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WANTED CONNECTIONS

Okay so I’m really bad at plotting and I never got around to like writing out wcs on my intros, which prompted me to make this post (sorry to post a random ooc post on the dash). I’m going to pin it for easy access but below the cut I have a series of wanted connections / plot hooks per each character I play so if you want to plot with any of them, we can have a starting point. Hmu on discord to discuss further!

#wanted connections

brockpurdy

DAVID CORENSWET in Look Both Ways, 2022

#* the salt on your skin and the wind in your hair ( visage. )

brockpurdy

DAVID CORENSWET Premiere of HBO miniseries “We Own This City” at The Times Center in New York City | April 21, 2022

#* the salt on your skin and the wind in your hair ( visage. )

auradonian:

🌣 ── ☼ ─ ☀ ─ ☼ ── 🌣

August had never wanted to attend a ball less.

Things had still been… off for him since the commencement of the festival. Since he had fled Auradon instead of face his troubles, truly. But nothing made his slightly askew wellbeing quite as apparent as the ball that his mother had thrown.

Hook Hand was giving the performance of his life and he’d been partnered with eligible young lady after eligible young lady (his mother had accompanied him on a turn about the room to guide his dance card selections) for a variety of dances, but all he wanted to do was make yet another dramatic exit.

His cravat was not as neat as it should have been for being of such high importance at the event. He was not standing up tall enough. He was not smiling enough. In a million little ways he felt he was failing, and they hadn’t even reached the first waltz of the night.

But luckily his mother had thought ahead to not assign him to every dance of the evening. She had given him leave to do as he wished for every third, and as he was a man of his word he intended on sticking around for his already promised dances seven and eight.

But during six? During six, he had taken comfort in the table of refreshments.

There was nothing proper about the way he devoured a miniature cake, the punch accompanying it drained so quickly that one might question if there had ever been anything in the glass. He was just about to pop yet another cake into his mouth, propriety be damned, when he looked over and saw Lark Andersen knocking back a lemonade as if it would provide the same relief as a brandy.

Not quite, he thought. But it appeared that at the same time he had spotted Lark, Lark had spotted him.

August had been hoping to avoid conversation with those who knew him best that evening, and Lark was essentially an older brother. But he had not seen Lark since his wedding. And he’d always found that he was able to find words with Lark that evaded him in the presence of others. Perhaps it was for the best that they had crossed paths.

“Lord Andersen,” he nodded, electing to take a small bite of the cake in his hands instead of facing the embarrassment of putting it down or eating it in one go. Thankfully, the brief silence that settled over the two was not uncomfortable.

“Thank you for coming. I did see your dance with my mother earlier. I am sure she appreciated it,” he added between bites, head gesturing in the direction of his purple-clad mother. Who was apparently dancing with his father. Sweet.

August was thankful that Lark had entered the conversation with a topic already in mind, and one so obviously of interest too. He had noticed Lark’s lack of participation the moment the teams had been announced, and he’d had every intention of checking in with the male about it. He’d just been presented a perfect opportunity.

“Not more surprising than you not captaining,” August pointed out. “If I had known that you were not keen to participate this year, perhaps I would have rustled up a crew and won the whole thing. Why did you not sign up?” he inquired.

“As for how I’ve been, your sister threatened violence against me on the first day of festivities for disappearing. Even though I’ve simply been abroad and somewhat accessible through letters. So, I’m doing very well in friendships at present.”

~ ♔ ~

August had delivered a ‘thank you’ which felt predictable yet unnecessary. Lark shook his head in response, his smile warm and kind as he responded, “No need to thank me. It was the least I could do.” And he was right — the event was in honor of the Countess, it felt obvious for him to choose to dance with her when given the chance. “I hope she did appreciate it. I have been out of practice, but she makes a great dance partner,” he added with a sincere grin.

This was small talk, a simple beginning to a conversation with a good friend. It felt comfortable to engage in such conversation with August — it didn’t feel forced or on false pretense. They were just two friends catching up. “I believe I saw you making your way through the eligible young ladies. I take it the Countess is eager to see you settled?” He figured most mamas were in such a mood since his own nuptials. First wedding of the season was accomplished, it was only a matter of time before more happened.

He thought himself clever for taking a sip of a freshly procured second lemonade when August had turned the tables on him to ask why he himself had not competed in the regatta. Lark swallowed his drink thickly, his eyes flickering towards the crowd in a short lived attempt to seek out his wife. But after a brief second, he turned back to August with a slightly smug grin on his face. “Well I had to give them all a chance. It would have been humiliating for the other boats,” he joked before taking another long sip.

When he lowered his drink this time, Lark’s shoulders had followed suit by dipping downward as a soft sigh escaped the captain. “My wife,” Lark paused as he thought on his coming words delicately. “It is our first societal event as a married couple,” he amended a moment later, “And we wanted to spend as much of it side by side as we could.” It wasn’t true in the slightest but he did not give that away with his tone. “It felt better to sit beside her and watch. But perhaps next year will be different.” Deep down Lark doubted it — he didn’t think his adventurous sea captain side suited Gwendolyn’s image of a husband. He figured she preferred a clean cut gentleman, one as proper and prim as her. Nearly perfect as her. He didn’t think he could be that, but… Perhaps he needed to try.

“Though I should not wish to humiliate you in your hometown,” he added in a teasing tone. “Nor keep Miss La Bouff and her boat of capable sailors from winning two years in a row,” he referenced the boat let by Teddy which had come victorious in this year’s regatta. The boys at the Royal Naval Academy were particularly beat up over it, though Lark was quite proud of the young lady and her friends.

He let out a low, warm chuckle at mention of Lyra. Leave it to his darling little sister to amuse him so, even when she wasn’t there before him. “I would personally had taken offense had she not threatened violence. Shows she cares,” he replied. But then he was silent for just a beat of a moment before continuing, “But I wouldn’t let that stop me if I were you. You’re young, you don’t have so much obligation that would keep you here. If I were you, I would always keep one eye on the horizon, and spend as much time as I could seeing what is out there.” There was a melancholy look to him as he spoke, eyes glazing over as his gaze wandered over the room full of people. He’d had his years of traveling, eight long and blissful years, and he meant every word he’d said. It had been the happiest time of his life. And it felt over.

“Where did you go?” He asked curiously against the rim of his glass, barely glancing at the other man. “I suspect not too far since you got back speedily for my nuptials, which I thank you for being there. It would not have felt right otherwise. But what did you see?” Lark wanted in that moment to live almost vicariously in August’s memories of travel, which were so much fresher than his own. He wanted to know where his friend went, what he saw, what he learned, what he brought back with him. He wanted all of it. “I should like to convince Lady Andersen to vacation abroad, but I’m unsure what destinations may suit her.” Or if she would ever set foot on a boat, but he kept the thought to himself.

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#lark ft. august #event: rapunzel’s birthday

enchantedss:

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

“Lark, not all women are from our family. As much as mother and I adore shiny things, different women have different tastes. Some women prefer books! As far as mother’s opinion, I think she is much better at determining these things than I am. I, myself, would be fine with any small trinket given in affection. Perhaps your wife would simply appreciate the gesture?” Lyra offered with a soft hum.

He knew things were not simple for either of them. Lark and Lyra were infinitely out of their depth when it came to relationships with women. She smiled when he tried to tease her however and reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Give her something, anything that calms her nerves. She is just as nervous as you are, Lark, I assure you of that, if not more so. She’s just as confused. Newlyweds are often that way. I think.”

She didn’t exactly know for certain, but it was a good enough yes.

Then Lark suggested a comb and Lyra lit up, clapping her hands excitedly. “Yes! yes a comb would be wonderful! Something for her hair, that makes her know you are thinking of her.”

“Speak with her?” she hummed gently, wringing her hands. “I suppose I could do such a thing. I admit I am a little nervous to speak so intimately with her. Sometimes I worry Lady Andersen doesn’t like me very much. I suppose that’s a silly thing to say.”

~ ♔ ~

Lark’s face blanched as his sister spoke, a new panic rising within him. He dropped the string of rubies he was admiring as her words settled in, bright blue eyes turning to meet with the nearly identical pair Lyra had. “…Gods, do you think she prefers books?” The reality was that Lark Andersen did not know his wife well enough to decipher her interests. If he had tried to think more, he may have conjured up the memory of the sewing box she had mentioned, how she spent a lot of time doing embroidery, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to recall. He was at a complete loss. “I hope you are correct and gesture will be enough,” he murmured as he resumed browsing the jewelry.

Her mention of his wife’s confusion and nerves caused Lark’s stomach to drop. Obviously Lyra did not know the more… Delicate details of his and Gwendolyn’s marriage. None outside of the couple were privy to the awkwardness shared between them where intimacy was concerned. Unless of course the lady chose to disclose such information to her lady’s maid. He prayed that wasn’t the case, it would make it far too awkward whenever he passed the woman in their household if that were the case. But even then it was not common knowledge how uncomfortable they were around each other. Yet it felt like Lyra knew, as if she had witnessed it first hand. Perhaps in a way she had — she knew the truth, after all. She knew what really happened between them was not love.

Despite the discomfort within him, Lark aimed a soft smile at his sister, barely bumping his arm against her shoulder. “You’re rather wise, you know,” he said with a light laugh. “And here I thought it was my job as the elder to give the good advice.”

His brows knit at her enthusiasm, expression painted in confusion. A comb? A comb?! He could not gift his bride, the new Viscountess of Atlantica, a comb. He thought it more appropriate a gift from a sister. But from a husband? He could hear the ladies of the ton gossiping about his skill as a gift giver, his wife maybe sharing with her closest friends her disappointment in such a choice. She was friends with the likes of Lady Rose, who he knew for sure would laugh at him.

“No, no, I meant for you to give her a comb.” He shook his head, “I am her wealthy lord husband, I should be giving her special trinkets she may show off… Such as this.” He pulled out a silver necklace from which a rather large sapphire pendant hung. “Blue is the Andersen color, I should think.” Blue like his eyes, or his noble uniform, the sea their family hailed from, a little nod towards himself. It was certainly less and less about the lady it seemed, but didn’t wives like little things that represented their spouses? Maybe, if they loved the spouse anyway.

“Why would she not like you, Lyra?” Lark couldn’t fathom the thought. How anyone could think poorly of his little Lyra, his dearest sister and closest friend, was beyond him. He knew he held a bias but he knew her better than anyone else, and adored her more than anyone else. He held her as the lady with the most regard in his life. Not even Gwendolyn, who was the picture perfect young lady of the ton, held a candle to Lyra in Lark’s eyes. Gwendolyn may be beautiful and accomplished and well mannered, but she was awful boring in comparison.

“No, I think she would like you a great deal should you two endeavor to get to know one another better. She is just… a difficult lady to read.” Which was true for him; he thought Gwendolyn perfect to a fault, as though she were always putting up a careful front. If she were more the giggling girl from the fountain, well…. He would like her a great deal more. “Your charisma and affection could bring her out of her shell in a way I could never,” he sighed.

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#lark ft. lyra #event: rapunzel’s birthday

when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball who: lark andersen and gwendolyn andersen @oncemorewthfeeling

Bodies swirled in a dizzying array, the orchestra swelling over a chorus of conversation. The ballroom was not quiet — it was packed, loud and busy. It reminded Lark of the bustling bazaar of Agrabah, or the shantytown of Talon; full of people animatedly conversing. But even with the similarities, those places felt worlds away, forever out of reach. His swashbuckling seafaring days were over, their fate sealed when he slid a ring onto Gwendolyn Dallben’s finger and declared her his wife. Or rather, Gwendolyn Andersen — he still was unaccustomed to her bearing his name. Everything between them was awkward and stunted and uncomfortable, completely unnatural. Yes she was his wife, but… it was only in name. Love did not exist there. In fact, half the time Lark was sure she didn’t even like him. Just a little over two weeks into their marriage and he was beginning to dread the remainder of his life by her side.

It was this reason alone that lead him to avoid the new Lady Andersen during the ball — these societal events were supposed to be fun, but how could he enjoy himself beside the woman who made him feel at his most insecure? He lost sense of himself, of the charming and affable lad he was, when he was with her. The choice was made to spend the ball apart, but this could only last for so long. People talked — gossip was society’s favorite pastime it seemed — and people took notice of what they deemed unusual. A groom should not be so far from his new bride, not when their marriage was still in its infancy. It wasn’t right. It was unnatural.

The Countess of Tirulia made as much known to him. His mother was watching them from wherever she mingled, clearly growing more anxious with the time and distance they spent apart. When she’d the chance, she pulled Lark aside to warn him against spending much time further apart. “The others will have things to say if you do not present a united front,” she said, “You must show yourself with Gwendolyn as much as possible before they question things.” But he didn’t want to be seen with Gwendolyn; he wanted to be free for one night. He didn’t care what others thought — he married the girl, didn’t he? What more could be required? He wanted to fight her counsel, but he knew she was right. The social season was a show, and Lark and Gwendolyn needed to play their parts at the entertainment of others.

He struggled to find a natural way to go about it. How to cleverly blend into whatever social situation Gwendolyn was in, as if he was supposed to be there. How could he walk up to her and not give away their lack of fondness towards one another? Watching her from across the room, over the rim of the latest glass of sweet and tangy lemonade he got his hands on, Lark sought for the best opportunity to draw the correct attention back to them. Joining in on conversation he wasn’t invited to seemed a way to upset his wife, and he didn’t want to cause her discomfort. A turn around the room seemed safe, but an invitation to awkward silence as well. Unless… The current song was dying down, and Lark watched the band. Soon enough another would begin, a waltz he overheard. An intimate dance. Something a freshly married couple would participate in.

Without much thought, he left his glass with a passing servant and let his long legs carry him across the short way to where his wife was currently. He took even, deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. He had a part to play, and he would not fail at it. So he put on his most winsome grin, dimpled and broad, as he stepped up to his wife and her current company. “Dearest,” he spoke up once he stood before the red haired young lady. Lark did not hesitate to take Gwendolyn’s hand as he spoke up, his thumb subconsciously grazing her knuckles in a slow circular motion. “My apologies for interrupting,” his voice was smooth and warm, velvety as he spoke in a low but clear tone, “I’ve been told a waltz is coming and I should like to borrow Lady Andersen, even if for just one song.” Of course there were no objections from Gwendolyn’s companion — no one would tell a Lord he was not allowed to dance with his wife, after all. Lark gave the other a beaming grin before leading Gwendolyn away, his hand still wrapped around hers.

“Sorry,” he addressed her in a lower voice, avoiding eye contact as the current dance ended and the crowd prepared for the next. “I’m afraid it is required we be seen in each other’s company for a while. So as not to raise any suspicion.” He wondered momentarily if that idea bothered her as much as it had him, but didn’t allow himself to dwell as he lead Gwendolyn to an empty spot on the dance floor. He was finally forced to look her in the eye as they stepped into place and awaited the first swell of the orchestra to cue their dance. Lark needed to fight his expression dropping due to their forced interaction, keeping his gaze warm and a smile present. A husband should look onto his wife adoringly. She was beautiful, especially in her finest clothes under the warm glow of the ball room’s chandeliers. It shouldn’t be hard to pretend he was in love with her. It shouldn’t have been hard to be in love with her, based on beauty alone. He just didn’t think he felt that way for her, and he wasn’t sure he was good at pretending otherwise.

Bowing his head as the first slow note of the waltz began, Lark reached out to take her hand and bring her in. He was a gentleman and he knew the steps to every dance, no time away would erase that, and so he confidently fell into the role. When they came close enough to talk between steps, he decided to raise his voice slightly above the music so as to catch her attention. “Have you been enjoying the ball so far?” Without him. He wondered if she’d been more happy without him there, looming over her shoulder. Was he bad company? “I suspect you’ve received many a congratulation — it is your first event as Lady Andersen. All of the ton must be excited to greet the newest Viscountess,” he paused as the dance pulled them a bit further apart, waiting until she was close again to continue his thoughts.

“Has your dance card been nearly filled by jealous men who did not seize the opportunity before, wishing to honor the latest bride with a dance?” That’s how some men in the ton were; they ignored a prized young lady when she was open to them but the second she was taken, she was suddenly of deep interest. He knew some men thrilled from such a challenge, namely the Earl of Citrouille, a notorious rake, was rumored to not respect marital status. Maybe she was accosted by him, or any other former suitor there. He tried not to think on whether or not Gwendolyn was the type to welcome such advances — all signs pointed to no, but he couldn’t blame her either way. Theirs was no love match, but maybe she was en route to one with another before their folly. It made his blood simmer when he dwelt on such a thought, so he tried to shake it away.

“They’ll have to forgive me if that’s the case, I should think I take precedence.” He was trying to be amusing, to tell a joke, but he feared it fell flat. “Unless you wanted to dance with another, in which case… please forgive me.” And then it felt it, the pangs of insecurity he didn’t know he was capable of. Embarrassed, he looked away, hoping for a second to catch his mother’s eye and see her approval. Maybe that would bolster him in that moment. But the Countess of Tirulia was nowhere to be seen, so he settled his blue gaze back upon Gwendolyn instead. She truly was beautiful, and elegant, and radiant, and all things a gentleman should want in a wife. Why wasn’t that enough for him? What more could he want? “You… you do look quite lovely tonight. I apologize that I hadn’t said as much before.”

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#lark ft. gwendolyn #event: rapunzel’s birthday #I’m sorry this isn’t… great #I’m so rusty

davidcxrenswet

“I say, you do have a heart!’ ‘Sometimes,’ he replied. ‘When I have the time.”

— Jules Verne, Around the World in Eighty Days (via wordsnquotes)

#* but now i’m free; there are no strings on me ( about. )

GIANNI “STROMBOLI” BERNARDI IS PROUD TO SEND THEIR CHILD, GIANLUCA BERNARDI, TO THE LAND OF AURADON FOR THE UPCOMING SOCIAL SEASON. WE HEAR THEY’RE INCISIVE AND STEADFAST, BUT CAN ALSO BE CRUEL AND TACITURN. AND IT’S SAID THEY BARE A REMARKABLE RESEMBLANCE TO THEO JAMES, BUT THAT’S MERELY A COINCIDENCE. WE’RE SURE THEY’LL CAUSE QUITE A STIR IN THE TON THIS YEAR BUT ONLY TIME WILL TELL.

#disenchantedintro #* but now i’m free; there are no strings on me ( about. )#I’ve spent too much time deliberating over this so we are gonna go with this

hcppilyevercfter

When: May 30th, 1825; fifth day of the Coronan Lantern Festival. Who: Theodore Fortin & Briar Rose Basille.

Theo did not chase after anyone.

His pride was too delicate to entertain anyone who hadn’t the slightest interest in him, knowing for every one person that did not fancy the young Fortin, there was always another far more willing participant he knew to take their place. That was why it struck him most startling when after such a brief encounter with Briar Rose, she didn’t seem to stray too far from his mind. It was clear she thought him no better than a perverse scoundrel — her choice of words — and likely wished he was but a far off thought she had long left behind on that dock. And yet there he was, forsaking his pride as he glanced from above his glass towards the scene before him.

The ballroom was plentiful in people and entertainment. Every person who had made the journey to Corona for the Countess’s birthday festivities was in attendance, which meant Briar Rose, too, should have been here somewhere. He did not make it so obvious he had been keeping an eye out for her that evening. He kept close to his companions, and when he strayed, it was only in search of a drink — and of her. Now, he had no intention of pursuing anything as true and pure as Henry had told him she wished for. He didn’t vie for her hand, nor her virtue. Well, not entirely. More so, he wished merely to see if she still arose that particular flicker of interest she had stoked in him upon their first meeting. Everyone had grown predictable and downright boring, unable to keep his attention for very long. Briar Rose was a welcomed respite.

And it was an also unintended bonus if he could best Henry Charming at yet one more thing.

Having finished his second drink, he set it atop a tray someone was holding as they walked past him, and once the other cleared from his view, that was when he saw her. The string quartet had just begun another song, fanciful and grand, and he allowed the swaying bodies between them to act as his cover as he approached her, keeping her from seeing him. Even if she had spotted him, he was unsure she would recognize him, what with Henry’s help in tidying himself up for the long-awaited ball. One hand idly rose to his face, fingers ghosting past where his beard once was. He missed it.

Only once he was closer did he allow for himself to be seen and heard. “Lady Rose,” he said in greeting, though he had arranged himself a step behind her so he could lean down and meet her at her shorter stature, his words spoken to her ear, “it is a pleasure to see you this evening.” After capturing her attention, he stood tall again, a charming smile illuminating his face, “I must admit, I did wish our next meeting would’ve been something akin to our first, where I save you from imminent danger and become your hero, but I suppose the evening is young.”

@discnchant

discnchant

Unfurling in one swift motion, Briar Rose delicately waved a hand painted fan towards her heated face. With society almost effectively doubled, ballrooms were becoming more and more stuffy, body heat mingling between the dance floor and along the perimeter where others jovially conversed. It was not easy to escape, and as summer approached that meant hot humid days would soon be upon them. She longed for a retreat to the north, closer to the mountains that bordered her forest drenched home. There nestled between the Forbidden Mountains and the Enchanted Forest Auroria remained pleasantly cool even during the scorching months, the higher elevation to thank for it. Breezes through the evergreens beckoned, and she closed her eyes and tried to imagine it was where she was right in that instant. For a moment, she’d completely forgotten the gentleman she had been conversing with.

“My Lady Rose, are you well?” His voice, a nasally pompous drawl, cut through her senses, pulling her away from grassy avenues in the forest to that smoldering hot ballroom.

Briar Rose blinked away the thoughts and sighed from behind her fan, barely acknowledging the man. A lesser noble, some kind of lowly Baronet who made a fraction of her family’s overall worth and owned a newer, less grand, estate outside of Nottingham. Barnabus, Barnaby? Something along those lines. He’d bored Briar Rose with talk of trips to Paris and Rome, places she’d been to plenty of times herself and was well acquainted, and silly gossip published on Lady Chattermore’s newsletter. A stupid fop of a man, not the charismatic and adventurous romantic lead she was imagining for herself. She had only entertained the conversation since her dance card still had one spot and her mother insisted she give the Baronet a chance. If only it had been worth her time.

With another sigh, she shook her head in an elegant manner and managed a softer voice as she created an out for herself. “I’m afraid the heat is getting to me, and I could use refreshment.” She could walk away, seek a drink or a breath of fresh air from the gardens. But she knew men of society, their natural pull towards chivalry, even if they did not genuinely mean to be. Gallantly, the Baronet offered to fetch her a drink and hastily ran off in search of one, requesting that she not fill that final crucial spot on her dance card until his return. A ridiculous request, she thought. She’d not intended to dance again that night.

Withholding a third sigh — so as not to seem impertinent, even just to herself — the young lady let her hazel eyes travel about the room, trying desperately to find either an acquaintance or some escape so she didn’t have to fake pleasantries with another boring dandy. Where was her dearest Lady Dru? Or even the new Lady Andersen, one of her cherished friends now married and returned from honeymoon? How she would rather be giggling and gossiping about the eligible bachelors or the goings on of the festival with her compatriots than waiting for that oaf to return and bore her with more topics she was well versed in but had to feign ignorance for his delicate ego. Why were men so intimidated by women who knew things of their own accord anyway? She hadn’t much time to dwell on the question.

Half hiding her face behind her fan as she looked for familiar face to save her from being open for solicitation from other men, she’d not noticed the figure cutting across the room, coming up behind her in a way that would probably be deemed inappropriate by some. She had to fight from the gasp which wanted to escape slightly parted lips at her name being whispered by her ear, taking a quiet and ever slight inhale. Briar Rose prayed it was silent, because the last thing she wanted was to see smugness upon a gentleman’s face. But the way his breath rolled against her ear, the way she could now feel his presence from behind her, though he did not touch her, caused a prickle of excitement to dance up her spine. She was grateful for her long gloves, which hid most of her arm from view. She didn’t want anyone to notice the goosebumps which sprouted on her delicate skin.

Training her expression to resolute indifference, she turned on her heel to face the man who decided to take up her time once it was finally free to her. At first, she had not recognized the tall gentleman before her. His was not a figure she recalled seeing at balls in the past, nor, regrettably, in the drawing room of her home. He was handsome, unfairly so, and tall and broad. And he had had the most disarmingly blue eyes she’d ever seen, ones which held a vague familiarity to them. According to his words they’d met before, though she couldn’t place when. Not at first. Not until she’d stared long enough at his eyes to suddenly recall the moment in vivid detail. The docks. The lanterns. The strong hands wrapped around her waist. The ruffian. She had not recognized him simply because he lacked one distinguishing feature which she often remembered beyond his oceanic gaze — the dark beard which masked half his face. It was gone now and she could freely follow the line of his jaw, take in his full features. Why did he have to be so good looking?

Keeping her face from betraying her, she fluttered the fan slightly at herself and looked at him with her chin raised in a haughty fashion. “Have we met?” She started, trying to sound uninterested. “Funny, I don’t recall. Perhaps you’re mistaking me for another lady at court. I am no damsel, sir.” A lie. She would prettily fall into any set of strong arms that would catch her if it meant a romantic exchange and a potential fairy tale story to tell their future children. But she would hardly allow such an honor to the rogue from the docks — even if she liked his smile. “Of course if you had just given your name before, I may be willing to recognize you.” The giveaway that she did perhaps know him. She could be bratty if she desired it, and it aggravated her to no end that he’d been given the privilege of knowing who she was and she did not get that in return.

#* i know you i walked with you once upon a dream ( thread. )#briar ft. theodore #event: rapunzel’s birthday

theojamesunofficial

#* a high silk hat and a silver cane ( visage. )

tag dump for gianluca !

#* a high silk hat and a silver cane ( visage. )#* a boy who won’t be good might just as well be made of wood ( inspo. )#* but now i’m free; there are no strings on me ( about. )#* like a bolt out of the blue fate steps in and sees you through ( thread. )#* i believe i am my best self; my truest self; when i’m with you ( love. )

when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball

who: sevastyan petit and sammy stabbington @hcppilyevercfter

It was taking all of Sevastyan’s self control to not watch Silverbell. Every time she so much as passed through his vision, he had to stop his gaze’s natural instinct to just follow the pixie across the room. He knew what would happen if he gave in to such an urge — he’d begin to think. He’d think about how silly and stubborn they were being. He’d think about how desperately he missed her; her witty comments, her smile, and naturally the physical gratification they sought with each other. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from seeking her out in shadowy corners and kissing away the tension between them. When such thoughts haunted him, Sevastyan recalled her actions as of late. The insulting way she spoke to her sovereign. Her childish insinuations that he, prince of the faeries, somehow didn’t care for his people. Ridiculous notion that was not true. It wounded him that somehow the person who was to know him the best had not known him at all.

The realization was only made worse by certain expectations. Those connected to the fae court, who knew the pair, had made an assumption of their future. Silverbell would be his consort. That’s what they all said. In truth, there was a desire within him for that to take place. But their time in Auradon proved a point to Sevastyan which kept him from bringing such thoughts to fruition — Silverbell was ill suited to such a role. A profound love for their people the sprite possessed, but it was not enough. The fae’s existence was so closely laced with the humans. There was a camaraderie, a friendship there that needed to be nurtured and protected. And despite their natures, the High King and High Queen could not be selfish creatures. His father was a good and benevolent faerie, and Sevastyan wanted to be the same. Silverbell could not be tamed, and frankly… he didn’t wish to tame her. He loved her the way she was, but that didn’t mean he could make her his queen.

It was something he’d fought with for days now it seemed, the reality that his first choice in mate would not be the one he should go with. Sevastyan needed to rethink his future. How fortuitous that such complicated thoughts had struck him while at a ball during the height of the social season. Recalling his strange encounter with Lady Andersen had reminded Sevastyan of the purpose for meeting like this. The noble houses wanted their lines to join, to marry their eligibles to each other. He began shifting his thoughts away from Silver ruling at his side, and instead began looking at the many faces dotting the ballroom in a new curious light. He was a shameless flirt when he wished to be, that much was true, but it never amounted to more than a physical fancy. But now… Sevastyan was beginning to think it was time to seriously court someone in the ton.

It was just a matter of who.

Taking a labored breath following a dance with another pretty face, the prince bowed humbly before politely excusing himself from the dance floor. He was a sprightly thing but he didn’t want to waltz his night away. It was a harder way to make acquaintances than he’d imagined, and he decided he needed air. So with a glass in his hand of whatever drink they were passing around on trays, Sevastyan exited the ballroom into a long winding corridor. He recalled a room set aside for the men to disappear to should they wish to smoke and speak. Talks of business had no place on the dance floor, but the lords could hardly ignore any opportunity to discuss mergers and investments, anything to fatten their accounts and extend their power it seemed. So they had their own separate space, which Sevastyan decided would be the perfect place to sit and take a breather. He expected the room to be empty but found himself pleasantly surprised when he’d instantly noticed a figure within. The broad shoulders of a defined man, with a long and flowing raven mane... Sevastyan’s eyes wandered down the cascading locks. He liked long hair — he always enjoyed having something to wrap around his fingers and tug on. Such a thought flooded his mind in lurid images which he shook away before clearing his throat to make his presence known.

”Looks like we got the same idea, hm?” He smiled, warm and friendly. For once he was not coming in with expectation, not flirting his way into an introduction. Instead Sevastyan was just an amiable man in the presence of another hopefully equally friendly man. Now if said stranger decided they wanted to flirt, well…. Sevastyan could tell from that moment as his gaze wandered over him and took him in that he’d be more than willing to meet the man halfway. Or all the way to an unoccupied bed chamber, if he so chose it. “Turns out not all princes are meant to dance the night away, so I needed a breather. And how about you? What brings you away from the party?”

#* let me take you far beyond the stars ( thread. )#event: rapunzel’s birthday #sevastyan ft. sammy

sethkate

Ester Expósito via Instagram (2019)

#* beauty rare full of sunshine in her hair ( visage. )

when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball who: conall dunbroch and elaina lumiere @fatedfables

The ball room was no place for a warrior such as he. Scowling from the sidelines, Conall did not fit the mold of a gentleman one would wish to spend time with at such an event. He was not romantic or well mannered, not in the genteel society way. He did not know how to charm pretty young ladies or their overeager parents. He didn’t even know how to dance. Conall’s expertise was in combat; a great shot on rifle, though a far more adept archer and swordsman. His life was spent in the rough and rugged hills of the Highlands easing tension among warring clans. There was no tenderness in his touch, all rough and calloused palms and harsh grips. Here in Corona, in an opulent ball room with crystal chandeliers and marbled floors, gentry in the most exquisite refinery, the kilt wearing Scot was woefully and miserably out of place. There was no corner where he truly belonged.

Procuring a drink off the tray of a wandering footman, Conall wasted little time downing the refreshment. It was no satisfying drink, not the burning alcohol that warmed the hearth in DunBroch. How he wished he could escape to the ivy choked castle ruins he called home. Conall decided to seek the next best thing, quickly but stealthily following the perimeter of the room until he could find the large archway which lead to the gardens. The gorgeously manicured courtyard ran parallel to the length of the ballroom, just west of the castle. From there one could get a gorgeous view of the sun setting over the Audratic, the sea mirroring the sky’s scarlet and amber glow.

By then it was far too late for the sunset, the sky a dark blanket full of twinkling stars. Conall invited the cool night breeze, took comfort in its icy kiss upon his flushed cheeks. He hated how they rouged, how boyish his high cheekbones and rosy complexion made him look. He was a man, a crusader, and yet he always had this quiet softness to him. He felt it gave the wrong impression. But there, bathed in moonlight and stoically walking down twisting paths flanked by hedges with various flora, a look of calm and serenity in his face, a softness did overwhelm him.

Slowly, the red headed man bent on one knee by blush colored peonies. Long fingers brushed over the leaves on the plant, then the pink flower petals, breathing in the sweet floral scent which filled the air around him. He was so engrossed in the plant, he almost missed the scuffle of shoes upon the stone pathway. He did not look up to see the intruder happening upon him and the flowers, barely raised his chin in acknowledgment. Instead he simply said, “They’re bein’ a bit overzealous with the watering.” As if the other person walking through the gardens in that moment had been observing that particular bush with him this whole time, had seen what he was seeing. The way the flowers were beginning to wilt, the browning on the leaves. Symptoms of both overwatering and underwatering, the cause he could determine by pressing his fingers to the sopping soil beneath the flowers. He understood in a sense, it was rather sunny on the island city, but it was clear they had overdone it with this plant.

He pulled his hand away, brushing it against the rough fabric of his kilt to clear his fingers of dirt, before rising to his towering full height. “Nae sure if it’s wise to tell the Countess on her special day, but they ought to change things a little. If they wish ‘em to thrive anyhow.” He looked then to the other person and recognized Elaina Lumiere on the path. Could have been worse company, he supposed. He could have had to introduce himself. Mimicking the gentlemen he observed at these events, he turned his full body towards her, arms hanging limp at his sides and feet together as he squared his shoulders and bowed his head in humble greeting. “Miss Lumiere, how do you do?” His voice was low, laced in that thick highland accent and rendered in a monotonous tone. “I was seekin’ reprieve from the party, ye ken. Needed a little air, an’ the gardens are quite inviting, wouldn’t you say?”

#* misty mountains sing and beckon lead me out into the light ( thread. )#event: rapunzel’s birthday #conall ft. elaina

when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball who: faerilyth moor and melinoe papatonis @oncemorewthfeeling

The clock struck nine and the party was still raging on. The music swelled, a gorgeous symphony by a small orchestra situated at the farthest point of the ballroom. Bodies moved in sync, rushing through daring waltzes and quadrilles in fiendish glee. Faerilyth thought dancing to be a stupid pastime, and had never before coming to Auradon thought it wise to learn how to do so. However she had her part to play; docile, naïve, doe eyed child captivated with the world that had only barely been given to her. How she cleaved into such a role, even when people assumed the worst of her, and how she played her part.

She was now working her way to the edge of the dance floor, chest heaving with labored breath, carefully pulling her arm from an eager dance partner who dared to pull her back into the fray. “Oh Miss Moor, please just one more! They’re gearing up for a waltz.” She had to fight not to send an icy glare to him, the kind she learned from her mother but bled with the powerful fury of her demonic father. Instead she kept the charming grin she’d practiced countlessly in front of mirrors and shook her head with a giggle. Because that is what pretty little things did — they giggled. Horrid noise.

“Mr. Barrow, I must insist upon a break. You are such a wonderful dancer, I am not fully accustomed to countless turns. I am in dire need of refreshment.” He quickly offered to retrieve, but Faerilyth silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Go now, there are so many lovely women in need of a partner. I daresay — Lady Rose of Auroria seems lonesome now. Why don’t you ask her for the next one?” She waved her hand again, a spell from which he could not refuse, and watched as he rolled his eyes but mechanically walked away. Free at last.

Once she felt no eyes were on her, she dropped the look upon her face and rolled her own eyes in irritation. The things she needed to do to build up her carefully chosen façade. Reaching into her skirts to where she had pinned a stop watch, she flipped back its cover and looked. Barely five after. Time was extremely of the essence tonight. She would need to somehow get message to Nikolai and Mercedes, and perhaps Cillian. Organize the troops, and send off a team into the catacombs below the city where her sources claimed the Sun Drop Flower was hidden. The last remnant of magic in Corona.

As her gaze whipped across the room, taking in the number of palace guards and where they were stationed — small obstacles that could stand in their way — her eyes stumbled over Melinoe Papatonis, lingering upon the Child of the Underworld with a sudden curiosity. She could not recall how often she spoke to the other back in the Shadow Realm. Then again, she was not allowed to socialize much. She stayed up in that cave at the base of those horrific mountains on the edge of Shadowloft, the makeshift town the villains put together. Mostly segregated from those that would be her peers. In truth, she didn’t need to know her on a deep level, there was just one thing about her she wanted to know about. Her powers, the scope of them, and how they could be used to her advantage. Taking the first two glasses she saw upon a tray of refreshment which wandered past her line of vision, she began walking towards the other, lowering her head in greeting when Melinoe’s violet eyes met hers. A hand extended forward, offering the second glass she’d managed.

“I’m not sure what it is, but I suppose we don’t have to worry if it’s poisoned,” she quipped, a small but friendly grin on her face. She stood beside the other, but her gaze returned to the merry throng dancing at the center of the room, of the guests excitedly conversing and socializing on the fringes of the dancefloor. Much like them, she supposed.

“You know, I find it odd you and I are not better acquainted. In a way we share something in common; fathers who rule over domains of the dead.” Hers was the demonic prince of hell, home of sinners and the worst of men, while Melinoe’s was the god of the underworld, the place where all dead would eventually go if not claimed by Chernabog. “Perhaps our time in Auradon will give us the chance to finally get to know each other, don’t you think?” There was more to her words, a subtle sort of invitation. If Melinoe suspected that Faerilyth was up to something, and if she would want in, then maybe she would catch on. Or maybe it was just a friendly invitation to properly socialize. She left it up to her to decide.

~ ♰ ~

#* quite a glittering assemblage; how quaint even the rabble ( thread. )#event: rapunzel’s birthday #faerilyth ft. melinoe

when: may 30th, coronan lantern ball who: lark andersen and august fitzherbert @auradonian

Lark was making the rounds unlike ever before. Anyone observing the Viscount of Atlantica would have noticed him conversing amiably with every acquaintance he had. He’d spent time with the Royal Naval Academy Cadets, likewise in his finest military dress, clapping hearty hand upon their backs and congratulating their efforts in the regatta. He was seen with the Countess of Corona, wishing her well on her birthday weekend and even dancing once with the guest of honor. He had escaped at one point to a room to smoke cigars with some of the other gentlemen and drink some whiskey, though only briefly. And of course he had tried to see in on his sister, even if watching from afar.

One person he did not spend much time with was Gwendolyn, his wife. It was a choice to not spend much of the evening together, one he preceded with a desire to not pretend for one evening. Things were uncomfortable, they had been from day one but only grew stronger as time passed by. He didn’t want to be stuck in the discomfort, but he also didn’t want that for her. She deserved a night with her friends, a night where she could be happy. And since she was a married woman, and this was the first ball since, she would be accosted by many congratulating her, and even some men wanting to dance with her as a sign of respect and honor. She would be occupied.

What he hadn’t expected was the number of people pointing out how he was nowhere near his wife. My lord, where is your wife? And how is her ladyship this evening? Will the Viscount and Viscountess of Atlantica be gracing the dance floor together? The constant questioning of how Gwendolyn was, how their marriage had been, etc. The comments on how happy they must have been. Lark felt his chest tighten. It seemed even if he avoided Gwendolyn physically, the comments on their nuptials would never escape him. Still, he grinned and charmed his way out of the awkward conversations and focused on anything but.

Attempting to avoid his mother, who seemed to be glaring at him from across the room whenever he happened to notice her, Lark carefully skirted the side of the room where refreshment was set out. Not caring how unsightly it could have appeared, Lark grabbed and downed a tangy, tart lemonade. It was not a favorite flavor, so he involuntarily grimaced before going for another one. It was bloody hot in there, and he was still somehow uncomfortable. He wanted relief. Sighing after a second drink, Lark looked up and noticed none other than August Fitzherbert nearby. The fellow viscount, who was somewhat like a younger brother to him, had been gone for time prior to Lark’s wedding, and he hadn’t seen him since. They had barely seen one another, and he suspected the young man would not put him in an uncomfortable situation as the others in attendance had.

“Fitzherbert,” he called out with a lopsided grin as he approached the other. “Good chap, how have you been? I must say I found it quite surprising to not see you captaining a shell for the regatta. I suppose it just wasn’t our year, hm?” Lark had likewise not been in the race, instead watching from the sideline forlornly.

~ ♔ ~

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#event: rapunzel’s birthday #lark ft. august

oncemorewthfeeling:

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱

She thought about his question, wondering if there had been anything thus far that she had found that she wished to purchase. Bring back home with her. She pursed her lips as they walked, letting her hazel eyes glance over numerous tables and stalls of handmade goods. “Well…” she began, smiling softly as she remembered the small handmade and painted sewing box she had seen earlier. She had considered purchasing it, knowing that it would be the best place to not only house her numerous embroidery needles, but also her dozens of floss. But she had passed on the idea, as she did not think it was needed. “There was a man a few stalls back, a carpenter I believe, that was selling a lovely sewing box. A few actually, all painted in pastels and accented in gold. I have been considering returning and purchasing one. But,” she had plenty of space to hold her sewing supplies, she did not need to buy a container. “I do not think it is necessary. I can do without it.”

And the stunning coin purse she had just been eyeing. That too was beautiful. But she had plenty already. These were not items she needed. Merely things she found appealing. Not worth her money. Not when she was now a married woman. A woman who had a house to run and staff to think about. She was not a carefree young girl anymore. Buying soft ribbons and fabrics on a whim. Oh, these ribbons would make for a wonderful trim on this dress. Or would look exception on my bonnet, she used to say. No, she had to be more responsible.

Finally coming upon the hair braiding stall, Gwen smiled brightly at the numerous women tending to it. All from the same family, they shared like features and had similar complexions. Numerous generations all working together, and it was this kind of close-knit family that Gwen yearned for. Letting go of her husband’s arm, the red head moved forward to the matriarch of the family with warm smile. “I would like to enlist your service.” She said, removing her bonnet and allowing them to lead her to a stool to sit down. A giggle left her lips as a younger girl quickly came over and began to take her hair out of its style. “You have such pretty hair, Lady.” She said.

“Oh, why thank you. Although I suppose you should actually tell my mother. I hear it was her family I received my coloring from.” Turning back towards Lark, Gwen’s smile stiffened just slightly. “If you would like to take your leave now, feel free. I suspect we shall be here for a while.” She had a lot of hair. That she knew.

~ ♔ ~

Lark’s line of vision followed behind them, back towards the way they’d come. He noted the soft smile as she recalled a carpenter’s wares, and sewing boxes which clearly caught her eye. It made sense, clicked instantly with the man. He’d noticed his wife’s dedication to needlework. In a self deprecating way he always quietly recalled how she had been so engrossed with floss on their wedding night, before they had been together for the first time. And Lark always wondered if she wished he’d left her alone to her embroidery that night instead of what transpired. It would have been a perfect gift, tailored to her interests and tastes, a great peace offering to soften the discomfort of their situation. So he supposed. Gwendolyn had a different idea, calling such a thing unnecessary. Thwarted before he’d had the chance to attempt eliciting a genuine grin from his wife, Lark sighed and turned away from the direction he suspected the sewing boxes were and dutifully followed beside the young woman instead.

“You are a Viscountess now, there is no measure of things you can have if you desire them.” His riches were at her disposal, as was her dowry which Lark had no desire to keep for himself. If she had wished to spend at the modiste on fine clothes for every imaginable occasion, it was her right. If she wished to fill their home with beautiful and extravagant things, she was its mistress. She had the ability to be less sensible if she so wished it. Granted he appreciated her restraint, but… he didn’t want her to lack freedom to do as she wanted with their riches. She should be free to create a happy, comfortable life for herself — even if she could not feel so in his presence. Something which felt rather evident in Lark as they approached their destination.

Lark stood there, stiff and awkward, as Gwendolyn approached the workers. When her bonnet was removed, and her scarlet hair released, he had taken the moment to watch the sun shimmering off her flame colored locks. They were vibrant, a truly lovely color. He knew it well, his own mother had such red hair, but as Gwendolyn spoke with the young girl working beside her family, as the girl complimented his wife’s hair, he thought about what it would be like if a child of his own had such coloring. For a moment he could imagine a little girl, because Andersens seem to breed more little women than men, with Gwendolyn’s same hair color, braiding her own mother’s locks and giggling as they spoke. It was hard to summon a feeling for Gwendolyn — whatever tenderness touched him on May the first he buried so deep within him he could not recognize it anymore — but he could feel the swell of affection at the thought. She could, at the least, provide him with lovely, well mannered children someday. Perhaps that alone could cause him to love her, being mother to his children.

The softness which touched Lark disappeared when she angled what he could only describe as an uncomfortable, fake smile at him. For a moment he had thought to sit with her, perhaps to allow the lovely young ladies to adorn his own longer-than-fashionable-for-men hair in flowers. To create one fond, potentially genuine moment among all the discomfort and lies that governed their marriage. But Gwen looked at him like that, urged him away. He twisted the brim of his hat in his hands, a slight sinking feeling within him. Perhaps it was not his discomfort she was emphasizing, but her own. She did not want him there. Perhaps she did not want him near at all.

Returning her smile just as stiffly, Lark bowed his head. “Right,” he coughed. “I shall be on my way, then.” With a humble bow of his head to the others, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. He could now seek out Lyra, or speak with the Academy cadets who would be participating in the regatta that week. Maybe they needed a fifth member, maybe a wellbred captain, to usher them to victory. He wasn’t sure what he would do now, but he knew one thing — he would not be seeking out that sewing box like he’d thought he should.

#* wandering free wish i could be part of that world ( thread. )#event: rapunzel’s birthday #lark ft. gwendolyn

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