#(( ` royal ent )) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myhairpintrigger · 6 months

Text

Grieving for the Living (Aleksander Morozova x fem!reader) Part 1

The entirety of a capricious and treacherous marriage between the Darkling and the Lantsov princess.

part 2 here!

oh look who's writing again!!!! ME! this particular story is going to be about 5-6 parts and most of it is finished. i've had a lot of requests to do an arranged marriage trope and so here she is. normally, i would have just posted the entire thing, but the first half alone was over 30k words and if ur anything like me, that's dangerous for someone with an attention span of a seven year old. but nonetheless, i love u and i miss u and i'm so looking forward to being back. REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN and i implore u to take advantage of that because i would love to busy myself with writing. sending u all hugs and kisses on the cheeks. (apologies in advance for the time ur wasting on this mess)

word count: 10.1k

warnings: nothing serious. drinking, kissing, examples of a not very healthy relationship. minimal swearing i think??

Your wedding dress lay abandoned on the cold floor, along with your jewelry and your veil and your shoes. You sat, chin deep in hot water, eyes fixated on the water in front of you. Footsteps echoed in the room adjacent- your new, shared, room- and each one made you wince. Each one a reminder of the man who the steps belonged to.

Your husband.

Not by choice, of course. He was kind, chivalrous, and ever so polite. He’d looked away when you practically tore your wedding dress off and threw your jewels to the floor. He’d insisted that he wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t pressure you to consummate the marriage. He’d had a hot bath put together for you as you sat on the floor by his- yours- bed, and he’d helped you to your feet when it was ready. He wasn’t any happier about the marriage than you, but it wasn’t like either of you were in a place to argue.

He was The General of the Second Army of Ravka. You were the Princess of Ravka. Neither of you really had the clearance to be protesting what your father had commanded. Your father insisted that it was a smart pairing, that uniting the Grisha with your family was a major political statement. One that might bring a bit more peace amongst those who sneered at the Grisha. You suspected it also had something to do with the fact that your mother didn’t want to send you off to marry someone who’d whisk you away from Os Alta. You were, after all, the youngest in the Lantsov family. Your mother might just lose her temper if you were to be sent away.

The fact that you were married seemed surreal. You could be married to much worse men than The General, and that was for certain. But nevertheless, you were still full of disappointment. You’d never get to really fall in love, never get to truly be happy. The delusion of eventual happiness was often rude to you, because you knew that despite having an overall good life, you’d never have your own full agency. Not as a royal, and certainly not as a royal woman.

You’d been in the bathroom for nearly an hour now, and the water had begun to slowly go cold. With an exhausted glance at the door, you climbed slowly out of the bathtub and grabbed a large, plush towel that had been sat upon a stool just for you. You wrapped yourself in the towel and stared at the door with a blank frown. Your now-husband’s footsteps had ceased, and instead there was a strange silence that settled in. You brushed it off as best you could and opened up the door that would lead you into your shared bedroom.

The Darkling sat with his back up against the headboard of his bed and he held a book in his hands. His dark eyes flickered up to your face and they stayed there for a moment before he looked back to his book.

“There are night clothes for you, at the end of the bed. They’re still in the process of moving your belongings from the Grand Palace to here.” He explained, not looking back up at you.

You stayed in the doorway to the bathroom and your eyes floated around the entire bedroom for a moment before they settled on the clothes at the end of the bed. You shivered just slightly and pulled your towel tighter around your body.

“You wouldn’t be cold if you put clothes on, your Grace.” His voice was idle, and his eyes were still transfixed on his book. You wondered how he had noticed your shivering, but chalked it up to whatever abilities he had as a Grisha.

Every step you took towards the bed didn’t feel real. The whole night hadn’t felt real. You floated your way through your wedding with a dazed, fake smile painted across your face. The only thing grounding you at most times was the presence of The Darkling’s hand on your back. You grabbed the clothes in one hand and held your towel up with the other and started back towards the bathroom to change before he spoke again.

“I’m not going to look. You may change in here.” He stated, and with an unmoored nod of your head, you dropped your towel to the floor.

His eyes never strayed from his book once as you changed into your nightclothes, and you made sure of that by keeping yours fixed on him. He kept his word and didn’t so much as glance at you through his periphery. You stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed and picked at the stray threads at your sleeves, not sure of what to do now.

Your husband set his book on the side table next to his bedside and he peeled back the covers on the opposite side of the bed and he motioned towards it, “Please, it’s been a rather exhausting day for the both of us, and I think some sleep is in order.” He murmured and looked up at you, “Princess, please. I know this isn’t ideal, but I wish you would speak to me.” He pleaded in a soft tone, and you’d wondered if this man had ever pleaded for anything before in his life.

You slowly made your way towards the empty side of the bed and you climbed onto the mattress next to him, instantly tugging the covers up to your chin as you laid down, keeping distance between your bodies. You looked up at him to find that he was already gazing down upon your face and you felt flushed.

“I just want this to be as easy as possible for the both of us, Princess. We don’t have to be lovers, not really. But we can at the very least be friends.” He remarked kindly.

“I know.” You answered, finding your voice.

A very small smile made his full lips turn upwards, and a thin lock of hair fell over his forehead as he looked down at you.

“Go to sleep, Princess.”

You gave him a nod and closed your eyes, listening to him shuffle around a bit and blow out the candle at his bedside. Tears pooled in your closed eyes and you curled yourself into a ball, pulling the covers up over your head while little tears snuck their way out of the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know him, you didn’t even know his name. Misery weighed heavily on your chest and you wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, thinking that it was likely the only comforting embrace you’d ever feel.

Likely ever again.

Your husband’s kindness seemed to wear off as quickly as it had materialized. He was still polite and chivalrous, but you were certain it was because it was only standard to treat you like… well… royalty. He was gone often, so it didn’t bother you, not that much, at least. It had been nearly four months into your marriage, and this was the third time he’d been gone. His absence gave you a bit of relief, truth be told. You had his vast quarters to yourself and could do really anything you wanted, whether that was snooping around in his room or laying in bed all day reading.

Today happened to be a day where you had opted to stay in bed and read one of the many books you’d brought over from the Grand Palace. You hadn’t bothered to change into anything other than your bedclothes, and you sat on your side of the bed, legs tucked neatly underneath the covers. The doors to your shared quarters flew open loudly and a small handful of Grisha all filed into the room. Among the group was a red haired girl who you recognized as Genya. You knew her from the extensive time she spent with your mother, but the two of you didn’t speak often. She looked at you with an apologetic smile and you stared confusedly back at her.

“What’s going on here?” You asked and slowly set your book on your husband’s side of the bed.

Genya bowed her head respectfully and she walked towards the edge of your bed, “The Darkling is home. He’s brought the Sun Summoner with him. I’ve been sent by your mother to have you readied and sent into the Grand Palace immediately. The rest of them are here to tidy up the room.” She explained.

A small bit of disappointment swirled in your chest at the arrival of your husband and you carefully climbed out of the bed and nodded stiffly, “Okay.”

Genya led you into the bathroom as you peered over your shoulder at the Grisha that immediately had begun cleaning the near-spotless room. Once inside the bathroom, she shut the door behind you two and she sat you down on a little bench.

“Nothing fancy, please. This is not a… celebratory occasion.” You requested, and you saw the Tailor give you a little nod in your peripheral vision.

She didn’t spend long on getting you ready, in fact, she simply pulled your hair back with a soft black ribbon and put a bit of cream on your face for whatever reason. She left the room and came back with a long, black dress, holding it up to you as if you’d somehow been given a say in the dress you were to wear.

“I hate it.” You responded flatly, looking at the silver embroidery on the bodice of the dress, “I know I have something… colorful in that wardrobe. I cannot stand black.” You said, your tone borderline snotty.

Genya glanced at the dress and then back up at you and sighed, “It’s customary for you to wear his color-“ she began but you held your hand up to silence the girl.

“Customary? No. He’s ordered it, so it shall be. Is that it?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest.

She gave you a look of sympathy and held the dress out for you to take, not speaking, intentionally not verbally confirming your statement.

You scoffed and took the dress from her, “I’m getting real sick of men telling me what I should do. What events to attend, who to marry, where to be, how to speak!” You tossed the dress aside as if it were a venomous snake, “What to wear! What color I must present myself in! Who to meet!” You continued, your voice raising with each word.

You hadn’t even noticed the door had been opened until you heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. You and Genya spun around to see your husband standing by the door with the dress just a few feet from his boots. His face was unreadable, but his fist was clenched tightly at his side.

“Genya, I think I can take it from here. I apologize for my wife’s outburst. I’m sure she will never do it again.” He spoke, never looking at the Tailor once, instead, his eyes bore into yours.

You stared back into his eyes challengingly and waited for Genya to leave the room. Once she had skirted out, The Darkling closed the door loudly behind her. He bent down slowly and picked up the discarded dress and walked towards you. You backed up until the backs of your knees hit the bathtub and you could no longer go anywhere else. He stood only a foot away from you and he draped the dress over the edge of the claw-footed tub and he grabbed your waist with a surprising gentleness, turning you around.

“Take off the nightgown.” He commanded. You stared at the wall in front of you, but didn’t speak. You didn’t even move.

When you made no move to undress yourself, your husband reached down and grabbed the hem of your nightgown and began to pull it upwards.

You slapped his hands away and gasped, “Do not touch me! You swore you’d not lay a finger on me!” You shrieked. You spun around to see him leaning over you, his face showing mild irritation.

“Undress yourself. Now, y/n.”

He hardly ever used your name, and now that he had, you felt a bit nervous. He spoke calmly, eerily so. Your hands shook as you reached down and pulled the nightgown off, crossing your arms over your chest instantly afterwards to cover yourself. But he didn’t seem to be looking at your body. His dark eyes were fixed sternly on your face. He pointed at the dress by your side on the edge of the bathtub and you grabbed it. Slowly, you straightened it out and stepped into it, hands still shaking. Once you had pulled it up and slid your arms into the long sleeves, he grabbed your waist and turned you around again. He grabbed the laces of your dress and began to tie them with sharp, precise movements.

“There will not be another outburst like that, do you understand me?” He asked and gave the laces a hard tug, pulling you back a bit.

You were now so close to him that you could feel the heat radiating off of his body and you swallowed nervously before giving him a nod.

He finished lacing up your dress and he gently turned you towards him, looking down at you. He looked down at the dress and then back up at your face. He pointed at a pair of black boots on the floor and you silently slipped them on and bent down to tie them. Once you had, you straightened back up, and he offered you his arm. You stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and you frowned, tears springing to your eyes.

One trickled down your cheek and you looked down at the floor, sniffling. He brought a hand up to your chin and he gently lifted your head back up before he reached up and carefully wiped your tear away with his thumb.

“Princess, I have only requested you wear black this afternoon so that we look like we stand united. We need to look like we have a strong partnership. Your parents have begun asking about children.” He murmured and led you out of the bathroom slowly.

You didn’t respond, waiting for him to go on.

“I have told them we are doing the best that we can. Your father seems content with that answer. Your mother doesn’t. We need to appear to be much more… in love… than we are.” He explained. You shuddered at the thought of being with child.

The two of you walked out of your shared room and you let out a sigh, “Genya told me you have brought company. The Sun Summoner.”

He gave you a little nod and looked down at you, “Yes. And we must appear united to her, too. She needs to trust me. Trust the Grisha. How is she to trust me if my own wife doesn’t?” He asked and then gave you an accusatory look.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want this.” You managed to say.

He gave you a pitiful smile and then shook his head, “Neither of us want this. But this is our reality. The sooner you accept it, the sooner it will be more comfortable.”

You searched his face for a very long moment and then you shifted your eyes away from his face, “I will never be comfortable in a reality where I have no say.” You stated, challengingly.

“Princess, with all due respect,” he began, leading you down the hallway, “you didn’t have a say to begin with.” He finished, sounding amused.

You scoffed, appalled by his boldness, “I’m allowed to be frustrated. I’m trapped in a loveless marriage!”

He shushed you sharply and looked down at you, giving you a scolding look, “What am I to do about these horrible outbursts you’ve been having?” He asked, his tone low.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer him. You just continued walking alongside him.

You passed a couple of Grisha girls in the hallway, and one of them gave The Darkling a particularly fond smile, wiggling her fingers in what was sure to be a seductive wave. You narrowed your eyes and tugged him along, past the others and towards the Grand Palace determinedly. Your husband stopped you from walking just a second later and he sighed, shaking his head almost dejectedly.

“We need to escort Alina to the Grand Palace.” He explained. You raised an eyebrow.

“Alina?” You asked, pulling your arm away from his and placing your hands on your hips, “Is she your mistress?” You demanded, stamping your foot down against the marble floors. The Darkling rolled his eyes at your insolence and if you hadn’t felt so angry, you might have also rolled your eyes at your behavior.

“Alina is the Sun Summoner.” He answered plainly and then leaned down towards your face. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, and it seemed absurd. He’d never made any advances on you, he’d not even tried to befriend you, really. He kept going until his lips brushed the shell of your ear and he chuckled into it, “I wouldn’t take you to meet my mistress. Your sour attitude might spoil the fun I have with her.” He whispered smugly and then pulled away from your ear.

You stared up at him, wide eyed. Not only did he just insult you, but he’d just admitted to adultery. Your upper lip twitched and you brought your hand up involuntarily, bringing your palm up to his cheek quickly. The slap you left upon his face echoed in the empty hallway and you grit your teeth. He clearly didn’t expect it, because his head was turned to the side and his eyes were closed. Slowly he turned his head back to face you and his jaw was set angrily. His eyes were burning holes into your own, and if you were smart, you would’ve stopped there.

“Not only am I your wife but I am the Princess of Ravka. I outrank you by many people. Forget not who you speak to.” You hissed, trying to muster up the most bravery you’d ever tried to conjure before in your life, “You will respect me the way a subject should respect their Princess, but you will also respect me the way a husband should respect a wife. In love or not.” You snapped, feeling your bravery wane as he towered over you. Had he always been that tall?

You prepared yourself for his wrath. You’d never experienced it, but you’d heard rumors. He was formidable. There was a reason he led the Second Army, and you assumed it wasn’t posterity alone. But his wrath never came. Instead, a gentle hand took your chin and tipped your head upwards. He gave you a soft smile and you briefly thought he was going to apologize, to say it was a terrible joke and that he didn’t mean what he’d said. But he didn’t, not even close.

“Oh, sweet y/n. My darling wife. You may be the Princess, and for that you have my respect, but as my wife? You have none of it. Let me make that clear; I would fuck countless women- and men- before I even considered laying a finger on you. You could be the last girl in the world, and I still wouldn’t touch you.” He pulled away and offered his arm to you again, giving you a sweet smile.

You didn’t love him. In fact, you were quite sure now that you hated him. So why did his words sting so badly? You rapidly tried to blink away the tears that rushed to your eyes, and you stumbled back a bit. Footsteps echoed through the hall, but they sounded like they were underwater, and you could faintly hear someone call out for your husband. You went to lean your back up against the wall, but just as soon as you moved backwards, his hands came to your waist and he pulled you against his chest in what appeared to be a tender embrace.

He was petting your hair and shushing you, and you were too stunned to pull yourself away. Your forehead rested against his warm kefta and you sniffled loudly, catching a faint smell of leather and something sweet, something woodsy. Him. It’s what his sheets smelled like and what his room smelled like. The scent made your head hurt and you went to pull away, but his arms locked you in place.

“General, I- what’s going on?” A voice asked.

Yeah, General, you thought, what’s going on?

“Alina, this is my wife.” He answered smoothly, and it was almost amazing to you how he said “wife” so affectionately.

His arms loosened around your body and you slowly pulled away from him, keeping your head down as to hide your tear stained eyes and cheeks. You looked at the floor sadly, at your boots, his boots, and this Alina girl’s boots.

“Oh! Your Grace!” Alina breathed, curtsying to you respectfully.

You lifted your head and gave her a weak smile, “You must be the Sun Summoner.” You croaked, wanting to disappear into thin air.

“You must excuse her state, Miss Starkov,” your husband interjected, “it’s just that we’re both a bit disappointed right now.” He said coolly, “We’ve been trying for a child since our wedding night, and,” he paused and reached for your hand. You felt sick when he grabbed it and held it tightly in his own, as if he were soothing you, “well, we’ve had no luck.” he finished, giving your hand a little squeeze.

“My apologies, General- and Princess.” She said quietly and you gave her another small smile but didn’t speak.

“We must be going, Miss Starkov. You need to meet the rest of the royal family.“ he urged and pulled you against his side, “Come, follow us.”

The week following the arrival of Alina Starkov was grey. The clouds hung ominously in the sky, and every so often, it would rain just a little bit. You’d spent most of your time sitting by the window in your husband’s room, silent. He’d spend much of his time away from you, and you were grateful for that. The only time you saw him in the past seven days had been only when the two of you went to bed. So it was odd when the doors to the room were opened and you could hear his familiar footsteps on the floor. You didn’t turn around to greet him, but eventually you could sense him standing right behind you. You sat on the window seat wrapped in a thick, black blanket, and you very slowly turned your head around to face him. He was already looking down at you. His beard had been freshly trimmed and shaped, you noted, and his dark eyes shone in the grey light that seeped through the clouds. He let out a long sigh.

“I owe you an apology.” He remarked.

You looked the man up and down and then shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. You hadn’t uttered a word to him since the day you met Alina, and perhaps that was driving him insane. You couldn’t be sure, though. He was always so calm and collected, never letting a single emotion slip through the cracks of his steely armor. He slowly sank to his knees beside you and he was now level with your face, his eyes meeting yours.

“Prin- y/n…” he corrected himself and then pursed his lips for a silent moment. Finally, he let a breath out through his nose, “y/n, the way I spoke to you was out of line. You are correct when you say I ought to respect you, not only as my wife, but as the Princess of the country I swear allegiance to.”

You eyed him warily and leaned your head back against the wall, a little frown forming on your lips. You weren’t overly sure how to react to his apology. You weren’t even sure of why he was apologizing. You gave him another little shrug and he cocked his head slightly to the side.

“I know all too well that this marriage wasn’t wanted by either of us. We are having a hard time… adjusting. That’s to be expected. If we cannot be lovers, we should at least be able to be friends. We have a long life ahead of us.” He explained.

You listened to what he said and blinked a few times. You sniffed once to fill the silence and then you shook your head, “I don’t know how to be friends with you, Sir.” You replied after a while, looking back out the window.

“Okay, perhaps not friends, but we need amicability to survive this.” He spoke, and the soft tone of his voice drew your attention back to him.

You hated to admit how beautiful he was, how enticing he was. You’d heard many people in the Grand Palace and the Little Palace alike whisper about how they’d wanted him, but no one would ever make a move. For one, he was married to the princess, and if that wasn’t enough, usually his intimidating demeanor deterred anyone brave enough to ignore you. You searched his face for any trace of emotion, or even deception, but you found none.

“I don’t forgive you. But I agree with what you’ve said, and I appreciate your apology.” You said finally, tracing your finger against the inside of the blanket you held. You looked into his eyes and he gave you a very small smile.

“I’m going riding with Miss Starkov. I will be back for dinner. I’ll have the servants draw you a hot bath.” He said, rising to his feet.

You watched him stand and you nodded once, “Okay. Thank you.” You murmured and turned to look back out the window again.

It had begun to rain.

“I heard it was rather romantic!”

“Well, that’s what I heard too, but how romantic could it be?”

“There’s something romantic about sneaking into his war room… especially when his wife is asleep just a room away.”

“That’s just plain dangerous, don’t you know the Princess could have her head?”

Your fingers trembled as you held your teacup, eyes fixed pointedly on your husband’s face as he sipped his own tea and seemed to look everywhere but you. The voices from two Grisha a table over were completely audible to your ears and you slammed your teacup down on the table. This seemed to grab The Darkling’s attention and he narrowed his eyes a bit before he shook his head.

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly and reached across the table to gently hold your wrist.

“I’ve had it with your gossiping Grisha. I’ve heard the same stories all week. Every time I come to have tea or a meal, it’s all anyone can talk about.” You said critically.

You were referring to six days prior. Alina had wandered into your husband’s war room, a room adjacent to your shared bedroom. You weren’t, in fact, asleep. You’d been up reading while you waited on sleep to come to you, but to no avail. The Darkling often spent most of his night in the war room at his war table or his desk, going over plans, strategies, and whatever else he deemed important. Apparently she couldn’t sleep, and according to every rumor you’d heard, the two had shared a particularly intimate moment. Whether it was true or not, you’d never know. The man was evasive whenever you asked him about it. Whatever happened, the gossip was running rampant around the Little Palace and likely the Grand Palace now. You’d wondered if your parents had heard. The thought made you recoil.

“My dear, it’s silly gossip.” He insisted and you slowly rose from the table and gave him an overly sweet smile, a smile without a trace of sincerity behind it.

“Will it be silly when I tell my father of its truth?” You asked, batting your lashes at him innocently.

His mouth twitched and you could see that you’d angered him slightly. You’d been getting rather good at that of late.

“Y/n.” The Darkling warned and slowly stood up from the table as well, walking towards you. His hand found its way to your back and he promptly led you out of the dining hall. You only followed without protest because you didn’t want to give anyone more reasons to gossip about your clearly loveless marriage.

There was enough of that already.

You followed him into the hallway and all the way across the Little Palace, and finally back into his quarters. He closed the door behind him and he gave you a look up and down before you turned on your heel and went to sit on a chair in the corner of the room.

“What happened to having a united appearance?” You asked in a bored tone, crossing your legs stiffly as you looked up at him. He stayed by the doors and thought for a while before sighing.

“Would it really bother you so much if I had shared such a moment with Alina?” He asked and took a step towards you.

You scoffed, “Please. I couldn’t care less who you have affections for. Alas, as you said, I could be the last girl alive and you wouldn’t touch me. But keep your affairs private.” You snapped, but the words were bitter in your mouth.

He stared at you for a long while and then he chuckled and shook his head, leaning up against his war table. He seemed amused. He didn’t seem to be taking you seriously, and this made you angry. You stood up from the chair and stomped over to him, standing less than a foot away from the much taller man.

You jabbed your finger against the center of his chest, “I mean it. You will not drag my name down with you just because you are aching to have some girl warm your bed! I am the Princess, I will be respected as such! You will not stand-“

His cold, rough hands flew to your cheeks and he roughly pulled you forward as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You didn’t know how to react at first, so you stood there, shocked. Then came panic. You’d only ever been kissed once before, and it had been nothing like this. A peck on the lips from a suitor, a goodbye kiss. This was different. Your husband’s mouth was soft and warm, and the kiss was intense. You tentatively returned his kiss with clumsy, inexperienced lips, and finally he pulled away, dropping his hands away from your face. Your cheeks felt hot and you stared up at him confusedly, trying to make sense of whatever had just happened.

Your husband stared back at you, almost as if he were surprised that he’d done that, too.

“You’ve never been kissed before.” He commented, and your cheeks heated up even more.

Was it that obvious? You looked away and then sniffed.

“Not like that.” You remarked, suddenly becoming hyper aware of your heart, which was beating faster than normal in your chest. Could he hear that? Surely not. But weren’t there Grisha that could? Was he one of them? Why did he kiss you? You bombarded yourself with questions and placed a hand on your temple.

“Don’t overthink it, Princess.” His voice rang out through the noise in your head and you blinked up at him.

His expression was unreadable and you slowly backed away from the Darkling. He looked so put together, so immaculate. His face was cool and his posture was perfect, not a hair was out of place on his head. You on the other hand? You were sure your cheeks were as hot as the fireplace burning in the corner of the room, and your hair felt disheveled. You wanted to slap him across the face for kissing you, and you wanted to ask him why. You doubted you’d ever get an answer, though. Months had gone by since your union, and he’d not so much as held your hand or told you that you looked beautiful. So this kiss? It was currently making your head hurt.

Were you even attracted to the man? You wondered. He was breathtaking, you didn’t need to like him to admit that.

A hand wrapped itself around your arm and you recognized it as his. You looked up at him, surprised as he carefully pulled you back towards him.

“Hey, I told you not to overthink it. Go get ready for dinner. We will be dining with your parents.” He instructed.

You nodded dumbly and moved away from him, far enough and fast enough this time so that he couldn’t pull you back and you quickly walked into your bedroom, mind still racing.

“We hardly see you anymore, have you gotten any of the dresses I’ve sent for you, darling?” Your mother’s voice rang out across the dining table, and you looked up from your third glass of wine and gave her a smile.

“Mhm, thank you, Mother.” You replied, swirling the wine in your glass before you finished it.

Your mind had been reeling for the past three hours, replaying the kiss you and your husband had shared. It was strange to think about. You didn’t think he was even slightly attracted to you. Maybe he was just… desperate? No, that couldn’t be it, surely. He could get anyone he wanted, it wasn’t like you were all that there was. And didn’t he swear that even if you were the last person alive that he wouldn’t want you that way? You blinked a few times and reached out for the crystal decanter full of wine and you poured yourself another glass, your head feeling nice and empty.

A hand clasped your forearm gently and you looked up to see your husband staring down at you.

“My love, are you listening?” He asked and eyed you, almost concernedly.

You looked at him for a moment longer before you looked around the table to see your mother, your father, and your brother staring at you.

“What? What was said?” You asked, not recalling hearing anyone speak.

“Darling, girl. Your mother asked you a question.” The General said with a soft, amused laugh.

You eyed him for a moment through narrowed eyes and then you looked at your mother. Your cheeks felt warm and you began to feel very light. You let out a pleasant sounding sigh and then smiled at your mother.

“Sorry, what did you ask, Mother?” You asked, your tongue feeling a bit too big for your mouth.

“I asked if you have gotten the chance to wear that pretty purple gown I had made for you.” She said, her thin eyebrow arching slightly.

You thought for a moment, bringing your hand up to your forehead, “Purple gown?” You echoed, trying to picture it. You tried your hardest to picture the dress she spoke of, but your mind began to wander again. Back to the kiss.

You turned your eyes away from your mother and now looked at your husband. He was looking across the table at your mother as well, his big, brown eyes fixed on the woman politely. His chiseled jaw moved and you realized he was speaking, but you couldn’t be bothered to listen. His voice seemed far away, anyhow. His prominent nose and strong cheekbones were highlighted in the evening light, making his side profile appear even more impressive than usual. You sighed quietly when your gaze traveled to his lips and stayed there, unwavering.

Slowly, he turned his head towards you and gave you a very soft smile.

“My love, you are drunk.” He spoke. You opened your mouth to protest, but giggled instead.

“I think we should’ve taken her drink away after the first glass.” Vasily grumbled from across the table.

This made you scowl and you turned to your brother with an annoyed glower, “Oh, shut up, Vasily. You drink the town dry whenever you’re able.” You retorted, folding your arms over your chest defiantly.

“Don’t you two start-“ your father began, but Vasily stood up from the table abruptly.

“You are the Princess of Ravka. You will act like it. That means you present yourself well at all times- even around just your family.” He said haughtily.

You and your brother seldom got along. Perhaps it was because he had much more traditional beliefs about gender roles and had a strong lean towards a patriarchal dynamic in the palace, or maybe it was because you had bonded with your half brother, Nikolai, much better than he and Vasily had bonded.

You opened your mouth to argue back at him, but a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and you looked up to see that your husband now stood over you. He held your shoulder gently and he gave your parents both an apologetic smile.

“Your majesties, I think I’m going to take our lovely princess back to the Little Palace. Don’t judge her too harshly, please. We have both been struggling with… our lack of child.” He explained with a voice as soft as velvet.

Silver tongued bastard.

Your mother placed a sympathetic hand over her chest and she nodded once, a sad look covering her face, “Oh, we pray to the Saints every night that you two will find luck. I know how hard it’s been for you two.” She said sadly, looking over to your father who was now nodding along with her.

You tried to stand up from the chair, but the black silk of your gown caught underneath your shoe, and you stumbled a bit. Your husband easily caught you, and in one fluid motion, he lifted you up into his arms. You threw your arms around his neck and laid your head on his shoulder. He smelled just as you had remembered from weeks ago, only now it seemed more inviting.

You heard him bid your family goodbye and then you felt his body move slightly with each graceful step he took. Once both of you were out of earshot of anyone else, you heard your husband sigh softly through his nose. You looked up at him from where your head laid on his shoulder.

“I do believe this is the first time I’ve seen you… intoxicated.” He remarked, his tone even, “You drinking for any particular reason, Princess?” He asked.

You stared at his hair and reached up to twirl the ends of it around your fingertip, “Just having some wine, that okay with you, husband?” You asked with a mirthful giggle, giving his hair a gentle tug.

You watched the corner of his lip tugged upwards in a smile and he glanced down at you, “You about gave your brother a seizure.” He remarked and then pushed open the doors to the courtyard with his foot.

The cool evening air made your warm cheeks feel nice and you closed your eyes, your fingers still absentmindedly twisting about in your husband’s hair, “He is… a handful.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve watched him grow up.” He remarked and you furrowed your eyebrows.

His words confused you for a moment but then you recalled that he didn’t really age. Not like you, anyway. Grisha perk, you guessed.

“So that means you’ve watched me do the same, I guess.” You hummed, trying to think back to your earliest memory of The Darkling.

“Yes and no.” He replied, “In the years following you and Vasily being born, I was often away on business. And besides, you two were often in lessons or doing whatever it is royal children do. I can recall seeing you in the flesh maybe four times before you turned sixteen.” He explained.

You thought for a moment and then you let out a sigh, your hand falling away from his hair, “That’s… weird.” You murmured, trying to wrap your head around it, “So you’re like… old? How old? Like, fifty?” You asked, growing more curious.

“No, not fifty, darling. One hundred twenty.” He replied idly and then he chuckled, “Serving for your family has been in my family for quite some time.” His tone was amused and you lifted your head away from his shoulder.

“Was it weird when we got married then?” You asked and blinked slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light outside.

He thought for a moment and then he shook his head, “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say it was ‘weird’. Your father initially wanted to marry you off to one of Ketterdam’s richest politicians. But your poor mother wept whenever he’d bring it up. I mean, at this point you were an adult. It was time in their eyes for you to be married off. Eventually your parents offered me your hand and I figured that it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. I mean, you’d still be home, after all, and at least I can ensure that you aren’t… made to be a traditional wife.” He explained, looking down at your face.

“Traditional wife..?” You asked confusedly.

“Princess, you have lived a rather luxurious life. Both your mother and your father have gone very easy on you. But I’ve seen past princesses married off to be bred like dogs and that’s all.” He had your attention now, and you looked into his eyes while he spoke, “I think that you have grown up to be an exceptionally intelligent and remarkable girl, that needn’t be wasted on some pig from Ketterdam who wants your children for status.” He said firmly, his eyes never leaving yours.

He walked up the steps to the front doors of the Little Palace and two guards opened the doors for you two. He stepped inside and you took a moment to process his words. It was without a doubt, the nicest thing he’d ever said to you. You stayed silent in thought the whole way back to your shared bedroom, and before you knew it, you were being gently placed on the edge of the bed. Your husband knelt before you and was busying himself with getting your boots unlaced, his eyes focused on the task at hand. Your mind swirled with his words and you could almost hear him in your mind, telling you not to overthink it.

Too late for that.

“If you think I’m so intelligent and remarkable, why do you hate me?” You whispered, looking down at him. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth anxiously and awaited his answer.

For a while, you wondered if he had even heard you, because he didn’t speak. Instead, he simply pulled your boots off and reached underneath your dress chastely to pull your tights off. He looked up at you after he had freed your legs from their stocking smothered prison, straightening up a bit. Even though you were sitting on your bed and he was on his knees before you, he was almost level with your face, and you found yourself only having to shift your head downwards slightly.

“I don’t hate you, y/n.” He replied slowly, his hands coming to rest on your dress over your calves.

“You certainly could have fooled me.” You said slowly, your head spinning. You chalked it up to the wine.

He took his time responding again, and when he did, you had almost forgotten what you two had been speaking about.

“Sweetheart, you’ve had much to drink tonight. I don’t think we need to be getting into these conversations while you are drunk.” He replied softly and then he stood up.

He left the room promptly and you felt your eyes well up with tears. You did not want to cry, especially over him, but it also felt like you two were having some sort of breakthrough tonight. Just as the first tear fell, he entered the room again, and he walked towards you determinedly. When he saw the tear rolling down your cheek, he reached down and wiped it away with his thumb. You looked up into his dark, endless eyes and you frowned.

“Why did you kiss me?” You asked, finally having the courage to speak about the thing that had been giving you not a moment’s peace all evening.

He grabbed your hands gently and pulled you off of the bed and turned you around. He began to unlace your dress with skilled fingers and you were suddenly very self conscious, “I kissed you because I saw no other way to quiet your outburst.” He replied coolly, fingers still moving quickly to unlace your dress, “I’m having a bath drawn for you. Let’s just get you out of these clothes, yeah?” He asked softly.

At first, you felt a bit disappointed when he told you that the kiss was only a means to quiet you, but then you were confused as to why you were even disappointed in the first place.

Your husband pulled your dress down your body and you shivered slightly as his fingers brushed your shoulder blades. Instantly, you were covered by something cold to the touch and you looked down to see your husband had draped a silk robe over your body. You slipped your arms into it and he helped you step out of your dress before you quickly tied the robe closed with clumsy, drunk fingers. You puffed your cheeks out and turned around, expecting The Darkling to be across the room, but instead, he was right in front of you, just inches away.

“Woah.” You murmured, taken aback by his close proximity. You stumbled back just slightly, but your husband had reflexes like you’d never seen. He caught you by your arms and steadied you, looking down into your eyes.

You gazed up into his eyes and you tried to stay focused on his stare, but your eyes strayed to his lips. You flickered your gaze between his lips and his eyes for a moment before you stood on your tiptoes and leaned forward, intent on kissing him again.

You hardly moved forward, and were confused as to why, until you realized he was holding you back. You looked up at him with a pathetic frown and you stuck your bottom lip out.

“Do I need to have another outburst for you to let it happen again?” You asked, the words leaving your mouth before you had a chance to even think them over.

“You are drunk, y/n. I’m not going to let that happen.” He said sternly.

You felt your cheeks heat up, you felt… rejected. The feeling left a sour taste in your mouth and you looked down, avoiding his stare. You wished things could go back to the way they had been just hours ago, before he had kissed you. You wished that he’d yell at you or insult you again, anything other than reject you. You wished he’d let go of you and let you run across the courtyard and back into your old bedroom, where he ceased to exist as your husband, where the kiss never happened, where you were unwed and happily reading alone.

A tap on the doorframe pulled you out of your head and you both looked at the servant who stood there.

“The bath is warm and ready whenever she is, Sir.”

He nodded once and turned to you with a weak smile, “Go. Get in the bath. Call for me if you need help.” He said softly, sending you on your way.

You haphazardly made your way to the bathroom and dropped your robe. You closed the door hurriedly and then stepped into the hot bath. Although the water was slightly too hot for your liking, you still sunk down into it, arms wrapped around yourself tightly.

You thought that maybe the hot water would scald the thoughts of The Darkling right out of your head.

You were disappointed to find that it did no such thing.

Your husband had been avoiding you.

If he wasn’t, he was doing a very poor job being around, and if he was, then he was succeeding with flying colors. He’d been so keen on not being around you ever since the night of having dinner with your parents.

That was nearly five days ago now.

Now you sat alone in a room full of other Grisha, picking uncomfortably at your lunch. Under any normal circumstance, your husband would at the very least eat with you, but he didn’t seem to be interested in keeping up appearances with you anymore. You shifted awkwardly in your chair and set your spoon down, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on you. You stared off into your bowl of soup for a while, wondering when it was socially acceptable to stand up and abandon your untouched lunch. You had only just decided that you were going to leave when the doors to the dining hall opened up. You didn’t even have time to stand before your husband walked inside.

But he wasn’t alone.

Alina Starkov was politely clutching his arm and he was ushering her inside. You pressed your lips together, feeling even more gazes settle upon you than before. Abruptly, you stood up from your table and met your husband’s eyes with a challenging stare. When he looked at you, so did Alina. She almost for a fleeting second looked guilty, but then her gaze turned pitiful and at the same time almost… prideful.

You sniffed once and stood completely still as the pair began to approach you. You ran your tongue along the backs of your teeth as the two grew closer and closer, and you willed yourself not to have what your husband would call “an outburst.”

Once they were a mere three feet away from you, you watched your husband’s face melt into a sickeningly sweet smile and he held his hand out for you.

“My love, I was thinking-“

“Your Grace.” You corrected sharply. Every voice in the room stopped all at once and now you were sure every single eye was on you.

“Pardon me?” Your husband asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You will call me ‘Your Grace’. I am the princess. You will give me the respect of formalities.” You chided, feeling an unbridled sense of anger warm your veins.

He looked taken aback, and he stood there silently, waiting for whatever else you had to say. But you were done. You pushed your chair in and you looked Alina up and down once before you shouldered past your husband, making a beeline directly out of the dining hall.

You marched with intent back into your shared bedroom and you made quick work of pulling all of your clothes out of the sleek black armoire that had been dedicated to your numerous dresses. With a look of disgust, you left each black piece hanging in the armoire and tossed the rest onto the bed. You made a large pile of your clothes and blankets and you gathered them all into your arms, albeit struggling to get a hold of the clothes.

You were ready to get out of the Little Palace. You formulated a plan as you hobbled across the room to the door, holding the pile of gowns in your arms. You’d go back to the Grand Palace and you’d beg and beg, and even cry if you had to, to your parents to get you out of this marriage and let you marry someone- anyone- else. Perhaps you’d tell them he was cruel, or perhaps you’d say you’d never bear a child because the Grisha can’t procreate. You huffed angrily as you kicked your bedroom door open, and you shuffled out of the room, not able to see over the mountain of dresses in your arms. You were your parents’ favorite, after all. Surely they’d make this allowance for you just this once.

You hadn’t even made it halfway down the hallway before you bumped into someone. You let out a small sigh and craned your neck around the clothes. You caught a glimpse of a black Kefta around your dresses and you shook your head, trying to go around him. He stepped in front of you again, blocking you from walking away.

“I am not doing this with you.” You deadpanned, “So get out of my way and let me go. The sooner we can get this… arrangement ended, the sooner you and I can just live our own lives, General.”

But he didn’t respond. Instead he sidestepped you and grabbed your shoulders in a steel-like grip and steered you against your will back to the bedroom. You dropped your dresses to the floor once you were in the bedroom and you gaped up at him angrily. His face didn’t show a single emotion other than maybe mild annoyance, and this made you even angrier. You pursed your lips tightly and stared up at him defiantly, folding your arms across your chest.

“Breaking our ‘arrangement’ would mean you’d be married off to someone who will not give you free will.” He finally said, taking a half step closer to you.

“I don’t care. I hate you.” You said, childishly.

“You don’t hate me. You are cross with me. You sound like a child, right now.” He remarked and you shook your head.

“No. I hate you. I mean, I really hate you. You cannot make up your mind! We get married and you’re kind to me, and not even a month later you’re as cold as ice! Then you tell me that you wouldn’t touch me if I was the last person alive! But then you kiss me? Take care of me when I’m drunk, you’re all… gentle with me. And now you’re avoiding me, sneaking around with her. Make no mistake, I couldn’t care less who you really love, but this isn’t fair to me!” You exclaimed, your voice growing less angry and more… hurt, much to your dismay, “You might think you’re in the right, marrying me for noble reasons, but I’m…” you trailed off and you leaned back against the wall next to the door and you slid down slowly, until you were sitting on the cold floor, your dress pooling around your legs.

He waited for you to continue, not speaking. His eyes never left your face once and you felt the familiar burn of his gaze on you. The even more familiar sting of tears began to form over your eyes and you brought your hands up to your face.

“I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with a chivalrous at best marriage. This is never what I wanted,” you started, your voice wavering, “I would rather risk it all and take my chances with someone else if it meant there was a slight chance of finding someone who actually loves me.” You finished in a whisper, keeping your face in your hands.

He was silent and you expected this. You expected him to smooth it over and tell you that it was okay, that this marriage was for the best, and then leave again. You expected him to go back to Alina and spend the rest of the day with her, as he had the past five days.

What you didn’t expect was to feel his hands gently pull you to your feet by your arms. You didn’t look at him, you didn’t want to, so you opted for looking down at the tips of your boots. You were so close to him that you could smell him, just as you had when he carried you back to your bedroom. Except, now the smell wasn’t inviting. Now, it made your head hurt and it made your chest tighten. You pressed your lips together as tightly as you could and said nothing, hoping that he’d just leave you alone.

His cold fingers grabbed ahold of your chin and he tilted your head up towards his and he looked down into your tear-glossed eyes. You felt your bottom lip quiver as you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose. You wanted to pull away, you wanted to at the very least, look away, but he held your gaze. His face had no emotion on it, but you could see in his eyes that his mind was racing, like he didn’t know what to do. You shakily reached up and grabbed his wrist in your smaller hand and you pried his hand away from your face. You gave him an apologetic smile and you took a step back.

“You know this is for the best.” You whispered.

“Best for who?” He asked, quickly, as if he didn’t even think about it.

You were taken aback, “For both of us. This way you can be with Alina, just like you want, and I can have a shot at finding real love. It’s for the best.” You insisted, taking another step back.

You didn’t get far, because The Darkling’s hands moved quickly to grab your waist and pull you back towards him.

“I disagree.” He whispered, “You are just scared. This isn’t what’s best. You’re just frightened. Frightened that you may have feelings for me, frightened that I don’t return them. Frightened that I have affections for Alina.”

You furrowed your brow and you looked up at him and shook your head, “That’s not…” you trailed off and fell silent. You refused to contemplate his words, and maybe it’s because you knew he was right. It was impossible not to be somewhat attracted to him, by his looks alone. You shook your head again and tried to step away, but he wasn’t letting you go anywhere.

“You’re making this worse.” You whispered and closed your eyes, your lips pursing.

“Let me make it better, then.” He said in a low tone.

“I don’t want you to make it better.” You insisted.

“If you wanted love, little princess, all you needed to do was tell me.” He murmured, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face gently.

“I don’t want to.” You argued, but the way you leaned your face into the palm of his hand was a bit contradictory.

“Then what is it that you do want?” He asked, thumb brushing slowly across your cheekbone, his cold skin sending a chill through your body.

“I…” you began, tears pooling in your eyes. They slowly rolled down your cheeks as you looked up at him, your bottom lip trembling, “I want you to love me.” You admitted, shame heating your cheeks.

The silence between the two of you was palpable and you went to move away from him again, but he pulled you back into place once more. His thumbs caught each tear that rolled down your cheeks, though it seemed pointless with how many were falling. You two stayed like that for a long time, until your husband coaxed your head forward. He gently laid your head down against his chest and he wrapped both of his arms around your waist, a gesture that would have left you speechless if you weren’t already out of words to say.

His hand laid against the back of your head and he slowly began to rock you from side to side, as if it would soothe you. There was so much you wanted to ask him, but the questions would leave your mind as soon as they came. Part of you wanted to pull away from him, leave him behind like you’d planned, but the other part couldn’t even consider leaving his embrace.

So you didn’t.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #the darkling imagine #the darkling x you #the darkling imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes imagine

313 notes · View notes

sourw0lfs · 5 months

Text

STWG Prompt: Ruby

Words: 479 | Rating: E | CW: blood, death, one mention of the cops

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Steve decides immediately that he’s too hungover for this. His head feels like it’s full of cotton as he tries to make sense of the scene in front of him, but nothing about it makes sense. Not matter how long he stares. There are too many blanks, too many questions without answers, for him to puzzle his way through why there’s suddenly a dead body in his one-night-stand’s living room.

His stomach rolls again, and Steve barely manages to stumble back down the hallway and somehow find the bathroom before he actually throws up. Whether it’s from the hangover or from the dead body, he isn’t sure. Maybe it’s from both.

Either way, he spends several moments with his head rested against the cold tile of the bathroom floor, relishing in how it eases the ache in his head enough to try and figure out his next move. He oh so desperately wants to call Robin for help, because she always knows what to do, but the barely functioning logical part of his brain tells him that’s a bad idea, that he shouldn’t get her involved in whatever the fuck happened overnight.

He should call the cops, but that’s how he gets smacked right in the face with a murder charge that isn’t his. Maybe if he just… sneaks out really carefully? It’s not the best idea Steve’s ever had, but it certainly can’t be the worst either, right?

Hauling himself up and using the sink for balance, Steve glances in the mirror to give himself a pep talk. He might have the hangover from hell, but he can do this. The sight in the mirror nearly sends him to the floor again.

He’s covered in blood. And if the scene in the living room is anything to go by, none of it is his. But why the fuck is it all over him? His skin is stained so red it looks like he took a dip in a bath of melted rubies or something. No, Steve, that’s a dumb analogy. Focus!

Hand shaking, Steve reaches up to touch the drying red around his mouth, across the drips that seemingly rolled down his chin and stained his shirt. That’s also when he notices the same dark color under his nails, caked in under the bitten-down tips like they’d raked through the blood.

There’s no way he can sneak out looking like this. And he can’t take the guy’s clothes either because that’s also stupid. He is so, so, so, so royally fucked.

“What the fuck am I gonna do now?” he wonders to himself, eying the mess hopelessly. Cleaning it up wouldn’t be near good enough.

“I can help with that,” a voice from behind Steve says, making him jump and whirl around, as his heart tries to kick itself free from his chest.

“Who the fuck are you?”

tagging anyone that expressed wanting more: @chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @quevadilla @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @tboyeddie @penny00dreadful @ent-is-indecisive

#fox writes things #steddie #stwg daily drabble

161 notes · View notes

viric-dreams · 21 days

Text

Reference Montage.

There's something odd about Ockham. Ockham seems cordial enough when you meet at a society soirée, or in the crowded lobby after a theatrical performance, even if Ockham seems to say very little. It's not until you get out into the crisp night air that you feel suddenly awake and refreshed, and the haziness of your encounter truly sets in. What were you talking about anyway? Did she say something important? Was it she? Or maybe it was he... you seemed to have known at the time. The longer you think on the encounter, the more nonsensical it seems. What did Ockham even look like? Your memory of him... them(?)... doesn't seem right, like trying to remember a dream... Perhaps it's best not to think too hard.

Though it would be many months before Ockham himherthemself would catch wind of it, Ockham is not the original sailor who fell into the mirrored surface of the sea, but rather his Parabolan reflection, and an amalgamation of memories and identity from both the original, as well as many from the Fingerkings in possession of said body for the better part of a century. Something like this is not unheard of in Parabola, but a creature native to the Is-Not should not have been able to escape to the Is.

The transition is not seamless. Ockham seems to give off significant viric radiation when outside of Parabola, and it tends to affect anyone who tries to interact with himherthem.

Ockham did eventually manage to track down the body of the Original, still possessed by Fingerkings. The interaction did not go well. This has left Ockham at something of a loss at what to do about it, that would not endanger hishertheir existence. Ockham wants some sort of revenge on the Cacophony, but cannot risk their retaliation to hishertheir counterpart, due to the very real risk that it would affect himherthem too. Expelling the Fingerkings, however, might also have negative effects, should the majority of hishertheir memories then return to their original host. It's a quandary.

Ockham speaks several languages (primarily Flemish and French, but also German and to a lesser extent Spanish and Portuguese). English falls near the middle of this range, though it's not a language that Ockham willingly learned or has any interest in improving (courtesy of being impressed into the Royal Navy, and now living in London). It's a language heshethey's been forced to use, and Ockham refuses to respect it. As a result, there is a very large gap between what Ockham might think, versus what heshethey would actually say aloud (this is partially due to linguistic difficulties, but also because Ockham doesn't often feel the need to voice most of hishertheir thoughts).

Ockham is very blunt and direct. Heshethey doesn't care much for etiquette rules and will cut right to the point. Ockham also finds a lot of the social stigma around certain topics in Victorian society silly, and has no compunction walking right over those taboos and discussing or acting on them. This occasionally leads to trouble.

Ockham is also stubborn, often to hishertheir own detriment. A certain degree of spitefulness also goes hand in hand with this. Ockham can and will hold very petty grudges. Heshethey can also be cruel or truly nasty at times, but never without provocation.

Heshethey is a quick judge of character, and steadfast to those who pass the vibe check, with a high breaking point for when an acquaintance would fall out of hishertheir good graces.

Ockham doesn't really have close friends. The language barrier and the difficulty being perceived don't make it easy. This doesn't bother Ockham much, since heshethey's used to and doesn't mind it. Ockham often seeks out busy spaces, just to spend time in and bask in the ambiance. Romantic encounters also often don't seem to have much depth, when some other priority inevitably catches Ockham's attention and heshethey doesn't have the time and energy to maintain an in-depth interpersonal relationship. Ockham is happy to enter a romantic or sexual relationship, as long as all parties are in accordance over its likely intermittent nature.

Ockham's clothing choices tend to favour practicality over aesthetic (practical to the mind of a working class 18th century sailor, at least), often dropping the respectable amount of layers when the weather grows too warm, without much care for the signals it sends off. Most of hishertheir clothing is in neutral colours, though heshethey is not impartial to a nice green. Ockham's hair was a long-standing point of contention with the Navy, and therefore out of principle extremely unlikely to change. Heshethey normally plaits it out of the way, though does occasionally wear it loose.

Ockham's original plans to work as a zailor were thrown out almost immediately after coming to the Neath. The Zee is a horrible place. There are creatures in there. Ockham set fire to hishertheir ship and has not looked back.

Though technically a Silverer, Ockham does not spend any time trying to attract clients. Most of hishertheir work nowadays is in tracking creatures in Parabola and collecting bounties for them. Ockham's also considering expanding into Parabolan imports and exports.

#ockham #hey look a profile update exactly one year later #fallen london #ockham ref

71 notes · View notes

autumnshighlady · 4 months

Text

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 20)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: reader meet's Eris's mother, and Azriel offers a helping hand. An unexpected visitor comes to autumn, I cannot do summaries to save my life

warnings: graphic violence/torture, Cassian slander, tw B*ron sucking but also kinda slaying, implied SA, themes of depression, angst because apparently i can't write happy things

word count: 7.4k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: two chapters in one day to spoil y'all as thanks for waiting so long for part 19 lmao. sorry if this chapter seems slow, but the next two chapters are doozies so gear up!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

You barely heard the hushed voices of the servants as they fiddled with the wedding dress. Pins poked at your skin as adjustments to the garment were made, but you didn’t care. You simply stood there silently, staring at the husk of a female who looked like you in the mirror. Nobody had asked you anything – not for your opinion on the dress, how it felt, nothing. Not that you expected them to. They were all aiming to please Beron Vanserra, not you.

For the past week, you hadn’t heard from or seen Nesta. Or Eris. Ever since Malgorm paid you an unexpected visit that night, Eris had warned you that it would be too dangerous to meet up for the next while. That Malgorm was likely to be excited about his new bride, and the risk of him showing up unexpectedly was too great. You hadn’t even dared to use the bond to communicate with Nesta, for fear the magic would somehow be detected by Beron’s many complex wards.

Once again, you were completely alone.

It was hard not to fall back into that panic you felt when you had woken up in Rhysand’s dungeons. That same feeling of helplessness washed over you again and again, and you had no idea what to do. Nesta, Eris, and Azriel had all promised you that this marriage wouldn’t happen, but refused to let you in on any of their planning.

“It’s too risky,” Azriel had pointed out to you when you protested. “You cannot know anything about what we are planning. If Beron or Malgorm finds out, we cannot risk you being implicated.”

Naturally, you had bitched and complained about how they didn’t have a right to risk themselves for your safety, but it landed on deaf ears. One hard look from your mate was enough to make you shut up about the matter.

They had promised to do something, yet the wedding grew closer every day. Beron had originally planned for Eris and Nesta to be married first, but whispers from the servants informed you that Malgorm had insisted that his wedding be moved up as fast as possible so he could breed you sooner. The thought made you want to vomit. Shockingly, Beron had agreed, his apparent reasoning being it gave them more time to plan the grand wedding of his eldest son.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you stared at yourself in the mirror. The dress was pretty – a thick satin gown made with the purest of white fabric, with long sleeves and a high neck. Gold thread was embroidered around the neckline, going down the bust and arms like tendrils of flame. It was a suitable wedding dress – definitely not as elaborate as Nesta’s would be, but befitting of a marriage within a royal family.

You had been completely overwhelmed the past week with the amount of servants flocking you to prepare for the wedding. They fiddled with your hair and makeup, poking and prodding you like you were a doll for dress up.

You shuddered to think of how much more chaotic it would be for Nesta and her wedding with Eris, the eldest. After all, Malgorm was only Beron’s second youngest.

When you weren’t being prepared for the wedding, you spent your time alone in your room, laying on the bed and watching the raindrops trickle down the window. You dared not wander the halls to entertain yourself, the fear of running into Malgorm too great. Realistically, he knew where your room was so if he truly wanted to find you, nothing could stop him. But you did not want to take the unnecessary risk.

Every time you slept for the past week, your dreams were plagued by nightmares of Malgorm. You’d wake up in tears most of the time, yearning for Nesta’s comforting presence or Eris’s smooth words to soothe you. You could still feel his hand around your throat, the remnants of the bruises still visible.

Conveniently enough, the neckline of the dress was just high enough to cover those marks on your neck.

A quiet knock at the door snapped you out of your trance. The servants scurried into whatever formation was required of them seconds before the wooden door opened. You tore your gaze away from the mirror to see a petite female with long auburn hair entering your room. Her skin was pale as snow, covered in heavy green robes. A sheer gold veil covered her head, as if meant to hide her from the world. Her russet eyes landed on you and she let out a small smile.

“My lady.” One of the servants said in greeting, bowing her head. The female’s face was unreadable, a mask of boredom so similar to the one you saw Eris wear.

“Leave us, please.” Her voice was weak, as if she was not accustomed to using it. “I would like to spend some time with my daughter.”

Your heart ached at the Lady of Autumn’s words, even though you knew they weren’t entirely genuine. You missed your own mother so terribly, that hearing someone else refer to you as their daughter was bittersweet.

The servants obediently trailed out of the room, closing the door behind them. You bowed your head respectfully, and when you met her eyes again you nearly crumpled. Gone was the Lady’s mask of boredom. It was replaced by one of sadness and pity, as if she were looking at a younger version of herself in the mirror. Lucien had told you about the horror his mother had endured under her husband’s cruelty, his stories making you shudder. How ironic it was now, that you were to be subjected to the same fate it seemed.

“Greetings, (Y/N),” She said. “I am the High Lord’s wife, Lirilla Vanserra. It is a pleasure to meet my son’s bride.”

A single tear fell down your cheek. The heavy fabric of the dress was stifling, and your lungs felt like they weren’t getting enough air. But you were too tired to properly cry. You had weeped for the first few nights, and it seemed your body was drained. All you could do was stand there numbly, letting that singular tear make its way down your blotchy skin.

“It is an honour to meet you, my Lady.” Your words did not feel like your own as you spoke them. “And a blessing to be engaged to your son.”

The look that Eris’s mother gave you was one that could only be described as utterly heartbreaking as she said, “Oh my sweet, I think we both know that is not true.”

You were taken aback by her bold words. Every time you had seen the Lady of Autumn this past week it had been like catching a glimpse of a ghost. She had never spoken, keeping her head down and scurrying around like a frightened mouse. While she still seemed frail, her bluntness surprised you. Perhaps Beron wasn’t the one who taught Eris to put on a mask.

“It’s alright, we may speak freely here.” Lirilla said, as if she could read your expression. “The guards at the door are loyal to me, and the ears of this castle do not reach this corridor. May we sit down?”

You nodded, following your future mother-in-law to the edge of the bed. She sat down elegantly, smoothing her skirts with the poise of a female ready for her appearance at court. You, on the other hand, were less graceful, pins stabbing you as you tried to collect the white skirt.

“That is a lovely dress,” Lirilla said. “Is it to your liking?”

“Yes.” You said. “I’m just not used to this much skirt and heaviness. I pray I do not trip on my way down the aisle.”

The Lady’s expression darkened, melancholic sadness shadowing her face. “I am sorry,” Her voice was quiet and hushed. “That you are to be wed to the cruellest of my sons. I do not know how you ended up in this situation, but it is clear that this marriage is against your will.”

You frowned. “The High Lord did not tell you my circumstances?”

Lirilla smiled sadly. “My husband does not tell me most things. And I suspect yours won’t either. Malgorm was, is, the most difficult of my children. I did my best to raise him to be a good male, but like almost all my other sons, he fell into the clutches of my husband too easily.”

“All except Lucien?” You asked tentatively, unsure if you were overstepping. A grave expression crossed her face for a moment, the pain of her youngest son’s banishment from her court evident.

“He told me about you, you know.” Lirilla’s russet eyes were glazed with the memories of the past. “That's why I came to see you. I had to make sure it was the same female that Lucien had befriended all those years ago. How is your family doing, my dear? Is your mom still baking for the local schools?”

Your heart sank, both at the memory of your family and the fact that Lirilla was so cut off from the events of the outside world. “They’re all dead,” You said solemnly. “Hybern attacked my village, and I was the only survivor.”

Her eyes widened with shock. You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to tell her everything as you remembered Azriel’s words. Begrudgingly, you knew he was right – as much as you wanted to break down and tell the Lady of Autumn everything, it was too risky. The less people who knew the better, and while the female had survived Beron’s cruelty for this long, you couldn’t bring yourself to be selfish enough to burden her with the knowledge of everything else that got you into this situation.

“I am terribly sorry,” Lirilla put a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I wish I could say that things will get easier, but they won’t. Not with Malgorm. I do not wish to scare you, but I will not sit by and let you go into this marriage blind. Malgorm does not treat females kindly, including me. He will humiliate you, and cause you pain in more ways than one. I will do what I can to shield you from it, but I cannot stop this and for that I am sorry.”

You shook your head, fiddling with a pin in the white skirts. “No, I cannot ask that of you, my Lady. This suffering I am about to endure is mine to bear, and mine only. Please, do not put yourself in harm's way to try and protect me.”

Another devastatingly sad smile pulled at Lirilla’s lips. She gently reached up and stroked your cheek. “Oh, my love. I am in harm’s way every day in this castle. That will not change. You are to be my daughter, my first daughter. I may not be able to stand up for you, or even spend much time with you outside of stolen moments like this, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you however I can.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“I know. But outside of this room, you must face it with a stiff lip. Any sign of reluctance will be punishable. Give Malgorm what he wants. He always gets what he wants in the end, and trying to resist does more harm than good. It is unpleasant, but that is the safest way to handle him.”

You shuddered at her words. You knew that she meant more than just fetching the male his afternoon tea, and your stomach churned. The breath you took trembled from effort to not cry. How had everything come to this?

“Oh honey…” Lirilla gently pulled you into her, wrapping her tiny arms around your trembling body as you let out a muffled sob. “Growing up, I always wanted a daughter. Yet now I have grown to fear the day I get blessed with a daughter-in-law, because I cannot bear to see this vicious cycle repeat over and over again for centuries.”

You cried into your mother-in-law’s arms, letting her warm embrace chase away the chill in your bones. You knew that once you were married, Malgorm would likely not leave you alone unsupervised, especially with his mother. This might just be your only chance to receive some sort of wisdom and comfort from the Lady of Autumn, so you held onto her tightly and let her stroke your hair.

“It’s ok, my child.” She soothed. “Be strong. If you are hurt, have one of the servants seek out the healer Doreah. She will be able to take the pain away and heal internal damage while ensuring the external wounds can still be seen by Malgorm. Should you need access to a safe place, take the first stairwell on the left all the way down into the basement. There is a library there with food, fresh clothes, and anything you need. The guards around it are loyal to me and will cover for you if your whereabouts are questioned. Nobody except for me and my most trusted staff knows about that place. I have had it glamoured by an old friend so that if anyone sees you going down the stairwell, it looks like you’re headed to the female-only bathing area. Not even my husband or Melgorm would follow you there.”

You felt Lirilla gently ease you out of her grip, sitting you upright. She pulled out a handkerchief and gently dried your face, muttering a spell and erasing all evidence of your crying. “I can hear Malgorm coming to visit you,” She whispered urgently. “Remember everything I’ve told you.”

The Lady of Autumn pulled away from you just in time as the door swung open, the uninvited visitor not even bothering to knock. Lirilla’s kind, pitying look had swiftly been replaced by her submissive, passive mask. She stood up hastily at her son’s arrival, bowing her head. “Malgorm,” She muttered, keeping her eyes on the floor. “It is bad luck to see your bride in her wedding dress before the–”

“Quiet.” Malgorm snapped at his mother, and she flinched as if she had been struck. You wondered how much of it was an act, and how much of it was genuine fear of her son. Malgorm’s amber gaze fixed on you greedily. “I don’t give a shit about such stupid tradition. I should be able to see my wife whenever I please. Now get out, father wants to see you.”

Lirilla nodded, gathering her skirts and hurrying past him like a ghost. Her feet made no sound on the floor as she left the room without a hint of a glance back. You were nervous, left alone with the cruel Vanserra brother. But you stood up and bowed your head, trying to mimic Lirilla’s submissive demeanour.

Malgorm made a disapproving sound as he eyed up your dress with disgust. “My father wants you to look pure and traditional,” He scoffed. “To have as much of your body covered up as possible. If it were up to me, you’d be walking down that aisle with your tits and cunt on display for everyone to see.”

Your face burned at his words, and you swallowed the bile in your throat and spoke as sweetly as possible, “I shall do whatever pleases you, my lord.”

Malgorm snickered, his dirty hand coming up to roughly yank a lock of hair out of your face. “That you shall. Luckily for you, this wedding is about pleasing my father. So you will be nice and covered up until the event is over.” He chuckled darkly, his hot breath fanning across your face as he leaned in too closely. “But the second it is over, you belong to me. And I will rip this pretty dress to shreds and stuff that tight cunt of yours every hour until you are bred. Understood?”

You nodded, even as the room swayed around you. “It will be a great honour to bear your child, my lord.” The words felt wrong on your lips, like oil had been poured in your mouth and choked you as it slid down your throat. You were saying what you had to say to keep him happy, you reminded yourself. Nesta and Eris would stop the wedding before it got to that point. Eris had reassured you that even Malgorm would respect the High Lord’s wishes to wait until you were wed to him to bed you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Malgorm was unhinged enough to do it anyways.

“I expect you to give me sons.” He said coldly. “If you dare curse me with a daughter, I will tear her from the cord and feed her to my brother’s hounds before you can even see her face.”

You swallowed thickly, fear making the hair on your arms raise at the image. You wondered if Eris had built a reputation that was so cruel his brother was sure he would have no qualms about letting his hounds murder a newborn child. The thought made you shudder. You knew Eris had to play a role to survive his father’s court, but you did not know how far he would go. And while you trusted him, that did not erase the inkling of fear.

“I shall pray day and night that the Mother blesses me with sons.” You managed to get the words out without stuttering, which you were happy with. Luckily, Malgorm seemed satisfied enough with you answer.

“Excellent.” He said smoothly, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a sharp knife. Your blood ran cold. “Now, let’s play.”

*********************

You couldn’t be bothered to try and wipe the blood off your stomach. You had no energy, no strength to even curl your naked, bloody body up into a ball against the cold chill of the room. Your wedding dress was neatly hung up in the corner, Malgorm having been smart enough to get it out of the way before he went to work.

Your body stung with every cut from his blade. Most were shallow cuts that would heal in a day or so, but by the Mother there were so many of them. Your skin felt shredded, like a ruined canvas suffering the wrath of an angry artist. Malgorm had delighted in slicing his blade across your skin, avoiding your hands and face – the only parts of your body that would be visible in the wedding. You could still feel his wet mouth and tongue sliding over the wounds like a venomous snake, the sensation making you want to rip your ruined skin from your body.

Luckily, the male had obeyed his fathers command and not tried to fuck you. He kept his hands away from your centre, seemingly content to ruin other acceptable parts of your body instead. No doubt he wanted everything down there perfect and intact for the wedding night.

A soft shadow grazed your fingertip. It curled up your arm like a ribbon, coming to your face. It seemed to whisper words you couldn’t understand, especially in your lifeless state. “Az…” You murmured, his familiar scent on the small shadow that seemed to inspect your body.

A few moments later, you felt a presence standing over you. “By the Mother…” Came Azriel’s shocked voice. “What did he do to you...”

The shadowsinger emerged from the darkness, leaning down to inspect the dozens of wounds littered across your skin. His hazel eyes were filled with horror as a scarred hand grazed a cut on your collarbone. You watched helplessly as his eyes trailed down to the significant pool of blood beside you that trickled from a deep wound in your stomach.

Right where the letter ‘M’ was carved below your belly button, a few inches above your core.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about your nakedness in front of the shadowsinger. Malgorm had already begun to strip you of your dignity anyways. But Azriel quickly grabbed the blanket from the end of your bed, gently wrapping it around your body and hoisting you upright. You winced in pain. “We have to stop meeting like this, shadowsinger.” You croaked. “With me being tortured and all.”

Azriel snorted. “Stop getting yourself into these situations then.”

“Couldn’t help it.” Your reply was weak, but earned a slight twitch of the spymaster’s lips, a hint of a smile. “How’d you find me?”

Shadows skirted over your skin, their gentle coolness soothing the sting of the wounds and making you sigh in relief. “I was meeting with Nesta and Eris,” He answered. “She could feel something was wrong… through the bond. Eris sent me to see what happened.”

You frowned. The shadowsinger never stumbled over his words in the entire time you had known him. He already knew Nesta was your mate, so his stutter made you ask, “Why’d you say it like that?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s expression gave nothing away, but you could tell something was bothering him.

“What, you don’t like that two females are mates? Is that it?”

The Illyrian departed to your washroom, fetching a damp cloth as he responded. “No, no, Mother above, no. I take no issue with that and you know it.”

“Then what is it?”

Azriel sighed, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead as he returned and knelt down beside you. He carefully pulled back the blanket, revealing the bloody ‘M’ on your stomach. He pressed the wet cloth to the wound, gently cleaning it. “Something happened,” His tone was cautious, as if he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Between Nesta and Eris. It’s changed things slightly. They’re still trying to figure out how to end the engagement between you and Melgorm but… it’s difficult.”

“How so?” You frowned, trying to sit up straighter only to get gently pushed back down by Azriel. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Gods, I really do not wish to be involved in this little love triangle.”

“Well too bad,” You snapped, ignoring the sting of your wounds and fixing him a glare. “Because you already are. So tell me.”

“I can’t decide if you’d be the worst interrogator in Prythian or the best.” Azriel grumbled, moving the cloth to begin wiping down the wounds on your left arm.

“Stop dodging the question.”

“It’s really something they should be the ones to tell you–”

“For fuck’s sake, if I have to march out of this room bloody and naked to find Nesta and Eris so help me I will actually do it.”

Azriel glared at you, snarling. “You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?”

You shrugged, tilting your head and waiting for him to tell you exactly what happened. The shadowsinger let out a sigh, and began cleaning your other arm as he spoke. “Remember how you said that Estelle mentioned Nesta had more than one mate, but Cassian was not one of them?”

You nodded.

“I guess that really is true, because a mating bond snapped for her the other day apparently. Between Nesta and Eris.”

Your jaw went slack. You couldn’t describe the emotions that rushed through you at Azriel’s words. It wasn’t the surge of mately jealousy you expected, nor was it anger per se. Sure, Nesta and Eris were a strong political match, but mates? The thought had never even crossed your mind. But it made sense, in some wicked way. Nesta and Eris had similar magic, and could both hold their own in a court of vipers. Perhaps they truly would make strong offspring, which you supposed was the main reason mates were created. Or so you had been told.

Azriel’s brow was furrowed at your silence. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You shrugged, trying to calm your racing mind. “Not entirely. Better it be Eris than someone potentially worse. It will work well in their favour, I suppose.”

The spymaster’s normally unreadable face was riddled with confusion. If you were not in pain, you’d have laughed at his expression. He shook his head, continuing to dab at the wounds on your chest as he spoke. “I do not understand,” Azriel continued. “When the bond snapped between Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and I could barely look at Feyre without him snarling at us. I may not have a mate, but I know mates are supposed to be utterly possessive of one another. Why are you not enraged that your mate has another bond?”

You sighed. Azriel would never truly understand – it was obvious that a mating bond was something he desired greatly. For Nesta to have not only one, but two mating bonds surely brought him discomfort. And truthfully, while you were certainly experiencing a whirlwind of emotions at the new information, none of them were associated with anger or jealousy.

Love comes in many forms and unexpected ways, your mother had once told you. Those words had stuck by you all these years, and growing up in Spring had exposed you to all different kinds of relationships. Males had courted males, females had courted females, and you had often heard stories of an individual having multiple courtings, all of which was done with nothing but love, devoid of possessiveness or jealousy.

“Nesta is someone who has not experienced nearly as much love as she should,” You began, meeting Azriel’s hazel gaze. “She is my mate, and nothing will ever change that. There is nothing she can do that will make me love her any less. But I don’t believe the amount of love an individual can receive should be restricted to one person. If Eris is her mate and can grow to love her, what kind of mate would I be to want it denied from her? Nesta deserves all the love that the world can offer her, and if that comes from both me and Eris then I do not see how that could be a bad thing.”

The Illyrian was quiet for a moment, his shadows swirling around his neck as if they, too, were deep in thought. “You make it sound so simple.” He said after a minute.

“Because it is. Nesta and Eris had a connection before the bond snapped into place. They are good for each other, and you know it. You just need to get past your one sided hatred for the male and see it.”

Anger sparked in Azriel’s face. “And what about Cassian?”

“What about him?”

“He loves Nesta. You claim that the Mother… Estelle… told you that Cassian was not one of Nesta’s mates. But there is something between them, both he and Nesta know it. He loves her.”

You curled your fingers into fists, nails biting the sweaty flesh of your palm. “Cassian is no concern of mine.” You snarled at the shadowsinger. “He is for Nesta to deal with. And he is not in love with her, he loves the idea of being with her. You aren’t a fool, Azriel. Every interaction they have turns into a battle, with Cassian making it his mission to push her buttons and disrespect her boundaries. Can you truly look me in the eye and tell me that they are a better match than Nesta and I? Or Nesta and Eris?”

He opened his mouth as if to instinctively defend his brother, but nothing came out. “Thought so.” You continued. “If Feyre and Rhys were not mates, you all would not be pushing for Nesta to be with Cassian as hard as you have. You act like she has to become worthy of his love, as if he is some perfect male. He’s 500 years old, quit making excuses for him and his shitty behaviour.”

Azriel put the blood soaked cloth down, gently pulling the blanket back over your shivering form to cover your body once again. You pitied the male slightly, guilt creeping in for the position he had gotten himself into. You knew Azriel had been loyal to Rhysand for five centuries, and it was clear that this was the first time he felt truly torn.

“If Cassian and Nesta are not mates, then why did Rhys make such a statement?” Azriel asked, turning his body so he sat beside you. A giant wing gently grazed your blanket covered shoulder, as if to provide some sort of comfort. “Does he truly believe they are mates, or was it a lie? I cannot think of why he would lie about something that big.”

“I can.” You snorted, earning an eye roll from Azriel.

“I will not deny my brother’s horrid actions,” He protested, voice edged with anger. “But he loves Cassian, and lying to him about the mating bond–”

“Would be a way to try and lure Nesta back to the Night Court.” You interrupted the shadowsinger. “A means to control her, and convince her to stay.”

Azriel shook his head, scarred hands fiddling with the hilt of his dagger. “You don’t understand. You know Nesta, but I know Cassian. He’s been acting like a male whose mate has been taken from him. His behaviour is erratic and unreasonable, more so than he has ever been. I cannot think of an explanation for that aside from a mating bond, (Y/N). Besides, he can feel her somehow. There’s something tying them together.”

“I believe the Mother more than your High Lord. If she says that Cassian is not Nesta’s mate, then I believe her.” Truthfully, Azriel’s confession about Cassian’s mood lately unsettled you, having lined up with Emerie and Gwyn’s note about the general being unhinged. You had to admit, they sounded like the actions of a distressed mated male. Azriel was right, something was tying them together. You just didn’t know what.

“Regardless, that bears little relevance to the situation currently.” The spymaster said, echoing your thoughts as he steered away from the uncomfortable topic. “You are set to be married to Malgorm by the end of next week. Nesta and Eris are to be wed soon after. Eris is coming up with a plan to stop your wedding, and I suspect killing his father as well. There is no chance that he will be able to defy Beron and end your engagement and get away with it. Beron has to be eliminated, it is the only way to ensure your safety.”

You felt ill. Killing Beron was something you hadn’t thought of as much in light of the problems of the foreseeable future. It only doubled the risk of everything, trying to execute two life-altering plans within such a short window. You didn’t even know if he and Nesta were ready to take on a High Lord. Sure, they were incredibly powerful fae, but Beron had centuries of experience on them. He was cruel, but not stupid.

Eris was risking his entire plan to become High Lord to ensure you weren’t made to marry his cruel younger brother.

Shadows wisped around your face, as if they could hear your thoughts. Beside you, Azriel remained stoic, but spoke softly. “Eris cares about you, too.”

“Sometimes I think I understand him, and other times I feel like I could not be more wrong.” You sighed, tightening your grip on the stained blanket. “He’s a male whose actions are driven by his own secret agenda. I understand how helping Nesta fits into it, but me? Helping me is a courtesy, a generous one even for him. I… I don’t understand why he’s risking so much for me, unless it’s all because Nesta is his mate too.”

“There might be more to Eris Vanserra than I could have ever imagined. Whether that is for better or for worse, I do not know. I will not lie, it makes me uneasy that your fate will be in his hands. But for some reason you have trusted him this far. Time will tell if that trust has been misplaced.”

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t. Perhaps it was because you shared a mate with him, a commonality that would keep you united no matter what. Or perhaps it was that foolish part of your brain that fancied the eldest Vanserra brother from a distance, who had teasingly called you his little fox on the rare occasion he ran into you with Lucien.

You shivered as another chilly gust of wind seeped into the room through the cracked window. It soothed your still stinging wounds beneath the blanket, but you wrapped the fabric even tighter around you. “Whatever Eris is planning, I hope it works.” You mumbled.

“Me too.” Azriel said dryly. “For all our sake.”

*********************

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you stood on the second step of the dias below Beron’s throne. Grand torches lined the red and gold carpet leading up to the throne, illuminating the tapestries lining each wooden wall.

It had been mid morning when the servants flooded your room, scrambling to get you ready for an appearance in court. When you frantically asked what the fuss was about, you were surprised when you received an answer.

“His Grace has received an unexpected visitor,” The oldest of the servants said in a hushed tone. “You and your betrothed are expected with the rest of the family to greet them.”

It had taken less than five minutes for your hair to be done and your dress to be fitted properly before a set of guards had escorted you to the throne room. Upon entering, you had snuck a glance at the other figures on the dias. Lirilla stood left beside the seated High Lord, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her. Eris and Nesta were on Beron’s right, one step below. Both adorned royal outfits in similar shades of red, each wearing an almost identical mask of boredom. Nesta’s arm was linked through Eris’s as a formality, but you noticed how tense she was. Her breathing was shallow, as if being in such close proximity to Eris was too much. Luckily, it appeared to be something only you noticed. To everyone else, they appeared the stone-cold politically arranged couple they were meant to be.

You had tried to reach out to Nesta through the bond, but were met with a wall of stone. You tried not to let it sting as she shut you out, choosing to focus on keeping your expression neutral as you held onto Malgorm’s arm the same way Nesta was with Eris’s. It felt wrong, and every part of you wanted to recoil at his touch. Your skin still felt flayed from the events of last night, but as predicted the dress that Malgorm undoubtedly chose for you this morning covered up all evidence of his actions.

So you fought through the pain, ignoring the sneering looks of Beron’s other sons whose names you did not know. You were almost grateful when harsh words from the High Lord threatening punishment to his offspring put them in line.

The tension in the room was thick. You hadn’t dared try and look back towards Nesta and Eris, not with Beron breathing down your necks. It was only a few minutes after the Vanserra family had gotten in formation when the heavy doors to the throne room opened, and the High Lord of the Night Court strode in.

Your mouth went dry. Your mind flashed with images of that forsaken dungeon, the dark tendrils of the High Lord’s power carving through your skin like butter. Was he here to snatch you away? Piercing violet eyes landed on you as Rhysand approached the foot of the dias, swarming with a mixture of fury and confusion. Nevertheless, he bowed his head to Beron. “High Lord,” Rhys said smoothly. “You are looking well.”

You weren’t fooled by the feigned respect. Luckily, Beron wasn’t either, and you heard the male scoff. “Do not bother yourself with false pleasantries, we both know you don’t actually mean them.” Beron said coldly, his aged voice echoing through the throne room like the power of an ancient god. “Give me one reason why I should not execute you for entering my territory without permission.”

Rhys straightened his shoulders, cocking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he met Beron’s words with a cool tone. “Last I checked, meetings of diplomacy were still favourable between two High Lords, were they not?”

“And yet you have no excuse for the uninvited part.”

“I fear my concerns were too urgent and important to notify you in advance.” Rhys’s voice was saccharine, a veil to disguise his true intentions. On a younger, more inexperienced High Lord, it may have worked. But once again, you found yourself strangely grateful for Beron Vanserra. The older male saw right through his words, and would not be afraid to challenge him.

“And what is so important you had to barge in on my court uninvited?” Beron growled, the flames from the torches along the carpet flaring slightly.

Rhysand’s face was smug, and he looked at you directly as he spoke. “You have in your midst a valuable asset of mine. I want her back.”

A cold pit formed in your stomach as you met his stare evenly, despite your bones trembling beneath his gaze. You were right – Rhys had come to spin some lie about you that was designed to make Beron hand you over to the Night Court. You were a fly trapped in a web, and your hand clenching nervously around Malgorm’s arm was not entirely for show.

“Do explain.” Was all the High Lord of Autumn said in a bored tone.

“The female standing at the bottom of the dias belongs to me. Your eldest son infiltrated my court and kidnapped her on the full moon. He is holding her here against her will in a pathetic attempt to hold leverage over me. I ask that you punish Eris Vanserra for his insubordination and return Lady (Y/N) to me, so I can bring her home where she belongs.”

Your blood ran cold. Rhys wasn’t just trying to get you back, but Nesta as well. He wanted to take down Eris in the process, which would force Beron to not only send you back to the Night Court, but Nesta too since the engagement would be broken off and she would have nothing tying her to Autumn. Panic began to stir inside you. This couldn’t be happening. You braced yourself for Beron’s wrath, demanding Eris be brought to the dungeons for immediate questioning.

But instead, the cruel male just laughed. A bitter, hoarse sound like a broken instrument. “That was a pathetic excuse of a story, even for you, Rhysand.” Beron said, making the Night Court Lord blink in surprise. “Not even well crafted. How dare you come into my court and attempt to manipulate me?”

You heard Beron rise in his throne, and the torches began to flare angrily as the High Lord’s temper rose. “I am no fool. I know that you are only here because you’re desperate from losing your spy that had valuable intel on you. A spy who fled your clutches seeking sanctuary with me because of what you did to her.”

“I did nothing.” Rhys said, which angered Beron even more.

“You lie again! I am well aware that the girl was trained as a spy against her will to repay her debt to you. You were an immature fool to trust a prisoner to spy for you, which is one of the many reasons your court is run so poorly. I saw the wounds you inflicted on her, boy, when she found out you planned to take the title of High King.”

Rhys’s expression revealed shock for a split second, the loss of composure making you laugh internally. You hadn’t expected Beron to defend you so vehemently, especially against another male. But you still clung to every breath nervously as he continued to speak.

“Have you not considered that this information she so eagerly gave you might be a ploy to get you to wage war on my court?” Rhysand said carefully.

“So you admit then that your story was false?” Beron had impressively backed Rhys into a corner, catching him in his lie. “That she was indeed your spy turned rogue?”

Rhys had the nerve to shrug. “All that matters is that she is a member of my court, and I demand you release her to me.” He kept his tone neutral, but you could feel the desperation coming off of him in waves.

“My daughter is no longer a member of your court.”

Rhysand’s face blanched visibly at Beron’s words. He went utterly still, even the pulsing aura of power that always seemed to be around him quieting. His violet eyes found you again, but you kept your chin high. He glanced down at your arm entwined with Malgorm’s, who was no doubt smirking proudly at Rhys. It was strange, hearing Beron refer to you as his daughter.

“What?” The High Lord of the Night Court said quietly.

“As a reward for her bravery in fleeing your grasp, and for the useful information she so willingly provided us with, I have given her the honour of marrying my son Malgorm. She is my daughter now, and you will not take her from me.”

You felt an invisible hot flame on your arm, undoubtedly the power of the High Lord. It beckoned you, pulling you towards the throne where he had seated himself once again. Malgorm had seemingly felt it too, for he guided you up the steps to where Beron sat. You looked into the eyes of the High Lord for the first time. His hair was slicked back identical to Malgorm’s, but faded to an ashy grey in contrast to his son’s fiery red. His sharp face took you in, amber eyes glowing like a snake in the dark. He extended a hand towards you, fingers clad in rings more expensive than everything your village in Spring had owned put together. You smiled as you took it, ensuring you looked grateful. To further paint the image of Beron’s new daughter, you lowered your head and gently kissed his aged hand as a sign of respect for your father-in-law.

Beron looked at you proudly, pulling you closer so you were standing right next to him. His hand was clammy and his grip was ironclad, but you showed no signs of resistance. Malgorm took up his post slightly behind you, an arm on the small of your back in a display of ownership.

Rhysand’s mask had slipped entirely as you stared defiantly down at him, disgust and shock written all over his features. He had not even given Nesta and Eris a second glance, his fury towards you overriding his diplomatic practices. But you did not feel frightened, not with Nesta, Eris, and especially Beron in the same room.

Nothing would happen to you. Beron would protect you for his own selfish reasons, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

“My eldest son did not kidnap the girl.” Beron said coldly, his grip on your hand never faltering. “The day you claim it happened, Eris was assigned to meetings with my courtiers from sunup to sundown, all of whom can act as witness.”

You pushed down your confusion – Eris was most definitely not in meetings that day, and how he had managed to pull this alibi off was something you would have to ask him about later.

Beron continued, authority strong in his voice. “She came to me willingly, and I have welcomed her with open arms. I know who she is – a girl from the Spring Court whom you rescued then used as a pawn in one of your little games, only for her to outsmart you in the end. Never again will my daughter fall into suffering under your hands, Rhysand. If you try to do anything to harm her or remove her from my territory, I will burn your entire court to the ground. Just as I will do if you ever think of claiming the title of High King of Prythian.”

Beron spat the title out, his power filling the room. “You are an immature boy playing games you don’t understand,” He continued dangerously. “And any attempt at seizing lordship over this land will be met with the slaughter of everything you hold dear. I will erase your name from the history books, and there will be nobody left to remember Amarantha’s Whore. And if you think any of the other High Lords would bow down to you, your arrogance is even more stupid than I thought. Now get out of my court, half-breed. And do not return.”

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees

111 notes · View notes

grandmaster-anne · 1 year

Text

Princess Anne has been handed a starring role by the King for his coronation in honour of her years of unwavering loyalty.

The Princess Royal will feature in the procession as the prestigious “Gold-Stick-in-Waiting”, a position historically handed to a person entrusted with the personal safety of the sovereign.

As a “personal aide-de-camp” to His Majesty, Anne will travel on horseback behind the new King and Queen after they are crowned at Westminster Abbey on May 6.

As Charles and Camilla ride in the Gold State Coach back to Buckingham Palace, Anne will lead the larger procession featuring 6,000 armed services personnel.

The privilege dates back to the 15th century in Tudor times, when two officers - a Gold Stick and a Silver Stick, were placed close to the sovereign to protect him or her from danger.

#i love this #yes charlie #princess anne #princess royal #king charles iii #article #og chaotic duo

215 notes · View notes

discluded · 1 year

Text

My Top 10 memorable 2022 MileApo moments 💚💛

In no particular order,

Mile defending Apo and telling him he's not weird. Mile Phakphum #1 apocolleague #1 Apo defender #1 Apo protector 😖

2. Whatever they put in the water that day at the XBlush shoot 🥴

3. The Moon Represents My Heart at KPWT Taipei (curse you one video per post Tumblr limit). The audible gasp and excitement from the audience when they realized what song it was!!!

4. MileApo at the Vogue Thailand Gala. Everything about them and how beautiful they were... Mile had just gotten out of COVID isolation #2 and now they had a Vogue spread and were mingling with the movers and shakers of the Thai ent industry. Also specifically these boyfriend soft launch selfies 😖

5. Paper Mile at the KPWT send off. This one was bittersweet and making the best of a bad situation... Apo was doing his best to have Mile be included but even Apo was not his usual sparkly self. The appearance of paper Mile per the request of quarantined Mile really put the smile back on his face.

6. Sharing dessert and water in the Red Sea Film Festival IGL

7. Apo taking this sexy photo of Mile in Phuket and immediately being exposed as the photographer. Thank you @ apovision for God's work and thank you @/may for exposing them.

8. Mile replying to this tweet. Yeah it's a tweet. Yeah he interacts with many fan tweets. But trust me, this is the one that made all of us deranged. It's the reason why I'm deranged now. I think about this all the time.

9. Mile and Apo kissing live at KPWT Bangkok. I'm just going to make peace with the fact that we're likely never gonna see another live kiss at a KPWT show again. But we got this one.

10. Holding up the pride flag together at KPWT Taipei. Wasn't Taipei beautiful!?! 😭 It was a beautiful moment for the entire cast and the audience, since it was Pride Week in Taipei 🌈

Bonus: 11. Meeting all of you 🥰💕 Yeah I'm sappy as heck, what are you gonna do about it.

If you've ever sent me an anon or liked or reblogged one of my posts or followed me or stalk my blog but don't have a Tumblr or written fic or drawn fanart or written meta or made gifs or made edits or trended for MileApo, thank you for making fandom a fun place. If you've learned anything new about yourself or the world or changed your perspective in life because of anything I reblogged, I'm glad something I said or did affected you 🥰

We often talk about about when being in fandom is annoying, but really, it's a community. If you've stayed, thanks for embracing respecting each other and loving KinnPorsche and loving Mile and Apo and the people in their lives (which includes all of us!)

Maybe the real MileApo was the friends we made along the way 🥹🥹🥹 (Mile would agree because he is equally sappy like me).

Many other beautiful memories I wanted to include... but I loved these so much. It was hard picking favorites, but I'm gonna 😤

Bonus runners up:

Looking like a royal couple at their first fan meet

KPWT Seoul date (are you going to give us the video or not BOC...)

Apo lifting Mile in the KPWT Taipei behind the scenes video

Mile discretely rubbing Apo's waist underneath his suit jacket at the D7 event 🤭🤭🤭

KPWT Taipei goodbye (x2)

(alright no more for real or else I'm gonna be here all day)

509 notes · View notes

thatliminal-wanderer · 25 days

Text

Backrooms ID Pack

Names

Adam, Adym, Aguana, Aiden, Aiko, Alex, Alexia, Altair, Ambrosia, Amori, Andrew, Ant, Argos, Aries, Ashley, Aster, Avelon, Bartholomew, Belphegor, Berry, Bill, Blake, Blue, Bonx, Bram, Brock, Callum, Caspian, Castello, Chara, Cindy, Clement, Clementine, Colias, Corey, Corri, Crane, Creg, Crimson, Cyllene, Cypress, Daisy, Daze, Destiny, Doll, Dream, Dull, Dunk, Eden, Emily, Emme, Evangeline, Ezra, Ferren, Flannery, Frankie, Freeman, Fume, Gani, George, Gerald, Grey, Hen, Icarus, Jack, Janus, Jax, Jerry, Jess, Johnny, Kaii, Kain, Kami, Kane, Kat, Kimiko, King, Kitty, Koko, Kya, Leeon, Leo, Lilac, Limi, Llio, Lotka, Lucid, Malachi, March, Maria, Mason, Moley, Montie, Nightmare, Noir, Olive, Olivia, Ollie, Paisley, Pedro, Philia, Porter, Quinoa, Rae, Rasputin, Richard, River, Rook, Rosette, Rue, Ryan, Samantha, Sato, Saturn, Sienna, Sol, Terry, Theodore, Tom, Trance, Val, Vanta, Vee, Vesper, Vice, Violet, Will, Xavier, Xoa, Zero

Pronouns

!/!s, 0/0s, 1/1s, 2/2s, 3/3s, 4/4s, 5/5s, 6/6s, 7/7s, 8/8s, 9/9s, :(/:(s, :)/:)s, =(/=(s, =)/=)s, ?/?s, _/_s, almond/almonds, alone/alones, alpha/alphas, back/backs, bee/bees, bird/birds, black/blacks, blood/bloods, blue/blues, bone/bones, book/books, box/boxes, bug/bugs, buzz/buzzes, camp/camps, cave/caves, chalk/chalks, city/cities, clean/cleans, crimson/crimsons, crop/crops, danger/dangers, dark/darks, data/datas, dead/deads, decay/decays, desert/deserts, dirt/dirts, doll/dolls, door/doors, dream/dreams, echo/echos, end/ends, error/errors, eye/eyes, fate/fates, field/fields, fog/fogs, forest/forests, garden/gardens, glitch/glitchs, glow/glows, gold/golds, grime/grimes, hall/halls, haunt/haunts, hill/hills, hive/hives, home/homes, hot/hotel/hotels, house/houses, hub/hubs, ice/ices, icy/icys, jungle/jungles, lake/lakes, laser/lasers, level/levels, light/lights, love/loves, lucid/lucids, mall/malls, maze/mazes, mem/memory/memories, mirror/mirrors, moon/moons, moth/moths, mouth/mouths, musk/musks, neon/neons, noir/noirs, play/plays, pool/pools, rain/rains, rainbow/rainbows, red/reds, road/roads, room/rooms, rot/rots, run/runs, sand/sands, sea/seas, sewer/sewers, silent/silents, snack/snacks, space/spaces, sparkle/sparkles, spring/springs, tha/thalasso/thalassos, time/times, violet/violets, void/voids, wall/walls, warning/warnings, water/waters, wave/waves, well/wells, wheat/wheats, white/whites, yellow/yellows, •/•s, ∅/∅s, ⌛️/⌛️s, ☁️/☁️s, ⚠️/⚠️s, ⚰️/⚰️s, ⛓️/⛓️s, ⛓️‍💥/⛓️‍💥s, ✂️/✂️s, 🌀/🌀s, 🌈/🌈s, 🌓/🌓s, 🌗/🌗s, 🌪��/🌪️s, 🌫️/🌫️s, 🍄/🍄s, 🍄‍🟫/🍄‍🟫s, 🎞️/🎞️s, 🎟️/🎟️s, 🎤/🎤s, 🎥/🎥s, 🎪/🎪s, 🎭/🎭s, 🐁/🐁s, 🐇/🐇s, 🐌/🐌s, 🐛/🐛s, 🐜/🐜s, 🐥/🐥s, 👁️/👁️s, 📞/📞s, 📠/📠s, 📹/📹s, 📺/📺s, 📻/📻s, 📽️/📽️s, 🔑/🔑s, 🔗/🔗s, 🔮/🔮s, 🕊️/🕊️s, 🕯️/🕯️s, 🕰️/🕰️s, 🕳️/🕳️s, 🕷️/🕷️s, 🗝️/🗝️s, 🗺️/🗺️s, 😶‍🌫️/😶‍🌫️s, 🚪/🚪s, 🛎️/🛎️s, 🛠️/🛠️s, 🥀/🥀s, 🥣/🥣s, 🥩/🥩s, 🦂/🦂s, 🦜/🦜s, 🦟/🦟s, 🦠/🦠s, 🦴/🦴s, 🦷/🦷s, 🧠/🧠s, 🧫/🧫s, 🩸/🩸s, 🩹/🩹s, 🩻/🩻s, 🪐/🪐s, 🪜/🪜s, 🪞/🪞s, 🪟/🪟s, 🪦/🪦s, 🪰/🪰s, 🪱/🪱s, 🪳/🪳s, 🪶/🪶s, 🪹/🪹s, 🫀/🫀s, 🫁/🫁s, 🫗/🫗s, 🫥/🫥s

Titles

A Corrupted File, An Unapproachable (Beast/Entity/Unknown/Any Animal), Entity [number], Lucky (Beast/Entity/Any Animal), The (Bride/Husband/Spouse), The (Entity/Beast/Creature/Thing/God) of Level [number], The (King/Queen/Royal), The (Smiling/Frowning) One, The (Spokeslady/Spokesman/Spokesperson), The (Un)Lucky One, The Artist, The Behemoth, The Bellhopper, The Bone Thief, The Bronze Builder, The Catmaster, The Coder, The Comedian, The Concierge, The Crawlspace (Entity/Beast/Creature), The Endless Walls, The Entity, The Entity Which Doesn’t Exist, The Explorer, The First Entity, The Friend, The Game Master, The Headless (Hunter/Huntress/Entity/Beast/Creature), The Hermit, The Historian, The Homerunner, The Housekeeper, The Liminal Space, The Mail Carrier, The Maker, The Maze of Lost Ones, The Memory (Any Animal), The Memory Manager, The Mucked Smell, The Musician, The Neighborhood Watcher, The Numbed (Entity/Beast/Man/Woman/Person/Creature), The One Adorned In (Red/White/Black/Beige), The One Which Light Flicker For, The One Who Buzzes, The One Who Is Hiding in Level [number], The One Who Looks Too Familiar, The One Who Opened The Back Door to Reality, The One With No Data, The Party Host, The Puppeteer, The Scarecrow, The Scavenger, The Singer, The Smiling One, The Wanderer, [prn] That Lives Behind Reality, [prn] Who (Makes/Ruins) The Party, [prn] Who Can Not Be Explained, [prn] Who Endlessly Falls, [prn] Who Is Sick, [prn] Who Makes and Plays The Games, [prn] Who Resigns in Level [number], [prn] Who Wanders The Endless Levels

Genders

0beckəl, 1beckəl, 3beckəl, 4beckəl, 5beckəl, 6beckəl, 7beckəl, 8beckəl, 92levelic, 974kitic, 9beckəl, Backaneic, Backroomgender, Backroomic, Backroomsaesic, Backroomscattic, Backroomsdollic, Backroomsfluid, Backroomsflux, Backroomspinnic, Buzinbackroomic, Catbackroomic, Cliproomic, Deathmothgender, Eeriroomic, Endlessswimic, Entiromaric, Entity555gender, Entity666gender.exe, Entity99ic, Erokoric, Escapethebackroomsgameic, Flowliminpinkic, Hotelliminix, Kenolimighost, Lepidoipresence, Level!ix, Level0liminix, Level1liminix, Level336dia, Level370ix, Level389ic, Level7ix, Liminaldollic, Liminalmazeic, Liminalmushrooms, Liminalpoweric, Liminalsnowic, Liminalspacestalgic, Liminaquarpetic, Liminaquic, Limingender, Liminix, Liminlovecoric, Natatoliraifortic, Nostbackplushic, Panbackroomic, Parkgaraliminix, Partygoerscharic, Partykenous, Rubicunipresence, Sh4dygr3yl3v3l1c, Smilergender, Snowliminalic, Storeliminix, Unfatholiminal, Zeroaromic

Other mogai

Alderbackroentity, Alderitch, Alderliminal, Alderwhitevoid, Assigned Creature at Birth/ACreAB, Assigned Freak at Birth/AFrAB, Assigned Monster at Birth/AMonAB, Assigned Uncanny at Birth/AUnAB, Backroomsvesil, Darkwarmgreyvesil, Eldritch Omninoun, Eldritchvesil, Error Omninoun, Flesheatseaseque, Grey Omninoun, Hiliblayedernic, Kenovesi, Kittyhousehearthic, Mimicryvior, Nonhuvesil, Null Omninoun, Poolroomperspesque, Shard Omninoun, Sublimityhearthic, Terrorhotelhearthic, Thing Omninoun, Vesiliminal, ∅ Omninoun

#id pack #npt suggestions #name suggestions #name list #name ideas #npt #title ideas #title suggestions #pronoun suggestions #pronoun list #gender list #gender suggestions #mogai list #mogai suggestions #mogai blog #mogai #the backrooms #backrooms

15 notes · View notes

ripplestitchskein · 3 months

Note

I'm new to stolitz and HB and your takes/ your essay was a breath of fresh air. Maybe it's because I'm new here in the HB fandom, but I've seen more people talking shit about Stolas/"Stolas fans" than actual "toxic" Stolas fans? And don't get me started on those horrible ass takes calling Stolas a sexual assaulter/abuser or comparing Stolitz to Angel and Valentino, likening Stolas to Valentino.

It bothers the heck out of me but at the end of the day, with more exposure to that noise I can navigate how to tune it out and they can stay bitter and talk shit about everything they watch while we wait for "Full Moon"

Welcome Nonnie! Thank you so much! I’ve really missed doing things like this. It’s been awhile since I interacted this heavily with a fandom as nothing has really caught my brain this intensely for a long time so it’s nice to discover likeminded people in it. I’m new too! We can be new together.

It’s funny, I didn’t even know about HB until after I watched Hazbin, I had seen literally zero things about it, and while I had heard of Hazbin over the years and had seen Alastor I didn’t know what it was, I thought it was one of those popular dating sims, or like a new tumblr sexy man thing I hadn’t heard about which is hilarious to me now. A bunch of my IRL friends were talking about Hazbin a lot though and I love musical theater and have been on a personal art journey for a while (it started as getting better at art for video games, I’m a software engineer, but turned into me making a comic somehow because I’m a lifelong writer too) and the art style intrigued me so I decided to check it out. I loved it a lot, but like a normal amount. When I came on here people were talking about Helluva Boss so I’m like “ooh, more content” so we watched that and my brain saw Stolas and Stolitz and started the sirens. Like literally a “Oh no I love him” moment in LooLoo Land.

There are just characters and ships that hit just right. Imagine my surprise when I went into fandom spaces and there were people with these crazy interpretations of them and of Stolas I couldn’t reconcile with what I’d just watched. Like at all. Well I was surprised, but I’ve been around a fandom or two so I wasn’t that surprised but in this instance it was especially strange to me. It didn’t jive AT ALL with the show I just watched. Honestly, that intrigued me as much as the ship did.

Especially the Stolas takes. I’m like “This guy? This complete dork who is trying to mirror what his crush wants so bad he might as well be made of silvered glass?” “Evil Sexual assaulter? The guy in the royal romper who sings to his daughter and gets excited over legal contracts and makes silly little owl noises? This is the guy who has some evil sexual coercion plot over the dude who threatened to fuck his employees 11 minutes into the show and can’t go ten minutes without saying cum?” It was REALLY confusing let me tell you. Like you have this really fucked up reality where murder is A-Okay and characters that say vile shit to each other as a matter of course and people are all up in arms about a transactional sexual relationship? It just seemed like one of the least problematic things some of these characters do lol and I felt like I was in a room where something important happened and I missed it.

I’m pretty good about taking in different views, because of my ND I try really hard to understand where people are coming from and kind of assume I missed something everyone else knew from being in the fandom for so long, that being new I didn’t know, but the more I looked into it the more it seemed tied to an interpretation of the character that wasn’t in what I had watched. I watched the VivziePop channel playlist which does not have the Pilot. When I found out about the original Pilot some quotes made a *little* more sense especially with the huge gaps in content releases, but I’m still fucking baffled a lot of the time tbh. Sometimes I feel like these people are watching an entirely different show based on that Pilot and our social media have crossed universes.

I’m used to this though, the last major characters to take over my brain were MXTX characters, Bakugou from MHA and Killian Jones before that so I am pretty used to people having character interpretations who can’t get past first impressions, and ignore like literally years of development. (More about the last two, the MXTX fandom is one of the best I’ve been in, everyone seems to be really happy with the canon content there all around, I can’t think of any hate I’ve ever seen about any character tbh, even the actual villains. Fan fiction game is on point too, so many good writers in that fandom).

I’m also used to people ascribing love of a fictional character to a real life moral failing. My view has always been that I enjoy more complex characters and stories that aren’t always squeaky clean because it’s fiction and it’s fucking boring if everyone in it are these perfect unflawed cardboard cutouts who always act the right way, never hurt other people, and never make mistakes or fuck up or miscommunicate. People approaching relationships from differing points of view, struggling with darkness and trauma, and reconciling their issues especially together or to BE together is the fucking BEST thing about fiction.

Fandoms are fucking bizarre is what I’ve ultimately landed on. And they don’t understand what toxic means. Or problematic. Like just plain do not understand those words.

We’ll be fine Nonnie! Let’s just keep flailing over things we love, crying over the angst train that is surely coming full speed at our faces (and will probably have to deal with for years because of the release schedule), and enjoy theorizing, speculating, analyzing and creating content with other like minded people! Come vent in my inbox anytime and I’ll keep writing War and Peace length essays about 15 minute long episodes.

Seriously though, the man wears a ROYAL THEMED ROMPER how could ANYONE hate him? I love him so much.

I will say the one downside of this fandom is I know more about avian genitalia and reproduction than I ever needed to.

#anon #anonymous #Stolitz #stolas x blitz #I haven’t had a Nonnie message in forever!#we’re back baby #full on in it now #stay tuned for more of my ramblings #a lot of sobbing #like a lot #25k more viewings of look my way #and some art prob #prob a fanfic or two #let’s see where the blorbos take us

15 notes · View notes

creaturefeaster · 8 months

Note

what types of people exist in cq? are the only races already shown through the main characters?

Plenty more than what's shown.

You have humans, talpians (Gary/Rachel/host Cstab), blueple (Samantha/Elliot), plant people (host Ching), vixen (host Oxy), elves (host Holly), garbeators (host Hamburger), payans (Maja), orcs (host Jarna), fish people (host Rede)...

Were-animals (Vilmr/Zack) are often considered their own race, but irs circumstantial. Same with vampires (Bonnie).

Then, outside of what you've been shown, there are things like pixies: smaller, bug-aligned people, banshees: long and pale swamp-dwellers, thyll: close to talpians but dwell within caves and rocky structures rather than underground, treeple: slow-moving, humanoid ents, dracks: elemental reptile/dragon people, fawn: reclusive deer people, normals: unsettling race of people that mimic other races.

A few other notes:

If you havent noticed already, unicorns were not listed. They have been wiped to extinction, Jess & Penny being the last two (as far as they can tell) reproductive couple of their kind.

Fish people is also a broad term, as there's many races underwater, but very very few rise above the surface. The ones that do are usually the same kind as Rede's host, and are such a recent phenomenon to the overworld that they have no designated name.

Despite there only being a couple of blueple in the cast, world-wide they are actually the most abundant race of humanoid on the planet.

Talpians are a distant offshoot of orcs! Like, very distant, but they still typically carry their size and broadness to an extent, as well as some remnants of tusks. Gary lacks both the broadness and the tusks, because he's always had trouble eating enough (especially now during such a time of growth in his life), and royals typically have their tusks shortened.

Payans are an offshoot of humans, few and far between, and harbor visions of possible futures.

I think there's probably more out there, because it's a buzzing world that I still haven't covered every inch of, but those would be the ones that exist with certainty :3!

#brambleramble #if i had pictures of them all on hand I'd share #but alas i do not #some of these races... the last drawings i have of them are from like a decade ago 💀#i feel like im forgetting some stuff here #and also i feel like some of this info seems scrambled BUT!!!#im not gonna reread it im just gonna hit post and look away.

45 notes · View notes

bluedalahorse · 8 months

Note

Hi! I was wondering, what do you think Simon and Sara’s relationship is going to look like in season 3? It’s been shown that they had a really strong connection as siblings but do you think that might be permanently broken? I hope that you are having a wonderful day!!

Ahh, thank you for this message! And I very much love talking about the Eriksson siblings, so your ask has made my day.

As a heads up, I write from Sara’s POV in the longfic I share with @heliza24, and as such tend to think of a lot of the events in Young Royals from Sara’s point of view first. So this response may be more about her than about Simon, since I am wholly unused to thinking of things from his perspective. I invite some of my more Simon-savvy folks to weigh in on his behalf, if they see one of my points that they could build on. I have also linked some of my past metas in case they are illuminating.

So I am thinking—hoping—that the resolution to the Eriksson siblings falling out will be one of the major plotlines in season 3. I imagine that they will reconcile with one another, but I also imagine that Lisa will make us stress our way through it, because she takes great pride in playing with our emotions and making us cry.

Before I talk about season 3, I want to talk a little bit about what gets established as true in season 1. While Simon and Sara do have a strong bond with one another, there are also unspoken tensions running through their relationship from the beginning. Simon’s been parentified into a role where he thinks he has to look after Sara and help her find friends and be successful at school. Meanwhile, Sara wants to be more independent and have a chance to define herself outside of her home and her family. Sometimes this comes out in messy ways, like when she talks about her cheap riding pants. I also think about what’s unspoken, like when Simon has Rosh and Ayub wish Sara a happy birthday. This is an incredibly sweet gesture on Simon’s part. At the same time, I can imagine it was potentially pretty embarrassing for Sara throughout her teenage years to have no friends of her own, such that her brother attempts to share his friends with her.

On one hand, Sara and Simon celebrate one another’s happiness. Simon is glad to see Sara becoming friends with Felice, Sara teases Simon in a loving way when she figures out his relationship with Wilhelm is taking off. On the other hand, they are also starting to keep secrets from one another. Simon’s going to see his father, for instance. While on the surface, that’s mostly about the “business” of the money and the booze and so on, I think there’s also a part of Simon that misses connecting with his father over music and other things. There is a part of him that wants things to be better, who (based on what Ayub says, anyway) always ends up disappointed. Meanwhile, I would argue that Sara and August are already developing attraction to one another before the video gets released. Even without the video release happening it’s likely more would have happened between them and that this would have affected Sara’s relationship with her family and friends, although it would have happened in a very different way.

ANYWAY. Part of the reason I’m bringing up this rehash of season 1 in the first place is that I think we as a fandom tend to idealize that scene with Sara teasing Simon about being in love with a prince. And it’s incredibly cute! It’s easy to feel sympathy for Sara in that moment because she’s doing something a lot of members of fandom would do in her place. Wouldn’t we all love to tease Simon about being in love with Wille?

Outside of that scene, though, there are other moments where the Eriksson siblings aren’t quite on the same page, or there’s tension between them that’s going to come out in other ways later. Not because one or both of the Eriksson siblings is evil, but because they’re both growing up and figuring out who they are and what they value, with all the mistakes along the way that entails. Even if the video never got released, they still would have had to reconcile the different people they are becoming and the different ways they grapple with their family history of trauma. August is not the root of the tension between them, but he is the catalyst that brings that tension to the surface. In another situation, it might have been something else. I think any good reconciliation scene has to have that complex understanding of their season 1 relationship lying underneath it if it’s going to feel satisfying.

As for paths to reconciliation, I can’t say I know exactly how things are going to play out. I have a few thoughts about what sorts of plot points could make for good storylines (they don’t all need to happen, these are just different ideas I could see working) and a few things I don’t want to see happen onscreen. So I’ll organize them into bullet points below.

Things I’d be interested in seeing happen with the Eriksson siblings:

I keep wondering if Sara might run away or disappear for a while at the beginning of season 3 in a way that has people close to her worried. At the end of season 2 she’s costumed in a way that feels stuck between worlds, wearing the half of her Hillerska uniform without insignia and the purple jacket that matches her brother’s signature color. I don’t know if I believe Sara was taking that suitcase back to Linda’s house, at least not long term. I can see her trying to run away from everything. A situation like that could shake things up for both Simon and August and force them to talk to one another in situations that don’t involve rowing or drug intrigue, and that could make for interesting interpersonal drama. Like a scene where August and Simon actually have to interact honestly and there’s impassioned yelling of truths? Give it to me. I’m honestly more excited for that than I am for sweet Wilmon moments, because I’m 99% certain I’m getting enough sweet Wilmon moments to make me happy, but I don’t know if I’m getting anything equivalent to the “Simon beats up August in a field and then August rocks and cries” scene we see in 1.3, and I love that scene.

I’d also love a series of events where Wilhelm and Sara get to know one another more, and Wilhelm then acts as the person who helps the siblings reconcile. There’s a reason the writing team has gone out of their way to keep Wilhelm and Sara from interacting for so long, and it’s probably because they have some deeply significant interaction planned between them. Wilhelm would also be motivated to help Simon and Sara reconcile because he knows what it feels like to lose a sibling. And I think it would help Sara to get to know Wilhelm, too. She doesn’t know much about him the way the audience does. At the beginning of season 2, Sara isn’t super trustful of Wilhelm, and given what she knows about him, this actually makes perfect sense. I can see his coming out speech at the end of season 2 as something that lays the foundation for her to trust him more fully, though of course their relationship would need to be built up over time.

A storyline where Sara is pregnant could theoretically be on the table. This one opens up thematic questions about adulthood and whether we can break generational cycles, and that could be the catalyst for some worthwhile Sara-Simon conversations. If Sara decides to seek an abortion, she might be in a position where she confides in Simon about that. This could shift the calculus of their relationship a bit—before, Simon’s protectiveness of Sara, although well-intended, has always had him responding to her as if she is younger, or at least less mature. Yet this would be a situation that they could respond to as young people entering adulthood, perhaps more as equals. Alternately, combining this idea with the idea above, what if through a series of events it ends up being Wilhelm who finds out that Sara is pregnant and supporting her through the abortion process? There’s potential there, too.

If Sara doesn’t run away, she may try to move in with her father. I know a lot of people don’t think it’s likely, but she went through enough life-changing things last season. If she doesn’t feel comfortable going home to Linda, maybe she feels like going to her dad is the only place she can go. This could also push her relationship with Simon in new directions, and push them to have some needed conversations.

Overall, I would also like Sara and Simon to realize that they have some important things in common, and that they are more alike than they are different. Both of them are deeply empathetic and caring, but also at times guarded because of their past traumas. Also for fuck’s sake they somehow managed to fall in love with the teen boys who were first and second in line for the throne, and yet neither of them comes across as particularly monarchist. There’s got to be a dark humor in that, right? I hope we get a scene where they’re able to laugh about that—not in a way that trivializes it, but in a way where you feel the gravity of their situation sinking in.

Things I don’t want to see happen:

I do not want to see Sara get a Dorothy Gale, humbling, click-your-heels ending where she’s back home and everything reverts back to “status quo” and we’re supposed to assume she’s happier, and it’s only then that she can reconcile with Simon. I especially do not want to see this in a universe where it looks like Simon’s going to end up an internationally renowned music star or Prince Consort or both. I just feel like this happens to female characters a lot, and so many female character arcs are about being humbled. It’s easy to think of the part of herself Sara shows at Hillerska as “not the real Sara” but… Sara is eighteen. She’s figuring out who she is. I think Sara At Home and the Sara At Fancy Boarding School are both real, in a way, and she’s figuring out how to integrate those aspects of her personality that are in conflcit. Maybe this is something I feel strongly about because of the way school, and especially university, helped me express sides of myself that I wasn’t able to express at home growing up. But if the message we get sent about Sara is that only her brother and her mother knew the “real her” and she should just be humble or whatever, I will eat an entire bar of soap out of rage or something.

Likewise for the show using rhetoric along the lines of, oh no, poor little naive neurodivergent Sara did not know August was a big meanie manipulative predator, gosh isn’t it great that we have confirmed that she was enough of a Virginal Ingenue for Simon to forgive her. Sara is neither a Virginal Ingenue who is fully pure of heart nor a Wicked Jezebel who intended to wreck her brother’s life so she could get laid in a fancy dorm room. Sara and August’s relationship was as complex and fascinating as Wilhelm and Simon’s even if the season 2 outcome was more negative by the end, and there are a lot of ways that the two mirror one another. I don’t want Simon to be like “oh I get it now, I can forgive you because you were a manipulated, perfect victim.” That would just feel… icky? And it would flatten what I see as an important connection between the siblings.

For the love of Freya and Epona, I do not want Sara to die. I don’t think she will, I think there was some interview where Omar said that no one was dying, and I hope I’m right about that. That would feel even more icky than the two plot points above, and it might be one of the few things that could kill my love of this series.

One thing that worries me about season 3 is that we really don’t have much indication of what Sara’s arc is going to be yet. There hasn’t been much promo material with Frida compared to the other actors and one news release way back in the day even listed her as “recurring.” Which, as one of Sara’s most steadfast enjoyers on tumblr, freaks me out a little. These promotional details would make sense in a “Sara runs away” scenario or perhaps a “Sara goes back to Marieberg” scenario.

Whatever the case, I hope Sara isn’t sidelined. I don’t think she will be—Lisa clearly has as much love for her as she does for the other characters—but I sometimes worry that if she were sidelined, fans wouldn’t care as long as Wilhelm and Simon got to kiss one another onscreen enough times and go on cute dates. Ultimately, though, I have to tell myself that this worry is all in my head, and that most fans in the fandom want to see Sara have a meaningful arc, and want Simon and Sara to have a chance to reconcile. So now all that’s left to do is wait and see what the new season yields, I guess?

In the meantime, we can always write fic about the two of them reconciling and see how close we get to canon!

#young royals #sara eriksson #simon eriksson #my meta #asks #thank you for asking i hope this answers your question!

29 notes · View notes

paradiqms · 1 year

Text

(7) to you, 2000 years from now.

hongjoong x fem!reader.

tags: angst, captain!hongjoong, royalty!reader, betrayals, misunderstandings, mentions of death, cruelty, fluff here n there, fantasy setting, strangers to lovers to enemies to..?

summary: after the death of your parents and near fall of your kingdom, you have no choice but to leave your first love in order to keep the kingdom in balance with you as the new ruler. years later, you see a familiar face - but instead of being in your arms, he's kneeling in front of the guillotine.

word count: 5.2k

currently, seven out of ?

authors note: wow i am surprisingly alive just to offer this piece.... i'm so sorry for the disappearance! i'll do my best to try and go back to my normal posting schedule which is every sunday TT love you guys!!

previous.

juyeon remembers the first day he met you as if it were yesterday.

back when he wasn’t even half of the man he is today, still a young prince who was so eager to please those around him. he had heard of you first before seeing you in the flesh, stories about the beautiful princess from the neighboring kingdom had spread its way along the vast greenwood that stood in between the two lands.

“she’s as radiant as the legends foretold,” juyeon would hear the maids within the castle gossip amongst themselves. “it would be such a pleasure if the crown prince were to marry her in the future.”

the young royal had scoffed at the mere idea. marrying someone he doesn’t know? that’s not something he’d thoroughly enjoy, he believes that a king is always capable of ruling a kingdom without anyone by his side. a wife would only get in his way.

time would pass, and juyeon finally had the chance to meet you in person – if person was even the correct phrase to call you. he recalls the way you had looked on that day after he stepped into the royal palace of your kingdom alongside his father, the echoes of his footsteps eerily bouncing off the empty walls. the prince spotted your figure by the throne, standing straight with your hands politely folded in front of you as the light colored dress you were wearing flowed with the fresh air that entered by the windows.

although, the way you presented yourself wasn’t enough to hide the way you truly felt.

juyeon was able to see the dark discoloration underneath your eyes from the spot he stood several steps in front of you, the whites of your eyes tinted light red as if you had been crying prior to the meeting. your skin was as pale as the light dress you wore, and at that moment, juyeon felt something akin to pity growing from the bottom of his chest. it hasn’t been a full month after pyxis’ king and queen, your parents, were mysteriously killed one night within the safety of their own abode, leaving their only child to rule a kingdom bigger than what she could ever fit in the palm of her trembling hands.

“this,” juyeon’s father gestures to him. “is my son, crown prince of our kingdom – as well as your betrothed.”

even when your emotionless eyes met his, juyeon didn’t falter. he wouldn’t allow himself to.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he had said, reaching out and pressing his lips onto the cold skin on the back of your hand. “my future wife.”

“likewise.” you merely uttered, not a single spark of interest sticking onto the tone of your voice.

“you shall be wed in a week’s time,” the king clasps his hands together, the sound resonating throughout the throne room. “take these few days to be acquainted with each other.”

juyeon had done his best in hopes of getting to know you, trying to sneak his way past your cold eyes and into your heart that he hopes would accept him wholly. the prince tried everything and anything he could think of, starting off a bit softer with subtle touches to your skin whenever the two of you are alone, allowing himself to smile a bit more to show off his charm around you. you didn’t return the gestures, but you didn’t act displeasured either – instead, you would ignore the other royal entirely, letting him do whatever he pleases with you while you went on with your own work.

juyeon had felt slightly frustrated when you didn’t respond to any of his advances in the way he wanted you to. in a last attempt to win you over, he decided to go all out – he prepared a bouquet with the most beautiful and fragrant flowers that any other princess would die for, a specially commissioned dress along with matching jewelry as well as a handwritten letter. the prince, as eager as ever, presented everything to you under the shine of moonlight that casted itself over the palace gardens.

to his surprise, you had shed tears – but only when he read his handwritten letter to you.

you had kept all the presents he gave to you, placing the flowers by your window for them to get their daily shine of sunlight and wearing the dress whenever juyeon would take you somewhere for some quality time.

the prince had thought you would keep the handwritten letter somewhere on your work table, or maybe even your bedside, but instead you pasted it on the wall of your shared bedroom. it was a peculiar thing to do, so naturally, juyeon asked you about where you had learnt such a way of ‘displaying’ a letter.

“someone i knew used to do this.” you answered his question, and for the first time since he met you, juyeon could feel a sliver of emotion in your words.

“used to?” the young man couldn’t help his growing curiosity. “an old friend of yours, i presume?”

he remembers the way you had offered him a smile following his question, but the curve of your lips didn’t emit any spark of happiness.

“you could say that,” you muttered. “we… unfortunately grew apart.”

it was one of the very few times you had opened up, albeit barely, to the newly crowned king, and juyeon could finally tell what kind of person you are.

so naïve, he thought as he watched the emotions and years’ worth of bittersweet memories pooling in your eyes in the form of salty tears. so emotional. she’s incapable of ruling a kingdom.

for six years, juyeon had kept pyxis under great control with his own hands. you were by his side, as how you had vowed to during your wedding day, but you didn’t do as much as he did, the king thinks. to juyeon, you merely acted as a nice little escape for him during the after hours of ruling the kingdom, a solace for him to unwind – you weren’t fit to rule the kingdom, he had that much figured out as soon as he met you.

then why, juyeon grips onto the edge of his table under his knuckles turn white. why can’t i function properly without her?

it’s been close to a week ever since you’ve gone missing, and the king is in absolute tatters. he hasn’t taken a step out of his study to bury himself in work as he waits anxiously for any news the royal navy could get ahold regarding your whereabouts – as well as the whereabouts of the filthy pirate captain that you’re weirdly fond of.

“who is he?” juyeon rasps, calloused fingers gripping harshly onto the ends of his messy hair. his study table is littered with an array of books, official and unofficial letters alike, and absolutely anything which was once yours that the young king could get his desperate hands on in a search for a single clue regarding your relationship with the pirate.

but he finds nothing. every letter, sent to you or by you, every book that once felt the soft touch of your hands on its rough parchment, nothing is helping. it’s like you’ve gotten rid of every physical evidence that could even trace back to your past with the pirate, turning them into your own little secrets and memories within your closed heart instead.

a heart that, juyeon finally realizes, was never his to even claim.

someone knocks on the door thrice, and juyeon doesn’t bother to answer. the person behind the door decides to enter anyway, revealing a tall stature clad in armor with a tuft of brown hair that seems just as messy as the king’s.

“your majesty,” the guard that once served for you spoke, his boyish voice solemn. “i’ve received news from the captain of the royal navy. they still can’t track the queen down, nor the pirate and his crew.”

from the spot where he stands behind his work table, juyeon lifts his head to look at the royal guard, and he feels his chest tighten with annoyance.

“incompetent as always.” the young king grumbles under his breath, breathing out a harsh sigh as he turns back to reading through one of your letters again. “tell them to try harder, search every single kingdom and land they come across. i will allow none of them to return home until they find my wife.”

yeonjun feels a muscle above his eye twitch at the other man’s words. try harder? the knight feels as if he’s about to throw up every single insult laced with pent-up rage at the king for his mere audacity to even say such things about the fleet of navy men who haven’t had a single wink of sleep while in search for their queen.

“i beg your pardon, your highness,” yeonjun lets the title slip off his tongue like poison, watching with satisfaction when he notices the frown on juyeon’s lips. “but the last time any of the royal navy ever stepped foot home was the day before your orders to find the queen. none of them have rested, or even ate proper meals, meanwhile you–”

“meanwhile i what?” juyeon grits his teeth, straightening his previously slouched posture to stand up tall as he stalks over to the other man, dark eyes as cold as the words that fall from his dry lips. “meanwhile i lose my mind over the safety of my wife? while i try my best to keep myself from going mad with anxiety and sorrow because i still have to rule a damn kingdom? you have no idea how hardit is to have her taken away from me–”

“i have no idea?” yeonjun interrupts with disbelief dripping from his voice, daring himself to take a bold step forward towards the fuming king. “i’ve known her longer than you have, far before you came into this kingdom. i’ve seen her at her worst, her best, and everything in between – everything that you’ve only dreamt of seeing from her.”

“watch your damn mouth, guard.” the young king’s eyes bore straight into the other man’s, a weeks’ worth of anger and exasperation pooling inside his irises. “if you’re as close to my wife as you claim to be, then why haven’t you figured out where she is? why is she still missing? why isn’t she back where she’s supposed to be?”

every word that falls from juyeon’s mouth becomes increasingly agitated as he staggers closer to yeonjun, rough hands grabbing onto his armor that feels just as cold as the stare that the guard is giving him. under more normal circumstances, yeonjun would’ve pushed the king away with disgust, but the latter’s words make him freeze in his spot.

as much as he despises the royal, yeonjun can’t help but feel like his words ring true.

why hasn’t he figured out where you’ve went to, he wonders? if he truly knew you as much as he thought, he would’ve figured everything out by now. yet here he is, dark circles decorating the pale skin underneath his eyes that can merely stare back at the young king in front of him, unable to come up with any excuses for himself.

at the other man’s silence, juyeon shoves him backwards roughly with a scoff.

“as expected,” he scowls. “you’re worthless. i ought to assign a new personal guard for my wife once she returns. now get out of my sight.”

with heavy steps and an even heavier heart, yeonjun complies, making his way out of the king’s study and quietly closing the wooden door behind him. he continues to walk along the deathly quiet hallways of the palace, the pristine walls that once echoed with your light laughter making his chest squeeze with ache.

he’s not sure whether it’s the severe deprivation of sleep that’s messing with his head, but yeonjun can still feel your presence as he drags himself along the carpeted hallway. he remembers the way he would follow you around like a lost puppy during his earlier days as your guard, escorting you back and forth through the very same hallway even when you told him not to. his ears ring with your playful giggles whenever he would come and greet you during the evenings after his stable duties, the smell of manure sticking onto his sweaty body making your nose scrunch up.

somehow, yeonjun’s mindless walking had somehow ended up with him coming face to face with a framed portrait of you during your youth. the portrait hangs neatly on the wall, right next to the portraits of your late parents. the sunlight that filters through the windows opposite to the portraits shines against the painted pictures, as if trying to give your eyes back their young sparkle that was forcefully taken from you far too early.

yeonjun knows it’s a bad idea, but he ignores the rational part of his thoughts as he tilts his head up just enough to properly look at your portrait. in the span of a single beat of his broken heart, as if someone had just turned on a faucet in his eyes, the young guard cries.

he cries and cries, for how could he not? it must be his fault that you were taken away to god knows where, being surrounded by people who might have the worse intentions in their heads. if only he didn’t ask you to visit the dungeon that night, you wouldn’t have been kidnapped. if only he was stronger, quicker, and smarter, he would have stopped the masked assassin from even thinking of taking you away from him.

the hallway echoes with yeonjun’s pitiful cries as he leans his forehead against the bottom of your portrait, as if he’s wishing for you to tell him that it’s okay, that you’re okay.

“i’m sorry,” the young knight bawls. “juyeon is right, i– i’m worthless. i couldn’t protect you.”

the cold feeling of your painting’s material only tears yeonjun’s heart even further, because you wouldn’t have been this cold. you were never cold, not to him. he knows it’s stupid to compare you to a mere portrait that was made years ago, but it’s the only place where yeonjun can see your face again. the painting is still, yet the sobbing knight wants to feel your hands in his hair, to hear you comfort him and to dry the tears he's spilling for you.

“please,” yeonjun cries out a broken whisper. “please, come back soon.”

from all the six long years that seonghwa has worked beside hongjoong, the amount of times where his captain has called for a meeting with all the crew members can be counted with one hand. the pirate king has long established his preference for simply relaying his orders to his trusty second-in-command and letting him pass everything on to the rest of the crew while he remains in his quarters, carefully planning their next move.

“big meetings are only for big matters,” hongjoong had once said to his close friend. “and big matters are only for obstacles that are hard to conquer – which is rarely the case for us.”

seonghwa remembers agreeing to his words, as he is completely confident in the crews as well as his own abilities to overcome whatever bumps in the journey they may encounter.

with that being said, if anyone were to tell seonghwa that hongjoong would call for a meeting with the crew over not being able to convince someone to decipher a single map, he would have laughed.

this time, however, as he stands with the rest of the crew while they gather around the round table within the captain’s quarters, seonghwa doesn’t feel even a tickle of laughter in him.

“if she doesn’t read the map,” san speaks up from his spot beside wooyoung, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “why are we still keeping her here? isn’t she basically useless to us now?”

“we can’t just chuck her into the sea, genius.” wooyoung responds, lifting a hand up to smack san’s abdomen. the latter isn’t fazed by his friends’ actions, merely turning his head to squint at him questioningly.

“then what do you suggest we do?” san asks.

wooyoung blinks when the attention of the entire room shifts to him, the stares of the other members as heavy and tense as the atmosphere within the room.

“can’t we just give her some time?” he says after a moment. “she’s probably still a little shocked and confused. i’m sure she’ll give in after a while.”

“you’re sure?” hongjoong is quick to interject, a frown on his lips. “you sound pretty confident, don’t you?”

before wooyoung could bite back, seonghwa places a hand on his shoulder, effectively shutting down the younger pirate.

“we shouldn’t argue,” the oldest among the crew says, a sense of authority in his tone. “but i do agree with wooyoung. i think giving her some time to process things is all we can do now.”

the room turns quiet after seonghwa voiced out his opinion. uniform silence seems to indicate their agreement with the right-hand-mans suggestion, and everyone’s attention shifts to hongjoong to see if he feels similarly to the rest of them.

with their eyes on him, hongjoong does his best to keep his face from expressing the true thoughts that run wild in the confines of his head. he gives the crew a positive nod, and he swears he can hear some of them let out the quietest breaths of relief that they had probably held during the several moments before his decision.

“we’ll give her some time,” the captain declares from his seat. “but the most i’ll give her is two days. once that’s over, there will be no more mercy.”

the crew respond with a unison ‘aye, captain’ before exiting the captain’s quarters after he dismisses them, the sound of their heavy boots clicking against the floorboards filling up the spacious room. soon, there are only two left.

“any business you’d like to discuss any further?” hongjoong sighs out when he notices seonghwa still standing at his spot since the start of the meeting.

“no.” the older pirate mutters out quickly, but he retracts his word just as fast when hongjoong raises a doubtful eyebrow at him.

“uh, yes. a bit. it’s nothing too serious.” seonghwa lifts a hand to timidly rub the back of his neck, avoiding the other man’s gaze.

hongjoong scoffs and lazily gestures for his old friend to voice out whatever that’s on his mind, resting his elbow on the armrest of the chair that he’s currently sitting on.

seonghwa clears his throat once he gets the permission to speak, and the nervousness (if that’s even what he’s currently feeling) that creeps up his spine feels odd, like an emotion that he shouldn’t even be feeling in the presence of a friend that he’s had and cherished for so long.

“about the… disagreement we had earlier,” the second-in-command finally speaks, and he catches the way hongjoong tenses up ever so slightly. “i’d just like to apologize. if you think there’s anything between her and i, then you’re mistaken.”

hongjoong is quick to let out another scoff once seonghwa is done talking, the anger that flashed through his head during the quarrel he had with seonghwa still fresh in his brain, and he lifts himself up from the wooden chair he was previously sitting on to walk closer to the other pirate. seonghwa straightens his posture, eyebrows furrowing as he’s expecting for his captain to spark up another petty argument due to his short temper, but to his surprise, hongjoong walks right pass him.

“that’s lovely to hear,” hongjoong’s voice drips with sarcasm from behind seonghwa, accompanied by the sound of his boots on the floor. “i was beginning to think you had the hots for the woman that could possibly have us all killed one day.”

“i would never.” seonghwa turns around to scowl at the other man, but he can only see his back that’s currently facing towards him. “especially when it’s far too obvious that you’re not over her like how you think you are.”

“oh, there you again,” a tired groan leaves hongjoong’s mouth as he runs his hands over his face, his palms cold. “i’ve said this to you once and i will say it again – don’t speak on topics you know nothing of, park seonghwa.”

the blond haired pirate feels a dull sting right in his chest, one that’s similar to the sting on his lower lip that he’s been chewing on throughout the entire conversation. he can see the way hongjoong’s posture basically shrinks from the way his shoulders drop as if his words had such an effect on him, and whether or not it’s a good idea, seonghwa decides to keep pushing his luck and continues speaking.

“what if i don’t want to keep knowing nothing about it?” seonghwa keeps his voice leveled, despite the urge to shout them right in hongjoong’s face. “why is it such a secret? you’re acting as if the past you shared with her is a taboo topic, that anyone who dares to question you should be treated in the worse way possible and kept in the dark with no answers.”

his steps are heavy with aggravation as seonghwa moves closer to hongjoong’s spot in front of him, stopping only when he’s several more steps away.

“you’re treating me as if i don’t deserve to know what happened, even after i’ve been by your side for all these years.” the words that fall from seonghwa’s mouth feel as light as feather, unable to stop their flow after they’ve been causing his heart to feel heavier than stone.

“you’re not doing yourself a favor like this, hongjoong. you keep acting as if it doesn’t bother you, but everyone on board can see how the way you’re handling everything is almost torture. you’ve been easier to irritate lately, you’re defensive every time someone even mentions her name, you barely even go out of your quarters to see the rest of the crew anymore! it’s like you’re killing yourself!”

nothing follows after the onslaught of seonghwa’s rant. hongjoong remains still, not a single twitch of muscle, or even an angry grumble – just silence. it’s as if seonghwa’s rant was a storm, a truly natural disaster that was just waiting to happen due to hongjoong’s own ignorance. his thunderous words leaves the captain’s heart shaking, opening up the scars that never truly healed.

if seonghwa’s rant was a storm, then hongjoong’s silence is the aftermath. the devastation that comes after the destruction that he unknowingly contributed to, and he doesn’t know what to do other than stand still and let himself fall victim to and be buried underneath the rubble of seonghwa’s anger.

“what’s the point,” hongjoong finally rasps out. “if i’m already dying anyway?”

the devastation that storms cause are usually followed with the acceptance of everything that you’ve lived for has been destroyed, an acceptance that will come to you no matter how long you try to deny it. hongjoong had lived half of his life in denial, and now that’s left is to accept.

“you, out of all people,” seonghwa notices the way hongjoong turns his head to glance back at him ever so slightly, and he’s beginning to wish he never spoke. “should understand that i am not destined to stay alive longer than any of you, than her.”

“hongjoong–” seonghwa feels the storm in him die out faster than he expected, and he isn’t given the chance to apologize before his captain continues speaking.

“you’re right,” the dark haired pirate says. “it is torture, it certainly feels like it. to say and act like i don’t feel anything for her anymore even when i would venture into the deepest depths of the sea for her is torture.”

hongjoong straightens his posture with a small sigh from his lips, and he begins to slowly move towards the wooden bookshelf that stands tall against the wall of his private quarters. he can feel seonghwa’s eyes following him, but he doesn’t address it.

“but i would put up with all the torture myself rather than let her feel any pain once i’m gone.”

hongjoong lets his fingertips run along the spines of the many books aligned on the bookshelf, a trail forming behind due to his fingers collecting the dust that managed to accumulate over the period of time he left the books untouched. he stops once he touches the book he was searching for, and he pulls it out, little speckles of dust flying in the tense air.

“don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” hongjoong begins once more as he opens the book, casually flipping over the pages. “that you’ve known me for six years, yet you don’t know anything of my past?”

a muscle in seonghwa’s face twitches.

“… of course,” the brighter haired pirate responds. “but every time i’d ask you, you wouldn’t give me any clear answers.”

hongjoong merely hums. he continues to flip the pages of the book in his hands until he reaches the spot where there’s a crumpled piece of paper sitting neatly in between the pages, one that was once as white as the innocence he had before, but now it’s colored with the pigments of ageing and stained with tears that drained him from all the emotions he possessed, once upon a time. the handwriting of his younger self taunts him, and he looks away from he could lose himself in the memory.

“there's a reason why i do so, but i’ll give you one thing about my past just this once.” hongjoong says as he picks up the piece of paper from the pages, closing the book afterwards and placing it back to where he plucked it from. he turns around to face the other man, but he keeps his head hanging low as if to avoid whatever kind of stare that seonghwa’s giving him. he doesn’t trust himself to stay composed if he were to see any kind of empathy or pity coming from the eyes of his old friend.

“i used to write about her,” hongjoong confesses, and the ghost of a dead smile appears on his lips. “every day, without fail. i would read them to her before pasting them on the wall of my old bedroom.”

as hongjoong steps closer to seonghwa’s spot, the older pirate could feel his heart thumping harder with each sound of the other man’s shoes against the floor. the captain ceases once he’s standing next to his right-hand-man, and he offers the sheet of discolored paper to him.

seonghwa hesitates, eyes as shaky as his hands when he takes the paper into his own hold. his fingers clutch at the edges gently, as if he’s scared that a grip any harder would shatter the piece of parchment like a broken heart.

“keep it if you want,” hongjoong’s voice is small as he walks pass the other pirate. “or throw it away, i don’t care. just take it as an explanation on why i chose to do what i’m doing.”

seonghwa dares himself to look down at the paper, and the familiar writing of his old friend pierces into his chest, an ache that only deepens the more he reads. it’s only a short poem, one that’s merely a few stanzas long which don’t even fill up half of the paper, but seonghwa could feel the emotions clinging onto every letter that’s scribbled in the fading black ink. he could just imagine a younger version of hongjoong working on the poem, eyes sparkling with hope and love that seonghwa has never personally seen during the entire six years of working alongside him – it almost makes him sick.

seonghwa can’t bring himself to look at the poem anymore, so he folds it neatly before pocketing it. he thinks he’s seen enough.

“…hongjoong,” the blond pirate voices, and despite not receiving any answer from the latter, he continues. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.”

what is he apologizing for? seonghwa isn’t sure – not in the sense that he doesn’t have a reason on why he’s apologizing, but more in the sense that he’s not sure for which reason he’s apologizing for. is he apologizing for bursting out his frustration on a dear friend that has went through far much more than he initially knew? is he apologizing for events that took place before he knew hongjoong, the ones that caused him to become a shell of the young man he used to be? or is he apologizing for the love that got away, the love that once completed him only to leave him as empty as his eyes that no longer sparkle?

seonghwa doesn’t know. all he does know is that hongjoong deserved an apology, and he’ll be the one to offer it to him even if the heavens and the earth don't see him fit as someone who should be offered any kind of sympathy.

“… you’re dismissed, park seonghwa.” hongjoong simply responds after what felt like an eternity of tense silence.

the older pirate doesn’t disobey. he merely nods and makes his way out of the captain’s private quarters, the squeaking of the door opening and closing being the last sound hongjoong hears before he’s alone with the silence within the room.

as hongjoong sits quietly on the edge of his unmade bed, the ache in his chest that’s been haunting him ever since your reappearance in his life broadens over his whole chest, radiating all over his body until he feels like he’s crushed under the intensity of it all. he lets himself fall down onto the softness of his mattress when the energy to even sit up is taken from him, and he stares at the dark ceiling above him.

the tips of hongjoong’s fingers tingle, the rough feeling of aged parchment grazing his skin leaving an uneasiness in its wake. was it truly a wise decision to give seonghwa the poem he wrote for you on the night of his confession? he’s unsure, but what he said was true – if seonghwa wanted to know so desperately about his past with you, then the poem would be a great storyteller, even when it feels like a chunk of his heart was taken when he gave the poem away.

hongjoong thinks that it’s better that way, perhaps, if he were to give away his heart that once belonged to you little by little, until there’s nothing left to break once he has to depart from you again in the future. but for some reason, he feels that even if his chest were to be void of a heart, then the other aspects of him would break if he were to part from you. he thinks his soul would crumble, his legs would fail to bring him anywhere, his head be full of nothing but you for all of his remaining time – for not only his heart belongs to you, but his entire being.

a fact that once built him during his younger days, but now it only serves to destroy his already dying body.

as hongjoong continues to stare at the ceiling above him, he can’t help but foolishly wish he could go back to six years ago.

next.

taglist: @atinytinaa @crimson-mia @catwhisk @lelaleleb @realrya @layzfeelit @atinyreads @revehosh @fourthirtyone-am @jexizia @xxluckydreamsxx @sankatchu @mythicalamphitrite @isntw0nwoo

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x you #ateez angst #ateez imagines #hongjoong fluff #ateez x you

51 notes · View notes