glassfm

[glassfm]

CLOSED   for   @martinaalexandra​​​​​   ft   MARTINA   ALEXANDRA   RINALDI

the   engagement   party   had   been   half   disastrous.   they   had   quietly   done   as   they   were   supposed   to   --   appeared   on   time   and   danced   with   their   betrothed   and   spoke   amicably   with   peter   and   anne   and   honoré.   kept   their   head   high   when   the   swedish   arrived   and   sunk   into   the   background   and   did   not   cause   a   scene.   in   effect   they   did   what   they   always   did.   enough   to   avoid   question   and   not   enough   to   raise   notice.   the   perfect   blank   space.   everything   else   had   imploded   around   them.

they   had   been   violently   sick   when   they   returned   to   their   chambers   and   it   was   not   for   excess   of   drink.   heartache   made   physical   tangled   in   their   throat,   for   margo   and   her   clever   smiles   and   the   days   they   had   spent   stuck   with   the   death   of   her.   perhaps   none   could   blame   them   for   it   but   to   form   an   opinion   someone   would   have   to   KNOW   --   and   john   preferred   to   keep   their   bloody   heart   to   themself   and   so   that   was   exactly   what   they   did,   becoming   a   ghost   in   the   palace   once   more   in   the   days   that   followed   the   party.

they   were   careful   not   to   grimace   when   they   stumbled   upon   their   fiancee,   rounding   a   corner   in   the   palace   with   a   small   bag   slung   over   their   shoulder   as   they   planned   for   a   day   out   in   the   field.   they   did   not   hold   anything   against   her   but   that   did   not   mean   they   particularly   wanted   to   see   her   as   of   late.   they   inclined   their   head   respectfully.   ❝   princess.   ❞

[glassfm]

SUNDRUNKED   ft   JAKOB   HABSBURG

fuck, it was too easy. to punch him again as they both hit the ground, to let him slot a knee between their legs, to press down against him as they pull away, vision blurry from the slam of his head. it should have been easy. bloody, reaching to wrap their hands around his throat -– pausing at his words, pulse ricocheting around their chest. they breathed out, shaky, slow, bared their teeth in a scowl & did not let themself think about it. could not stop thinking about it.

& then anatol moved, tried to shift, to throw them, & the instinct came back with a fury. they slammed him back into the ground, pure strength, one hand tight at his neck, nails digging into his skin with a bloody catch. “tell your men to clear the room,” they growled, their shared german, for they’d once asked anatol to teach them polish & he’d gone far too quiet before he’d started to yell, & they — did not know what they would do, once they were alone with him.

ripping his head off was a fantasy that came easily. put it on a pike at the gates of the austrian palace, pretty as he was, until he showed the rot that lay at the core of him. death first to traitors, to those who fucked with jakob’s family, & they couldn’t help but remember the easier times when they had wanted nothing more to be gentle with him. to kiss him clean of blood, pry crown & country out of him with the sweetest flash of teeth. being fifteen & in love, eighteen & promising a life in letters, twenty, twenty three, twenty seven & glad to see him again. a whole youth of all of their kindness to give, to be taken, to be tossed aside. used to destroy the one person that should have mattered more.

adrenaline rushing through their veins, there was little sweetness left in them. they wanted to tear him apart with their bare hands. they wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. they squeezed his throat until they were sure to leave bruises, slammed an elbow into his stomach, & rose, heartbeat pounding in their ears.

he   had   not   entirely   expected   to   succeed   in   moving   jakob   and   he   had   not   entirely   expected   such   a   swift   and   brutal   response.   a   choked   little   noise   escaped   him   as   he   was   slammed   to   the   ground   again,   halfway   between   a   gasp   for   air   and   pain   and   pleasure.   he   dragged   his   gaze   over   the   fierce   lines   of   jakob’s   body   above   him   the   strength   in   the   furious   curves   of   their   arm   the   glint   of   their   browngray   eyes   and   his   smile   never   faded.   he   turned   his   head   to   address   his   guards   and   snapped   the   command   in   polish.   even   now   they   knew   better   than   to   think   of   defying   him.

the   room   emptied   quickly   and   the   murmurs   and   shouts   of   the   nobles   faded   as   the   footsteps   down   the   hall   did.   they   were   left   with   nothing   but   themselves.   anatol   could   feel   his   heartbeat   pounding   desperately   in   his   ears   as   jakob   choked   him,   grasped   their   wrists   and   dug   his   nails   in   and   did   not   try   to   tear   them   away.   did   not   lose   the   remnants   of   that   grin   tugging   at   his   lips   even   as   his   breaths   sputtered   and   faded.   his   head   swam.   he   wanted   it   to   leave   a   bruise.   he   wanted   to   say   something   terrible.   HE   WANTED   JAKOB   TO   STAY   even   if   it   meant   they   would   claw   at   each   other   for   the   rest   of   eternity.  

he   let   out   a   sick   wheeze   when   they   let   go   only   to   knock   the   wind   from   him   again,   forcing   himself   to   sit   upright   as   he   struggled   to   regain   his   breath   and   quiet   the   buzzing   in   his   head.   jakob   stood   and   --   the   instinct   was   there   to   grasp   at   the   sleeve   of   their   pants.   to   twine   his   fingers   in   the   fabric   and   cling   to   them.   until   they   tumbled   back   down   to   his   level   but   that   perhaps   would   make   too   pathetic   a   sight   and   he   had   already   well   and   truly   debased   himself   before   them.   with   a   furious   grimace   of   pain   he   shoved   himself   up   and   stood,   expression   twisted   in   a   snarl   as   he   tried   to   face   them   without   shaking.  

❝   YOU   LOVE   ME   STILL,   ❞   and   it   was   a   taunt   and   not   a   plea   for   he   wanted   to   say   something   unallowably   different   and   he   had   never   known   how   to   reach   for   GENTLENESS   instead.

[glassfm]

TCMPESTAS   ft   AMARA   JONSSON

@glassfm ⸻ CLOSED STARTER.

it wasn’t uncommon for amara to look daggers at her eldest brother throughout an entire meal. sometimes, she did it simply because she hoped it would unsettle him to be gawked at, which in turn amused her. other times, she felt the need to vent whatever it was that had sparked irritation that day, and franz made a wonderful target. she never had the desire to fight mads, and she would feel remorse if she unleashed her petty frustrations on emil. if franz refused to give her the time of day, she would press harder; if she succeeded in grating on his nerves, she’d feel victorious. it was a delightful way of trifling away her time, and in truth, amara knew no other way to get close to him. at least if she pestered him relentlessly, there would be some sort of exchange between the two. if she stopped, would he even speak to her at all?

amara lingered even after the plates had been cleared, a drink of water with a touch of ginger she had requested in front of her. it was a remedy she now drank daily to ease her morning sickness, courtesy of her sweet english friend. index finger tracing the rim of her cup, she peered at her brother, dark irises flickering with something that was far closer to fear than menace. “there is a pressing matter i need to discuss with you.” the princess announced, briefly glancing at the servants bustling around the table. “dismiss the servants. please.” she lifted the drink to her lips and took a swig, holding her breath until they were alone and she could finally confess what had been weighing on her for weeks.

silence   had   long   served   as   franz’s   closest   companion   and   most   effective   tool.   he   wielded   a   dispassion   that   left   his   internal   process   mostly   mystery   and   the   closest   thing   he   would   allow   to   giving   ground   was   a   faint   tense   of   his   brow   that   was   often   unnoticeable   to   any   who   had   not   dedicated   their   lives   to   his   provocation   like   amara   and   on   occasion   mads   seemed   to.   amara   was   frustration   itself.   he   understood   her   least   of   all   in   the   sheer   gluttony   of   her   ferocities   --   if   only   because   he   could   not   let   himself.   if   only   because   to   allow   himself   such   a   thing   would   be   unforgivable.  

he   passed   the   meal   in   peaceful   quiet   focused   on   the   food   before   him   rather   than   whatever   malice   might   be   cast   his   way   this   morning.   he   lingered   over   his   coffee   an   intended   pause   for   himself   before   another   day   of   meetings   began   filled   with   attempts   to   soothe   concerns   about   the   swedes   and   a   monumental   effort   to   resist   the   want   to   yell   at   their   king   and   his   presumptions.   there   was   something   reproachful   to   it   when   his   gaze   flicked   to   amara   as   she   spoke   --   could   he   not   be   allowed   a   moment   of   rest?   --   but   he   halted   at   her   uncharacteristic   nerves,   the   lack   of   sharpness   to   her   tongue.   a   brief   nod   of   assent   and   the   room   was   shortly   cleared,   silence   creeping   in   around   them.

he   put   down   his   drink   and   settled   the   razor   keen   edge   of   his   full   attention   on   her   shoulders.   ❝   what   is   it?   ❞

[glassfm]

HCNRS   ft   MAJA   BOLESLAWA

₊˚ʚ @glassfm ; maja + anatol .

evening air falling through the window , a much needed refuge from the stifling noise of the celebration downstairs , though the faint sound of music and laughter followed even behind the closed doors of their chambers . she's all undone now , free of the confines of ribbons and jewels , rid of the immaculate armour she's been parading all day , desperate to outshine even the stars of the evening themselves . wrapped in a blanket she brought all the way from home , thick wool itching at the skin , a stark contrast to the fine silks she's been wearing , she'll let herself fall into the plush armchair next to judyta's crib , paying little attention to anything but her daughter's calm breathing ; usual grimace starting to resemble a smile . ' we'll be fine here if you want to go back to the party . . . ' will turn to face him now , eyebrows furrowing instantly . ' perhaps you've some fights left to pick ? '

❝   no,   no.   i   doubt   i   could   coax   him   into   another   one   so   soon,   ❞   and   he   says   it   halfway   to   joking   in   tone   but   it   is   always   hard   to   tell   when   anatol   may   be   joking.   he   peers   down   at   their   sleeping   daughter,   gaze   piercing   with   an   unrelenting   sharpness   he   will   not   admit   to   being   constant   worry,   before   he   looks   over   to   meet   the   eyes   of   his   lady   wife.   ❝   consider   me   contented   to   remain   here   for   the   evening.   ❞   his   aunt   and   cousins   will   surely   be   glad   for   it.

the   lights   and   sounds   of   the   party   made   his   head   swim   subdued   though   the   evening   was.   he   has   not   entirely   recovered   from   his   little   brawl   with   jakob,   though   it   is   nothing   that   a   dangerous   grin   and   a   dash   of   a   lady   in   waiting’s   makeup   cannot   hide.   he   does   not   mind   it,   though   this   he   will   not   say   to   maja.   he   presses   his   fingers   to   the   break   of   his   nose   when   he   is   alone   and   revels   in   the   detail   of   it,   the   feel   and   fury   of   jakob   against   him.

[glassfm]

Icones novae in usum selectae, et catalogo plantarum promiscue appensae (1683)

[glassfm]

I   AM   SORRY,   DESTROY   ME   AS   I   AM,   BUT   I   WANT   TO   KISS   YOU   BEFORE   I   AM   KILLED

oh,   the   gardens.   fuck   the   gardens.   with   @sundrunked​​​.

[glassfm]

(lewis   tan,   demi   man,   he/they,   forty)   **   ♔   announcing   FRANCIS   XAVIER   “FRANZ”   JÖNSSON,     the   KING   OF   SWITZERLAND!  in   a   recent   portrait   they   seem   to   resemble   LEWIS   TAN.   it   is   a   miracle   that   HE/THEY   survived   the   last   five   years   and   for   that   reason,   they   are   FOR  the   kingdoms   working   together.   reflecting   on   them   now,   they   remind   me   of   FISTS   CLENCHED   TOO   TIGHTLY,   THE   ECHO   OF   AN   EMPTY   ROOM,   LAYERS   OF   ICE   OVER   EVERYTHING.

❝   with   the   strength   of   sparta   and   the   patience   of   job   ❞

you   are   so   rigidly   self   controlled   that   it   borders   on   violence.   this   is   how   you   survive.  

you   are   told   the   story   a   thousand   times.   you   had   an   older   brother   once.   sweet   blonde   babe,   jönsson   blood   flowing   through   his   veins.   your   parents   could   not   have   another   and   saw   no   harm   in   taking   in   a   pitiable   spare   --   your   mother   birthed   you   in   a   harbor   they   had   visited,   bleeding   in   the   lowest   deck   of   a   foreign   boat,   and   your   kind   and   generous   parents   renamed   you   for   a   missionary   to   the   distant   lands   she   had   come   from.   you   decide   early   on   that   you   prefer   franz.   you   were   a   quiet   infant   agreeable   and   easily   pacified.   your   brother   died.   suddenly   you   were   a   problem.

you   grow   with   all   eyes   on   you.   you   are   judged   and   cannot   afford   to   be   found   wanting.   there   is   no   noble   in   switzerland   without   an   opinion   on   your   breeding,   on   your   manners,   on   your   speaking   and   dancing   and   shooting   and   every   facet   a   king   could   have.   a   king   could   lack.   your   mother   tells   you   that   she   loves   you   but   it   is   plain   that   you   are   not   the   child   she   bounced   at   her   hip   and   she   does   not   touch   you.   when   you   are   seven   your   pup   dies   and   you   sob   and   your   father   fixes   you   in   place   with   a   look   so   severe   that   you   know   you   have   made   a   mistake   you   can   never   repeat   again.   you   keep   this   memory   cradled   tightly   to   your   chest   like   hands   pressed   over   a   gunshot   wound.   you   learn   to   be   measured   and   calm   and   unaffected.   they   do   not   praise   you   for   it   but   the   stares   soften   somewhat.   in   your   head   you   make   a   list   of   slights.

a   line   of   little   siblings   are   adopted   in   your   wake   and   you   surprise   yourself   with   how   fiercely   you   love   them.   you   were   never   taught   affection.   you   offer   protection   instead.   you   keep   the   burden   of   approval   to   your   own   shoulders   and   leave   them   more   space   for   their   loves   and   their   rages.   you   cannot   say   that   you   are   warm   to   them   but   you   are   kind   the   only   way   you   know   how,   an   ever   watchful   shield   from   the   harshest   of   duties   and   the   sharpest   of   consequences.   kings   are   meant   to   be   the   protectors   of   their   people   after   all.

your   father   dies   as   fathers   do.   you   stand   tall   at   the   funeral   and   you   stand   tall   at   the   coronation.   wearing   the   crown   had   always   been   an   inevitability   you   could   not   entirely   imagine   happening.   you   had   hoped   that   it   would   render   you   publicly   unimpeachable   and   without   flaw.   you   learn   hope   is   for   fools.   the   whispers   quiet   but   the   eyes   grow.   you   marry   and   you   have   an   heir   and   you   rule   well   and   carefully   and   it   is   never   going   to   be   enough.   you   shepherd   switzerland   through   plague   and   you   vie   for   world   peace   and   you   are   left   with   the   constant   drive   to   make   things   a   little   more   perfect.   to   try   a   little   more   hard.   to   control   it   all   a   little   more   carefully.   you   are   the   head   of   your   country   and   you   are   still   an   outsider.  

yet   you   are   never   caught   being   anything   less   than   steady.   you   are   a   pinnacle   of   grace   and   poise.   your   calm   is   remarkable.   your   wisdom   growing   with   every   year   of   rule.   firm   and   fair   is   what   you   always   aim   to   be.   you   absorb   information   --   you   absorb   insults   --   you   never   forget   a   thing.  

inevitably   some   quiet   flaw   strikes   the   match   and   you   explode.   you   are   ugly   in   anger.   you   are   incandescent.   you   are   the   thinnest   and   strongest   panes   of   glass   and   you   will   leave   blood   in   your   wake   when   you   shatter.   but   that   is   your   private   shame.   that   is   the   hairline   fracture   built   by   ever   constant   ever   growing   stress.   you   do   not   allow   yourself   it.   you   do   not   allow   yourself   anything.

[glassfm]

[glassfm]

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

[glassfm]

LEWIS TAN as Lu Xin Lee Fistful of Vengeance (2022)

[glassfm]

VITAIISMS   ft   MAXIM   WINDSOR

@1642hqzstarters​ OPEN (¼)

as ill fitting as it is for a prince to be late to his own engagement party, truth be told maxim hadn’t been expecting to be celebrated at all. he’d been perfectly content with john and auggie being the ones fawned over for the night, there in support and congratulations abound, perfectly willing to give up any kind of spotlight but just when he’d thought he’d gotten off scot free – the announcement came to him at the very last moment, and if he weren’t busy throwing a tantrum, he would take care to be offended.

being late is one thing but maxim has always known how to make an entrance, turning something sour into something sweet. after many a people knocked at his door, practically begging for him to come out and not ruin the night (though it’s hard to believe maxim could ruin anything when uninvited guests show up. he digresses; a party crash is the last thing he could care about right now), with a practiced smile and a few breaths in the mirror, he joins the party. his absence is excused easily and he gives thanks to any congratulations, shakes hands and makes conversation with such an ease that no one would guess he had been sulking in his room just an hour prior.

in the rare moments he finds himself free from the dullards that surround him, he finds himself in front of the drinks and nurses each one he pours. it is easy to remove himself from his own realities and feelings when surrounded with such attention, allowing the tribulations and crushing realizations of how things are set to change be a thing for later when he’s once again in his room and able to sulk as he wishes. for now, it’s dazzling smiles and upkept reputations that he feels are long overgrown.

john   had   been   half   a   ghost   in   the   halls   of   the   swiss   palace   --   they   had   never   missed   a   formal   event   but   they   had   never   been   quite   THERE   either,   had   mastered   the   ability   to   remain   polite   and   left   alone   at   the   same   time.   it   was   a   trick   they   had   pulled   with   their   family   too,   exception   made   only   for   anne   and   sometimes   peter.   all   this   to   say   that   most   days   as   they   walk   up   beside   maxim   to   pour   themself   another   drink,   they   would   not   bother   to   speak   to   him.  

they   feel   the   crowd’s   eyes   on   their   back   and   know   that   this   cannot   be   most   days.  

fingers   reach   for   the   strongest   drink   they   can   find,   steady   as   they   go.   ❝   quite   the   entrance,   ❞   they   say   dryly,   and   it   is   hard   to   tell   if   they   mean   maxim’s   own   lateness   or   the   splash   of   the   swedes.   they   turn   briefly   to   him,   gaze   fixed   on   him   without   any   spark   of   attention   at   all.   ❝   i   didn’t   think   you’d   end   up   here.   ❞   and   this   speaks   to   a   betrothal   at   all.   auggie   had   surprised   them,   too.   john   had   always   been   the   only   one   who   went   along   with   it.   then   again   they   cannot   say   they   know   their   brothers   well   at   all.  

they   cannot   say   they   know   themself,   for.   they   did   agree   to   this,   in   the   name   of   another   chance   to   escape   the   family   walls.   they   do   not   need   to   love   martina   to   make   some   peace   for   themself.   but   under   the   candlelight   and   all   of   these   eyes   they   are   beginning   to   choke,   their   old   wedding   band   tight   on   a   chain   around   their   neck,   tucked   carefully   beneath   their   collar.   margo   would   not   resent   them   for   remarriage.   they   know   this.   they   knew   her.   perhaps   they   resent   themself.

[glassfm]

[glassfm]

oscillating between haha funny joke and no earnestly i think characters navigating their own complicated relationships w intimacy in a really TERRIBLE way together is genuinely so compelling. anyway citations + transcripts are currently in alt text but lmk if it’d be more accessible in the body of the post!

[glassfm]

SUNDRUNKED   ft   JAKOB   HABSBURG

jacob had never been the type to listen to rumors. they didn’t care about the intrigues of court, the messes of nobles’ personal lives, who hated who’s dress & who had insulted who’s mother. but there were only so many times that their name, that josef’s name, could come up on the lips of half of the palace before word reached them, too. it was one of their brothers who told them. angry & worried & hurried & — jakob had told him to calm down. had told him it was nothing, that it didn’t matter, that josef wouldn’t have paid such blatant lies any mind, & they shouldn’t either.

had known, immediately, that anatol had started it. an underhanded trick to try to catch their attention, another blow to their family’s soft underbelly, & they would not dignify it with a response. they would not. he’d face his reckoning when they had proof & their army crashing through his borders, & not a day fucking sooner. they didn’t lose control. they had never been the type to lose control. they were quiet & they were strategic & they weren’t going to make themself a fool for lie after lie after lie.

they stepped into the luncheon, their gaze settled on anatol’s back, & then they moved.

to their ears there was only the hum of static. they were in the doorway & then they were on him, reaching out to wrench him around by the shoulder, hauling back — they watched it like a play as their fist collided into his nose with all the strength they could muster, the sickening crack the only thing that broke in through their reverie. it felt good.

god, it felt good.

distantly, the room broke into chaos, muffled shrieks & horrified gasps, guards summoned. they didn’t care. they didn’t care about any of it, strategy or dignity or any of it, some kind of line at the core of them crossed & shattered & unable to return to. they grabbed him by the collar to shove him to the ground, grasp tight & desperate, turned mean by need instead of wanting in it, fingers tangled in his shirt for the first time all over again, a knife instead of a lover.

from   the   first   brush   of   jakob’s   hand   on   his   shoulder   --   from   the   first   starburst   of   pain   as   his   nose   broke   and   he   went   stumbling   backwards   hands   flying   to   his   face   --   anatol   knew   he   had   won.

they   would   never   look   away   from   him   again.

to   be   truthful   he   was   not   a   fighter.   he   had   a   knack   with   blades   and   had   never   flinched   away   from   blood,   but   that   did   not   make   him   any   readier,   did   not   replace   the   training   he   had   turned   down   from   isolde.   he   had   become   king   at   ten   and   none   had   touched   him   since.   faced   with   a   soldier   with   the   flex   of   muscles   he   knew   too   well   beneath   the   sleeves   of   jakob’s   coat   it   would   be   suicide   to   snap   threats   in   polish   at   any   guard   who   approached   them   who   tried   to   pry   them   apart.

he   did   it   anyways.  

he   had   their   attention   now.   purely   and   utterly,   it   was   in   every   inch   of   hatred   shining   in   their   eyes,   and   it   did   not   feel   as   good   as   he   had   hoped   it   would   but   still   --   to   bleed   could   be   a   wonderfully   intimate   thing.   he   had   them   and   so   he   had   won   and   he   would   not   let   them   go.   out   of   instinct   he   latched   onto   them,   let   their   own   force   pull   them   down   with   him,   flush   against   his   body   as   they   both   tumbled   to   the   floor.   he   notched   a   leg   between   theirs   and   slammed   his   forehead   against   their   face,   breathing   heavy.   blood   trickled   from   his   nose,   shiny   in   the   light.  

❝   i   think   you   should   kiss   me   now,   ❞   he   murmured,   low   so   that   only   jakob   could   hear,   in   the   german   tongue   he   had  learned   at  their   lips.   and   then   he   grinned,   bloody   and   pleased,   twisting   his   hips   as   he   tried   to   flip   them   over,   and   hoped   they   would   hit   him   again.

[glassfm]

CLOSED   for   @sundrunked​​​​​​​   ft   JAKOB   HABSBURG

since   that   first   night   in   the   ballroom   --   since   they   had   asked   him   plainly   and   he   had   denied   any   role   in   josef’s   death   --   anatol   had   not   been   able   to   get   jakob   to   himself   for   more   than   a   moment.   every   time   he   caught   their   eye   they   had   been   quick   to   look   away,   every   conversation   had   had   a   buffer   of   at   least   three   other   nobles.   the   closest   he   had   come   to   the   attention   he   so   desired   had   been   at   one   of   mads’   little   gatherings.   he   had   caught   them   alone   looking   for   more   drinks,   had   brushed   a   stray   curl   from   their   face   --   had   wanted   them   in   that   moment   more   fiercely   than   he’d   imagined   possible,   flush   against   the   wall,   framed   by   the   darkness.   and   then   lukyan   had   come   and   they   had   left   and   anatol   had   terribly   realized   that   this   was   the   first   time   in   his   life   he   had   wanted   them   and   HAD   NOT   HAD   THEM.   their   attention,   their   touch,   their   love,   their   letters.   his   for   the   having   and   holding   in   sickness   and   in   health   since   they   were   teens,   and   now   where   were   they?

a   somewhat   expected   consequence   should   he   be   caught   out   and   clearly   he   had   been.   an   unexpectedly   bothersome   one.   there   was   a   void   of   wanting   left   in   him   and   that   would   not   do.   it   demanded   to   be   filled.   their   eyes   could   be   on   him   with   care   or   with   hatred,   as   long   as   they   were   on   him.  

and   so   he   did   what   he   did   best   --   he   started   a   fight.

he   invited   the   chattiest   noble   in   switzerland   to   a   private   tea   and   let   the   conversation   shift   from   the   latest   fashions   to   foreign   politics.   such   a   terrible   loss   the   austrians   had   faced,   he   said.   josef   had   been   such   a   good   man.   an   idol   of   his   youth   even.   he   had   extended   a   hope   of   peace   to   the   new   king   after   his   death,   had   offered   his   deepest   sympathies   and   his   friendship   --   had   been   TURNED   DOWN,   and   it   was   it   not   such   an   awful   shame?   poland   could   only   wish   the   habsburgs   the   best.   he   had   his   tea   and   waved   goodbye   with   a   smile,   and   then   he   let   them   talk.   and   talk.   and   TALK.  

rumor   mills,   these   nobles   were.   a   man   with   his   terrible   reputation   was   an   object   of   fascination.   to   be   so   discourteously   received   and   still   so   gracious   in   it!   when   he   was   such   good   friends   with   josef   too,   because   by   the   time   the   fiftieth   mama   got   her   hands   on   the   news,   they   had   been   brothers   in   all   but   name.   the   conversation   rippled   around   him   in   near   whispers,   and   he   smiled   to   himself   as   he   joined   a   group   of   assorted   dukes   and   princesses   at   a   small   and   informal   luncheon.

[glassfm]

MARTINAALEXANDRA   ft   MARTINA   ALEXANDRA   RINALDI

MARTINA WAS wandering once more on the gardens. She was tired of being cooped up in her own bedroom. She was exhausted on this monotonous routine. She avoids the barns, mostly because she isn’t fond of horses, they scare the shit out of her. This time, she didn’t bring a book with her. In her experience the time she tried to be alone in this place, people always shows up. Despite being so cold, she wouldn’t mind being outside.

This is when she found a familiar figure. Her betrothed. As being extremely timid with people that aren’t her siblings, she was trying to be nice and gentle with him. After all is her job, right?! Luckily for her, she didn’t find effort to try to be nice to people because she already is. ❛ Hello… ❜ She says softly, getting closer him, as her cheeks automatically blushed due to the interaction. ❛ If you want to be alone, I can leave and totally, understand. ❜ She warns him, the last thing she wanted was to him feel rather uncomfortable with her.

@glassfm​

for   once   john   has   come   to   the   gardens   to   indulge   a   virtue   rather   than   a   sin   --   he   had   found   the   library   rather   crowded   this   morning   and   so   had   made   his   way   outside   with   book   in   hand,   taking   a   seat   beneath   a   tree   despite   in   the   chill   in   the   air   and   ground.   an   hour   into   his   escape   as   he   slowly   parses   the   italian   writing   he   pauses   mid   turn   of   a   page   when   someone   speaks,   glancing   up   at   the   soft   tone.   and   curse   him,   for   he   knows   her.   his   BETROTHED.   he   would   not   turn   her   away.

he   closed   his   book   and   rose   to   his   feet   in   a   motion   not   as   elegant   as   he   would   have   liked,   bowing   his   head   to   her   in   unnecessary   courtesy.   ❝   princess,   ❞   he   greeted,   tone   crisp   and   polite.   ❝   please,   you   are   welcome   to   stay   if   you   wish.   i...suppose   we   ought   to   get   to   know   to   one   another.   ❞   he   had   little   to   no   intention   of   giving   up   his   preference   for   solitude   after   their   marriage,   but   that   did   not   mean   he   would   ignore   her.   he   hoped   to   avoid   either   of   them   becoming   entirely   miserable.

[glassfm]

TCMPESTAS   ft   AMARA   JONSSON

@1642hqzstarters ⸻ OPEN STARTER.

she’d been lingering in a courtyard not far from her chambers, so close to sweet freedom and yet so far as she listened to a gentleman prattle on about his recent accomplishments. the princess wasn’t shy to speak her mind, but he was both high-born and a guest in her home. ever-lacking in self-restraint, however, it was only a matter of time until her patience would snap like a frayed thread. with a clenched jaw, her gaze was fixated on his wine (the blithering idiot had the gall to smirk, likely thinking her eyes had settled on his lips) — a shove of her shoulder and the cup would go flying, staining expensive fabrics. would he fly into a fit of anger? blame himself? suppress his frustration for the sake of the princess?

alas, intrusive thoughts were set aside when another presence joined them at long last. amara instantly rejoiced and tore her eyes away from the gentleman. “ah, there you are! i’ve searched all over the palace for you.” the swiss princess exclaimed, promptly sauntering over to the other. she hesitated for another moment, remembering her manners and spinning on her heel to face the gentleman once more. “my apologies, these are most pressing matters. we will find an opportunity to resume this conversation another day, certainly.” with that, she turned her back to him and waltzed off, gesturing the other person to tag along. “i’d rather dig my own grave than waste another second of my life listening to that man’s drivel.”

truthfully   riaz   was   looking   for   the   king   of   the   netherlands,   wished   to   corner   him   to   discuss   naval   policy   and   the   recent   dutch   tragedy   --   but   he   paused   when   the   swiss   princess   turned   to   him,   allowing   no   faltering   in   his   warm   demeanor   though   he   privately   wondered   what   on   earth   she   was   speaking   of.   as   she   turned   back   to   her   company,   he   caught   the   tension   in   her   stance   and   settled   a   cold   gaze   on   the   nobleman   in   question.   it   was   the   look   of   an   emperor   and   it   had   never   been   questioned.  

he   turned   smoothly   to   walk   with   the   swiss   princess,   somewhat   amused   by   the   ease   of   the   deception.   ❝   he   seems   exceedingly   boring,   ❞   he   agreed   with   a   small   smile.   ❝   the   downside   of   a   summit,   it   seems.   ❞