theascent - Tumblr blog

[theascent]

clarissa was five when the seas became their home; permitting perilous ocean waves to lull them to sleep, the sounds of their ailing bunkmate manifesting as a series of macabre nightmares. and still, this treacherous venture to their father's homeland, their new home, sowed the seed of pure moxie - of adventure. but if the princess could count on anything, it'd be for her spirit to always fail her. even now, more than two decades since she took up residence in europe. they could thrust a sword better than any of their siblings. puncture the center of a target with a lead bullet with their eyes closed. always outrun. always out-climb. yet this man, the one whose rough hand hauled the younger royal to their feet, whose scent prompted an array of goosebumps to rise from her soft skin, whose image alone elicited a damn near physical shiver. a thrill. excitement. unadulterated delight. this was a man who had seen things. done things. what she lacked - the experience - he seemed to carry with him. he was a stranger, but somehow clarissa just knew. "thank you," they breathed, umber eyes taking in the sight of weathered skin, "are you alright? i don't mean to pry, but your wrists..."

one tends not to spend much time in a palace crawling with those who would wish you dead - those who would wish to see it happen by their own hand. already, zehab had tested his fate && his luck by simply breathing the same air as the english royals - but any further sight before he had decided what to do would threathen everything.

so; outside is where he stayed, always a bit unsure how to call himself. the past was blurred with the present, and zehab felt a combination of the men he'd come to be over the years. perhaps dorado felt best, now - or he craved only an escape from the choice he'd yet to make. prone to distractions when it came to the matters of the heart, zehab was taken by the sight of them perched precariously up on the wall - perhaps he should've warned sooner, but a chuckle left his lips now. " careful. it gets slick up by those stones, due to the moss. the dew drops 'n what. "

a warning they'd have no time to heed now, flat on their back with eyes gazing a him now. " let me help you up. " a hand was extended to them now - strong && leathered, tanned and gashed on the wrist from a recent rope burn. he was a sailor, and still smelt of salt.

[theascent]

Crazy Rich Asians (2018) dir. Jon M. Chu

[theascent]

"the things they...oh god. " the curse would've caused her poor mother to send for the physician, but clarissa could not be bothered to care as the image of what filth may lay beneath sent her stumbling upright and onto her feet, nearly bumping into the stranger. after ensuring the ground below comprised of nary a thing besides glaringly green clover, they shifted their gaze to their companion, bottom lip trapped bashfully under a row of nearly straight teeth. as if a poorly laced corset, the words seemed to spill forward unintentionally. "hiding? on the contrary, i was simply on my way to the stables and - well, i guess i'm not...not hiding. if you don't mind, never tell a soul that you saw me here, please? i'm forbade from entering the stables and-" grimacing, they quickly reminded themselves this was a stranger. someone capable of disclosing their whereabouts to the dowager mother. clearing her throat, she began absentmindedly plucking stray pieces of grass from her long locks. "do you fancy a riding companion?"

he manages only a few hours worth of sleep before the grand duke is up and itching to be outdoors. being cooped up inside would not do him any favors. a ride would certainly clear his mind so he's on his way to the stables when he rounds a corner and his feet bumps into a leg. his eyes snap to the frame before him, not at all aware of his surroundings for those brief moments there, ❛apologies.❜ he offers, a brow raised as to why this woman is lying on the drown, while he takes a few steps back, ❛i would say they are quite high. before i do, humor me, why are you lying on a filthy floor? you're aware all the sorts of things the horses leave on these grounds?❜ adrian cannot help but toss. he should offer his hand like a gentlemen, but refrains if she wishes to remain there. ❛unless you are hiding from someone, though not entirely the effective way.❜

[theascent]

Alina Starkov’s nightgown in Shadow and Bone 

[theascent]

"oh please. you would never tell on me," clarissa grinned playfully, their gaze softening tenfold as he situated himself beside them. the pair had always been likened to bread and jam, delightful on their own but simply remarkable when together; perhaps it was their compatible personalities that evoked such a comparison...or maybe the explanation lie in the weight of their gazes. "and we both know the only reason i keep you around is to have someone to take the blame for my wrongdoings," they continued to tease, resting a pale cheek against malach's shoulder, "which reminds me, how could you possibly let such a delicate woman venture outside by their lonesome?"

❝ terribly low, ❞ malachi said with a small smirk as he moved to stand over them. ❝ and this is why you keep me around, ❞ he reminded them with amusement as he moved to the ground to lay down beside them, eyes fixed on the sky overhead. ❝ you know, you are quite right. it is a very lovely day for a lay, ❞ he teased, as he glanced over at her.

[theascent]

it's ironic, really, that the very thing in which frederick lacked haunted rosina on the nights sleep evaded her. memory was a fickle power; coming and going as it pleased, reconstructing images to fit its own agenda. frederick, as always, was blessed with having his cake and eating it too. and rosina? left to sort through the remaining scraps for sustenance. she was vexed. irate. tempestuous. she hated him. but goddamn if she hadn't stood by his bedside on the night following the fire. doctors be damned, she wanted to see to his wellbeing herself. needed to. and yet the deep timbre of her husband's voice brought no comfort. no relief. "i should have known it was you," she hummed, eyes watching cautiously through the mirror as he moved in close, "the grotesque stench of swine seems to follow you around." nonetheless, her hands cupped the material around her bosom lazily as she felt the familiar brush of his fingers against her back. she was proud, but never was she an idiot. besides, this was the least he could do. and so she drank from the cup of familiarity - the warmth of his fingertips, his steady gaze, she even allowed the heat emanating from his body to envelop her in its embrace - but before she could choke, she backed away, tossing the corset into an empty chair and beginning to shrug herself out of her undergarments. frederick had seen her bare more times than she cared to admit. had touched her. had made it clear she was no longer the object of his desires. and so she began to strip, not permitting her irises to stray from the task at hand. "why are you here, frederick? and do not even think of lying to me."

The pieces of his memory return in pieces. The basic reconnaissance; where he was, what he was meant to do, and who he typically did it with were the first to come to mind. The rest remain in fragmented pieces, slow to come together in light of his head injury. But Frederick knows enough to ground himself in his reality. And certainly enough, to know better than to venture into the lion's den that is his and Rosina's bed chambers. There was a time when the Duke and Duchess of Brunswick shared a bed chamber (unorthodox for their rank, but damn it, they were young and in love). Now, it is lucky if they share a carriage.

Still, Frederick knows enough of his wife to catch the quiet vulgarities. A minute longer, and he will have to pay the Bourbon's for a trashed mirror and spilt red wine. Rosina's temper is not just fiery - it can burn.

"You will kill yourself for fashion one of these days." Frederick remarks, fingertips on the handle of the doorknob. He almost knocks - but sense tells him that he's better off making himself known. Besides, though Rosina loathes him, surely she'd care to see he is still alive after the fire.

Or perhaps not.

"Hold steady." He does not ask permission (since when did he ever?) and simply abides behind her. His fingers already on the two laces, as familiar with Rosina's strings as he is his Bernadette's. Ironic, really, that there is sin in loving two women at once. Perhaps France is the antidote. Or the catalyst to destroy it all, as judged by his injury.

[theascent]

open starter ⊱⋅•⋅ ( @francehqstarters )

location: her bedchamber

as exhilarating as rosina found the bustling shops of paris, she longed for the modiste back in brunswick who, even with her aging hands, still managed to craft corsets that fit her as well as any glove ever could. but this, this was grossly inadequate. the duchess had waved away her maid long ago, afraid to be overheard uttering a string of words unbecoming of a woman of her rank. soon after her help had fled, however, she realized just how grueling the task was. had she always been so incompetent? "ah hell," she cursed, dropping her hands by her sides as she glared at her reflection in exasperation. two laces. it was all she could manage and of this, she was certain: dinner would have to be served without her. sighing, she resigned herself to an empty stomach and reached behind her with the intention of taking this godforsaken material off - pausing only when she heard the door to her bedchamber creak open. how lovely! "thank goodness you've returned, mary. do you think you could help me out of my corset?"

[theascent]

open starter ⊱⋅•⋅ ( @francehqstarters )

location: versailles stables. well, nearly there.

round the corner and take a right. or was it a left? clarissa's brows furrowed as they came to a halt beside a large hedge of green thuja, just outside the palace courtyard. the french may not have built versailles as structurally sound as they had hoped, but the walls proved irritatingly thick. she considered herself an expert eavesdropper, and if only she had more memory than that of a mere goldfish would she then be an unstoppable force. "if i were a stable, where would i be?" they muttered, hiking up their gown with a huff as they stepped confidently onto a nearby rock. boulder. stone? if they had any chance at sneaking in an afternoon horse ride before dinner, they'd have to peer over the thick wall of grass currently shielding the rest of the palace grounds from view. closer. she rose to her toes. just a little more. she craned her neck. almost there. "ow-" in a matter of seconds they found themselves with a view of...the sky? blinking away both confusion and maybe even the tiniest - tiniest - tear, they glanced around their surroundings. a patch of clover. a bucket of hay. a shoe. the stable! another shoe...connected to a leg...connected to a... "what are the odds you forget you ever saw me here?" she grinned sheepishly. nervously. hopefully?

[theascent]

☼☾ ( jessie mei li , 25 , she/they, cis female , merian 6) - have you seen CLARISSA MERIAN?  we’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re FREE-THINKING but also STUBBORN. when you think of them , you think of FEMININE HANDS WRAPPED AROUND THE COPPER HILT OF A SWORD, THE DISPLEASURE THAT COMES WITH WEARING THE CROWN, and LONGING TO BE SOMEONE YOU ARENT.

rank does not confer privilege

name: clarissa merian title: princess; half sibling to the merians age: 25 pronouns: she/they gender: cisgender female nation: switzerland orientation: bisexual/biromantic

or give power

hair: dark brown, nearly black; wavy height: 5 feet, 2 inches eye color: dark brown positive traits: lionhearted, individualistic, steadfast neutral traits: absentminded, competitive, uninhibited negative traits: excitable, strong-willed, loquacious love language: physical touch, words of affirmation vice(s): envy, pride likes: riding horses, fencing, swordsmanship, marksmanship, the color purple, fruit (specifically berries of any sort), seeing the ocean, reading, feeling the sun on their face, desserts, stargazing, knick knacks. dislikes: the thought of marriage to anyone but him, winter, dancing, being alone, thunderstorms, simplicity, waking up late, tea, anything that doesn't come naturally to them.

it imposes responsibility

clarissa despises established roles. she always has. as a woman she must be knowledgable, but not too intelligent. they must have a level head upon their shoulders, but must be willing to obey her partner's commands. speak your mind, but not too loud. "a princess' place is on the throne, not horseback." play the pianoforte. twirl in pretty circles. enjoy needlework. they find it all so mundane. their interests lie in political discussions. on the battlefield. her parents believed it to be a phase. she would climb trees with her elder siblings. slosh around in muddy lakes. sit in on the fencing lessons of their brothers. to their parents' displeasure, she quickly picked up on sparring and marksmanship...to her own, she excelled in dance and the visual arts. clarissa was just...exceptional. they'd make a fine wife, they'd been told so on numerous occasions. and yet, she had no interest. after the bourbons' attempt to oust her family, she knew where her priorities lie. she wants to be free. free from the confines of her role. free to marry whom they choose. she wants to protect those around her. heavy is the head that wears the crown, and clarissa desperately wishes to trade their diamonds for daggers.

im not interested in preserving the status quo

☼ her father is the late king, but her mother was of poor chinese ancestry. despite not being her biological daughter, the dowager mother treated clarissa like her own. she personally saw to their education, even after the death of her husband. ☼ their fear of thunderstorms stems from being left by their mother on the kingdom's doorsteps at the age of five. ☼ in france, she wishes to find purpose. in switzerland, they have an established place. a goddamn role. while still a princess in france, it's different. the people are different, many of them strangers. she's still clarissa merian, but in the presence of sultans and queens, a princess is hardly deserving of adulation. ☼ they're hopelessly, madly, irrevocably in love with their guard. rejecting any and all potential betrothals is of upmost importance. they could never gain approval to marry into such a status. and selfishly, they hope he'll never find love with anyone. ever.

i want to overthrow it

political betrothal: clarissa does not want you, and perhaps you don't even want them. will you both attempt to prove to your families that this match is doomed to fail, or will you make it your mission to convince her that this marriage must go through? preferably a bourbon to secure political ties, but i'm not too picky! coach: unable to undergo formal training in activities outside the realm of a typical princess, clarissa often seeks instruction from unofficial educators. and it just so happens she comes to you.

[theascent]

☼☾ ( gemma chan , 36 , she/her , cisgender female , wolfenbuttel 3) - have you seen ROSINA WOLFENBUTTEL?  we’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re DIGNIFIED but also RESENTFUL. when you think of them , you think of SLENDER FINGERS POISED ABOVE IVORY PIANO KEYS, LETTING THE MUFFLED SOUNDS INFIDELITY LULL YOU TO SLEEP,  AND ALLOWING HATRED TO FESTER IN THE WOUNDS HE CREATED.

if you prick us, do we not bleed?

name: rosina wolfenbuttel birth name: 姜小宛 ( jiang xiaowan ) title: duchess; betrothed to duke frederick age: 36 pronouns: she/her gender: cisgender female nation: brunswick nation of birth: china orientation: bisexual/biromantic

if you tickle us, do we not laugh?

hair: black height: 5 feet, 9 inches eye color: dark brown positive traits: compassionate, romantic, vivacious neutral traits: optimistic, ascetic, delicate negative traits: scornful, calculating, vindictive love language: physical touch, quality time vice(s): pride likes: playing her piano, writing home to her sister, managing the affairs of brunswick estate, walking through the gardens, getting fitted for gowns, gossiping, attending church services, sharing her culture, listening to orchestral music, frederick's frown. dislikes: anything capable of dirtying her dresses, being the last to be told information, the stench of tobacco, windy days, heights, silence, being wronged, frederick.

if you poison us, do we not die?

tw: infidelity and infertility

xiaowan was the eldest daughter born to the duke of the first rank, a title bestowed upon her father for his work in the imperial army. it was this connection that landed her a sponsorship to brunswick. having shown both an affinity and natural talent for the piano, she was taken under the wing of brunswick's most accomplished composers. it was during this time that she met him: frederick wolfenbuttel. this was her destiny. he was her future. suddenly it made sense; it wasn't a matter of fate, but faith. just as she had given herself to god, he had given her frederick. she adopted the name rosina after her favorite pianist, rosina cannabich, and bathed herself in frederick's adoration, allowing his love to soothe the beating heart she wore upon her sleeve. and she was loving, god was she loving. consistently doting on her husband and writing home to her sister just now lucky she was to have settled into such an ardent marriage - but even a woman of faith such as herself could not convince the omniscient entity up in heaven that she was deserving of a glorious life. after failing to convince for the entirety of her marriage, she still managed to reassure herself that one day the seed of an heir would plant itself insider her womb, and finally rosina and frederick's family would feel complete. but as the years passed the two only grew distant and frederick, unfaithful. still, rosina never strayed. never even looked the way of men who weren't the man she promised herself to. but that was then. and france? oh, france was now. her vows no longer belonged to fredrick, but to vengeance. retribution. rosina ensured the estate was cared for. rosina checked on the wellbeing of the servants. rosina corroborated every story, every lie frederick uttered. and so, it's only natural that it be rosina to take brunswick. to end frederick wolfenbuttel. to watch him suffer just as he did her.

and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

tw: loss of faith

☼ rosina wants revenge. against frederick. against bernadette. against brunswick. hell, against the entirety of the human race. this is her purpose in france. ☼ she has grown further from religion. why would her god allow such a heinous act to take place under her roof. didn't she pray enough? wasn't she faithful enough? so then why wasn't she enough? ☼ "poor rosina. how could the duke do this to such a lovely woman? dignified. classy. noble." this may have been true, once upon a time. back when her husband occupied the space next to her. when their hands held on to one another. now? it's a farce. the more people she can turn against that bastard, the better. allies will legitimize her rule. when she rules. because she will. she'll make sure of it. ☼ she does not want frederick dead. no. that's too easy. egocentric playboys deserve to watch their life turn to dust. to shambles. unable to do a thing but sit and watch as the relationships forged between fathers and grandfathers crumble under the weight of your actions. the knowledge that you are responsible.

"heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

paramour: if frederick can have one, why can't she? sick of remaining faithful to a man with no intention of doing the same, she finds comfort in your embrace. whether or not love will bloom can be discussed! note: this is a new lover, one she meets in france as she has only recently allowed herself to push her husband to the back of her mind. accomplice: for whatever reason, you offer to help rosina enact her revenge. she doesn't want your aid, nor does she think she needs it. and yet, your company is strangely encouraging. bonus for this doubling as an enemies to lovers. and as always, bring on the friends.

[theascent]

closed starter for @effervcscents (kiraz)

location: versailles gardens

"that's called a crown daisy," he nodded, gesturing to the white and yellow flora that decorated the bushes just outside the palace, "they grew all around my accommodations in greece. you can cook with them, actually." glancing up towards the balcony that overlooked the grounds, he was pleased to note the lack of prying eyes. "though i can't attest for their flavor," he grinned, taking the opportunity to saunter just a bit closer to the brown-haired beauty. "i wasn't too keen on mediterranean cuisine, much less their vegetation." reaching down, he snapped the green stem of the nearest daisy and held it between them. "your name for the flower?" ah, but of course he already knew.

[theascent]

"ouch," he laughed, the deep rumble being all but drowned by the piercing crescendo of the violin quartette, with the subsequent fall mirroring that of tidal wave. he supposed adeline's blonde locks should have served as their own forewarning, for they mimicked in color the fur found on matteo's furry companion. and it seemed both feline and female boasted fiery temperaments. "well i suppose it is my fault. after all, you do seem quite busy." the sigh that succeeded his proclamation lay thick with sarcasm, his brows furrowed in an attempt to conceal the humor undoubtedly peaking through his expression. casually - too casually - he glanced around the female. "tell me, are dances more enjoyable when you're not...dancing? perhaps i shall do the same." matteo could be impatient and proud, but above all he was ambitious. if coquetry did not afford him an in with a woman of such class, perhaps sheer annoyance would. if she found his presence a nuisance, maybe she would allow a dance. and a dance was all he needed. lifting his glass momentarily, he offered her a charming smile and slight nod of his head ... before taking a spot beside her, of course. matteo was determined. he was steadfast. he was- easily bored. clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he muttered. "if you're adamant about not dancing, might i suggest a walk in the gardens? anything but people-watching. this crowd is dreadfully dull."

Adeline found herself on the edge of the ballroom, a look of boredom on her features. She hoped that if she kept to herself then others would get the hint that she did not want to be bothered with conversation or requests to dance, as she wholeheartedly was uninterested in either.

Despite her best efforts, various guests seemed to take her isolation as an invitation to try to engage her in some sort of interaction. She would respond to them in polite smiles and one word answers until they seemed to get the hint that she was not interested. It worked for awhile and as the night continued she found herself beginning to ward people off with just a look that seemed to scream, 'please do not speak to me'.

Unfortunately, this look was unseen by those that came from the side or from behind such as matteo did. She felt the impact of his shoulder against hers, followed by a brush of his fingers against the skin on her arm. She seemed to pull away out of instinct, the look of boredom on her face transitioning into one that was a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"I'm not much of a dance enthusiast myself," she responded coolly, "And I imagine all you will prove is that you do indeed have two left feet. I would prefer to save myself the trouble. I do appreciate your offer."

[theascent]

matteo had never been an avid fishermen, but even he knew what it looked like to have one's bait remain untouched. it was quite similar to his current predicament; his flirtations that, admittedly, were subpar seemed to dissipate amongst the warm ballroom air as opposed to worming their way into the unfamiliar woman's heart. how disappointing. how thrilling. "you should consider yourself lucky it was i that approached you," he hummed, sipping from his flute as his outstretched hand lowered to his side - a side that now ghosted against her own as the male adjusted his posture to mirror that of the beauty beside him. "not that i'm the pillar of gentlemanly honor, but it could be worse." hazel eyes, hidden beneath a dark boundary of lashes surveyed the couples that waltzed and pirouetted against the wooden flooring. one step. two steps. all the very personification of grace, their identities hidden by the mandated masks. and then, a stumble. "over there," he whispered, mouth resting against the shell of her ear as to ensure nearby partygoers did not overhear, "the man in blue. watch." leaning back, matteo's gaze found the gent in question. one step. three steps. a falter. nervous laughter. no apology. his lips quirked upwards in amusement. "that is someone with two left feet, my dear." after resting his glass on an empty tray beside him, matteo moved to stand in front of her once more. forget champagne, this would be his drink of choice. her. amidst a sea of mundanity; affluent hopefuls aspiring to claim dominion, peacocking their way around the ballroom. she was a swan, unbothered and effortlessly alluring. even with two lefts. "you won't find mortification with me, beautiful. i give you my word. allow me to teach those feet of yours how to move."

sofia had been none too pleased to discover that the next event the french would be hosting would be a masquerade ball. she had been to more than her fair share of formal events just like this one, each of them so similar that they had began to blend together in her mind into one long, boring, night of nursing a flute of sparkling champagne in the corner of the room while she watched others pair up and twirl around the dance floor. she lifted her drink to her lips and took a small sip, trying not to grimace when its overwhelming sweetness coated her tongue. she should have known that the alcohol being served would not be to her taste, she may be a princess but she been raised by a pirate and she had inherited his palate. what she really wanted was a strong glass of rum. perhaps, if she took big enough gulps, the bubbles would go straight to her head and she could spend the rest of the evening in drunken stupor. she could feel someone eyeing her but there are so many people milling about that she couldn't quite pinpoint who — her hand went to the pearl necklace hanging around her neck and she started to restlessly twist it around her fingers, so tight that the blood stopped circulating to the tips — they turned bright red, then purple. she would not have been able to differentiate their supposed collision from any other person brushing past her while navigating the crowd if it weren't for his theatrics. it was all a little heavy-handed, obviously meant for someone who'd swoon over a pair of hazel eyes and strong jawline. ❝ if only my mind would have such mercy on me, ❞ she replied, her shoulders rising and falling with a wistful sigh. she watched as his hand danced along the length of her arm. resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he tried to dazzle her with a smile. then came the universal sign that he was going to ask her for a dance. ❝ i'm not sure salvaging your pride is worth me compromising my own. you may not have two left feet but i certainly do. ❞

[theascent]

she was a daisy amongst a rosebush; the white material of her dress contrasted greatly with the canary yellows and pastel pinks of those around them. she was undeniably attractive, and as matteo set aside his empty crystalline glass on a nearby silver platter he could not help the short chuckle that slipped past his dampened lips. “i'm quite the dancer,” he hums, gaze fluttering down to fixate momentarily on the jewel nestled against the curvature of her throat, "my ability to keep up with the polka is akin to seduction. i'd beware if i were you." courtesy of eight years of violin lessons, matteo recognized the live rendition of johann pachelbel’s canon in d major almost instantaneously, allowing him to sweep her effortlessly into a dance. and yet, matteo's stare remained transfixed on the woman before him, his hazel eyes studying her features in an attempt to categorize her. a bourbon? no. holm? she couldn't be. the uncertainty drove him mad - but the diamond afforded him all he needed to know. whomever's seed, she possessed wealth. and as always, that was enough for matteo. “forgive me for my sudden bout of forgetfulness, but i can't seem to place a name to such a pretty face.” his words were spoken near her ear, voice loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter, his brown hair curling around the straps of his own golden mask. “i’m matteo schellenberg, and if you would be so kind as to afford me with the opportunity to know your name, i promise to never forget it, love.”

hundreds of candles bathe the ballroom in a warm golden glow. she stands to the side of the dance floor with a crystal goblet of mulled wine in one hand, taking occasional sips that stain her lips berry red. her dark blue eyes are framed by a simple white mask decorated with dozens of small crystals that's tied around the back of her head with a silk ribbon. her white silk gown is also simple, no beads or jewels, just a few strategically placed lace ruffles around the collar and the cuffs, but she's paired it with a statement piece, a choker she'd inherited from her mother. in the hallow of her throat rests a sizeable diamond that sparkles brilliantly in the low light. every few minutes, one of hand finds its way to her neck and she fingers the stone so that it shimmers and winks at anyone who may be looking at her, and someone is definitely looking at her.

she pretends not to notice him slithering his way through the crowd towards her but, when he gently knocks his shoulder against her, she has to press her lips together to keep from smirking. he's handsome but he isn't very subtle. he's attempting to toy with her and she knows it, but the evening has been uneventful thus far so she decides to give him the kind of reaction he clearly desires. ❝oh please, there's no need to apologize. i barely felt a thing.❞ even she can't blush on cue, but she flutters her lashes when he caresses her arm and flashes a boyish grin. he has his act down pat and, as a woman with a flirtatious act of her own, she thinks it could work on someone else, someone young and naïve. ❝i suppose it's only fair that i grant you the opportunity to redeem yourself,❞ she says, delicately placing her hand in his.

[theascent]

closed starter for @rcsplendence

{ Somewhere in Calcutta, India }

My dearest AB,  Perhaps a visit to Prussia would do this shattered man a great deal of good, for I fear yet another monsoon is upon us, and in its wake, a thick blanket of moist air capable of suffocating even the most well-traveled man. I do not believe I will ever become acquainted with the humidity of the East, for it does not seem to like me very much. I shall send an envelope brimming with an entire year’s worth of pound sterlings to our dear friend up in Olympia, perhaps then he may believe us worthy of a mere week without those horrid rains. And with every ocean I sail that brings me farther from you I am saddened by the thought of our missives taking an even greater deal of time to reach one another.  I will tell you a secret. I have never before claimed divination as one of many talents. Although I will say that even I may surprise myself with what I am capable of begetting.  I bore witness to a most wondrous sight near a waterbody not a fortnight ago. A mute swan had managed to fly down from Prussia into Calcutta. Calcutta! My companion can not seem to contain his excitement and I fear he may go mad with delirium. I tell you this because I knew a fortnight ago, when my eyes first landed on the most elegant creature to grace the waters of this land, that your letter would soon arrive. It was a feeling I could not escape- Much like how the Marquis could not escape his fate in The Romance of the Forest. It is a novel I have quite enjoyed thus far, so I shall include it with my letter. I hope you find it fascinating enough to nourish your soul; “when my mind is decomposed…a book is the opiate that lulled it to repose”. I have sent you a few gifts of gratitude for being my most trusted companion throughout my years of travel.  First, Ashwagandha root to lift the weight that resides on your shoulders. It promotes tranquility and is best ingested by brewing it into a tea. Secondly, I have sent a couple of pigments and hair accessories found in a neighboring market. I should assume they will compliment your complexion and locks finely…whatever appearance you may have. Thirdly, I have sent a commissioned illustration of the mute swan. It is the most glorious sight, and I sincerely wish for you to continue your absorption of the flora and fauna that surrounds us on the magnificent earth.  Lastly, a compass. When you are alone, take it outside and walk until you face the south. I’ll be here, looking northward. Do tell me about your hopes, your family, and your intentions for the upcoming autumn months. I hope you remain in good health and the world stays kind to you, my dearest AB.  Forever yours, MS

[theascent]

"on the contrary, love. i never spoke a word of your abilities." his grin was affable and his grip, firm as he wove his calloused fingers through hers; the years of dance lessons forced onto him by the late duchess schellenberg allowed him to step into the waltz with the same ease as he laid pen to paper. despite being the youngest windsor - knowledge bestowed upon him by his latest lady friend - she was both pretty and in possession of considerable wealth. she was all too perfect...well, if it weren't for the way her steps did everything but mirror his. "perhaps i spoke too soon," he muttered, abandoning the attempt to blend in with the sea of couples and instead following her atrocious, utterly awful (and albeit, amusing) lead. he may have elbowed a gentleman or two, but his gaze remained fixated on the young girl both out of curiosity and sheer necessity. after all, his future could lay in her hands. on her finger. and so, as the couple glided into yet another ludicrous turn, he drew his brows inward, feigning confusion. "i know i've only just arrived, but still, i can't seem to place a name to your face. surely we haven't met, for i would have remembered such an exquisite beauty."

Perhaps it was a moment of celebration that no one had yet died after the explosions, or perhaps it was a distraction for a select few who wanted to pretend none of it happened at all. Victoria didn't give much thought to which one she was, and yet she was there in a simple gown, small blue ribbons all about her curled hair. She didn't quite care how she danced, nor that she looked like she could even dance at all, spinning in ridiculous, off-rhythm circles, letting her soul tell her when to step and where to go. The princess was so lost in her own fantasy that the rest of the world disappeared completely around her. Nothing else mattered. No one was invited into her bubble. But a gentle hand brushing against her forearm caused her eyes to dart from her imagination to a charming smile, though the fantasy world didn't seem to fade away. She barely spoke a word, simply picking her hand up and placing it into his. "I am a little offended that you think I can't dance, but I'm too invested in refusing to rest that I'll look the other way, for now."

[theascent]

connections + plots masterlist

*this list is in no way complete, matteo is always in need of connections *if something stands out to you, please message me ! all can be tweaked if need be.

Sonata One↳ The Accidental Companionship taken by adeline bourbon

whilst the dulcifying lagoons of venice prompted ink to flow effortlessly across his brimming journal, they did little to patch the cavity of loneliness that slowly eroded his gut. partaking in what he does best, matteo relayed the spectacular sights of venetian canals and mosaics to his friend back home - only, it wasn’t his friend who answered his letter. a slip of his wrist partnered with a fumbling post-boy provided for a strange, yet comforting relationship over the remainder of his travels: matteo now had someone to converse with about both his woes and his feats, whilst the stranger was given the opportunity to see the world through a poet’s eyes. the two strangers formed a peculiar companionship that he hoped would no longer be shrouded in mystery, and that they would finally meet in person in france.

Sonata Two↳ The Friendship

matteo finds it rather tedious to maintain friendships, especially given his penchant for international escapades. the gentlemen back home are far too immersed in the lives of lords and first-borns to converse with the likes of a rhymester, no matter his favorability with the nobility. though there is one individual with whom he’s shared many a story with since their time at sea, and there’s an understanding between the two that whenever matteo finds himself back home, he would send word of his arrival. they aren’t confidantes, but they are indeed comrades - a relationship matteo plans to deepen now that his stay in france appears prolonged.

Sonata Three↳ The First Love taken by alina lorraine

when matteo was a mere twenty he fell in love for the first - and last - time. it was without question that he engaged in rakish behavior long before meeting his beloved, after all, he was a man armored with flowering words capable of pricking even the most guarded of hearts. yet as dances shifted into promenades, he began asking his servants to arrange for the arrival of his soon-to-be partner. the heirloom ring that once weighed heavily in his pocket offered his heart the same fate as it then sat collecting dust in his desk drawer. how could matteo expect to give them the life they deserved when the bustling bazaars of turkey beckoned him? 

Sonata Four↳ The Deal

matteo needed money; his allowance had already dwindled thanks to the eldest schellenberg, but it was time he took matter into his own hands. when he wasn’t swindling precious jewels, he found himself gambling with the gentleman in versailles. whether on the newest horse to arrive from england or the undefeated boxer for two years running - matteo betted. yet there was a factor that set him apart from the rest; he just wasn’t any good. upon running into you on his swift (albeit, crazed) attempt to escape the expecting fists of those whose wallets suffered from matteo’s lack of fortune, you agreed to front him the money. but it came at a cost. you wished to use his words to [enter character motivation; ex: seduce, persuade, convince, etc someone]. 

plots:

*these are more than welcomed to be tweaked to fit a certain character’s storyline and/or personality

“The Negotiation.” or 

“matteo helps you make the [insert title] jealous by pretending to be interested in you. in return, you promise to introduce him to one of your wealthy friends.”

aesthetics: sneaky glances. champagne flutes. not-so-subtle exclamations. atrocious winking. fake laughter. dance cards.

“Busted.” or 

“to earn money, matteo writes for hire, he produces poems for members of society to gift their lovers, for a small price. you think you’ve received the most ardent profession of love - that is, until you see matteo exchanging a similarly looking paper with a nearby gentleman.”

aesthetics: crumpled paper. smeared ink. ingenuine apologies. scoffing. clinking of coins. pitying stares.

“Prideful.” or 

“you and matteo went to university together, and long story short, you owe your ‘exceptional writing’ distinction to him. through certain circumstances you hear about his financial predicament, and offer him funds as compensation for his help back in college. and let’s just say, matteo does not embrace your ‘help’ with open arms.”

aesthetics: clenched teeth. bitter whiskey. flying fists - down onto tables, of course. humorless chuckles. unbuttoned shirts.

“Muse.” or 

“matteo always found comfort in his quill, and after a less than desirable evening, he found himself in your company; company that assuaged him far more than his pen ever could. and so he asked to meet again. and again. and after each rendezvous, when he was alone in his study, he put his pen to paper and wrote.”

aesthetics: stained fingers. a setting sun. good-natured banter. gifted poems. reluctant partings. promises of next time.

"Thief." or

"though unbecoming of a lord, matteo begins to pickpocket the unsuspecting members of society - though he maintains that this is a last resort. and he does pretty well, that is, until you lay your eyes on the diamond necklace dangling from his pocket and the suspiciously bare neck of a nearby titled woman. will you use it as blackmail? will you want in?"

aesthetics: glittering jewels. waves of dismissal. wide eyes. a thundering heartbeat. negotiations. bitter begging.

"Partner." or

"being removed from society for years rendered matteo clueless when it came to recent betrothals and the current financial standings of those staying in versailles. and yet somehow he met you [tba], a member of non nobility with a near palpable resentment towards those in power. matteo was (he supposed) a criminal, yes. but he wasn't stupid (debatable). the last thing he needed was a pissed off prince. he needed your knowledge, and you, a cut of the fortune."

aesthetics: confirming nods. hurried whispers. dark hallways. subliminal messages. observant glances. "good job".

"Regret." taken by kiraz ekim or

"matteo can't afford to put his heart on the line, not when his dream is in jeopardy. and so he uses and discards people without care, as if they were valued at no more than a dinner towelette. it was different this time, though. at night he lay awake, eyes trained on the ceiling, staring but never truly seeing. how could he manage to sleep when the image forever burned beneath his lids, seared into his thoughts was the look on your face when he told you the truth." *can be friends turned enemies or lovers turned enemies

aesthetics: withheld apologies. deep breaths. weary eyes. one step forward - one step back. foreign feelings.

for artistic muses: please teach him how to paint for muses with two left feet: please let him teach you how to dance for non french muses: maybe he stayed with you during his travels

lastly, he needs enemies. and lovers. whether the relationships are built on a lie or not, i would like to see him eventually settle down.