#she calls her discord [friend's] monarchy

[shiniestcrow]

I told my friend about King Of The Castle and she messaged me about the release today

I very kindly told her that it was time to burn down build her empire 😇

[thatfandomslut]

Opposites Attract

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Trigger Warning: mean Regina bullying r a bit

Request:

r is a new student, a sweetheart, sunshine vibes and regina is randomly mean towards r, but r is just gentle and kind and eventually Regina falls in love, maybe some confessions and a bit of their relationship as a couple

Mean Girls requests are open.

Other Accounts: hoe4flo | ghostyanne

Discords: Mean Girls

Regina could feel her pulse quicken when she saw (Y/n) enter the cafeteria with that dumb, bright, beautiful smile that always adorned her features. It made Regina’s blonde boil to see her over there, laughing. Even though she wasn’t even sure why this bothered her so much. When (Y/n) glanced up, sending a small wave over to Regina and a smile, Regina felt her eyes widen and cheeks heat up as she rolled her eyes and looked away. Why would she, the Queen of North High, have anything to do with her?

“Hey,” Gretchen greeted, her honey blonde hair cascading in waves over her shoulders as she sat across from Regina with a smile. However, when she didn’t get a response, she turned around to see Regina staring at (Y/n) again. She was unsure if she should say something and if Karen didn’t whisper ‘Danger,’ under her breath when Gretchen was about to, she would’ve. Instead, she remained quiet as Regina crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the girl across the room. “Do we have any plans this weekend?” It was an attempt to get Regina’s attention and to see if she needed to plan for any kind of party.

It was successful as Regina blinked, suddenly realizing that Karen and Gretchen were sitting in front of her. “What?” She questioned, processing Gretchen’s words. “Oh, right, a party. I don’t have one on my radar, but I’m sure I’ll find one.” She hummed, glancing at her nails, pretending to be nonchalant.

“I heard (Y/n) was going to have one for her birthday this weekend.” Karen spoke up, her voice filled with a bit of nerves. (Y/n) was always a weird subject for the trio. It seemed only Regina could talk about her. Gretchen and Karen had no problem with the girl, but because Regina did, they had to pretend to. “It’s supposed to be really big, and her brother is getting drinks for everyone.”

Regina sucked her bottom lip in, nibbling it for a moment while she thought about Karen’s words. “I guess we could make an appearance. I’m not really sure how a party by Little Miss Sunshine could be big though. I just don’t see her throwing a wild party that’s actually… good.” She hummed, grabbing the apple off her tray to take a bite off of it as she glanced up, making eye contact with (Y/n). She made sure to give her a look before glancing at her friends to see what they thought. Even though they were bound to do whatever Regina wanted to do regardless of their opinions. After all, this was a monarchy not a democracy. There were no votes.

Admittedly, Regina knew why she found it hard to like (Y/n). It was because she was in love with her. She had loved her since they were in the third grade and (Y/n) came running to help Regina up when she scraped her knee. But afraid of the school’s thoughts, she had shoved those feelings down. Instead of being nice to the one girl who made her feel any sense of normalcy, Regina would treat her to icy stares and her infamous scowls. She couldn’t allow herself to allow anyone to know about her feelings. Even if she knew deep down that Gretchen and Karen had caught on a long time ago.

On the night of the party, they were immediately greeted by (Y/n) who had a grin plastered onto her face. “You made it,” she cheered, hugging Karen and Gretchen. She didn’t want to overstep with Regina, so she opted to only extend the girl a polite smile. “The drinks are in the kitchen guarded by my brother. Do you want anything? He is an awfully great bartender.” She said, leading them to the kitchen.

“Sure, we’ll take some drinks,” Regina answered, knowing that she would call her mother when they were ready to be picked up. She nodded over to Gretchen and Karen who enthusiastically accepted themselves, taking drinks. “So, any party games?” Regina questioned, quirking up an eyebrow.

A smirk made its way onto (Y/n)’s lips as she crossed her arms. “I’m glad you asked. You three arrived just in time for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. A classic game that somehow never gets old. Shane Oman just spun on Aaron.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she walked into her living room where a group of people were talking, waiting for the timer to blare when it was up. When it did, (Y/n) took the liberty to knock on the door, and when it was opened by Aaron, he and Shane had accidentally swapped shirts, causing the group to snicker but say nothing. “Go ahead and take a seat,” she told the three, who sat on a couch that was suddenly open with one look from Regina.

“I think it’s the birthday girl’s turn.” Aaron winked, wrapping an arm around the girl with a wink, hair tousled by presumably Shane’s hands. Everyone but Regina started cheering for (Y/n) to spin the bottle except Regina. She wouldn’t be able to watch her go into that closet with someone else. Her chest felt tight as she glanced over at Gretchen, who looked back at her nervously. It irked her to know that Gretchen knew her so well. Though, it was also pretty comforting to not feel so alone in that moment. “Well, the people have spoken. Go on, birthday girl.”

(Y/n) shook her head with a playful smile, kneeling down to spin the bottle. Regina’s breath was sucked in and held there as the Bud Light’s amber bottle started to slow. She couldn’t even exhale and relax when it stopped, making a clear point to her. “All right,” Shane said, opening the door with a wide smirk. “The birthday girl paired with the Queen Bee. This should be interesting.” Regina almost knocked him out, fist clenching as she made her way into the closet, pushed close against (Y/n).

When the door closed, darkness ensued. Before Regina could think of something- anything- to say, (Y/n) spoke first, surprising her. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me.” She said, her voice quiet, and very unlike her. (Y/n) was usually loud, and her smile could brighten up even the darkest of rooms. “I know you don’t like me very much.” She said solemnly.

Regina’s eyes closed before she released a sigh. “That’s not true,” she confessed. The words surprised them both, causing a silence to fall upon them. The closet was stuffy and hot, but neither minded being pressed against each other despite that. “I wish it was, it would make everything easier. The truth is… I do like you. Maybe more than I should.” Regina admitted, wishing she never said anything.

“What do you mean?” (Y/n) questioned, confused on what Regina was meaning. After all, she could never figure the blonde out. She was always staring, but when (Y/n) made eye contact, she would suddenly turn icy. “You like me?”

“I’ve liked you since the third grade. I just never felt like anything would happen.” Regina began, biting her lip for a moment. “Well, that and… I was scared for what others might think of me. Stupid, huh?”

(Y/n) didn’t agree nor disagree. Instead, she stayed silent for a second, processing Regina’s words. “Regina, it’s okay to be worried about personal perceptions. I think that’s very human. Though, you can’t allow it to control your happiness.” She stated simply, and Regina knew she was right. She just struggled with the idea of being happy if the entire school didn’t fear or love her.

Then, she decided fuck that because (Y/n) was here, telling her to stop allowing her fears to control her happiness. “(Y/n), I really want to kiss you,” she finally said. She decided to be bold. She wasn’t going to allow herself to hold onto her fears. Instead, she decided to be happy and to let go of what controlled her.

There was a small snort from (Y/n) that made Regina smile a bit. “Then do it,” she said before Regina crashed her lips against hers. There was a muffled squeak from (Y/n) before she quickly reciprocated, kissing her back deeply. Their hands were left exploring each other, but before they could fully enjoy it, there was a knock. Regina pulled away, rolling her eyes. Opening the door slightly, she narrowed her eyes at Shane, the person who knocked. “Seven more minutes.” She stated before reclosing the door, making the cheering barely audible.

[walmarttrashbag]

Day Of A Princess

Warnings: Swearing, Fight, Anger Issues

This is not not something I usually do but I thought it'd be fun to write for the night!

Today was gonna be a strange day for me.

I was gonna get my pre-teen tiara swapped out and be shoved into the crowd and it probably wouldn't be fun.

I was sadly a princess. Why? Cause that's just how it works!

I'm Princess Astrid Star, the one and only daughter and sole heiress to the Treasure Kingdom throne of King Cosmo and Queen Heavenly Star.

I'm not just a princess, I'm a space princess. I live on the planet Hespera and we're a combined kingdom of two.

If it was just my monarchy it would've been called the Interstellar Kingdom, but it's called Treasure Kingdom because my parents couldn't come up with any other name because we're combined with the Hellbent Kingdom of King Discord and Queen Wonder and their sons Prince Dusk and Prince Helios Flare who I strangely have yet to meet.

We're not the only kingdom though. There are two other other kingdoms. The Floral and Bubblegum Kingdom.

I'm not too sure what the Bubblegum Kingdom is all about, but I heard there was King Cake, Queen Pie, Princess Sugar, Princess Taffy, and Princess Cookie.

But for the Floral Kingdom, I displeasingly knew them. Especially Prince Sage. That freak has had a massive crush on me ever since we met and last night he sent me like the five hundred millionth letter ever. He's such a creep.

I looked into my mirror, and beside myself, I was looking at who I was. One of the Hespera princesses. My eyes were a light pink just like my mom's, and my hair was a silky seafoam green, like my dad's. There were small natural crystals in my hair. Mainly Sapphires and Rubies and gems like those.

I was wearing a rose-thorn dress, but I'd never wear it if f I didn't have to. The petals were at the top, masking my chest and stomach, and the thorns were on top of the actual dress, which was a beautiful light blue. It was curtesy of the Floral Kingdom.

My mom walked into my room. "Astrid, dear, are you done yet?" She questioned me. I turned and looked at her.

"Yes, Mom," I mumbled, turning back to place my tiara on. It was a constellation tiara, and it would be swapped for a new tiara in just a few minutes.

"Good. Come on now, we mustn't be late for your ceremony," She grabbed my arm and dragged me along out of my room through the hallway of the castle. We eventually got to the grand balcony, where I could see my friends down in the audience, cheering my name. I could see other people I didn't know too. It was a bit of a terrifying experience to be in this.

The trumpets sounded, and the audience went silent.

My father cleared his throat and began in a proper voice. "Welcome one, welcome all. I, King Cosmo Star of the Treasure Kingdom, have humbly announced my daughter is officially a teenager fit for her crown on this day of the summer months," Everyone began to clap for me, then stopped. "She, just like I, and my father before me, and his father before him, and his mother before him, and so on have all had this ceremony, and it is truly something beautiful to be held. Bring out the tiara," He ordered.

A group of butterflies fluttered in and were placed on my head, and just like that, my tiara was replaced with a new tiara. One that symbolized who I was gonna be now. Everyone clapped, and as soon as it started, the ceremony had been completed. It was faster than I thought it'd be.

I changed out of my dress and something more comfortable and my style. I changed into a cute short dress that was light pink with light blue stars stitched into it. I put my light green with bellberry patterned tights on. I put my dark blue earth-benders on and got my choker, grabbing my gossamer silk white cape and putting it on. I made sure my twinkle charm bracelets were on, put my embroidered black silk gloves on, and finally grabbed my scepter and shoved it in my heart backpack with my tiara, slinging it over my shoulder and running out of the castle to find my friends out there waiting for me!

There was Pippa Zip, my fairy friend who had beautiful glass wings, Zipper Sky, who was an elf who could brew potions and things like that, Nova Twinkle, who was a regular old human but had an enchanted necklace, and Roxy Comet, who was a sun-vampire who could be out in the sun for hours and never burn to death.

"Astrid!" Nova began. "Your ceremony rocked! Your dress was so pretty!" She complimented me, making me smile.

"Thank you, the Floral Kingdom made it just for my ceremony!" I responded excitedly, twirling around and happy it was over.

Pippa grimaced. "That means Prince Sage was probably breathing all over it just because he knew you'd be the princess wearing it," She commented, making us all shiver.

I stopped twirling, pressing my lips together. "Nasty," I replied, shaking my head. "Makes me regret even having that ceremony after thinking about that,"

Zipper piped up quickly. "Come on, let's ditch that thought and go hang out by Juniper's Lake," We all agreed and she used a spell that got us all there fast.

We all sat by the lake and talked about things.

"I've heard the Bubblegum Kingdom is gonna try to get some more land for more pegasus stables," Nova brought up.

"They have like the most pegasi in the world! Why on Earth would they need more?" Pippa questioned, looking at Roxy who shrugged.

"Maybe to house more to eventually give them away?" I suggested, and before Nova could say something to be a part of the conversation, a voice behind the girls commented.

"You're so naïve it's funny,"

The girls looked behind themselves to the voice, and there was a group of boys. A horned and winged demon in the front, a vampire by the demon, a werewolf by his other side, and a centaur behind the three.

"Who are you?" I asked, looking at the demon boy, getting a little defensive over myself.

"Psh, why should I tell you? You don't look anything special to me," He growled, his third eye closing as he crossed his arms.

"You know she's the Treasure Kingdom's princess, right? She could have you thrown in the dungeon!" Nova butt in, and the demon's smug smile turned into a surprised look.

"Really? Well, that doesn't bother me because I'm Treasure Kingdom's Prince. Prince Helios Flare," He addressed, suddenly flying up, swooping in, and grabbing my backpack.

"Hey!" I yelled, standing up quickly. "Give that back you jerk!"

Pippa and Roxy got into the air and chased around Helios as he laughed like a prick. Nova stayed by me and we watched them until Zipper used a spell on Helios making his charcoal skeleton wings feel like metal and have him drop to the ground, making him growl in pure rage.

"HEY!" He screamed at Zipper. Zipper, scared, giggled nervously before using a teleportation spell that took everyone but me. How thoughtful. Helios's friends ran off, and it was just us now. I was scared beyond belief because I didn't know how powerful this demon prince really was. Helios tried to fly, but the spell wasn't so easy to wear off, so he stood up and brushed himself off of dust and dirt, still holding my backpack in his pale hand. He walked over to me, a mean and menacing glare was burned into his eyes. "You have no one now. I could kick your ass if I wanted to, princess little shit," He swore, surprising me. I didn't like swearing, so I accidentally pushed him further into anger.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" I retorted, before my eyes widened in shock of what I said.

Helios's eyes became burning red with rage, fire began to erupt in a ring around us, and he punched me square in the face, making me fall and dirty up my pretty clothes. My nose hurt so bad as it gushed so much blood. I cupped it my nose to try to stop the heavy pour as tears welled up in my eyes. He threw my backpack at me. "Shut your fucking mouth next time or else it'll be a lot worse," He threatened, his eyes going back to their purple color and the ring of fire dying down, letting him walk away since his wings hurt to fly.

I began to cry, my hand full of blood and it staining my dress below. My friends came back with weapons and pain potions.

"Where is he?! I'm ready to kill him!" Zipper yelled, and the girls looked around. It was too late, and Helios was gone.

"Oh my lord! Astrid!" Pippa screamed. My friends circled me, their voices cutting into each other as they asked me what was wrong. I looked up and they all winced.

"You have a giant bruise on your nose..." Nova commented, and Roxy wiped the remaining blood from my nose.

I sniffed, my nose hurting so bad. "He punched me... He's so mean... I- Oh god, it hurts so much..." I cried out. Zipper rummaged through her bag and found a healing potion.

"Drink up, it'll make you feel nothing ever happened," She told me. I quickly drank the bottle up and my nose was healed instantly, and I took a deep breath, rubbing my eyes.

"Thank you. I'm kind of salty you all ditched me though," I told my friends, and they nodded.

"We left to grab things, and because Zipper was being a wuss," Roxy teased, making Zipper blush embarrassedly.

"He looked at me like he was gonna kill me! I had to prepare! I should've taken you with us, I'm sorry Astrid," Zipper rambled, looking down.

"It's okay. I'm better now because of your potion. Thanks for helping me," I thanked, and we all hugged each other.

"Come on, it's getting a little late," Pippa piped in, helping me up. I grabbed my backpack and placed it back on me, nodding.

"Yeah, it is. I hope I never see that jerk ever again," I mumbled, giggling a little bit. "He needs serious counseling,"

"Oh, definitely!" Nova nodded, and Zipper used the teleportation spell, teleporting everyone to their respective homes. I got home and was dropped onto my bed.

I looked out the window that was by my big old comfy bed and saw the wall and bridge that lead to the other side of Treasure Kingdom where the Flare Monarchy lived. I couldn't believe I had met my match in that way. He was a real mean teen, but I wasn't gonna snitch. I was too scared to do that.

If we meet again, I might just give him a piece of my mind.

Should I make a pt.2?

[finalgirlkateausten]

Perceptions

So @tinathedragon gave a Very Good prompt on the discord that was half a fic in itself but I'm just writing a small chunk of that. Thanks for the prompt!

Summary: Ted Lasso college AU. Ted and Rupert are in the same fraternity, and when Rupert inevitably wanders off at every party, like clockwork, Ted ends up keeping Rebecca company.

"I brought you a beer," he says, his Midwestern accent disturbing the cool night air. "Still in the bottle, just so you know it's safe. I know open cups at this kinda thing are a gamble."

Rebecca turns, less startled than she might expect, and takes the drink from him. "Thank you, Ted," she says quietly. He gives her a dimpled smile and sits next to her on the porch swing.

She looks at him, her head tilting. "Don't you want to be in there enjoying the party?"

He holds her gaze, as if he's looking not at her but into her. "Don't you?"

Rebecca turns away. This isn't the first time he's sought her out on this porch; they both know the drill by now. "Well, my date's sort of-- forgotten about me. So, no." She takes a swig of beer and tries to change the subject. "You couldn't get your friend to come?"

Ted shakes his head. "Nah. Beard has some very specific opinions about Greek Life. He's not a fan."

She squints at him. "I'm still not sure why you call your roommate by his last name."

"Oh, I don't know his first."

Sometimes, she can't tell when Ted is joking. She usually waits for him to crack a grin, his chuckle giving it away. But he seems to be serious.

"Sorry, you don't know the first name of the person you live with?"

Ted shrugs. "He introduced himself as Beard, and Beard he shall remain."

"Okay." She sips her drink again to cover that she really has no response to that, but the cold liquid and the night air make her shiver.

"Hey, do you want my jacket?"

Rebecca nods, and then blushes as the soft, warm letter jacket surrounds her. It's from Ted's high school, complete with the badge that says he'd been on his varsity football team. Their different definitions of football had been one of their first discussions out here, and now she's more focused on how intimate the gesture feels. How the jacket smells like him.

"Hey, Rebecca, can I ask you a question?"

She's leaning into him now, just because of how he'd reached around her to put the jacket on, and she has to twist a little bit, and almost look up at him. "Well, that's how this normally goes, isn't it? You ask me some icebreaker about my favorite concert or if I'm secretly an heir to the British monarchy."

"I stand by that last one. You just give off princess energy," Ted insists. "But this is, uh, a little less icebreaker-y."

Rebecca furrows her brows, but nods. "Go ahead, shoot."

"Why are you--" he hesitates, but pushes on. "Why are you with him?"

She isn't sure what she was expecting, but it's not this. "Sorry?"

"I'm not trying to be insulting, I just--" Ted blows a huff of air, and the hair that sometimes falls into his face flutters. "You're-- you're a great girl, Rebecca, I mean, you're funny and smart and sweet and a total knockout, like, Wonder Woman or something. And you're dating a guy who's doing seven minutes in heaven with the closest girl he can find as soon as he's had two drinks. I don't-- I know it's not my business, but I don't see it."

Rebecca laughs uneasily, trying to recover from the blunt truth of his statement. "I... I suppose I don't either."

It's Ted's turn to look confused. "Whaddya mean?"

"He's in there, doing... whatever, and I'm out here," she says. "I don't have to see it, or think about what he's doing. I just have to take him home and let him sober up and then it'll all be normal again, and he'll bring me lunch when I'm studying and take me out to dinner and other nice places where I can have some fun and be the center of his attention." Saying it out loud makes her cheeks heat with embarrassment; it sounds rather pathetic. "I don't-- I don't know. It's hardly a healthy relationship, but I-- I don't see any reason to go to the trouble of breaking it off. It's just university; it's not like we'll spend the rest of our lives with each other. And..." she shakes her head. "I suppose I'd rather play his games than just be... alone."

After all that, after pouring her heart out to him in a way that only her roommate has heard (and Sassy won't remember half of it; they'd both been wasted at the time), she finally looks up to Ted. Her first instinct is bitter regret, the reflex that she should've kept it all inside, but Ted's gentle expression washes that feeling away.

"You're not alone," he says softly, squeezing her hand.

Rebecca can't find her voice, so she just leans into him, planting her face against his chest, feeling the softness of his hoodie against her cheek. She's still holding his hand.

"Thank you."

For listening. For being here. For not judging me like everyone else.

His other arm wraps around her shoulders. "Of course."

[snidgetwidgeon]

Escape

This work was prompted by a fic exchange between friends on Discord. It evolved into something completely different as I wrote it, becoming my first whump! Prepare for the sad.

Zelda endeavors to find purpose through her crippling grief, but sometimes all you can do is leave your world behind, when all it has done is take from you.

~~~

Link found Zelda in the greenhouse treating the hydroponic tank, hands dipped into the cool water, emitting a soft golden glow. He never ceased to be mesmerized by her birth right and the creative ways she continued finding to help people.

She had chosen a quieter path after they sealed the Calamity. Rather than reinstating the monarchy in a kingdom that had clearly survived and moved on without it, she decided to be a healer. It was noble, but he also understood it to be penance. She still blamed herself for everything even though she was better at hiding it after all these years.

“Almost finished?” he asked, playing with the leaves of a tea bush.

She looked up startled, then relaxed as she saw it was only Link in his stealth set. He’d taken quite a liking to many things Sheikah since they made their residence in Kakariko and this was his favorite.

“What have I told you about slinking up on me?” she reprimanded calmly, refocusing her attention on the water.

“Don’t get caught?”

“Very funny,” she replied. “One of these days, you’ll startle the wrong person.”

Link answered with a cheeky grin.

She rolled her eyes, “I’m coming soon, I just wanted to finish feeding the new crop before we left.”

“Alright, I’ll check the horses over, make sure we haven’t forgotten anything. The girls told me to tell you, ‘don’t you dare leave’ without seeing them first,” he mimicked Koko’s manner. “I think they have something for you at the house.”

She turned to say something but he had slipped out as quietly as he had slipped in. She blew out a slow breath, trying to retain her patience.

The glow faded as she lifted her hands out of the water. She dried them on her tunic and ensured the notes she left for Mellie were in the right place. With a final glance over, everything was as it should be. Satisfied, she went to find the girls to say goodbye.

Koko and Cottla slid the door open and threw themselves at her when she knocked. “Girls, girls! You aren’t little anymore, you’re gonna take me out one day if you keep bowling me over like a baby goron,” she chided them good naturedly.

“But we miss you already,” Cottla explained while squeezing Zelda’s waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Come on now, you know the drill.” Zelda pried them off. “Right, Link said you have something for me?”

Koko brightened and rushed to the table to retrieve an ornate box. “Dad made this box for you to organize your medicines in when you visit the other villages, and me and Cottie made you something too!”

Zelda took it and admired the craftsmanship. It was engraved with herbs well known as remedies for various ailments and even included a silent princess on the front between the two opening clasps. “This is so beautiful, and very practical. Please tell your father I appreciate it very much in case I don’t see him on my way out.” She then looked at the girls a little expectantly, who were fit to bursting, and asked, “And what did you two make?”

“Open it,” they both chimed, slightly out of sync.

“Oh! How silly of me, of course.” She carefully undid the clasps and raised the lid to reveal a variety of snacks. “My goodness, these look delicious.”

Cottla started pointing, “I made this one, and this one, and those ones-”

Koko interrupted, “And I made this one, and all of these ones,” she said as she lifted the top layer out of the box to reveal an extra compartment beneath.

“They look wonderful, thank you so much. I’ll make sure to stretch them out during my trip and think of you lots.”

With her free arm she hugged them both and kissed their foreheads before departing, mirroring their frantic waving.

~~~

Link and Zelda began in Akkala and made their way across central Hyrule and Tabantha. Zelda’s melancholy was always more noticeable on the road than in the village. They would go hours without speaking, and Link would hum to himself often, hoping that it offered her some comfort. About halfway through their journey, he noticed a change in her spirit.

Their next destination was Gerudo Town. It always warmed her heart to visit and was her favorite. It had been her home away from home when she was growing up and she was never able to visit as much as she wanted.

From Gerudo Stable, it took nearly a day on foot to reach Kara Kara where the pool was quite welcoming. They decided to have a refreshing dip to wash off the sweat and dust of the road. They followed this by sunning themselves on the rocks like lizards until mostly dry then went to secure a room and a meal. The following day they would rent some sand seals so as not to exhaust themselves on the remainder of the journey. Link double checked that he carried all pieces of the vai outfit so he would be able to enter. He did not fancy having to wait outside like that one year when he’d remembered everything but the all important face covering.

He could have returned to Kara Kara to try and source another, but there was no guarantee something would be available and by the time he returned, Zelda would be just about finished anyway. So he had slummed it with the men outside. It wasn’t all bad. They had a nice campfire and a sense of camaraderie during the night, but... never again.

After arriving, Link went to organize their rooms at the Oasis while Zelda sought an audience with Chief Riju. By now she was a young woman of nearly twenty, still on the small side for a Gerudo, but her thick red braid had grown with her and was just as impressive as ever.

“Zelda,” she greeted her guest enthusiastically, “I’ve been looking forward to your visit. Please tell me you’ll be staying longer this time, poor Patricia doesn’t know what to do with herself when you blow in and out.”

“I see you remembered my request from last time. Thank you,” she nodded sincerely.

“Of course, I’d call you anything you like. Absent, late,” she started waving her hands to various examples in jest, “never here long enough-”

“Alright, I get it. I’m sorry. It’s just,” Zelda focused on her feet, “Impa is so frail now, I was wary of leaving at all this year.”

Riju rose from her throne in concern and approached Zelda, taking her hands in her own. “My sincerest apologies, I would not have teased if I knew. How is she?”

Zelda looked up surprised before staring down at Riju’s hands. They were smooth and bronzed, adorned with golden bracelets and teal painted nails that reminded her of Urbosa. “She... she was certainly still well enough to send me packing, telling me not to languish around on her account. The other people of Hyrule need me too, and this is how I have chosen to help, so... here I am,” she smiled but it did not reach her eyes.

Riju enveloped her in a hug and she found herself staring wide-eyed at Buliara whom she could have sworn wore a light smirk. Green mirrored green as Riju then held her at arms length, gazing into her eyes before looking her over. “What has Link been feeding you? Chickaloo nuts?” Before Zelda could answer, Riju took her by the hand and dragged her out of the audience chamber. “We’re going to go have a nice meal at the Canteen.”

Buliara was quick to follow. “Chief Riju, you still have-”

“Whatever it is can wait, I’m spending time with our special guest,” Riju answered over her shoulder. Zelda felt a slight exhilaration being pulled down the steps into the town square where the evening markets were beginning to ramp up. “What about Link?”

Riju grinned, “He’s resourceful, he’ll find us,” she winked.

Zelda felt a flutter.

~~~

A fortnight or so later, they had made their way through the Faron region and hired a boat to take them around the cape into Hateno Bay. Zelda counted the last of the fifty-odd packs labeled Blessed Tea and handed them over to the Mayor when she saw Symin running down the hill from the lab. It only seemed slightly curious until she also spotted a Rito flying away. Suddenly she had a bad feeling.

She quickly finished her transaction, “These should help over winter, Mayor, excuse me,” then yelled for Link and raced to meet Symin, leaving the Mayor with a confused expression.

Link was swiftly by her side and they met Symin halfway up the path, everyone out of breath.

“Zelda,” Symin started, “we just received word- Impa.”

Zelda was stricken, and grabbed his arm, “Is she gone?!”

“No,” he gasped for breath, “fading.”

“Link, pack our things. I’ll get Purah ready.”

The three of them materialized just above Kakariko and Zelda immediately started running down the winding path through the houses. She didn’t stop until she was huffing right outside the door of the Elder’s house. She tried to compose herself. She wanted to brave.

She hadn’t felt such fear since the day she stared down the maw of the calamity.

Link caught up shortly after, having kindly kept pace with an adolescent Purah. Part of her hoped that her sister might chose to stay with them, but in her heart she knew. This whole exercise was going to be futile.

Zelda took a deep breath and pushed the door open, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the lanterns. Paya was sitting next to Impa’s platform, her red tower of pillows now replaced with a futon. Zelda could see Impa’s small form as she approached, appearing as though she could disappear altogether under the covers into nothingness.

Paya stood and took Zelda’s hands, “She’s been holding out for you, I know it,” she whispered.

Zelda choked on a sob. “Is she- can she still hear me?”

“Yes, she’s just sleeping. You look like you could use some rest too. I’ll come get you if she wakes.”

“No, there’s no way I’m leaving her.” Zelda sat next to the futon and put her hands on the cover. She could just make out the faint tattoo in the wrinkled folds of Impa’s forehead and stretched her fingers out to touch it. They started to glow and Zelda connected with Impa’s fading essence, offering comfort and wishing she could do more. She could feel it, she had no power over the natural death of age.

She locked eyes with Purah who was now standing close, and raised her brow in a silent, pleading question.

“Of course I’ll stay.” Purah joined her on the floor, one hand resting on Zelda’s knee for support and the other gripped tightly around her slate to stabilize her own feelings.

They sat for some time, mostly in silence, occasionally telling stories about their favorite times with Impa. Link made himself useful and cared for them the best way he knew how, bringing food and soothing tea, Zelda’s own mixture. It was hardly touched but accepted with love.

Finally, after the sun had just set, Impa stirred. She was having trouble blinking her eyes open so Paya dabbed them with a wet cloth. When she saw them, her mouth opened in a lopsided, toothless grin, “My girls. There you are,” she said with a croaky voice.

“I’m here, Impa,” Zelda darted her hand under the covers to take one of Impa’s into her own, the return clasp was so loose.

“You should be out, dear. Helping-”

“All finished. I’m home to stay now.” Zelda shuffled over a bit. “Do you see who I brought with me? It’s Purah.”

Impa’s mouth became a surprised ‘O’ and she cooed. “Oh my, young as the days I chastised you, I see.”

Purah smiled, “Hey, sis. You always knew how to look out for me, even if I didn’t listen.” She looked between Paya and her slate hesitantly, an unspoken permission requested.

Paya nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Impa, I can look after you now. Wouldn’t you like to stay longer? We need you.” Her young voice felt foreign to her in Impa’s presence and she experienced a sudden nostalgia for when they used to work at the Castle, an entire era ago.

A soft chuckle escaped the feeble woman and she squeezed Zelda’s hand a little.

“You are all quite well equipped. I’ll not be having you point that thing at me.”

Zelda leaned in, “Impa, please don’t say that. Purah knows how it works now. You could just have half again, even a quarter. I can’t lose you.” Zelda’s breath became shallow and she started to feel frantic. If Impa was gone, it was one more piece of her life ripped away without her control.

“I’m tired, dear. You have to let me go.” Impa smiled and her tattoo started to glow faintly.

Zelda looked to Purah, who appeared confused, and then to Paya, who was suppressing a panic. She knew what it was and white-knuckled her hands against her chest as tears started streaming down her cheeks.

“Paya? What’s happening?” Zelda asked fearfully.

“Gram- Gramma, no. I’m not ready,” her voice broke and she held Impa’s head gently, leaning over to touch their foreheads together.

The blue became stronger between them and Impa whispered, “You are, my child. You are...”

Zelda felt Impa’s hand go slack. “No, Impa. Impa! We can save you, please!”

The clatter of the slate felt like it could be heard across the village when Purah dropped it and lunged for her sister. Impa’s body became a blue energy that broke across the room as Purah cried, “Impa!”

Link stared in awe at a scene he was all too familiar with. A Sheikah, having fulfilled their duty to Hylia, finally being able to return to an essence.

Zelda started shrieking and he rushed to her, holding her tight and letting her sob into his chest. When the light faded, Zelda’s golden radiance remained, but it offered no warmth.

Outside, Dorian heard the screams and held his position stoically as he stared across the village she loved; the village she had welcomed him into, despite his past and his betrayal. A few tears escaped his rugged features. She was one of the greatest souls he ever knew.

The day after next, residents gathered at the graveyard and a fresh stone was added. It looked out of place next to the other well worn and moss covered ones. Impa’s had the Eye of the Sheikah carved in its face. Zelda stared at it for an age and at the same time, felt like she was staring at nothing at all.

After another two days of cultural observations and preparations, Paya was ready to be presented as the new spiritual leader of Kakariko. Zelda blessed her before the statue of Hylia and then kept to herself during the following festivities. She retired early and bade Link to follow.

Once back in the house, she said to him, “I need to leave.”

He nodded in understanding. “Ok. We’ll leave.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What should we tell everyone?”

“That I’m going on a pilgrimage.”

~~~

A few days later they made it to Gerudo Town. Riju couldn’t hide her pleasure from the surprise visit, but the mood quickly turned somber when she found out why. The Chieftain offered Zelda a place in her chambers and silenced Buliara’s protest. She would not have a dear friend grieving away in a hotel, protocol be damned.

As much as she tended to defy her right hand’s strict adherence to the rules, she did appreciate that Buliara was always there to remind her of what was done, and what was not done. That way, she knew when she was making an informed decision to do whatever she pleased.

Zelda accepted her offer and hid in Riju’s chambers for days, cuddling the sand seals and moping. When Riju finished her duties, which were more often pushed aside than not so she could try to offer comfort, Zelda remained flighty about discussing her pain.

Link came by occasionally to check on her but Zelda would have him turned away. It was a hard thing to do because she knew she was hurting him, but she needed to get him used to being without her. Since the moment Impa died, she knew what she wanted. And that was to leave. She needed to leave the past that was weighing in her heart like a black hole, devouring all of her present and future into its guilt ridden depths. Hyrule held nothing for her but regret.

Just as she had been doing every evening, Riju asked Zelda if she wanted to come down and join her for dinner. Until now, she’d been politely refused, but tonight, she was pleased to hear something different.

“Could we take dinner here, in your chambers?” Zelda asked from her lounging position on the sofa. She had a Gerudo text in front of her, mildly interested in learning the modern colloquialisms that had developed since she spoke the language with her mother and Urbosa.

“Well... of course, I see no reason why not.” Riju held one arm in the other and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Is there something you wish to discuss?”

Zelda gave an expression somewhere between conviction and a half smile as she appeared to work up the courage. “Yes.”

“Say no more.”

They conversed well into the night and found a familiarity that was comforting when Riju said, “You know you’re welcome to call me Makeela.” She became nervous when that caused Zelda to fall silent.

Finally she spoke, and Riju’s stomach felt weightless at hearing her name on Zelda’s lips.

“Makeela, I have been wanting to ask if you’d be willing to help me with a serious undertaking.” She placed her fork on her plate and dabbed at her mouth with the napkin, having only finished a third of her meal.

“I would help you in all endeavors. My resources are yours to command.” Riju took a sip of her wine and played with her braid.

“I wish... no.” Zelda looked at her feet because she did not want to see the hurt she knew this would cause her dear friend. “I need to leave Hyrule.”

Riju’s butterflies plummeted and she tried to keep her composure. “For- for how long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a few years. Maybe forever.” She worried at the fabric of her sirwal but kept her resolve.

“I- well- a trip like that takes weeks to prepare. It is not the usual season that we cross the desert.” Riju stood, placing her unfinished glass on the table and left for the doorway. “I’ll have to see if we can spare the resources.” She frowned, unable to hold in her disappointment any longer. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

After Riju left, Zelda exhaled a low sigh and slumped in her chair. She downed the rest of her and Riju’s wine and crashed, unaware of the Chief’s return later that night.

Riju was also already up and gone the next morning. In her place was Link, glaring at her from the sofa. Zelda imagined he was trying to be intimidating but with a large stuffed seal sitting next to him she could only laugh.

His face faltered to one of pleasant surprise as he hadn’t heard her laugh in so long, but he regained his resolve and began his interrogation. “When were you planning on telling me your designs for crossing the borders?”

She wasn’t immediately forthcoming.

“Zelda, I swore an oath and by Hylia I will keep it, but... I have things- and people that I would need to see before going on a pilgrimage like this. I’d appreciate being part of such a big decision.”

Zelda’s humor had faded and she braced herself under his perfectly justified onslaught. “Well, you’re not.”

“I beg your pardon?” he stood up and crossed the room, taking on an imposing figure; quite a feat considering what he was wearing. He loomed over the edge of her trundle bed against the sandstone wall of Riju’s luxurious chambers.

She looked up at him challengingly, “You aren’t coming.”

“What does that even mean?” he spluttered.

She rose to meet his face and squared her jaw. “It means you are staying here so you can deal with the people and things you need to.”

He was about to protest having his words thrown back at him but she continued, throwing a finger in his face, “No, you should start living your own life. All I have ever done is take from you.”

His features softened to concern, “Zelda, that’s not true.”

She walked past him to the alcove of the terrace and looked out at the morning bustle. “It is, you just don’t remember. You fulfilled your destiny Link. You should be free of me.”

“I would never abandon you.”

She heaved a great sigh and closed her eyes. “Just... just promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

He hovered for a moment before acquiescing. “Fine.” He then swept down the stairs in a mood.

She imagined he would go and brood. Probably going to climb one of his mountains. “I’m sorry, Link.”

~~~

Riju had become somewhat distant since their evening meal but she assured Zelda that preparations for the caravan were underway and expected to be completed the following week. Initially, the lead Gerudo desert scout was not keen on leaving during an off season, but once she found out that Hylia’s Blessed would be with them, she agreed. As per tradition, there was a festival of worship held before a large trade journey to entreat the Goddess of the Sands and the Seven Heroine ancestors to bless their travels across the barrens.

As the sun set, the decorative lanterns strewn about the main square started glowing different colors and swaths of shimmering, patterned fabrics hung from the stalls and palm trees. Drums began to play as the party who had set out the previous day to provide offerings to the Seven Heroine monoliths returned to take part in the festivities. Once they had completed a prayer they were given the first servings of food and drink. Travelers who were fortunate to be within the town at the time were enthralled when the announcement was made in Gerudo, “You may begin!”

Zelda leaned against a palm tree, absentmindedly tracing the pattern on some of the draped fabrics when she noticed that dancing had begun. She was suddenly reminded of when she was little, watching beautiful women in vibrant colors, hips undulating and slitted skirts swirling hypnotically. Her mother had danced this way with Urbosa and she’d drawn Zelda in, twirling her between them. She was filled with an intense warmth and an incredible sadness all at once and almost left to return to her quarters when she saw Riju.

She was in the middle of the dancers, hair wild and free, draped in a teal sirwal to match her lips. She found Zelda staring and smiled dazzlingly. Riju kept her gaze steady on Zelda for the rest of the dance, only when she turned away would it be broken and then their eyes would lock once more.

Once it was finished, a new drum beat started and the denizens joined in, knowing it was now open to everyone. An overly confident Goron even jumped in, wiggling joyously and taking extra care to not knock anyone over.

Riju bounced over, breathless and elated.

Zelda smiled, “Makeela, that was amazing, I didn’t know you could dance.”

“An offering to the Goddess of the Sands. Anyone can join in now. Come join with me,” she held out her hand, bracelets jingling melodically.

Zelda hesitated for a moment, remembering the joy she felt dancing so, so long ago. She then placed her hand in Riju’s and allowed herself to be transported. If only for tonight.

The beat was energetic and the movements were such that they were mostly apart, Zelda trying humorously to get her hips swinging the same way; but when they came together, the warmth of Riju’s hand would cause a shiver of excitement to run all the way to her toes and she was thankful that her blush was hidden by the exertion.

Teal and white swirled through the crowds, long red and golden tresses whipped as they spun. They were constantly laughing, apologizing to those they bumped into because they only saw each other. For a few moments, Zelda felt happy.

The next couple of days passed by in a bit of a haze. Zelda had finally emerged from Riju’s chambers and explored Gerudo Town one last time before her trip. Her heart was heavy, now burdened with the prospect of yet even another loss, but her resolve remained.

She partook in various activities to try and distract herself from the waiting, and even indulged at the Oasis. She melted away during the treatment but the moment she was back outside shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she saw a familiar Hylian vai waiting for her. The weight in her stomach returned and she stole herself for what was to come.

She approached him, indicating that she was ready to have it out.

“I have done as you asked,” he said flatly.

“And?”

“I’ve decided to come with you.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose before looking at him. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”

As they moved away, a stall holder scrunched her nose in disappointment.

When they reached a secluded space between some sandstone walls and storage crates she surprised him by outright apologizing. “Link, I’m sorry. The way I spoke to you before... made it sound like you had a choice.”

Confusion and anger crossed his features and she continued before he could speak, “I’m going and you will build your own life here like you always should have been allowed to do. I’m ordering you to.”

“But- my oath. I must keep you safe-”

“You can’t even remember taking your oath,” she spat impatiently. It was cruel. But he needed to be convinced. “If you wish to be beholden to oaths, then I, Princess Zelda of Hyrule, hereby release you of your duty and order you to live your own life.”

“You are my only life,” he said softly. “Zel, you’re all I’ve known since I woke up.”

She was caught off guard and speechless for a few moments, then reached out to his shoulders and pulled his forehead against hers, closing her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Hylia always takes everything from her Hero.”

He wrapped his arms around her and they shared an embrace of kinship only known to the souls of the past who also bore the pieces of courage and wisdom. When she pulled away, her brows furrowed in pain. “If you won’t be parted from me for your own sake then I need you to do it for mine.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat on one of the crates, the rejuvenating energy she regained at the Oasis already drained, swallowed up by her distress. “I don’t think I can heal here. Everything reminds me of my failure and the losses I have sustained. With Impa gone, I just... I can’t anymore. I need to be free of this place and everyone in it. Including you.”

He knelt before her and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “At least take them with you, just in case,” he entreated.

She opened it tentatively and faltered, shaking her head. It was the photo of the two of them with the Champions. He’d kept it with him all this time.

“No,” she refused kindly, placing one hand on her heart and holding it back out for him. “I have them here. You need this more than me.”

On top of everything else she regretted, Link had never regained his memories. She had occasionally tried telling him stories of their lives, but it always became too painful and eventually he stopped asking.

He nodded and returned it to its place in a pocket against his breast. He then drew the Master Sword from his back and held it horizontally before him. They regarded each other sadly and she tilted her head forwards to acknowledge his ceremony.

“I, Link, Knight of Hyrule, renounce my sworn duty to the Crown Princess... at the behest of my dear friend, Zelda.”

She smiled through a chin wobble and nodded her thanks, unable to form words.

He stood and sheathed the blade, a fleeting thought crossing his mind that the next leg of this pilgrimage would be returning it to its resting place in the Korok Forest. He drew her up into hug and stroked her hair. “I’ll miss you.”

A tear dropped onto his shoulder and she let go to hold his face, realizing it may be the last time she looks upon it. She kissed him. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

He nodded once and then slipped away as her hands fell back to her sides, scrunching her sirwal.

~~~

Zelda returned to Riju’s room and stood numbly for a few moments. She didn’t know what to do with herself and listlessly looked around. She nearly decided on diving into the stuffed seals but then spied the inviting pool close to the foot of her bed. She would wash. Just wash the whole day away.

She perused the shelf of bathing accoutrements as she tied up her hair and picked a few promising items. She dropped two large rubies in to heat the water and an aromafizz that smelled of lemongrass. When the bath was bubbling away, she shed her clothes, folded them neatly on her bed and stepped in, sighing with pleasure. She settled her head on a folded towel at the edge and tried to think of nothing while playing with the ruby under the water. The bubbles had come up a lovely pale yellow and she balanced some on her knees, making little wobbly peaks.

Not long after, Riju came in and exclaimed, “Oh, what a perfect idea. Mind if I join you?” She was already taking off her headdress before waiting for an answer and when Zelda managed to squeak a yes, she started leaving a trail of shoes, top and skirt all the way to the water.

Zelda knew that public bathing was common place for Gerudo but she still politely averted her eyes until Riju was under the bubbles and situating her large braid behind her neck to act as her pillow. Once she was finally settled she let out a big sigh. “Yes, this is just what I needed.”

They relaxed in a companionable silence for quite some time, before Zelda oddly felt compelled to talk about what had happened. She opened her eyes and looked over at Riju. “I sent Link away today.”

“What?” Riju jerked her head up so quickly that her braid fell into the water.

“Sorry,” Zelda exclaimed but Riju waved away her concern.

“Why did you send him away?”

“He should be living his own life, not tethered to me anymore.”

“But who will look out for you when you cross the desert? I mean, on occasion a Gerudo will stay, but usually just for one rotation-” she suddenly looked hopeful. “Does this mean you are not going?”

Zelda stared into Riju’s eager eyes and her resolve faltered. “I- I’m not sure.” The sudden and seemingly permanent departure of someone who had been by her side for seven years made her long for closeness. And Riju clearly cared for her. Did she also, in return?

She started to play with Riju’s braid under the water, removing the tie and unwinding the tresses. Riju closed her eyes in pleasure, feeling the gentle tugs like a scalp massage. She leaned forward and with a wet, soapy hand, tamed one of Zelda’s fly aways before letting her nails glide down her cheek onto her neck. Zelda shivered under her ghostly touch and her lips parted as she gazed at Riju through half-lidded eyes.

“Makeela,” she said softly.

Riju drew the small woman into her chest and kissed her tenderly, as much a comforting gesture as it was an exploration. Zelda yielded to her and caressed her shoulders and neck, deepening their connection. Her hands started to glow golden and Riju gave a start at the sensation, pulling back in surprise. “What is that?”

“I- I honestly don’t know. My power- but it has never done this before.”

Riju raised a curious eyebrow. “Have you ever done this before?”

Zelda spluttered and Riju laughed playfully. “Come here, I’ll give you something to glow about.” She winked.

They were in each other’s arms every available moment Riju had over the next two days. Things felt easy between them. So easy, that assumptions were made. And conversations that perhaps should have been started, never were.

Until the morning of the trade caravan.

Zelda untangled herself from Riju’s limbs and slipped out of bed to start packing. She had already planned what minimal items to take. Just the essentials that she would need for the road and plenty of money to be able to get herself started on the other side. She kept sparing guilty glances over at her lover’s sleeping form. She should never have allowed herself to indulge. Her moment of weakness was going to break this woman’s heart.

She sighed and went to collect some breakfast. When she returned and set her things down on the table she saw Riju was sitting up in bed, staring at her bag. Her brows were furrowed and without looking at Zelda,  stated, “You’re packing.”

Zelda stood still awkwardly before answering, “Yes.”

“But we- Zelda, we’re together now. I thought...” She trailed off, the growing pain evident in her voice.

“Come and have breakfast.”

Riju threw the covers off and approached angrily. “Nothing’s going in that won’t come straight back out. Explain!”

“Makeela, I told you that I need to leave-”

“That was before any of- of-,” she gestured between them, “this!”

Zelda reached for Riju’s hand, not knowing how to reconcile her new feelings with her truth. She knew she still needed to leave. “Why not come with me?” she suggested foolishly, knowing that it was impossible, but holding a faint hope that somehow, Riju would say yes.

Riju let her anger flare, unable to understand the selfishness. “Unlike you, I can’t just leave my people,” she spat, pulling her hand away.

Zelda appeared as if she’d been slapped and Riju immediately regretted lashing out.

“Keela,” Zelda said softly, lip trembling, “all my people are dead. I can’t... I can’t escape my past.” Her eyes began to sting with tears. “All those years, in that thing,” she heaved, suddenly looking frightened. “I don’t know who I am anymore.” The dam burst and she shuddered.

Riju enveloped her into a tight embrace from which Zelda derived no comfort, lost again in the darkness of a hundred years. Her tears fell golden and a light grew over them both, Hylia trying to heal her broken heart.

“Everyone is gone. My family, my friends. Purah is different, and Robbie is also not long for this world. And Impa, she wouldn’t stay. I begged her! I’ve lost Impa,” she wailed.

Riju was horrified that something she said caused such a visceral reaction. She lifted Zelda’s face to her own and wiped her tears, staring frantically into her eyes, “I’m sorry, Zelda, I’m so sorry. You have me.” She kissed her and a tear rolled down her cheek, emotions now taking them both. She pulled away to search Zelda’s deadened gaze. “I love you.”

Riju leaned in again, softer this time, and she felt a slight pressure of return just before Zelda put her hands over hers and lowered them from her face, ending the kiss.

“I... I wish I could say it back.”

Riju’s heart plummeted and it showed, though she tried to hide it.

Zelda squeezed her hands. “It’s not that I wouldn’t. I just... I can’t love anyone else until I learn to forgive myself. I have felt nothing but pain and regret since my escape, no matter what I try. Please-”

“It’s ok, I understand. Just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Hylia is with me. And now you will be, too.”

~~~

For @aviatordame

[fremedon]

It’s almost Yuletide! This will be my 18th Yuletide! My first Yuletide story will be old enough to vote this year and I have some mixed feelings about that! But also I have never missed or defaulted on a Yuletide since, and I have to say I feel pretty proud of that. I am still pretty far down the Les Misérables rabbit hole (speaking of which, it is not too late to propose programming for Barricades!), and unsurprisingly all the fandoms I'm nominating/requesting this year are set in July Monarchy France--Les Mis canon era: Petit-Cénacle RPF, Champavert: Contes Cruelles | Champavert: Immoral Tales - Pétrus Borel, and Les Enfants du Paradis | Children of Paradise. Petit-Cénacle RPF The Petit-Cénacle was a French Romantic salon, slightly younger and considerably more politically radical than the Cénacle centered on Hugo and Dumas; it included painters and sculptors as well as writers and critics, and most of its members at least dabbled in both written and visual arts. Its best-known members today are Théophile Gautier, Gérard de Nerval, and Pétrus Borel (the Lycanthrope)--the last two are thinly fictionalized in Les Misérables as Jean Prouvaire and Bahorel. (It's debatable how much Grantaire owes to Gautier but it's probably a nonzero amount.) The group coalesced around Borel and Nerval as the organizers of the Battle of Hernani--a fight between Romantics and classicists at the premiere of Victor Hugo's play Hernani in 1830. Most theater productions at this time had claques--groups of paid supporters of a show or an actor, who were planted in the audience to drum up applause. For Hernani--the first Romantic work staged at the prestigious Comédie-Français, which broke classical norms so thoroughly that it no longer seems at all transgressive--Hugo and the theater management decided they were going to need more than just a claque. They recruited a few of Hugo's fans--Gautier was so star-struck he had to be physically hauled up the stairs to Hugo's apartment--to stage An Event. The fans recruited their friends. They showed up in cosplay, with the play already memorized and callback lines devised. It was basically the Rocky Horror Picture Show of its day. It almost immediately turned into an actual fight, with fists and projectiles flying. And it made Hernani the hottest ticket in Paris. This is the group's origin story, and they pretty much spent their lives living up to it. They were every bit as extra as you would expect--Nerval allegedly walked a lobster on a leash in the Champs-Elyseés, explaining that "it knows the secrets of the deep, and it does not bark"--but they also stayed friends all their lives, often living together, supporting each other through poverty and mental illness and absurd political upheaval. I'm nominating Pétrus Borel | Le Lycanthrope, Théophile Gautier, Gérard de Nerval, and Philothée O’Neddy; you could nominate other people like Jehan Duseigneur, Celestin Nanteuil, or the Deverias, or associates of the group like Dumas and Hugo. The Canon Gautier's History of Romanticism covers the early days of the group and the Battle of Hernani in some detail. (There is also a 2002 French TV movie, La bataille d'Hernani, which is charming and pretty accurate; hit me up if you want a copy.) Other than that--this crowd wrote a lot, and they're all very present in their work--even in their fiction, which is shockingly modern in a ton of ways. For Gautier, Mademoiselle de Maupin has a lot of genderfeels, surprisingly literal landscape porn, and a fursuit sex scene in chapter two. If you want Nerval's works in English, you might be limited to dead-tree versions, but I highly, highly recommend The Salt Smugglers, a work of metafiction that answers the question, "What if The Princess Bride had been written in 1850 specifically to troll the press censorship laws of Prince President Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte?" Borel's experimental short story collection Champavert has a new and very good English translation by Brian Stableford and is also my next fandom :D. Champavert: Contes Immoraux | Champavert: Immoral Tales - Pétrus Borel Last year I requested Borel RPF but I decided this book was unfanficcable. This year, I am going to have a little more faith in the Yuletide community. Champavert, available in ebook and dead tree form, is a weird as hell little book and probably the best thing I read last year. It's an experimental short story collection from 1830. Someone on one of my Les Mis Discords described it as "a collection of gothic creepypasta, but the author is constantly clanging pots and pans together and going 'JUST IN CASE you didn't notice, the real horror was colonialism and misogyny all along and i'm very angry about it!'" And, yeah, pretty much that, with added metafictional weirdness, intense nerding about architecture and regional languages, and the absolute delight that is Borel's righteously ebullient voice. Borel wrote for a couple of years under the name of The Lycanthrope, and though he kills the alter ego in this book, the name stuck, and would continue to be used by friends and enemies alike all his life. Pretty much everyone who met Pétrus agreed that 1) he was just ungodly hot; 2) he was probably a werewolf, sure, that makes sense; and 3) he was definitely older than he claimed to be, possibly by centuries, possibly just immortal, who knows. But, like I said, he kills the alter ego in this book: it begins with an introduction announcing that "Pétrus Borel" has been a pseudonym all along, that the Lycanthrope's real name is Champavert--and that the Lycanthrope is dead and these are his posthumous papers, compiled by an unnamed editor; the papers include some of Borel's actual poems and letters, published under his own name. The final story in the collection is called "Champavert, The Lycanthrope," and is situated as an autobiographical story, following a collection of fictional tales--which share thematic elements and, in the frame of the book, start to look like "Champavert"'s attempts to use fiction to come to terms with events of his own life. And that's probably an oversimplification; this is a dense little book and it's doing a lot. The subtitle is Contes Immoraux. It's part of a genre of "contes cruelles" (and, content note for. Um. A lot), but it's never gratuitously cruel--it's very consciously interrogating the idea of the moral story, and what sort of morality is encoded in fables, and what it means to set a story where people get what they deserve in an unjust world where that's rarely the case. I'm nominating the unnamed editor, Champavert, his friend Jean-Louis from the introduction and the final story, and Flava from the final story; you could also nominate characters from the explicitly fictional stories. Les Enfants du Paradis | Children of Paradise This is a film made between 1943 and 1945 in Vichy and Occupied France and set...somewhere?...around the July Revolution, probably, I'll get into that :D. There's a DVD in print from Criterion and quite possibly available through your local library system. (And it's streaming on Amazon Prime and the Criterion Channel.) It's beautifully filmed, with gorgeous sets and costumes and a truly unbelievable number of extras, and some fantastic pantomime scenes. (On stage and off; there's a scene where a henchman attempts to publicly humiliate a mime, and it goes about as well as you would expect.) "Paradise," in the title, is the equivalent of "the gods" in English--the cheap seats in the topmost tier of a theater. It's set in and around the theaters of the Boulevard du Temple--the area called the Boulevard du Crime, not for the pickpockets outside the theaters but for the content of the melodramas inside them. The story follows a woman called Garance, after the flower (red madder), a grisette turned artists' model turned sideshow girl turned actress turned courtesan, and four men who love her, some of whom she loves, all of whom ultimately fail to connect with her in the way she needs or wants or can live with. This sounds like a setup for some slut-shaming garbage. It's not--Garance is a person, with interiority, and the story never blames her for what other people project onto her. Of those four men, one is a fictional count and the other three are heavily fictionalized real people: the actor Frédérick Lemaître, the mime Baptiste Deburau, and the celebrity criminal Lacenaire. Everyone in this story is performing for an audience, pretty much constantly, onstage or off: reflexively, or deliberately, or compulsively. Garance's survival skill is to reflect back to people what they want to see of themselves. She never lies, but she shows very different parts of herself to different people. We get the impression that there are aspects of herself she doesn't have much access to without someone else to show them to. Frédérick is also a mirror, in a way that makes him and Garance good as friends and terrible as lovers--an empty hall of mirrors. He's always playing a part--the libertine, the artist, the lover--and mining his actual life and emotions for the sake of his art. Baptiste channels his life into his art as well, but without any deliberation or artifice--everything goes into the character, unfiltered. It makes him a better artist than any of the others will ever be, but his lack of self-awareness is terrifying, and his transparency fascinates Garance and Frédérick, who are more themselves with him than with anyone else. Lacenaire, the playwright turned thief and murderer, seems to no self at all, except when other people are watching. Against the performers are the spectators: the gaze of others--fashion, etiquette, and reputation--personified by Count Mornay; and the internal gaze personified in Nathalie, an actress and Baptiste's eventual wife, who hopes that if they observe the forms of devotion for long enough the feeling will follow. The time frame is deliberately vague--it's set an idealized July Monarchy where all these people were simultaneously at the most exciting part of their careers. In the real world, Frédérick turned his performance of Robert Macaire into burlesque in 1823, Baptiste's tragic pantomime Le Marrrchand d’Habits! ("The Old-Clothes Seller") played in 1842, and Lacenaire's final murder, for which he is guillotined, is 1832; these all take place in Act II of the movie within about a week of each other. (Théophile Gautier, mentioned but tragically offstage in the film, was a fan of Baptiste; Le Marrrchand d’Habits! started as Gautier's fanfic--he wrote a fake review of a nonexistent pantomime, and the review became popular enough the Theater des Funambules decided to actually stage it. It only ran for seven performances.) I am nominating Garance, Frédérick Lemaître, Baptiste Deburau, and Pierre François Lacenaire. You could nominate any of the other characters (Count Mornay, Nathalie, the old-clothes seller Jéricho, Baptiste's father, his landlady, Nathalie's father the Funambules manager). Gautier, regrettably, does not actually appear in the film but you can bet that's going to be one of my prompts. So, that's one good movie you definitely have time to watch before signups, several good books you probably have time for and that are probably not like whatever else you're reading right now, and one RPF rabbit hole to go down! Please consider taking up any or all of these so that you can write me fanfic about Romantic shenanigans.

[shardminds]

silver for monsters (1/?)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: e for extra (in later chapters) wc: almost 5k ish

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow. 

also available on ao3! ♠

it's my cssns submission!

firstly, a thank you to the wonderful mods for organising and facilitating the event! where would we be without you? and also the cssns discord — you lovely humans are just fantastic.

secondly, i owe my wonderful partner-in-crime, beta and artist (this fic has art, people! coming soon!) my life. she deserves more than i could ever give her. love you, salem! give killy a cuddle from me!

now, a note about the fic. this is a witcher au, using inspiration from the witcher games, books and TV show. i have pulled inspiration from all 3. just a fair warning, considering the nature of the witcher universe, there will be gratuitous violence in some scenes. i will be adding characters and tags as they appear in the work to abstain from spoilers but i will let you know in advance that there is no major character death.

happy reading!

“Fuck!”

The cockatrice rears up, flapping its enormous wings and lunging straight for him, talons poised for attack. At full height, it’s almost three times his size—an intimidating sight, but not an unfamiliar one. Killian dodges at the last second, rolling beneath the dirt-encrusted claws and narrowly avoiding the beak that follows to impale him. If he hadn’t thrown out his palm to cast Quen in time, he’d have been thrown across the sewer, probably landing in one of the many questionable pools littering the place. The beast rights itself, elongating its sinuous throat to prepare for its next attack but Killian is faster, springing to action in its short reprieve. His blade strikes true, the sharpened silver slicing from neck to navel through leathery flesh. A choked shriek pierces the cavernous echo around them but it does nothing to hinder his attack. Killian twists his weapon deeper, severing the thick sinew in its throat with a precision only gained from decades of practice.

The draconid oil he’d prepared had done well to weaken the monster, each touch of his sword against tough hide was met with a harrowing screech, each one emanating from its maw with a sickening gurgle as Killian’s coated sword seared its innards. Good. At least the ergot seeds used in its creation hadn’t gone to waste. The common weeds don’t grow this far east of Misthaven.

One final twist is all it takes, tearing out the creature’s windpipe in all its bloody glory, falling to the filth below, darkening the murk beneath its claws. It shudders, struggling for breath, but continues to advance. The guttural gurgle of its demise falling hollow in the dank expanse. Power simmers in Killian’s fingertips as he throws out his palm to cast Aard, shunting the beast backwards and knocking it off balance.

With a heavy thud, the cockatrice falls—

Right into a puddle of shit.

“Oh, that’s bloody lovely.” He grits out, wiping the sludge from where it splattered on his trousers. He’d been planning to start the ride back west, to the familiar place he was reluctant to call anything but that. He’d been planning to take rest between contracts, among the hamlets of Velen, stopping only to deliver the head of the beast and collect his bounty before taking to the path at full speed.

Now he’d have to fork out for an inn.

And a stable.

And a drink.

Bloody lovely, indeed.

Slipping the dagger from his boot to take his trophy—evidence of a job well done—Killian kneels next to the beast’s shredded neck and begins to cut. It takes a couple of minutes, the toughened hide of the beast proving more difficult than expected, but Killian manages to decapitate the thing without too much protest. Despite being smothered in excrement, both human and ornithosaur in origin, Killian wraps up the head in a linen sheet he’d acquired from the last inn he’d visited, slinging the thing over his shoulder to attach to Smee’s saddlebag for the ride into town. It’s hefty, already seeping dark ichor through the fabric, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Nothing he hasn’t handled a thousand times before.

Shit-stained or not, there’s little people love more than dead monsters.

In his periphery, there’s a shimmer of something long and thin and sharp beneath the ooze of the dead heap.

Feathers. Golden Feathers.

They’d sell for a fair price at any market but, with a wry smile, someone else comes to Killian’s mind. He plucks the protruding tail feathers with a delicate hand and slides them in his scabbard for later. Robin will be pleased.

Smee lingers by the sewer’s decaying entrance, chomping on the greenery of a shallow blackberry thicket without care. Seeing him brings ease to Killian’s bones. The walk to Camelot would be a lot more arduous without him. The dimming sunlight brings out the russet in his hide and he snorts as if to acknowledge the presence of his master. Smee has seen him through so much, his steed for over a decade now, and even as a colt he had stayed true to his commands. He rears his head, giving a soft huff in greeting as Killian reaches out to rub his muscular neck.

“Hello to you too, lad.” He soothes, securing the trophy with thick leather straps to Smee’s saddlebags. It thuds against his hind leg as he shifts to accommodate for the extra weight but Killian talks him through it. “You can rest tonight. We deserve it.”

Smee, ever the conversationalist, responds with a snort. Something Killian would translate as about damn time.

The hunt for the cockatrice had taken longer than he'd anticipated, the cursed beast leading them astray for days before finally returning to roost in the sewers of all places. The sorcerer in these parts—Merlin, he’d said his name was—had informed him it would. They’d sent hunters, knights, even mages to deal with their pest, but none had returned; either fleeing from the beast or succumbing to it.

With the head of the monster firmly attached, Killian steps up into the stirrup and mounts his steed, heels tapping against his belly to spur him forward, back towards the city. With a reluctant snort and a slow start, Smee carries both the Witcher and his cargo to their destination.

It’s long past nightfall by the time they reach the oaken gates and marble paved roads leading to Camelot. It’s a damn sight better than the gravel paths back in Misthaven. The approach to the city is announced with sconces attached to grand flags bearing the sigil of the king, inlaid with gold detailing. A gaudy display of wealth if ever there was one.

Up ahead, before the city entrance, Killian can just about make out the silhouette of a man in robes of purple and gold. Power radiates off him and it trembles in the wolf head pendant resting atop Killian’s chest, even from over 100 yards away. Smee trots closer, almost lazy in his approach. He doesn’t halt until they’re stood before the man who greets them warmly, with a kind face and a gentle smile. Merlin, the sorcerer.

Killian doesn’t trust it.

“I see you’ve dealt with the beast, my friend.” Merlin starts.

“I see you don’t intend to let me in.”

The sorcerer nods at the assumption, as if reluctant to do so and holds out the pouch of coin. Killian lets it thud into his palm. It weighs about right so he doesn’t bother to question it before tucking the payment into Smee’s saddlebag. It’s more than any common contract would afford him.

“The King has requested—”

“The King can go fuck himself.” With a flick of his knife, Killian cuts free his cargo, letting the head of the beast slip to the floor. It cracks on impact, spilling the crimson gore inside, smelling only of death and decay. Iron and rot. Merlin doesn’t recoil, instead choosing to step around and inspect the shattered mass. Mages like him, in positions of power beside volatile Kings, tend to be more accustomed to such displays.

If the stories of King Arthur’s conquests are true, it’s no surprise.

“With your reputation, Witcher,” He starts, prodding the bloodied heap with his foot. It lols to the side, mottled beak clacking against the path. “Do you really think Arthur would take such a risk?”

Killian could not give less of a shit about the opinion of Kings. Especially not ones of lands that dictated their monarchy based on whoever could yank a sword from the sodden shit coated earth. If that were the universal basis for royalty, he’d be King three times over. Merlin waves his hand over the mess of brains and bone, vanishing the mound into nothing and leaving only pristine stone behind. Smee stiffens, sensing the otherness of the man so close to his rear.

With unnatural grace, Merlin steps back to his place between them and the gate, unwavering in his resolution.

“Rumours of the Golden Bride have spread further than you think.”

Of course. Ravens travel faster than horses these days. What happened back in Kovir—

People tend to trust Kings over Mutants, no matter the truth. Killian grunts, the only sign of the tension in his bones in the way he grips the worn leather reins, knuckles taught and surely white beneath his gloves.

“Next time,” He grunts, not flinching at the mention of his past. “Pay upfront. Spare me the journey back.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but it’s too late. With probably more force than necessary, Killian kicks Smee into action, turning him to ride away from the white brick barrier that separates him from a good night's sleep before the sorcerer can protest. His work here is done. His contract ended. If they won’t let him into the city, he has no reason to stay. Bath and a bed be damned.

There’s nothing for him here.

They ride onwards.

Killian slows his steed to a gentle trot as soon as they cross the border into Temeria, a silent apology in the calm stroke of his palm behind Smee’s ears.

Moonlight bathes the vast fields of wheat in an ethereal glow. Nekkers peer through the tall sheaves to watch him pass, following him as far as they dare. His medallion thrums with their proximity, the pendant rattling against his mail. If it were any other day, he’d have torn through the harvest, taking down the bastards with broad swoops of his blade. Not today, though. The cockatrice had drained more from him than he initially thought. There’d been no time to brew potions to remedy his weariness, and his supply of dwarven spirit was alarmingly low. The next apothecary along the path would take a beating from his coin purse, that much is certain.

Midnight comes and goes before the path widens into the well trodden roads of more populated areas and more hours pass before they even stumble across an inn shrouded in forest. It’s decrepit and musky, but an inn all the same. It’ll have to do. Killian can tell by the bray of his travelling companion that he won’t last until the next one. There’s water and hay in the mossy overhang out front, its ancient wood almost rotted through but still secure enough to attach Smee’s reins to the post. An old silver mare secured closest to the inn takes one sniff at Killian and sneezes.

“That bad?”

Smee nudges him in response. That bad.

The inside of the inn is as ancient and forgotten as the exterior; thick stone walls, cobwebbed beams, a bar made of mottled oak with ring stains of old ale covering its surface. Upon Killian’s entry, the landlord nods, his pallid skin as thin as paper. The sickness he holds will kill him, it lingers in the shadows beneath his eyes and the pale flesh of his gums as he smiles, with too much joviality.

“Room for the night, is it?”

He will not see the summer.

Killian drops fifteen crowns on the bar, watching the old man’s eyes widen at their shine. “Along with a bath and a bottle of your strongest.”

“Right away, my friend!” He shuffles along, reaching for a slender greying glass bottle that he places on the bar top, before disappearing altogether. The other bar patrons stay quiet, lulled to the edge of listless sleep by the fire crackling in the hearth and the ale in their bellies—gwent games unfinished, tankards half full. Not wanting to follow their lead in sleeping on the hard benches, Killian waits at the bar. He takes a swig, letting the liquid coat his throat in its familiar fire. There are better ways to cope. There are better ways to fend off the dark that threatens to swallow him whole but nothing works quite as well as the burn alcohol leaves behind. Well, usually that’s the case.

Minutes pass and his thoughts, however reluctantly, stray back to Merlin’s earlier words.

The Golden Bride.

Killian had killed her. Killed her, raped her, tortured her, ate her liver, stole the unborn child from her stomach as a payment to the eternally damned gods of old, used her blood for his mutations—the stories change depending on where you are. Nilfgaardians prefer the gory stuff whereas, up in Kovir, they favour the lighter tales. She was their Queen, after all.

The one he couldn’t save.

Each burning gulp helps less and less.

When the dying barkeep waves him over, brandishing a rusted key and an armful of tattered blankets, the burn has gone and only Killian’s thoughts remain.

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow.

The room is barely bigger than a broom closet and the old man has the courtesy to look ashamed of his meagre offerings. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, a bed is a bed. Along the way, Killian has learnt not to make attachments to the materialistic.

In the centre of the narrow room, manoeuvred between the end of the dusty four-poster bed and the fireplace, stands a solid wooden bath. The water, lukewarm to the touch and stagnant, comes to life with a flick of his palm and a whisper of “Igni”. Killian doesn’t even bother to be neat, letting his weapons, armour, potions, and coin fall to what little floor space there is available before letting himself sink naked into the warmth. The agitated boil helps to shift the stubborn muck customary of weeks on the path.

How long had it been since his last? A few days, maybe? A week? He’d taken a brief dip in the river just outside Camelot before embarking on his quest— had it really been that long? No wonder the mare had turned her nose up. No wonder Merlin had regarded him with such polite distance.

He’d been wandering around smelling like a Necrophage’s anal gland and no one had bothered to tell him. Not that anyone could tell him. That’s the thing with always being on the path—the only things to talk to are your horse or your hunt.

Monsters aren’t always the best conversationalists.

The waters lap away the aches set deep in his bones, settling each worn muscle with its tender embrace. It’s a luxury he can nary afford, but it’s worth it when he can. When he exits, smelling of old soap and lavender, there is only black silt left behind. A dark mirror on the liquid’s surface. He won’t be able to use it again. He takes his underclothes to the small basin by the bedside to soak instead, too tired to even consider spending any more time away from the clutches of sleep.

For the first time in a long time, he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. The exhaustion of the weeks passed weighing his bones like lead, as if they’d sink straight through the mattress and into the nether below. He wishes they would.

“Killian.”

He jerks awake—no, not awake. Further into the embrace of a dream. Oppressive darkness and silence surround him, his keenest senses rendered useless in their wake. Beneath him, a plush leather armchair. It’s painfully familiar. Precious, somewhat. Worn and comfortable and moulded to him as if he’d spent a century sat only here. This dreamscape. This void.

Oneiromancy. Perfect.

“Killian.”

A woman’s voice— her voice.

“Emma.”

“And I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She smiles, suddenly appearing in his lap, hips straddling his thighs as if it hadn’t been almost five years since they’d last parted. Five long, arduous years.

“Impossible, love. You’re not so easy to forget.” Killian can feel the steady beat of her heart as his hands take her waist. Soft, so soft.

And centuries old.

“You never thought to stop by on your travels then?”

“The path is—”

“Don’t lecture me. I know,” Pouting, she brings her arms around Killian’s neck. The thin swath of lace she’s wearing does nothing to hide her figure but its intricacies marr the details he wants very much to focus on; the blush of her breasts, the swell of her arse, what lies between those slender legs. Each time he tries to take her in, see past the veil of fabric, it shifts, obscuring his gaze once more. Fucking magic. “But I have missed you terribly.”

“Emma Swan, legendary sorceress and advisor to the throne of Misthaven, missing but a lowly Witcher?” The pale expanse of her neck calls for his kiss, so close and yet so far. “People will talk.”

With a violet flash, Emma winks. “Noise complaints, hopefully.”

His eyes slip shut, trying to maintain what little composure he has left. As disconcerting as dream magic is, he doesn’t want the spell to end. The feel of her so close is maddening. Waking to an empty bed will be torture.

Words he can’t possibly say nor mean jump to his throat, aching to be whispered against her mouth, passed to her tongue by his own as they had longed to so many times in the past. They burn.

“Come see me.”

“Emma—”

“I need you. I can’t tell you why—not here—but I need you.” There’s a silent plea hidden in her words, behind the typical bravado she always favours. He almost doesn’t catch it. She adjusts herself slightly, sitting back on his knees and letting her hands reverently trace the scars across his shoulders and chest. Ones she’s seen before and ones she hasn’t, long healed but still raw to her touch. It’s been too long. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it takes every modicum of restraint he has not to kiss her there and then. “Come to King David’s court in Misthaven. There’s a tourney one week from now.”

“I’m sensing I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. It’s in your best interests to make the right one.”

Killian sighs, letting his palms slide from her middle to her thighs, taking in the phantom warmth he’s missed so greatly. Emma Swan is an enigma. She’s centuries of power wrapped in mystery and untold sorrows and it lingers beneath her skin. She’s the first kiss of morning sun, the dark chill of winter, the wild lilacs that grow along the dirt roads of Misthaven. She’s true love’s first kiss and the denial of destiny. She’s nothing and everything, the beginning and the end.

And, occasionally, his.

“One week?” He muses, hyper focused on the way her nails feel against his skin, as if she were there, as if it were real. Her eyes, green as woodland moss, captivate him in the way they always used to, but they’re not the same. A mere mimicry. Beneath his fingers, the dream begins to fall away.

There’s no depth, just a glimmer of magic below the surface.

Everything’s hollow and when he finally presses his lips to her fading visage, all he tastes is ash, dirt and the absence of all things.

“One week.”

It echoes around the cramped room, a whisper in the darkness not yet reached by morning’s soft first touches. A reminder.

Killian almost missed it. Misthaven. It’s rolling hills and wildflower meadows, deep green forests free of ill fated fiends. Well, mostly free—wraiths and rotfiends are everywhere these days, especially after the war. If they weren’t, he’d be out of a job.

In the five days on the path, across the forgotten poppy-filled battlefields and open plains of Temeria, Killian didn’t encounter much trouble. The first two days were monotonous, non-stop riding through the day and night, brief pauses for food, water and rest.

The day after that saw a kikimora rear its ugly maw as Smee cantered past its roadside hovel, swiping out with its blade-like limbs in an attempt to take out the horse’s legs — it took three swipes of his blade to take it down, the starving queen letting out a defeated whine as glinting silver pierced through her armour and into her brain. Killian left a bomb in his wake, making sure none of her spawn would see the light of day.

Day four drove him closer to the ruins of Vizima, it’s grand stone walls now bleak and crumbled. Killian had been around when it fell, only a few years beneath his belt on the path as the Nilfgaardians withdrew their tyranny. They razed the city, with fire and blood, so that the North would remember what the clutches of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The self-proclaimed white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies sputtered and faded just like everyone else on this mortal coil. The flames had kept him warm one night, decades ago, as the fallen city smouldered.

Misthaven greets the horizon on day five. It’s unperturbed woodland gracing his path with an archway formed of two entwined enchanted oaks, their magic forms the base of the wards that surround the city and the sheer power of it is a familiar thrum of energy that has his medallion singing as Smee trots over the border. In the thick bramble bushes beside the sheltered road, fairies shield themselves from view, their sugar plum scent hangs on the air as heavy as horse shit. There’s something he hasn’t missed. After half a mile or so, the rattle of his medallion becomes barely noticeable, a gentle simmer rather than a raucous boil.

Instead of taking the northern road at Lake Nostos towards the bustling city and the castle of King David, they turn to the east, along a too familiar, although far less trodden, path.

Smee huffs at his choices, resisting the tug of his reins.

Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

The Rabbit Hole is, in Killian’s eyes, better than most. Being just outside the city, tucked up against the eastern entrance’s vine smothered portcullis, not many people stumble through its doors by accident. However, with its vast stone hearth, sturdy oak beams and a half decent cellar, the place could weather the harshest Skellige storm with nary but a draught. Ale, food, music and good company. It’s… nice, for lack of a better word.

And, despite the nature of his work, it’s somewhere Killian keeps coming back to. Regardless of the years between his visits.

Smee, ever the dramatic, saunters over to the water-filled trough cemented to the tavern's stable, eagerly eyeing up the hay-filled feedbag beside it. At least, he’ll get a chance to rest as Killian gets his own fill. Haphazardly, he knots Smee’s reins to the hitching post, leaving just enough slack for him to be able to reach his amenities and socialise with the unsaddled gelding tied up on the other side of the post.

Killian pulls his coin purse from his steed’s saddlebags, knowing full well he’ll spend it one way or another. The door swings open before he can even tap the shit off his boots.

“You took your time, Captain.” Will Scarlet, with his signature troublesome smirk, is upon him in an instant, arms thrown around Killian’s shoulders, squeezing tightly as his skinny arms allow. He’d never been one for heavy lifting, more interested in wielding a lyre than a sword, and it shows in the way he greets his old friend as if it hasn’t been almost five years since Killian left him in Toussaint in the bed of a baroness whose husband had not been best pleased to find him there. The stench of Mahakaman mead on the bard’s breath permeates the air. The half-decade has barely touched him.

It hasn’t touched Killian either but, then again, mutations will do that to a man.

“Is that what they’re calling me now?”

Will peels himself away, stumbling back into the oak door frame that knocks the air right out of him with an oof. His brow furrows ever so slightly and someone from the other side of the dimly lit pub chortles at his discomfort. Will throws an obscene gesture his way before coming to Killian’s side instead.

“Just roll with it mate, you wouldn’t like the alternative.”

Killian shrugs. Murderer, Mutant, Devil— “I have been called worse.”

The bard nods in agreement, letting Killian step over the threshold and into the dark innards of the inn. They both have. Back when they travelled together, there was nary a day that insults weren’t hurled their way. Killian never had the chance to apologise back then, and it doesn’t seem right to bring it up now.

Will looks… happy.

“Anyway,” He starts, falling back on his chipper tone and catching Killian off guard as he hops over the bar top with ease, grabbing a tankard on his way. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

“I’m not too sure of that myself.”

Will places the tankard before him, full of a sweet smelling dark ale. “No contract?”

Killian knocks back the mug in one, letting the slightly soured brew flavour his tongue. It’s better than the pig swill he’s settled for along the Path. Then again, Will always was one with good taste; always the finest inns, the grandest company, lining his pockets with the gold of diplomats and dukes alike. Despite all that, The Rabbit Hole suits him, dust and dirt be damned. He hum’s, considering how to answer, before settling for the simplest one. “No.”

“No valiant quest?”

Killian shrugs.

“Ah,” Eyeing him knowingly while taking a sip from his own cup with a smug smile, Will hums. They’ve known each other long enough now for him to be able to read between the lines. “A summons then.”

“Can’t I just stop by and visit an old friend?”

“Theoretically, yes. But that’s not in your nature is it, mate.” There’s a pause. Someone laughs from the other side of the room, lit only by a handful of candles to fend off the dark even in the daylight. Will doesn’t even blink, drumming out a rhythm on the countertop, wearing an ever present smile. “Especially knowing that there’s a certain sorceress within the city walls.”

Killian had no idea what he was here for, not really. One dream and he’d come running like a well trained dog, a pet. He can’t even feel shame about it. Emma could’ve asked him to pick daisies in the grand gardens of King David and he’d have come running, a prisoner to his emotions. His mutations should have rid him of them decades ago and yet—

He lets himself be seen, letting his posture slip to a slouch. The ride was harder on him than he’d anticipated and his limbs call for sleep, the ache of it weighing him down. Will is, above all else, his oldest friend. If he can trust anyone, it's him.

“What’s going on, Killian?”

Lilac and gooseberries, touched with cinnamon and the undeniable scar of power. It singes the air with its grace and sets Killian’s medallion ablaze with activity before he can even register the draught behind him hadn’t come from the door. Will looks up, eyes rapidly widening in a mix of familiarity and surprise, but Killian doesn’t have to. He knows. She must have sensed him when he passed the kingdom's wards, followed the sing of his own power to find him, greet him.

Killian turns and lets a smirk tug at his lips as silence hangs like a criminal, the whole inn rendered mute by her entrance. In awe. In fear.

Emma.

Time hasn’t dared touch her. It hasn’t in aeons. In the years Killian has known her, she has always looked this radiant. Hair curled loosely over her shoulders and a dress of lace laid over silk, bright and beautiful and absolutely incredible. An aura of light surrounds her, bringing illumination to the dim room. From her very core, she is beautiful.

Killian has missed her.

She smiles, knowingly.

"I haven't told him yet."

[gcnegreer]

— ♔ In the past, people were born royal and for GREER CATRÌONA STUART the TWENTY FOUR-year-old PRINCESS of SCOTLAND, that is a tradition SHE intend/s to keep. To others, SHE looks an awful lot like KATIE STEVENS and has/have been painted as DAMAGED GOODS but behind closed doors, SHE is/are ANXIOUS AND VAIN but also GENEROUS AND DEVOTED. It has also been said they are BETROTHED to ANY FITTING MALE FC.

Facts: 

Full name: Greer Catrìona Stuart Nicknames: G, Gre, Greer Age: 25 Birthday: February 14 Title: Princess of Scotland  Sexuality: bisexual  Height: 5′2  Hair Color: dark brown Eye Color: hazel 

Details: 

Greer was part of the group of royals who was kidnapped and is haunted by this trauma. It has brought out the worst in her, a mean streak unexpected from the youngest Scottish royal. They were rescued, naturally, and the rebels all executed - and everyone seemed to think that was it. No one wanted to help her deal with the trauma and the expectations of being gracious and perfect. Grief and pain should be beautiful, a performance for the people and the world. We are stronger than you, the monarchy urges, we will not be brought down by set backs. But the world isn’t there when the nightmares strike, when the walls become to oppressive and memory grips a tight fist around her lungs so that she has to run from whatever room until she can see the sky and feel the air. Greer internalizes her trauma, builds up that hard glossy armor.  

Greer idolizes her older brother, and followed him to St. Andrews University where she almost obtained a degree in Classical Studies. She loved school, and excelled at it - her obsessive nature serving her well in the study of dead languages. After being rescued from the kidnapping, Greer wanted to go back to school but ultimately couldn’t handle it. She has continued studying on her own. 

Greer has an obsessive nature. She gets deeply invested in whatever her particular fancy is that day. She’s taught herself latin this way, spent an entire summer in her thirteenth year following the Minister of War around the castle with incessant questions about tactics. Her family dismisses these obsessions as her whims, but Greer is careful to store this information away in case she needs it.

Connections:

Hostage Buddy - one of the other royals who was kidnapped along with Greer, they became particularly close in response to the trauma and have almost a codependent relationship. This can go many ways depending on who/what it is! Maybe this person is a really good influence on Greer and is trying to help her cope with things in a healthy way! Maybe its a toxic kinda thing, where they just enable each others worst habits and vices! Anyway we want a complicated relationship born of hardship and trauma pretty please

Betrothed - this match was made after she was rescued in an attempt by her parents to prove to the world/media that all was well. (Tiktok vc: fuck u my child is completely fine) I would like to think even though Greer resented the lack of choice and is distinctly Not fine, she begrudgingly likes/enjoys (Narrator: Could it be the first stirrings of love?) her future partner. He would know more about her and her trauma/darkness than most, but tries to understand, and helps her keep up the mask of propriety. Maybe this person is trying to make her a better person, or maybe they encourage it - at the very least they call her on her shit

Tutor/trainer - Greer has an obsessive nature (see above) and would seek out anyone who knows something unique or with a rare specialty and pester them until they agree to teach her about it. This person could be an actual tutor or not. She’d specifically seek out someone to teach her self defense, especially now that she’s away from her comfort zone. But really anything interesting she’d obsess over for a bit until she got bored or found a new interest.

FWB - both past and present, literally open to anyone & any gender. What better way to deal with your trauma than to fuck it out? Extra Spicy would be a rebel that shes sleeping with who might be using her for information - literally she tries to be all strong and tough and brave but she's a big soft baby 

FRIENDS - plz & thx

literally anything else I am up for it all 

Interview:

What is one thing you are proud of/love about your country?

“Hmm?” The princess looked up, startled by the sudden question then frowned slightly. “We are resilient, stubborn. Despite everything we’ve kept our spirit & identity,” she sounded almost wishful instead of proud. “And the land, it’s hard to explain, really, but it feels like a part of us, a living thing with a personality to match the wildness of the landscape.”  

What is the most important thing in your suitcase?

“My grandfather’s watch,” Greer answered promptly, right hand moving almost unconsciously to trace the heavy gold face & supple leather around her wrist. “It was a wedding present from my grandmother, and has their names engraved on the back of it, she gave it to me when he died,” the princess smiled sadly, “I was always his favorite, I think.” 

Who and/or what will you miss most from home?

“I miss feeling comfortable and safe,” she bit down on her bottom lip for a moment, letting her fear show through the armor for a second. “And all of the family pets, my brother has dogs and so does my father, it’s strange to be in a place without animal companions, it feels colder almost.” 

hit me up either in my dms or on discord gracie#3533 - i would love any and all plots! 

[perpetuitys]

AAAA hello everyone i’m peep and this is my independent n impulsive vampire bb michel !! also sorry for being Mad late i’ve been moving/flying for the past couple days but i’m finally settled in and super super excited to rp with you all :~) but Yes this is michel he has an attachment to the sea ...... he’s curious abt everything ..... can be very sarcastic at times .... and more found below !! also def hit me up to plot on discord <3 @uwfmintro​

STATISTICS  

FULL NAME:  michel de la rue NICKNAME(S): michel’s fine AGE:  twenty-five GENDER + PRONOUNS:  cis male + he/him ORIENTATION:  bisexual ZODIAC:  sagittarius sun, libra moon BIRTHDAY: december 3rd, 1802 PLACE OF BIRTH: paris, france OCCUPATION(S):  bartender, helps with the liberation TRAITS: (+) open-minded, honest, adventurous, curious, independent  / (-) turbulent, careless, irresponsible, impulsive, dogmatic

BIOGRAPHY

the following biography page contains the following: death, grief, suicidal ideation.

read at your own risk.  

HUMAN

it was eleven years later and new york was just starting to feel like his home. michel still hated speaking english and the permanent odor was sort of annoying, but he felt like he had a purpose that wasn’t dependent on war. fatigued by the aftermath of the french revolution and disappointed in the end of napoleon’s reign, the de la rue’s left their mother country when michel was fourteen in hopes of creating something new and fresh, devoid of any monarchial rule. his family lived a fairly simple life that was dedicated to running their bakery in brooklyn.

this simple life began to feel quite exhilarating as he found himself falling more and more in love with a newly-immigrated family friend at twenty. ever since meeting colette lyon (which of course was at the bakery — where else) he couldn’t think of anything else. the two remained inseparable into their marriage, too, where the two decided to momentarily elope to the beach despite his parents’ wishes. both colette and michel had a fascination with the sea, perhaps symbolizing the voyage that connected their childhood with their newfound adulthood. this fixation grew as he decided to leave his  family in favor of becoming a fisherman running his own shop at the local fish market (also against his parents’ wishes). and as their family grew to include two children, he believes it truly was the best financial decision he’s ever made (which he was well-aware there weren’t many).

but honestly, michel’s favorite thing about new york had to be the selection of taverns. the routine of waking up early, going out to fish, spending his entire day trying to sell his catches at the market, and coming home to two rowdy toddlers proved to exhaust the brunette both physically and emotionally by the time he was twenty-four. so, it wasn’t a surprise to often see him spending most of his evenings during the week at the local bar, making several short-term friends who also wanted to make the most of their night. however one night felt different as michel became what was most likely the most intoxicated he has ever been with a room with equally intoxicated men who decided that receiving fists hurt good and fighting felt fun. he was too drunk to process the chilled air (perhaps that hurt good, too), but something felt wrong as the men continued beating on him. leaving him bleeding out in the early winter air, it very quickly dawned on him that there would be no more life for him to live. no more colette. or his family and their quaint bakery. never see his children get married. as he made peace with this reality, in his last moments he thought about the sea.

VAMPIRE

everything felt bright and intense as he gasped his first breath of immortality. focusing his attention on how fast his senses were heightening and the excruciating bloodlust, it took a moment for him to realize his bougie surroundings. confused, capricious, and super fucking hungry, aleksander was there to guide him into this new underground world.

which honestly terrified the fuck out of michel. as his senses began to settle, his heart sank to his feet thinking about his death — the stupidity, carelessness and impulsivity causing an eternal separation to the life he worked hard to achieve. he grew depressed and the intense bloodlust that he wasn’t able to get a grasp on wasn’t doing much to uplift him. he depended on the older vampire emotionally as transitioning into a life completely vacant of his family was very challenging as he witnessed the rest of their lives at a distance. this often resulted in michel coming to him, very depressed as he questioned his vampirism, with aleksander always finding a way to lift his spirits and remind him of his purpose. because he saw it in michel that night before he died at the tavern. he saw the charm and how he could make anyone in the room feel like his best friend. he knew that once this cloudiness of despair and self-loathing blows over that a magnetic charisma would lie underneath. something he can use.

so, aleksander stayed beside him. reassured him. and ultimately invited him into his home to live as he would adopt him as a son, passing down his millennia of knowledge on to him and sowing seeds that he hoped to one day reap. luckily, the stages of grief passed away quickly throughout the coming months as michel realized the potential in this unfortunate situation. firstly, he has never seen so much opulence in his life. he heard stories of it, though mostly negative ones as they were all passed down from the french revolution, but now this was able to be his reality. and he was pretty fond of his newfound speed and strength. now at least it was guaranteed he wouldn’t die from another drunken bar fight.

but as he was increasingly noticing the positives of living in the mansion, the negatives began to bother him. or as others call them: helena. you see, with his human siblings, he didn’t have the problem of trust as they all grew up together and shared blood. but it wasn’t long after moving in that michel realized just how necessary the blood relation would be and how significant the corvinus name is in their world. and perhaps another large part of the problem was they didn’t truly see him as a sibling at all. truthfully, the condescension stung at the beginning and resulted in michel spending most days keeping to himself and reading the literature that occupied the walls.

as decades passed and michel was sure colette and the kids had most likely passed too, he found himself integrating back into human society by the end of the nineteenth century. which he surprisingly felt more relieved than disheartened by, as he’d finally be able to get more separation from his older sibling, but perhaps it could also be one of the signs of vampire cynicism creeping in. because, oh boy, did it creep in. the first couple decades of the twentieth century were probably most notably some of the sloppiest years michel had. he began transitioning from blood bags (the mansion always had them on deck) to feeding directly from humans and while he knew never to bite the neck, he felt it hard to resist biting elsewhere. and found it hard to resist in general, often accidentally killing a few people in the process.

however, once magdelena was born, he found himself becoming interested in the family again and decided to clean up his careless feeding act. as she grew older, he became quite fond of her presence and protective, because she sort of reminded him of his own son and daughter who he had left behind. in a way, it felt very cathartic to (practically) raise her; like he was writing a wrong and filling the void that the act of no longer being a father created. being there for her and caring for her gave him a purpose that he lacked up until that point (which probably explains his tendency to overfeed). he came around the house more, helping her as she developed into her vampirism and taught her all the things aleksander had taught him. minus the shitty values. when he would pop back into society, he spent it educating himself on new ideas and theories that inhabited both human and supernatural spheres, mostly out of curiosity and his love for learning if anything. during this time, he also eventually met others of his vampire kind as well as lycans, though more clandestine. many of which soon became his closest friends.

and that’s why he was fairly devastated to know about aleksander’s plans. his stomach twisted knowing that someone who once raised him could be capable of such cruelty. it sickened him — and he let him know it. which, in turn, earned him expulsion from his home of two centuries. maybe some saw it coming — how michel was often distanced from the start — but it still hurt the vampire nonetheless. he lost connection to his first family and it hurt like a bitch to lose it to another, regardless how he felt about them individually. especially to leave behind magdelena, who he felt attached to since her childhood. but he hoped that this would send a statement throughout their underground world. that they should not turn their eyes away from injustices no matter who it’s coming from. he needed to get the vampires to care about this issue and needed to do something to bring awareness and a call to action. so, in comparison, present-day michel is much less gloomy and blindly naive than early-day michel, luckily. although he still feels guilty and a tinge of regret for his association to aleksander, he finds that offering any resources he can in the fight for the liberation is his best way of coping with it.

[ajbrooks-writes]

WIP Re-Intro: For The Crown

Book One of the Blood Ties trilogy

Heyo! Exactly what it says on the tin. A new and improved For The Crown with special edition features and up-to-date info! Also now with an official trilogy title: Blood Ties. Incredibly accurate.

Book One: For The Crown

Two young shapeshifters uncover generations of blood crimes as they attempt to change their own destiny. Masquerading amidst power plays and fickle allys, the prince and the pretender learn the meaning of family in a tale of love, loss, and the cost of challenging the stars.

Elthian and Ryvaeryn are from very different worlds, tied together by a bloody past. They are each given a single chance to attain their goals, but to do so must navigate a court full of lies, a country full of secrets, and a foe determined to keep both in the past.

Basics

Stage: Complete Structural Overhaul Review

Estimated Length: 135k

Genre: New Adult high fantasy

Themes: found family, adventure, self-discovery, romance, challenging status quo, challenging destiny.

More info

Orphaned as an infant and raised by humans on the continent, Ryn has never known another shapeshifter. A bookbinder by trade, she masquerades as a scholar and runs to the island country of Mantha, where she meets our team, and her resolve is tested when she is discovered and has a choice: go home to safety or join the court and risk it all.

Growing up in the castle with his father, brother and best friend, Elthian has known he would be king since he was a child. A planner by passion, Elthian’s progressive ideas clash with his father’s traditional values, placing them increasingly at odds. When his father threatens to change his successor, Elthian must choose between sacrificing the crown for his values and work, or sacrificing his values for the crown and power.

Ryvaeryn and Elthian’s journeys intertwine as they work towards their goals. Among the trials of their individual paths, they realise their growing friendship might be more than that. Now they must weigh their loyalties and, when discovered, understand that one false step could tear them apart forever.

Read on to learn about some of the characters and the next two books! Also cool graphics.

Welcome to part two!

Characters

Protagonist. Age 29, lion shapeshifter. Idealistic, compassionate, creative, naive. Elthian has a rocky past, but has landed on his feet with a father he idolises, an older half-brother he loves unconditionally, and a best friend he could not do without. His brother’s protection has left him naive to their father’s nature, but kept him from losing that idealism and compassion their father is so blatantly missing. Elthian’s biggest struggle is his own self-doubt, but his brother’s line “There are some things in this world you just can’t change.” kickstarts his determination to do exactly that. I love my son, but not make it easy.

Protagonist. Age 26, tiger shapeshifter. Impulsive, defensive, determined, kind. Safe in seclusion with her long term girlfriend, Ryn gives it up to journey to Mantha and find others like her. She is quick to defend herself and slow to reason, and so desperately wants to know who she is and where she came from that she will risk everything to find answers. This is made difficult when she becomes to target of assassination. See her right eye pictures above? That may or may not emerge intact . I love her, and I forge her fortitude in fire.

Secondary. Age 30, wolf shapeshifter. Quiet, perceptive, loyal. Joal spent half his childhood as a crown ward, becoming Elthian’s best and most loyal friend. His official role is Royal Historian and Heritage Law Consultant, and he lives at the castle. He is the first to realise Ryn isn’t a scholar. Joal isn’t ‘in touch’ with his emotions, which quickly creates a rift between him and Ryn. Joal has the largest role in Blood Ties after Ryn and Elthian.

Secondary. Age 32, human. Optimistic, intuitive, honourable. Kalen is the ultimate best friend. He is a great hugger, great listener, and gentle soul. He left the army  to pursue music, specifically the flute. Kalen is aro-ace, and his and Skye’s QPR is the most precious and pure dynamic I have ever seen. He becomes close friends with Ryn, we call him K, and I would die for him.

Tertiary. Age 35, lion shapeshifter. Discerning, protective, adventurous. Orrian paints himself as rebellious and unreliable, allowing him to pursue his interests in peace, and as a bonus giving his father frequent headaches. Orrian runs a shelter for homeless or orphaned boys and young men, mostly shapeshifters, and basically has a dozen adopted sons. He is also investigating his father, whom he loathes. Orrian has a much larger role in the next two books.

Tertiary. Age 21, crane shapeshifter. Shy, observant, attentive. Skye is very close with Kalen, and Ryn first meets her in a courtyard where Skye is playing violin. She struggles with anxiety and  PTSD, and attempts to create a support network in this book, which unfortunately backfires. Skye’s role will change a lot over the trilogy as she develops and grows and discovers her strength.

Tertiary. Age 24. human. Sarcastic, charming, realist. Corri meets Ryn early in town, and they become friends quickly. She loves to have a good time, and encourages Ryn to do the same. If the cellars are stocked, right? Corri has a brief, secret fling with Joal in this book. She also frequently makes time to spend with the children at the castle - much better company than nobles.

Tertiary. Age 64, lion shapeshifter. Assertive, determined, commanding. Parthian rules with iron, currently with his third wife. He pushed Orrian to abdicate, and has spent the last decades grooming Elthian to be a more worthy successor. Parthian is struggling under the weight of (subjectively) poor past choices. His sons take more from him than they’d like.

Side. Age 34, human. Calming, authentic, passionate. Lowe and Ryn were together for three years, and lived together for most of that. She knows Ryn’s aspirations, fears and hopes and supports her move to Mantha. Lowe will have a larger role in the next two books, but will crop up a few times in this one, too.

Side. Age 9, shapeshifter. Shy, curious, adventurous. Pab is an orphan, and has lived at the castle her entire life. She is friends with Corri, and becomes a loyal friend of Ryn’s after a vandalism mishap. Pab will climb literally anything. She scales two storeys of old stone to break into Ryn’s room. Ryn and Pab’s bond strengthens over the trilogy, and we learn more about her family later on.

--

The World:

For The Crown takes place primarily in Mantha, an island country about the size of France. It has several smaller ilsands scattered around it., and across a strait is a mainland spanning an area close to that of Russia, which is where Ryn is from. Skye and Joal are from the North and South islands around Mantha respectively..During this book, the court travels around the country to various estates, under the guise of a ‘royal tour’, in which Parthian speaks to the leaders and the people and try to assure them that the monarchy has their best interest’s at heart. It gives Elthian the opportunity to find the progressive among them, and Ryn the opprtunity to explore different libraries and estates, including a ruined city, searching for answers.

Mantha is a feudal society originally settled by shapeshifters, which Parthian encourages, because they are easier to control. The continent, all humans, is meanwhile approaching an early industrial age; they have a direct democracy, with all the people having a voice. Mantha works with alchemy, whereas the continent works with technology. They have minimal overlap, but for trade and transport, things like air travel crosses their cultures.

This means I can have steampunk airships flying over my feudal farmland. The dream.

If you would like to know anything else about their culture, feel free to shoot an ask my way!

Rest of the trilogy:

For The King

After the bittersweet end to For The Crown, Ryn and Elthian try to recover the trust of the Manthan people as Elthian begins a shaky rule. But when the new king is kidnapped, it’s up to Ryn, Orrian, Kalen and Joal to race across the continent to save him, finding help from old friends along the way. Meanwhile, in a deep underground prison, Elthian meets new allies and foes as his captors attempt to break him, and he plans a daring escape or three. For The King is significantly darker, and ready to be drafted. You can read this wip intro here.

For The Country

Following a narrow escape, Ryn, Elthian, their new allies and remaining friends journey back to Mantha only to discover it has been overrun! With Elthian’s confidence shattered and Ryn struggling to stay afloat, For The Country has them and their team racing to rally their people against an approaching enemy while they battle fire, uprising, discord and disease. In the conclusion of this epic fantasy, everyone comes together for the battle that will decide Mantha’s future.

Final comments:

Can’t believe I managed, finally, to finish this intro.

I’m going to try and participate more in wip and OC related things, and post more about my story when life allows. I hope you enjoyed it, congrats on getting to the end, and have a great day!

--

For The Crown tag list:

 @trigwrites @jessicacaseyauthor @mfackenthal @mushwrites @b-works-074  @gardeningourmet @apocalyvse @jcckwrites @writingisdivinetorture  @purpleshadows1989 @thatwritergirlsblog @betwixtofficial @pen-in-hand @whynotwriting @bookish-actor @sunlight-and-starskies @jcckwrites @half-explored @watermelons-writings @purpleshadows1989 @crazycoffeemermaid​ @summerflowers

Blood Ties taglist:

@whisperswritings @stand-inthe-rain @fantasy-shadows @halrose @romanticatheart-posts @hopefulmoonobject @angelolytle @albarnesauthor @fantasy-penman @ofinscriptions @jynecca @venomouspen @k-nazario​ @raenawrites @s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r​ @the-starlight-chills​ @crazycoffeemermaid​ @ardawyn​ @bookish-actor​ @waterfallofinkandpages​ @the-writister​ @thewriteblrarchives​

(if you would like to be added or removed from the Blood Ties tag list, please let me know. Also if I’ve missed anyone I’m really sorry, could you let me know please thank youx)

[roxanadclcon]

Consider Adopting...

the daughter of the andorran prime minister

*name: ona sanchez gender/pronouns: female/she+her *age: 24 *fc: ella balinska status: daughter of the former andorran prime minister

the story

Ona has always been happy and outgoing. She's been in the spotlight for most of her life as her father became a rising star in Andorran politics when she was just a baby. A member of the then opposition party, Jan Sanchez, made a name for himself a more progressive member of the center-right party. Ona and the rest of her family only added to his image, a family man who stood for Andorran progress and independence from its more powerful neighbors.

When she was 16, Jan became the prime minister, and Ona became the face of Andorra's youth. She flourished, a smile always graced her lips, and she never met a stranger that she couldn't turn into a friend in the first five minutes of conversation. Prime Minister Sanchez made Alberto Roig his Minister of Energy, which is how Ona and Stella first met. They didn't run in the same circles; Stella was ten years older and much more of a 'party girl' than Ona. They got along, though. Ona privately thought Stella was too shallow, too incurious, (frankly) too stupid to be the daughter of a politician. But they got along well none the less. If Ona suspected that Stella had a secret, she didn't say anything.

Andorra still had a king, but he was old and without heirs. The parliament started talking about what it would mean to become a republic. To disband the monarchy and move towards a stronger Andorra. This all sounded good until October 2017 when France invaded Andorra to give aid to their ally Portugal. Jan Sanchez and the rest of the country's leaders were imprisoned. French Duchess Lisette of Foix marries the Andorran King, who dies shortly afterward, making her the sole heir to Andorra's throne, and the country is annexed into Foix. France's hold on Andorra is solidified, and there is nothing anyone can do.

Stella returns shortly after the invasion from Hungary, missing her golden cross necklace and looking like she's grieving more than a country. Ona doesn't ask, and Stella doesn't say anything. It doesn't matter. They are all the other has anymore.

In the last three years, the Andorran Resistance has grown into a robust movement, attacking and even killing French soldiers serving in the occupation force. France, for its part, has started expanding its new empire and cracking down hard on the resistance in Andorra. Ona has become a de facto symbol of Andorra's independence and democratic values. She has a choice though: she can fight for the resistance, side with the French occupation in the hopes of surviving this and saving her father, or she can call for peace and hope people listen. Or can she find another way out of this?

Stella has become her assistant, helping Ona navigate this war and protect her as the best she can. But Stella has become secretively, seems to have emotions wrapped up in this occupation that Ona doesn't understand, and seems very concerned with the Duchess of Foix. Ona isn't sure who to trust but knows that the world isn't safe for her anymore.

*Name, age, and faceclaim utp. Contact @stcllvrccg or LadyJane#4145 on discord if you're interested in this adopt.

[keyofjetwolf]

Elisabeth: All Questions Have Been Asked

Our specific scene dissection begins with the song “All Questions Have Been Asked”, or, “Elisabeth and Franny JoJo Get Hitched”. It’s the same song in the Essen and Takarazuka versions, but in the same way that “Under Pressure” and “Ice Ice Baby” are the same song. Everything about it is different, from tone to intent to even who’s singing the damned thing.

We start out different immediately. The Essen version goes from Elisabeth and Franz Joseph’s love song to this one with only enough pause to get the stage ready. The Takarazuka version, perhaps partly by similar set needs, transitions between the two with a watercooler chit chat between Death and Lucheni.

This back and forth between them is something from the Takarazuka that I genuinely loved, but it has the side effect of making Death and Lucheni’s relationship deeper. NOT SOMETHING I USUALLY WOULD PREFACE WITH “BUT”. The problem is that it all builds to a feeling of something specific and calculated between the two that never bears fruit. Killing Elisabeth (specifically) wasn’t even on Lucheni’s mind when he left the house that day; he was down to stab any monarch, and Elisabeth was just unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Takarazuka version feels like it’s going somewhere with all this though, so when we finally get to the end, it’s all a little muddied and unsatisfying.

Similarly, the Takarazuka take on this song once again gives it to Death, whereas in the Essen version, he literally just drops in at the end to be foreboding for a second before fucking off again. But I jump ahead a bit.

Death, Takarazuka says, isn’t just watching the wedding, but officiating it, directing it, binding it. This sets a feeling about this union as one cursed by Death, as part of his infiltration and punishment for Elisabeth not .... what, exactly? Well, that’s part of the larger problem. Death claims to want Elisabeth to want him, essentially, and then “curses” her for not doing that. Fuck dude, she was all about it when she took a header off the tightrope, you were the one who got all “NO YOU DON’T WANT IT THE RIGHT WAY” about everything, you dramatic disaster personification. Elisabeth and Death’s “love” being the central storyline both narratively and emotionally just doesn’t really bear out with everything else going on.

But back to this scene. When I was first liveblogging it, I loved the way it was presented. The use of the organ, the chorus complicit in their own prophesied downfall, the use of the church setting to mark the simultaneous beginning and end.

All that holds, I think it’s really well presented. There’s a HUGE change, though, that I feel is an interesting -- and unfair -- choice by the Takarazuka.

Death spends the song singing about how everything is set to come crashing down around everyone, and concludes the whole thing by telling Elisabeth DIRECTLY that it’s her fault. And everything Death says is echoed by the gathered crowd, who also sing out Elisabeth’s name, condemning her for what’s to come. Put into the larger context, it specifically implies that this ruination could’ve been avoided if she’d just chosen Death (or NOT chosen Franz Joseph, depending how you look at it).

All of which is utter bullshit. Revolution was coming, slowly but surely, and it was on the backs of generations of rich assholes not giving a single fuck while their people starved and died in the streets. Elisabeth didn’t HELP, what with her milk baths, and by being a “celebrity” she may have been a flame for hate to gather around, but this clusterfuck was a group effort, no question.

The Essen version avoids all of this messy finger pointing by not even going there.

Once again, it’s different from the outset. Setting aside the absence of narration intro by Lucheni, the Takarazuka version is revealed to the audience fully formed. The lights come up, the sets are whole, the players are in position.

In Essen, they begin by literally laying out the scene.

Death’s helpers (who I will continue to collectively refer to as “The Toddettes”) lay down the red carpet (not coincidentally looking like blood). The nobles enter the scene, and in a touch I particularly enjoyed, are spun by The Toddettes as they stroll past, eventually coming to rest like beautiful music box figures with no song to dance to. The rich are emotionally dead, mirroring the ticks and movements of the literal dead from the opening of the musical.

(The nobles move similarly in the Takarazuka version, but whether it’s less effective due to the song’s lyrics, the more elaborate and prominent set and lighting, the inclusion of and focus on Death, or the way the scene was shot and recorded in such a way that they’re relegated to the background, I can’t say.)

Most striking of all, though, is the content of the Essen version of this song.

It seems at first as though maybe it’s not quite so different. Removing Death from the song does give the nobles a more active role in their dirge, but I also liked the gauze that hung over the Takarazuka version, the way they echoed Death with an arrogant naivety about their fate.

But it turns out we’re going somewhere else again with the Essen version, AND I LOVE IT.

These nobles aren’t just emotionally dead, they’re MORALLY dead. This bankruptcy is something Essen will return to, and which Takarazuka sadly never touches. They continue to sing, in a slowly but increasingly discordant chorus as Elisabeth and Franz Joseph take center stage.

And all questions are asked, and all chances have been given. We are the last of a world that always thinks of its suicide. And all, all that has happened helps us to pass the time. Because we revel in our sorrows, we’ll gladly see you decline.

This, I think, best encapsulates the difference in this song between the Takarazuka and Essen versions. In the first we watched, Death implies that Elisabeth is to blame for the downfall of the nobles. In the Essen version, Elisabeth isn’t a cause so much a she’s a symptom. The aristocracy is rotting from the inside, and their riches and power have grown, among other things, boredom. With nothing else to hold their interest, and in a perverse sort of self-hatred, they’ll happily cannibalize Elisabeth for their own entertainment.

THIS IS SOME DEEP SHIT FRIENDS

While the Takarazuka version flirted with it, the Essen version is, I’d say, a good quarter to the third ABOUT how the monarchy and nobility is garbage.*

Then, after Elisabeth has said yes to marrying Franz Joseph, Death appears, in a moment that is very cool, and VERY creepy. A single church bell, lonely and solemn, rings out. An echoy distant voice calls Elisabeth’s name, beckoning to her. The stage backdrop falls away, revealing Death as the one ringing the bell.

Franz Joseph and the other nobles have left Elisabeth standing in the center. Death laughs, low and menacing, as the curtain falls on him and the stage is bathed in darkness.

Because he’s not painted as a romantic figure, and the story isn’t about how they really super love each other, Death is able to be a haunting figure to Elisabeth, tainting her happier moments and luring her in her weakest. As much as I loved Death Todd in Takarazuka -- WHICH I MOST CERTAINLY DID -- I feel that as a character in the story, less is absolutely more for Death. This single moment where Essen Death said nothing but her name as he reached for her was a thousand times more memorable than the entire song just performed by Takarazuka Death.

Overall,while I enjoyed this song very much in Takarazuka (it was my favourite up to that point), everything from the lyrics to the production of the Essen version absolutely blows it away, in my opinion.

(*) I want to pull out something @iatheia​ noted in a reblog that feels particularly relevant here:

Japan is very far removed from the events that take place here, the audience may not necessarily be immediately familiar with the specifics, treating it as just a fairy tale story is not something that they will have a problem with. [...]  In Europe, though, they are still living with remnants of these events, it is part of the things that have shaped their geo-political world view. While they may not necessarily be that familiar with the personality of people involved (I’ll write more when you get to Kitch), they are in a better position to place the events that they were involved in in context oh history, and they may have Different Opinions about these events.

[christiianss]

- ̗̀✰ •【 MIGUEL BERNARDEAU / CISMALE / 24 】announcing the arrival of his royal highness, ( CHRISTIAN MEYER ), the ( PRINCE ) of ( LUXEMBOURG ). I’ve heard that he is ( RECKLESS ) & ( UNPREDICTABLE ) but can also be ( ADVENTUROUS ) & ( EMPATHETIC ). ( CHRISTIAN ) is arranged to marry (  AGNES EMMANUELLE LEMAIRE ). Rumor has it ( HE HATES EVERYTHING HIS FATHER STANDS FOR ). We hope you enjoy your stay at London!【 OOC: riley, 19, est, she/her 】

hello lovelies! my name is riley and i’m super super excited too meet all of you and write with all of you! i’ve wanted to play miguel bernardeau for a while and thought this was the perfect opportunity to bring in my wild child christian ! a way too long intro post under the cut!

BACKSTORY !

christian, the second trueborn child to the king and queen of luxembourg, never really liked his title. he didn’t like the way his peers treated him in primary school when they knew who he was, hated having security detail watch his every move. 

he would often do things that his parents asked of him, but he didn’t like being a royal one bit. he’d go to lessons with a heavy heart, but would pay full attention -- he was never one to do things half-assed.

as he grew up, he matured a little, no longer throwing temper tantrums but learned to rebel in his own way. he’d sneak out of the castle, not to go out and party but to jump on a train to france or spain or italy and soak in the culture.

in his mind, he wanted to believe that luxembourg was just boring, that his father’s monarchy and rulership was flawed and that other countries had it better, knew better ... but while he could never confirm this theory of his, he learned a lot about history and culture of other countries. 

he became an adventurer: someone who blended in with the commoners, who grabbed at tourist maps, who became obsessed with photography. every spare minute he had from the few familial duties he had, was spent reading history books and planning his next adventure.

in school he was absent-minded, coasting by with good enough grades to get into the university of oxford (of course, his family’s name helped with that). he studied history and politics there, where he actually thought he had a calling. he liked school ... not to mention, it allowed him to have several months away from his parents. it was during this time where he created his global, holistic viewpoint about government and politics, and really started to loathe the policies for which his father stood. he’d seen firsthand how corrupt his parents could be to create such a ‘fruitful, happy’ society when he knew the backhanded deals that went on behind closed doors.

so he kept ‘acting out’, traveling to all corners of the world, taking breathtaking photographs wherever he went. he started working with magazines like national geographic to highlight different lifestyles, and partnered with some nonprofits to create awareness campaigns. he was in the middle of a tour in tanzania when he was called upon to attend the summit. christian is not particularly happy to have been pulled away from his adventures and sent directly into a swarm of politics, but he is excited to get the opportunity to discuss global matters with some incredibly influential people.

PERSONALITY !

he’s a bit of an enigma: if someone where to observe his whereabouts and his hobbies, they’d think he was super wild and into drinking and partying. while he enjoys a drink and a party from time to time, he really rebels in a more benevolent manner -- that is still pretty reckless, of course.

he’s incredibly friendly. he likes meeting people, getting to know them genuinely, learning about their adventures, their country’s policies, the works. his friendships are some of the only things that keep him grounded from the crazy things he does -- he is loyal to his friends to a fault, perhaps overly protective of them.

he’s definitely a romantic; from all the traveling and reading he’s done, christian wants nothing more than someone to share his adventures with. he’d say he’s in touch with his emotions, and wants to find love. needless to say, he wasn’t the happiest person when he heard his own wife would be chosen for him. he is having trouble accepting this fact, but ultimately believes that maybe he does have a path in politics and can be someone to help his country in the future, when his father’s throne is taken over. 

TIDBITS !

his camera and his journal are probably the two most important objects in his life. they contain photos and memories of some of the greatest adventures he has ever had.

to say he is a lover of art would be an understatement. he loves every aspect of it: classical, traditional, modern, architecture, art history -- you name it. he’s an art junkie who loves frequenting museums -- so far as to say he is acquainted with some curators of museums like the victoria and albert, moma, and the musee d’orsay.

POTENTIAL PLOTS !

childhood friends: kids who grew up learning how to tie their ties together, who learned their table manners with the same tutors, and eventually attended the same boarding schools. they have always been close, have always understood the eventual pressures of their familial duties. they have each others’ backs, no matter what.

friends who have been close their whole lives, everyone thought they were to be betrothed: title speaks for it all; they could have wished for it too, but things didn’t work out. they remain close and look out for each other.

muse ( romantic or platonic ): the subject of some of the photos that christian snaps, never really in sight, but someone who simply inspires him. someone who inspires him to do exactly what he cannot, trapped in the confines of the castle - travel the world, explore.

doubter: christian’s shenanigans are not particularly royal material. this person doubts christian’s abilities to have political responsibility (and for good reason). 

exes: on good terms, bad terms, who have become friends again bc of the summit, someone who christian neglected and who made him realize how rare love is, who knows !

anything !!!! 

OK LITERALLY ANYTHING GIVE ME ANGST. FRIENDSHIP. LOVE. AFFECTION i will love u down. 

hmu on im or on discord @ riley#9660 i’m so excited to meet u all!!!

[ilovetosmilepleasemarrymepi-blog]

My problems with sister sun

If I haven't made it clear yet I do not like princess celestis well that is even how I should say it should I want March to that dam eye sore castle of heres look her square smug little ugly face of hers an punch her across the room I want to tear fuckin horn off and jam it in her throat so that can watch her choack and drown on her own blood a person like that does deserve immortality nor let Alon the right to exist at all in my opinion

Now let my me explain hate and before you even say a word about me getting to voilent

Lil Miss rarity

Rainbow factory

Pinkimia universe 1

Pinkimina universe 2

......

Pinkimia 20000043257

Neeed I go on or this violent enough for you

Celetia is the most evil chacter I the manical sociopathic... She the worst chacter in the entire franchisee and I'm including fanfiction and Ocs

She grew up with a discrord and insted of introduce him to the ponies when Celestia camout of hideing with luna she just did not what what she afraid of she liked him why should they not this is only her first Mistake the big thing that set discord off is when he interupted meeting of GRIFFEN diplomats they were an amlgomation of two animals if we're being really serious now and they don't like like discord because of his appearance then holy Hippocrates nardoel but again in a monarchy the highest Royal makes the last call you would think on kingdom built on friends ship accepting differences would be a big part like I dunno wall eyes retarded rainbow hair pink skin but we will be your friend no matter what just with drgonaquonqui dragonaqueseses Draco malphoy those things

Any way this only one of Celestia many crime against friendship and equestria so join help you hate Celestia with a burning passion as I do because say it with me now

Fuck sun butt

Long live Queen Luna