#twin princes renaissance time we can do it folks

[eustomas]

ajdjfhfhjdj ive been following twin princes for years and never saw that pin design, now i also wish it was real! nice to see new people finding twin princes if u want any fic or artist recommendations id be happy to share some, most princes artists are on x and a few are still active

*vibrates at a frequency that could shatter glass*

that would be most kind of u yes feel free yes yes i am new here and would like to see all the things pleasepleasepleasplease-

ive already Devoured like 98% of all the fics about them on ao3, scoured through their pixiv tag, maybe even started a wip of my own that probably wont see the light of day, but the brainrot is there. by god, is the brainrot there...

[destiniesfic]

Folktober 01 — for @jurdannet/@jurdannetrevels, and for spooky season: an AU where Jude and Taryn were never taken to Faerie and grew up in blissful ignorance of the fair folk. Mostly.

I count four of them. One, two, three, four. Four of them have taken my sister.

They took some others, too. It’s easy to tell them from the ones they’ve taken. Even as silhouettes, there’s something wrong with them. They move too gracefully, like they’re dancers who can hear music I can’t. And when they’re still, they’re too still. They’re all tall and lean and wear what looks like Renaissance Faire cosplay, and if I wasn’t looking right at them I wouldn’t think they were real. I still don’t think they’re real.

In addition to my sister, my twin, there seem to be three more people. Real people. A college-aged boy playing guitar, staring without seeing. A couple of hikers. The entire macabre party sits or stands or reclines around a massive bonfire, flames licking up a cage of tented branches. We learned about Guy Fawkes Night — Bonfire Night — in AP European History. If that’s what they’re celebrating, they’re too early by a month, and also on the wrong side of the Atlantic.

A shiver goes down my spine that has nothing to do with the autumn chill.

I recognize my sister’s silhouette. Taryn sits back on her heels, her hands on both knees, her back unusually straight. She doesn’t seem hurt. If she were herself, she’d scold me for following her here. After all, she was just sneaking out to meet some boy she bumped into at the mall today. I couldn’t explain my suspicions, the way the hair prickled at the back of my neck. Her smile was a little too dreamy. But I let her go. And I followed her.

Taryn stopped wearing the berry necklaces our parents gave us when we were thirteen or fourteen. Even though I am also too old to believe in superstitions, I never did. Now the string of dried rowan berries loops around my neck, hidden under my black turtleneck. I touch the fabric, feeling it through the cotton. Maybe it will save me tonight.

I draw a breath and step out from the bushes. In my hands, I am carrying the biggest stick I could find. It’s not as thick as a baseball bat — I should have brought a baseball bat — but if I have to hit someone, it’ll hurt. That’s what counts.

“Hey!” I shout.

The guitarist doesn’t stop playing. In fact, none of the humans look at me. But all of them do. The faeries. They are so beautiful they turn the corner into being terrifying. Like otherworldly models, specifically the ones from the nineties, with the cheekbones. Heroin chic, kind of, except they all have this glow that has nothing to do with the firelight. Their ears are pointed. Their fingers are too long. Their smiles are too sharp. My brain hurts.

At least they’re easy to tell apart. There are three boys and one girl. The boys all have different-colored hair: red, blond, black. The girl has long blue hair. She reclines on a cushion near the red-haired boy. One of the hikers combs her hair with a carved seashell, a glazed look on her face. The other hiker offers an apple to the blond boy, perfectly subservient. The last boy, his hair blacker than the dead of night, wears a silver circlet and lounges on two more cushions. He has a cup — a goblet — raised to his mouth. Dark liquid shines at the corners of his lips. I am afraid it’s blood, but I realize it’s probably wine.

I know very little about faeries, because faeries weren’t real until tonight. I take stock of what I do know: don’t accept food or drink from them; don’t trust them; they can’t lie; something about iron. That’s all. It’s not much. I hope it’s enough.

Standing there, brandishing my stick, it doesn’t feel like enough at all.

The black-haired boy squints at the contents of his goblet. “It’s too early for me to have drunk so much already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then he addresses the blonde boy. “Am I the only one seeing double?”

“No,” says the redhead, the one sitting next to Taryn. He looks fox-like in a way that I can’t quite explain. The color of his hair, maybe, or the point of his chin. “I see her, too. Kin?”

“Twins,” says the girl, sounding vaguely intrigued. “How very mortal.”

The blond boy knocks the apple out of the hiker’s hand. “Well? Go and get it,” he says to the hiker, but he is watching me. Apparently the people they’ve already caught are no longer as interesting as I am.

The first boy sighs, but then he grins at me, a cat who’s cornered a mouse. “Welcome, twin sister. Won’t you join us? Come and sup at our fire.”

There’s something under his words, like a hidden current in still waters that might pull me out to sea. But it just washes over me. I ground my stance and raise my stick higher. “Let Taryn go,” I say. “Before I decide to play softball with your heads.”

The boy frowns. Something tells me it’s not because of my threat. The girl looks slightly nervous. “Cardan?”

“Perhaps a charm,” the fox boy suggests, but he is now interested too.

“Mortals don’t know enough to wear charms,” snaps the blond boy. He stalks over to me, and I prepare to swing, even though I think it will just make him mad. “Perhaps if we strip her bare—”

“I will scream,” I threaten. The bark of my stick digs into my palms. I try to sound angry instead of scared. “I will scream and someone will hear and they will call the police.”

“Let them,” says the girl, tossing her shining hair. “More guests.”

The black-haired boy, Cardan, raises his hand. “Peace, Valerian,” he says to the blond boy, who scoffs and sits down cross-legged by the fire. “What kind of hosts are we? Surely we must extend to her some hospitality. What is your name, twin sister?”

Name. Something about faeries and names? Why does that strike a chord? I press my lips together and shake my head.

“This one knows something of our kind,” the fox boy remarks. “Enough to know there is power in names. Don’t be afraid.” His voice is gentle. I almost want to believe him. “Mortal names grant no power. We must call you something.”

I bite my lower lip. “Jude,” I say. It’s just one part of my name. Harmless, I hope. “And yours?”

“Locke,” he says. “My companions are Valerian, Nicasia, daughter of Orlagh, Queen of the Undersea, and Prince Cardan of Elfhame. Can we not convince you to join us? It is an honor for any mortal to dine in such esteemed company.”

“That’s fine.” My mouth is oddly dry. “I just want my sister back. Then I’ll leave you to… whatever this is. And I won’t tell anyone what I saw.”

“But we had such plans for Taryn.” Nicasia reaches up across Locke’s lap to wrap her finger around a lock of Taryn’s hair. “She’s such a soft thing. So fragile.”

My sister doesn’t move, and I shiver. Some kind of magic? Every single nerve in my body is screaming at me to run away before I’m spelled too. But I can’t leave Taryn. I refuse.

I shrug. “You’ll just have to cancel your plans, I guess. It happens.”

“Does it?” asks Cardan. His eyes, blacker than his hair, fix on me. He chuckles. “Perhaps we can make a deal, Jude the mortal. Answer one riddle for us and your sister goes free. How does that sound?”

“Good,” I say before thinking. My brain catches up a second later. “A little too good, actually. What happens if I get it wrong?”

“We keep the pair of you,” Valerian sneers. There are chuckles among the group, and I don’t like it. They seem to know something I don’t.

“The terms are more than fair,” Cardan prompts, smiling at me. “Do you accept?”

I want so badly to wipe that smile off his face, but I am outnumbered. I would lose a brawl. I would never get Taryn away. At least if I play this game with them I stall for time. “Do you swear she’ll go free?”

“I swear it.”

I give him a sharp nod and lower my stick. Faeries can’t lie. “Then I accept.”

He leans back against his cushions. “Tell me, then, what it is that never drinks but grows when fed?”

I wait for the rest.

“That’s all,” he says, with a flutter of his hand. “Well?”

For a moment, my mind goes completely blank and I’m sure I will fail. Then a breeze stirs my hair, and the bonfire crackles. My brow furrows. It seems too easy. “A fire?”

“Well done,” says Cardan. “Locke, send the sister home.”

Nicasia pouts, but Locke leans over and whispers something in my sister’s ear. Taryn stands and turns away from the fire, toward me. I am so relieved to see her whole, with the blush she’d put on before she went out still pinking her cheeks, that I don’t notice Valerian until he’s grabbed me from behind.

“What the fuck!” I yell, trying to kick his shin, to step on his foot. He is much stronger than I thought, and his grip doesn’t break. Taryn, seeming to notice nothing, walks into the trees and out of my sight. “You swore! You said—”

“I said we’d send your sister home,” says Cardan. “And home she goes. I said nothing about letting you go with her.” He raises his goblet to me in a mock-toast. “You must really be more careful when striking bargains.”

Next

[clehame]

what other people fantasize about: idk sex i guess

what i fantasize about: it’s the renaissance. i’m the daughter of a germanic baron. germany is still just a collection of states. my twin brother and i are incredibly close. we were taught together for years before my father decided it’s time i learn to be a lady and he learn to be a baron. i’m to develop feminine skills and he will be taught about maintaining an estate and the noble arts such as swordplay and poetry. i convince my father to let me embroider and read the bible in the same room while my brother takes his lessons. i hear and remember every word. at night he teaches me swordplay and i help him write sappy poems to his lady loves.

my father decides it’s time for me to be married. he chooses a wealthy merchant who will pay a hefty bride price. i learn from my lady’s maid he gained his company by marrying a successful merchants daughter and only child. when her father died she inherited his money, with the specification her husband could never touch it and it would pass directly to her child. she died mysteriously soon after and the money passed to her husband for lack of a better heir.

i retire early on our wedding night. my husband stays out a while longer, celebrating. a mysterious cloaked man challenges him to a duel. he loses and is killed. i am a virgin widow.

i inherit my husbands fortune. obviously i am a woman, incapable of handling it on my own, so i need someone to help me. i choose my brother. he understands he is only a name on the bank statements, and i trust him. I leave him in charge of my business and i move to the prussian court.

i am presented at court. i am young and i look gorgeous in mourning black. the prince is intrigued by the mysterious newcomer. later he approaches me and gives his condolences. i thank him, but explain i barely knew my husband.

“he died on our wedding night,” i say.

i see the question in his eyes. i confirm that i am untouched.

we become lovers.

i am placed as a lady in waiting with his sister. she is initially withdrawn and cautious around me, but my intelligence and wit soon charm her and we become close friends.

the prince tells me he wants to marry me. privately i think he is simply swept away by the rush of new love, but i say nothing. we both know it can never happen. his father would never allow it.

his father dies.

it was a freak accident, a hunting accident that left the king and one of his gentlemen dead. the prince cries and i comfort him. he proposes again and this time it’s serious. i accept. we marry as soon as the mourning period allows.

every night we pray for a royal heir. little does he know, i’m taking medicine to stop myself from becoming pregnant. pregnancy is dangerous for the women in my family. i have no intentions of dying so early.

his sister comes to me in tears. i am no longer her lady in waiting, but we are still close. she tells me she is with child. the father was the gentleman who died with the king. she is unmarried and alone, and doesn’t know what to do.

i tell the king i am pregnant. he’s overjoyed. i convince him to order all the ladies at court to wear styles that imitate my pregnancy. it’s silly and illogical, but the court understands the necessity of pleasing the pregnant mother of the future heir. the princess does not have to, but does so, out of sympathy with her friend. eight months later i go into confinement with the princess and a few trusted ladies. we return with the newborn prince. the entire country celebrates. i begin an affair with the princess.

a few years later, my husband dies. the crown prince is our only child, and he is young. i become regent. i have developed a reputation as an intelligent and fair leader, ruling in place of my husband while he is off fighting wars. the people trust me to lead. i institute laws that force lords to be fair to their peasants, and i ensure no common folk starve while the rich gorge themselves. i build up our military, and create a guard loyal only to me. i slowly remove the rights of the nobility, and redistribute land to the peasants. i create labor laws, institute equal rights for women, and outlaw slavery and serfdom. i create schools so the common people can be educated.

when my son is seventeen i institute democracy. the people vote in a president to rule the country. my son is angry. he was about to become an absolute monarch and now he is a figurehead. he tries to lead a coup against me, but my protection guard easily defeats his band of disgruntled nobles. he hates me. i tell him i love him, and i let him and his nobles go. sometimes forgiveness is more powerful than punishment.

on his eighteenth birthday i step down from power. he looks at me with fury in his eyes as he is crowned king. i retire to a castle in the mountains with the princess, my lover. we read books, write poetry, and paint. we spend time with the local people. we help them care for their children, and every sunday i take their products to the market and help them become a thriving town. i’m 35. my so called son never visits me. I die at 80 in happy obscurity.