#when they were young and being tutored (as royal children do)

[iamanartichoke]

Thor: Why is Jane being so aloof?

Loki: Aw, aloof. Look who didn't skip English this week.

Thor: I remembered it because it sounded like a dog that has a cold. A-woof! A-woof!

Loki:

Loki, smiling grudgingly: ... Yeah, it does.

Thor: Yeah.

Loki: Look, Thor, you and Jane have been together for almost a year. You're at the point where you don't have to be together every minute. Your relationship is steadfast.

Thor: Steadfast?

Loki: It means solid.

Thor, nodding: Thanks, Loki. Now I can skip English.

Loki:

Thor: Hey, do me a steadfast and say here when they call my name? Thanks!

#incorrect brodinsons #wizards of waverly place #there's no way to adapt this into asgardian but #every time i see this scene i feel like this is the dynamic loki and thor shared #when they were young and being tutored (as royal children do) #and it makes me giggle every time

[merakiui]

thinking about a royalty omegaverse au with fluffy alpha floyd.

(cw: omegaverse/abo, nsfw, female reader, pregnancy, knotting)

You and Floyd grew up together within the palace, with Floyd being one of the two princes who would one day rule the kingdom and you being a regular servant girl who had been born within the palace to parents who were servants for the Leech family. From the moment you were deemed old enough, you were being trained in servitude so that one day you would eventually be an obedient, dutiful maid. You and Floyd got along very well as children, often escaping your lessons and scaling trees in the courtyard to hide from the pesky grown-ups. Floyd never seemed to care much for the divide in class, but it was always made obvious when you’d watch from afar, noting how much time and effort went into tutoring him and Jade in all subjects, getting them accustomed to the tasks of the throne that they would one day inherit, while you were taught how to do laundry, how to clean, how to tidy a bedroom within minutes, how to keep everything that made you an omega hidden so you wouldn’t “tempt the princes,” as everyone often said.

Despite that, you were still cordial to Floyd, even if he seemed to be way too friendly with you, a mere servant. Floyd had always said you were his favorite maid because you never acted like one, which had bothered you immensely back then. Your entire existence revolves around Floyd; you’re meant to serve him and his brother, not befriend him. It’s what you’re being conditioned to do right now! But Floyd chooses to see you as his friend, which makes it awkward for you as you’ve never been particularly close with royalty or any of the aristocrats who occasionally fill the palace for grand events and balls. Your parents secretly encourage it because Floyd likes to gift you things that he thinks are insignificant but cost a fortune for you. And your parents sell these items to make more money in hopes of one day saving enough to send you to a magic school. It won’t be anything nearly as sophisticated or expensive as private institutions like Night Raven College or Noble Bell College or even Royal Sword Academy, but they hope to at least give you an education. You feel a little bad about tricking Floyd when you accept the jewelry he gives you, but you’re just trying to keep everyone happy.

Floyd’s scent was always strong, even after he had finally presented as an alpha, but as he grew older it only became so much more stifling. Not that it’s a bad thing. It doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. Now you can tell when he’s bounding down the halls the moment you catch his scent before you actually see him. You’re usually good about keeping track of your own biological troubles. The palace provides all staff with heat suppressants and rut modulators and scent blockers just to keep things peaceful and prevent any issues. As always, dutiful as ever, you follow the rules and do everything that’s expected of you.

As a result of your obedience, Floyd has never known what you smell like.

Until years later, when the both of you have become fine young adults. He and Jade had been accepted into NRC, which wasn’t much of a surprise, and a big celebration was held to commemorate the acceptance letters that their parents proudly boast. Unfortunately, the celebration happened to fall on the day Floyd’s rut started. His ruts have always been sporadic, as if they’re mirroring his own spontaneous nature, but it could just be because he refuses to take any medications necessary to regulate such things. He’s royalty. Why should he? Floyd’s ruts always leave him in the most volatile of moods; he’s violent and irritable, prone to lashing out at anyone who happens to get under his skin.

Usually, he locks himself away in his room and fights through it, dazed, hungry, and endlessly horny. Tonight, however, he seems to be roaming the halls as if in a trance, led by a scent that is foreign to his keen nose. So when you turn down the corridor and nearly run into him in the shadowed hall, you think for a quick moment that this is Jade. But then Floyd’s overwhelming pheromones hit you like cold water in the face and you almost crumple to your knees.

“Y-Your Highness!” You take a measured step away from him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixated on your face, nostrils flaring and pupils blown impossibly wide. “Can I... Can I help you with something?”

He smiles at you, a lazy stretch of his lips that shows off rows of pointed teeth. “Shrimpy smells nice.” He looms over you, his scent rolling off of him in aroused waves. “Real nice.”

Your blood runs cold and you slap your hand upon your neck, realizing with rising horror that you forgot to put your scent blockers on. You’d been so wrapped up in party preparations that it had completely slipped your mind. No wonder why Jade had given you such a strange look when you’d served him his breakfast! He must have smelled you.

You know this is a terrible mistake made even worse by the alpha in rut standing before you. And not just any alpha in rut. It's Floyd. Prince Floyd.

Before you can think of what to do, Floyd’s hands are on your hips, feeling and squeezing, and he rubs himself against you, practically clinging to you out of sheer need. Though he’s wearing thin nightwear, you can feel his hard cock pressing against your ass and it takes all of your restraint not to give into your omega instincts. You know it’s useless to try to stop him; it might irritate him and you’re not looking to lose a few teeth tonight.

When he’s undone the upper half of your uniform, letting it pool at your waist while he fondles your breasts, you realize that it won’t be too terrible if you let him get it out of his system. You’re his maid, after all. It’s your job to help him, even if you know that this sort of relationship is forbidden within the palace.

Floyd would have been content to touch and nip at you in the hallway, but you’re worried someone might walk down it and catch the both of you. And then that would be the end of you and your parents, the lot of you sentenced to eternal banishment (and that’s only if the Leeches feel lenient). Floyd whines when you squirm out of his grasp, his hands chasing your waist to tug you against him again, but instead you take his hand and hastily lead him into the nearest guest bedroom. He seems to catch on right away, for a clumsy grin blossoms on his face, and he nearly throws you onto the mattress in his haste, shedding his clothes so quickly that it’s almost silly.

“P-Please be gentle,” you whisper when he’s climbed over you, too impatient to remove the rest of your uniform. Your skirt is hiked up in ruffled bunches, your panties slid down to your ankles. His scent is so strong that you feel your arousal building between your legs, slick gathering in amounts so copious you’d think you’re in heat.

Floyd leans in to nose the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Course I'll be gentle,” he mumbles, officially rut-drunk. “Shrimpy smells amazin’... Never knew ya could smell this good. Why were ya hidin’ it?”

You swallow thickly when the fleshy head of his cock prods at your pussy, and in that moment you realize this is the first time you’ve ever been intimate with anyone before. To think you’d spend your first time in the dark of a lonesome guest bedroom, with the prince as your bed partner. It feels like a dream or the plot of a whimsical romance, but you know this is neither. This is just a convenience.

“It’s... It’s against the rules.” You try not to think of anything; you try to ignore the fact that he is much bigger than your fingers.

“Fuck the rules,” he spits with an annoyed growl, and then he’s snapped his hips forward, his cock filling you much more than what you’re used to, and an unrestrained moan rips from your throat at the intensity of the stretch. Floyd exhales shakily, gripping your hips so tightly you think he might shatter you.

This is not gentle at all, you think, but that thought is quickly punched out of you when he pulls back and thrusts in, searching for a pace he finds pleasurable.

You bite into your wrist to muffle your cries, far more aware of how loud Floyd’s groans are. If anyone hears and peeks in... If the party stops and everyone sees... If the king and queen...

“Lemme hear ya,” Floyd whispers, stalling his movements to search for you, a single golden eye sparkling in the dark. “S’no fun if you’re quiet.”

“T-There’s still... The party... I don't want to get caught,” you admit through gasps, blindly feeling for his shoulders. You find them, broad and wet with sweat, and you loop your arms around his neck to bring him closer to your face. “I... I could get in trouble.”

Floyd giggles, teeth flashing. “Aw. Is Shrimpy scared?”

Yes, you think frantically. Of course I am! My entire job is on the line!

“Anyone who’s got a problem with it is gonna hafta talk to me first,” he says, syllables punctuated with rough, uneven thrusts.

You’re writhing under him, shredding his shoulders bloody. He’s set an erratic pace, fucking into you as if you’re all he knows. His lips find your cheek and then the corner of your mouth, and it isn’t long until he’s kissing you, exchanging saliva in a sloppy first kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless.

“You smell so pretty,” he’s murmuring into your skin, tipsy on your scent. “Wanna knot you so bad...”

You’ve heard that knotting feels good and that it usually helps with heats and ruts. Apparently it clears an alpha’s head, and it relieves the omega. You only know so much from listening in on conversations with the maids, so you’re not too sure what it’s meant to feel like or if it’s even as pleasant as the maids made it sound. But Floyd is a prince, your superior in every way, and you can’t possibly deny him. Besides, he’s already inside you. What’s a little more?

You moan your acquiescence and that’s all Floyd needs before he’s drawn himself back, laughter in his voice, and pushes into you so quickly that every inch is swallowed effortlessly. And then there’s something more, a larger, thicker something that stretches you wide, not yet filling you. Your nails burrow into Floyd’s skin, and he hisses a groan through grit teeth.

“S’tighter than I thought...”

“H-Hold on... It—” You wheeze, the breath squeezed out of you as his thick knot bullies its way past slick rings of unrelenting muscle. Tears gather in your eyes. “Hurts... It really hurts!”

Floyd’s shushing you, rubbing circles into your hip. He’s not particularly listening, holding you against him despite your anxious wriggling, and within just a few more determined pushes his knot pops inside. You howl through a messy orgasm, dampening the sheets with your fluids, and a torrent of filthy moans tumbles from Floyd’s lips when he finally reaches his end, cumming inside in thick spurts.

In the aftermath, the both of you are panting wildly, a mess of sweat and slick and cum. Floyd presses his forehead to yours in the dark, his breath ghosting over your lips for a mere second before he seals what little distance is left. The kiss is soft and sweet—an oath between lovers, sealed within darkness. You know you shouldn’t be so happy to reciprocate, but for the moment you allow yourself the delight. His tongue tastes every inch of your mouth, nearly choking you, and you whine into him, breathing in the scents of his pheromones and filthy sex.

He wraps the both of you in a blanket, cradling you against him while you remain connected. He’s buried his face in your neck, licking at your scent glands with happy, rumbling hums, and you almost embrace him out of pure instinct. But instead you keep your arms to yourself, resting them at your sides while Floyd douses you in his scent and takes yours in all at once. It takes some time before his knot has gone down, but by then he’s fallen asleep on top of you, his cock still nestled inside you. You lie there, staring blankly into the darkness, and it finally dawns on you that you just slept with the prince.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stir when you move out from under him, detaching yourself so carefully. His flaccid dick slides out and it has you shuddering with the need for more. You busy yourself with fixing your uniform and tucking Floyd into bed to dispel any foolish thoughts from muddling your rationality. And after you’ve finished with those tasks, you make your swift retreat—or about as swift as you can be when your legs are wobbly from both the sex and the fact that they had lost feeling with Floyd’s body lying sprawled on them. You still smell like him, and it takes two intense scrubbings with plenty of soap before your own scent returns. You wash your uniform right away, silently vowing to yourself to keep away from Floyd for the time being.

It was dark, so you’re certain he didn’t get a clear view of your face. You assure yourself with that thought as you snuggle into bed in the servants’ chambers, unable to shake Floyd’s rut-drunk words: You smell so pretty.

Floyd wakes the following morning in a very good mood, but it quickly sours when he realizes you’re not in his arms. In fact, your scent is just barely there. He sniffs the air, but his search yields nothing. And though he flits through the palace in a robe, too lazy to bother with proper dress, he can’t pick up that sweet scent.

But how could he when you’ve made doubly sure to wear your scent blockers?

He wants to find you. Floyd spends his day in a foul mood, chewing through the bones of the grilled fish he’s served at lunch, grumbling under his breath. No one comments on it because it’s so normal, but there’s more to Floyd’s behavior that the servants just can’t see. He’s anxious, drumming his fingers along the table and bouncing his leg. Jade notices it right away. He intends to ask, but Floyd doesn’t seem to be up for chit-chat and so he holds his tongue.

You can hide from Floyd all you want, but he’s going to find you.

Many weeks later, you wake with an omen. Nausea. You think it might just be the nerves. Floyd had looked at you yesterday when he was sparring with Jade, his eyes falling upon you for a brief second before you hurried along with the basket of linens you had collected from the clothesline. It’s probably the fear that he’ll find you and then your comfortable life as a maid will be uprooted that’s causing this unrest. But then the nausea persists, and as days become weeks it gets worse. You can’t seem to hold your meals down, and the foods you used to enjoy now make you sick to your stomach.

It’s the third time that day you find yourself emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet while a maid strokes your back, easing you with her soft cadence. She suggests you see a physician. You know you’ll have to, and when you finally do they confirm your suspicions. You’re pregnant. You lie through your teeth when the physician asks if you know who the father is, if the pregnancy was planned, if you have any plans for these next nine months. You’re already eight weeks along, and you dread having to admit the truth to your parents. You should have suspected something when you missed your period, but you’d been so caught up in avoiding Floyd that a missed period was the least of your worries.

If you were scared of being found by Floyd, you’re downright terrified now. You’re not sure what you should do. Will you get in trouble if you get rid of the child? Will you get in trouble if you keep it? It feels like a battle you just can’t win no matter what you do.

You hide the secret for as long as you can, relying on support from the maids who promise to you they won’t tell a soul. You work as you normally do, smiling through the fear, tidying the twins’ rooms when they’re out, artfully evading Floyd if it seems like his path might cross with yours. Aside from the nausea and the exhaustion and soreness that overwhelm you after spending each day moving around on your feet, you manage to accomplish everything that’s asked of you. You fight cravings and hormones and the omega instinct to seek out your alpha (who isn’t truly your alpha and can never be your alpha), swallowing them down as if they’re needles. It’s troublesome, but you tell yourself you can handle it. You must if you intend to live quietly with this secret.

It’s when your bump becomes more prominent and you struggle to fit into your uniform that problems start to arise. In addition to that, you’ve started producing milk and it’s become increasingly difficult to manage the bodily changes that come with pregnancy in addition to your duties as a maid.

You’ve had your fair share of rough days and pleasant days. Today seems to be the former. You haven’t even gotten through half of the day and you’re already exhausted, pausing your cleaning to take a breath. You should have taken a sick day; you just want to lie down and rest, you want to ease the ache in your heavy tits, you want a massage, you really want—

Your foot slips on the stairs and your heart drops into your stomach when you feel yourself falling forwards. The stairs spread out before you like a monster’s maw, steep and dangerous. But then someone’s seized your arm, tugging you against their chest, and you’re hit with a familiar scent. You turn slowly, as if on rusted hinges, and peer up at Prince Floyd. He looks annoyed, but his face softens when he notices your bump.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ spacin’ out on the stairs? It’s dangerous, y’know.”

“I’m sorry. I... I wasn’t...” You shake your head, tugging your arm free. “T-Thank you for catching me, Your Highness.”

Floyd peers at you, his brow furrowed. He’s eerily concentrated, as if he’s working out a particularly perplexing equation, and then he asks, “Why’re you working when you’re pregnant?” Before you can answer, he’s quick to add, “Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with it. Just... It can’t be comfortable.”

Tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure why you’re overwhelmed with a sudden onslaught of emotions, but hearing the concern in his voice and smelling his comforting scent has you recalling the night that started all of this. Before you can stop them, the tears are falling and you’re sobbing on the stairs, wiping fruitlessly at your glossy eyes. Floyd flinches away, hands awkwardly grasping the air as he debates whether or not he should hold you.

“Hey, don’t cry... I’m not mad. I don’t care if you wanna work,” he adds hastily, offering you a smile to ease you. But it only has you crying harder, and he frowns deeply.

On the staircase that would have seriously injured you had you fallen down it, you admit the truth through blubbering sobs. And Floyd stands there, taking it all in, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“You...” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re Shrimpy?”

You swallow another rising cry and nod pitifully, pulling your apron up to dry your blotchy eyes. “I... I kept it because I thought that... That you’d want... That since you’re a prince...”

Your shoulders are trembling with your every breath, and you prepare yourself for the mood swing. You’re ready to be shoved down the stairs, to be kicked and yelled at, to be punished brutally. But that never comes. Instead, he pulls you into him, embracing you warmly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You feel wetness on your skin next, and then you hear the softest of sniffles.

It’s a weird thing to hear Prince Floyd crying, but then you’re crying as well, the both of you clinging to each other as if you’re braving the harshness of a rainstorm. And then he laughs, a strangled sort of sound that prompts a broken giggle from you, and now the both of you are cry-laughing on the stairs. He peels the scent blockers from your neck, and your scent hits him head-on. His arms tighten around you, not enough to crush you, but enough that you can tell just how fond he’s become of you in the time that you were apart.

He wipes your tears from your eyes. “Why’d ya hide from me? I was lookin’ all over for ya. Thought I’d never see Shrimpy again.”

“I... I was scared. I can’t lose this job. If anyone found out, my parents and I would be in trouble.”

“Mmh, I guess so. Looks like you’re out of a job.”

Your heart hardens and you blink at him. “W-What? Y-Your Highness, I... I... I’m sorry. I—please reconsider. I’ll do whatever you want, so please don’t—”

Floyd’s giggles silence you, his scent filling the air so warmly. He bumps his forehead against yours, grinning that dopey smile you love so much. “How’s about you become mine instead?”

“As in... L-Like your...wife?”

“Wife Shrimpy!” he cheers, taking your hands in his and squeezing. And then he raises them up as if they’re a cheerleader’s pom-poms. “Wife Shrimpy! And baby Shrimpy’s joinin’ us, too!”

You’re smiling through your tears. You’re certain your face is a mess, but that means nothing when you throw your arms around Floyd. He laughs, his body rumbling with the joyous sound, and his arms lace around you in adoring reciprocation.

Perhaps, you catch yourself thinking, this won’t be so terrible after all.

#i am letting prince floyd out of his cage now #meraki mumbles #tw: omegaverse #tw: abo #tw: knotting #tw: pregnancy #n/sfw #fluffy floyd hours

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of “The Farmer’s Clever Daughter”

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.

Faith

I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompous—oh, you’d have no idea unless you’d seen him then. He’s weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didn’t care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creation’s freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?

But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. He’d grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, “What a clever boy!” over every mildly witty observation he made. He’d been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.

And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servants—I’m certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.

Well, at any rate, take a man like that—beautiful and over-educated—and make him king over an entire nation—however small—before he turns twenty-five, and you’ve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.

Unfortunately, Alistair’s pomposity didn’t keep him properly aloof in his palace. He’d picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. It’s all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasn’t strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fields—he always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked on—and we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor man’s head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasn’t sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.

So then you can see how the story of the mortar—what do you mean you’ve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!

Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fresh audience?

It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortar—the thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Don’t ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thing—the world’s full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my father’s farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.

Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as he’d found a treasure on the king’s land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.

I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first question’s going to be…?

That’s right. “Where’s the pestle?”

I tried to tell Father as much, but he—dear, sweet, innocent man—saw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the king’s throne room—it was his public day—all smiles and eagerness.

Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the king—giving up half the king’s rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.

Alistair tore into my father—his tongue was much sharper then—taking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearing—and, inevitably, a hanging.

As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. “If only I had listened to my daughter!”

Alistair, for all his brains, hadn’t expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how I’d urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.

About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my father’s farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hair—in those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unbound—and after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.

Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that day—I’ve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didn’t feel like laughing at him.

Looming on his throne, he asked me, “Is it true that you advised this man to hide the king’s rightful property from him?” (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voice—but isn’t it a good impression?)

I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why I’d done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think it’s quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king who’s too clever to be anything but stupid.

Naturally, Alistair didn’t like that answer a bit, but I’d gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldn’t see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.

You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didn’t faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmer’s daughter that he’d been wrong?

He did more than admit it—he made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the day’s hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasn’t a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.

For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Father’s progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasn’t mere chance. We’d talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. We’d do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.

Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he loved—me!—and tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.

Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himself—as if all his book-learning couldn’t be beat by just a bit of common sense.

If I’d really been smart, I suppose I’d have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.

The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor riding—I tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off it—only one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressed—merely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, don’t look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than I’m showing now.

If I’d hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. I’d never seen him truly smile before that moment—it was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.

It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifully—at least until the next time I outwitted him. But I won’t bore you with that story again—

You don’t know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?

Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that one. Not if it’s your first time. It’s much better the way Alistair tells it.

What time is it?

Perfect! He’s in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.

Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?

Alistair

Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! It’s just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!

Where are you going? I never said I wouldn’t tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!

Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chair’s as good as another—I built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a tray—the story tends to run long.

Well, I’ll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.

I’m sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and she’s not totally inaccurate. I’d had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.

When Faith came to her father’s defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasn’t the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boy—but Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.

The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddle’s an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasn’t totally wrong-headed. I wasn’t just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposal—each element indicating how she’d straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinking—look beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than you’d think…

No, I’m sorry, it is a bit dull, isn’t it? I guess there’s a reason Faith skips over the explanations.

So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t—but I wouldn’t have asked if I’d had the least doubt she’d succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle you’d ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. She’d solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way I’d intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.

Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. You’d think it’d be an adjustment, turning a farmer’s daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and it’s not as though we’re a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.

You’re smarter than I was—you can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didn’t see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.

It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villages—farming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. I’ve an entire shelf full of texts if you’re interested—

The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.

Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmers’ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. I’d become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. I’d thought it was an efficient use of government resources—as long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courts—but I’d never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.

The case was like this: one farmer’s horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighbor’s property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decades—those women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.

Well, it didn’t take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.

Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasn’t totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.

I’d forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.

“What do you think you’re doing, obstructing a public road like this?” I asked him.

The man smiled genially at me and replied, “Fishing, majesty.”

I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.

The man just replied, “It’s no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.”

He said it like he’d been coached, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmer’s wife who’d lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene I’d described.

Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! She’d live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. I’d lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to pieces—

I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdom’s stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. “If you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,” I told her, “you can go back to your father’s house and live with them!”

It was quite the tantrum. I’m proud to say I’ve never done anything so shameful since.

To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to back down so easily from another decision.

After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.

I couldn’t reverse what I’d decided, but I could soften it a bit.

“You may take one keepsake,” I told her. “Take the one thing you love best from our chambers.”

I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, she’d have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt she’d take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldn’t afford to lose.

Or so I thought. No doubt you’re beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.

I kept my distance that evening—let myself stew in resentment so I couldn’t regret what I’d done. I kept to my library—not this one, the little one upstairs in our suite—trying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted them—and I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.

Yes, Faith had arranged for the tea—and she’d drugged me!

I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.

By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmer’s cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress she’d worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sight—her hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so ill—until I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.

“Faith?” I asked. “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“My father’s home,” Faith replied, her eyes downcast—I think it’s the only time in her life she was ever bashful. “You told me I could take the one thing I loved best.”

Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wife’s! It was like the moment she’d come to save her father—she made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. I’d made the same mistake both times—let my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.

Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Don’t pretend I can’t see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! I’ll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!

Faith

You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insist—

I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the loophole in his words—I was so afraid he’d see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.

When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because I’d outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.

Fortunately, Alistair was marvelous—saw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.

After that, what’s there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honors—it was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.

(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darling—I’d done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Father’s house was my chance to apologize.)

Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each others’ throats.

After that, things returned much to the way they’d been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. We’ve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, we’ve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marry—it’s good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one who’s willing to be the fool every once in a while.

Trust me. It works out for the best.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale challenge #four loves fairy tale challenge 2024 #the farmer's clever daughter #theme: eros #story: complete #this one was *so much fun* #i was grinning throughout the brainstorming process #faith and alistair just *loved* telling me their story #and especially in the first scenes i kept stopping just because i was having so much fun with the lines #maybe it's horribly boring to read but as a writing exercise it was fantastic #i love these two so much #i haven't had this much fun since writing last year's epistolary story

[gamerbearmira]

(SA)

Luna wasn't sure how much more of this she could stand. The frankly rude and unnecessary comments that everyone made to her princess, the snide looks and remarks that had her claws coming out, and the fact that she was trying not to talk around them too openly in order to make them think they were nuts.

"Why do you have to be so useless!" Oh hell no. That was it. She was done with that uppity brat that her princess had to call a sister.

Leaping from the railing with grace Luna transformed before she hit the ground and still landed with all her feline grace.

"Back away from the princess this instant." Luna said coldly as she strode forward with all the poise and grace that belonged to a royal advisor and spy.

Isabella startled as she jerked around to look at Luna who glared her down with a glare that she had long perfected and would quell even the senshi at their rowdiest.

"Come Princess. Let's get you and the prince away from such a horrid person." Luna swept past Isabella without a second glance as she took Antonio into one arm and pulled the Princess in close with the other.

It was only the babe in her arm and the thought of getting her princess away from this horridly spoilt child that kept Luna from unsheathing her claws when her Princess gripped her dress and looked close to tears.

Luna had been with Usagi throughout all her lives as a secondary mother figure, royal advisor, spy, tutor, and guard. She had been there when her charge had her children. Been there for her charge when her children perished and reborn.

If she didn't have her millennium of experience staying her tongue she'd have slipped and called her Queen her daughter, and these two precious children her grand kittens.

And Luna was protective, just as much as any senshi if not more.

So the almost eleven year old clutching her dress like a frightened child and near tears because of a spoilt brat? That got Luna's wrath rearing it's head.

Mirabel stared up at Luna awed as she blinked back her tears. She had never seen Luna's human form before.

"Wow... you're so pretty Luna." Mirabel said softly and Luna smiled gently at her.

"Thank you princess. Now let's go. I'm sure the Queen and the Senshi won't mind us stopping by." Luna said guiding her little princess away. And if it gave her a chance to visit the training rooms and work out her irritation and wrath that had built up ever since she stayed to tutor the princess? Well it was long overdue.

HUMAN LUNA LETS GOOOOO 🗣️🗣️🗣️

Shoutout to her for standing up to Isabela. I’m surprised she didn’t do it sooner, but I guess she was trying to keep the peace 😭 good for her though, and good for Mirabel. Antonio is pretty much just. Cruising with everyone. Bros just vibing 🦈

Also grandkittens, sobbing. Imagine how excited Usagi was when she found out Mirabel had been reincarnated. Like in every reincarnation, she never lived past 30, and never by natural causes (is sickness a natu cause?? Dunno). Like burning at the stake, killed in war?? Antonio died super young in his first life too, along with Mirabel, that being sickness. Like she must’ve been devestated every time, and Luna was there to held her down and keep her sane 😭 she always outlived them.

And it was mentioned it never got easier, so imagine how depressed she was in the time she was waiting for the news that they had finally been reborn 🌚

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto antonio #encanto alma #sailor moon #sailor moon usagi #sailor moon Luna #encanto sailor moon au #encanto isabela

[aurathian]

love me (and leave me to die)

chapter 1: yearning | ao3

For @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2023, prompt: yearning. Massive thank you to @hyylia for being my beta and encouraging my delusions

Rating: T

Summary: Princess Zelda is cruelly aware of her destiny, prophesied since a time Long, Long Ago. Though she gives herself to it wholly so that the Future may be peaceful, her destined Hero Link will do anything to save her.

Disclaimer: This fic contains references to major TotK spoilers.

Long Ago was so far away that the Hyrule of Now couldn’t place it in time. Too much had come to pass that they couldn’t decipher whether it was centuries, millennia, or eons, so instead they called it Long Ago. The Hyrule of Now was wary of the Hyrule Long Ago, a Hyrule deemed dangerous and riddled with fragile legends. Parents told their sleepy children bedtime stories of the monsters from Long Ago, history books dared not to address it out of fear of manifesting what had once been, and the Royal Family kept its closely guarded secrets about that time so Long Ago. Long, Long Ago, the king and queen of Hyrule faced a great threat. Its princess was tasked with an insurmountable feat she determined to be the only just solution. Long Ago, she

“sacrificed herself.” The Sheikah tutor rounded the table with a glum look. “In order to drive back the Demon King and support the Hero of the Long Ago, she forfeited her being.”

A small hand rose. The tutor gestured in acknowledgment.

“How?” asked the young, bright-eyed Princess Zelda of Hyrule, blonde curls settling as she tilted her head.

“An ancient mural indicated the princess of The Long Ago became a dragon. Such a feat is not expected of you in that regard.”

Zelda didn’t understand why Impa always looked so sad. When they played in the gardens together (after some begging), her teacher looked perfectly happy. Maybe she just didn’t like the classroom, disproportionately large for only two small desks, one each for the Princess and her Hero. The walls were lined with educational banners–literature, numbers, famous quotes–and one bore a giant chalkboard which Impa rarely wrote on. Princess Zelda wondered when they would finally learn arithmetic like all the other schoolkids.

Another little hand, another gesture.

“Where is she now?”

The voice was very quiet so that even from right beside him, Zelda could hardly hear Link.

In a voice almost equally small, Impa replied, “We don’t know.”

Keep reading on AO3

#zelink week 2023 #zelink week #loz #zelink #zelda #link #impa #totk #botw #its like. thousands and thousands of years after botw/totk #yearning #my writing #purah

[itbmojojoejo]

Fractured Moonlight / Intro / Finan x OFC

Pairing: Vamp!Finan x Vamp!OFC

Summary: A prince forced to relinquish his title so that he may have a home, a princess begrudgingly doing her duty to ensure her lands survival, a king trying his best to keep their world from unravelling as war begins and a brush with death that reveals a secret threatening to destroy it all.

Wordcount: 4.6k | Other works.

Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW Sexual Content. Mentions of death, violence, blood, alcohol, and arranged marriage.

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy whatever this thing is that my brain has been conjuring up for the past however many months xo Thank you @bhxrdy for being my hype woman and @arcielee for being a wonderful beta and fixing my punctuation 💜

The lands are strung together with delicate threads of treaties that fray and threaten to break with each passing moon. Beings from an ancient rich history that occupy vast amounts of these lands, who once paid no attention to the divisions between mortals and creatures are finally deeply invested in what will ensue, concerned about which kings and queens will stand victorious on the battlefield. 

King Helier is no stranger to war, he has seen it ravage and destroy the covens of his distant cousins, wiping out royal houses in the western isles with the odd lucky few escaping to the sanctuary of the remaining clans. 

He’s fought and then stepped up to restore balance to his land when it teetered on the edges of not only civil unrest from inner fighting, but the threat of a neighbouring kingdom spilling into his and tearing it apart from the inside out. 

The crown that sits atop his head was never meant for him; it was bestowed upon his ebony curls as his sister, their queen, fell into the cruel clutches of a sickness that unravels every fibre of a being, leaving nothing behind but a meek shadow of their former selves. 

Helier gutted the court of all those who would bring nothing but further destruction and decay to his house, all the while the indiscernible shrieking and cries of their once great queen bellowed throughout the castle walls until they grew quieter with every new month. 

The young prince Hal witnessed his father mourn not only the queen on her eventual passing, but an unknown lover who succumbed to the childbed, her life sacrificed so that Helier may have a daughter, Marlena, whose arrival softened his and his people's suffering. 

Thick ebony hair and onyx eyes set against pale alabaster skin– “She has her mother's eyes,” is all Helier mumbled as he pressed a delicate kiss to the head of the babe in his arms, hushing any words that it was surprising she didn’t have the same bright blue hues as her father or brother. 

It was agreed the king’s bedmate shall remain unnamed in the scrolls and that Marlena would be given the royal title of princess. Their kind did not have natural children born into the lineage often; it was considered a miracle for a king to have two direct heirs of his blood and flesh extending the longevity of his house and holding the throne now for two generations in a row. 

Marlena’s early years were seen by few members of court; she was hidden away while the king’s physician whispered that her survival was uncertain and rumours began to circulate that he had presented the child to a trusted mage who insisted he was unable to help. A sorceress had been spotted in the private chambers on occasion and soon enough the young princess was thriving and healthy. 

She was growing and being tutored and trained in all things a leader of lands would need in their arsenal, which at first confused the court. A princess was an important piece that could be used to strengthen bonds through marriage, why would she have any need to wield a sword? To understand how wars are won? They already had Prince Hal as their named heir, the firstborn. 

“They will have the same training, as we should all be aware by now that the second in line is just as important as the first.” was all the king said on the matter. 

Helier proved that his words were not empty by having two smaller thrones placed on either side of his larger, more regal one. Prince Hal sat to his right, and Princess Marlena to his left. Both children were privy to the goings-on of court and expected to be present when council was in session, their opinions heard and taken into account by the king, at first in private, then later in their life openly for all to see and hear. 

It didn’t take long for Marlena’s proud opinions of their land being a prosperous and safe haven for mortals and other beings to settle and live among each other in peace to be known. Her disdain at the other covens seeing every other life form as an enemy or sustenance was clear when they visited during the darkest weeks of winter. 

She shunned the small ideas of a betrothal whenever it was brought up and her father supported this decision, stating that when the time was right he would be the one to make the arrangements. He understood that their lives were not short, and a royal marriage could make or break a kingdom; it could not only be one of convenience in the moment.

As the many decades passed, the king, now aged by greying hair and frown lines, remained seated on his throne carved from glistening rock with only his daughter at his left, as Prince Hal was far away patrolling the borders after a recent rise in attacks from shadow walkers. He listened to the seemingly never-ending list of unnerving events now plaguing the continent and realised he might have to utilise his daughter’s position in a way he never wanted to. 

Marlena pulled and twisted the iridescent pearls of a necklace that wrapped around her left arm and hung from her wrist through her fingers, catching flickering candlelight on their curved surface with every movement. Ivory silk and lace, a symbol of purity, clung to the skin below her collar bones, hiding the rest of her lithe form from eyes that linger a little too long. The ebony tresses she refused to cut were worn in twists and braids with pearls to match her daily jewellery laced through her hair. 

If she had any concerns or worries, it was unreadable in her eyes or body. She sat relaxed as her gaze occasionally shifted from the speaking councilman to those who looked on. 

The council member urged King Helier,  “Your grace, this is the last thing we need as summer approaches.” 

“I hear your concerns Yannic, but what would you have me do? We already have patrols being dispatched more frequently and there is a constant watch on the walls now.” 

“We should launch a full attack, go-” 

Marlena scoffed and interjected, “You’re suggesting we cross the border into their lands? Lands we do not know where we will surely lose numbers and start a war?”

“Princess, we are already at war.”

“No, smaller settlements along our borders are being attacked and raided, which is not the same thing as war.”

“By more than one kind, they have brokered partnerships, they mean to close in on us, trapping and surrounding us here when we are at our most vulnerable how can you say-”

“Hold your tongue,” the king coolly chided. “Yes, shadow walkers are growing bolder and now the sea barons are following suit but it has not been confirmed that they are allies. We have faced worse, what I need from you, my advisors, is to remain calm and strategise. Not flounce and panic at the first sign of trouble.”

“Your grace.” Yannic bowed, stepping away to the side of the hall ending the discussion.

Marlena’s ears pricked and unravelled the muted sounds from distant corridors figuring out who it was that approached; two different heartbeat rhythms but three sets of steps in perfect unison grew closer and closer giving away who it was instantly. The large doors of the throne room were opened before they even rounded the corner. 

The scent of worn leather, damp sand, salty sea air, pine, dewy grass, parchment and ink all melded together, on top of a sweat and musk that only a man can wear drifted into the hall as Finan, flanked by Sihtric and Osferth, drew nearer. 

“Lord king,” Finan bowed, offering a smaller head bow on straightening his posture to Marlena, “Your Highness.” 

His eyes, dark burnt umber with tawny flecks, barely met hers as he kept his focus on Helier. For nearly two centuries Finan had served this crown, humbled by the loss of his home and royal title; he worked his way up from a thankful survivor to a formidable and loyal advisor. 

“What news do you bring, commander?” 

“Traders are having a harder time making it to the docks, and they’re too frightened to try getting here by land. Not so much a major issue for us but…” Us being the long-living, undying, vampyre, “They’re requesting a private audience with you tomorrow, your grace.”

“They can have it.”

Finan nodded and cleared his throat. “We also received a messenger, Prince Hal will be returning before the week's end.”

“Good.” 

Helier stood from his throne signalling the end of the council session and motioned for Finan to follow him to his private office. Marlena’s dark eyes tracked their smooth movements until they were out of sight. 

Standing from her seat she gave a subtle head movement instructing Sihtric and Osferth to follow her onto the sheltered outerwalk way. Her skin was glistening porcelain under the silvery moonlight and glowing amber under the contrasting firelight as she clenched the hanging pearls in her hand. 

“Is it as grim as they’re saying it is?” 

“The traders could just be nervous but truthfully, we won’t know for sure until Hal return’s princess.” Sihtric disclosed, keeping up with her quick steps.

“The messenger gave no details?” 

“No. Only that some men have been lost and they’re coming home.”

“What business would shadows and sea barons have in being allies?” Marlena asked, looking at Osferth. 

“None, it’s unheard of, neither kind is exactly known for being friendly.” He shrugged, struggling to keep up with the pair. “We know next to nothing about shadow walkers, how they live, how an army of them would behave, if they have a governing body, we only see what they’re like under the veil when they’re dead.” 

“Have you fought them before?” Her long braid nearly whipped Sihtric as she snapped her head to him. 

“Yes, but not an entire hoard of them.”

He, and a small number of other changelings, had been making their way towards the coast the very first time he encountered a shadow. They’d been ambushed in the night, by what they couldn’t be certain. They were taller than most mortal men, moving eerily fast with a muddy grey veil that vibrated and shifted around their form hiding their true appearance. 

Any attempt at piercing the figure would cause their veil to harden like a shield, protecting them from the blow. The noises they made were unlike any sound Sihtric had heard before, a mixture of whistling hisses, shrill shrieks and low grumbles intertwined adding further confusion to the ambush. 

By the time Sihtric thought to change his form he’d already lost two members of his group. He found it much easier to attack them with claws and teeth, pulling limb from limb, their moving shields unable to handle the onslaught of multiple punctures. 

He and Rypere had only survived by luck, Finan and his men arriving to finish off the job. 

“Woah big fella, I’m a friend.” The lilt of his voice strong as he lowered his sword, regarding the two changelings in their bear form. The two had been by his side ever since, proud to be in Marlena’s guard. 

“They aren’t the easiest to kill, princess.” Sihtric cautioned Marlena. 

“That may be true but they can be killed. Sunset tomorrow, prep the yard, we start training. I want you to lead it.” 

“Training?” Osferth quizzed, looking past the princess to Sihtric. 

“I want my troops prepared. I will not send them out there blind.” 

Marlena was no stranger to battle. She’d done her fair share of patrols over the many years that passed since she came of age, but she had never been on the frontline of a war and staying behind, watching from the safety of high walls was not an option for her. If she were to send men, women, other kinds, to fight for her and her family she’d be right there beside them, spurring them on. 

As soon as she stepped into the threshold of her private room, Marlena uncoiled the pearls decorating her body, hanging them over the largely ornate bronze mirror that hung from the castle's stone walls. 

A low fire already burned in the fireplace opposite her bed; four tall posts on each corner holding up the deep blue canopy that hung over the sides, a protective curtain should the window ever become damaged during the sunlight hours.  

Sleep wasn’t necessary for her kind, but occasionally it was required, and even then it was more of a deep rest than sleep. It was similar for food, not every vampyre could stomach it but those that could often enjoyed meats, rich fruits and sweet pastries which is why she always had a bowl of plums and cherries to hand.

Squawks of gulls swooping and diving past the shuttered window as the waves of high tide crashed against the cliff edge signalled sunrise, as it did every morning. Marlena sighed while taking a slow sip of her sweetly infused wine, eyes transfixed on the multiple maps of the continent she had laid out on the stone floor of her chambers. 

She scanned the inked lines etched onto the thick parchment detailing the castle in its centre – the coast on the west, mountains to the north, open land that stretches to the red grasses and beyond to the east, and more open land bordered by dense thick forests to the south. 

Mulling over different defence strategies she turned to the window, a minuscule gap in the wood allowing a narrow streak of low sunlight to stream through into the room urged her closer. Mindful to stay in the shadows, she watched dust particles floating in the air, only appearing in the rays as tiny stars before disappearing into the darkness. 

The soft creak of her chamber door opening and closing didn’t pull her gaze away from the crack in the shutter, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The familiar scent of worn leather and coppery spice filling the room was welcome. 

“You’re late, commander.” She half-heartedly chastised.

“My apologies princess, the king needed my assistance.” 

Coming to stand behind her, Finan gently moved Marlena’s braid over her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist, his body molding around the shape of her slender frame and his words breathing across her cheek, “You get closer to this window each sunrise.”

“Mm. Do you not wonder what the sun feels like?”

“I imagine it feels like death.” He smirked lightly, lips skimming down the column of her neck. “Who are you drinking?” He asked, taking the crystal chalice from her light grasp and blindly placing it on a side table. 

“Someone sweet.” Marlena sighed, tilting her head to the side with a hum as Finan’s canine teasingly grazed across her soft skin. His hands on her waist travelled to the back of her gown, loosening the thick ribbons with nimble fingers. 

Layers of clothing were shed and left strewn across the floor, covering the now-forgotten maps in between hungry heated kisses. Hands eager to touch explored the freshly exposed skin as limbs tangled together on the bed. 

Finan dragged his tongue over and through her glistening folds agonisingly slowly, only breaking away to lavish her thighs with burning lips, resisting every animalistic urge to leave deep purple blooms on her pale skin. Marlena pulled his brawny frame up her body with ease, instantly trapping his mouth with hers, hips grinding into his, wordlessly asking for all of him. 

She relished surrendering her body to him, the blistering ecstasy that flowed through her veins from his simplest touch. Time and time again she allowed this over the past eight years and each time it ended she still felt starved, longing for more. 

There’d always been an invisible thread pulling the two together since the day he arrived. As she’d always been expected to attend council even before she came of age, Marlena witnessed him relinquishing his title in order to be accepted into the coven. 

He’d accepted her condolences with a smile that sparked her curiosity. How was it a young prince could lose everything he’d ever known, his home, his family, his influence, but still possess genuine kindness? 

Finan attended every one of her training sessions, at first providing words and cheers of support, then eventually he was permitted to take over to ensure the original swordsman wasn’t being too soft on her. 

With each misstep, loss of balance, and heavy blow that took Marlena off her feet, he’d be right there with a hand outstretched, easily lifting her back up and correcting what she’d done incorrectly. Every touch of his fingers sparking flames against her skin, she could never find it in her to get angry at the way he’d give her warning slaps with the flat edge of the blade. 

He was by her side the very first time she led a patrol, answering every question she had wanting to hear as much as she could about his home life on the western isles, how different their lands and court were. He never refused to answer and kept her company when they took rest during sun up, talking until it was safe to move on. 

The first battle they found themselves in together left Marlena in a state of shock afterwards, his calm words soothing her woes because she had killed for the first time. “Kill or be killed, they would not spare you.” He’d said gently, embracing her for the first but not the last time. 

Finan always followed the rules, making sure the king approved before taking her hand to dance at gatherings; no one batted an eye at the budding friendship. It was inevitable with him being named the head of her guard, and when it came time for him to step aside for his role as commander of the king’s forces, his recommendation of Sihtric being his replacement was accepted. 

His hushed words had Marlena’s eyes lulling open; she rested on his chest with fingertips tracing shapes into the hairs and skin. “Not to cause any upset, but the old man is being pressured.” 

“Betrothal talks again?” She asked, unbothered any time there was unrest it was always brought up. 

“It’s bound to happen, they’re preparing for the worst.” 

“Let me guess, I’m to be shipped off to some distant king or prince?” Her tone amused as she shifted her leg slotted between his and moved to lay between them. 

“A little closer to home actually. It’s-” His words cut off with a sharp hiss as Marlena playfully nipped at his skin with her teeth, instantly soothing it with a circle of her tongue. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“For now.”

Finan, as always, made sure to part ways with Marlena before the arrival of her handmaid, following the winding corridors and spiral staircases towards the lower levels of the castle unseen to wash up and ready in his smaller chambers. 

Each swipe of the wet linen cloth doused in herbal soap removed the hints of cherry and sweet peonies lingering on his skin, careful to leave no clear indication of his and Marlena’s indiscretions. 

Although he admired her nonchalance for the recent discussions of suitors, believing it would never happen, he found himself unable to speak of how serious the current situation truly was. They were losing men on every patrol of the southern border; tenants of settlements further out had started to move closer in and the issues on the coast were also starting to push inland. 

Fighting battles on two fronts would be near impossible for them, especially with the added problem that they could only fight in full numbers after the sun had gone down, and with summer fast approaching, they were certain to face defeat.

He feared the list of five suitors would quickly dwindle to one, forcing Marlena to leave these lands in a marriage she would surely despise just to save them all. Women of royalty and nobility being a currency in times of uncertainty was nothing new, but the king was usually able to keep his daughter at his side, citing she was too important to be given away in case something were to happen to Hal.

“The most important thing the princess can do at this moment in time, Your Grace, is accept that her duty as a protector of the realm also includes wedlock, especially if that husband will provide us something so desperately needed,” Yannic had urged Helier the evening before inside the king’s private office. 

“Do you have any insights you’d like to add, Finan?” The king asked, rubbing his temple as he pondered the list Yannic had already prepared for him.

“Tying yourself to another coven would provide a much needed strength, Your Grace.” His words left a bitter taste on his tongue, but he could not lie for his own selfish reasons.

After securing his leather cuirass, he rolled up the parchment with scrawled designs for a set of weapons and made his way to the bailey via the walled inner walkway, safe from the setting sun. 

Pushing his way into the smithy, he was met with the heat of a roaring furnace; sweet smoky burning coal, and the booming voice of Clapa.

The giant beamed, “Lord commander!” 

He was considered small for his kind at eight feet tall, which always left Finan dumbfounded when he saw him standing with the others that occupied the surrounding villages; it was probably the workshop that made him seem larger.

“Less of that, I have a small request,” Finan smiled, handing him the rolled-up parchment.

“What do you have for me?” Clapa mused looking over the sketches, his brow raising at Finan, “These designs are a little on the uh…feminine side, even for you.”

“They’re for the princess. She’ll need them.” 

“I’ll get started right away.” 

“Good man,” Finan patted the giant's arm and lingered while discussing finer details of the design until the sun had finally set.

Once outside on the main grounds, he walked the perimeter of the training yard listening to Sihtric address a large group of Marlena’s sworn men. 

“A longsword alone will be useless. Those of you who fight with sword and seax, or sword and axe will have an easier time. If you don’t use both, you start doing so from today.”

A bowman spoke up from the crowd looking concerned, “And those of us who use arrows?”

“For now, nothing changes. You will remain on the walls until we have further information but I suggest you stick around, you may just learn something that could save your life.”

Finan spent the next two nights watching over the yard, checking over the armoury stock levels and avoiding the council chamber as much as possible. While he understood that politics were a necessary part of his position he dreaded hearing a potential announcement and giving his emotions away for all to see, likely jeopardising Marlena in the process. 

On the third night, not long after sunset, the bell tower rang out alerting the return of Prince Hal. The streets within the walled city were lined with worried residents curious to get a look at any losses the prince’s men may have suffered and the guards struggled to clear space for them to filter through the gatehouse. 

The bailey bustled with staff preparing the stables for the returning horses and council members rushing to the keep only to be turned away at the hall doors. King Helier declared it a closed session, he wanted to hear from Hal what happened firsthand before deciding what news was shared. 

Helier perched on the edge of his seat in anticipation, Marlena paced back and forth in front of the three thrones twisting her pearls in her fingers, Yannic stared at his feet with his hands clasped together, and Finan looked between all three of them.

All four glanced at the door at the same time, the clinking of steel armour and rattling chainmail getting louder as the door opened to reveal Hal. His face was set in a grimace, dried mud and blood caking his face and matted into his shoulder-length ebony curls; his bright blue eyes only softened when they landed on his sister. 

“Your Grace,” He breathed, offering his father a bow before allowing Marlena to embrace him. 

Finan sat in an empty councilman’s chair as he listened to Hal explain the difficulties he’d had squashing an attack towards the southern border. The shadow walkers had retreated only to follow them on their journey home. 

“We were attacked during sun up, I lost half my men. We need to ensure each group sent out is equal otherwise our chances of survival are-” Hal was stopped by the king cutting him off. 

“How far was the last attack?”

“No more than six miles out.”

“So close?” Marlena’s gaze shot to Finan, an attack this near to the city was unheard of. 

“Is there a chance they are still there?” Yannic asked Hal, standing from his seat and beginning to pace with his thoughts. 

“Most likely, they haven’t been retreating as they normally would.”

The king sighed deeply as he stood from his throne, “Finan, ready some men. I want them pushed back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Lord King.”

In his chambers under flickering firelight, Finan shrugged into his chainmail trying his best to not accidentally elbow or punch his squire, who was busy ensuring his boots were adequately laced, in the head. 

Osferth stood by the open door, an arm crossed over his chest with his other hand against his chin deep in thought, “I’ll see what I can dig up in the archives. We may be able to learn a thing or two from Queen Isobel’s time.”

“Whatever it is you find down there you tell no one but me or Marlena. You know how the king feels about you ‘being nosy’.” 

“And if neither of you are here?”

“You wait until we are,” Finan instructed sternly. He was fond of the young mage who already had a wealth of knowledge and a deep desire for more but King Helier had a habit of chastising Osferth for asking questions and Prince Hal was still unsure of his intentions. 

The scents of peony, cherry, almond and rich copper attached to Marlena hit Finan’s senses before her quick light steps carried her through the door. All three men bowed at her arrival and Finan quickly requested that Osferth and his squire leave them. 

“You aren’t wearing enough armour for my liking,” She spoke quietly, tugging his cuirass then taking his arm in her hands to finish lacing his leather vambrace. 

“I like to be light on my feet, can’t do that covered in steel princess.” 

Her onyx eyes darker than a midnight sky stayed focused on his warmer mahogany tones, a light crease between her brows and lips pressed tightly together as he secured his sword belt. 

With a subtle shake of his head, Finan reached out and gently smoothed the pad of his index finger down the crease to the tip of Marlena’s nose. Bringing her hand to his lips he pressed one kiss to her knuckles before slipping away to leave. 

“Finan…” Marlena’s soft call came shakily, and as he turned back in the doorway her delicate fingers clasped around his jaw, quickly capturing his mouth with hers. 

As her lips guided over his it felt familiar but different, a sense of deep urgency that had never been there before that left him aching for more as she pulled away, “Be careful out there.”

Next

End Notes: If you'd like to be tagged for this series let me know!

#the last kingdom fanfic #finan x oc #finan fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk fanfic

[archduchessofnowhere]

Is it true that empress sissy was bad mother? Or just rumours

I think it really depends on what do you understand as being “a bad mother”. First of all royal women were not expected to be the main carers of their children: this job was divided among the many people in charge of the well-being of the kids. Parents usually only saw their kids little on a daily basis, since they did not even ate together. So one shouldn’t expect Elisabeth to have been changing diapers and heating milk bottles. The second thing to consider is just how young she was when she became a mother; giving birth to three consecutive babies in such a short time spam (with the additional stress of knowing everyone is expecting you to produce an heir) must have take a huge toll on her, so I don’t think is that surprising if she didn’t smoothly adjust to the role of mother.

Even so, she did love her children, as this letter she wrote to a Bavarian relative soon after the birth of her first child shows:

My little one really is already very charming and gives the Emperor and me enormous joy. At first it seemed very strange to me to have a baby of my own; it is like an entirely new joy, and I have the little one with me all day long, except when she is carried for a walk, which happens often while the fine weather holds. (Hamann, 1986)

But Elisabeth had no control in how her eldest children were raised: her mother-in-law, Archduchess Sophie, took charge of them. Something important to keep in mind, however, is that taking charge of them doesn’t mean that she personally cared them (again, this wasn’t the role of royal woman), but that she chose the staff of nursemaids, nannies, governesses and tutors that oversaw the children’s caring and later education. But this lack of control over her children ended up being a great source of sorrow for the young mother.

During this time the first big conflict between Elisabeth and Sophie arose: the children’s nursery was placed on the same floor as Sophie’s appartements, which meant that she could go over to see her granddaughters with a lot more of freedom than Elisabeth, whose appartements where on a different floor. Being on a different floor meant than she could only see her daughters during the times set by protocol, and always in company of her retinue of ladies and lackeys, which ended up limiting even more the time she could spend with them in privacy. She told to her lady-in-waiting Marie Festetics in 1872:

Only now do I understand what bliss a child means. Now I have finally had the courage to love the baby and keep it with me [her fourth child Marie Valerie]. My other children were taken away from me at once. I was permitted to see the children only when Archduchess Sophie gave permission. She was always present when I visited the children. Finally I gave up the struggle and went upstairs only rarely.

This statement comes from almost twenty-years after the events, so it should be taken with a bit of a grain of salt (in the first letter I quoted Elisabeth mentions that she had Baby Sophie with her “all day long”, so she wasn’t “taken away at once” as she claims here). The most important takeaway from this statement to me is that even after all those years the fact that she wasn’t allowed to see her girls freely hurt her. So it’s not surprising that her first act of “rebellion” at court was when she decided to move the nursery to her floor in 1856.

After successfully moving the nursery near to her appartements, slowly Sisi started to take more and more control of her children. At the end of 1856 Franz Josef and Elisabeth went on a state visit to Lombardy-Venice and they took Baby Sophie with them. This tour was relatively successful, and months later they tried to replicate its success on Hungary. For this tour the parents decided to take not only Baby Sophie but also Gisela, since it was planned to last two months and they didn’t want to be separated from their daughters for such a long time.

As it’s known, Baby Sophie sadly died of typhus during this trip. Although is often repeated that Archduchess Sophie blamed Elisabeth for the child’s death, she in fact was very sympathetic towards the young mother, since she also had lost an infant daughter and could understand her pain. But Elisabeth seemed to blame herself regardless, and soon fell into a deep depression that lasted months and filled her entire family with worry.

By the end of 1857 she showed signs of being pregnant again, and in September of 1858 she finally gave birth to the long awaited heir, Crown Prince Rudolf. And just as with her daughters, Elisabeth had no control over the boy’s upbringing.

In 1860 Elisabeth started to become ill - of what, nobody knew. I won’t go much into this (since that’s just an entirely different post), but by the end of the year, after exhausting all possible treatments, it was decided that the Empress should go away from court to recover from her mysterious illness. This was the beginning of Elisabeth’s two years trip - first to Madeira and then to Corfu. Franz Josef offered her to take Gisela with her, but since she couldn’t also take Rudolf (the heir had to remain in Vienna), she decided to leave her behind because she didn’t want to separate the siblings, who were very close (Winkelhofer, 2022).

Elisabeth returned a changed woman, much more confident in herself, no longer the shy girl who was easily intimidated by courtiers. But she still had no control over how her children were educated. Or that was until Rudolf started his formal education. At the age of six he was separated from his sister and governess, given his own household, and Count Gondrecourt was assigned as his tutor. Gondrecourt had the mission of “toughening up” the boy, since he was considered to be weak of mind; his method to achieve this consisted in psychologically torturing Rudolf, and after he fell ill, seemingly of a nervous collapse. When Elisabeth discovered what her son was going through she was horrified and decided to step in. So she did something almost unprecedented, not only for her personally, but also in general for a woman of her status: she gave her husband an ultimatum:

I wish to have reserved to me absolute authority in all matters concerning the children, the choice of the people around them, the place of their residence, the complete supervision of their education, in a word, everything is to be left entirely to me to decide, until the moment of their majority. I further wish that, whatever concerns my personal affairs, such as, among others, the choice of the people around me, the place of my residence, all arrangements in the house etc. be reserved to me alone to decide.

Even more surprisingly for the time, Franz Josef agreed, and gave her full control of the children’s education. Gondrecourt was dismissed and Colonel Josef Latour was personally chosen by Elisabeth in his place. Latour was highly unpopular at court because he wasn’t an aristocrat and had very liberal political ideas, but Elisabeth protected him and he kept his job. Latour ended up becoming a close friend to his pupil until his death. But even though she now had what she had always wanted, total control of her children’s upbringing, she never became really close to her eldest daughter and son.

This is the part in which we can talk about her being “a bad mother”. When you compare her relationship to her fourth and last child, Marie Valerie, born ten years after Rudolf out of her desire to have another baby, raised entirely by her (as always keeping in mind that this means she had full control of the staff that took care of Valerie), to how she was with Gisela and Rudolf, the clear favoritism is evident. It seems that she felt more distant towards the eldest, probably a combination of her not having a saying in their upbringing until they were older and her constant trips away from court didn’t help her to close the gap. Gisela, who was a very down-to-earth person, a lot like her father, doesn’t seem to have minded this (or at least she never showed it), but Rudolf always craved for a close relationship with his mother, which he never could truly have. He adored her and was always grateful for her intervention when he was little, but seeing how all his mother’s love and attention went towards Valerie made Rudolf jealous of his younger sister; because of this the siblings also never managed to become close.

Valerie ended up feeling overwhelmed by her mother’s love. Elisabeth was very emotionally dependent on her daughter and made her her constant companion and support, which isolated the girl from the rest of her family. Valerie adored her father and felt that her mother put her against him, and Elisabeth insistance in raising her as a Hungarian (Valerie’s mother tongue wasn’t German, but Hungarian) made her hate Hungary. She turned out to be quite different to what her mother had planned, and that was probably just the result of having so many expectations imposed on her since she was born. But even so Elisabeth loved her and only wanted her to be happy. And this is shown by the fact that (unlike Queen Victoria with her daughter Beatrice) she didn’t want her to stay by her side forever, but to marry for love and form her own family. So she supported her decision to marry Archduke Franz Salvator, who out of all her suitors was the least favorite (Franz Josef wanted her to marry the Crown Prince of Saxony and Rudolf Archduke Eugen).

So was she a bad mother? It’s complicated. She loved her children (and I do think she loved all of them, despite Gisela being often considered the “forgotten” child), fought to have control on how to raise them (which was unusual for the time) and when she lost them she deeply grieved them. But she couldn’t be the support that her son needed, and the child she did gave her constant love felt suffocated. Sometimes an answer isn’t as a easy as yes or not, and I think we should keep that in mind when looking at Elisabeth as a mother. I hope you find my answer helpful, and sorry if it’s too long!

SOURCES:

Hamann, Brigitte (1986). The Reluctant Empress: A Biography of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (translation by Ruth Hein)

Winkelhofer, Martina (2022). Sissi. La vera storia. Il camino della giovane imperatrice (translation by Federica Saccucci)

#empress elisabeth of austria #sophie of bavaria archduchess of austria #archduchess sophie of austria #gisela of austria princess of bavaria #crown prince rudolf of austria #archduchess marie valerie of austria #asks

[kafkaoftherubble]

MAURICE TEACHER LORE

Also Maurice has two younger sisters

Felipe

History

Foreign language/linguistics

Foreign cultures

Jasmin

Math

Science

Nadine

Biology

Natural history

Lysander

Art

Music

Felipe

He's from a nomadic culture so he's spent most of his life on the road, only recently deciding to settle down in Odeda. Because he's traveled a lot, he knows several languages and a lot about many different cultures, including the damages caused by Odeda when they colonized them.

Jasmin

Half Odedan and half former colony. She grew up in Odeda but was taught of her father's home country and can speak the language. She excelled in school from a young age and was accepted in a prestigious college. Has taught in private schools for most of her career, jumping at the change to teach the young prince and princesses.

Nadine

An immigrant who studied the dragons of the north western islands and the people living there in her early adulthood. After writing a well received paper on them, she moved to Odeda to continue her study on lizards and lizard-like animals. She worked at a college and received funding from them for her research prior to becoming a tutor for the royal family.

Lysander

Well respected artist in Odeda who painted several public buildings. Caught the eye of the royal family and was offered a position as a tutor. He's not an immigrant or mixed race, but has spoken a lot with immigrants and their beliefs have rubbed off on him.

Story

Felipe was the first to suggest teaching the prince and princesses about foreign cultures and politics. Nadine and Lysander jumped at the change to teach someone of such high status their beliefs and opinions, but Jasmin was more hesitant. She didn't want to jeopardize this amazing job opportunity but agreed to say nothing when the others went ahead with it.

After some years, Maurice started talking about "foreigner political ideas". Priscilla didn't say anything because she wasn't really against suggesting new ideas, but when she passed away Volker soon had the teachers fired for spreading their "harmful" ideas. They all died under mysterious circumstances over the next few years and were replaced by teachers handpicked by Volker. Jasmin was spared because she only taught math.

This caused a rift in Maurice's and Volker's relationship, but Maurice was old enough to understand that he shouldn't speak against Volker.

Oohhhh, hmm hmm!

So is the timeline thus?

Priscilla is the empress. Maurice gets his education.

Teachers were sought after to teach Maurice.

Teachers had leeways during Priscilla's rule.

Volker is ready to snatch that throne. Murders Priscilla and her husband (L-Lucario? Wait that can't be right).

Volker jails teachers and subsequently assassinate/execute them. Maurice is now old enough to know he should shut up to not provoke Volker too much.

Extra questions that pop up in my head!

How old was Maurice when Priscilla died?

What did Maurice learn from his teachers right before his teachers' deaths?

Is he old enough to really understand the thoughts and opinions of his teachers, or is he really just being a willing recipient? Is he being indoctrinated—even if it's "good" indoctrination? When he talks about his opinions back then, is he really just parroting what his teachers think?

What I like about this angle ^ is that you can then explore a bit about the role and philosophy of education.

Even if you're teaching good things, isn't it still indoctrination if you're trying to make a kid see things in your specific, opinionated way? Kids do take after the thoughts of the adults/society around them for a long time because... that's kinda what children (and even some adults) do. Social creatures and all. Usually we argue that it's not a problem if the worldview we are trying to impart on a kid is a beneficent one (like how some would argue that it's fine to teach children religion at a young age, because religion advocates for goodness), but it doesn't actually answer the question about the nature of education itself.

What form of education is not indoctrination?

And, given that we deliver knowledge through specific narratives (for example, the narrative of evolution; the narrative of string theory; the narrative of physicalism in neuroscience etc.), then education itself is basically a mass narrative-spreading system. Hence Volker's use of propaganda and indoctrination in Odedan universal education syllabus... and ironically, Maurice's private education via his tutors. The machinery is the same: shape the child(ren) into a specific way. The difference is: "what specific way?"

I think these two examples of education (Volker-led education vs. Maurice's private education) could make for a very good contrast! It could also eventually lead to the "education status quo" stance espoused by Ira vs. "education reform" advocacy espoused by Edith.

-----

Apropos to this "education and tutor" lore,

Has Edith considered the logistics of training teachers under the new, reformed syllabus + system while she advocated for her reform?

What I mean is this: no matter how great your education ideal is, you need qualified people to carry them out, yea? I know this all too well because Malaysian Education Department loves revamping our education policies in quick successions (it's beyond rewriting/updating textbooks) that neither the teachers nor the students ever reaped whatever "benefits" these dumbasses tout. Hence, you need to train the educators before the students get to enjoy this reform. But how long will you allocate that time of training? How much resources? What new qualifications will you be seeking in your new teachers?

And the more sweeping your reform (I assume Edith's idea is very sweeping and revolutionary!), the thornier the logistics!

I think this could become one of Ira's arguments! I basically imagine Ira's reform is just textbook rewrites and stripping away "overt" monarchist overtone at most. There is very little re-training of educators under this sort of change.

Edith's though would need a lot more work. Resources. Time.

We need Ira to have more supporters, right? Hahhaha dude is so isolated at the moment 😝 Well, maybe this could earn Ira some points and allies!

----

So after we talked about Volker needing a Benedict (but before she ended up being Lyndis 😏), I was wondering what sort of person would become Volker's advisor. Why would someone stand behind a shithead like that? Why offer their intellect to someone like that?

Love for the royal family?

Love for the ideal of the country/love for Odeda?

Love for a specific political ideal?

Love for Volker? (this is probably the most cliche reason, haha!)

Love for power and further ambitions?

Love for social experiments? (This one seems kinda chaotic. It's basically a Mad Scientist in a position of power.)

Or no love—pragmatic alliance because of how much this person's fortunes is tied to Volker?

I thought the last possibility is pretty intriguing to imagine, so I tried to come up with plausible backstory for this. And since we were also talking about Maurice's backstory including his tutor way back at Monday...

The scenario was this: Lyndis (in my head at the time the name was "Blanknedict" 😂) joined the royal family first as a governess/tutor. She was to teach either Maurice or his siblings (you filled in the blank for me in this ask, hehe! So it's "Maurice's sisters.") on magic??? Or science ???

But Lyndis wasn't being a teacher for teaching's sake, per se. Before becoming a governess/tutor, she had been engaging in Machiavellian proclivities back in her town. They range from good things all the way to assholery. Maybe it was to manipulate the town folk to treat a solitary old woman more nicely just because the granny was nice to her that one time. Maybe it was to screw with the local pastor because he criticized her harshly that one time. Or to cause an expulsion of a neighbor because she hated how inefficient they were at providing the village some produce. Maybe it was to cause another person to lose their livelihood because this person offended Lyn before.

The corrupt town mayor had a habit of employing urchins to do some of his petty crimes, which he then "solved," to bolster his reputation among them townfolks. Lyndis was one of his employees, which gave her the first environment to exercise her schemes and be praised + rewarded for it.

The idea isn't that she's a manipulative monster from the get-go. It's that she lacked people who could help her channel these gifts for good. And the environment she was raised in had limited her into becoming something better.

Anyway, as she grew up, the sort of things she found objectionable became less and less. She found people too easy to fool and manipulate—at this point, the mayor had become so reliant on her, she was the real mayor this whole time—that she became deeply suspicious of collective intellect. This, I thought, would explain why she was against the sort of ideals Brandi and the rest advocated, for democracy rests on one's faith in the people's collective ability to rule.

She was really a shadow dictator, and under her rule, the town did prosper. This, I thought, would help her develop this idea that the best way of governance is one very wise, very powerful person ruling them all.

Her ambitions grew. Seeing the failures of Odeda (the same ones that tormented Volker, for that matter) pissed her off, and soon she decided to aim for the royal court where she believed her talent could be exercised. She would remake Odeda in her vision from the shadow. To do that, she decided to join in through the cover of an employment. She chose teaching, but originally, she wasn't even the governess going for the royal family's interview. She killed the real one, assumed her identity, and steadily sabotaged other people's chances so she could get there.

Then once she became a tutor, she began to look for the medium she could latch on—the same way the old mayor was her medium for power. She found Volker's ideals and character to be the best for her after they met each other in some... event, whatever. I don't know what aristocrats and royals do. She bribed servants and children into becoming her spies, collect secrets to blackmail those she could not bribe, and basically tried to construct her own spy network. She even dabbled in some murder if she needed to advance her schemes.

On the outside, though, she played the role of an affable, intelligence, reasonable woman who was simply a bit pragmatic in her decisions. Cosmetics may be most people's way of dressing up, but Lyndis' cosmetics are her reputation and impression.

Volker got wind of it all, though! He had evidence of her schemes and shits—which could get her executed. Lyndis, not content to die before her ambitions came to fruition + not disliking Volker's own appetite for power, agreed to formally work for him. From then on, she amassed even more power and control over the country through her alliance with Volker, and she provided counsel and schemes for him. It was a win-win partnership of equal footing, and they looked out for each other. Lyndis supported Volker's megalomaniacal quest to become god because she found immortality a useful asset. But she was smart enough not to be the guinea pig of her own experiment, and so Volker was her "test trial." Ultimately, she wanted an eternal dictator of whom she could support from the shadow.

I thought it was pretty interesting a dynamic, so here you go! Something my daydream made up because Dear Emperor is just that fun.

----

What did you come up for Lyndis, though?

#Dear Emperor and Lyndis

[writ-in-violant]

Vivian Levy

Name/Title: Vivian Levy, the Sharptongued Stormwatcher

Pronouns: They/them

Referred to as: Correspondent, Professor, "you pest", "Vergil" (in specific situations)

Profession: Correspondent (no specialisation yet, leaning Epistolant), Professor at Benthic College.

Closest to: Urchins

Ambition: Hearts' Desire (ongoing)

Associated Stats: Watchful, Persuasive, Artisan of the Red Science, Shapeling Arts

Associated Quirks: Steadfast, Magnanimous, Hedonist

Destiny: Authority

Personality

Vivian is an inquisitive, generally kind person with a sharp tongue for those who they dislike and a love for the esoteric, strange, unlovable, or terrifying. People who meet them when they're in the midst of a revel or causing a scandal often are shocked to learn they are one of the Neath's foremost minds on the Correspondence; their skill as a poet and lyricist is far less surprising. Vivian never breaks their word and often tries to be kind and generous to all around them, but crossing them is a horrible idea. They have an orphanage of sorts in their townhouse, and any threat to them that endangers the children is met with lethal force or worse. Rumors persist of the worst thing they inflict on those who hurt people under Vivian's protection: a recitation of Vivian's nightmares in exquisite, beautifully-written detail. Rare is the assailant who makes it out of that without being driven to the Royal Beth, raving.

Background

Vivian was born in 1871 as the child of a young English nobleman, currently on his "grand tour" of Europe, and an Italian woman he met while traveling. Perhaps sincerely, perhaps not, the nobleman promised that he'd marry his summer sweetheart and take care of her; however, when she -- pregnant and shunned by her family for the out of wedlock child -- made it to England, she was turned away at the family manor by her lover's father. Vivian was born soon after, to a mother struggling to make ends meet in a foreign land.

Vivian's mother didn't survive an outbreak of sickness, and Vivian -- told their whole life that their father was a lord -- did their best to seek him out afterward, only to be ridiculed and laughed off the property as a child, assumed to just be an urchin with delusions of grandeur. They were placed in an orphanage, and remained there for several years, with their oddities (even then, they were a daydreamer, and that combined with their mistrust of all adults to make a child people didn't find 'pleasant') preventing any chance of adoption.

The first major turn in their luck came when their father married another noble lady, who learned of his youthful "transgressions" and the fact that a child had claimed to be his and declared it was his Christian Duty TM to care for said child, as the repercussion for his actions. At her insistence, he sought out the child Vivian and brought them into his house.

Vivian, at the time around nine, was a living reminder of the man's more bohemian past, and he didn't like acknowledging that or them. Primarily, he dealt with this via icy silence and shipping them off to boarding schools to get them out of his hair. There, though, Vivian discovered their talent with poetry and languages -- which still got them ridiculed, some, but provided them with an outlet other than pure rage. When they completed school, doing quite well, they applied to University, which their father agreed to keep funding to keep Vivian well out of his personal sphere.

And then, when Vivian was around seventeen, their stepmother died in childbirth with Vivian's second half-sibling. Vivian was not invited to the funeral, and all funding for their education was immediately cut. Vivian was ripped away from their studies and their poetry and had to make their way on their own, with almost no resources.

Through connections of former professors and their own ingenuity, they eked out a living as a governess or tutor for some years, but deeply resented the way their life was dictated by the whims of the powerful. They had heard tell of a card game in the strange cavern London had fallen into -- one which, if won, allowed one to pick their heart's desire.

In 1894, 25 years old, they descended into the Neath and introduced themself for the first time as Vivian Levy -- an entirely fabricated name, for the person they were determined to become.

Time in the Neath

Here's where I shamelessly invoke the Treachery of Clocks because uhh, while I've been playing this game for six years, I uh. Um. Get forgetful. So while in our real world, Vivian hasn't completed their Ambition yet...they absolutely have in-universe. It probably happened sometime around 1986. I just don't know how it's shaken out yet (although I have some plans). This character sheet will definitely get updated when it does, but like. In 1899 (2), Vivian has completed their Ambition. Just not in 2023.

That said! Vivian descended into the Neath in 1895, which might be the last solidly reliable date they can cite, given that time gets strange in the Neath. Once there, they set about arranging the Marvellous, following their ambitions. However, they also quickly got sidetracked. Firstly, they had a burgeoning career as a writer and poet in Veilgarden that they took great joy in continuing -- as well as several dalliances. The freedom of the Neath, where nobody cared about what Vivian's body was compared to their pronouns, meant Vivian was far more flirtatious and promiscuous than they had been on the surface, and they discovered they quite enjoyed living life to the fullest. Secondly, they began having dreams of thunderstorms; upon leaning into these to the fullest, they grew more and more consumed by the poetry of lightning and thunder, the songs of the wind, and one day looked in the mirror to discover their previously-brown eyes had turned grey. Finally, they learned of the Correspondence, and immediately set about studying it with the fervor of one who had found a vocation.

Vivian's time in the Neath has brought them into contact with many powerful figures and dramatic circumstances. Their infatuation with Storm and study of the Correspondence has led their mental health to be unstable at best, ending with them often in the care of the Royal Bethlehem Hotel; between that and learning of the Manager's past, Vivian imprinted on him as a baby bird and is very fond of the man, who returns it in his own somewhat creepy and nightmare-harvesting way. Listen, man's a gardener of a sort, and Vivian can appreciate his gardens! It just further wrecks their already tenuous sanity. Vivian and the Manager both share the quirk of nightmare-cultivation, and the Manager is pleasantly surprised that Vivian has of their own accord stumbled upon weaponizing their nightmares against those who cross them.

Of the Masters, Vivian interacts most frequently with Wines and Pages. Pages they first met when strong-armed into finding a stolen book; upon hearing the story of the Epigrammatic Irishman and the Wilting Dandy, they hand-copied the Irishman's book to give to Pages, allowing the Dandy to leave with the original. They are fond of Pages, finding its poetry endearingly bad and finding it to be a good discussion partner when it comes to literature, but do their best not to let themself forget that at its core, it is as dangerous as the other Masters, and they're hesitant to call it a friend.

Wines, on the other hand, Vivian has a much more fraught history with and is far fonder of. Their early interactions were somewhat contentious, with Wines making Vivian fund revels and Vivian at one point (in the Empress's Shadow ES) writing a story about a royal having an unrequited crush on Wines and getting hate mail in the correspondence; however, the more time Vivian spent around the Master, the fonder they became of it and the more aware they became of the fact that Wines is uh, not doing well. Vivian is so used to what they term as "love" being overwhelming fear and awe for things larger than themself that I don't think they've clocked that that's their emotion towards Wines yet, but as their writer, they're not fooling me about this one.

A few Exceptional Stories are particularly important to Vivian's plot, mentioned down here: The Gift - Started some of Vivian's wariness around the Royal Family and their fear and mistrust of the Captivating Princess, as well as their firm belief in the necessity of giving people fully informed choices. Many of the themes in it came up again in Reunion, where Vivian befriended Albert Victor and convinced him to remain in London -- but not to side with his aunt.

The 12:15 From Moloch Street - An early interaction Vivian had with Hell, it ended in them freeing the Lily from his contract with Hell and becoming his roommate for a few years, while he got back on his feet. They're still good friends! Vivian also got a tour of hell that wasn't fantastic for their mental health.

The Tempest - The Tempest played out very differently than as written, with Storm cleaving Vivian's own childhood out from them to serve as Slivvy's helper and its new speaker (this is largely because the Tempestuous Urchin's backstory was so uncannily like Vivian's own that I couldn't help myself). During this impromptu soul surgery, Vivian lost all memory before age around 10, and much of the anger they'd carried from a young age with it -- all of it now in the person of Vivi Storm, the younger, unaging ghost of Vivian's past who haunts London's rooftops and serves as minder and mouthpiece for Storm.

#oc: the sharptongued stormwatcher #character sheet #vivian 2: the meaner vivian

[peachysooxo]

The Kingdom of Us

Chapter 3

pairing: kyungsoo x OFC genre: Royal!AU, nonidol!soo, crownprince!kyungsoo, romance, drama

theme: arranged marriage, modern royalty, enemies to lovers, war, betrayal, eventual smut word count: 5,017 description: Alina feels completely rejected by the Doh Dynasty. Duke Chanyeol starts to grow feelings for her that are strictly forbidden. Kyungsoo makes things more difficult by being indecisive on his motives and feelings toward Alina

warnings: mature themes, mentions of sex, descriptions of depression, bullying, minors DNI

Author’s Notes: hi! Thank you so much for your support, I really wasn’t expecting this many reads. I appreciate it 🤍 Again, I hope I don’t make you dislike Kyungsoo or Alina too much, betrothals are complicated! Photos are not mine. Dividers by @saradika-graphics . Happy reading (:

ALINA

Ever since the dinner, my schedule has been jammed packed with appearances and events. Keeping up appearances was my main goal even if I didn’t want to see half of the people I was doing my schedules with. Often, I was silently at odds with Queen Hyunae over her disgust of charity, it was those kinds of schedules that she hated the most. It became much more apparent as we were just arriving at the Seoul Orphanage. Duchess Boram was in tow, I had been scheduled to attend this event with them to give more buzz on my arrival. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“It’s egregious that I, the Queen of Seoul, must attend such trivial schedules.” Queen Hyunae says to Lady Daeun, the widow of Seoul’s most honorable knight, Yunseo. Lady Daeun was at one time Kyungsoo’s caretaker when he was a child, no one explained why she was transferred to be Queen Hyunae’s assistant.

“Now, now, Your Highness. You used to love visiting the orphanage!” Lady Daeun’s aging smile brings me comfort. “And it is important for the Princess to see how our Kingdom’s children are being so well cared for.”

“Like she really cares.” Boram mutters under her breath. I sigh and keep my head down, there’s no use in arguing with a thoughtless mind. I wait for Queen Hyunae to exit the car, then Boram pushes her way out. Her smile is so fake that anyone with eyes can see she doesn’t want to be here. As soon as I step out of the car, cameras start flashing and the crowds cheer excitedly. This is my first public appearance as the betrothed of the Crown Prince.

My tutors made an emphasis on how important it was that I was seen with the Queen and women of the Royal family first before the Crown Prince. It was so strategic to win the female population over. As I’ve come to know, Crown Prince Kyungsoo was treated as though he were a celebrity, not a future king. His handsome features were so highly regarded that the media claimed he could be confused as a “handsome, young pop star or actor”. Perhaps in another universe, he is. Kyungsoo is so highly regarded that his admirers are highly critical of me, winning their affection was the of the highest importance if I wanted to gain favor.

I paid attention to greeting the younger girls that were reaching for me. Queen Hyunae shook hands with the men and Duchess Boram simply waved cautiously. My name was being called all over the crowd and my attention turned to a group of girls that were perhaps a few years younger than me.

“Princess! Princess!” They chorused. I smile and walk over to the barricade, bowing before them.

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, ladies.” I nod.

“You… Bowed… To us? We should bow to you!” One gasps.

“Nonsense, I am ever grateful for your presence. Do you girls intend on volunteering at this orphanage? It truly is a beautiful experience.” I add, hoping they’ll see the importance of giving to others.

“We will!” They chorus.

“Please, may you take a photo with us?”

“What is the Crown Prince really like?” Two girls speak at the same time and I cover my mouth in laughter.

“Crown Prince Kyungsoo is a gentleman, truly charming.” I blush, envisioning how he was in my dreams before I met him. I take one of their cell phones and hold it out, snapping a photo with them. I bow again and hand it back. “Please be well, thank you for coming today!”

I turn and enter the orphanage behind Queen Hyunae and Duchess Boram. They glance at each other, and Queen Hyunae stops me.

“Your Highness?”

“You should stop pretending as though you care about anyone else but yourself, Princess. This whole People’s Princess charade is off putting. Be more like Boram, she is much preferred in our kingdom over the likes of you.” Queen Hyunae smirks.

What am I to say to that? I lower my head apologetically, anxious to fail at pleasing the family. So far, everyone has been drastically incorrect about the Doh Dynasty loving me. The dinner made it clear that the family either didn’t want me here or were apprehensive about me in general. To be fair, I didn’t want to be here either. The maids, servants and guards were the few that showed compassion toward me. Everything was a game to these people and it didn’t help the unease I constantly have in my chest.

“My apologies, Your Highness. I will do better.” I say and am greeted with scoffing.

“Save your words, Princess. Oh, my. Never have I regretted a decision as much as choosing you for my son. I know you’re hiding something.” Queen Hyunae walks away and tears threaten to drop from my eyes. Do they really believe the lies? Why does Hyunae hate me so much? Now isn’t the time to grovel, I have to do well in this schedule. As much as it may hurt, I have to keep smiling as if nothing was wrong.

Later that afternoon, I admired the Palace Garden. It was the one place I could have some quiet, no one in the Royal Family came out here. It was a wonder as to why, the foliage was so lovely this time of year. The garden reminded me of my own in Valencia. The corner I loved was full of roses, soft greens and wildflowers, a slice of tranquility in the chaos that seeps through the walls of this palace. I relax on a blanket with my favorite book of poetry. The sun peeked out from behind a thin veil of clouds, a crisp chill passed through me.

“Princess Alina!” I gaze up and see Duke Chanyeol with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, hi there Duke Chanyeol.” I smile.

“What are you doing out here, Princess?” He asks, his hands now behind his back.

“Enjoying the afternoon. It’s been a long morning.” I sigh.

“I heard all about it. Mind if I keep you company, Your Highness?”

“Oh, sure! Please, do sit. What have you heard? I hope nothing bad.” I sit up and close my book.

“No, not at all, Princess. In fact, you worked my stepsister into a frenzy over all of the good press. Nothing angers her more than not being the center of attention.”

“Stepsister?”

“Duchess Boram is my stepsister, yes. My father married her mother after my mother died..” Chanyeol nods. “My mother passed away when I was 6.”

The sadness in his eyes tugs at my heart. It slipped my mind that Duchess Seoah was Chanyeol’s mother. It was a horrible accident, she was on an empty road on the way back to the palace, and a drunk driver hit her car head on. No one in Seoah’s car survived, it was rumored that Chanyeol was supposed to be in the car with her. Seoah was a beloved Duchess, Micha didn’t come close to the woman that Seoah was.

“I’m sorry, Duke Chanyeol,” I reach over and put my hand over his. “Duchess Seoah was a very lovely woman.”

For a moment, we lock eyes. A thankful smile curves on his lip, his thumb rubs small circles in the web of my hand. This felt… Nice. I don’t want to misread it but the look in his eyes is the same one Kyungsoo gave me when we first met. When Chanyeol looks at me this way it feels genuine. Nervously, I try to take my hand away but he grasps it tighter and scoots closer to me. “Are you happy, Princess? Is the Crown Prince treating you well? I see you around the palace and you never have a smile on your face like you did before you came to our Kingdom.”

“I’m fine, Duke Chanyeol. This is just a lot to take in and get used to. I can assure you that I’m okay.” I smile, “please, don’t worry.”

“You make it difficult not to worry.” Chanyeol leans closer, his fingertips graze my arm. My body tenses and I back away, knowing this is wrong. “I’m sorry, Princess. Did I startle you?”

“N-No! No. I… Just wasn’t expecting such care.” I sigh, Chanyeol gives me a reassuring smile. Damn, his smile is gorgeous. He really caught me off guard, I wasn’t expecting him to be so gentle and kind like he has been to me. I’m disgusted with myself for falling for his kindness, it’s also hard when he’s the only one who’s been attentive to me and my feelings.

“Princess, it shouldn’t be that way. You should be taken care of.” Chanyeol huskily whispers. In the distance the sound of boots clacking along the pavement become stronger, Chanyeol straightens up and offers a smile, sadness blooming on his face.

“Princess.” It’s Kyungsoo. Of course it is. “It’s lovely to see you enjoying our gardens. With Duke Chanyeol. Alone.”

“I was simply checking on her, Crown Prince. I have other business to attend to. It was lovely spending time with you, Princess.” Chanyeol quickly bows and paces away, fear in his eyes. So many people have this fear in their eyes when they interact with the Crown Prince. It’s concerning, should I be afraid of him, too?

“Crown Prince, this is a surprise.” I manage to spit out.

“I thought it would be nice if we spent our afternoons together. You know, to get to know each other, Princess.” Kyungsoo sits across from me and studies me closely, dissecting me piece by piece. Now I understand why so many people look at him in fear, his gaze is intimidating. “You’re not going to explain why you were alone with Duke Chanyeol?”

“There’s nothing to explain.” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. “He was simply asking how I was adjusting to my new life.”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, a certain fire ignited in him. It looked like jealousy, but I doubt he’d be jealous of his own cousin. “It was inappropriate, Princess. I don’t take too kindly to a duke being alone with my betrothed.”

“He was being kind, something you don’t know how to do. It’s as though you’re jealous.” I mutter.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of, Princess.” Kyungsoo laughs to himself and reclines back, staring up at the clouds parting in the sky. I follow suit, trying to identify shapes in the clouds as they parted. We steal glances at each other when we think the other isn’t looking. Admittedly, I felt drawn to Kyungsoo being next to me in his fatigues. He drew me to him without trying and it confuses me. He burned and soothed me. He terrified me and calmed me. His presence was enough to bring me tranquility and make me anxious.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hair was slightly messy. Small strands of hair hung in his eyes from his long hours of combat drills. Focusing is becoming impossible, I was falling into daydreams of him. Delusions are a powerful thing, and they’re more dangerous than reality.

“You are a woman of many words.” Kyungsoo breaks the silence between us. “We have our dance rehearsals for the ball this afternoon. You’re prepared, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am prepared.” I uttered, slowly meeting his eyes.

“Have you not done a waltz before?” He countered.

“I have.” I nod, uninterested in the conversation. I pick at a blade of grass with an absent mind, occasionally looking over Kyungsoo’s toned forearms. Veins pop up in his hands, making my delusions seep into darker territory. He is a walking contradiction, and I am a fool for him. The Crown Prince hasn’t caught me yet and I hope that he never would. “This entire betrothal is exhausting.”

“Hm, perhaps because it’s to me? A promised King, not an actual King?” Kyungsoo taunts. “Or perhaps you want a Duke instead, right Princess?”

I angrily laugh, clenching my fist behind my back to stop the heat from spreading in my body. “No, Crown Prince, it’s because I have to deal with you. If I had my way, I would marry a man who loves me, when I want to marry. Not to a pompous Crown Prince that only cares about himself!”

“Ah! So you admit it? You want someone else!”

“I want to be left alone is what I want! I want no one, not even you!” I hiss, standing up and leaving my book and blanket, not caring they get left behind. “Please, be good at dancing. I don’t want to be at this stupid rehearsal for too long. I really don’t want to see your face.”

“One more time, Your Highnesses.” The choreographer calls as she claps her hands. “We do not have much time!”

“I thought you said you’ve done this before.” Kyungsoo mutters to me.

“I have! The Valencian waltz, not the Seoul waltz!” I grit through my teeth. I compose myself and look up at Kyungsoo, an obnoxious smile on his face. He pulls me tighter in his hold, his low sigh startling my nerves.

“Then let me lead.” Kyungsoo mutters, my body tingles at the sound of his timbered voice. I shake my head fervently until Kyungsoo pulls me closer to him by my waist. “I will guide you so we can leave.”

I roll my eyes and the music starts, a light, airy orchestra piece that will more than likely be played live for such an event. I hear the choreographer clapping her hands to keep time in the distance, her dance shoes clacking against the ballroom floor. Looking into Kyungsoo’s eyes, everything else fades away. I really am helpless. One small ounce of decency from him makes my heart flutter.

“Step back,” Kyungsoo says softly. “Turn… Step toward me… Good. It’s similar to the Valencian waltz, Princess.”

“Wonderful! There is the connection we needed!” The choreographer’s voice comes in clear to me, my feet gliding across the floor with Kyungsoo leading me. It’s aggravating how he’s good at everything he does. His hand stays in place, one hand gripping my waist gently and his other hand holding mine. He takes a liberty and dips me down, cradling me with one arm. I let out a surprised gasp, a nervous laugh escapes my mouth.

“You’re doing well, darling,” Kyungsoo praises. We hold our gaze for a moment and Kyungsoo brings me back up into his arms. “Good, Princess. Keep following me…”

It was as if the argument we had never happened, the tension in between us melting until there was nothing but our beating hearts clashing against one another. That is, until the music stopped.

“That was lovely, Your Highnesses. Please, rest and practice together. We are certain that the dance will be perfect. Have a great day!” The choreographer claps her hands again and I quickly step away from Kyungsoo, looking down. The choreographer leaves the room and Kyungsoo gazes softly at me.

I don’t trust it. I can’t trust it.

“Thank you, Crown Prince. I will leave you at once.” I bow and attempt to make an exit, but Kyungsoo catches me before I’m able to escape.

“Stop.” He orders. I turn slowly, barely able to hold my head up. “What is it?”

“Nothing, Your Highness. Thank you for teaching me the steps.”

“Why are you in such a rush to leave?”

“Because, this is nothing but a business transaction, remember? You did a good job in front of the choreographer. Even I almost believed it. I’ll be seeing you.”

I felt my heart being split apart between the dream in my head and the possibility of what could be. Chanyeol popped into my head, his downcast face stuck in my memory. It hurt to know that I was causing this pain in him. Once I step into my chambers, I locked the door to the common area and made sure to lock myself in my room, panicking over the day I’ve had. I start the water for my shower and hear my phone chime. I pace over to see what Kyungsoo wanted now.

Arrogant Prince Why did you run from me?

Alina I did nothing of the sort, Your Grace. Our time together was over.

Arrogant Prince You are so aggravating. I show you some kindness and this is what I get in return?

Alina You didn’t need to do any of that. Don’t get angry at me over something I didn’t ask for, Crown Prince.

I let the same pain flow over me, it was familiar and comfortable. I can’t trust what he says, he’s always changing his mind. Every day it’s proven to me that he prefers to act like he cares in front of the people who matter. It was impossible, there was no changing the fact that I was hiding something from Kyungsoo. If he found out, it could change the outcome of this betrothal. I’d embarrass him and my family.

And I very well could lose my life.

“Good afternoon, Princess.” I gaze up and see Kyungsoo standing in front of me in his fatigues. This time, his hair is combed back in a neat style. He’s holding my blanket and my poetry book that I had left behind yesterday. “You left these behind yesterday. I kept them safe for you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” I faintly reply. He leans forward and sets my things next to me.

“I figured we could spend our time together today practicing for the ball.” Why is he being so nice to me? Kyungsoo offers his hand and I reluctantly take it, my dress flowing around me as he brings me to my feet.

“But… We don’t have music.” I look up at his relaxed face and he just smiles. With one hand resting on the small of my back and the other taking my free hand, Kyungsoo brings me into his chest. He starts to hum the song we were dancing to yesterday, nodding the counts as he takes a step forward. The Crown Prince has a lovely voice, warm and velvety as it fills me. We dance across the garden, I grip his bicep as he turns and dips me down. His humming slowly comes to a stop, those eyes hold me stronger than his arms ever could.

“Why are you holding onto me so tightly? Do you think I’ll drop you?” Kyungsoo asks softly. I quickly shake my head and grip tighter onto Kyungsoo. “Good. We aren’t exactly friends, but I will never let you fall. Trust me on this at least.”

The Crown Prince brings me back up and my hand drops from his arm, I turn away from Kyungsoo and take a deep breath. Something is wrong with me. My heart is palpitating, my head feels light. Warmth spreads in my lower stomach, I’m unsure what to do with this. I feel his presence behind me, his hand pulls mine so I can turn and face him. This feeling is much stronger than what I felt with Chanyeol, it was definite and certain in my bones. This is not reality; it can’t be reality. The moment the glimmer escapes his eyes, I know what this is.

“Don’t. Please, Your Highness.” I look down.

“Why can’t I kiss you?” The Crown Prince questions. “We have to make this believable.”

“Because I don’t want you to take something beautiful and turn it into a bargaining tool or something I’ll regret. Your Highness, you don’t need to pretend. Please, show me mercy and stop this act. Around others I’ll be the ideal wife. There’s no need to be something we’re not when we’re alone.” I explain, cursing myself for giving way to tears.

“But-“

“Thank you for practicing this dance with me. I won’t let you down, Crown Prince.” I snatch my hand back and gather my things from the ground. With each step, I feel colder. Kyungsoo’s eyes were on me as I walked away, I knew it. I don’t look back. Fear grips my throat as I close the door to my chambers. My phone vibrates on the bed, Kyungsoo is calling me. I let it go to voicemail as I change my clothes, ready to sleep for the rest of the day. My phone rings over and over, I want to throw it out of the window. What does Kyungsoo want? I hastily grab my phone and answer it.

“What is it, Your Highness?” I snap.

“Are you refusing to go along with our agreement?” He hisses.

“No, I’m not. Please, leave me alone.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then this will be the first time in your life that you won’t get what you want.” I mumble lowly, hanging up the phone. Once I get into bed, I don’t want to leave and I don’t plan to. I close my eyes and the memory of Kyungsoo and I dancing in the garden. I’ll hold on to that memory, because it was just as good as fiction.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Kyungsoo asks next to me. We sit in the garden as we have been for the past week. I just stare at him, wishing he’d disappear into thin air. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

Kyungsoo scoots closer to me and reveals the small, velvet box that I know my engagement ring is in. He’s speeding up the process, but why? He didn’t have to make our arrangement official just yet. Camera shutters can be heard in the distance. I’m aware that this has to be a “caught off guard” pictorial, but I don’t necessarily want the worst moment of my life to be photographed for the world to see. Kyungsoo opens the box and I put on my best smile, acting as though I’m shocked and surprised this is happening.

“Darling, please accept this ring as a symbol of our coming marriage. All of my life, I have waited for you. Now you’re right beside me and I will do my best to give you a beautiful life.” Kyungsoo offers as he slides the ring on my finger. “Be mine, Princess.”

Say no. Say no. Getting killed is better than what’s ahead!

“It will be my honor, Crown Prince.” I bow my head. Kyungsoo hugs me and I just allow it. I let the tears fall, no one will know that they’re from a place of sadness. He retracts and kisses my hand that has the ring on it. It sat on a gold vine inspired band with a rounded diamond in the center of a flower shaped pave. On the floral inspired halo were small crescent moons and diamonds to represent stars. It reminded me of the mandevilla flowers that climbed up the Mariposa Palace, my favorite place to go in the summer. He somehow knew I loved the moon, the small intricate details threw me off. It really made me question if Kyungsoo put any effort into this. More than likely it wasn’t his own doing, but he proudly took the credit for it.

The weight of the jewelry anchored me to Kyungsoo. He turns me and settles me in his embrace. A reverie came with being held like this, a safety surrounded me that I’m starting to grow fond of. “This is… Nice.”

“It is. Hm, you look so lovely. Did you wear this dress for me today?” Kyungsoo whispers in my ear.

“If that’s what will help you sleep at night.” I mutter. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady pounding of his heart. Is the Crown Prince nervous? I make the Crown Prince nervous? “Are you nervous?”

“Me? Why would I be nervous?” Kyungsoo laughs it off, the sound of his laugh reverberating through his chest made my own chest warm. I hear the cameraman packing his things and walking away. I expect Kyungsoo to let me go, but he only holds me tighter. My eyes close and I imagine that this entire scene is completely different. In my mind’s eye, we’re in love. His arms around me mean something different than this agreement. Once I open them, I’m sucked back into my reality. “Princess?”

“Yes, Crown Prince.”

“Let’s go celebrate, Princess. How about we go out to dinner?”

“Out? Dinner?” I turn in his arms. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. Be dressed and ready to go by 6. We should be seen together now that it’s official.” Kyungsoo nods. I roll my eyes and pull away from him. “Or we can celebrate right here…”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” I grumble.

"Why not? You did well, Princess. It’s something we should celebrate." Kyungsoo says confidently.

"This is nothing to celebrate." I groan. We stand and I smooth my dress out, still getting used to the weight of the ring on my finger.

"Mmmm. Fine. Have it your way. We’ll be formal and go public at our Engagement Celebration." Kyungsoo flatly replies and I turn to walk away. This is not what I wanted. I wanted to feel his arms around me in a genuine embrace. Feel his lips kiss mine as a real act of affection, of love. I hear his boots pounding toward me. “Wait. Princess…”

I turn around and wait for whatever Kyungsoo has to say. He takes my hands and he pleads with me silently. “What now, Your Grace?”

“This will be a memory for the rest of our lives. We can do whatever we want. What is it you desire from me?”

I scoot back, nervously shaking my head. “Nothing.”

“Princess, that simply cannot be true. It is the least I can do for your compliance to my request so far. I will give you whatever it is you desire.”

I slide my hand away from Kyungsoo, irritated at his pleas, his voice, his everything. “Do you really want to know what I want, Crown Prince Kyungsoo?”

“Yes I do, actually.”

“I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to kiss me. I don’t want you to hold me in your arms unless it’s not part of your stupid game. Yes, I said stupid. You are willingly toying with my heart and my mind for your own amusement. I have no choice but to comply. So that is what I desire. I want you to go back to whoever you were sleeping with before I came and leave me alone. Let politics be politics and you do what you want.” I confess, my voice slowly finding its bravery. Kyungsoo scoffs and shakes his head.

“Are you jealous? Because there was someone before you?” Kyungsoo smirks.

“N-No!” Yes, I was. “Why would I be jealous the woman you broke the betrothal law with?”

“Because, Princess, you wanted it to so desperately be you. Only you. That has not and never will be possible. The thing is, darling, now it’s just you and me. There is no one else that I desire. It works in your favor that you’re gorgeous, sweetheart. I can make it work. With how excited you were to meet me, the blushes, barely making eye contact… You were bound to have thoughts of me. Did you dream of my kisses? How would my lips feel on your skin and those luscious lips you possess? Hold you through the night? That can still all be yours… I know you want it.” Kyungsoo whispers, sending chills down my spine. He’s not very far from the truth. It was sick how much I craved to feel safe with this man. It’s difficult to imagine him being happy doing any of the things he said he would.

“I don’t want any of that unless you mean it, Crown Prince.” My voice raises. Kyungsoo guides my chin upward to look into his eyes. There’s a change in his gaze, it startles me. It fascinates me. “Please, leave.”

“I’m not finished speaking with you.”

"You make me regret coming to this Kingdom." I growl. "I wish I was betrothed to someone else."

"Watch your tongue," Kyungsoo warns, crossing his arms as he paces in front of me.

"I hate you and all of this!" I scream. Enough is enough, I can’t take any more. "Stop messing with my head! I hate you for showing me glimpses of what could be but never will be! Your family hates me and they make it glaringly obvious! The only person who has shown me any kindness is Duke Chanyeol! Doesn’t it bother you that another man can make my heart flutter?”

“So, Duke Chanyeol makes your heart flutter, does he?” Kyungsoo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as he pulls me closer to him. "Perhaps it’s because you won’t let me in. Just come to me tonight. You’ll experience something Duke Chanyeol can never give you. I’ll mean every single move I make; I can promise you that.”

“No! Crown Prince, all you care about is sex. When will you understand that there’s more to life than agreements and having a woman in your bed? All I want is a happy life and I know I won't ever have that with you." I shake. “So, if you don’t mind. I would prefer that you leave me alone.”

Defeat concedes the Crown Prince. He scoffs and rolls his eyes as he takes a step back from me. “Have it your way, Princess. However, I don’t want you seeing Duke Chanyeol ever again unless I am present. You’re mine, Princess. I won’t share you with anyone, whether you hate me or not.”

Chills tingle down my spine and warmth shoots right to my core. Resisting him isn’t going to work. With a kiss on my hand, the Crown Prince walks out of the garden. I sit back down and try to calm my racing thoughts and aching physical want for him. I refuse to give in to my selfish thoughts when they’ll only lead me nowhere.

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo x reader #doh kyungsoo #exo do kyungsoo #d.o. kyungsoo #exo k #crown prince kyungsoo #kyungsoo as a prince #prince kyungsoo #the kingdom of us fanfic #d.o exo #exo fic rec #exo royalty #modern au #modern royalty au #exo do #exo d.o. #enemies to lovers #dividers by saradika graphics

[brendathedoodler]

For the Links who backstory is like a blank slate in canon games, you have any headcanon what these backstory might look like in Adveture Swap? just trying to paraphrase to make the question make sense.

This makes perfect sense to me! And it’s a very cool question!

I think I’ll go through each of the swapped Links and talk about what their life was like before their adventures started, just because I love to think about these sorts of concepts.

Sky has lived most of his life among the higher class and nobility. He came from a noble family, though the only family he’d ever known was his aunt. He recalls his childhood was filled with dressing up for parties he only occasionally enjoyed, his tutors always telling him he could do incredible things if he just put more effort in (he put his all into his work! Why wasn’t it enough?), and lots of sword training. He was a natural and greatly enjoyed it, so it was no surprise when he joined the military academy. He quickly gained a reputation for being spacey, but the quickest fighter and fiercest swordsman in their ranks. Sun and Groose have been constants in his life since he was young. He and Sun have been best friends since childhood, while Groose was a bully through Sky’s teen years; a bully that eventually grew to be one of Sky’s closest friends and most trusted companions.

Four’s life before his adventure was pretty average. He was a friendly guy, well liked by the town he lived in. He was raised by his grandfather and held a certain distain for the royal guard, mostly due to his father, who had practically abandoned him to go swing his sword around. Needless to say, Four had little to no interest in whatever the guards were going around looking for and just focused on his work as a blacksmith. Of course, he couldn’t avoid the rumors of what was going on. Monsters gaining strength, a faction of ninjas trying to end the world, the castle preparing for the calamity. Four had never been one to sit idly by and wanted to do whatever he could to help search for the hero. Turns out he didn’t have to look far, something he only discovered when he found himself deep in the Lost Woods. Four can’t tell you why exactly he tried to draw the blade in the first place; he’d had no idea he was the hero of legend. When he drew that blade, his life changed forever, but he can’t say he’s happy with the change. He had two years to prepare for the calamity, and nobody was ready when it came (least of all himself).

Time was raised by his siblings. To say his childhood wasn’t normal would be an understatement. His siblings, the kokiri, were creatures of magic. If it weren’t for the way they sprouted treelike horns and had magic he didn’t, he would’ve assumed he was one of them. His childhood was spent never straying far from the island they lived on, since he knew his siblings wouldn’t be able to follow him if something happened. Saria held a special sort of magic that allowed the kokiri to stay children eternally, and they couldn’t stray from her magic’s influence. The day pirates arrived on their beach and a giant bird snatched up his big sister was the day Time left the island for the first time. It wasn’t long before he became a hero.

Legend’s only parental figure had been his uncle, but that didn’t last. He was murdered before Legend’s adventure even started. Being a young teenager now living on his own in a home outside of town, Legend promptly became a hermit. Sleep schedule? Never heard of it. He tended to get groceries in the middle of the night. He never wore pants. Legend was a cryptid long before he gained several other transformations. He made money by scavenging in the forest and occasionally offering a helping hand when he saw some posters in town asking for fit young men to help out. He took up a blacksmith’s apprenticeship but ended up quitting (he did make himself a pretty neat sword though, he still has it hung up on the wall).

Hyrule grew up among the kokiri, though he was known even then for exploring far deeper into the woods than any of the others dared. He never got his own fairy, but it turns out that wasn’t necessary when he was his own fairy. He wouldn’t discover this until his own adventure, but he’d always suspected he was different from his peers for some reason. (Whether or not the kokiri he knew are the same who turned into koroks to survive the great flood and then later raised Time is up for debate.)

Twilight grew up on a farm with his adoptive parents. How did a young farm boy end up being friends with the princess? Who knows! They don’t even see one another as friends. They’ve known each other since childhood but have literally never been actual friends. Dusk would trust him with her life (and has), but she wouldn’t willingly hang out with him. The feeling is mutual, Twilight straight up refers to her as his “best acquaintance since childhood” since they’re not friends but too close to not be…. Something. Anyway, his first adventure started pretty young, right when he was a cringe 13-year-old in his “it’s not a phase, mom!” phase (and I say this with all the love in the world, since I was also a cringy 13-year-old and I’m fairly certain everyone else was too).

Wind can’t remember a time he hasn’t been adventuring. If you asked him about his past, about his backstory, about his childhood, even his earliest memories come from a time when he was preparing for the adventures to come. If you ask, he’ll tell you about his earliest adventure. If you ask him what he did before he started adventuring, he’d think back to the strange portal that had appeared, ready to pluck him away from home and into a war at the tender age of 6. He’ll tell you there’s never been a time he wasn’t on some sort of quest, or at least training in preparation for one.

Warriors grew up among fairies, though none stuck with him as closely as his dearest Proxi. Home isn’t a quaint village, but instead the shallow waters and high rock walls of the fairy fountain he frequented as a child. Wandering, as dangerous as it might’ve been for a boy his age, was also a necessity. He grew up in the wilderness, yes, but he wasn’t on his own either. Visions of people from other eras appeared to him, interacted with him, taught him things he couldn’t have known otherwise (not that he could’ve known these people existed outside of the times they would occasionally appear to him, though). He so rarely heard anyone call his name, since the visions never spoke names and the fairies instead chimed family, sibling, friend.

Wild doesn’t have a past that he remembers. All he has are faint bits and pieces, but even those have only just started to appear. All he has to go off of are what the others tell him. He’d been a serious man with a rowdy loftwing. He’d had a fierce rivalry with Revali and everyone knew it. He’d been close to Mipha (some people said they’d been dating. Mipha herself denies it. He doesn’t know who to believe). He’d been an expert with a sword since he was young, and a skilled flier too. Flora hadn’t liked him back then, but she liked him now. All he has are fragments, and he’s not sure he truly wants to know more.

#linked universe #lu adventure swap au #lu sky #lu time #lu four #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu wind #lu warriors #lu wild #this ask got buried under the 20 other WIPs I have. Oops! #hope this is alright! It’s not quite what you asked for but I got ideas and started rambling lol #side note: Sky is rich thanks to his wealthy family. Naturally he buys the chain a lot of supplies

[horizon-verizon]

“You shouldn’t watch HOTD from a modern perspective!!!”

While I think this is a stupid ass argument because I am not a peasant down in Flea Bottom… but fine I’ll bite.

Here are some things you can’t get mad about since we should watch from a “medieval POV”:

Alicent’s marriage

Alicent was not a child bride in Westeros standards. The legal age of majority in the Seven Kingdoms is considered to be sixteen years of age. She was of marrying age. Laena even makes a comment about how she wouldn’t have to lay with Viserys until she turned 14. Alicent was either the same age as Rhaenyra (whom was 14 in episode 1) or older so she was old enough to be married and therefore was not a child bride. Female characters such as Aemma, Helaena, Rhaella, Rohanne Webber, or Genna Lannister were younger than Alicent when they were married off.

Viserys/Alicent marital rape

Doesn’t exist. Marital rape wasn’t even considered a “crime” in all 50 states until 1993 (which wtf is up with that ?) so you cannot call Alicent a victim of assault when that assault doesn’t even exist or isn’t even acknowledge as assault.

Viserys “parental neglect”

No king (or really any lord for that matter) in medieval times actually spent time with his children. It was rare that royal children even got to spend time with their parents.

Show!Alicent was like 15 when she married Viserys AND the age of marriage can be any age as soon as a girl gets her period. Even 15, 14, 13, etc. 16 is for boys, the time they can take leadership of a house, property, etc in his own name. Nothing to do with marriage, even if it is the case of a girl being heir, she is not eligible to be an "official" head until she is 16, which is why Rhaenyra is 17 before she actually moves into Dragonstone and she is 16 when she becomes officially and takes the title of the "Princess of Dragonstone".

Kings of Westeros and real EU spent an embarrassingly amount of time with their kids. Esp in comparison to his wife/Queen Consort. Viserys told tales of Jaehaerys to his grandkids often. Jaehaerys was said to spend time with his kids, but the expected amount of time for a busy male ruler. The royal couple--both husband and wife--were expected to not really spend the amount of time we consider necessary bc they were expected to look over their duties and some had tutors, nurses, etc. who spent way more time with the kids than them. The higher class you went, the less time you spent one on one with the kids.

So, yeah. That argument is pretty dumb. There's a society out there where grown men imbue young boys with "spirit" so they become consummate warriors....it exists today. In the modern world. Look it up, and yes it is what you think it is. What makes a thing bad is the effect it has, which could be layered and nuanced according to circumstances but not always. Best not to slather that excuse as soon as you see something up; best to examine what you see. And sometimes it's just very obvious.

#asoiaf asks to me #westerosi society #viserys i #jaehaerys i #fiction vs reality #fandom critical #asoiaf fandom #hotd fandom

[revenancy]

ok guys i'm really bad at making these kinds of decisions so i am going to. tumblr poll it. more info on these projects below the cut »

UNCHOSEN: 2nd draft. Total plot revamp + rewrite. 3rd person multipov sword-and-sorcery. – When the Chosen dies, her identical twin takes her place to keep their home from falling into chaos—but will she be enough to save the kingdom?

BEARSKIN: 3rd draft. Rewrite for pacing, new scenes, + clarity. 3rd person dual pov folktale-aes adventure with a mayfly-december romance. – When a hunter kills an ancient snow bear, her brother is stolen as payment by the fickle and enigmatic Prince of Always Night, and she must play her part in the Prince's game to win him back.

SALT & SILVER: 2nd draft. Slight plot revamp, rewrite. 3rd person dual pov frontier adventure. – The Alchemist has been hunting the tombs of gods in the wasteland, but she's not the only one. When she's attacked and a critical map is stolen, she and loyal town guard Emilián chase after the thief before any more harm is done—too late.

TGOED: 1st full draft. I've been struggling through starting this for way too long. 3rd person dual pov baroque-aes intrigue. A sort of reverse murder mystery. – Ophélie is a Spicer Decadent, a glorified guild assassin employed by a mysterious benefactor who wants to keep the Palace Royal on its toes. Everett was the crown prince—but now he's nothing more than a tutor, baring his teeth at the children who were supposed to replace him. And when he finds the Decadent with blood on her hands, he realizes with a sick joy that he would love nothing more than to watch his mother's empire crumble.

JACKDAW: 1st draft. It's gone through a lot of POV changes to get to this point lmao. 3rd person single pov with brief interludes, surreal fantasy. – Jackdaw wakes in a muddy riverbank. He doesn't know where he is, when he is, or how he got there—all he knows is that he used to be a god. He explores the strange little world of Lorne to find answers to his questions, and instead he finds more questions. For instance, what is his sister doing there, and why does she want him dead?

CANTICLE: 1st draft, technically. This is a very old WIP of mine and honestly it's been a lot of different things in the past. 1st person single pov high fantasy drama with an extremely unhealthy romance. – Six years ago, a Fifth Temple guard kidnapped a young acolyte to save her life. Now, as they eke out a life together in the downcity dark, they come ever closer to danger—and then the Fifth finds them. When the acolyte is stolen back, the guard delves into the clutches of the faithful, desperate to save her again.

SECRET 7TH OPTION: guys there are 50 other projects in my scriv files i'm not joking. i could spin any of them up. right now. but these are the projects I'd like to work on/finish at some point in the next year or so, with the others being fun things I'm starting or playing with on the side, less "solid info" to intro etc. ofc if y'all have any questions please please please ask me i am an absolute brat when given any kind of attention. i will love you. forever.

#my writing #my wips #in which i am incredibly indecisive #which ones am i working on right now??? haha. hahaha. #my brain has been in hell the last couple of months i'm just starting to pick back up on my projects again #the agony of choice

[sojutogo]

junhao x grishaverse arranged marriage au:

Minghao does not bow.

It is customary—no, required to do so, especially when in front of him is the man that gets to decide whether he lives or dies for his show of insolence, whether his family will bear the burden, and whether his country will suffer from his pride but Minghao does not bow.

His grandmother's scathing stare nearly makes him—pinpricks of her anger stabbing him in the back despite the layers of silks and fur they had saddled him with, leaving his skin feeling heated but Minghao stubbornly keeps his spine ram-rod straight, years of princely education and strict teachers fortifying his resolve. For a second, he vaguely wonders if his actions of impudence have finally given away his madness, that he had truly gone mad because what rational creature would not curtesy to the tsar? 

Minghao resists the urge to shiver when his brain supplants the word, creature. He tries to roll the word in his tongue, finds that the phantom taste of metal and sin coats his glands. The tsar was not just the ruler of all lands but he was the one who controlled the shadows that ravaged it—wisps of malvolent spirits and beasts hidden under the cloak of the night, twisting and hungry for its next prey. 

There was a reason they bowed when he came, if not for respect then it was for fear.

But then Minghao remembers yesterday, when he had escaped from his wards after overhearing that the negotations for his marriage would be done that morning and his anger manifests into a ten-fold. He knew they were coming, their house and its retainers had been in a flurry ever since seven weeks ago, preparing the castle for guests and if it were to be any guest, Minghao knows that the same grandeur would not be afforded of whoever would step into their gates. But the tsar of all people was coming, together with his cavalry and the famed and fearsome oprichniki, that despite his father's belligrent attitude towards their king on their dining table after he had come home from the battlefront, weary and humiliated, he had ordered all of their men to prepare a feast fit for royalty.

So they made ready and Minghao was not spared.

He was neither ignorant nor was he foolish enough to believe that he will escape such archaic traditions for treaties and strengthening strongholds, despite being the bastard son of his father.

Minghao might be a bastard's son but he is still a prince's bastard son. Mei Lian may have every bit of royal blood coursing in her frail bones but Minghao was also the only son in their family. 

His birth right was both a gift and a curse and in a country ravaged by war and enemies unseen, children were nothing but pawns to their parents to barter for momentary peace or even just the illusion of it.

Sooner or later, war will claim their lands once more despite the flimsy papers that say otherwise and the cycle will repeat for an infinte number of times. Kings may fall while new ones replace them but they will walk the same circles as their predecessor have had.

Such is the nature of human greed and Minghao had come to understand this even at a young age. How else would he have made it to the palace? How else would he have made it to his tutors as they dress him in gold and serve him fresh bread? His mother, a particularly demure town girl who had caught the eye of his inebriated father during a hunting trip had no fantasies or ambitions to replace the princess but she did not want her son to end up as a farm boy, forced to relive her misery. She did not hunger for herself but she made sure Minghao would never know such pain.

Perhaps it was not greed then, perhaps it was something akin to desperation or love.

But as he hears his father negotiate for his hand, sell would be more apt because is it not the truth—Minghao is being sold like a mere lamb in the markets for a few coins? He only feels the cold and calculated execution of human greed.

There is no love found here, never will there be.

So, no. He will not bow.

The man in front of him dressed in resplendent robes, most likely costing more than an entire year's-worth of harvest for their town, more than anything grand that his father wears, appraises him with a silent countenance but does not comment on Minghao's lack of manners.

Minghao should feel grateful that he has not been sent to the guillotine but he finds that he has little to be thankful for, not when he knows that this man treats him no more than an object.

Minghao is not naive to hope that this marriage will remain political, that it will remain to follow what was written on paper, that there are no expectations required of him despite his inability to bear a child. What hold does he have over a ruler who has won wars and fought many battles? To a tyrant who threatens their land with violence if he is not offered his whims and wishes? To a man whose lust and debauchery knows no end?

It was an open-secret that the tsar's preference for men has led him to seek out different beds as soon as he was of age to sit on the throne. Why wouldn't he? There was no danger in accidentally conceiving a child, no brood of bastards to care for nor jealous mothers to appease.

Sooner or later, his paper-marriage will mean nothing and Minghao will become one of the many lambs this wolf has sunk his teeth into and discarded when the tsar has consumed his flesh until there is nothing but bones and rot.

So, no. He will not bow.

“Minghao,” he hears his grandmother's verbal admonishment and he must have truly angered her to sense the acid in her usually solemn voice or for her to speak out of turn in front of the tsar.

Minghao hears his grandmother apologize for him, hears her excuses of his birth, his difficult upbringing and tries not to flinch nor break his unwavering stare against the tsar who only holds a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Very well, let him see how much of a disadvantage Minghao is. Let him see that he made a mistake, Minghao privately sneers. Let him pick someone else. Someone maleable, perhaps. Someone who will agree with him without question, who will turn the other way when he invites other bodies to bed in their chambers, someone who will hold the crown with grace and not the selfish heart that Minghao has grown with.

“Peace, duchess. It is but a small matter I can overlook, for now.”

Minghao has not heard the tsar speak until today, not even when he had spied on them from the hidden room behind the heavy cabinet in his father's war chambers because Seungcheol had caught him with surprising ease before Minghao could hear anything else.

He has not heard him speak until now and Minghao fears that the slight buckling of his knees as he hears the uncharacteristically youthful and mischievous lilt of the tsar's voice is an indication to the decline of his resolve.

No, Minghao still will not bow.

”...after all, perhaps my bride is simply riddled with joy upon seeing me.”

I beg your pardon, Minghao almost shrieks but he catches himself in time.

The tsar might have forgiven his initial act of discourtesy but something tells Minghao he will not be gracious for a second.

So he fumes from where he is standing, hiding his clenched fist behind the robes the maidservants made him wear and tries to keeps his face impassive when all Minghao wishes to do, is to lob the nearest vase to the tsar's still smiling face, completely convinced of his own illusions.

It seems like his grandmother does not know what to make of the tsar's words either for she pauses long enough for an awkward silence to follow and Minghao wishes he could just laugh at the hilarity of it all, instead of being mute as his freedom slips away from his fingers like sand.

“Er, well as you say, moi tsar.”

An impish smiles makes its way to the tsar's face and should it have been on any other boy, any other man without connections to the crown, Minghao might almost find it endearing.

Almost.

“Minghao, is it?”

And that was simply unfair, was it not? How Minghao's name rolled off so effortlessly in his tongue, voice caressing the vowels as if Minghao's name is something precious, something dear.

He has not heard his name spoken like that, in a while.

Which is probably why he nods diminutively despite his stubborness from earlier. Whispers a quiet, yes, moi tsar like a lamb baring its neck for slaughter.

Foolish, he admonishes himself but finds it hard to gather his anger and use it as a shield when the tsar suddenly steps down from his makeshift throne and crosses the short distance between him and Minghao in one fluid motion.

Minghao forgets how to breathe.

Molten eyes the color of coal carefully trace Minghao's features, a relaxed smile on the royal's face which quickly morphs into something sharp when he takes stock of Minghao's growing blush.

“You can call me, Junhui.”

Junhui, Junhui, Junhui.

Minghao nods, distrustful of his voice.

“What's your favorite color, Minghao?” The tsar asks and Minghao is acutely aware of the eyes staring at them from all manner of directions. Yet, it seemed like the man in front of him does not notice or simply elects to ignore them all together as he focuses solely on Minghao, waiting for an answer.

Minghao briefly considers lying. This man does not deserve to be privy to his own thoughts and feelings after taking so much already but he finds that dishonesty comes slow when those coal-like eyes are trained on him with such intensity and makes Minghao mumble, “White.”

“White?” Comes the amused tone of the tsar, his eyebrow raised in surprise. “Why is that, lyubimy?“

Minghao almost gasps but he tempers it by angling his head down, hiding his fiery face from the man in front of him.

“No particular reason, moi tsar.” He responds, hands itching to twist together to relieve the tension in his body but Minghao finds that he is unable to move a muscle, pinned by some unknown force from the king's eyes alone.

He doesn't tell Junhui that it was because white was the color of the flowers growing on a small patch in front of his mother's grave.

“Well, it seems like my tailors will not have a hard time making your bridal clothes, then.”

Like an ax, the realization drops swiftly on Minghao as he remembers what he was truly here for.

“Do not worry, solnishka,” and Minghao is helpless to hide his gasp this time as Junhui takes hold of the younger's trembling hands and carefully brings it a hairsbreadth away from his lips. “You shall be a sight to behold in white.”

When the kiss drops softly on his knuckles, tenderness akin to the way holy men would venerate saints in their church, Minghao finally bows his head.

#junhao #grishaverse #arranged marriage #prompt fill #enemies to lovers

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

bees (day 1)

(chapter 1- tesfest2022 - read on AO3)

-

In all of her early childhood, she could not really remember ever being she. There was only they: two twin girls, two identical heirs to a dying noble line. They were two hands of a body, two wings of the same bird, two sides of a single mind, two halves of a whole. Their names were Iliah and Karnalta. 

They were Ra’athim-- relics of a sort. Their bloodline had  been illustrious, once, synonymous with ebony and commanding more power in some ways than even the Living Gods. But that glory was a distant memory; the destruction of Mournhold had felled too many branches from their family tree, and in the Second Era they had dwindled down to those two who may as well  have been one. They were raised alone by their Father in a house that was too big for the three of them. For as long as they could remember, they knew they carried the weight of history, and that that history was dying within them, and they bore it well enough, though not without a certain sense of tragedy that they deliberately let linger about them. Needless to say, they did not have many friends.

They kept to themselves. They inhabited a world of their own, a world of antique lineages and ancient tombs, of heavy legacies and forgotten histories. They learned young to close themselves off to others. This came naturally to them-- for one, Iliah was mostly mute around all but her sister, always choosing to let Karnalta be their voice, and Karnalta herself had little interest in anything that didn’t concern whatever she’d decided to be fixated on that day. They were obedient enough with the tutors Father hired for them, as they were both naturally curious and secretly hungered to please their only parent, but in their spare time they always played alone. 

The Mournhold public garden was their favourite haunt: they’d go swimming in the canals, try to catch fish in their bare hands, climb the big leafy trees to gather fruit and to taunt the other children from the heights. They had vivid imaginations and could spend hours on games of pretend. But Mournhold had other, more secret delights, for discerning young girls. There was the Temple, for one-- the first game was to try and break into its secret annexes, the second to run screaming from whatever Ordinator caught them. There was the teeming markets with the good-natured shopkeepers who might spare a scrib-roll or a honey-nut treat if their mood was good. And there was the sewers, of course, ostensibly forbidden but so easy to break into, with their multitude of delightful secrets waiting to be discovered. Perhaps their royal blood gave them confidence, for they treated the city as their domain to do with as they pleased. Nowhere was barred to them. 

Though they were identical in appearance and considered themselves to share the same soul, they were not without their differences. The main difference was this: Karnalta could wield magic and Iliah could not.

They never gave much thought to this separation. To them, it seemed perfectly natural that Karnalta would take the burden of casting, just as Iliah took the burden of fighting any kid who tried to bully them. Karnalta could cast magelights when they were afraid of the dark, and make them levitate over walls to reach forbidden places, but Iliah was the one with the bravery to check under the bed for monsters and go over walls first. If there were differences between them, they were complementary, and only brought them closer together.

Only once in all their childhood did their differences seem a barrier between them. They were eight or nine, then, playing in the gardens on a cool autumn day. The family cook had invested them with a task-- to collect as much fresh fruits as they could find-- so, armed with jute sacks, they set off towards one of the more forgotten corners of the public grounds, in the far corner of the Temple yard, to try and scavenge what the other children hadn’t noticed. But simple gathering wasn’t enough for such noble and adventurous girls, so they decided to immerse themselves in a fantasy:

“I’ll be a Glenmoril Word,” Karnalta declared as they walked along a canal, “And you’ll be my werewolf familiar.”

(They had recently read a book about the witches that lived in High Rock, and Karnalta was somewhat obsessed). 

Iliah, arms laden with empty jute sacks, nodded amiably. “Alright.”

“No! Werewolves don’t say alright. They say, grr, and woof.”

“Al-- ah. Grr?”

“Good.” Karnalta swept back her hair. The day was chilly, and the cook had wrapped them in scarves before they’d headed out-- Karnalta’s was purple, Iliah’s was blue. Now Karnalta pulled the edge of her scarf over her head, turning it into a sinister hood. 

“I am Bellatrix MontLeStrange,” Karnalta declared, in a strange lilted accent like they imagined a Breton might speak in. “I was born the princess of all High Rock, but I have a dark secret…. so I’ve had to run away, and now I wander the forests of Glenmoril Word with my faithful werewolf companion, named…”

“Umbra,” said Iliah. “I’m Umbra.” 

Karnalta stopped in her tracks. “Umbra’s not a werewolf.”

“How come?” 

“Umbra’s a sword! Not a werewolf! You can’t be Umbra.” 

“Umbra can be anyone.” Iliah put one of the sacks over her head, screwing her face up. “I’m Umbra as a werewolf.”

“A werewolf can’t be Umbra. Werewolves don’t use swords. That makes no sense.” 

“Well, I’m a werewolf that uses a sword.” 

Karnalta rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said begrudgingly. “But it’s still stupid. Come on.” 

They started walking again, and Karnalta resumed her dramatic monologue: “I have to hide in the forest, all alone, because everyone in High Rock wants to kill me. Because of my dark secret. This--” she waved her hands, “Is the dark elder woods of Gloamspidery, filled with ghosts and zombies… but I am at home here, I am the scariest thing in this woods, actually. The ghosts and zombies are scared of me.”

“Me too.” 

“No, I’m scarier. Bellatrix MontLeStrange is scarier than even the scariest werewolf. Okay?” 

“Alright-- I mean, grr.” 

They crossed into a patch of sunlight, shining thin through a cluster of peculiar white-trunked trees, imported from some mysterious foreign land. The little grove marked one edge of a small clearing, bordered on the other side by the canal, which here had crumbling banks and was choked by rogue kanet. A few pomegranate trees stood around the clearing’s edges, laden with fat red globes of fruit; the air was crisp with autumn chill, and a faint buzzing mingled with the burble of water and the rustle of wind in the dry boughs. 

While Iliah dropped her sacks in the centre of the clearing, Karnalta drifted over to one of the white trees. “Ah!” she lamented, pressing her cheek to the trunk, “These trees so remind me of those back at home, in the palace where I grew up… if only my dark secret hadn’t been discovered! I love being an evil witch, but sometimes, I miss my home…” 

Iliah walked to her side. “Grr. Kar, look, there’s pomegranates.”

“That’s not my name.” 

“Bellatrix. Pomegranates. Grrrwoof.” 

Karnalta turned so that her back leaned against the tree, and draped an arm over her eyes. “You’re right,” she said, voice trembling, “I shouldn’t think about the past. I must collect ingredients for my evil potions.” She pushed herself away from the tree, pausing to dab at imaginary tears with the corner of her scarf. “Very well, I must be strong. My loyal companion, go find me a water-lily.”

Iliah was standing by the tree, now, head tilted back. When Karnalta spoke she only blinked slowly, and then replied, after a few seconds: “What?”

“What.”

“I didn’t hear you.” 

“I’m standing right here.”

“What?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Sorry,” Iliah frowned. “Do you hear that? The buzzing.”

Karnalta looked around them. “I hear it. You can’t hear me because of the buzzing? It’s not that loud.” 

“Sorry. It is loud.”

Karnalta followed Iliah’s gaze up to the tree. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Look, it’s a beehive. See there?”

For nestled not so far up in the strange straight limbs of the white tree was a mass of yellow and black. Even as they watched they could see small, dark shapes, floating to and from the hive. 

Iliah gasped, stepping very close to Karnalta. “A beehive,” she said. “Do you think there’s honey?”   

“Of course there’s honey. They’re bees. What else would they eat?”

“Oh, Kar, I want honey. Can you levitate me?”

“No! What if you get stung?”

“I won’t get stung. I’ll--” she looked around. “I’ll wrap myself in sacks, then they can’t sting me.”   

Karnalta seemed skeptical. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, Kar. Don’t you like honey?”

“Yes, but…” 

“I hear all the Glenmoril Words eat honey.” 

… Twenty minutes and a great deal of creativity later, the empty fruit sacks had been transformed into a full suit of armor. Iliah was clad head-to-toe in rough homespun, with the scarves serving as a makeshift helm that left only her lilac-coloured eyes exposed. Her hands, too, remained bare-- her fingers pulled at a loose thread on one of her ‘sleeves’, while Karnalta fussed and rearranged the scarves about her face.

“There,” Karnalta announced, as she tied a final tight knot below Iliah’s nose, “How does that feel?”

“It’s good,” Iliah replied, voice muffled. “You should make all our clothes.”

Karnalta stepped back, and Iliah stretched her arms out, spinning in a circle. She could’ve made a convincing werewolf, albeit a rather small and fraying one. But she was excited, bouncing on her feet in anticipation, and once she’d done her triumphant twirl she darted straight to the edge of the tree.

“I am good at this.”

“Come on!” she called. “Make me float.” 

Karnalta approached her. “I will, I will. Ready?”

“Grr woof.”

“Alright…” 

The levitation spell was so weak it would’ve been faster to climb the tree-- well, she was only a child, and self-taught at that. Karnalta kept her eyes screwed shut in concentration, both hands extended towards her sister, blushing with the effort of channeling her magika.

Within moments Iliah felt a strange tugging at her stomach, and then a shift, as if she were getting lighter. A few seconds later and she realized her feet were no longer on the ground. She braced her hand against the tree to keep herself on-course as the magic began to pull her upwards. 

The beehive turned out to be higher in the tree than it had seemed. As Iliah drifted upwards, a few bees came to land on her, curiously tasting at her peculiar armor with their funny long tongues. She watched one land on her shoulder-- its fat body was speckled with yellow dots, its big eyes glittered innocuously. For a bee, it had a strangely adorable face. 

Finally she was level with a large horizontal branch-- she seized onto it and then the spell gave out. Iliah wrapped both arms and legs around the branch, shifting her weight around until she was balanced. She was a somewhat clumsy child, but what she lacked in coordination, she made up for in courage, and she was quite comfortable on her belly and hugging the supple limb. Below her she could see Karnalta, alarmingly small, eyes wide in her bluish face. 

“Are you okay?” Karnalta called up. 

“Woof!” Iliah answered with a smile. 

When she raised her head she saw that the bee still sat on her shoulder, watching her with innocent curiosity. Behind her, not so far away now, the beehive sat in the junction of two long branches.  From here Iliah could see the jagged rills of it, the rhythmic hexagons of the honeycomb, the multitude of dark bees climbing in and out of their nest. For the first time she wondered what happened to bees who had their honey taken. What did they have left to eat?

She wondered, for that matter, how one was meant to get honey out of a hive. Could she poke a hole in it and let the honey flow out? Or would she have to break it open? Wouldn't breaking it open harm the bees? And what would she collect the honey in? Should she have brought a jar? Well, honey's thick-- maybe she could catch it in a sack.

She went to pull one of the sacks from her arm, and caught sight of her bee friend, parked placidly on her shoulder. Did it know what she was about to do? 

“Iliah!” Karnalta shouted. “Are you sure you're okay? I’m scared!”

Iliah didn’t reply; she managed to slide the sack from one arm, the arm without the bee resting upon it. Moving slowly, so as not to disturb her tag-along, she inched forwards, towards the hive. Bees swarmed around her face and landed atop her body, their fluffy bodies tickling the skin of her now-bare arm. 

“What if they sting you!” Karnalta sounded as if she might cry. “Iliah, come down!” 

“Shh,” Iliah whispered, though there was no way Karnalta could have heard her. She was close to the hive, now, close enough that she could’ve touched it.

She could see clearly the bees crawling in and out of their little doorways, their fat round bums laden with speckles of gold. What plants had they been drinking out of? She’d sometimes seen bees floating about the horn-lilies, her own favourite flowers-- was this the home of the bees she saw buzzing around the garden at home? Where would they go, once she destroyed their hive? Would they be upset? The bee on her shoulder twitched its wings.

Too late to turn back now. She reached out with her sack-wrapped arm. Her fingers brushed the edge of the hive-- bees swarmed around her hand, crawled up the inside of her uncovered wrist. On her shoulder, her new friend watched with patient curiosity, without judgement, only quiet expectation.

She pressed gently against a ridge of honeycomb. It felt soft and warm.

She pressed harder.

A chunk of honeycomb came away just as her palm was stung. 

She heard Karnalta scream before she even knew she was falling-- a jolt in her belly and a glimpse of the pale blue sky--

And then, with sickening abruptness, she hit the ground. She heard a thump and felt pain in her shoulder and then she was rolling, rolling a short distance before coming to a dizzy stop.

Before she’d fully realised what had happened, Karnalta was by her side, touching her all over, frantic. “Iliah!” she cried, “Iliah!”

Iliah’s head was ringing-- her arm hurt badly. She sat up, shaking with adrenaline, grabbing onto Karnalta’s arm to support herself. Her hand was sticky with honey and left a dark print on Karnalta’s robe. 

“Iliah,” Karnalta repeated, “Are you okay?”

Iliah looked around them.

She looked down at the grass.

She burst into noisy tears. 

“I’m sorry,” Karnalta whimpered. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. Where does it hurt? I’ll heal you, promise. Iliah--”

Iliah was crying too hard to answer. Shaking all over, she took her hand from Karnalta’s arm and used it to point at the flattened patch of grass where she’d landed.

In the centre of the her-shaped dent, like a saint laid down in a bed of velvet, lay the flattened and mangled body of a bee. 

Karnalta followed Iliah’s hand and stared. Then she turned back to her sister with a perplexed expression. “Huh?”

“I killed it,” Iliah choked out. She was crying so hard that she couldn't even breathe-- her voice was coarse with ugly, undignified sobs-- she shook violently all over. "I--"

“Oh, Iliah!” Karnalta exclaimed. “It’s just a bee!”

“I killed it!”

“It’s a stupid bee, Iliah!” 

But Iliah only cried harder, wailing with so much wanton grief that she might’ve summoned every ancestor-ghost haunting their tomb. She cried this way sometimes, as senseless and inconsolable as a displaced ghost-- her voice seemed to shake the trees and made the grass shudder, and no doubt every citizen in Mournhold would be able to hear her wailing.

Karnalta, frightened by the display, drew back. “Look,” she said urgently, going to the place where the bee’s little mangled body lay. “Look,” she pleaded, gently scraping the crushed and broken creature into the palm of her hand. “Iliah, Iliah-- please stop crying-- look!” 

Iliah could hardly see through the tears,  she was too upset to listen, all she could do was sit and wail. Through the blurry haze of her grief she saw a pale light fill Karnalta’s hand. 

“Look,” Karnalta said, pushing her hand towards Iliah’s face. “Look, it’s okay. See? You didn’t kill it. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Iliah shuddered, gulped in a few desperate breaths, wiped her eyes-- when she put her hand down she saw Karnalta’s palm, curled into a cup just in front of her. And there, in her palm, a live and unharmed bee. 

They sat close together, for a moment, staring as one at the little miracle in Karnalta’s hand. The bee placidly flapped its wings a few time. It rubbed at its face with a spindly leg, as if waking up from a nap. Then, without a care in the world, it spread its wing and bumbled lazily up into the air, back towards its buzzing hive.

Karnalta clasped her hand shut and drew it back to her chest, hanging her head, and Iliah could only stare at her. 

“What did you do?” Iliah finally whispered. 

Karnalta was looking down at her own hand. “I don’t know.”

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” 

“Kar,” Iliah whispered even more quietly, “Was that necromancy?” 

“I don’t--” Karnalta drew away from her. “I don’t know! I was trying to help you! What’s wrong with that?”

“That was necromancy,” Iliah said. “It’s bad. It’s evil--”

“Says who? The Temple?” Karnalta hugged herself. “I was trying to help.”

“It’s evil!” 

“I’m not evil. I’m not!” 

“Never do that again,” Iliah said, tears once more pricking at her eyes. “Never ever ever do that ever again. Promise me you wont!”

Karnalta looked up at her. “I was trying to help,” she said miserably.

“Kar!”

“Fine! I promise.” 

But Karnalta said it sullenly, and for the rest of the day she refused to look Iliah in the face. They limped home more or less in silence, with nothing to show for their efforts but a small lump of honeycomb and a terrible bruise on Iliah’s arm; and that night, for the first time in Iliah’s life, when she curled up against Karnalta’s back and waited to fall asleep, she wondered what her sister was hiding from her.

#tesfest22 #iliah #karnalta #bees? #fic

[aurathian]

WIP Wednesday 6/7/23 -- TOTK SPOILERS AHEAD!!

this is my wip wednesday for @zelinkcommunity's zelink week! this is part of a multichapter i'll be doing for a few of the prompts :) There are HUGE totk spoilers ahead so please read at your own risk!

Long Ago was so far away that the Hyrule of Now couldn’t place it in time. Too much had come to pass that they couldn’t decipher whether it was centuries, millenia, or eons, so instead they called it Long Ago. The Hyrule of Now was wary of the Hyrule Long Ago, a Hyrule deemed dangerous and riddled with fragile legends. Parents told their sleepy children bedtime stories of the monsters from Long Ago, history books dared not to address it out of fear of manifesting what had once been, and the Royal Family kept its closely guarded secrets about that time so Long Ago. Long, Long Ago, the king and queen of Hyrule faced a great threat. Its princess was tasked with an insurmountable feat she determined to be the only just solution. Long Ago, she…

“...sacrificed herself.” The Sheikah tutor rounded the table with a glum look. “In order to drive back the Demon King and support the Hero of the Long Ago, she forfeited her being.”

A small hand rose. The tutor gestured in acknowledgment.

“How?” asked the young, bright-eyed Princess Zelda of Hyrule.

“An ancient mural indicated the princess of The Long Ago became a dragon. Such a feat is not expected of you in that regard.”

Zelda didn’t understand why Impa always looked so sad. When they played in the gardens together (after some begging), her teacher looked perfectly happy. Maybe she just didn’t like the classroom, disproportionately large for only two small desks, one each for the Princess and her Hero. The walls were lined with educational banners–literature, numbers, famous quotes–and one bore a giant chalkboard which Impa rarely wrote on. Princess Zelda wondered when they would finally learn arithmetic like all the other schoolkids.

#totk #totk spoilers #wip wednesday #zelink week 2023 #zelink #zelda #impa #zelink week