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rosietrace · 4 months

Note

You thought it was over? Ha

Guess who’s back Pookie!

May I request Roywen with a Cinderella au! Specifically the scene at the ball with “So this is Love”

Hope this request makes sense and happy Valentine’s Day!

HELLAUR ELLRIZZ!! I'm gonna have so much fun writing this omgg 😈😈 (Your ask for Porter and Molly will be in the works a little later!)

'C'est ça l'amour [ 1/2 ]

(Central) Characters Featured: Roya Callistis, Gwendolyn Schnee

↳ { Gwendolyn belongs to @/starry-night-rose }

Others mentioned/featured: Tinsley LaBelle, Rubina Callistis, Davidson Novellion

↳ { Tinsley belongs to @/jasdiary }

Pairing: Roya Callistis & Gwendolyn Schnee

Event: Valentine's Day 2024 💌

↳ Type: AU Oneshot! 「 Cinderella 」

Synopsis: So this is love? So this is what makes life divine.

Warning(s): Potentially ooc, loosely inspired by the Disney 1950/2015 adaptations, Rubina and Davis /j /j, two-parter!, surprisingly longer than I thought holy shit

[ Apologies for any out of character moments ]

[ Reblogs > Likes ]

†•°•══════ஓ๑「🗡️」๑ஓ══════•°•†

His Highness Roya Callistis was bored beyond belief.

There he sat, in his elaborately decorated throne, one that once belonged to his Father; And will inevitably become his when he finds himself a bride.

The only problem? Finding a bride in a sea of young noblewomen proved to be predictably difficult. And tedious.

As another potential suitor had announced their presence to him, Roya could only sit there in awkward silence. Only giving the pitiful young ladies of the night a nod of acknowledgment.

This predicament, in turn, happened to bring a sense of irritation upon his dear Mother — Queen Rubina.

“What in God's name is he doing?” Rubina hissed, watching her only son from a considerable distance.

Davis, Roya's cousin, stood by her side with a condescending smile. “I'm sure my dear cousin will find someone, Auntie.”

Rubina's hardened gaze softened at Davis' assurance. “Oh, you may have a point, dear nephew…”

Davis hummed, his expression going nonchalant. He was always Rubina's favorite.

“I can't help but feel concerned, however.”

“And rightfully so, Auntie.”

“I am only asking this from Roya for the sake of our Kingdom..”

“And for that, I admire your benevolence,” Davis and his ass-kissing ways. “I, too, feel concerned for my cousin.”

Rubina sighed, gently ruffling Davis' dark hair. “What would I do without you, Davis?”

Davis feigned a smile. A handsome, tenaciously deceitful, smile.

“Oh, I can't bring myself to imagine that… Auntie.”

•✒️°─────────°✒️•

Gwen couldn't find the right words to describe the ambitious architecture of the palace, only parting her lips to silently gawk at all of its glory.

How stunning, Gwen thought, smiling to herself. I'll be sure to try and enjoy myself tonight…

… I only have until midnight to do so, her smile faltered at that.

Tonight, a ball fit for a princess was the one night where Gwen could look at herself — at the scenery before her — and think: I'm free.

Walking up the steps of the foyer, a couple of palace guards couldn't help themselves and happened to catch a glance at her every now and again.

Truly, everything that surrounded her was a marvel. The pinnacle of extravagance that she always believed would be reserved for her step-family.

Speaking of her step-family, Gwen managed to catch a glimpse of them once she found her way to the ballroom.

Her stepmother wore silks of dark red, obscuring her face with an ornately designed fan. Gwen's stepsisters were in the farther distance, making their way to the prince — whom Gwen couldn't get a proper look at.

Tinsley wore dark green, with hints of black and gold expertly placed along the bodice of her gown in the shape of vines.

Her other stepsister — who wasn't sure if she had an actual name — wore red, with a similar pattern to Tinsley at the bodice of her gown.

Seems like my stepsister opted to match with stepmother… Gwen hummed to herself, carefully walking around the ballroom in her unusually comfortable glass slippers to avoid catching her stepfamily's gaze.

Unfortunately, in spite of her efforts, Gwen ended up catching the eye of her stepmother.

Skeptical at the mysterious young lady that felt oddly familiar, her stepmother readily approached, her heels clicking against the floor.

Gwen winced, turning her body in the opposite direction to make an escape.

When suddenly: A hand gently yet firmly grasped her own.

Gwen looked behind her, fixating her eyes on the stranger who caught her hand; Only to realize that the ‘stranger’ in question was no stranger at all.

Pale skin, perhaps rivaling her own. Gray, almost silver, eyes. Horns that he had yet to properly explain. And long dark red locks styled into an elaborate braid that fell from his shoulder.

Roya's eyes softened when their eyes met, and it was as though time had closed its curtains.

“I…” Roya's words came to a standstill, the poor boy didn't know how to make conversation. Especially not with a lady as pretty as Gwen.

Gwen, who recognized him as the boy she met in the forest not too long ago, tilted her head slightly.

“Kit?” Ah, right.

Roya was bemused that Gwen still remembered him from the forest, and was even more than that when it came to him that she didn't realize he was the prince.

“M-My Lady…” Roya cleared his throat, finding a newfound confidence as he gazed into her ice-blue set.

“K-Kit!” Gwen was overjoyed that she found someone other than her step-family whom she recognized at the ball. “I didn't know you'd be here!”

“Yes, well- I am an apprentice, after all.”

“An apprentice for the palace, of course! Oh, forgive my silliness for not realizing it sooner…”

A chuckle left his lips, his free hand finding its way to her cheek. “You are forgiven, My Lady.”

Guilt was what Roya felt, feeling a slight discomfort that he was lying to Gwen about who he really was, even now.

But a part of him — that small, wishful-thinking side of him — wanted it to last a little longer. If it meant spending more time with Gwen, Roya would wear the sin of deceit with pride.

He cleared his throat a second time, taking a step back and letting the hand on her cheek fall to his side.

“If I may be frank, My Lady…”

Roya bowed down before her, his lips mere inches away from the back of Gwen's hand; His eyes piercing through her own.

“Might I have the honor of a dance?”

A gasp fell from her lips, eyes going slightly wide.

“A dance?...” Gwen looked around, and at the very least, her stepmother had already paid more attention to her sisters than anything else. “With… Me?”

Roya smiled at her, adjusting his stance. “With you, yes.”

“Shall we?”

Her eyes flickered between him and the clock behind him.

Very little time… Gwen wanted to frown, but couldn't bring herself to actually do so, lest Roya misunderstood.

But tonight was a night where she was meant to feel free for once. And perhaps dancing with ‘Kit’ was a way of doing that.

Gwen's smile, beautiful and soft in every way that made Roya's heart melt, widened in size when she took her hand in his. Both hands, this time.

“We shall.”

•✒️°─────────°✒️•

Their dance felt like more than a dance. Odd way to put it, yes, but in the eyes of Roya and Gwen: It was like their two souls had intertwined.

And that, with their movements and the way they looked into each other's eyes, caught Queen Rubina's attention.

An eyebrow arched, Rubina's gaze skeptically flickered between her son and the girl he was dancing with.

“Who is she?...”

Davis narrowed his eyes. He's never seen that girl in his life, and his aunt expected him to give her an answer?

“I'm not quite sure, Auntie,” Davis answered as politely as he could, “but unfortunately, it appears I've never seen this girl in my life.”

“Well that's ridiculous,” in likeness to her nephew, Rubina's eyes narrowed.

“... Keep an eye on them.”

She descended further away from the ballroom — likely to make preparations for a potential wedding, Davis gathered.

Still, he followed his Aunt's orders, keeping a close eye on Roya and his dancing partner; In spite of his irritation.

And nobody did Irritation the way Davidson Novellion did.

Whoever that girl was, regardless of personality or status, Davis didn't like her.

As Gwen and Roya danced, it finally occurred to Gwen what was going on around her; They were being watched. Rather intently, at that.

“What…?” Gwen turned to Roya. “They're staring…”

“Well-” Roya sucked in a breath, “that is to be expected, dancing with a palace apprentice.”

“No- No,” Gwen's eyes blinked rapidly, her eyes looking between Roya and the guests behind him.

“Who are you?”

Roya stiffened, spinning her around. His lips pursed, a nervous feeling churning in his stomach.

Should he tell her the truth? If he did, would she see him differently?

He didn't want that. Never in his life would we want that, especially not with her.

To her, he wasn't the crown prince. To her, he was just… Kit. A kind hunter she met one fateful day in the woods, who happened to be ‘some apprentice’.

“Kit?”

Words were flooding his system, trying to force themselves out of his mouth.

“I…”

“Kit. Please.”

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to resist that look in her eyes, the softness of her melodious voice.

“Tell me who you are,” a beat. “Who you truly are.”

“... Might I request a second dance?”

Roya pulled away, keeping his hands intertwined with hers; A silent plea.

There, sat silence. Time had finally made its grand return, and all eyes were on them, and them alone.

He brought his hand to her cheek. “Please, my lady,” he pleaded with her, his voice desperate and regretful. “Just one more dance.”

Gwen looked him in the eye, finally taking note of all the intricacies of his attire — the kind of intricacies reserved only for royalty.

And it all clicked.

She leaned into his touch. He was one of the only ones in her life that could withstand her ice-cold palms.

She didn't want to lose that.

“I accept.”

•✒️°─────────°✒️•

“Are… Are you mad at me?”

It was lucky for them, to scurry away from the prying eyes of their astute audience in the ballroom — running off to the palace gardens, unchaperoned.

Scandalous, truly. But a thought such as that never once crossed Gwen's mind. As it did not cross Roya's.

“A little,” she admitted to him, walking across a bridge so crystal clear she almost believed it was made of glass.

“A little?” Roya's head tilted. “I… I would've thought you'd be more than upset.”

“I am upset,” Gwen looked up at the night sky, her hand against the bridge’s railings. “But…”

“But?”

“But, I've convinced myself not to be more upset than I need to be. That I have to consider why you'd hide your true status from me.”

A breath caught in Roya's throat when she looked back at him, her figure illuminated by the shining moon.

“Why, Your Highness?”

It hurt to hear her say that. Perhaps it was because he grew so used to her calling him ‘Kit’.

“... I didn't want you to change your perception of me,” he walked to her, standing beside her. He looked down at the water below.

“You were so kind to me when I was Kit. I didn't want to change that.”

“So- That's why you interjected that palace guard from-”

“Yes,” he interrupted her, too. “In all honesty, I have to thank Sir Lancelot for understanding so quickly.”

They stared into each other's eyes. And they — more specifically, Roya — couldn't help but get lost in them.

He straightened himself up. Stepping back from her a little, to give her even the slightest of space.

“Well,” he looked down again, pursing his lips.

Clearing his throat, Roya continued: “You know my true name, now.”

“And I'd love for you to tell me yours, too.”

Just as Gwen was ready to open her lips and give him her name. She heard it. Many things, she heard, actually.

The sound of the clock tower ringing, a reminder of it now being the stroke of twelve; And the words of her Fairy Godmother.

On the stroke of twelve, said the Godmother that small eternity ago, all things shall return to the way they once were.

And Gwen had little to no time to properly respond to Roya.

She had no time to do… Anything.

With the little time left, Gwen made a run for it, her head spinning as she made her escape.

Roya followed suit, but just barely. He called for guards, and could only hope that wouldn't scare her off.

Unfortunately for him, it did.

And there she went, rushing into her carriage and riding off further into the darkness of the night.

He nearly sank to his knees at the sight.

And all Gwen had left for even a sliver of who she was, was a single glass slipper.

†•°•══════ஓ๑「🗡️」๑ஓ══════•°•†

Taglist

—

Written for

@starry-night-rose

—

🥥

@jasdiary || @authoruio || @nem0-nee || @fumikomiyasaki || @sakuramidnight15

—

「 Etteilla ♢」

@geminiiviolets || @hallowed-delights / @terrovaniadorm || @twsted-princess || @absolutelyobsessedkiya / @twistedsongstressofstarz || @abyss-wonderer || @mystery-skulls-ghost ||

†•°•══════ஓ๑「🗡️」๑ஓ══════•°•†

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #mutuals <3 #twst ocs #roya callistis #gwendolyn schnee #tinsley labelle #davidson novellion #lancelot novellion #『 roya 🗡️ 』#oc x oc #oneshots!#[2024] rosie valentines day ❣️#asks!#mutuals asks #friends' ocs #mutuals oc

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intoxicated-chan · 11 months

Text

✦ 𝟎𝟎𝟕 ✦ 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞...

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission. Any photos used do not belong to me! Credits to @/cafekitsune for the divider!!

Series’ Masterlist // Wattpad Vers.

(A/n) // Interested in Game of Thrones and the Witcher? I have published the first chapter of my Witcher!Reader. Also, this chapter was inspired by, “Exit Music (For a Film)” by Radiohead!

Content Warnings // Swearing, mentions of poisoning/poisoning, murder, death, blood…

Word Count // 1.2k

I felt awful. While I was with Meryl, Livio was in the hospital. I felt like the worst girlfriend in the world…

Nicholas told you the doctors believed it was food poisoning. He would’ve stayed but he had a mess to clean up at home, you offered to help but he immediately rejected, saying that you’re in no state to do anything. He wasn’t wrong, you felt tired, angry, and numb at this point.

“(Y/n)-Chan?” You slowly lift up your head, seeing the familiar ray of sunshine, “What are you doing here?”

Nothing came out of your mouth. Looking back at Livio’s room and back at Vash, the words fall out of your mouth, nothing. Vash could see you struggling, unable to conjure any words. Your mouth feels dry, your throat shuts on its own, and you feel yourself cry.

You feel his hands on your shoulders when you try to stand. He mumbles a few words into your ear, but your body continues to shake, it feels uncomfortably hot as the fears fall down your face and onto your lap. Your hands slapped over your mouth to stop the whimpers, it felt like a heart attack. The nervous pit in your stomach grew worse and worse… Were you gonna throw up?

Vash soothes you, rubbing your back like a parent trying to calm their own kid. Soon, your crying slowled, your tears wiped from your burning eyes by your sleeve. Moments of silence later, you stood on your own.

“(Y/n)-Chan?” He repeats your name softly, “Can I… Hug you?” He hears a soft yes, and he’s quick to hug you, “I’m sorry.”

“I wish that I told him I was going to Meryl.”

“Meryl?”

“...She was being followed, shot the guy.”

“Is she okay?” Careful to keep his voice down.

“Physically yes, mentally no.”

“God, I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“...I don’t know.”

2:32 AM - WOLFWOOD’S HOUSE

Was it wrong of Nicholas to throw out perfectly good plates? No. Was it necessary to? Of fucking course. With it all over the place, it was a necessary sacrifice. It felt strange, doing this to his own brother but it had to be done, he had to get Livio out of the way.

But it also meant that Nicholas had to be careful, very careful. He couldn’t just grab everything and toss it in a bag and fill the room with cleaning products, he couldn’t risk getting it on himself.

But he wasn’t wrong about almost drowning his kitchen in cleaning products, all decked out in clothes that he didn’t care for, gloves, masks, and glasses. All his kitchen windows were wide open, soft music played as he roughly scrubbed the floor.

All fours, scrubbing away the vomit that made his nose scrunch up in disgust. He gagged himself, but held it down, swallowing the burning liquid.

He coughed as he stood to his feet, tossing the sponge away and grabbing the bucket and mop. He’d have to spare every product or item he ever used, afterall, he could risk it getting onto him but also anyone else he came into contact with. He wasn’t that cruel.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to gas his entire house. Believe him, he would if he could, but he still lives here. And he wasn’t going to deny that this is the first time he has ever cleaned so much of his life. If you were to calculate how much he cleaned before this… Don’t get him started.

After what was most definitely hours, he finished. He threw out everything he used, even his clothes and scrubbed himself red. Once he got out and changed, his phone rang.

He kept his phone sealed in a bag just in case, he sees Vash calling him. He pressed the green button and pulled the phone to his ear, “What?” He said, picking up a cigarette and lighting it up.

“Did you hear about Livio? Or even Meryl?”

“No, what happened to Meryl?”

“(Y/n)-Chan said she was being followed. Have you heard anything from her?”

“She has been silent for a while. She usually sends me random shitty videos. Nothing today though… How’s Livio?”

“Oh! Livio is actually doing well, they said it might’ve been poisoning.”

If things couldn’t be better… He fucking survied?!

“That’s good to hear.”

“The doc’s are going to keep him here for a few more days. They want to flush the poison out of him before releasing him.”

“...How’s (Y/n)-Chan taking this? Is she alright?”

“She… She feels like it’s her fault.”

“Why?”

“Because Meryl called when Livio wasn’t feeling well, she thought she could have done something. Oh! The doc is coming back, I’ll see ya later.”

Vash hung up before he could say anything else. Before he could call him back…

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

“What now?” Wolfwood grumbled, walking out of his room and to his door. He smiled when he saw who it was, he opened the door with a straight face, “How’d it go?”

“The bitch shot me!” The man shouted, pointing at his injured leg, “You could’ve warned me-!”

“Hush now, you don’t want to attract police attention, now do we?” Wolfwoof cocked an eyebrow, “Now, your payment.” Wolfwood hands him the thick envelope, “Everything is there and…” He handed him a heavily wrapped lunch, “A peace offering but you’ll have to heat it up. Take care.”

“Whatever.”The man hissed at him, walking away.

Wolfwood watched until he was out of sight, “Another problem taken care of.” He said as he closed and locked his door.

3:12 AM - UNKNOWN

The man’s hand clung to his neck as he felt it getting harder and harder to breath by the second. The other hand came to his chest, clutching his dirty shirt in pain as it felt sharp sensations flowing through his body.

He felt the pressure of vomiting his guts out, everytime he coughed, his throat was on fire. He began crying out, pleading for help and for anyone to help him. But he couldn’t see the party that was happening across from his trailer.

A terrified look took over his face, everything around him seemed frozen and he was unable to move. His legs finally gave out and he collapsed, straight to the ground. But that’s when he finally felt like his entire body stopped as he felt the burning sensation traveling through out his body and to the heart

All he could think of was the note written by Wolfwood…

‘I hope that you choke’ : )

Taglist // @themaskismyface , @jasperthechaosgremlin ,

#x reader #x female reader #trigun #trigun livio #trigun wolfwood #trigun x you #trigun stampede #trigun meryl #trigun x reader #nicholas d wolfwood #wolfwood x you #wolfwood x reader #vash x you #vash x y/n #vash x reader

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qvietrebellions · 2 years

Text

it looks like JOSEPHINE TYRELL , the PRINCESS of HIGHGARDEN is prepared to play the game of thrones. you know , their HIGH - SPIRITED & CULTIVATED side might help them along the way, but their OVER - INDULGENT & FANCIFUL qualities won’t do them any favours. a little bird told me that they’re currently FOR the tyrell rule and that their loyalties lie with HOUSE TYRELL. hm, interesting. that same little birdy also told tales of a brush delicately coloring an otherwise dull parchment; "what is lineage, if not a gold thread of pride and guilt?"; always stretching in the direction of the sun. will they win , or will they die ?

— STATISTICS

full name : josephine aurelia tyrell. alias / nickname : jo, lia. prefers to be referred by posey. age & date of birth : eight and twenty; 372 a. c. place of birth : highgarden, the reach. gender and pronouns : demiwoman and she / they. orientation : bisexual biromantic. title / occupation : princess of highgarden and of westeros. aspirant artist and illuminator. father : addam tyrell. mother : leona tyrell, née redwyne. siblings : willas ( older ), cassian ( older twin ), rhaella ( younger ). relationship status : unfortunately betrothed to the lord heir of casterly rock, maxim lannister.

faceclaim : alicia von rittberg. height : 158 cm / 5′2. hair : long auburn hair; it curls on the top of her head, with baby hairs framing her face, and has further curled due to extensive plaiting. eye : hazel ( blue - green ). scars : a few nicks and blisters on her hands for dealing with gardens, drawing and needlepoint; some blisters on her feet due to tight shoes. physical afflictions : asthma, iron deficiency, insomnia, mild anxiety, possibly adhd.

positive : warm, generous, eloquent, artistic, zestful. negative : non - commital, self - willing, egocentric, dramatic, spoiled. inspirations : elizabeth of york ( history ), mary tudor, queen of france ( history ), bianca de medici ( history + medici ), sisi ( history + several tv adaptations ), edwina ( bridgerton books and tv adaptation ), lucrezia borgia ( borgia + history ).

— BACKGROUND

the oldest daughter, but second youngest child, following a twin brother, josephine was born tip toeing between fortunate and unfortunate. yes, she was a daughter of highgarden, the most illustrious and royal house of westeros, but she had also been born a weakling thing, too small and prone to a coughing that would raise concerns of all who cared for her. from this infancy, josephine would become accustomed to the fussing of nursemaids and maesters who would tend to her every step.

like a rose grown in a glass house, josephine was nurtured under close watch and a tight regime. fearing she would wilt, the sect of healers would follow her throughout her life, poking and probing and assuring she was of good health and good disposition — the later was not always an easy feat when she was sequestered within the gilded walls of highgarden, but she learned to and was encouraged to distract herself, even if in distance of the boisterous enjoyment of the other children of the palace.

with so much free time, they molded a varied palate of pastimes, from languages to music, learning to both write and speak a few tongues, and both play and write some instruments. their real talent and merriment, however, would come from the arts. instructed by the hand and mastery of a senior scholar, josephine was taught how to sketch, then draw, then paint — it mattered not the subject, nor the canvas ( even if not on paper ) nor its purpose ( if but a playful doodle to distract a child or an unassuming architectural project for a forgotten wing of the palace ); as long as they could put thought to paper, they were content.

despite enjoying their gilded cage ( and there could be no denying she did enjoy all sorts of glittery things ), josephine did attempt, now and then, to become more of their own person. they begin to pick their own food ( too much green and too many sweets ), their own taste of fashion, of music and literature — and even their own name; though josephine was just fine, and would still always remain their official, princess-y name, all that she comes across, noble born or not, are instructed to refer to her as posey, something they thought befitting of them in every way. they also began to extend her walks, and to visit oldtown herself and to take her sister’s lessons of dancing, which had been denied to her before due to her conditions. though she did become tired faster than her peers still, she did not rest, and would soon be known for her graceful and enthusiastic manner.

by the time her brother ascended, officially, as king, posey knew the way to enjoy their life — oft early risings and always late nights, they enjoyed being one of the very last to retire, tied to a cards table or engrossed on a sketch by the moonlight. they become an avid patron of novices and masters at oldtown, funding their artistic and medic findings, even gaining the possibility to illustrate a couple of her endorser’s books herself. she is comfortable, content, spoiled — and too stubborn to move out of this comfort as well, happier to be by highgarden than to have to change her whole world for the sake of a spouse. her family is patient with her, this can not be denied, indulging her denials of engagements even without reason, for her whims seem to be enough so.

the betrothal with the lannister has displeased and soured her considerably. convinced they would be able to escape it — as she had before — they were disappointed to be lectured and dissuaded; they ended up acquiencing, if only for the sake of their brother and family.

still, the approaching festivities for her wedding ( what a weird thing to even imagine for herself ) makes them anxious, as they can not imagine themselves away from highgarden, nor do they find themselves fitting for such an important role. yes, she may have been bred and raised for it, but it did not mean posey cared for ruling or the machinations of court, or anything but courtly enjoyment and gossiping here and there. but then, he is a lannister — she will be comfortable, won’t she ? there’s nothing else to cling to. at least she has stopped wearing a dramatic cut of mourning for her own self, now that the guests have begun arriving.

— TIDBITS

despite not inclined to phisical activities of the outdoors ( as she doesn’t have costume nor the physical ability and gets tired earlyish ), posey adores to be outside, and often is found doing what she can outside, either that be with her needlepoint hoops or sketchbooks or simply hand in hand with her maids.

posey adores animals, but mostly those of small port / pets; they have at least two lapdogs and one cat ( besides the strays they would beg for their maesters to tend to ), and has been known to always bug the staff to keep bird feeders and bowls of food filled for special visitors.

despite their love for luxury, they are not very extravagant dressers, nor are them too bold. they do enjoy rich fabrics and intricate details ( has done the embroidery of some of her gowns and acessories, and enjoys wearing her sister’s handmade too ), but the cut is modest enough. she does like acessories and jewerly and often has her hair done well, often with ribbons, flowers or jewerly.

they can play the harp, the hapsichord and the lute; also the flute, though rather badly.

quite terrible at sleeping or just staying still. pretty much relies of any form of caffeine found on westeros at the moment.

loves children. is terrified of having one of their own ( has been condicioned to believe they would die from the labor ), but loves and is loved by them. in an ideal world, they could be a good teacher.

if her family have their oppositors, the same can not be stretched to posey. yes, there are probably many people who believe them to be entitled, spoiled or even an unworthy brat, but posey, usually, does not pay much mind to it and is content to be farly adored by the smallfolk and the staff, to whom she is generally generous and kind towards.

despite their undeniable shelter-ness, posey has set to explore the reach over the past decade, and has also traveled to dorne a few times, alongside their twin. during one of the trips to the arbor, they met a certain harrion pyke and, under the anonymity of an alias and the mask of a maester - in - training, they started a relationship with the ironborn; it would spam throughout a year, with infrequent meetings at the shores of blackcrown; it was terminated by necessity and practicality, as they assumed he was dead upon no returnal, and they were beckoned to prepare to their own nuptials. unbeknownst to them, harrion is actually quellon greyjoy, the youngest son of house greyjoy, and is very much alive.

#crowns.intro #sickness tw #possibly subjected to some tweaks after plotting with the other tyrells !#sorry for this bible omg #posting this... way too quick bc im running out rn but :sob:

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captain-ozone · 10 months

Text

Mid-Year Book Freakout Tag

I'm super late!!! It's Aug 8, 2023, and since BookTok/BookTube intimidates me, I'm posting here.

I've read/listened to 72 books/audiobooks this year so far, so here we go! Credit for the tag goes to BookTubers Chami and Earl Grey Books.

Best book you've read in 2023: "Best" and "Favorite" are two very different things. If I remove the emotional components and sheer feral love I have for certain books and look at it from a "craft" standpoint, the answer is probably Tomorrow & Tomorrow & Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin or Babel by RF Kuang.

Best sequel you've read in 2023: GOLDEN SON BY PIERCE BROWN. Red Rising has me by a chokehold and by god does Golden Son hit all of my checkboxes.

New release you haven't read yet but want to: A Day of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon. I still have yet to read Priory of the Orange Tree too. I'm waiting for the former to go paperback so I can match the Priory copy I have lol.

Most anticipated release for the second half of 2023: A few weeks ago the answer to this question was Light Bringer (book 6 of Red Rising). But I've since read it (AND IT WAS SO GOOD), lol. As of today, the answer is Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross.

Biggest surprise: Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher. I listened to this audiobook from my library on a whim, and I just fell in LOVE with Kingfisher's untraditional heroine and the capacity she has to invent her own fairytales from the bones of others.

Biggest disappointment: Swordheart by T. Kingfisher. After Nettle & Bone, I had the munchies for more of T. Kingfisher's work. Swordheart isn't bad, I guess, but I definitely did not find the same level of enjoyment here that I did from Nettle & Bone.

Favorite new author (new to you or new debut): PIERCE BROWN HANDS DOWN

Newest fictional crush: Idk if I have one, tbh. Better question is who my newest blorbo is. That honor goes to Darrow of Lykos, Sevro au Barca, and Lyria of Lagalos, all from the Red Rising series.

Newest favorite character: Oh. I forgot this was a question. LOL. Still, I somehow have a different answer for this one than I do "favorite blorbo." Newest favorite character is Tress from Brandon Sanderson's Tress of the Emerald Sea. I found her so relatable and likable.

A book that made me cry: Will I ever read a book by TJ Klune that doesn't hurt so good? I read Under the Whispering Door this year, and I honestly think I'd recommend it to anyone. It's soul-food at its finest. Jade Legacy (Book 3 of the Green Bone Saga) is another that had me sobbing.

A book that made me happy: TRESS!! Genuinely such a wholesome story inspired by The Princess Bride. You don't need to read any of Sanderson's other works to appreciate this one. It's so sweet and fun.

Most beautiful book you bought/received as a gift: All of Brandon Sanderson's Secret Project Kickstarter editions have been stunning, but Yumi and the Nightmare Painter is next level. If we don't get an anime/manga adaptation, I may lose my mind.

The book(s) I need to finish before the end of the year: Lol, too many. My TBR is extensive and ever-growing, and I often go through my TBR in a pretty chaotic way. As in, I have a lengthy list on hold via my 3 different library cards on Libby. xD I think the only thing I for SURE want to read is ACOTAR. I'm sick of feeling left out, lol. I did Throne of Glass via audiobook, so ACOTAR is the next on the docket. I'm definitely planning to read that one with my physical copies because I heard there's more spice, and I've decided spice via audiobook is really, really weird. Don't really dig it.

ANYWAY, please feel free to fill out and tag me! I say "my TBR is extensive" like it exhausts me and I can't possibly suffer any more, but I WANT MORE OKAY???

#bookblr #mid year book freak out tag #books #reading #book recommendations

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jdgo51 · 11 months

Text

The Practice of Praying to a God Who Listens

Today's inspiration comes from:

Help Me, God, I'm a Parent

by Bunmi Laditan

Editor's note: Hey, parents, ready or not, the school year is upon us! It's time to shop for back packs, school supplies, and prepare to pray our way through the school year! Enjoy this excerpt of Bunmi Laditan's Help Me, God, I'm a Parent.

"If you’re reading this, it’s probably because you’re a parent, a grandparent, an uncle, an aunt, a caregiver in these wild and crazy times. And you need a little (or maybe a lot of) extra help.

Raising and pouring love into a child is an amazing calling. But let’s be honest: it’s also incredibly difficult.

Caring for children stretches our patience, fries our brains, and zaps us of our energy, but we wake up and do it over and over again because, well, they’re ours and we love them.

Before I became a believer in Jesus, I dealt with the stress in every possible way except prayer. I’d binge-watch TV series looking for escape, indulge in glass after glass of wine trying to numb my brain, climb to the pinnacle of my career, thinking money and the approval (envy) of others would give me fulfillment. But I found none of what I sought.

Who would have thought that a relationship with God would be the key? And there is no relationship without communication.

Prayer became my lifeline.

I thought prayer was no different from positive affirmations, thoughts we throw into the air and hope stick somewhere.

Now I know different.

And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. —Matthew 28:20

Praying for our children is a powerful act of love.

When I pray, I know God is by my side. He is there, not passively listening, but hearing me, responding, and sending comfort, help, peace, solutions, and love.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. —Philippians 4:6

As a child to a parent, I pray to a loving, protective, attentive God who is always near. Sometimes I’m asking for help, other times I’m marveling at the hilarity and beauty of parenting, and other times I’m just thanking Him for the many ways He’s shown me signs of His provision and love.

Pray without ceasing. —1 Thessalonians 5:17

I have a new habit. When I wake up, before the chaos begins, I resist grabbing my phone and instead close my eyes and pray. I thank God for waking us up and keeping us safe in the night, and ask for help, protection, and direction for this day.

Before bed, we pray as a family, again thanking God for being with us during the day—and whatever else we’d like to tell Him.

But the times I pray the most… well, all day — as I’m driving, making my way through traffic, standing at the kitchen sink with rubber-gloved hands in soapy water, or making dinner. Sometimes my prayers are three-word pleas — “Help me, God” — and other times, I just talk to Him.

We don’t have to raise our children alone. In fact, we never will. God has reminded me so many times, especially when I’m afraid or worried, that before they were mine, these children were His. He loves them with a love we can’t even imagine.

I hope that in reading the very real prayers that I prayed as a parent, recorded in Help Me, God, I’m a Parent, you are inspired to approach the throne of God with your own prayers for little or big ones.

Praying for our children is a powerful act of love. Prayer changes situations. He’s listening. He loves you and the little hearts in your care."

Adapted from Help Me, God, I’m a Parent: Honest Prayers for Hectic Days and Endless Nights by Bunmi Laditan.

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architectureandfilmblog · 2 years

Photo

10 FILMS FEATURING NON-WESTERN ARCHITECTURE

Recently I’ve realised how much my design education benefitted from a childhood home that was full of National Geographics rather than Architectural Digests. As I’ve mentioned here before, architecture school curriculums can be very western-centric, and often exclude building traditions in which whole communities, rather than a single architect, contribute. When you add this to the relative difficulty of visiting some regions in person, it’s possible to miss works of amazing beauty and innovation.

PART 1: AFRICA

1. BUILDING AFRICA: ARCHITECTURE OF A CONTINENT (2006) A great BBC documentary, in which architect David Adjaye travels to different regions, exploring centuries of vernacular, colonial and post-independence architecture.

2. THE INGENUITY OF TRADITIONAL AFRICAN ARCHITECTURE (2020) Throughout history, innovative, climate-responsive structures from many parts of the world have been demeaningly designated as ‘huts’, and not recognised as architecture, especially those which are temporary, or evolving. This video offers a good introduction to the history and benefits of domed architecture, as developed and used in different parts of Africa.

3. STAR WARS The name of Luke Skywalker‘s home planet was an homage to the North African town of Tataouine, and many Tunisian locations were used throughout the series, with historic adobe structures appearing often, including 15th century Berber Grain Stores in THE PHANTOM MENACE (1999).

4. WORKING ON WATER (2014) Part of the Rebel Architecture series, this short film looks at architect and urbanist Kunle Adeyemi’s efforts to combat overcrowding within Nigeria’s waterside communities.

5. BLACK PANTHER (2018) This Marvel adaptation is set in Wakanda, a fictional nation which escaped colonisation and developed its own highly advanced technology and distinctive afrofuturist aesthetic. Its structures were inspired by traditional and contemporary African architecture, and the curving works of Zaha Hadid.

6. THE SPY WHO LOVED ME (1977) This Egyptian-set Bond delivers Roger Moore to a number of iconic architectural sites, including The Great Pyramids and Sphinx, Abu Simbel, the Temple of Karnak, and the beautiful Bayt el-Kredlea house in Cairo.

7. In recent decades, Morocco has been a one-stop filming location for movies set throughout Africa, Asia, and Europe. The ksar (fortified village) of Ait Ben Haddou features in dozens, including GAME OF THRONES, THE MUMMY (1999), GLADIATOR (2000), KINGDOM OF HEAVEN (2005), BABEL (2006) and PRINCE OF PERSIA (2010).

8. BBC SACRED WONDERS (2019) This looks at the amazing communal process of re-plastering the 3rd Century Djenne Mosque in Mali with mud, an annual activity in which the whole village participates. (For those outside the UK, it can also be seen in MALI GRAND MOSQUE PLASTER (2019)).

9. DAVID ADJAYE – BUILDING TRANSFORMATIVE NARRATIVES (2020) A short feature by Hour Glass, which looks at the life and work of the renowned Tanzanian-British architect.

10. TIEBELE WOMEN PAINTING THEIR HOUSES (2008) An interesting and calming little amateur video which depicts, without spoken commentary, the beautiful process of decorating the exterior of rural adobe homes with local materials and traditional motifs. (Photo: New Baris, Egypt, Hassan Fathy. Image by Viola Bertini via wallpaper)

#africa #architecture #films #non western #feature films #documentary

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anxiousstark · 3 years

Text

The Aura Painter | DOB

Painter! Dylan x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 12K (12.057)

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, masturbation (mutual or solo), unprotected sex (this is a fic, be safe), cum play, breeding kink, filthy tbh, some cliché romance scenes. This is my second time writing ‘smut’. But this is the first time writing something so long and so filthy, bear with me.

A/N: This is an idea that I’ve had in mind for so long. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed imagining it. And of course, writing it. If you do, please give it some love and share it. The biggest solo piece I’ve ever written!

BIG MASTERLIST | KO-FI

Words you must know for the fic:

Onism (n.) the awarness of how little of the world you will experience.

Heriaeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you canot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning. the grief of lost places of your past.

Elysian (adj.) beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.

The droplets of rain fell against the glass, leaving a trail which I followed with my gaze. The glistening tear of water disappeared before I could place my finger against the window and imitate that I could command its movement.

The sky seemed to cry, turning a darker shade. Perhaps the sky had lost a lover or perhaps, the one they loved was far from its reach. I could not tell as I never experienced one of those stories.

The books I had to read as a child were those who would teach me how to act and think. But those I read on the confines of my room when everyone was sleeping were different. Those told the story of a beautiful lady who wished to be rescued by a gentleman. I would try not to squeal under my blanket, as that was something, a lady of a high position should not do.

I glanced at the sky again as it screamed, lightly swaying the trees outside while his droplets of tears wetted everything under itself.

"M'lady," I corrected my form, trying to look as straight as possible. Turning around, I glimpsed directly into a pair of green eyes that seemed to lose their brightness as the seasons passed. Those eyes used to be the brightest ones in this palace, but now they were almost colourless, decorated by a couple of wrinkles. "Your mother is asking for your presence at her table."

That was unusual. My mother was a sophisticated distant woman who liked to spend time on her own. Hence, she tried to escape from her responsibilities as a Queen while having breakfast by herself. She would relax outside in the gardens. A small white table filled with her preferred meals, and even if she sought to convince herself, and lie to me about her drink being just a mere juice, everyone knew it wasn't.

"Tell me, Harold," While walking through the corridors of the palace, I noticed once again the monotony. The clicking of my heels appeared to be the only sound, except the melody of the rain falling against hard surfaces. "Did the Queen seem mad?"

Harold tried not to chuckle, knowing that if my parents or any of my siblings were near, he would end up getting struck by executing such a natural gesture. "I must say that the Queen did not ask for the cello man to accompany her this morning with some music."

I gasped, glancing at him to discern if he was teasing me. Harold had been in our family for so many years. I dare to say that he was in this palace before anyone else.

"She must be quite mad, then." I bit my lower lip, trying to think what of the things I have done could have gotten her mad, and how she had discovered them. "Perhaps she found the romance novels hidden in my room?" I muttered to myself.

"M'lady," Harold opened the door to the great hall. "She preferred to eat her breakfast in here as it is raining cats and dogs outside." He whispered, letting me walk in first. I silently nodded my head, wandering closer to my mother, who was sitting on the farthest place even though she was on her own. "My Queen. The young Lady has arrived. If my services are required, I will be waiting outside to escort the young Lady back to her room."

I shivered as soon as Harold left the room, wishing he could have stayed with me. But of course, he did not deserve the wrath of my mother. While walking closer to her, my clicking heels seemed to resemble the countdown of a bomb that would explode shortly.

"Take a seat, my darling," She demanded as soon as I was close to her. I swallowed, swiftly grabbing the skirts of my dress. I sat down on the white chair in front of her. She coughed. "Someone quite similar to the young Lady of the palace has been seen on the street market." A newspaper was placed on top of the table, facing me.

I swallowed one more time. "Must be someone who resembles me." I attempted to sound confident. "I am afraid that happened on Friday, and I take piano, courtesy and manner classes that day."

"Tell me, darling," She faked a smile. Her dark brown eyes, studying my position and expressions. "May I ask how you knew this happened on Friday as the article does not say something like that?"

"I-." Her stare became even more intimidating. "Guessed?" I squinted my eyes, perceiving that she would raise her voice to inhuman levels.

"Nor did you only skip your classes, you also lied and went outside on your own." Her tone was sharp. "Hideous things could have happened to you. Do you know what this could mean to your brother's throne?" Of course, this was about my dear brother. "The sister of the future King of Onism does not follow the rules of the palace. Then, what should they expect from their new King?"

"I did not do anything inappropriate, mother." I sighed, shifting my gaze to look at her directly. "I did not get in trouble, and as you can perceive, I am all right."

She rolled her eyes, which surprised me as she always claimed for that gesture not being refined. "And books," She pointed to one of the chairs, where I noticed all my favourite romance novels resting upon it. She had found them.

"May at least have some privacy in the confines of my bedroom?" I was mad, but raising my voice to her would get me in even more trouble. "Those," I referred to the pile of books that were my most precious property. "Those are mine."

"Not anymore," She got up, grabbing one of them and examining the title. "Romance novels? When will you understand that nothing like this happens in real life?"

I felt a little strength going through my body. "That book, in particular, describes the love story of the author! It is a romance that happened to her in real life. It is not fiction."

"But that woman was not a princess, was she?" I shook my head as she waited for my answer. "However, you are one. Even if you do not have anything to do with the future throne of Onism, your brother does, and you must behave like a princess." She walked closer to the fireplace. My eyes widened, and I gasped loudly. "You are a woman and a princess. The only thing you must worry about is making your future husband happy while following his rules, even if you do not love him." She opened the book, her skinny finger ripping some of the pages, and in the process, shattering my heart. "You will get married to someone you do not love, just to unite two countries." She let the book slip from her fingers. Falling to the fire, and burning as much as my eyes were burning due to the tears. "Stop filling your head with stories that will never happen to you. You are dismissed."

I got up from the chair, slightly glancing at the pile of books. I knew they would end up in the fireplace, slowly burning. I bowed my head. "I apologize, mother." She made a gesture with her hand, instructing me to leave the great hall.

My head was down as I walked to the door, wishing to exit the room and rant to Harold. "Wait," The voice of my mother interrupted my walk. "Get prepared as in two hours a man will come to paint a portrait of you. We will send the portraits to different future Kings of other countries that have shown interest in courting you."

"Yes, mother." I could not argue.

As I came out of the room, I noticed Harold's gaze fixed on me. I shook my head, letting him accompany me to my chambers. While walking through the long corridors, I glanced outside the windows. I reminded myself that I would never dance under the rain with someone while we laugh and kiss. I will never be caressed with love. I will only be touched with the purpose of bringing an heir to someone. An heir that would have to live the same dull life as me.

Going inside my bedroom, Harold bowed his head while he walked away. However, three ladies that worked in the palace entered my room, ready to assist me. I could not even take a bath on my own, nor could I dress by myself as the three of them did it for me.

"The painter will be here soon, ma'am," Rosetta informed, deciding to stay in the room as a lady should not be alone in a room with a man who is not her beloved husband. "He is a painter from town, said to have a gift."

"Is he quite known?" I asked to continue the conversation as I did not want to be rude. Nonetheless, the image of my books burning was the only thing in my mind.

"He is known in town for doing amazing portraits in exchange for food and a place to live." My curiosity peaked at the comment. "Royals are quite interested in getting their portraits done by him. Though, he had denied their offers." I looked at her with confusion. "He does not want to be related to any royalty member." I nodded my head, understanding why he did not want that.

There were two knocks on the door, indicating that the painter was here. I was quite surprised as my mother wanted the portrait to be painted in my private chambers. "Please, come inside."

When the door opened, a tall man came inside. He was probably around 5' 10". Wide shoulders that were covered by dark brown clothes. It seemed to be his best attire. Even though you could see the cheap fabric, and how he had tried to cover some holes and get rid of some stains. He had tried to gel his hair back. At first, I thought his hair was black until a streak of light fell on him, and I discerned it was a little lighter than that.

His light brown eyes fell on me, and studying them in-depth, I noticed that they resembled to be hazel. He bowed his head. "Uhm, it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess. I am here to-."

I offered him a smile. "Welcome to the palace," I bowed my head a little, which seemed to surprise him. "Please, do not call me Princess. It is fine to call me Lady." I gestured to one of the chairs in my room. "Please take a seat. It must have been a bumpy ride to the palace."

While sitting down, he nodded his head. There was a big black binder between his hands. Noticing my gaze on it, he quickly opened it, showing different canvas. "I can make different types of portraits. I thought I should bring some examples for the Pri-, Lady to choose the one she fancies the most." He stretched his arm, providing his drawings for me to look at them.

"May I ask for your name, sir?" My eyes focused on his drawings, understanding why everyone wanted to get their portrait done by the young man.

"My family name is O'Brien, while my name is Dylan, my Lady."

I nodded my head while still focused on his magnificent paintings. However, one in particular seemed to grab my full attention. It was the portrait of an elder, who appeared to be looking deep into me. He was skinny, and by his clothes, I could tell he was poor. He was sitting on a chair, and I almost gasped when I discerned that he had a missing leg. His expression was warm, a gorgeous smile decorating his face. Though, you could see that he had missing teeth.

"Did you find any equivalent style to what you desire?" His soft voice snapped me from my thoughts.

"May I ask?" I turned the portrait around, giving it back. His eyes examined the elder he had drawn. "Why is he smiling, but there are shadows around him?" I had noticed that the elder was smiling. However, black and grey adumbrations were around his figure. Some resembled horrible monsters. Especially a grey shadow that resembled a demon, resting upon his head.

He chuckled. "Those are the ones people in town ask the most." He glanced at me. "I draw their exterior as they want other people to see them. But then, around them, I draw what I can perceive or what I learnt about them." I furrowed my eyebrows. "Sadly, this man passed away a couple of weeks ago due to a cold." He licked his bottom lip. "He had offered me a home for a couple of days, and of course, he had proposed food in exchange for a portrait. Those days, I learnt many things while listening to his stories. I noticed that the man was attempting to look happy for his sick wife, whom he loved with his entire soul."

I fidgeted on my seat. "What happened, then?" I curiously asked, making him grin.

"He was not happy. He was afraid of losing the love of his life because death had knocked a couple of times on their door." He glanced at the painting. "Their children had married to people in higher positions, ignoring the elderly couple and not helping them with medicines. He was 87 years old, working in the town market. He was selling vegetables that he was cultivating by himself." He decided to continue as he saw that I was expectant of knowing more. "He never lost the smile for anyone, even if people did not treat him right. And of course, when arriving at his house, he would maintain the smile for his wife."

"Then," I tried to hide my teary eyes. "Those dark shadows..."

"Those are the monsters he tried to hide, but that I got to meet. The fear of losing his wife, the frightening feeling of wanting to end his own life, the fear of not having money to pay for his wife medicines, and so much more."

"And what happened to them?" Rosetta coughed, indicating me to fix my posture, and I quickly did, which made him furrow his eyebrows.

"As I said, one of his biggest fears was that they did not have enough money to pay for his wife's medicines." He peeped at the ground for mere seconds. "She died in her sleep. Her body could not hold the pain anymore, and she faded away."

"What about the old man?"

He nodded his head, his gaze shifting to the portrait. "He passed away in his sleep too. There was a smile in his face."

I blinked, affected by the grievous story of those who had to fight to survive. "I want one of those!" Both Rosetta and Dylan looked at me with surprised expressions decorating their faces. "I would like one of those portraits."

"My Lady, I'm sorry to intervene on matters that I should not. But I do not think the Queen will like such a portrait to be sent to those who are interested in courting you." She was right.

"She will not look at the portrait. Harold will be the one sending them." I affirmed, knowing that my mother would not dirty her hands for anything.

"It could get the young man in trouble, my Lady."

I glance at the man, who was looking at Rosetta until his eyes met mine. "Yes," I smiled, even though I was upset. "You are right. Then," I studied a portrait, a simple one. "I would like this one." Dylan nodded his head.

"It would take a couple of days to finish it. But I will be staying in the palace for the time being." He informed. "Is there any time of the day where you prefer to spend your time just standing in front of me?" He blushed a little. "Just for the portrait, of course."

"Tuesdays and Fridays I must spend receiving 'Lady classes'. The rest of the days and hours, I will be in here." I sighed, offering him another smile. "Did they give you directions for the room where you will stay?" Nodding his head, he showed me a piece of paper with some important directions to places of the palace that he could visit. "Your bedroom is at the end of this corridor. You are lucky as it is empty, except for me and Harold's room." Of course, he had met Harold already. "I must warn you not to leave your room after 11 pm as there are guards everywhere." I got up from my chair. "Rosetta," I pointed at her. "She will bring every meal to your room. Do not hesitate if you need to ask them something. There are a bathroom and a study in your chambers."

Before he could answer, the door of my chambers opened. A broad man stumbled in with decisive steps, and fury adorning his face. I gulped, stepping back before I could hold myself.

The man threw a newspaper at me, hitting my chest. Glancing at the floor, I witnessed the same newspaper my mother had been holding a couple of minutes ago. "Again?" His voice was sharp. "Did you escape again to buy those stupid books?" I shook my head. "Oh, yes, you did. Mother told me." His boots sounded like thunders as he walked closer. "I do not desire to hear any rumour of how my sister is not acting like a lady." My brother Evans glared at me. "If my future in the throne is affected by your stupid imagination and ambitions, I swear I will do whatever I must do for you to learn your lesson."

"I am s-."

"Do not you dare speak back to me!" He screamed. His gaze shifted to Dylan, who was standing too, eyes widened and what seemed anger decorating his face. "Are you the painter?" He nodded his head. "Try to make her attractive in the portrait. Hopefully, some rich soon-to-be King from another country will want to marry her." He peered at me. "Luckily, he will know when a woman needs a genuine beating to act like a lady or a wife." Those were his final words as he left the room. I finally could breathe.

"Uhm," My legs shook, and I attempted to hide it. "As I said before if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, my Lady." He got up from his chair, clutching his paintings. "Is it all right to start with the portrait tomorrow morning?" I nodded my head, wishing him goodnight as he left my bedroom.

"Rosetta," Her hands were behind her back, respectfully. "Tell Harold that I demanded not to be disturbed tonight. Not even for dinner." She nodded her head, bowing and leaving me on my own.

I sighed, wandering closer to a full-body mirror that decorated one of my walls. The moment I feared the most was getting closer. I would marry someone whom I do not love. I would marry someone whose eyes would not hold back from gawking at other women. And with those thoughts in mind, I went to sleep.

The following day, I decided to have breakfast and lunch in my chambers, not wanting to face my mother or my older brother. I had convinced Harold to stay outside my room, wanting to be on my own with Dylan. I thought that I would feel more comfortable if I didn't have someone constantly checking my posture or warning me of what should not say. Moreover, I also believed that a painter needed his privacy to reflect his art on a canvas.

I was stunned toward the bright day outside. Looking out of the window, I saw my little siblings running around the garden as some servants followed them. They were probably making their job even more complicated. Alexander and Victoria were quite the troublemakers. However, I was thrilled for them as they would not have to follow such strict indications, as to the ones I had to obey.

"Are those your siblings, my Lady?" Scared by the prompt presence, I turned around. Dylan was standing there, holding a big canvas and a briefcase, which I assumed held his painting materials. "I apologize if I alarmed you. Harold permitted me to come inside."

I nodded my head. "Yes, they are twins." I offered him a smile as he grabbed a chair, placing it in front of me. I discerned that my back was resting against the wall, and I quickly moved to stand straight. "Oh, please, no." He extended his arm. "Would it be okay for you to go back to that position? The light was caressing the right side of your face. There was a beautiful contrast." I swallowed, nodding my head while resting my back against the wall. I heard him chuckle. "Please, do not worry. It is okay for you to blink, breathe or swallow. It is also okay for you to do light movements."

"May I talk?"

"I am not great at holding conversations, but I will try my best, my Lady." He placed the blank canvas on the easel. His hands worked fast while taking out his painting material from the briefcase. "If it is not rude," He swallowed, probably questioning himself if it was okay to continue speaking. "I have noticed some books lying under the bed," I glance at my bed. Noticing that some books could be seen, which meant he was good at observing and that I did not hide my books correctly. "What books do you read?"

"Well," I gulped. "I read books about manners a lady should have in front of males and for the table. I study geography too as I must know the rest of countries for future alliances, and-."

"I apologize, my Lady." He wetted his brush. "Perhaps I formed the question wrongly. I wanted to know which books you enjoy."

My mouth opened as no one has ever asked me such a question. "You will think I am a typical young girl."

"Cannot think like that, my Lady." He mixed some colours. His painting brush, caressing the canvas delicately. "You are not a typical young girl. You are the Princess of Onism." Though those words shattered my heart, he was right. I would never be a 'normal' girl as my life was nothing like the one of an ordinary lady. "However," He continued. "When you paint someone, you get to comprehend them deeply. I believe I might discover that you are an ordinary human at heart. Something beautiful that would separate you from cold-hearted royalty." I was surprised by his words as people would not dare to talk of royalty like that.

I offered him a smile. "You might." He got distracted for a couple of seconds. His eyes navigated from the canvas to me, trying to retain my features and the folds of my clothes. "Romance." I was flustered. "I do truly enjoy romance."

"I presume something you will experience as soon as these portraits are sent."

I shook my head. "Something I presume I will never experience." His eyebrows furrowed once again. "Royalty men have the right to choose whom they will marry, even if they do not love them. Women will have to accept whomever their parents choose for her." My gaze shifted to the window for a couple of seconds. "It is my destiny."

He stopped painting for mere seconds, staring at me while slowly blinking. "Destiny can be changed." I shook my head. "It can," He nodded his head. "It might be scary or go against the rules. But destiny can be changed by the decisions you make. Only you are the sailor of the ship." He grinned. "That is something my father used to say."

"Used?"

"He passed away." He gritted his teeth. "He was a great painter too. Better than me." To my curious gaze, he decided to continue. "My mother left when I was a baby. She fell in love with a younger man, leaving my dad and me." He gulped. "Therefore, I would not dare to say that I have seen love as my mother left without looking back."

"H-Have you experience love, sir?"

"Please, call me Dylan, my Lady." There was a comfortable silence between us as he seemed to be concentrating on the portrait. "Not sure I did. Love is not what is shown in books. Nonetheless, I would like it to be like that."

"I cannot agree or disagree." I offered a sad smile, trying to hide my tears. "May we take a rest?"

He glanced at the clock hanging on my wall, nodding his head. "I apologize, time went by so fast." He cleaned and placed his paints inside his briefcase. "Good night, my Lady." I bowed back to him as he closed the door.

I waited for a couple of minutes, opening the door and seeing Rosetta waiting there. "Where is Harold?" I glance around, hoping to see the grey-haired man.

"He had to take care of some issues." She replied, looking nervous. "Do you need anything, my Lady?"

I quickly nodded my head. "I expect no dinner today, and I demand to be left alone." She furrowed her eyebrows, and before she could speak back, I stopped her. "I would like to take my nightly bath on my own, please." She nodded her head, walking away after wishing me a good night.

I closed the door of my chambers, quickly locking it as I rapidly walked into my bathroom, doing the same thing to the door. Walking closer to the bath, I turned on the faucet. I checked the temperature of the water until it was lukewarm.

I sighed as my hands went to my back, untying my dress. As the clothes fell to the ground in a surprisingly elegant manner, I appreciated not being forced to wear a corset. My legs shook as I placed one inside the water until I was sitting down.

I have read in books how a woman and a man would fall in love. A passion that they could not resist. An absolute passion that would make their hands wander through their bodies, wanting to feel each other as close as possible. I have read it so many times that I could lie to my head, making it think that I have experienced something like that.

I have read the way hands seem to burn on the skin, and how breathing becomes more arduous. And how after being pleasured, you need it over, and over again.

I sighed, feeling my nipples hardening, and I learnt they could do so even if the temperature was not cold. My left hand gripped the edge of the bathtub as the right hand rested on my chest. I decided it was time to move it, and closing my eyes, I left it to wander down while grazing my nipples.

When my fingers caressed my tummy, they seemed to become shy. Not used to the places they were descending. I have read books, but I have never experienced the feeling, which made me feel curious.

I tried to remember all the books. My fingers ended up placed on top of my bundle of nerves, and just the mere touch made me shiver from excitement. I slowly moved them in circles, adding more pressure, little by little. The temperature down there seemed to get warmer to the point where it burned. I could not avoid the need to move my fingers faster.

My left hand continued to grip the edge of the bathtub, but this time harder as my mouth opened and my vision became blurry. I felt this strange sensation. I felt like I was going to urinate inside the warm water, and even though I felt quite disgusted by the thought, I could not stop my fingers. They moved in circles, faster and adding much more pressure.

And it came. A rush of pleasure came over my body, and I could not hold back the moans escaping my mouth as I peeped down between my legs. My intimate parts turned red due to temperature and agitation. Then, I regarded the water near it, looking less transparent. So that was it. That is what a woman felt after pleasuring herself.

Curiosity invaded me even more, and I wanted to experience more further.

A couple of days had gone by, and the portrait was already looking amazingly good. I did not have any doubt of Dylan's talent as I have seen some of his works.

"Has anyone shown you around?" We had got a little closer as we spent many hours together for the portrait. He shook his head, taking off his dark green beret, and resting it on a nearer seat as he proceeded to mix some colours. "Would you like to see the gardens and the horses?"

His eyes widened. "Horses, my Lady?" I chuckled at his expression, nodding my head.

"Eight to be exact." His eyes widened even more. I remembered everything he had told me about himself, especially his love for horses. "We could take a rest. I feel dizzy from the smell of paint." He promptly nodded his head, halting and resting his brush on top of an antique plate stuffed with remains of paint.

Strolling through the gardens, I peered at him. He seemed content, having the chance to smell the fresh air mingled with the scent of the white roses that decorated our gardens. "White roses are your favourites." He had surprised me while retrieving such a simple, but a unique fact about me.

I nodded my head. "I prefer them over red roses. Those are overrated." He laughed, making my heart beat loudly. Dylan was an attractive man, and these past days I could not stop my body and my heart from reacting as soon as my gaze met his. "The stables are over there." I pointed to a couple of meters away from us. I extracted my arm as I felt something falling on it. "Oh, it seems like it will start drizzling." We walked faster to the stables, almost running as the rain appeared to fall swiftly upon our clothes. "You will adore Arden. He is my hor-." I was interrupted as I saw two bodies stirring frantically against each other. Their moans, invading the stables. "Wh-." A hand covered my mouth while another dragged me off the stables. Dylan and I ran under the rain, getting as far as possible from the horses' house.

Both of us gawked at each other in astonishment. "Maybe my eyes deceived me. However, I believe that was Harold?" He seemed as shocked as me.

"They did not trick you." I gulped. "May I add that woman was my mother?"

His eyes widened even more. "T-The Queen?" I nodded my head. "I am so sorry, my Lady."

"I am not angered by the fact she was committing adultery! I know my father is no saint." I gritted my teeth. "I am mad by the fact she lives a miserable life. In which she had to marry a man she does not love, and she wants to impose the same duty on me!" My hands reached my hair, fingers clutching it. "It is not fair for her to desire the same dull and cruel life for me!" Dylan kept quiet, allowing me to rant. "Why must not I experience falling in love with someone? I crave to be touched by adoring hands, not dirty ones that will not care about my desires and will expect for an heir to be conceived." I sighed. "I ache to live that romance until the day I die." I let my posture fall, whining. "Why cannot I be kissed by someone truly interested in me? Why cannot I be touched by someone who desi-."

My speech was interrupted as Dylan's hands rested on my cheeks. His lips were tightly pressed against mine. I have read how a kiss was mostly controlled by the fight of tongues, aspiring to be the dominant one. But this was just a simplistic kiss.

"Oh my-." His eyes widened as my mouth fell open. "I apologize for my behaviour. I do not know what came over my mind for me to-." My hands were now covering his cheeks as I bought him closer. My lips were awkwardly pressed against his. He separated from me, blinking dumbfoundedly. "Close your eyes." I did. "Open your mouth a little, my Lady." His thumb drew my lower lip downwards. As he got closer, I felt his tongue stroking my bottom lip.

My hands were pushed against his chest as I gripped his white shirt between my fingers. One of his hands had to wander to my lower back as my legs shook. His tongue was now grinding against mine, and not knowing what to do, I mimicked his actions. My mouth instinctively melted against his.

"You will be the death of me, my Lady." He held me closer. His right hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Literally."

The following day, I walked to the great hall, confident enough not to knock on the door before stepping inside. My mother seemed shocked to be interrupted by my presence, as she gripped the teacup tighter.

Harold wandered behind me, fear written all over his features as he had never seen me disrespecting my mother in such a way.

I gestured for the cello man to leave the room, which he quickly did, not even daring to glance at my mother. "How dare you to come inside in such a-."

"I will not get married." I interrupted her, something I have never done before. I had been informed by my brother that there was a powerful candidate for me to marry. A 52-year-old man. "I will not marry someone I do not love, and even less a 52-year-old King just for our countries to be at peace."

"You have no say on it."

"Mother, do you want me to live the same life as you?" I ventured to ask. "Do you want me to marry a man who will sleep with every servant or woman that crosses his way while my future children will have to suffer the consequences too? A boy that ought to follow the rules of a King until he becomes a tyrant. And a girl who ought to have to act as demanded. Merely for the young male of the family to be even more respected?"

"As I sai-."

"Will I be like you then, mother?" My lower lip trembled. "Will I be cold-hearted towards my children, towards my daughter? Will I have to submit her to the same shameful life as me?" I did not let Harold intervene. "Will I have to close my eyes to true love and consume my infatuation with the person I truly love in some dirty stable?" Both of them were shocked by my words. "You are preparing and forcing me to the life you both have. I do not want to hide from the public eye and keep the person I cherish a secret."

"If this is about that paint-."

"He has nothing to do with this." I did not appreciate the way she spoke about Dylan. "I have openly expressed my discomfort about marrying someone I do not love since I recollect. I understand romance books do not happen in real life. But love does, and marrying someone for my brother's throne is not love." I sighed. "It is not fair for us, women, to be treated like this while men are approached like that!"

She surprisingly glanced at me for a couple of seconds before her sober expression appeared once again. "Every King marries the women they choose. We cannot decide. Every King has bastard children." I had to remind myself that Alexander and Victoria were the children of one of our servants. "Even your brother is going to have a bastard child." I furrowed my eyebrows as it was the first time hearing that news. "Rosetta." A disgusted expression decorated my face.

"Well," I breathed deeply. "Destiny can be changed." I recited the same words Dylan had told me once. "It might be scary or go against the rules. But destiny can be changed by the decisions you make. Only you are the sailor of the ship." I glimpse at Harold. "I am tired of not being the sailor of my ship." I softened my voice. "Think about it, mother. I will do everything in my power to get out of here, even if it means dying in the process." For the first time in my life, my teary eyes were met with the glistening tears that invaded my mother's eyes. "I will be in my chambers. Please do not bother me at all."

When arriving to my bedroom, I did not expect to see Dylan waiting inside. I locked the door behind me as my eyes examined his entire body.

"Are you all right, my Lady?" He showed the briefcase he was squeezing between his fingers. "Rosetta told me to wait here for you. Since we could not continue with the portrait this morning, I assumed that perhaps, we could tonight."

"Let's escape together." My mouth seemed to move on its own. However, Dylan stared at me with complete confusion decorating his features.

"My Lady, I do not think I understand what you are trying to imply." He knew.

"I have told you before I do not plan on marrying someone whom I do not love." I walked to my bed, sitting down on the mattress. "It has been decided without letting me know that I will get married to the King of Hiraeth."

He glanced down at the floor for a couple of seconds to later shift his gaze on my direction. "Perhaps he is not only a noble because of his blood. Perhaps he is also noble at heart."

"It does not matter if he is noble at heart or not," I answered decisively. "He is a 52 year-old-man! And as I said before, someone I do not love!"

He sighed. "My Lady," Resting his briefcase on the floor, he pulled a chair to sit in front of me. Though, he maintained the distance. "If I am not wrong, you have never met this man before. You might end up fallin-."

"Do not dare to say that!" I got up from the bed, eyes flickering. "Please, do not be like the rest of those who live in this palace! The first time you came here, you told me I could change my fate." He swallowed, nodding his head. "That is what I am trying to do." My hands were squeezing the skirts of my dress. "Please."

"I cannot take you anywhere, my Lady. You are the Princess of Onism. Everyone in town knows the beauty you behold." He coughed while deeply looking into my eyes. "I do not know anyone that will keep the secret of you being in to-."

"You are not understanding me, Dylan." I tried to ignore the way his body shivered every time my tongue and lips worked together to create his name. "I know I told you that I have never experienced love." I bit my lower lip, taking a breath. "I only know what I have read in books." He nodded his head, waiting for me to continue. "But I understand my feelings. Even before the day we kissed under the rain, I was already attracted to you."

"Attraction is something that can be felt many-."

I stepped closer, making him glance up. "It was attraction, I admit." Both of my hands navigated towards my back. "But my heart beats madly, whenever you are near me, whenever I glance at you or when I think about you." He got up from his chair, slightly stepping back. "I am utterly sure that I am in love with a man who worries about me and my feelings. Someone who has been encouraging me and that has seen my fears."

"My Lady," He gulped. "I truly feel honoured to be inside your mind and heart. I will not lie as I do also feel the same towards you." When I moved closer, he prevented me. "But you are a Princess, and I am just a simple man who paints in exchange for food and a roof." He blinked fastly. "I cannot give you the life you might expect." He offered me a side-smile. "And of course, our relationship would not be approved by the King and Queen." His voice turned softer. "Neither by the soon-to-be King of Onism."

"I do not care!"

"But I do, my Lady." He breathed deeply. "I do not want you to live a life where people will insult and degrade you plainly because you married a penniless man, or because you did not obey the established rules of the members of the royalty."

"I already have that life, where I am discredited just because I am a woman." This time when I stepped closer, he did not back away. "I already have to follow settled rules for the sake of my brother." My hands were still behind my back, and I finally decided to let them untie. He did not notice yet. "But now I have found someone who makes me feel something I have never experienced before." I sighed. "What did you do to me, Dylan?" He opened his mouth. "My mind and heart are full of you, and they constantly demand my body to be filled by you too."

His neck and cheeks turned red as he seemed to have difficulties while swallowing his spit. His eyes shifted around the room, trying to decide what to do. "My Lady," He sighed in desperation. His hands travelling through his body while he clenched it and gritted his teeth. "I truly have been trying to hold back." His hands now grazed his face. "I have been trying to hide how in love I am with you as I am just someone who does not deserve you."

"You are the man who deserves me the most." The shoulders of my dress fell, displaying my bare skin. His eyes widened even more. "And you do not have to hold back anymore." Finally, the cloth fell onto the ground. "I have read so many things, but I have never thought of experiencing them." I felt embarrassed by revealing such a matter. "I could not hold my hands from exploring my body for the first time as your image was in my mind."

"You did?" I nodded my head. His eyes had never left mine, not even to peer at my underwear. A rush of confidence seemed to hasten through him as he walked to the door, securing it. "Show me." My expression must have confused him. "Show me how you did it."

It was my turn to gulp as I got on my mattress, lying down on my back. I was slightly sitting thanks to the pillow, which granted me to discern Dylan as he shuffled closer to the end of the bed.

My bralette was already off, but his eyes still fixed on mine. "You can look." As soon as those words came out of my mouth, his eyes glanced down at my chest. It seemed like he had complications breathing.

My hands gently travelled down, gripping the sides of my underwear and slowly bringing them down my legs. The chilly air was a contrast of temperature to my entire body. I shifted my legs to completely discard my panties, which ended up someplace on the ground.

I permitted my fingers to touch the bundle of nerves, suffering a chill through my body that reminded me of that time in the bathtub, or the following times where I could not restrain my needs. Rubbing on circles, my other hand went to my mouth, biting on it not to make any sound.

"That is how you did it?" I nodded my head. "Until you exploded?" Again, I acknowledged with my head. "My Lady. Has any man touch you in such a way?" Shaking my head, he offered me a smile. "May I be the first one to do so?" I nodded my head, which he did not seem to like. "Please, use your words."

"I do," I did not hesitate. "I do want to be touched by you, Dylan."

"I might die right now, my Lady." He wandered closer. His hands slowly discarded his dark blue beret. Then, his fingers rapidly unbuttoned his white shirt, which had some dark little stains due to his paintings. His body was fit, enough to make a woman drool. I must say, he seemed broader than what I have imagined. "Have you ever introduced your fingers inside?"

I shook my head.

I hear the sound of his shoes falling to the ground as he kneeled on the end of the bed. His right hand moved my left hand from my clit, leading it to his hair. "Hold on tight, my Lady." Not sure of his next actions, I shivered as his breath hit my heated core. His tongue peeked out from his mouth, gently grazing my centre.

I gripped his soft hair between my fingers, making his gaze shift to look deep into my eyes. His tongue lapped, adding pressure on my clit. I whined as his tender tongue left my core to slid down and up a couple of times, extending my wetness all over my intimate part.

I was utterly surprised when the tip of his tongue ended up inside me, and he seemed to noticed as he grounded it against my walls. His right hand slowly left my thigh, where his grip had been tough. "I will be gentle." His whispers were almost unnoticeable as my moans were louder, feeling one of his warm fingers getting coated by my juices as he introduced it, inside my vagina. "Does it feel good?" Without waiting for an answer, he started thrusting it. His lapping tongue and his thrusting finger, producing a drooling combination.

"Oh my god," The candles that were lit, and resting on the table next to my bed seemed to flatter by a scene hotter than their flames. "Faster, please." I must not lie. Introducing his second finger on me had provided a slight pain. But seconds later, it had been replaced by an unbelievable pleasure. "Please do not make me beg."

"I would like to see you beg, my Lady." His mouth had left my clit, chin dripping with my fluids. "I would love to see you beg under the light of the candles while no one else knows that you are getting the love and passion you deserve." His fingers made a wet sound when they left my insides. I could not help but whine as he got farther from my body but became expectant when his fingers played with his belt.

As soon as he slid his pants down his legs, I could not help but moan again. There was a bulge between his legs, and I could not help but get flustered thinking about having him inside me. However, I was quite worried about his size as he already seemed thick through his pants.

I remembered a scene from a book where this girl had her first experience with her childhood friend. They had become lovers and decided to consume their love on top of the counter of the protagonist's kitchen. Her description of the scene was incredibly detailed. And even though my body had become more heated while reading it, I could not help but be worried when she described the experience as feeling as if she was getting 'ripped', which was quite vulgar but exciting in an unusual way.

I had been distracted by my thoughts, as to when I realized my rounds, Dylan's member was finally free. It stood tall and thick against his stomach. He could not help but contain his grin as I gasped.

"I never-."

"I know, my Lady." His hands grabbed my ankles, calmly making their way to my thighs, which he squeezed while separating my legs even more. "I am utterly happy to be the first and only man to make love to you." Uh? "I will take care of you for the rest of my life." His eyes looked deep into mine, asking for permission for his next movements and actions. Of course, I nodded.

He grabbed his shaft, his hand circling it while he thrust into his clenched fist a couple of times. He left if free, spitting on his hand to later grab his member again, lubricating it.

"I am a little scared," I confessed, shifting my gaze to his face. "You are so thick and long. H-How is that supposed to fit inside-."

"We can stop if you want, my Lady." One of his thumbs caressed one of my thighs. "There is no rush and enough time to do this whenever you feel ready."

"I do want to do it! I am just a little scared." I gulped, glancing down at his member. "Could you maybe go slowly?"

He nodded his head, getting closer and placing a peck on my lips. "Whatever you wish for, my Lady." Asking for permission again, he waited until it was granted, for the tip of his member to graze the lips of my vagina. "Here I go." He started adding pressure. Until the entire tip was inside, making me gasp. "Sh, breathe." His right hand went to my tummy, caressing it. "We can go slower."

I nodded my head as I took deep breaths, ignoring the tears that were falling from the corner of my eyes. A couple of minutes went by when I decided that the pain had become a pleasure. I shifted my hips toward Dylan. I was right as there was only pleasure. "Dylan, please," I whined. "Please move."

His entire member was inside me, and Dylan's thrusts had become steady and swift. His mouth was travelling from my jaw to my lips, sometimes stopping to ask for my well-being.

One of his hands left my hips, going between our bodies as he started circling my clit, adding more pleasure. "Oh my gosh," I raised my voice, not being able to hold back the incredible feeling. "Lord, please go faster." I circled my legs around his hips, bringing him closer if it was possible. His member, hitting places that it could not reach before. Wails of satisfaction came out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me harder."

He seemed quite shocked by my choice of words as his eyes widened. But he had seemed to enjoy them too, as his thrusts became even faster and sloppier. "I will not last long." He groaned, not afraid of expressing his pleasure while his lips grazed my ear. "I have been dreaming of this for so long." His moans made my entire body shiver. His right hand, circling my clit even faster. "Please, my Lady. Tell me you are close. Please."

"I am!" I drowned my screams while biting his shoulder. "I am so close." His left hand travelled to my left nipple, toying with it. The different stimulations, getting me dizzy while my vision became blurry. And I came undone under Dylan's body.

Reading was nothing like experiencing it.

My breath was laborious. Dylan stayed inside, thrusting a couple of times more until he quickly came out, thrusting in his clenched fist. He was going to finish soon. His eyes, questioning where to explode. My hands went to my breasts, holding them together.

Dylan's eyes widened as he understood what I was implying. He moved, his hips getting closer as his dick ended up being embraced by my breasts. I held them in place while he thrust, moaning at the contact. His tip, hitting my chin and lower lip. He did not last much longer, exploding and cumming all over my chin and lower lip.

He gasped, our bodies full of sweat. "I made a mess. I am so sorry, my L-." My tongue peeked out of my mouth, licking some of the cum that was resting on my lower lip. "I-. Oh, gosh." His lips settled up against mine. His tongue, parting my lips so his tongue could slowly dance against mine. "Did it feel good?"

"It felt amazing." I was still trying to breathe at a regular pace.

He kissed my forehead, leaving the bed and wandering to the bathroom. His member was still lightly hard. But he quickly gave me the view of his butt.

When he came back, he was gripping a towel. Sitting on the side of the bed, he slowly cleaned his release from my chin and chest. Then, folding it, he cleaned between my legs. He was cautious, trying not to hurt me as my entire body was sensitive. Next, he discarded the towel.

His body fell on the bed next to mine. We both gazed into each other's eyes with foolish smiles decorating our faces. "I do not want to leave. But night curfew will be soon."

"I do not care." I wrapped my sore body against him, breathing in. "Stay here. Nobody will know. You can leave early in the morning." I did not notice I was pouting until his lips pecked mine. Then, the rest of the night was a cuddling blur as exhaustion took over our bodies.

Another couple of days had gone by, and it was nearly impossible to keep our hands for ourselves. Dylan had been sleeping in my chambers, which was difficult to hide. I had been ignoring my mother and Harold as much as possible. And thankfully, my brother was away in a political meeting with my father. We had also continued the portrait sessions, which sometimes ended with our bodies full of paint as we could not hold back for holding each other.

I must confess that there had been sexual escapes around the palace, which was a surprise, as we did not get caught yet. Momentarily, Dylan's boxers were around his ankles like his pants as I was grabbing the skirts of my dress.

My face and chest were pressed against the wall of a tiny room while he thrust in me from behind. "Ah, we will get caught." He whispered but did not stop his movements. "You are going to be the death of me, my Lady."

We had been walking around the castle until I could not hold back myself anymore. I took Dylan's hand, going inside a tiny room that, it is used, for cleaning materials. Therefore, we were fucking as fast as we could, aiming for a release. "Please, go deeper!"

"I believe I am as immersed as I can, my Lady." The sound of our skin slapping against each other turned both of us on even more.

We both were close to our release. But we were rudely interrupted by the door of the room opening, showing Rosetta and Harold, who stared at us with surprise written all over their faces.

Dylan quickly came out of me, pulling his boxers and pants up while I let the skirts of my dress fall.

"Harold," I started. "Please, do not say anything." My eyes begged. "Could you please give us five minutes and wait in my chambers?" Without saying anything, they closed the door. "Oh my god."

"It is okay, my Lady." Fear was visible in his face and voice.

I was baffled as when entering my chambers, my mother was there, next to Harold. He ignored my gaze, staring deep into Dylan's eyes.

"Mother-."

"I told you!" She did not hesitate to raise her voice. "I know you did not choose to be a princess, but this is what we have to deal with." I could not protest. "I am not trying to make you miserable. I was trying to avoid a situation like this where this young man," Surprisingly, she did not glare at the young man next to me, who was squeezing my hand. "And you will be in danger!" She sighed. "Imagine if it was your father or brother finding you two! They arrived early this morning!" I did not know about their arrival. "He would have killed him and make you watch." I gasped, getting teary. "I did not want you guys to end as I did."

"What?" I asked while being overwhelmed by confusion.

"Your mother," Harold decided to spoke as my mother had to seat on the end of my bed, trying to calm herself. "She fell in love with a servant of this palace, way before you were born." Dylan and I were pretty interested in the story. "You do not choose who you love, my Lady." He shifted his gaze between the two of us. "However, keeping such a secret was complicated. And eventually, someone found out." His hand rested on my mother's back. "Unfortunately, the one that discovered them passionately kissing in the gardens was your father." I gulped while swaying closer to Dylan, searching for his warmth. "He executed him right there, in front of your mother."

"Those white roses used to be red." My mother's voice shook while she referred to those planted in our garden. "It was so repulsive to see that his blood mattered nothing when for me mattered the world. He was my world." She offered us a sad smile. "No one mourned for his loss except me. His body was taken away by other servants in uncaring behaviour. His blood could not be seen, because it had splattered on the flowers that had the same tone." She wept, trying to breathe and calm herself to continue. "It was as if he had never existed. I thought I had gone crazy, and I had imagined the love and the man that I desired to have."

"Mother," My eyes were teary. "I am so sorry that happened to you, and now, I understand you tried to protect me." I glimpsed at Harold for a couple of seconds. "But this is just throwing me into a deeper hole. I will end up in a similar situation to yours, and my children will be doomed, to the same cruel fate." I was desperate. "Mother, destiny can be changed." Dylan was looking at me, a tiny smile on his face while he rubbed one of my freezing hands.

"I have seen you grow up," Harold intervened. "I have learnt every one of your moves, understanding when you wanted to cry or laugh." He grinned, crossing his arms. "Deep inside, I knew one day you would want to fight from the established and dull life you are supposed to live."

"He spoke to me." My mother continued. "Harold opened my eyes, and he taught me to perceive that you were falling in love with this young man." She bowed at Dylan, and he returned the same gesture. "And I perceived that this young man was falling in love with you too."

"Your father and brother lied of their whereabouts." Harold stepped closer. "They bought with them a visitor."

My mother shifted closer to us. "It is the King of Hiraeth." She gulped. "The 52 year-old-man that they expect to marry you with."

"No," I shook my head. "Please, mother." I could not stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. "Please, mother. Do not let them do that. Please. Please." Before I could fall to my knees, my mother held her hand up, offering me a brown bag.

"It is yours now." My mother replied, sliding the bag into my hands. "This will help both of you." Money, there was a lot of gold inside the bag. Dylan was looking inside the container with wide eyes as I did. "If I had stolen money from your father, he would have noticed. Therefore, I bargained my jewellery." Her hand unconsciously went to her neck, and I noticed her diamond necklace missing.

"Here," Harold extended his arm, offering us a piece of paper. Dylan clutched it. It was a map. "That black circle is your shared property. It is a near kingdom, not too far from here but enough for you two to be safe and not be recognized, as the Princess of Onism."

"What?" My mouth was agape.

"It is Elysian. It is a small town full of life, and it is secure." Harold explained with a smile. "It is your new home. The money will help you guys for a couple of years, but of course, my Lady, you will have to get used to a life without servants and luxuries. However, I do not have any doubt that you will be able to adapt to such a life."

"Then," I glanced at my mother. "You are helping me escape?"

"I am helping both of you leave." She cried. "I am helping you get out of the life you did not choose and the one you do not desire." I turned around to stare at Dylan, who had tears running down his cheeks while smiling at me. He shyly pecked my forehead. He wiped his tears while bowing again, staying in that position for a couple of seconds. "No, no, please stand up." He did. "We are family now. Please take care of my little girl."

"I will, your highness." His words sounded so confident that it made my heart beat violently.

"W-What about you two?" I glanced between them. "Are you coming with us?" I was expectant to hear their answer.

My mother shook her head. "We did change our destiny." She referred to the present situation. "Do not worry about us."

"But-."

"My Lady," Harold took me into his arms, embracing me. "Escaping is more complex for us. But do not worry, because we will end up getting away from here. One day, we will." He smiled at me. "For now, Arden is prepared to take you both far from Onism tonight."

I nodded my head. "Take care of my mother, and thank you for being like a father to me." After squeezing him, I quickly hugged my mother. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Before they left my room, my mum turned around. "Dylan is your name, right?" He nodded his head. "I viewed the portrait. It looks marvellous. Take it with you." He was perplexed. "The portrait was for the man that will marry her. That man is you, so that portrait belongs to you."

"I bought gifts!" I overheard two squeals, rolling my eyes with a foolish smile, adorning my features. Two tiny figures ran to the owner of the voice. "Perhaps you both only love me when I bring presents."

"Perhaps they do." I walked closer to the man, whose beautiful smile was aimed, at me. My right hand gripped his arm, a signal for him to lower his head so I could peck his lips. "Welcome home. I made your favourite dish." My lips had trapped his bottom one between mines for a couple of seconds, making him whine lowly.

He seemed to be dumbfounded while pecking my lips a couple of times until our children interrupted the moment with their excitement to know what their father had brought them. "Well," He chuckled. "I bought my little princess this!" He took a stuffed animal from his coffee-coloured bag. Charlotte squealed and giggled while running around the room with her new plaything. "And I bought my not-so-little prince," He remembered how our little boy did not want to be named as a child anymore. "This." He showed him a new brand book, which cover was of a dark blue with golden touches.

Thomas could not help but grin. "This book was printed a couple of days ago! Thank you so much, father!" He tightly hugged his dad. "Perhaps I could bring it with me to the Addington's home?" He could not help but jump around due to his excitement. "I believe Newt will love it too!"

Dylan nodded his head. "Take care fo your sister, please."

The Addington's were a young family of five that lived next door. We were constantly inviting each other over to our homes, wanting the kids to play together. We, the adults, were also mates. A couple of times, we babysit each other's kids to have privacy with our respective partners.

As soon as the kids were out of the door, Dylan's briefcase had fallen to the ground. He had been away for an entire week due to a commission of a portrait where he would earn a lot of money.

His hands were caressing my entire body as we both tried to make our way to our shared chamber, in hopes of continuing the passion there. "I have missed you so much, my Princess."

My fingers moved quickly, trying to untie the dress I was wearing. My hands were sweaty, and Dylan must have noticed as he ended up unlacing my attire. "I am not a Princess anymore."

He swallowed, eyes focused on my breasts as I was not wearing a bralette. Both of his warm hands slid up, cupping my bosom. His fingers grazed my nipples while his entire hands squeezed the rest. "You are right." His gaze shifted to my lips. "You are the queen of my heart now, my Lady." That name had stayed since the very beginning, and every time it came rolling gently out of his lips, my undergarments got drenched.

"I will explode right here, Dylan." I moaned as my hands were busy sliding down his pants while he worked on his jacket and shirt. "I have missed having you around. And being around you."

He groaned, slipping one of his hands behind my back as he squeezed my buttocks. I whined when he pinched it. "You seem to be so desperate for me."

"That smirk," I grinned while kissing his bottom lip. "Perhaps you are as desperate as me." I glanced down as I spotted his hard bulge against my front.

"I am not as needy as you are, my Lady." The last word was said sensually, making my legs shake.

"I am sure you are as needy as me, Sir." It was that word for him. I could feel the temperature of his body rising.

"What does my queen require from such a humble servant?" He acted while sprawling my body down on the bed. His hands, gripping the sides of my panties, bringing the down and discarding them. "Maybe she needs help down here?" One of his fingers ran up and down, collecting my fluids. He did not hesitate to bring that finger into his mouth, savouring it. "My Lady, perhaps I should confess that you taste like Heaven, itself."

His face leaned closer to my core, but I immediately stopped him. He glimpsed at me, confused. "I want to be the one giving you as much pleasure as possible." Sitting down on the bed, my hands pushed against his chest until he was the one lying on his back.

I questioned myself when he had taken his boxers off as his member sprang free, hitting his tummy. Pre-cum was decorating his pink tip while sometimes, you could see it palpitating as the veins were tightening.

My right hand started working immediately, grabbing his shaft while going up and down. I softly squeezed it as his arm rested on top of his forehead, blissfully. My thumb stayed on the tip, playing with the tiny drops of pre-cum.

"Gosh, are you an angel?" His words wavered as my left hand cupped his balls, lightly tugging on them. "My Lady, I need your mouth, please." I attended his demands, my left hand still playing with his balls.

However, my mouth was also sucking on the lowest part of his member. Licking my way up, my mouth embraced the tip of his dick. His hands went through my hair, settling on grasping it forcefully and guiding me down until his entire thick member was inside my mouth.

His moans got louder as his hips could not hold back, shifting upwards, choking me as his tip scraped the back of my throat. "My Lady." Glancing upwards, I could see the sweat falling down his forehead. His entire body was sweating, especially the part of his chest with a spot of hair.

I sucked harder, preventing my teeth from grazing his delicate member. "May I come inside your mouth, my Lady?" Humming against his dick, he seemed to understand my permission. A couple of hard thrusts that chocked me and he was cumming down my throat, spilling a big load. His breath was laborious as his hands caressed my hair back. "Please, ride me."

He whined when his member lost the warmth of my mouth as I shifted my body to position myself on top of him. My left hand was resting against his chest. My other hand, grabbing his still firm member. "May I?" He nodded his head. As soon as he was filling me up, both of us became a moaning mess. "Ah, I felt so empty without your dick inside me."

His hands instantly clutched my hips as he encouraged me to bounce on top him. "You look so ravishing while you bounce on my dick." I moaned, loving his dirty talk. "I could do this every day. I love how your breasts bounce while you are getting stretched by my dick." He gulped. "They have got even bigger after you had our beautiful children." His right hand slapped my ass. "Listen," I ceased my moans as I heard the slapping sounds of our skins. "You are so wet for me, my Lady. Your pussy demands to hold my dick."

Both of my hands were now resting against his chest. "I am going to explode." The hand that was on my ass moved to the front, flicking my clitoris. "You fill me up so good, Sir!"

"I will fill you even more soon." He groaned, sitting down so he could move me closer to my body. Our mouths, touching in an open kiss. "I am going to release my entire load inside you. I am going to impregnate you, my Lady." I moaned. "You want that, right?" His thrusts became sloppier and harder. "You want to get filled and carry another gorgeous baby." I nodded my head. "You are as irresistible while pregnant. The way you cannot keep your hands to yourself. The way your bosom gets even bigger."

"Please, fill me."

No more words needed to be said as our teeth clattered against each other, riding our highs together. My vision got blurry, and my moans louder as I felt all of his huge load filling me up. "Oh, fuck me, my Lady. You take my load so good." The rest was full of kisses and warm under the sheets. His member had softened inside me.

On one of the walls of our chambers, there was a portrait of my younger self. She resembled grave and upset. Her composture seemed forced, but around her body, there were flames. Sparks that represented the passion she badly wanted to share. The adventures she wanted to live. There was a yellow light, which seemed, to be connected to her heart.

Dylan had described a young lady who aspired to live a passionate life. A young woman whose heart and mind were full of hope.

There was a lovely detail on the portrait. On the wall behind the young girl, there was a mirror, where you could perceive a young Dylan, examining the woman before him with a peculiar shining light on his eyes. The identical light young Y/N had while looking at Dylan O'Brien, the humble painter who shared the 'fictional' love she always wanted to experience.The love they both found and fancied.

Yes, destiny could be changed.

Those who asked to be tagged. Thank you for showing interest:

@og-baby-ob14 - @sweetest-serpent01 - @tovvaa - @jazminebrightxx - @sonnydoesrandomshit - @badgyal-barbie - @trustfundparker - @blueraindrops

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princesssarisa · 2 years

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Snow White Winter: "Sechs auf einen Streich – Schneewittchen" (2009 German TV film)

Sechs auf einen Streich ("Six at One Blow") is a German TV series which has aired every Christmas season since 2008, producing hour-long adaptations of classic fairy tales. The title refers refers to the phrase "seven at one blow" from The Brave Little Tailor and to the fact that the first season featured six episodes. Snow White was one of eight episodes that aired in the second season in 2009.

After a prologue is spoken over sepia-toned illustrations depicting Snow White's real mother wishing for a child, we meet the young woman Snow White as the royal castle prepares to welcome her father's new bride. Her closest friend is the amiable middle-aged court Fool, and we also see her exchange romantic glances with a slightly bumbling yet handsome and friendly young servant. Unbeknownst to her, this "servant" is really the Prince from another kingdom, in disguise so that Snow White might learn to love him for who he is, not for his title. In this way, this retelling seems inspired by the 1992 German/Czech film, which had the disguised Prince serving as a court fool, but here the character is split into two.

The wicked Queen initially seems like a comic character, flamboyantly dressed and refusing to step out of her carriage until a servant spreads out a cloth so her feet won't get dirty. But soon she reveals her more sinister side. Snow White is happy to have a new stepmother at first, only to be disillusioned by the Queen's coldness toward her, and by the power of infatuation she wields over the kindly yet doddering old King. When she persuades him to have the portrait of Snow White's mother removed from the throne room wall, the princess is distraught and shuts herself in her room, crying and refusing to speak to her father. But she doesn't have long to grieve, because that very night, the Queen learns from her magic mirror – which speaks through an ethereal golden version of her own face – that Snow White is the fairest in the land. She promptly rouses the Huntsman from his bed and commands him to take Snow White into the dark forest and kill her. When the King discovers his daughter's disappearance, his grief and guilt cause him to suffer a heart attack and die. But the Fool and the Prince set out to search for her.

The seven dwarfs, all played by actors with dwarfism, are named Gorm, Knirps ("squirt"), Querx, Quarx, Niffel ("nibble"), Wichtel ("imp") and Schrat ("scratch"). While not very individualized, they're a friendly, likable crew, and their scenes provide gentle humor. Like her Disney counterpart, Snow White brings neatness and order into their lives, persuading them to clean their house and bathe. Also as in many other versions, the dwarfs always sing a jaunty marching song on their way to and from their mine.

As in the Grimms' tale, the Queen tries to kill Snow White three times: first by suffocating her with a girdle, then with a poisoned comb, and then with a poisoned apple. The mirror's magic aids her: she steps through its glass and is instantly transported to the dwarfs' cottage and disguised as a peddler woman. (Unfortunately, the third disguise has her in brownface as a Romani peddler.) After Snow White "dies," the grieving dwarfs entomb her glass coffin in an underground cave (recalling The Tale of the Dead Princess and the Seven Knights), where Gorm sings a song praising her beauty. As it happens, the Prince and the Fool are on the mountainside overheard, and they hear the song. Seeing Snow White's coffin, the distraught Prince begs to take it home with him... and as the dwarfs carry the coffin forth, one of them trips over a rock, jolting the piece of apple from Snow White's throat.

Back at the castle, the Queen throws a party, and brings her magic mirror before all the guests to proclaim her the fairest in the land. But of course the mirror once again says "Snow White." In rage the Queen declares in front of the whole court that she killed Snow White, then smashes the mirror... only to reveal Snow White standing behind it. The princess claims her rightful place as heir to the throne and banishes her stepmother, declining to have her killed because she doesn't want to be like her. The party then becomes a celebration of Queen Snow White and her Prince.

If this Snow White has one fault, it's that the pace could afford to be slower and give the characters more space to live and breathe. Snow White and the Prince's romance could have used a bit more development, her climactic awakening is slightly too abrupt, and in particular the King's death is all too perfunctory and unmourned. A longer running time would have probably solved these problems. But overall, this version of the tale is easy to enjoy. The filming locations are ideal, with the lush green forest providing classic fairy tale beauty by day and eerie gloom by night, while for the castle scenes, the 14th century Kriebstein Castle in Saxony provides a charming medieval atmosphere that shifts into appropriate Gothic horror when the Queen is scheming. The slightly stylized medieval costumes suit the setting's ambience well, and the casting is excellent. 19-year-old Laura Berlin is a truly striking beauty as Snow White and is warm and believable in her emotional journey from an innocent, playful girl to a self-assured young ruler. Sonja Kirchberger is equally convincing as a Queen who's equal parts sinister witch and spoiled woman-child, and good supporting roles are played by Nicolás Artajo as the Prince, Jörg Schüttauf as the Fool, and the rest of the cast.

If you want a Snow White that's faithful to the Grimms yet finds ways to be fresh too, I wholeheartedly recommend this one.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @superkingofpriderock

#snow white #snow white winter #fairy tale #schneewittchen #sechs auf einen streich #2009 #germany #television #live action #series #episode

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acourtofquestions · 8 days

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Aelin took a step forward. One step, as if in a daze.

She loosed a shuddering breath, and a small, whimpering noise came out of her—a sob.

And then she was sprinting down the alley, flying as though the winds themselves pushed at her heels.

She flung herself on the male, crashing into him hard enough that anyone else might have gone rocking back into the stone wall.

But the male grabbed her to him, his massive arms wrapping around her tightly and lifting her up.

Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in.

"Who is that?" Nesryn asked.

Aedion smiled. "Rowan."

She was shaking from head to toe, and couldn't stop crying, not as the full weight of missing Rowan crashed into her, the weight of these weeks alone. "How did you get here? How did you find me?" Aelin withdrew far enough to study the harsh face shadowed by his hood, the tattoo peeking out along the side of it, and the grim line of his smile.

He was here, he was here, he was here.

"You made it clear my kind wouldn't be welcome on your continent," he said.

Even the sound of his voice was a balm and a blessing.

"So I stowed away on a ship. You'd mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent."

He scanned her with a warrior's unflinching assessment, his mouth tight. "You have a lot to tell me," he said, and she nodded.

Everything she wanted to tell him everything.

She gripped him harder, savoring the corded muscle of his forearms, the eternal strength of him. He brushed back a loose strand of her hair, his callused fingers scraping against her cheek in the lightest caress. The gentleness of it made her choke on another sob. "But you're not hurt," he said softly. "You're safe?"

She nodded again and buried her face in his chest. "I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn."

"I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure," he said onto her hood. "Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca—especially in the mornings."

She laughed, and squeezed him. He was here, and he wasn't something she'd made up, some wild dream she'd had, and-"Why are you crying?" he asked, trying to push her back far enough to read her face again.

But she held on to him, so fiercely she could feel the weapons beneath his clothes. would all be fine, even if it went to hell, so long as he was here with her. "I'm crying," she sniffled, "because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering."

Rowan let out a roar of laughter that made the vermin in the alley go silent. She at last pulled away, flashing a grin. "Bathing isn't an option for a stowaway," he said, releasing her only to flick her nose. She gave him a playful shove, but he glanced down the alley, where Nesryn and Aedion were waiting…

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vivaciouslady · 3 years

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thank you to my dear @marilyn-monroes-jeans for tagging me in this ❤️

MUSIC

• favorite genre: this is so difficult because i listen a a lot of different things but probably 1930s-1950s standards, golden age musicals, or just whatever taylor swift is currently doing

• favorite artist(s): julie andrews, john denver, taylor swift, ginger rogers, soccer mommy, one direction (i yearn for the good old days), tchaikovsky, debussy

• favorite song: once again i have a TON but my favorite songs of all time is probably Farewell Andromeda by John Denver (the live version from An Evening With John Denver) and You’ll Be Reminded of Me (from Vivacious Lady) by Ginger Rogers

• most listened to song recently: either August by Taylor Swift or Old Cape Cod by Patti Page (both have the best end of summer in new england energy)

• song stuck in your head currently: the theme from Come September (1961)

• five favorite lyrics (not in any particular order):

- “Welcome to my evening, the closing of the day. You know I can try a million times never find a better way to tell you that I love you and all the songs I play are to thank you for allowing me inside your lovely day” Farewell Andromeda by John Denver

- “my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you” Ivy by Taylor Swift

- “and when your heart is broken in two you’ll be reminded of me and i’ll be laughing… you’ll be reminded of me” You’ll Be Reminded of Me by Ginger Rogers

- “It's a bite of the apple, the touch of your lips. I'm stuck in the bathroom and sick over it” Scorpio Rising by Soccer Mommy

- “Birds love and bees love and whispering trees love, and that's what we both should do” He Loves and She Loves from Funny Face (1957), the original and the Julie Andrews Cover

BOOKS

• favorite genre: classics and fantasy

• favorite book: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen or Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine

• favorite author: Jane Austen

• favorite book series: Nancy Drew (but if you want an answer that’s more of an actual contained series i’d have to say Throne of Glass by Sara J. Maas)

• comfort book: The Complete Brambly Hedge by Jill Barklem

• the perfect book to read on a rainy day: We We’re Liars by E. Lockhart, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, or Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine

• favorite book characters: Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and Nancy Drew

• five quotes from your favorite book(s) that you know by heart:

- “That fool of a fairy Lucinda did not intend to lay a curse on me. She meant to bestow a gift. When I cried inconsolably through my first hour of life, my tears were her inspiration. Shaking her head sympathetically at Mother, the fairy touched my nose. ‘My gift is obedience. Ella will always be obedient. Now stop crying, child.’ I stopped.” Ella Enchanted

- “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” Pride and Prejudice

- “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.” Pride and Prejudice

- “He loved me. He'd loved me as long as he he'd known me! I hadn't loved him as long perhaps, but now I loved him equally well, or better. I loved his laugh, his handwriting, his steady gaze, his honorableness, his freckles, his appreciation of my jokes, his hands, his determination that I should know the worst of him. And, most of all, shameful though it might be, I loved his love for me.” Ella Enchanted

- “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.” Pride and Prejudice

TV & MOVIES

• favorite genre: for films it has to be rom-coms or just anything old hollywood in general (i know that’s not a genre) and for TV i like dramas and comedies

• favorite movie(s): Vivacious Lady (1938), The Sound of Music (1964), Stage Door (1937), and The Dream Lady (1918)

• comfort movie(s): (I have so many i’m sorry this isn’t even all of them) Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging (2008), Ever After (1998), BBC’s Pride and Prejudice (1995, yes I know this is a miniseries), Funny Face (1957), Summer Magic (1963), The Parent Trap (1961), The Philadelphia Story (1940), Curly Top (1935), The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004), Come September (1961), Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), Cinderella (1997), Sense and Sensibility (1995), The Last Jedi (2017), and all my favs

• movies you watch every year: White Christmas (1954), Auntie Mame (1958), Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954), Legally Blonde (2001), and literally all of my comfort movies (if i’m being honest all of these are comfort movies as well i’m a mess)

• favorite tv shows: Derry Girls, Downton Abbey, New Girl, The Julie Andrews Hour, Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl (original), The X-Files, Criminal Minds, Sex Education, M*A*S*H, and The Haunting of Bly Manor

• most rewatched tv show: I think Derry Girls and Gossip Girl are probably tied for this one

• ultimate otp: oh my god obviously jamie and dani 🥺 (but also mary/matthew and mulder/scully my loves) EDIT: HOW DID I FORGET JEAN MAITLAND AND TERRY RANDALL OH MY GOD I WAS ONLY THINKING ABOUR TV BUT THEY ARE MY OTP

• five favorite characters:

from tv shows - Mary Crawley, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, James Maguire, Orla McCool

from movies - Francey Brent/Morgan, Danielle De Barbarac, Maria von Trapp, Mame Dennis, Mia Thermopolis

bonus: Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy from the 1995 adaptation because it’s technically not a movie or tv show it’s a miniseries

oh wow okay that was so long!! i’m (no pressure) tagging: @retrodame @johnsonshildy @norashelley @chantalstacys @glamourofyesteryear @lickingyellowpaint <3 (sorry if you have already done this tag)

#i’d prefer long seasons if they didn’t have so much filler #rewatching/watching once depends on how much i liked the film/series lol #this was so fun #tag game #tagged

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heavensenthearty · 3 years

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🔥ZK Book Recs 🌊

I have talked time and again about the many published authors whose works are inspired by Zutara (yes, the one and only Zutara) or that they have admitted to be Zutara shippers themselves. And there are even authors who aren't ATLA fans, but their works give BIG Zutara vibes (said every book blog entry titled "Book recs for ATLA fans" ever). Since all of those books are some of my faves, prompted by @that-turtleduck and @aurithearmy I decided to make this Zutara published books rec list. Let's start:

Books written by Zutara shippers:

Legacy of Orïsha trilogy by Tomi Adeyemi:

Children of Blood and Bone

Children of Virtue and Vengeance

TBA

It's the trilogy I was celebrating in this post when it was published amongst the 100 best fantasy books of all times. The worldbuilding and mythology are inspired by West African culture since the author is Nigerian-American and a public, unapologetic Zutara shipper. She has talked how she is aware people tends to call her books "Zutara Fanfiction".

She has made it very clear that she doesn't mind that they do. ☺️

Oh! And the books are already in the works for film adaptations! 😁

The Witchlands series by Susan Dennard:

0.5. Sightwitch

Truthwitch

Windwitch

Bloodwitch

Witchshadow

TBA

Is it too obvious that these were written by an ATLA fan? 😅 The magic system in the books is inspired by ATLA's bending; these are perfect for the ones who still wanted some more feminism and girls supporting girls dynamics in ATLA. The main protagonists are best friends with a sisterly bond, but one of them has a very interesting relationship with a certain scarred prince/vigilante with a treacherous sister...

And Susan Dennard approves her books to be recommended as "a romance with those Zutara feels"! ☺️

Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard:

0.1. Queen Song

0.2. Steel Scars

Red Queen

Glass Sword

King's Cage

War Storm

Broken Throne

It's the series I'm always hyping over!! 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

As you can see here 😅.

As I said, “stubborn brown-skinned girl with powers and an overprotective warrior older brother who joins a resistance against a tiranic goverment in a world at war/dark-haired, golden-eyed prince with fire powers, an evil, abused sibling and an abusive parent, who then joins the resistance” dynamic.

Besides, the books have their own version of Mailee going.

I can't say for sure if Victoria Aveyard is a Zutara shipper since in all my time following her I haven't seen anything ATLA-related from her... but that trope is way too specific for it to be a coincidence 🤨🧐

Jade Fire Gold by June CL Tan

It's the book I've been talking you about, the one that's scheduled to come out next year and that is being marketed as a Zutara rewrite by the author herself.

There's little info about it so far, safe for the few updates I've been giving you. The worldbuilding is inspired by Chinese mythology for the author's heritage, the female lead looks like a cinnamon but could actually kill you, male lead is way too extra for his own good, "there's only one bed meets there's only one cave" trope, and see the recent Shipping Bingo that June CL Tan tweeted.

Looking good so far! 😉

Six of Crows duology by Leigh Bardugo:

Six of Crows

Crooked Kingdom

TBA

I know I called it a duology and then listed three installments, it's just that Leigh hasn't talked much about the third book save for some few times, and she's one of those "I'll break your heart so you don't break mine" people, so I want to be cautious about it 🥺🥺🥺

Still, I absolutely adore these books!! If you follow me, you've probably seen me reblog content about them; the main couple give me such HUGE Zutara vibes, and with reason! Leigh is a multishipper: she ships Kataang and Zutara — (which explains some disagreements I may have with her other romance plots 😒)

Special mention to: Joe Abercrombie.

He hasn't written anything ZK-like, but he has tweeted about shipping Zutara and wanting to write some Zutara fanfiction, so you might as well want to give his books a chance.

Before you go, know that I'm not done yet 👇🏽

Books not written by Zutara shippers but recommended for the Zutara shippers:

These Violent Delights by Chloe Chong

Did anybody say Mafia!Romeo and Juliet retelling set in 1920's Shanghai?

We hunt the flame by Hafsah Faizal

Enemies to lovers parallelisms are everything!! 😍😍😍

A Song of Wraiths and Ruin by Roseanne A. Brown

Also West African inspired.

Serpent & Dove by Shelby Mahurin

Just 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍!!!!!

Special mention to: Shatter Me series by Tahereh Mafi.

Must-read for every enemies to lovers fan 😎

*tired panting*

Feels good to be a bookworm! 📚🤓

#zutara #atla #katara #zuko #zuko x katara #avatar the last airbender #zuko/katara #*purple heart emoji* 💜

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yazthebookish · 3 years

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Hi I’m a Gwynriel but I get really nervous when I see the e/riels say that sarah said on the ACOWAR tour that she knew who the first two books in the next trilogy were about, and then how sarah told Eva Chen she always knew Nesta and Elain were getting books. Do you think this means that Elain’s book is next, or is there another explanation 🙏🏼?

Hello anon🤍,

Worry not.

Sarah is an author that goes with the flow while writing and that includes making significant changes (which can be a good or a bad thing) and that explains why her books suffer plotholes and inconsistencies sometimes.

As for knowing who the next two books were about, if it was indeed Nesta and Elain's books she would've said “Well the upcoming book is about Nesta and the next one is about Elain” and it's done and over with. She doesn't have to be secretive about it if she said Nesta and Elain's books are next. The only confirmation we got was about Nesta and Cassian. Sarah never made definitive confirmations about who the next books (after ACOSF) will be about.

I think originally she had two books in mind and that would be about Nesta and Elain but later on it's confirmed to be 3 full books (including ACOSF) and one or two novellas. Remember how the end of ACOFAS hinted at Nesta ending up training in Illyria? We saw how she quickly disposed of that plotline in ACOSF and it seems to be pushed to Azriel's book because ACOSF established a future conflict between Valkyries/Illyrians and also the mystery surrounding Ramiel and how it may be connected to Koschei or the Trove.

As I said Sarah writes with the flow of the story and what makes the most sense for the characters and their journeys. For Throne of Glass she originally planned for Aelin to end up with Dorian but then Rowan was introduced and she ended up with him. Does that mean Rowaelin is a crackship that has no basis and Dorian was the OG? Nope, it's just that the author paved a new route for her character's journey and introduced another charcater that would compliment and contribute more to her journey.

Even if originally she had two books set up for Nesta and Elain, maybe Elain might've ended up with Lucien just as Sarah always planned because she wants them to heal together. I think the argument about how Gwynriel will likely be a false ship and that Elriel were the OG is already stirring. Sarah never mentioned Elain and Azriel in the same breath but back during the time of the ACOWAR tour didn't she speak about what kind of date Nessian and Elucien would go on?

We KNOW Elain is getting a book no one is denying it but it's unlikely she will be next. ACOSF did not set her up as MC, she was more of a background charcater that had even less dialogue and appearance than ACOWAR. And Sarah did say she thought it was obvious who the next book is about and Elain's role in ACOSF doesn't scream "incoming MC" to me at all, who had the most screentime after Nesta and Cassian? Azriel and Gwyn.

The majority expect it to be Azriel's book or Azriel and Gwyn as the supporting MC/love interest in the way as it was with Chaol and Yrene. We don't expect the whole book to focus on Gwyn only, their healing journey is something that was set up in ACOSF. The only people that claim Gwyn's story is over and doesn't need a healing journey are the ones that are in denial and skipped her parts in ACOSF.

Also, Sarah did not even write ACOTAR5 yet so nothing is set in stone. Also, check her Pinterest (it's full of the Little Mermaid inspirations and she wanted to adapt that fairytale into ACOTAR😉)

Here is a link to the summary post I did about ACOSF's ending: https://yazthebookish.tumblr.com/post/648560144580591616/i-read-a-few-of-sjms-live-transcripts-so-sarah

I hope this answers your question 🤍

#acosf #acosf spoilers #gwynriel #azriel #gwyneth berdara #asks

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twistedtummies2 · 2 years

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If you were able to adapt any play, book, movie, game, or other such thing you wanted, with no worries about budget or rights, what would you do? Bonus question, what's the most unorthodox thing you'd love to include in such an adaptation (e.g. Sweeney Todd, but Sweeney's a snake-man)?

I'm going to go pretty in depth here, so I'll put a "Keep Reading" tag on this to prevent you all having to read a solid block of text forever and a day. XD There are two things I would like to adapt more than anything in the world, and both are actually somewhat obscure. (One is actually the inspiration for my Malleus AU stories, though, so if you're interested in that, maybe you'll take a peek. LOL ) In both cases, I would like to see a screen adaptation made, and I would also like to see a video game based on them.

First up, this is one of my favorite book series of all time: "The Looking-Glass Wars." It is a sci-fi/fantasy reimagining of the Alice stories, told through a trilogy of novels. (There have also been several spin-off comics, although their quality seems to fluctuate; all three novels are good, and solidly structured.) The best way I can describe the books, overall, is they are what would happen if you mixed Alice in Wonderland with Star Wars and a hint of superhero fiction. They are FREAKING AWESOME, and probably my favorite literary reinterpretation of the "Alice" stories and characters. If I could adapt them into anything, I would want to do one of two things. One is make them into a TV series; a movie would only be able to include so much, and a miniseries would be great, but you'd probably only have room for one book. I'd like to take the three novels and adapt them to TV, sort of the way shows like Game of Thrones did. You could have three seasons, and each season could be an adaptation of one book. Then, if it were desired, one could have a spin-off movie based on one of the comics, or continue the series in a new direction for another season, there's all kinds of ways to go about it. The other adaptation I'd like to see is a video game, like I said before. Now, TECHNICALLY there's an online card game based on the books, but what I'd like to see is a game similar to the "Star Wars: Battlefront" games, only based on these books and featuring characters from the story as your "Heroes" for each side of the conflict. Such a game is something I've fantasized about since I was a child, and if there was any video game I could make myself, this would be one of two games I'd like to make more than anything. In terms of "unorthodox elements": one is that, for the TV treatment, I would like to try and avoid creating CGI beings as much as possible. CGI can create beautiful things, but I've always loved to see how practical makeup and effects can make things feel more visceral and real. So I would have it that made that that is done as often as possible: characters like The Cat and Bibwit Harte being handled with makeup and costumes rather than CGI animation would be glorious, leaving the computer generated madness to things like creating whole armies of robotic card soldiers. And even then, I'd like at least a couple of physical soldiers made for some scenes. Leave the CG effects for the magical and "big" elements, but have the sets and characters as physically formed as possible. For the video game...have the soundtrack composed by Emilie Autumn. If you don't know who she is, look her up, you'll quickly get why.

Now, I said this was one of TWO things I'd like to see made in a video game. That leads to my second option I mentioned...

Meet The Shadow. This guy is one of my favorite comic book heroes...or anti-heroes, at least. Born in the pulp magazines of the 1930s and 40s, the Shadow is basically the father of the modern superhero. Various superhero characters today - and even other pulp-style heroes - all owe a huge debt to this character, and while he has managed to have a stable career in comics, he remains fairly unknown outside of them, and even within them: he is a very "niche" sort of character, nowadays, but there was a time when this guy was one of the most popular characters in history. (Seriously, look it up, he has a fascinating history.) His universe is the inspiration for my Blackbird stories - the Malleus AU. In terms of a screen treatment, what I would like to see more than anything, specifically, is an ANIMATED movie. Even more specifically, I would really love to see DC and the Shadow's current owners, Dynamite, partner-up to produce an animated adaptation of their crossover comic series, "Batman and the Shadow." Yep, that is a thing, and it is flippin' glorious. While I doubt people would go mad for a live-action interpretation, I think an animated direct-to-video film would be just dandy, and the animation medium would give a lot more freedom to create the sort of action and mystifying madness these stories specialize in. In terms of a video game, I'd want a game similar to the Arkham games or the PS4 Spider-Man title, in terms of gameplay and combat. Imagine that kind of game, but with a setting of the 1940s, facing off old-time gangsters and with a musical style akin to L.A. Noire or The Wolf Among Us. And unlike the animated movie, I wouldn't want a crossover: just a Shadow game of that sort, mixing stealth action with rowdy combat and some detective/puzzle solving elements. In both cases, the unorthodox element I'd like to see is the color palette. I would LOVE to take advantage of the film noir style of this universe, and really play with color in a unique way. I'd want to do something similar to "The Death of Margo Lane" comic arc - or, for a more popular example, the flashback scenes in "The Killing Joke" - where the palette is mostly in sepia tones or grayscale monochrome, with only a few key colors - like red - popping out, long shadows and strong lighting choices everywhere, very Expressionistic. Not too many games OR movies take advantage of this, but the Shadow would allow for it easily, in either case, and in the case of the game, it would really help to give the title an identity: for those who don't know a lick about the Shadow, the style would hopefully entice them. Regardless of the direction, I'd cast Maurice LaMarche or Roger L. Jackson as the voice of the Shadow, personally. If a more celebrity type of voice were demanded...hmmmm...Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston, or Idris Elba would probably be my first choices. They're popular and seem like likely candidates. Heck, Cumberbatch would probably be a good Shadow in live-action, if anyone gives that another try.

#ask #answer #q&a #the looking glass wars #lgw #alice in wonderland #frank beddor #literature #comics #pulp magazines #the shadow #the shadow knows #batman #batman/the shadow

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erazonpo3 · 3 years

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(This is a written collaboration between myself and Hemlock/pathygen in the ‘Cassandra’s Tangled Adventure’ AU verse, featuring our characters Alphecca and Violante. This was just a fun little back-and-forth with our two villains set in the period in which Violante has possession of Alphecca’s phylactery.

The formatting is based on our replies, it was really fun to get to write together and watch Violante flex on Alphecca. I’d recommend reading it on my blog’s desktop page for the formatting)

The Eagle and The Mole

Ever since her rebirth in flame and ash, Alphecca hasn’t known the icy grip of cold; yet Countess Violante’s chateau inspires it in her bones. It’s a monument of stone, glass, and drapery, and at this time of night the torchlight in the hallways are extinguished; malingerers are unwelcome. Even the ever-present ache in her chest takes its leave here, something she would have been thankful for if it weren’t Violante’s doing. Her soul burned like a dying star, but since her phylactery fell into Violante’s hands all she has known is its absence— numb apathy— the closest thing she knows to cold.

She’s sure to school her features before entering Violante’s parlour, smoothing out the notch between her eyebrows and the curl of her lips that may as well have been sculpted into her flesh these days. Trinket shrieks at her as she walks past, aggrieved that her delicious bones are today wrapped in the illusion of skin and, on top of that, a stupid uniform. It’s stiff and it pinches in ways she can’t feel but is nonetheless frustrated by, and whenever she catches her reflection in the silverware she can’t help but grimace at the militant emblems and pageantry she advertises. All that’s missing from her marionette costume is the strings.

The Countess is waiting for her as expected, perched perfectly poised on the gaudy piece of furniture she likes to pretend is a throne. She resists the urge to sneer at the pretentious display, if only because Violante would find it so amusing.

“I’m back,” she announces flatly, absently picking at the cuff of her jacket.

“Yes, I noticed.” Violante replies, crystal and calm as a winter morning.

The countess has a quill pinched between her fingers; sharp motions carry the crimson plume across the page laid out in front of her, scratching. The chamber swallows sound and bounces it back. Dim moonlight ekes through tall, arched windows of blue stained glass, and casts a watery pattern against the polished floor.

Violante does not look up at the dead woman.

A minute and a half passes before she finally caps the tiny, neat scrawl on the parchment with a looping signature, rolls it into a neat cylinder, and sets it aside. The feathered end of the quill finds its way between her lips, ponderously. She tilts her head up and her smile is delicate. There’s something of a spider in it.

“That certainly took you long enough. One little village could hardly have been all the effort.” The Countess of Solanales stands with a fluid motion, and folds her arms loosely across her chest. A cigarette smolders in it’s holder on the edge of the desk, filling the room with an oily, herbal smell. She inspects Alpchecca like one might a mannequin stuck in a display, lips pursed.

“Well, at least you kept everything in order this time. See? You can look nice. I knew the collar would be a nice touch. The color accents your eyes, now that you have them in.”

Trinket croaks from her perch. The monochrome vulture returns to preening, bored now that the arguably edible bits of the lich aren’t on display. Violante leans back against the edge of her gilded seat. “So how did it go? Did you make any friends?”

This time Alphecca doesn’t withhold the grimace that curls back her lip to expose a yellowed canine. She’s aware of the way the moonlight makes her pale skin seem especially waxy and sallow, which typically serves to unnerve humans- all save the Countess. Violante’s eyes glitter like a cut diamond as she appraises her, and Alphecca forces her gaze away in a show of deliberate disregard. She stares through the blue washed windowpane to speak to the waxing moon, but keeps an eye on Violante’s figure in her periphery.

“I was just being thorough, I’m sure you can appreciate that. No stone left unturned, no building left standing, everything razed just right, just for you,” she says, flashing Violante a quick, sardonic smirk before returning her gaze to the window. “I don’t imagine you’ll have much of a problem marching your people down there and claiming a new pile of dirt, or whatever it is you do with the ashes. There’s nothing left.”

The moon’s bright glow begins to burn a spot into her vision, but facing the window makes it easier for her to keep her face blank. Her excursion today would be considered a success by Violante’s standards, but she had been sure to cause enough of a racket as she tore through the streets that most villagers had ample time to flee before she tore into the place. If they couldn’t escape even after all the time she gave them, well, Cassandra can’t say she didn’t try.

Under the scrutiny she can’t help but scratch at the briarthorn collar, and she chances another glance back at Violante.

“Thoughtful. I can’t say I have much use for more dirt than I already seem to own, but,” Violante gestures and Trinket stretches her neck. The vulture flaps off the stand and onto the desk with a crooked hop, and remains still while the countess fastens the scroll to her leg. “I’m sure whoever is left will be happy to accept all the aid Solanales is willing to provide, in the wake of their unfortunate devastation.”

Eyes glittering, she crooks a gloved finger under the large bird’s beak and hums. “The world is lousy with monsters, after all.”

And in the end, it was only a barrier town. But every little bit counts, every scrap of seizure. Scraps still. But these were things that couldn’t be rushed. Or shouldn’t have been, if she had been able to stick to her original schedule. Plans were important, but the ability to adapt to a situation was worth even more. Put attention in the right places, stress on the right joints, poison in the right tea.

Or get creative, and toss a skeleton into a henhouse. Ho hum.

“Go on.” Violante says to the bird. Trinket makes a clicking noise low in her throat, and takes off without a backwards glance at Alphecca, winging towards some high and hidden exit. Violante watches her go in silence. She doesn’t expect it will take long for a response, in some capacity, but she doesn’t really plan to wait for one either. Aldara is out in the field somewhere, hopefully stalking her other quarry, but there’s a decent chance both situations will muddle together eventually.

“Now, what to do with you?” Violante turns back to face the dead woman, who looks hilariously unsure. It’s already late, and she needs to keep some space between the raids, as she creeps them closer to the borders of the Iron Kingdom.

Alphecca scowls at the vulture’s retreating form, however glad she’d normally be to see it leave. With Trinket gone, only the two of them remain. It didn’t exactly make for a good buffer, yet in the leering bird’s absence the room tightens with intimacy. Violante and intimacy are her two least favourite things, and combined they manifest as the bane of her existence. The only thing that can make it worse is Violante’s voyeuristic shadow who is thankfully out on her master’s orders tonight, likely committing her own fill of atrocities.

The Countess’ icy veneer betrays nothing of her intentions. In a game where information is everything, Alphecca knows she’s at a woeful disadvantage. If she tries fishing, Violante will know what she’s doing the minute she speaks, no matter how vague or disinterested she comes across— but she might be indulged. It begs the question of whether it’s better to stumble around blindly or sniff out a trail she can’t trust. Either way, she needs to say something- the longer she concedes to silence, the further the scales tip in Violante’s favour.

“How about giving these old bones a rest? You’ll find a siesta does wonderful things for the constitution,” she quips. “I’m assuming you don’t want to cause too much of a stir, anyhow,” she adds, unable to deny the temptation of the gamble. Now she forces herself to keep her eyes trained on the Countess, and settles into a smirk.

“You’re dead, you don’t have a constitution,” Violante drawls.

She glances away towards the window, the picture of disinterest, thinking. Ghostly evening light blankets the room, and flows over the silent collection of statues and armor bordering the walls, the curtained archways. Rooting out the location of the lich’s phylactery had been more of an effort of time and money than anything else. She had a number of contacts stretched over the continent, from tomb takers to Morcant to disgruntled former servants who had once swept the halls of the Spire. The crumbling little ruin of a shrine had seemed like a forgotten afterthought, nestled on the edge of an icy valley north of Ingvarr. The pendant had been wrapped in hay and rue. The plain little goat skull carved into the stone that boxed it had worn smooth with time. It was imagery that had become much more frequent among the information she lately received. So many old stories seemed to be pulling themselves up out of the grave these days. Even keeping the new ones in the ground was proving to be a challenge.

No one died like they used to. The lich had certainly been involved in that most recent of frustrations.

Although, maybe, her decision to poison Cassandra had been a little hasty. She had maybe been a little angry. A little perturbed. Corpses and memories were generally less useful than breathing attendants, even if they were less trouble. People were so stubborn. Still, even there the lich might prove..useful. If that was the way things shook out in the end.

“Besides, we both know rest isn’t really in your cards.” The countess says, stepping down away from the desk, towards Alphecca. Reaching up, she adjusts the collar the lich keeps fiddling with, smooths down the epaulettes on her shoulders. The illusion of flesh truly was impressive. Almost as much as the facade of confidence. “You know, I once heard that a long life eventually deprives you of optimism. They also say that time heals all wounds. People never seem to be able to make up their minds about just how sad they think they’re supposed to be.”

Alphecca wraps her grimace up into a wry grin, though the fury in her eyes burns a palpable heat in the gelid room. Violante ignores said look as she smooths out the creases in her uniform, abusing all sentiment of personal space. The woman isn’t physically intimidating in the slightest; even wearing stilettos Alphecca has to look down her nose at her. But the proximity is unnerving. If her physical body is merely an extension of her soul, then Violante owns both, and she isn’t shy about making it known— so Alphecca does her best to ignore it, training her eyes on the wall in front of her instead of the head of perfectly coiffed curls only a breath away and the nails that cross her clavicle to smooth over her shoulders.

“In my experience, more time is just an avenue for more procrastination,” she admits. It’s the truth, or at least it’s her truth, and there’s no harm in admitting it- the information has no value to Violante. If the Countess got her claws on immortality, the last thing anyone should be concerned with is if she were happy or sad.

“People also say that destroying people’s lives and livelihoods won’t make you happy, but we both know that’s not true,” she adds. She hasn’t actually heard anyone say that, but it’s one of those unspoken things- and it’s wrong. Schadenfreude and victory are one hell of a cocktail.

“A common adage, is that?” Violante hums, stepping back. “Stagnation is hideous. And regret is a waste of energy. If you’ve really wasted all this time waiting for a death that’s never going to come, then it’s fortunate I came along to make better use of your… afterlife.” She tilts her head. “Especially considering that I found you rooting around in a cave, talking to bones. I can’t imagine skeletons make for very good conversation.”

For once, Alphecca isn’t bothered by the barb. She wastes her time however she pleases, spending her years harassing new villages until she gets bored and moves on, or searching for new fossils to reanimate, playing in the dirt. She knows she’s a disappointment but that’s how she’s come to like it— fuelled by the spite of those more ambitious than her who have to watch her gnaw on the unending life they can’t have. That is, until Violante took it from her.

With more distance between them now, Alphecca releases a breath; it’s unnecessary, but calming all the same.

“They make better company than your pets, at least,” she says. They don’t talk back, for one thing, but she’ll keep that part to herself. All the bones she finds have very interesting stories to tell, but unfortunately Violante’s dreadful companions only find them useful for teething.

“Tsk. Oh, kettle.” Violante says, sotto voce. She has very little interest in making any argument about the quality of company Aldara or anyone else brings to her circle. She doesn’t keep them around for their people skills. Mostly. The countess reaches out to tap the bottom of her jaw. “You’re so uncertain for a corpse. You chatter so much for a tool. But if that’s the way you feel…” A thoughtful pause, wintry silence. Violante steps past her, the dark pool of her gown trailing on the floor. “Come.”

“What, you’re not a fan of our stimulating discussions?” Alphecca jeers, cocking her head. Blunt as they are, words are the last weapons she has in this fight, but she turns to follow her nonetheless. She kicks her feet up off the ground to hang a foot in the air to let the click of Violante’s heels echo down the hollow hallways alone, creeping behind her like a spectre.

She’s hesitates, trailing behind at a healthy distance, but she can’t deny her curiosity is piqued.

“I think your talents lie elsewhere.” Violante answers without turning around, wry. The castle is large and cold and strikingly empty of people. There are servants, courtiers, of course, but this late at night the work has gone to ground. Most of them, having been around this long, have learned to work out of sight, or in silence. Violante lifts a low burning candelabra from a table in the tapestried hall, wax dripping into the filagree crevices that tomorrow will be picked clean again before she wakes. The halls stretch on, half covered portraits lining the walls, tall arched windows that continue to leak in cool evening light. Violante takes them down, towards the ground floor, and eventually comes to rest in front of a heavy, ornate door set back far from the main vestibule.

“Wait here.” she commands, and without stopping, the countess takes off down another hall and vanishes around the corner. She returns about ten minutes later, unchanged and smiling. In her hand is a small pouch, dangling with a loop of cord that she drapes around her neck. She nods at the door. “Shall we?”

Alphecca lingers back as she follows Violante through the chateau. She’s no stranger to silence, and she can even appreciate the servants’ scarce presence; humans can be such annoying creatures. However, there’s a hostility that comes with the quiet— an unspoken threat that has butlers and maids scurrying away like rats in the corner of her eye, only daring to move when the Countess strides past.

She halts when instructed, taking the time to inspect the portraits of Violante’s ancestors while she waits. The dim light is no obstacle as she takes in the details, sneering at the pompous Lords and Ladies that line the walls. The different fashion styles over the centuries blend together in her mind, but she recognises the distinct ruffles that predate the Shampanier Era crossing over to the more modern style of headdress, evolving across the row of portraits. They have matching brutal, patrician features and cold eyes, and their arrogance is palpable even through the oils. She wonders if Violante sees them as an inspiration or an embarrassment.

Alphecca drops to her feet when Violante arrives, eyeing the new fashion accessory.

“Ladies first,” she gestures in a parody of an usher, trying to avoid the sense of dread that accompanies the sight of the heavy wooden door.

“True.” Violante says agreeably, placing her gloved hand on the door. In the other she still clutches the flickering candelabra, and the light plays shadows against its surface. The front of it is carved with vines and flowers, mountains and snowflakes. It opens with a heavy grinding sound when she tries the handles, with some effort. Cobwebs stick and pull between the gap, and Violante sneers a little at the dust that collects on her fingertips. A staircase leads down into darkness. It reeks of earth, dry and undisturbed.

Violante’s face remains impassive as she starts down the steps, the click of her heels ringing against the stone. The walls are featureless rock, and roots start to press through the gaps the farther down they travel. Eventually the stairs level out onto a narrow, dark, landing. Violante moves with a caution in the dark that relaxes when she finds the torches set into thick pillars that frame the entrance, and she lights them with the candle flame. Orange light fills the cavern.

“Homey, I imagine.” she says. “But still better than what you were used to.”

It is a tomb, of course. More a mausoleum, seemingly built into the naturally limestone cavern underneath the castle. The roof of the crypt rises up high above the chamber, arched ribs and all angles like the inside of a cathedral. Violante doesn’t pause in her intrusion, gliding down the center aisle with a curious fervor, idly stroking the covered parcel around her neck. She finally stops as they near the back of the chamber, in front of a stone dais that elevates two, long, solid coffins. Side by side, in their lofty place of honor. Violante sets the candles down. She looks back at the lich.

She says, “You’re going to wake them up.”

Violante isn’t wrong to assume that the cavernous underbelly of the castle is more comforting to Alphecca than the bleak architecture and furnishing upstairs, but it’s still far from homely. The crypt is stale and azoic, lacking the warm smell of rot and soil that accompanies her usual hovels. Nonetheless she does feel more at ease here, and it takes the tension out of her shoulders.

“Is this mum and dad? I didn’t really take you for the mournful orphan type,” Alphecca says, her smirk eking into her voice. She approaches the left coffin and slides a hand over the lacquered wood, which is stained with black and ornately carved. The golden filigree is finely engraved and the craftsmanship of the coffin itself is masterful. A thrill runs through her bones; as disinterested as she is in the coffin’s inhabitants, she’s eager to see what bijous and tchotchkes she’ll find inside.

It takes her mind off of Violante’s request. Resurrecting one body, one soul, takes more effort than she is usually willing to expend. Two isn’t out of the question, but it’s going to take time. There are shortcuts she could take-

No. She’ll take all the time she needs.

“I can do it for you, but it’s not going to be quick or easy. I’m assuming you want more than just a couple of braindead puppets, after all,” Alphecca states, glancing carefully at Violante.

Violante watches the dead mingle, the old and the ancient. There’s a stone bench opposite the dais, maybe long ago a place meant for prayer or meeting. The back of it curves up into a chiseled swan’s head, with the beak broken off. She sits, and crosses her legs, eyes lidded, observing Alphecca as she circles the caskets. The lich’s interest is evident, undisguised. She’s being so nice.

“Mmm.” she confirms, very calm. “Lady Fiore and Count Viator. I poisoned them when I was seventeen.”

She draws a finger across the jagged beak of the swan and rubs the grit between her thumb and forefinger. The black fabric of her gloves are already powdered with dust. Idly, she pinches one finger and slips it the long glove off, stretching her hand in the cool, dry air of the crypt. The tips of her fingers are stained purplish-black, even deep under her nails.

“They need to be able to speak, and answer questions truthfully. I’m not especially worried about mobility, but memory is important.” She tilts her head, dark eyes focused on the bone witch. “How long? Describe the process for me.”

Alphecca’s lips twist as Violante confesses to her parents’ murder, but continues to investigate the coffins.

“Well, the process involves bartering with Death, binding the soul to an anchor and then binding said anchor to your will- it’s something that can take months, depending on how long it takes to get the reagents, and that’s just for one soul. Doubling up will save time, but even you don’t have infinite resources,” she explains.

Without asking Alphecca lifts the nearest coffin lid, and lets out an involuntary whoop at the burst of pungent aroma. There’s not much left of the carcass itself, despite what she’s sure was a vigorous embalming. Corpses are meant to return to the earth, and the ones buried above ground have a messier time of trying to find it. Lady Fiore’s robes are completely soiled with corpse juice, but she’s surrounded by a few glinting baubles that could still be disinfected- although she’s sure Violante won’t let her play with them.

“A fresh corpse is always easier to work with, but it’s just as well you kept the remains at all- souls will anchor to their own bodies with less of a fuss,” she says, disregarding all the loopholes that come to mind. With a snap of her fingers Fiore’s bones glow a pale blue, battling the orange torchlight for a moment before it subsides. It’s a basic preservation spell that she uses on all her creatures to protect their bones from the elements, which she hopes Violante will take as a sign of her veracity.

“You’ll find my resources will more than suffice.” Violanate says. “Considering the state of your previous arrangement, and what you’re used to.” Scrounging around in the shadows and the muck couldn’t have been all that profitable for the lich. Procuring things, especially things of an elusive nature, is not usually a problem for her.

The stench that emanates from her mother’s coffin is certainly vile enough. Violante’s nose wrinkles, and she nearly rolls her eyes at the bone witch’s obvious enthusiasm for it. For a moment she has to tilt her head to the side, and she brings the pouch around her neck closer to her face. There’s baby’s breath and rosemary inside: a good dampener, or so she’s been told. The Countess is not unfamiliar with corpses, but they’re usually less decayed, and less in her face. She could have used a stronger perfume.

“Useful little spell.” She says, turning back to face the dais.

And then, “..bartering with death.” Violante drawls, stretching the words out slowly. That has her curiosity piqued. Something about it, a string to tug. “Like it’s a person.”

Alphecca hums absently, neither in agreement or disagreement.

“I suppose we’ll see,” she says. She swipes a thumb over Lady Fiore’s cheekbone, imagining how the muscle would have wrapped across it and how the skin might have sat on top. Her sharp jawline mirrors Violante’s, and she’s willing to bet they shared the same nose. She was no doubt a very attractive woman in her prime, and Alphecca finds herself almost frustrated that she’ll be deliberately prolonging the reconstruction process.

She crosses over to the coffin on the left but her fingers tapdance across the lid, and her head perks up at the mention of Death.

“Well, yeah- okay, she’s not really a person, but she’s the shepherd between this realm and the realm where lost souls are... supposed to go, and you’re not going to get a soul back from the realm of the dead without her noticing,” she explains, smiling at the memory of the spectre. Absently she traces shapes in the dust of the coffin lid as she continues.

“It’s far simpler to make a trade with her than to try and steal one, but that’s still easier said than done.”

Having to watch the lich inspect and handle her parents' remains doesn’t seem to phase the Countess very much. Legs crossed, she sits back on the mourning bench, and rests her chin on the back of her fingers.

“‘She’. You make a trade with death.” Violante repeats, not a question. “What could..death-the-entity possibly want in exchange for a soul?”

There’s a visible sneer on her face at the word soul. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in spectres or spirits: she’s essentially speaking to one, even if it’s trapped in a bone. The concept of anything trying to tell her what to do, even after death, dissatisfies. Even at a young age, playing with her first herbs and poisons and staining her skin, Violante knew that she wasn’t going to go until she was good and ready.

She can guess what the lich might think of her. The many things, every terrible notion. Most she’s probably right about. But Violante has no interest in living forever. Cavorting around for centuries as a moldering corpse isn’t an appealing notion, and it obviously hasn’t done the witch any favours. No. She is going to build something great. Something right, something hers.

In the end, if it is really worthy, it will outlast her.

And if it’s not...well.

Violante hums, “Longing for death is a bit of a cliche, even for you.”

“Depends,” Alphecca shrugs. “Sometimes she asks for help wrangling the ghosts that refuse to let go, or she has a specific soul in mind, or sometimes she just wants a favour to keep in her pocket. There’s always some kind of catch though, because she’s hardly going to ask for something she can get herself.”

Even if she weren’t already planning on delaying the process, she anticipates bargaining for two souls will be the most difficult part. Bartering with Death isn’t exactly something she makes a habit of; she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s made the deal, and every time had brought its own headache. Just the memory of it is enough to make her head hurt, so she turns her attention back to Violante.

“Yeah, well. Even you’d be begging her to come take you after long enough. You and I both know Death can be a mercy,” she says with a smirk, and cracks open dear father’s casket.

Help, promises, wayward souls. “That’s a lot out of death’s reach.” More than one would think, for such a definite force. Violante listens to the dead woman without looking up, thinking, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the velvet pouch dangling from her neck. There is another wave of foul scent, all earth and rot. The sound of heavy stone dragging on stone. Her father had been a count of some notable prowess. He had been good at getting people to listen, and always spoke with confidence. Curt at times, but he shared a warmth with her mother that would have seemed anathema to the traditional Solanales chill, to anyone outside of their family. They were a private people. Violante had loved her parents. She had loved them even when she was putting them in the ground.

“Who said anything about mercy?” The countess murmurs, tilting her head, a silver-dark curl of hair sliding over one side of her face. Wintry, she says, “How long is this going to take you? Approximately, for one body?”

Alphecca rakes a finger down Count Viator’s sternum, making a mental note of his measurements. She’s sure there’s a portrait somewhere in the castle she can look to as a reference for their bodies, which are clearly tall but perhaps wider than their frames let on. Violante’s voice echoes in the cavernous room, yet the words themselves float around in the air. There’s a few trinkets scattered in the coffin, rings and jewels and heirlooms; they’re gaudy and expensive, but far from valuable to the dead. The sudden change in the intonation of Violante’s voice catches her attention, and she only catches the tail end of her question.

“Hm? Oh- well, for one? It’d normally take around a month or so to source all the reagents- meat, ivory, rare herbs and spices and whathaveyou- then somewhere between one to two weeks to build the body itself. After that it really depends on what I need to do to recover the soul,” Alphecca explains, finally dragging her eyes away from the remains.

“And of course, I wouldn’t want to rush perfection.”

“How thoughtful,” Violante drawls. “But they don’t need to be perfect, just functional. Enough to answer what I want to ask of them. You fare well enough without lungs. Or gray matter.” The countess tilts her head again. “They’re going right back in the ground after I’m finished with them.”

Pushing away from the bench, Violante stands with fluid, gossamer grace. Holding one arm loosely tucked around her waist, she climbs the steps and despite the reek, peers slowly into each of the caskets, expression unreadable. Swipes one stained fingers against the dust collected on the stone lip, rubbing.

Almost conversationally, she looks back and says, “Tell me what you need, and you’ll have it within a week. If not sooner. We have the merits of civilization here.” With a surprising amount of ease, Violante leans back against her mother’s grave and lifts herself into a sitting position on the skewed cover, ankles crossed. She smiles, her mouth a sharp, dark slash. “Three weeks, I think, is more than enough time for you to finish the work.”

Very slowly, she lifts the velvet pouch and threads it open. The amulet is heavy, and Violante curls it’s chain delicately around her fingers, thumb hooked under one of the horns. Scarlet light suffuses her from below.

Coy, Violante hums, “If you put your mind to it.”

Alphecca scowls at Count Viator, cursing him for ever procreating.

“If you want a botched job, then fine,” she sneers, bristling at the intrusion on her oasis. The presence of the phylactery is like a sneeze sitting at the back of her nose, painless and yet impossible to ignore. However, the Countess has extended her a favour in the same token, providing her the irritation necessary to redirect her attention elsewhere.

“The souls of the dead don’t tend to like being torn from their peace and shoved back inside their corpses, and the further the vessel is from their actual flesh and blood, the harder it is to attach them. And if a soul doesn’t attach properly, then you’re going to have a very uncooperative, likely half-braindead, pale imitation of your dearly departed loved one. So it’s your call,” Alphecca explains, drumming her fingers on the coffin lid.

It’s a gambit for more time, but the phenomenon of corrupted souls isn’t unheard of. And it’s not exactly something she’s keen on dealing with.

And then there was silence. It was followed by the shrill whistle of a lofty wind, swiftly swallowed by the cavern, sucked down. Above, a jagged crack in the apex of the cave opened up to mountain air and evening sky. Snow-melt had formed thin icicles which dripped with languid precision onto the old stone. There were some places within the cavern where if you listened close enough you could hear the sounds of running water; more runoff that was kept flowing by the warm channels that ran all underneath Solanales. The recessed thermal rivers: mineral rich, were responsible for the health and diversity of the medicinal herbs the county was able to cultivate. Her father had shown her maps, long ago.

Violante regards the lich cooly. The sneer; the constant flow of excuses, the obstinance. There is a moment before she speaks, where the slick consideration in her dark eyes slides towards bored. Just as quickly, the flat stare is replaced with a knifelike flash of malice, penetrative and acute—then a return to hawkish study.

“You’re right,” The countess says smoothly, examining the blemished fingers of her free hand, “it is my call.” She tilts her head, and wrly continues, “..and if I cared about what they liked, I wouldn’t have killed them in the first place.”

The glow from the amulet gives her skin a rosy tincture it doesn’t usually possess. Violante places her empty hand back on the coffin lid behind her, relaxing back into a lounge.

“Alphecca…” her voice is deadly soft. She rarely uses the corpse’s name. She’s never seen much point. The countess peers down at the phylactery, slim fingers curled under the horns and through the chains.

“You know, this really was remarkably easy to find. Time; a few simple exchanges of gold, a barter with a like-minded contact—who will no doubt realise, eventually, the true cost of that information, and likewise, the great loss she would accrue attempting to take it back.”

Calm, easy, her posture is that of a woman relaxing in a parlor; not an arm's reach away from her mother’s seeping skeleton. Violante runs her thumb up the side of the crystal. It’s warm, with a steady, pulse-like thrum.

“That is a part of what it means to have dominion—to have dominance. Laying the foundation. Control over people and their emotions, so that they don’t go spinning them out into actions they haven’t thought over properly. Something always there, in the back of their minds.”

With a sly smile, Violante tilts the amulet. “Like this.” Her fingers tighten, squeeze around the pulse.

“Come here.” she commands.

The Countess’ silence brings the familiar weight of dread, the coils of her contemplation winding and tensing before their inevitable release. The use of her name, soft as it is, is like the snap of a twig; the arrow is coming next, but she has nowhere to run. When Violante speaks, her words are dripping with nightshade, and Alphecca pays less attention to the words as she does those eyes and the way they peel back the illusion of her flesh. How long ago was it that Zhan Tiri had stood in her place, holding the phylactery that they’d created together, swinging it before her like an aberrant hypnotist? The image lingers in her mind, branded into her being, and it burns again now. Violante holds her ransom with equal avarice and even more capriciousness.

She doesn’t fight the command.

One foot drags after the other, pulling her away from Viator’s putrid remains towards his fetid offspring. The ends of her hair dance in the waves of heat that surge from her body, casting her pallid skin in the same glow mirrored in her bottled soul, and her sclera seeps with augural ink. She looks down her nose at the Countess, but stays mute; her glare speaks for itself.

“Oh, that face again,” Violante smiles slyly as the lich draws near. “You looked at me like that the last time you tried to get me to break this. For all that trite dribble about souls, they pack rather nicely into tight spots, hm?” She lifts the phylactery and lets it dangle from her fingers again. The carved crystal twists, shedding ruby light.

Tilting her head, the countess adds, “..though honestly the sheep-theme is a little provincial for my taste.”

From her perch on the coffin lid, she and the lich are almost at eye level. Idly, she taps the curled horns of the amulet against her lips, and takes a moment to inspect the flickering hair, warmed by the unnatural heat in the cold center of the crypt. She’s seen the witch dressed in bone before, skeletal, human then very much not. She hasn’t yet been able to divine whether the flesh is an illusion, or a simulacrum.

“...you know, it’s almost funny,” she says after another moment, musing. Gently, Violante reaches up to take Alphecca’s chin between her fingers, feeling for bone or for the presence of a seam. Without much force, she tilts her face left, then right. “The creature that made you this way got to die before you, didn’t it? Whether it wanted to or not. And even though it’s gone, you’re still here. That’s an impressive act of malice I’m not even sure I could aspire to.”

She brushes a strand of winding hair behind the dead woman’s ear, the fingers of her other hand wrapped around the amulet. They rest there, lingering.

“Mercy,” she hums, “Death. Do you really think that force regards you as anything more than a vague afterthought? Do you know why?”

Close, her eyes are dark and flat. When she smirks, her lips part, and there’s something of a serpent in it. The fingers set behind the corpse's ear hook suddenly, sharply. “It’s because you’re a commodity.” Softly, “A body. It was a waste having you be as you were before: running loose, childish and deranged. Whatever worth you had was decided on ages ago by something greater, and then discarded in one instant, only to be defined again, now, by me. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

Drawing her hand back, Violante twines another piece of fiery hair around her stained, lacy fingers. The amulet beats a rhythm against her palm. “Like that little village you destroyed. Garbage, right? But now, it’ll be built up again into something useful—desirable. Not only as a consequence of my birthright, but because I have the power to make that happen, and the will to speak through it. Because that’s the zeal the world recognizes. In the end, it doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re trying to be. Whether you’re a shambling monster… or a wayward sword, I’ll use the power I have; my proof of conquest, to assert my will—” a rough tug on the strand of hair, closer “—and change the meaning of value.”

Silence, and the drip of distant water. Violante lets the strand slide free from her hair, and inspects her hand with distant disinterest.

“Three weeks,” she says cooly. The phylactery thrums in her grip. “Don’t ever try to argue with me again.”

Alphecca’s phantom heart thumps in her hollow chest. Words intended to cut to the quick come close to their mark, but nothing Violante says can slice deeper than the futility of her situation. She can’t remember needing to gasp for air like this, not for a long time. And yet for all her vast networks of contacts and flies on the walls, Violante doesn’t know everything. She clutches that thought like a final matchstick in the dark, for all its limited warmth. The Countess doesn’t know Death; not like she does. And she’ll get those souls that she wants, and she’ll do her finest job— but Violante’s not the only one that has strings worth pulling.

For as tainted as Violante’s hands are, they’re still warm. Blood pulses right to the tips of her fingers and beats against her false skin, and she feels its absence when her hand draws away. Alphecca responds with a cock of the head, and a sneer.

“I’d better get going, then.”

#cta au #alphecca #violante #my art #my writing #and also hemlock's but that's just my fic tag

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