise a scheme. From right out of the blue. Nothing big, just a foolish attempt on something I never really put much thought into. What... What if I wait a little longer? Up until now, immediately leaving the roses on the ground unattended has been the routine. But to have even only some of my questions answeredーit's at stake. I can't waste any of my options. I just can't. Besides, my first and (probably) last case of work tardiness is understandably forgivable, no? Placing thus the rose I'm holding so tightly in my hands that its thorny stem had grown quite warm, down on the ground leading directly into the palace, a deep breath escapes my lips. It's been so long. I refuse to count the total number of days I've subconsciously done all this. If anything, I won't be breathing my last breath withoutーat the very leastーphysically meeting the person I'm giving my favorite flowers to on a daily basis. If I don't meet the prince now, I don't think I'll ever be able to. "Hah..." In an instant, my eyes go round at the sound of the old, steel palace doors loudly opening like a painful screech. Pale, slender fingers protruding from a hunched and cloaked figure reach toward the rose laying on the ground. And for what seemed like only a quarter of a split second, my gaze finally meets with His. Hence, all becomes crystal clear. A case of long-term neglect it sure is; but the elegance of royalty in his delicate features cannot be denied. With unkempt, tousled hair as pink as the finest silk in the land, and shocked, tired eyes as purple and lonely as the starless expanse of twilight. The cursed prince. The most beautiful entity I ever laid my eyes upon. I let out a faint gasp in awe, "Y-Your Highne���" But life is cruel. Just as I open my mouth to graciously acknowledge His Majesty in my midst, the palace doors quickly shut with a scornful bang, leaving me cold and dusty from the impact of its sudden closure. I feel so conflicted. So alone. So devastated. "No... Please, come back..." I struggle to fight back the tears that threaten to taint my face with the emotions I've kept locked deeply within my heart for so long. Unable to bear the weight of the world on my shoulders, I ball both my fists and use them to pound against the palace doors, desperate for anyone to listen to my plea and let me in. I could care less about the stares, the whispers, the last judgement that society has declared upon me in that moment. All I ever wanted was a friend. And the only chance I had to make that come true, vanished before I could even fully understand it. Daysーno. Years of upholding the personal vows I made without any guarantee of a happy ending, all for what seems like naught. On my own accord, did I give my life purpose, and simultaneously did I break my heart a hundred times over.  I was so close. Maybe even too close. The cursed prince had no proper human interaction in a long, long time. He's bound to react extremely to my sudden interest. Being stuck in his castle, rotting away overtime with only the roses I keep sending him, as his company. He may have taken the flowers, but he could interpret my intentions differently too. That, I must clarify. So... I guess I just have to try again. And again. And again. For as many times as I need. Someday, maybe we'll be friends. Maybe when I no longer have to wait outside, I could directly gift him all the roses in his domicile. And maybe then, he'll learn how to accept me, the way I accept him. Someday, maybe. 

[yandereloveraw]

Took this quiz and got Royalty AU, so have some gifs of me being treated as a princess by a yandere. ^^ (My result was pretty accurate tbh. I would definitely thrive off of the personal attention, but I'd also feel bad that someone is doing it all for me without getting/receiving anything in return.)

(All gifs belong to their respectful owners)

[woobab]

Oops! all Pavlova (featuring a singular Spaghetti, flustered by his many fiancees) 🧁❤️ I TOLD YA I'D DO THE ROLL REVERSAL FOR THIS LOL

[woobab]

THE ROYAL SWEETHEARTS AHSHSHS AWEEE!! THEY'RE SO CUTE HE'S FINALLY SAVED HIS PRINCESS 😭💕💕💓💓💓💓💕💓💓💓💞💞💞❤️❤️❤️ MARC THIS IS ADORABLE HESHEH THANK YOUUU!!!! 🫶🫶💓💓

wheeee here's an art trade thingy i did for @woobab!

(i took a lotta insp. from your 100 follower thing hehehe 🤭)

I HOPE YOU LIKE 'EM I AM NOT GOOD AT DRAWING CLOTHES 😓

[the-kr8tor]

Other Side of Paradise

Pairing: Robin Hood! Hobie Brown x Princess! Reader

Word count: 7.3k

Summary: Being a princess is all fine and dandy until you're about to get married off like a brood mare. Will the handsome thief that stole your heart help get you out of a loveless marriage? Or perhaps you'll be the one stealing his heart?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), robin hood au, royalty au, part 1 of part 2, talks of marriage, reader has unnamed siblings, a bit ooc Hobie at the start but it's for the plot, fluff.

A/N: This oneshot is so long I had to cut it in half lol enjoy! (Part 2 will be up in a few days)

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Part one >>> Part two

Being a princess in one of the largest and most powerful countries in the world, you'd think that your family, the royal family would treat you like the finest jewel in their treasury. But no, they treat you like their doormat, a pretty little thing to put atop their mantle only to be forgotten until it's time to show you off.

You are a princess, draped in the finest silks and chiffon, jewels in your hair, golden rings around each of your fingers. But the one missing, the one that your family truly only cares about is a diamond on your ring finger that has remained empty ever since your debut out into society.

You're the thirteenth child of the thirteenth king and queen, an unlucky number perhaps, but you find it lucky since you're the youngest out of the thirteen, hence your empty ring finger. But after your last elder sister got married, all the attention went to you when you didn't want them in the first place. You went from just co-existing with your family, to you being the center of attention in the span of a few hours after they sent your dear sister off to her husband. From your brothers to your sisters, they've all been wed. Even if they had no say in who they were going to marry, they went with few little tears. Some married kings, princesses, and a few were shipped off to dukes and duchesses. Your parents were determined to fill every noble and royal household with their own blood. And unfortunately, you're not an exception.

With your corset poking you at your side, dress weighing heavy, and crown falling off your head every few minutes; you look like you're about to scream and shout in the middle of the throne room. You might as well when you roam your eyes at the marriage candidates staring at you like you're the last slice of pie at the tavern. Every eligible noble man around the world has come vying for your hand, or more like your dowry for that matter.

For once in your life, they didn't make you sit at the far back where you're free to whip out a book and read without interruption. But now, you sit front and center next to your royal parents, their heads held high, jewels shining in the sunlight that bathes the whole throne room in its kaleidoscope light coming from the colourful stained glass window that depicts your age-old family history. Some of its bits were conveniently taken out by your ancestors when they ‘took over’ the throne from their rightful heir and uncle. Maybe that's why they had to send off most of your siblings to faraway countries to prevent infighting amongst your family when the throne inevitably goes empty. You won't fight for it though, who would want to rule a country standing on the precipice of war and famine every year?

You claw at your wrist, the itchy lace turning your skin bumpy and agitated. Your mother clears her throat, head standing still while her eyes throw daggers at you.

“I think I'm allergic to this fabric, mother.” You whisper, but the vast throne room practically announces your uncomfortable self with an echo of your voice.

Swallowing thickly, you see the crowd of nobles standing to the sides turn their heads at you. Their golden suits and gowns just screams ‘I’m important!’ to everyone in the room. But when everyone thinks they're important, does that mean that everyone outside the room is insignificant? You don't think so, but everyone and their blue blooded self thinks the world revolves around them.

“Hush,” your mother speaks plainly, showing the nobles that you are obedient and raised well. Well, you were technically not raised by her or your father, they barely know you except for the one fact that you're their child. They practically tossed you to your wet nurse and governess the second you were launched out of the queen. “Sit still, we may find you a husband today.”

You inhale, fixing your posture. You miss your library. “But they look…” your eyes glance at the men waiting at the far end of the hall. Finding that none of them would suit you at all. Maybe your governess was right, reading romance novels would give you high and impossible expectations for a romantic partner. Some were too blond, wore too many ruby rings on their fingers, too much perfume that you could smell them from where you sat. Or that the feathers on their hats are too big, or they wear too much green, or their pants are too blue for your taste. Maybe it's not too late to run away and become a nun. “...too much.”

Your mother, the queen, pats the back of your hand. The most affection she has given you in your entire life. “They all come from respectable families,” in other words, rich. “And most importantly, noble.”

“Can I still take sister Thena’s offer and become a nun instead?” You ask wryly, still trying to whisper your words.

She smiles sweetly, or what you call, her restrained smile that she gives to her courtiers. “If you don't quiet down and find a husband instead, lord Melbourne is looking for a wife.”

You gasp, head turning to look at the said lord who looks like he could be your great grandfather. “No, you wouldn't.” He catches your eyes, winking at you through his wrinkles. You make a face, scrunching up your nose and looking away at the man.

“I would dare,” she raises an eyebrow. “It's either him, or you pick a handsome young man from the line up.”

Your father finally catches on, he leans back on his throne to look at you over your mother. “It's for your own good, darling. We don't want you to die a spinster.”

You've noticed that he has a habit of calling you ‘darling’ these days. Perhaps he finally forgot your name. That's probably it since he named three of your brothers Charles because he forgot he already used that name before. Or maybe the gout has gotten to his brain.

“Would it be so bad to die a spinster?” They both crane their heads at you, brows slightly furrowed and mouths faintly agape in surprise. “I mean, you don't have to send a letter to me every year since I'll be staying here with you.” Their expressions sours further. “or maybe I could find a ship and sail the seas under our banner—” they both shake their heads, even your father's advisor shakes his head at you. So you give up, for now at least. “Or maybe I could just go and be a jester for one of my siblings.” You manage to whisper this time. Your words carried through the wind with no one to hear it but you. Or so you thought.

With the sound of the trumpets, the courting begins. Grasping your chair, you huff in place when the first man struts his stuff on the red carpeted floor.

You notice that he bows perfectly. He wears a dark blue coat over a silver hue tunic, his shoes are shined to perfection, smile even brighter than his leather shoes. “Eugene, Viscount of Van Horn, my princess.”

“A pleasure,” you say, unamused.

“I bring gifts from my land,” his attendants bring out crates full of oysters and crabs still writhing within its metal confines. “There will be more once we are married.” Your parents seemed to like it when they smiled at the slimy crates. “And a portrait of myself to better help you choose a husband.” You raise a brow, and sure enough, his people bring out a large square shaped thing that is hidden behind a white cloth. Eugene clicks his fingers, prompting them to reveal the gaudiest painting of someone ever etched on parchment.

It's not a regular portrait per se, the size is questionable, yes, but the contents of it makes you and everyone in the throne room tilt their heads to the side to see it clearly. The frame is riddled with rubies, and the painting, well, Eugene hangs upside down from a sycamore tree branch, grinning like how he is right now, from ear to ear. He's wearing the same thing as in the portrait too, at least his features are accurate. You know your mother does not look remotely similar to her portrait that hangs in the great hall.

“Uh?” You blink and every time you do, you see more and more questionable details. Like how there's somehow a field of pink roses below him, and how the sun shines to the west even though the shadow doesn't line up accurately. Some paintings have secret meanings weaved into it. Maybe he's trying to say that he can defy the rules of the world?

“You see,” Eugene waves his hand around the portrait, explaining its contents when you still look confused. “This shows my physical prowess,” he points at himself hanging upside down by just his legs. “And the sycamore tree represents—”

“Thank you, Viscount.” Thankfully, your father stops him from further getting into the artistic meanings of his painting. “We shall take your offer into consideration.” He smiles, and with a wave of his hand, his men shoo the viscount away to the side. “Next suitor.”

No one steps forward, instead, you see the waiting men move about, looking like there's someone making their way out the front. You wait for him to come out. And who greets you has you pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Henry, duke of Plainsboro, my princess.” The seemingly six year old lord bows down to you.

“Him?” You gesture towards the child. “He's a baby.”

“Pardon me, princess. But I'm eight and a half.”

“Oh my apologies, my lord.” You clear your throat, head turning towards your parents. “He's a toddler!” Your mother hushes you down, giving you a pointed look of disapproval. “Mother, surely we're not considering him.”

“What is your offer, lord Henry?” The king asks, ignoring your protests.

The young lord grins toothily, you scoff when you see that he's still missing his front tooth. “I guess I'm the invisible princess now.” There's only been two suitors so far and you already feel like your soul is getting sucked right out of your miserable body.

“Two hundred livestock, including my prized stallion. And half a million coins for your royal coffers.” The toddler has money to burn. You gotta hand it to his governess or whoever taught him how to converse, he speaks better than your older brothers combined.

That seemed to get your parents attention. “Oh dear god no, not the baby, surely?”

“Hush,” your father waves you off. “We'll highly consider your generous offer, my lord.” He smiles at the child, and you don't even hide your displeasure anymore.

You fight the urge to groan loudly and throw a fit in front of all the nobles. Instead, you huff and silently cry in your plush golden seat.

The next man with a beard starts to walk towards the front, but another man pushes him away and gets to the front before the other noble could say something.

This one intrigues you, something from his walk, up to his confident smirk doesn't seem to scream ‘I'm important! And you must pay heed to me!’ kind of air around him. He seems genuine when he smiles at you, you find it contagious, bringing a smile to tug at your own lips. His hazel eyes appear to be piercing through you without the familiar uneasiness the rest of the courtiers give you. And there's something from his bow that almost makes you giggle in place. It's like he's mocking the way the previous nobles bowed to you and your parents.

“Hobart, lord of Doverhill.” His voice brings a heavy accent, it's smooth in your ears but weighs heavy on your chest. A comfortable heaviness that brings solace. He flicks his eyes at you, his pupils catch the light perfectly, making his multi-colored eyes glow from the stained glass windows. “My princess.” He acknowledges you, and for some reason, your heart leaps from your chest.

He wears a simple red and white suit with silver inlays stitched at the hem. He has a bird engraved on his cufflinks, and shoes that are scuffed but presentable. You look closely at him to read him better, and you spot that his suit doesn't seem to fit right on him, the length is too short, and his trousers look like it stops right above his ankles. Nonetheless, he looks good in it. *Incredibly good.

“What is your offer lord…” your father knits his brows, briefly looking at his adviser who is equally as confused, mumbling a ‘where in the world is Doverhill?’ “Hobart?”

“Nothin’. I offer you nothin.’” He says confidently, smirk staying on his lips. If you took your eyes off him for a second, you wouldn't have seen his quick wink thrown at you. You think the other suitors should just go home.

“Is this a jape?” Your mother scoffs, manicured nails pointing accusingly at him.

“No, but I do have somethin’ for her.” He glances at you, eyes staying on you. “My love, unconditional love that never wavers. I offer nothin’ but warmth to tide her over durin’ the winter, a full belly so she'll never starve nor hunger for food or affections. And I offer smiles and laughter that will echo around our manor.”

You just noticed that he's now standing in front of you with the light shining behind him, giving him a halo of sunlight. “And time, time to just live and be ourselves beyond our titles.” He reaches for your hand, thumb brushing along your wrist, eyes never leaving your own as he kisses the back of your hand gently. You're glad you hid your gloves from your handmaiden before leaving your apartments.

This is your romantic novel moment.

You're speechless. “I—”

“Ask me whatever you want and I shall grant it.” He whispers to you and only you.

“I choose him!” You say boisterously, heart thrumming in your chest. The crowd yells their various protests, murmurs from the court that you ignore. Without missing a beat, you look over to your bewildered parents. “Can I promenade with Lord Hobart?”

“B–but he offers nothing—”

You don't wait for their approval, instead, you grasp his hand tightly around yours and with a bow to your king and queen, you walk off hand in hand with the lord of Doverhill.

It's safe to say that everyone was left gawking at the door you left in. It was a full minute before anyone got wise and followed you towards the gardens.

—

By the time you make it towards the inner halls of the castle, every guard and noble are prowling for you and your new acquaintance. Gossip thrives at court, and your family's home is not an exception. You lead him side by side, you've let go of him after it quieted down in the throne room. Smiling, there's a pep in your step as you pass by your siblings’ former apartments.

“What are your hobbies, Lord Hobart?” Your hands are tucked behind you, hiding your twiddling thumbs from the handsome lord.

“Call me Hobie.” He glances at you, brilliant pools of hazels catching the sun's rays. “I play the lute.”

“How peculiar,” you grin wider. “It’s definitely interesting though.”

He raises a brow. “The name or the hobby?” Chuckling, he maneuvers around you, hands hidden in his pockets as he appears from behind you. He plays it off nonchalantly, grinning at you as he twirls back into his place next to you. You two now have switched places with him walking next to the rooms and with you right beside the tall windows that faces the glimmering sea outside.

“The latter. I like your nickname.”

“Thank you, love.” Your heart leaps in your chest, you hope he doesn't notice. “Better than hanging upside down on a bloody sycamore tree.”

Your laughter echoes further down the hall, “yes, that was incredibly odd. The portrait had me in stitches.”

“Ironic too,” he smirks, eyes glancing about the hallway. Perhaps he just likes the decor and the ancient oil paintings on the walls.

“How so?”

“Sycamore represents wisdom. I don't think that man had any, based on his taste in art.”

You giggle, and you see him smile softly at you. “I learned something new today.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, surprisingly, he does the same. “Do you read, my lord? I'm partial to it myself.”

“Whenever I can. But ‘m a bit busy these days.”

“Ah yes, a land to tend to and people to take care of.” You clasp your hands together as he leads you down the long hallway. Hobie nods with a gentle smile as if he's reminiscing about his home.

“How ‘bout you, d’you have people you take care of?”

A weird question to ask, but you answer it nonetheless. “I guess I did, my siblings, before they all left to marry. We took care of eachother. Made sure that everyone was heard, made sure to fight for eachother. But when it was time to marry, none of them could fight it even when we all dared to go against it.” You realize what you've said, back tracking. “I must apologize, that was… a lot.”

He shakes his head gently, the simple silver necklace around his neck shines brightly in the sun. “It's not a lot. It's good to have people that care for you, and for you to care for them. That's just family.”

You smile at his words, the pit in your stomach grows as you miss your siblings dearly.

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, you're taking in his entire presence. He's a lot nicer and sweeter than you thought he would be when you thought he was just playing for your favour. He's so close to you that you can see every line, indent and mole on his chiseled face. And how he smells like freshly cut pine and like dandelions in the spring. You could only hope that he likes you back, he may save you from a lifetime of a loveless and cold marriage.

You two pass by the jewel apartments where your family’s most precious crown jewels are safely kept under lock and key. There's a couple of guards standing by the large metal doorway, but you don't seem to recognize them since you always kept to yourself most of the time and would always watch people during feasts and balls while everyone else were schmoozing. Somehow, their uniforms seem to not fit them well. One even had his shirt inside out.

You hear something jingling, but before you could follow the sound, Hobie tilts his head towards you with a lopsided smile while his hand ghosts over the small of your back. Guiding you away towards the sweet smelling gardens.

Hobie pushes the doors open, and the sun greets the two of you as birds chirp and fly overhead. The white puffy clouds provide shade, and the flowers are in full bloom, from the tulips down to the sunflowers that are as tall as him.

He whistles out, and you watch his awestruck face at the sheer beauty of the renowned garden. “You've got a fountain ‘ere?” he gestures with his head towards the bubbling marble fountain with two cherubs spitting water at the top of its spire.

You smile at his wonderment. “Yes, my great grandfather commissioned it for my great grandmother. It's a bit gaudy but the sentiment behind it is sweet.”

Hobie walks closer to it as leaves crunch underfoot and with the sun kissing his skin. He waves his hand over the falling water, letting the cool water drench his sleeve as it trickles down, not caring about it at all.

“Is this drinkable water?” He asks blatantly.

“I don't know, but it is clean.”

His eyes are downcast, looking like he's in deep thought while the water splashes his hand. “Did you know that down in the streets where your subjects live they survive everyday on dirty water?” His tone changes, brows creased. “And over ‘ere you're using it for a bloody fountain.”

You blink, inhaling deeply. “I–I didn't know. I'll make sure my father knows about this—”

“Don't worry, princess, he knows.” He spits out your title with malice.

“I'm sorry if I offended you,” you grasp tightly at your heavy skirt. “Forgive me.”

Hobie sighs, face softening, and eyes observing your expression as if he's trying to find a lie within your eyes. “You should tell him. He might actually do somethin' this time.”

“I will—”

You hear leaves crunch a few ways away, once you look over at where it came from, you see a bulbous skirt hiding behind a topiary of a rabbit.

“This place has eyes and ears.” He holds out his hand for you, waiting, not taking forcibly. “I know a place where we can hide.”

“You know? It's your first time here, is it not?”

“I heard there's a hedge maze ‘ere. One of the nobles couldn't stop talkin’ about it.”

Your apprehension fades, and you take his hand gingerly. Fingers sliding on his palm, feeling every calluses and scar on his skin. When he cups your hand gently, you swear you felt sparks fly in your vision.

Hobie's chest rises and falls slowly as he takes you in under the soft sunlight. “C’mon, love.”

With his hand upon yours, you let him guide you further and further into the emerald labyrinth. You watch him from behind, eyes trained on him and only him. Perhaps this is what your sisters and governess told you about when you know a person could be that person your heart yearns for. Or maybe this is your own romance novel riddled mind making up a delusion through rose coloured glass. Either way, you find him ethereal, like a sea captain, or perhaps a god walking amongst men.

He expertly dodges the nosey courtiers, twisting and turning around the hedges as if he had been there or have studied the labyrinth.

With you in tow, he stops when you both reach the middle of the maze where a statue of the minotaur lies defeated with Theseus standing above him with his sword embedded in the Minotaur's shoulder blade. The creature's face is contorted into pain and anguish as tears fall down on the grassy ground.

“This one is my favourite,” you say while he stares at the old statue. “It's been here for a long time, and it'll remain here even when I'm gone.” His hand still holds onto you as you turn towards him. “Why exactly did you join the courting?” He's taken aback. “Those men out there wanted my dowry, or my royal blood to be passed down to their children. But I don't see that want in you, Hobie. You're different from them. Like you've lived a thousand lifetimes.”

“‘m not a vampire or immortal if that's what you're askin'”

You grin, tamping down your laughter. “The way you walk, stand, and look at things. There's no sense of urgency nor you give insincere interest, it's all earnest. And you listened to me, no one ever listens to me.” You brush your hand across the scar on the back of his hand. “You seem to enjoy everything like it's your last day, you don't walk with haste like the rest of them. Time goes very quickly here but with you, it's at a snail’s pace. As if you have all the time in the world.” You breathe, eyes watching his unreadable expression. “I think I know who you are, Hobie.”

He laughs, grinning widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Our intel did say you're brilliant. The forgotten princess.”

Surprisingly, you grin back, standing toe to toe with him. “You’ve been the thorn on my father's side for years. The blue bloods hate you but the common people adore you. I never thought I'd look at the eyes of the man who wishes for my family's downfall.”

He brushes your cheek with his knuckles. “This the real you, princess?”

“I've been me the entire time, have you?” You lean forward, looking at him through your lashes. “Is this the real you, Hobie? Or shall I call you by your pseudonym?”

He chuckles deeply. Hands raising up in mock surrender. “You got me.”

The bells in the highest tower ring three times, signaling a thief within the walls of the castle. “And here I thought I was wrong.”

Hobie tilts his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “I have to take you with us now.”

“Oh woe is me.” You feign fear a bit too on the nose to be considered genuine. It's better to be taken in by a known generous thief than to marry a stranger who only wants you for your womb.

“Thought you'd be difficult.” He chuckles as he hears thunderous footsteps running towards the center of the maze. “May I?” He gestures for you, and you shrug, putting your hands behind your back. “Why are you cooperatin’?”

“Maybe I've got a proposition for you and your crew.”

He stands behind you, holding your wrists in one hand while he brandishes a dagger at your throat. He doesn't threaten you with it or poke and prod at your skin. He just points the dagger at one of the exits through the hedge maze where you surmise a dozen or so guards race through to get to you.

“What d’you want?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Freedom.” You whisper back.

“What are you offerin’?”

You chortle, feeling his rough hands softly enclose around your wrists. Leaning back, you look at him upside down. “That depends on who shows up in front of us.”

With trepidation, Hobie points his dagger at the exit while he backs himself into the balcony that faces the sea. His back hits the warm stone of the bannister, and he tightens his hold on the dagger.

Footsteps rush in, and out comes the same guards you saw in front of the crown jewel room, together with a few more people dressed as staff and even a chef. They heave and pant, smiling once they see him. Hobie puts his dagger down to his side, mirroring their relieved smiles.

You notice the lack of crowns and jewels in their satchels. “No luck?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Holy shit, you actually got the princess to like you.” A girl who must've been no older than sixteen walks towards you, her blond hair is tied into a neat bun to mimic the look of the staff but her dagger strapped to her side says otherwise. “It's a pleasure, your highness.”

“Likewise—”

“What happened?” Hobie interrupts your friendly greeting.

“Two words, a lot of fucking guards.” The one with the dark hair and blue eyes says while he exhales like he tried to win a race against a horse.

“That's more than two words, moron.” A woman clad in black says, she winks when she meets with your eyes. “I guess we got something more precious.”

“Princess, meet the crew. Crew meet the princess.” Hobie says while he takes a rope from one of them. He tries your hands together, leaving enough wiggle room as to not hurt your wrists.

“No jewels but we got a princess. So plan C then?” A man wearing one of the guard uniforms says. He takes his hat off, revealing a priest’s halo under it.

“You've got a priest in your crew?” You ask, looking at Hobie. There's a lot more racing footsteps heading for the center of the maze, the guards are definitely the one marching towards you now. It's nice to be remembered sometimes.

“He lost a bet.” He just shrugs it off as if that answers your question. Looking at his crew, he addresses them, “there's nothin’ we can do now, we go to plan C.”

“Wait, what's plan C?” You ask, and your eyes widen when one by one, each member jumps off the balcony down to the cold depths. “W–wait, no, absolutely not!”

“This is plan C.” Hobie hobbles towards the edge of the balcony, arm holding you against him while you hear splashes from below.

“Alright, I change my mind! Put me down!” Now that you and Hobie are the only ones left on the balcony, he carries you as he lifts himself over the balcony edge. Standing up with you in his arms, you look down for a second and vertigo shifts your vision into a blurry mess. You don't even notice that you're clutching onto his chest and hiding your face into the fabric of his suit.

“Halt!” A guard yells above the rushing blood in your ears. You hear swords getting unsheathed, and angry words thrown at the man you're currently clutching onto.

With his hands holding you, Hobie laughs, “hold your breath, princess!” He jumps over the balcony backwards despite your screaming.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, soul leaving your body as you fall. Hobie's cackling echoes while the winds rush past your ears, heartbeat thudding, and face hidden on his chest, you fall into the cold depths, chill stinging your skin. And the last thing you see before the darkness envelopes you is his hand reaching for your own in the cold bitter blue of the sea.

—

You wake up with a groan and smell distinctively like fish and seaweed. Your vision sways, seeing the ground rock too, you surmise that you're on the move. It's either that or the carriage you're on smells weirdly like horse dung.

You're placed on a horse with your hands tied behind your back, stomach hurting from the saddle, sun bearing down on you, and dress weighing like a ton from it being drenched in the water. You're uncomfortable to say the least. They didn't have the foresight to bind your feet though, you may have a chance to run if you're lucky enough to have one.

“Is this how you treat a princess?” You groggily say, head turning to see your captor.

Hobie glances down at you with a smirk, he's no longer in his frilly court clothes. Now he's donning a simple green undershirt that he purposely let loose on the collar, showing off his skin as it glimmers in the blazing sun. There's a quiver of arrows at his back, and a bow strapped on the side of his saddle that pokes your leg. His sword is settled at his hip, pommel engraved with a spider, looking like it's crawling right on the scuffed metal.

“Only to the fit ones.” His gloved hands are placed atop your back casually, using you like his personal table while he reigns in his horse. “ain't that right, Roach?” He addresses his blue dappled horse. Roach huffs, nodding as if he actually understood his rider. “See?”

You scoff, “you trained him to say yes to everything you say.” But you can't deny the heat blossoming on your cheeks. There's trotting next to you and you look to your side to see who it is.

“You’re awfully calm about all of this, princess.” The raven haired asks with a lopsided smile.

You shrug the best you can while in your position. “Just a regular day for me I suppose.”

“Have you been kidnapped before?” Someone asks behind you, his voice familiar while dry leaves crunch under the hooves.

“A handful of times, usually I'm with one or two of my siblings so my parents always pay the ransom. I don't know if they'll pay if it's only me now.”

“That's really sad actually.” He says, now you remember him being the one with the priest's hair who supposedly lost a bet.

Hobie chuckles from above, and you look up at him with a glare. He raises a brow and moves your head with his palm atop your head, turning it towards the woman riding next to you. You could only huff at him.

“What's your name, priest?” You ask, voice strained from the position.

“Just call me Ned, princess.”

“It's nice to meet you, Ned. I'm sorry about your hair.”

“It's alright. It's quite breezy actually.” He rubs his hand above his bald spot.

“How about you? What's your name?” You ask the pretty woman.

She smiles, dark eyes shadowed by the canopy above. “It's Yuri for you, gorgeous.”

You smile back genuinely. “You have such a pretty name—”

“Oi, stop makin' friends with ‘em.” Hobie flicks the shell of your ear, earning a gasp from you.

“Ow!” You hear their guffaws echo around the forest. “It's called being nice.”

“It's a tactic to make us bring you back to the palace. And it ain't workin’, princess.” He tilts his head down, mocking you with his stare.

You try to bite him but he's too fast to catch as he moves away before you could. “So that was your brilliant plan then? To charm me and take me as your hostage?” You say while trying to wiggle out of your binds.

“Not originally no, I was just there to distract you and for you to bring me to the hallways leading to the garden so I could toss them the keys I nicked from your shitty guards.” He explains plainly with a teasing smirk.

You chortle, mocking him back. “But you didn't take into account that there would be guards inside, huh? For a mastermind that’s a bit stupid of you.”

“This daft mastermind got somethin' better than jewels.” Hobie bends down, now eye to eye with you, you see every green and grey speck in his hazel eyes that reminds you of a cloudy night sky or a field of wildflowers in the summer. He blinks at your unusual soft gaze, words trapped in his throat as he sees your eyes glance briefly down at his lips. He swallows down his sudden rush of feelings, “I've got you, princess.”

You inhale, and you smell fresh dandelions in the air combined with pine swirling in the wind. “Not to disappoint you but they won't pay that much for me.”

“We don't need that much anyway,” he says, and unbeknownst to him, there's a dozen pairs of eyes watching the two of you interact. “Just enough for us to get by, love. We don't hoard wealth like your greedy father.”

“I—” before you could retort, (one that you're sure would be so clever that it'll blow him away.) A sharp whistle sounds out around the thick mossy forest. It sounds like a bird singing for a second, then when you look at where the sound came from right in front of you, a thick curtain of vines unfurl, revealing a small bustling village hidden behind the undergrowth. “What?”

“Welcome to Doverhill, princess.” He says, tapping the top of your head with his finger.

The horses move towards the large space just passing the vines, and you now see the village in its fullest form. Straw and wooden huts are built around the clearing, its chimneys softly billow out smoke; you guess that they need to lessen the use of their chimneys to stay hidden lest they want to be found in the middle of the dense forest. You look up and you spot a pair of large trees on each side with a crow's nest built atop it where archers guard and watch over the only entrance and exit in the whole village. The place is protected by large looming trees that grow around the area, every tree has lush canopies that protect the village from the intense sun and hide them from above. But the leaves still leave enough sunlight to pass through its greenery, it bathes the whole area with dappled lights that dance in the breeze.

You take note of the complete amenities, there's a stable and a barn further up ahead. Rows and upon rows of farmland where fruits and vegetables grow bountifully. There's also a bigger building on the right where you guess it could be the town hall. There are also a handful of wells placed around so that enough people would get their water without walking too far to grab a bucket. A few of the notable buildings are a blacksmith with its relentless hammer pounding onto a smoldering sword. A bakery with pastries perfectly lined up at the front, and even a tailor and a cobbler sitting next to each other.

As you get closer, you see an even bigger tree sitting in the middle of the village. Its large trunk is thick, bigger than anything you've ever seen. The leaves are viridescent and healthy, it looks like it's centuries old. There, within its branches is a tree house covered in vines with violets growing among its walls. Despite the green and browns that surround it, the lone tree house is painted with a brighter shade of blue and accents of red. The door is even in the same shade, and the ladder leading up to it is painted in alternating colours of the rainbow. It's beautiful and enticing to the eyes.

You see movement in your peripheral, taking your attention away from the tree house, the sound of childish laughter echo and you spot children running around while adults tend to their homes and garden. Once they hear the trotting of horses, they stop by to wave at you, or to Hobie and his crew more like.

“What is this place?”

“I told you, it's Doverhill.” He smiles back at the people, face turning back into a smirk when he returns his attention towards you. “What did you expect us to live? A basement of a tavern? The bloody sewers?”

“No,” you scoff while taking a whiff of a freshly baked bread cooling on a nearby windowsill. “I just didn't expect it to be this lively.” You turn towards him despite the ache in your neck. “How many people live here?”

“Close to two hundred.” He smiles proudly, eyes trained up front. “All these years and none of you royals knew that we've been in ‘ere, instead you all looked under rocks and behind waterfalls for us.”

You blink at the sheer size of the canopy that provides a dome like roof above. “It's beautiful.” With awe and delight in your eyes, Hobie could only look at you with a ghost of a smile.

“Hobart Larry Brown!” A yell interrupts your awestruck gaze, craning your neck to the source, you see an old woman with a cane quickly making her way towards the group. “Who the hell is that?!”

“Auntie!” Hobie abruptly stops his horse, the second he does, his crew disperses subtly, leaving him behind to face the wrath of the old woman. “Oi!” He tries to call them back but they're already gone. Probably hiding behind the houses to save their own skins. “We were out on that heist we were plannin’ remember, aunt Janet?”

“Don't patronize me, boy!” She points at Hobie with the tip of her cane, poking his chest as he raises his hands up in surrender. “Is this how you treat a girl? Get her off of that bloody horse.”

“Alright, alright, calm down, yeah?” He gets off the horse swiftly, and then carries you carefully with his hands on your hips.

You swear you stopped breathing the entire time he had his hands on you. As much as you want to hate him, you can't deny how he makes your heart jump in place.

Once you're back on your feet, you stretch your back, hearing the crack of the corset. Or maybe that's your back making that god awful sound. He chuckles, hiding his amusement on his shoulder with the excuse of wiping his sweat on his tunic.

“So,” Janet steps in front of you, grey eyes soft and genuine. “Who are you? A lady? A duchess?”

“A princess actually.”

“Oh lord have mercy.” She says underneath her breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “You kidnapped *the princess? You fool!” With her cane, she strikes him down like a child being chastised. Hobie shields himself with his arms above his head while you laugh at his misfortune. More and more people come out to watch the spectacle, giggles and chortling echoing around the clearing. “I bet you didn't get any of the royal jewels and you settled for an actual royal jewel!”

“Aww how sweet of you—”

“Hush, you monarchist!” She takes a 180 and jabs you with her cane. You take a step back, aghast at what she called you.

“As for you!” She turns back to Hobie, finding him grinning at what happened. “Stop playing, child! I heard the commotion from over here! What if you and the rest of the little shits got hurt?”

“We have a name, Janet—” he tries to explain, only to be met with her cane on his hip. “Ow.”

Janet puts her cane back down, ending her tirade. “Bringing her here only spells out trouble, Hobie.”

“It wasn't exactly part of the bloody plan, auntie.”

She sighs, “what are we gonna do with her?” She points at you like you're not in the same place as her.

“I'm right here.” You shrug, “and if you asked me, you'll find that I'm useful and not just some dirty monarchist.”

“You are?” Both Hobie and aunt Janet ask simultaneously.

You clench your jaw, sucking in your teeth. “I will explain, but first can we take these ropes off? My wrists hurt.” They narrow their eyes at you. “I'm not gonna run away, promise.”

Hobie takes a step towards you, but he's stopped by aunt Janet putting her cane on his chest. He huffs in place, arms crossed in protest. She walks towards you with her eyes narrowed, rightfully suspicious of you. Taking her cane, she twists the top and out she unsheathes a shiny dagger from her cane. Grabbing your hands, she swiftly cuts off your binds before you could even jump back when she brandished her weapon.

Aunt Janet backs away next to Hobie while everyone in the village has their eyes on you. Glancing around, you spot an opportunity where no one is there. A break within the circle of the crowd. You pretend to roll around the joints in your wrist, opening your mouth like you're about to speak, you suddenly point at the sky.

“What the hell is that?!” They surprisingly look up, and you immediately make a break for it. You don't hear footsteps running after you so you keep running. Just as when you're about to make it towards the vines, you trip, falling face first into the dirt and skidding a few feet away. With a groan, you lift yourself up, nose aching and bleeding, mouth full of grass and soil. You feel like you've been dragged by a horse.

A head of red appears in your blurred vision. She pokes the top of your head, teasing you. “Sorry, I had too.”

“Good on you, Mayday!” Hobie makes his way towards the two of you as you slump down on the ground, hiding your face from sheer embarrassment. “Thwarted by a ten year old.”

“I'm eleven, Hobie!” She says, and you thump your forehead against the grass.

You feel a palm sliding down between your head and the grass, preventing you from bashing. “Careful now, princess, wouldn't want to hurt you now, hm?”

You groan, surrendering yourself and letting your head fall on his palm while he praises the child who tripped you.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

[cherry-bomb-ships]

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE ASK GAME

Send in a emoji/prompt listed below and the user will create an AU based on the prompt. 🩷

These prompts are meant to be somewhat vague, so the way they can be interpreted is entirely up to the user's imagination! 🩷

These can be used as art prompts, writing prompts, or just for headcanons. Also, while these were initially made for self shipping, they can be used for ocs or ships in general. 🩷

Please practice reblog karma if reblogging. 🩷

This will be updated as I think of more! If you have any suggestions let me know. Last update: 07/19/24 🩷

Proship & proship-neutral, please do not interact.

SWAPS

🚻 - Body Swap AU

➕️ - Fusion AU

🔄 - Personality Swap AU

⏏️ - Reverse Selfship AU

🔏 - Role Swap AU

FANTASY

🤖 - Android AU

😈 - Demon AU

🧍‍♀️- Giant/Tiny AU

👻 - Ghost AU

🌟 - Magical Girl AU

🧜‍♀️ - Mermaid AU

🦸‍♂️ - Superhero/Supervillain AU

🧛‍♀️ - Vampire AU

🐺 - Werewolf AU

🪄 - Witch/Wizard AU

HISTORICAL

🤠 - Cowboy/Western AU

🪮 - Greaser AU

💰 - Mafia AU

🏰 - Medieval AU

🏴‍☠️ - Pirate AU

👑 - Royalty AU

🎩 - Victorian AU

SLICE OF LIFE

🎤 - Band AU

☕️ - Coffee Shop AU

📒 - College AU

💼 - Coworkers AU

📱 - Modern Day AU

EXISTING MEDIA

🍄 - Alice in Wonderland AU

💫 - Disney Movie AU

🐲 - Dungeons and Dragons AU (or similar fantasy media)

🔩 - Frankenstein AU

🦄 - My Little Pony AU

⚡️ - Pokemon AU

💞 - Romantic Comedy AU

🔪 - Slasher AU

TROPES

👰‍♂ - Arranged Marraige AU

🌱 - Childhood Friends AU

💐 - Fake Dating AU

🐶 - Furry AU (or Humanized AU)

🥀 - Hanahaki AU

🏆 - Rivals AU

🪢 - Soulmate AU (String of Fate, Matching Birthmarks, Same Dreams, etc)

🧟‍♂️ - Zombie Apocalypse AU

[everynya]

when in doubt, think about an au of your self ship!

imagining you and your f/o in completely different settings and scenarios can be really entertaining, so don’t be afraid to come up with a few that can spark all kinds of thoughts or ideas with them.

maybe an office au? something simple and somewhat domestic. suddenly, your f/o is your coworker who brings you breakfast every morning at the start of your shift. maybe they invite you to lunch mid break or dinner after work with a wide grin or a nervous stare, wanting to spend their downtime with you in front of them. perhaps they enjoy collaborating with you in projects the most or get distracted? hell, maybe you and your f/o fight for who’s going to be employee of the month!

if that’s not your cup of tea, maybe a royal au? something magical and with all kinds of routes. one of you is a valiant knight who’d give anything for the other who is part of royalty. they could sneak off at night to visit you, a love forbidden and kept away from the eyes of those in the kingdom yet that blossoms so deeply behind closed doors. there’s a chance that instead one of you is a court jester, entertaining the royal who could either never crack even a smile or laughs only at their jokes. nevertheless, no matter what your roles are, you both find some way to disguise yourselves and dance with one another at a royal ball.

who says you can’t dabble in something crazier like a horror movie au? something unexpected and full of peril. this may sound farfetched, but picture your f/o planning for how you can both survive in some scary situation! they put you first, taking care you’re not hurt and jumping at any noise that could be you. they’re not scared, psh, totally not! i mean, there’s a chance they really could not be scared from any monster or slasher…but maybe they fear losing you. ah, but what if they’re the real threat all along? doesn’t matter, they won’t hurt your pretty little head, or will they…?

no matter what kind of alternate universe you and your f/o are in, it’s always fun to partake in new ideas of things you face together. it can give you more content, maybe even from aus that aren’t very common. isn’t it nice to know that no matter the circumstances you’re both still as close as ever? i’d love to know what kind of unique au’s you may already have, so add in the tags or send an ask if you’d wish of some of the concepts you enjoy!

[the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers]

Warmth For/From a Rabbit

Title: Warmth For/From a Rabbit Word Count: 1,615 Warnings: Some cursing, descriptions of pain/feeling ill (Nothing graphic but I know everyone's different so be safe!) 'enemy' cuddles, HAPPY ENDING, I haven't written in months forgive me, also ' everywhere! Ship: A Tale of Two Empires (Zenos x myself) Summary: Rebecca had managed to make her way to a secret sanctuary yet couldn't give herself the mercy of simply waiting out the flare-up. But who would've thought that her 'worst enemy' would save her day... A/N: So yeah today was terrible to the point my world was spinning my whole shift and then when I got home it GOT WORSE! So instead of dwelling on the pain I coped by writing this hurt/comfort with Zenos! I made it an early relationship piece so you can see how our dynamic began (Also some disability acceptance cause we love to see it!) Also, this along with all my FFXIV stuff ties into my Royal AU

A high-pitched wail pierced through the enchanting Gridanian inn room that Rebecca managed to drag herself into. One would think that the princess-turned-Warrior of Light had just escaped a nightmarish battle with the way she appeared. Her world spun, tears streamed down her cheeks as she choked on suffocating sobs, and her body shook as if some unnatural force had possessed it.

But as Rebecca stumbled over to the bed that lay on the opposite side of the room, she knew better. These symptoms weren't from a harrowing battle, grievous poisoning, or any external influence. It was all her own doing, a misery of her own making.

"A-Ah!" Rebecca sharply inhaled as she collapsed onto the mattress. "Oh God, oh please..."

She curled in on herself as much as she possibly could, chanting pleas to the heavens for any relief amidst shallow breaths. Regardless of her cries, the invisible knife continued deep into her abdomen. It was a dull knife, a slow and excruciating sensation that pierced her center and spread through her core with every imagined twist.

Her head continued to spin, only now it was with possible causes and potential cures to this suffering. Could the light-headedness and initial nausea be from the two coffees she drank the day before? Had there been something within the air or had she unknowingly eaten something rotten? After mentally checking through those scenarios and then making sure she wasn't dehydrated, Rebecca came to the conclusion she dreaded most. This was just another part of her life-long condition rearing its loathsome head...

With this realization, her thoughts began to act as her own judge, jury and executioner to how she should be feeling. As she cast out any light by squeezing her eyes shut, tears continue to prick at the corners and flow free like rain droplets. Her short breaths had become quiet whimpers while the purple haired princess yearned for one of her loved ones to bust through the door to cradle her as her body fought itself.

Though when her onyx orbs revealed themselves once more, someone did stand above her. It wasn't one of her loyal knights or any of the scions, but instead a man with golden locks who towered over her scrunched-up body.

"My friend, are you unwell?" The man questioned. His voice was deep and laced with the faintest bit of curiosity but no trace of warmth or genuine care that she could tell.

When Rebecca bared to lift her head, she could barely hide the shudder which coursed through her veins as her brown eyes met with the man's sharp blue gaze. A sigh pushed past her lips once more as Rebecca allowed her head to fall back into the pillow.

"Zenos--ah, fuck-- I'm gonna skip the questions of what in the hells you want and how in the hells you got here. Instead, I'm going to ask if this is gonna be the ruthless Garlean prince's first mercy kill?!" Rebecca snapped back, her voice dripping with sarcasm vaguest hint of a laugh.

Rebecca couldn't see Zenos's expression darken considering her vision remained fixated on his upper thighs. They weren't hidden by the thick metal plates of armor that usually donned his legs. Instead, the nightmare of Domans and Ala Mhigans alike seemed to be dressed casually, or at least in a less defensive outfit. Yet her mental notes on his outfit coordination were interrupted when the prince finally spoke again. His voice was comparable to thunder, rumbling and terrifying out of nowhere.

"No. Who did this to you?"

Rebecca absent-mindedly raised a brow, questioning whether or not she had actually heard a sense of concern amongst his pointed words.

"No one but myself... I think?" Rebecca replied, sighing softly. She was pretty sure this was just part of her condition but perhaps it had been triggered by absurd amounts of stress. As she reflected on the years of pain, she realized that this wouldn't be the first time.

Zenos crossed his arms as he stared down at the young woman. This caused the long, white jacket resting upon his shoulders to fall slightly from where it was draped on his shoulders. In his mind, despite her unyielding defiance of his own power, he couldn't help but compare her to a cornered rabbit. A ghost of a smile crept along his face and a minuscule warmth flooded his chest as the mental image lingered. Though he quickly grew tired of her flowery words dancing around the matter.

This was a sentiment Rebecca also seemed to pick up on with how she struggled to sit up so she could properly speak. After a minute of squirming and a rainbow of muttered expletives, she finally returned her attention to the Garlean prince.

"I don't know why I'm bothering to tell you this, but this is all due to my disability." Rebecca's sights flickered up to read Zenos's expression. She noted the squint of intrigue and his subtle step forward. It took everything within her not to inquire about Garlean cruelty and what they did to hide that facet of life away from their glorious empire.

Seeing how Zenos didn't immediately lash out at her or mock her, she continued. "In my teen years, it got really bad to the point I couldn't leave my bed without excruciating pain. But through the practice of therapeutic methods and a lot of medical intervention, I overcame it. But every now and again it decides to say 'fuck you' and I've learned the hard way that I need to let it pass since powering through like you and so many other mighty warriors would only worsen it. So yeah, my body did this to me."

Rebecca's vision darted from Zenos who stood there, to the window for signs of an Imperial ambush, and back to Zenos. She searched for even the subtlest signs of an impending attack, any sign of threatening movement. Yet when Zenos's large, calloused hand launched forward it didn't grip her throat or clench to pummel her. It gripped her chin, jerking her head back slightly so their sights could fixate on each other once more. Zenos's voice remained deep and cool, yet its deafening rumble was no longer the result of a growl. It now seemed more in line with a purr as his thumb wandered along Rebecca's soft ivory skin.

"You've endured far more than I initially thought." The smile that had been lingering on his face had now stretched to a full grin. It was one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. "Instead of wallowing in your miserable fate, you chose to fight against it and carve out your own way to become the warrior that continues to hold my unwavering attention as my only equal."

A small smile appeared on Rebecca's peach-painted lips in her pleasant surprise at not being ridiculed or made into a martyr for a spectacle. As Zenos continued to caress her cheek gingerly, she didn't even realize how she leaned into it.

"You're warm," Rebecca murmured more to herself rather than a way to continue the conversation. Her head began to rest with his palm as her eyes fluttered shut. "It's nice..."

To both parties' amazement, they stayed in this position for a few moments. Zenos had never been a part of such an intimate moment nor had he ever wanted to create one, but as Rebecca's silky skin squished beneath the pad of his thumb, he couldn't deny that growing flood of warmth once more. Truly, only Rebecca could make him feel such pleasures in and off the field of battle.

When Rebecca finally realized what position they found themselves in she quickly squirmed out of his grasp. Though as soon as she did, she shivered slightly.

"You know, if you want me back on the battlefield quicker there may be a way to help me."

Zenos finally sat down on the edge of her mattress. His blond strands swayed as Zenos tilted his head with interest.

Taking a shallow breath, Rebecca made her request. "I want you to lay with me for a bit. I don't have the technology I have at home and with how shaky I am I don't wanna risk setting the inn on fire with my magic."

Zenos's icy eyes revealed thrashing waves at such a demand, and his heart began heavily pumping in his broad chest. Surely, this wasn't from their proximity but from the impending thrill of an upcoming battle. Yet with no word of objection even entering his thoughts, the gargantuan Garlean prince nudged the Rosenfield princess further onto the mattress with all the gentleness his scarred heart could muster.

Her back pressed against his chest where both royals could feel the other's hammering heart. Zenos's toned arms wrapped firmly around her middle. His warmth seemingly cauterized the stab wounds that the imaginary knife had been cutting through all this time.

In another moment of peace, Rebecca eye's fluttered shut once more along with Zenos's. It wasn't long until the small girl's slightly labored breaths evened out to soft snores and the occasional incoherent mumble. Yet Zenos remained wide awake, his mind reflecting on the cornered rabbit he had hunted in his youth along with the stirring sensations within his core due to the one he now held in his arms.

Yet when Rebecca awoke hours later, she was no longer engulfed by the enemy's embrace. But she had been cocooned within the pure white coat that never faltered off of his shoulders. Yet it was still warm around her, even the sleeves that were splayed at her sides...

Taglist: @disneymarina @floweringforgetfulness @goldenworldsabound @canongf @hadesgoddess @singingdeepinme @nyandereneko @maskedanarchy-ships @violetsandmilk

[tropetember]

[Image description. Image reads “Tropetember Prompt List (Hard Mode)”, in the background, a picture of a mug placed on an open book in front of a blanket invokes a cozy feel. End id. Thanks to @supericelight​ for the image description!]

Strangers To Lovers - Character A and Character B meet for the first time when Character A is at their lowest point. B, a stranger, is the kindest person A has ever met, and from that point on, B has A’s eternal loyalty. 

Case Fic - Character A and Character B are working on the same case from different perspectives. There is absolutely no flirting going on under the antagonistic banter about the case (or is there?)

Sickfic - Character A has a deadline / big commitment coming up and they’ve been running themselves ragged to make it in time. They can totally power through this little bout of allergies. Stop laughing, Character B!

Customer Service AU - Where Character A works Customer Service at a restaurant/business and Character B and their child are customers. Character A first notices a really cute kid only to notice that, hey, the parent is actually very beautiful too. What the hell?

Reality TV AU - Cooking contest where the participants are randomly paired up with someone who can’t cook at all - both of them have to collaborate on every dish. Character A thought this would be an easy win but Character B’s inability to even boil water is going to make this a challenge.

80’s Teen Movie AU - Two very different teens come to understand each other better during a very long after-school detention. (Breakfast Club style)

Futuristic AU - In a futuristic steampunk setting, a mysterious stranger collapses on the doorstep of a lonely scientist.

Time Travel - Character A meets their future self and they’re surprised by one very glaring difference between them.

Five Times + One Time - Five times Character A cooks for Character B when they’re at a low point in their life, and one time Character B returns the favour.

Accidental Confession - Character A thinks they are dying, and writes/records a message confessing their feelings for Character B, to be received by them posthumously. It turns out that A survives, but B has already read/seen the message.

Coworkers to Friends to Lovers - Character A and Character B work under Character C. C is friends with both of them, but A and B can’t stand each other. Despite, that they have to support each other through the disasters C keeps getting all of them into.

Touch Starvation - Original Hanahaki interpretation where Character A is touch starved (but can’t bring themselves to ask for comfort) and that’s what’s making flowers grow in their lungs.

Found Family - Character A’s biological family is better not spoken about. So how will A’s found family react when they show up out of the blue, disturbing any peace A has made for themselves?

Human/Monster Romance - Character A is a pirate in a shipwreck during a storm. Character B is a daydreamer mermaid who thinks A is actually royalty and saves them because of it.

Arranged Marriage - Character A’s family wants/needs an alliance with Character B’s tribe/kingdom, and the easiest way to do this is to form a marriage between their families, with A & B being the chosen sacrifices.

Friendship Centric - A character study of the friendships with the most important people in the main character’s life, and how each friendship manifests differently (ships can be included, but not the main focus).

Love Confessions - Character A is in love with Character B but has never summoned up the courage to say anything about it. Sadly, B is moving at the end of the week, but A has the perfect, most dramatic plan to make their feelings known. 

Soulmates - Character A and Character B have known each other since childhood. When B dies, A inherits their soulmate, together with B’s dream/life goal, and promises to treat them the way B would have.

Apocalypse - In a horrifying apocalypse, a wanderer stumbles across an oasis - and the person who created it.

Fantasy - Magic is corrupted, the world is ending, and small resistance groups are the only ones fighting against the dark. Characters A and B are part of the resistance, and they start to realise their relationship might be the key to saving everything they know and love.

Genderswap AU - Canon Divergence where everything is the same but A & B have always been the opposite gender. Some things change, but some things stay the same.

Canon Rewrite - The setting is canon, with one key difference: everything happens fifty years earlier (interpret as you wish).

Fairytale - Base a work around the theme of Little Red Riding Hood, where the main character is the metaphorical Big Bad Wolf.

Babysitting - Character A and Character B are old friends that haven’t spoken in a long time. A calls B out of the blue, asking for a favour - they really need someone to babysit their kid for the day. Character B is REALLY bad with children.

Misunderstandings - Character A wants to ask Character B to take their relationship to the next level, but B keeps avoiding the conversation. Character B has been broken up with multiple times before and is trying to delay the inevitable heartbreak.

Fake Relationship - Character A kind of (but not really) hates Character B, but both of them are dealing with unwanted suitors and the easiest solution is to help each other out by fabricating a relationship between the two of them to make them both appear off limits.

Repression - Character A knows that Character B loves them - probably. So why does it seem so hard for B to show it?

Proposal - Character A proposes to Character B but cultural/upbringing differences make B not understand what A means (Examples: Japanese Traditional Proposals Other Traditional Proposals From Around The World)

Pacific Rim AU - Character A and Character B discover that they are Drift Compatible.

Optional:

Songfic - “I know we will live again / like the greatest lovers of all time / I know we will laugh again / as we did flying kites into the sky” Estels al Vent - Els Catarres

“The Borrowers” AU - Some or all of the characters are Borrowers, tiny people who live in the walls and floors of human houses and ‘borrow’ items from the humans who live there in order to survive.

Wild Card! - Look around at the items in arm’s reach from where you are sitting. Now write at least one of them into a story with your favourite characters!

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Link to Original Prompt List

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