𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

DOMITIUS CALORE VI there are two kinds of pain: the sort of pain that makes you strong, or useless pain ( the sort of pain that's only suffering. ) I HAVE NO PATIENCE FOR USELESS THINGS.

[sunflcwergirl-blog]

[vitablonos-blog]

Carnival | Open

[flamesofnorta]

& vita ––

To be fair, being queen had never been something that Vita had aspired to. She wasn’t sure that Minerva had aspired to it either. She was higher than that. She knew it and, in her mind, others knew it, too. She followed Domitius’ lead, the leisurely pace, smiling politely as he repeated her first name. She liked how it sounded coming from his lips. But mostly, she liked the looks she got from others and could appreciate the attention of a prince, even if she had no interest in him.

His charm had preceded him, but Vita had never expected it to affect her. But she was still a woman. So she smiled at him while simultaneously reminding herself that he probably meant little to nothing that he said. “I am now,” she replied, a slight flirtation in her voice, if only to put him at ease [for, really, she had no idea how much he knew or thought he knew about her]. “It has been lovely so far. Your father has truly outdone himself. I’m not sure how I feel about interacting with the lessers, but it’s not my place to question the King.” She looked over at him. “And how are you enjoying it?”

Vita was an enigma. He could usually make out the package people wrapped themselves up in. Enough, at least, to be able to find an edge and TUG just hard enough to unravel them. But there was something about Vita; something about the way she spoke, even when she doused her words with a pretty flirtation, that told him if he ripped an edge it would only tear off and regrow stronger. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He looked over at her, admiring the complexion that being a blood healer brought her. She looked plastic, almost. Entirely free of flaw, not a scar or a blemish in sight. He caught himself staring, but made no move to turn his head. He was fascinated, and his finger absently tugged at his left ear, where a chunk of it was missing. His very own reminder of what purpose he’d served at the Choke. “Surely you’ve had suitors lining up just begging for a go on the ferris wheel with you all night, Lady Blonos,” he grinned back, the charm coming easy. He wanted to sigh aloud when she praised his father. He, of course, hadn’t expected anything less, but hearing people applaud his father in any form never managed to DISGUST him less than the time before. “That he has,” he agreed, trying ( and likely failing ) to mask the distaste in his voice. “The King has his reasons for everything, most of which are beyond my rumination,” he added with a chuckle as if it would lessen the truth to the words. He pursed his lips, debating on an answer. Surely there were better ways to spend his evenings than celebrating the birthday of what might as well have been a complete stranger, but it hadn’t been as UNEVENTFUL as he’d expected. “Rather well,” he decided on, unable to mask the hint of shock in his tone. After a beat, he continued the conversation, his voice becoming rather playful as he leaned closer to her, and spoke just above a whisper as if he was sharing some scandal with her. “Tell me, have you tasted this ‘cotton candy’ that I’m hearing so much about, yet?”

[flamesofnorta]

& victoria ––

He pulled his hand back and even though only a few feet stood between them, it felt like he was as far away as the Choke once again. And her skin, which had become aflame at his touch, instantly became cool. She wanted that warmth back but she had to stand her ground. And because he wasn’t touching her anymore, affecting her in a way that only he could, Victoria felt that it was easier to stand on her own two feet before him. “I would understand it Dom if that were true but you’re not just helping her adjust, we all know it. You’re….” Sleeping with her. The words were stuck in her throat. She couldn’t get them out. Saying them would make them more real. No matter what she had heard, words could always be rumors that Court just spread around out of boredom. She had learned how to block them all out and live inside the fantasy in her head. But these weren’t get rumors this time and she couldn’t deny what was being spread and keep lying to herself. She had to come down to reality. 

It didn’t matter that her accusations were true; it didn’t matter that he was guilty of sharing a bed with more women other than just Laelia. It didn’t matter that when he told her that he loved her, he didn’t mean it in the way that she did. It didn’t matter that he was becoming increasingly terrified that he wasn’t CAPABLE of the sort of love that she gave, and even more so that he wasn’t worthy of it at all. He was terrified that no matter how hard he fought, he was becoming more and more like his father with each passing day. It was as if it was written into the lines of his bones, into the palms of his hands and embedded into his blood. It didn’t matter that he knew she didn’t deserve this treatment, because here she stood in front of him. The woman who he’d always gone to to feel LOVED, to feel s o m e t h i n g other than hate and fire was the one causing it to rise to the tips of his fingers. It was a betrayal, and in the moment, to Dom, this far outweighed any dishonesty of his own. He tightened his hands behind his back, his chin raised defiantly and indignation clear in the lines of his face. “Say it. If you’re going to accuse me, Victoria, say it.”

[flamesofnorta]

& helene ––

The brother she’d known — and loved, on occasion — years ago was gone, killed in the crossfire after the first time he’d called her “BASTARD” instead of “Hell.” The man standing before her had his eyes and his grin and commanded the same fire she did, but he wasn’t the same boy who had slain the monsters that haunted her in her sleep with his words; he himself was a monster, a different breed entirely, and Helene — she’d learned so much from her older brother — sought to cut him down at the knees.

She knew he wouldn’t fall easily. Fortunately, much like him, she was as determined as she was impatient.

Her fingers itched to sink the nearest dart into his pale flesh, a much more deserving target than a colored balloon, but to let them have their way would be a waste of time, energy, and a perfectly good dart.

Helene reached out, a dainty hand settling neatly on his shoulder; her blood rushed hot through her veins, warming her from head to toe and stoking a raging inferno to life in her chest, but her fury was restrained, the sparks produced by her bracelet left untouched. She’d burned her brother dozens of times, and although it had been FUN, it hadn’t done nearly as much damage as she would’ve liked.

She often found that her words were much more effective blows than any flame, however bright.

“Question it all you’d like, brother, but I’m still here.” Her red lips twisted into a saccharine smile, and her fingers tightened around a fistful of the red fabric of his shirt. 

“And unfortunately, so are you.” 

Her free hand plucked a dart from a dart from the pile, but instead of throwing it, she merely examined it, her index finger tapping lightly on the needle. “Did no one tell the Lakelanders to shoot straight?”  

For all that Sera was his twin, his missing parts and right arm, it was with Helene that he shared his fire. Eveline’s fire was weak, and she’d never sought to stoke it, but Helene’s threatened to burn down a kingdom. If Domitius were a more mindful man, he would see that the war waged between the eldest and youngest Calore was preemptive and calculated. It was a mindful action of the King and Queen, seeking to tear the siblings apart and scatter the pieces before they had any chance to ban together and rebel. Surely, Helene and Domitius Calore together could burn down more than just the kingdom. They stood to burn down the past, present and FUTURE of the Calore’s themselves, and if Dom were a more mindful man, he would see that the most dangerous threats against Aurelian were the ones living right under his nose.

For all that Dom knew that he and his sister were very much cut from the same cloth, any pleasantries were long gone, any neither of them had exactly fought to keep them.

WHAT IT WOULD TAKE WAS THIS: Helene setting her eyes on the real enemy, and Dom understanding that the fight he faced could not possibly be won without the youngest Calore at his side. But the GODS would be cast down to live among the MORTALS before either admitted to that.

Domitius braced himself when she stuck her hand out, years of having fallen prey to her burns conditioning him to such a reaction. She likely had the same as him, and perhaps that was where the tragedy of this all started. Could one ever heal from such a reaction? Even if they found their way back to the same side, would there ever come a day where they did not flinch near each other? She didn’t burn him, but Dom set his jaw and prepared for it nonetheless. As focused as he was on readying himself for her sparks, he hadn’t anticipated that the worst burns would come from her tongue. He deserved it, and it wasn’t as if he’d never said anything just as terrible to her, but it struck him nonetheless. 

Not that he would dare admit it.

He reached his hand up and grasped hers, roughly loosening her grip on his shirt and pushing it off of him. “Surely not,” he spat out, snatching the dart that she was rolling between her fingers. He held it up in front of her, as if to demonstrate. “If they had, I’d surely wager their bullets would be aimed for your window.” He paused a moment, caught in a frozen battle before he took a step back, still holding the dart in his hand. “Not that you know much of war, sister. The games you play are for CHILDREN. Not kings.”

[flamesofnorta]

& brooks ––

Brooks had expected to get out of this situation quick and easy. As usual, he was rather good at dodging people. Only to avoid earning attention was a tougher task, considering his strong built it was not a surprise. He was taller than most, more muscular aswell in addition to that. While other tall men were rather slim and lanky, he was the opposite.

But so was the Prince. He was even taller than Brooks himself. Not by much, but still enough to recognize if they were standing next to each other. The Prince had obviously taken notice of him. He scolded the moon and the stars inwardly, but on the outside he remained calm, respectful even as he turned around once again, facing the other man.

“Brooks Faulkner.” He introduced himself, giving only the information away that was needed. Rather hoping that Domitius would get bored quickly of his stoic and stubborn silence and short-worded answers and he could leave again. After all, it was the thief who should have the attention — not himself.

Domitius had long forgotten the thief. He and the guards chasing after him were out of sight already, off on some futile chase no doubt. It wasn’t an odd occurrence, and Dom had certainly seen worse crimes committed. He was now focused on the man before him.

Reds were most usually thin and frail, with graying ends to their hair and bones so fragile it looked like they’d crack just by standing on them. This man in front of him, however, was the very opposite. He had wide arms and shoulders, and a strong face to match. He was healthy, and trained, but the lines of war were etched into his face so clearly that Dom recognized them easily. He had few of his own.

“Brooks Faulkner,” the Prince repeated, his chin tilting up as he eyed the Red in front of him carefully. Brooks Faulkner. The name sounded familiar, certainly, but so did many others that he still yet failed to place. “We’ve met, have we not?” He was certain they’d had, so certain that if the Red denied it he would easily call his BLUFF.

[flamesofnorta]

& damon ––

SHIT. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Damon dropped his gaze in panic, staring at his shoes as he grasped for something, anything, that wouldn’t cause suspicions. But his mind was just….blank. Nothing. Usually he had something to say about everything, but when he needed to say something thoughtful and creative, his brain decided it wasn’t needed. So, like any good soldier in the presence of his Highness, he kept his eyes trained away.

“No, sir– your highness.” He stumbled over his words, kicking himself for being so stupid. If it were Brooks in the same situation Damon knew he’d have the right answer. But instead he felt his heart beat a million miles an hour as his mouth turned dry with fear. 

Maybe he should just run. Just take of running and hide behind a stall or in the trash. Maybe he should just pretend to be a silver. Maybe he should just tell the would be king that they were at the choke together. But there was one thing that Damon knew, and he knew it would be worse than anything he’d already done, if he gave away that he was of The Scarlet Guard everyone would be dead. Himself included. And while he personally like his head being attached to his shoulders (though it didn’t seem like it most of the time), he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everyone else’s because he was too busy being a fucking moron.

Domitius tilted his head, his brows pulled together as he eyed the Red in front of him carefully. He looked so wrought with FEAR that Dom was half concerned he would either throw up all over his shoes or piss himself on the spot. Dom took a step back, just in case.

“You called me Dom,” he stated matter-of-factly. The man had attempted to cover it up, but it was poor at best. Whoever taught this fellow to think on his feet needed lessons of their own. “You know me -- as more than just the Prince.” Dom was sure of it now, and he watched the boy for a reaction. He’d become rather excellent at spotting a lie from a mile away, and it was especially easy to do on a boy as skittish as this one. 

Dom thought back to the servants at the palace, but quickly crossed that option out. No, he’d surely recognize this young man if he served him dinner. Besides, no servant of Whitefire would be so.. well, dirty. In all honesty it looked like the red had taken a tumble in the DUMPSTER. So, next. Dom crossed his arms across his chest, his shoulders back and his chin high, daring the man to LIE to him. “Did you serve?”

[flamesofnorta]

Augustus: you look pretty

Sera: what?

Augustus: I said you look shitty, goodnight

[flamesofnorta]

Dom: Apparently orgasm is the only point where your mind becomes completely empty- you think of nothing for that second. That’s why it’s so compelling- it’s a tiny taste of death. Your mind is void- you have nothing in your head save white light.

Claud: I just wanted advice on how to ask out Rachel but okay then

[flamesofnorta]

Dom: Okay... I lied a few times. And I know I've made some mistakes in the past.

Rom: Thousands.

Dom: And some times, I've led you into danger.

Claud: Always.

Dom: But, at least I had the best intentions in mind.

Griffin: Yours.

Dom: And thing have always turned out to be okay.

Everybody else in the world: NEVER!!

[flamesofnorta]

claudprovos:

sunflcwergirl:

Amusement brought a smile to her face once more, but Rachel was careful to keep a firm grasp on caution, not eager to MISSTEP. Lifting the loaded brush to the Prince’s face, she started with his temples and worked inward around his eyes, creating a sort of mask, classic in its simplicity. She was careful to leave a generous gap around his eyes to avoid irritation, planning to fill them in with a less irritating cosmetic. ″ Absolutely. ″ Sincerity saturated her reply, but amusement reared with her following words. ″ What, afraid I might paint something awful ? ″ Once the initial painting was finished, Rachel grabbed the canister of hair spray, careful to shield his face from the spray as she thoroughly coated his hair, transforming his locks pitch black. She gave a short absent-minded hum as she leaned back, searching for any neglected areas before finding herself satisfied with the results. Exchanging the canister for a small tin of a black cream-like makeup, she began to apply it around his eyes, darkening them so, when closed, they disappeared, melding with the faux-mask.

″ So, BIG NIGHT, huh? Must be exciting. ″ There was no need to fake a casual curiosity ( after all, there was no DENYING she was indeed curious ) and conversation was a good excuse to fill silence.

Claudius couldn’t believe Romulus and Dom had somehow persuaded him into doing this. He was wearing ridiculous clothes coming from Rom’s wardrobe, wearing vibrant colors and his hair disheveled. It was certainly different than his usual attire which consisted of black and gold piece for when he was off-duty, and the traditional uniform he wore when he was with Dom, which was ninety per cent of the time. He couldn’t deny that Rom had done a great job, however, because as Claud navigated through the carnival, no one recognized him. It was a relief, not to be stopped by anyone so they could interrogate him about his time at the Choke. The prince had told him he would be at the face-painting booths, and when Claud arrived to that area, he spent good five minutes trying to spot his friend. Finally, he saw him sitting at one of the booths, his face turned to him, a mask painted on the area around his eyes and extending outwards to his temples. 

Claudius approached the booth quickly, feeling a little self-conscious about the clothes he was wearing. “I still think this is a bad idea.” he spoke once he was a few feet away from the booth. “You look great, though. That actually really covers up your royal face nicely,” Claud grinned, turning his attention to the woman who had painted Dom’s face. “Can I get something like th–” his words were cut off suddenly, green eyes staring into brown ones. Not just any brown eyes. Hers. Despite the fact that her face was painted, he would recognize those eyes anywhere. He stumbled back, as if he had been shot in the chest, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of his chest. Seconds, minutes, perhaps even hours passed with Claudius simply staring at her, a mix of emotions on his face: shock, happiness, pain, sadness. He could hear his heart pulsing in his ears, breathing as if he had been running for miles, his fingers shaking involuntarily. 

“How–how–” Claudius stuttered, finally taking his eyes off of her to glance at Dom. Did he know? Had he planned this? No, it couldn’t be, he looked absolutely clueless. “Rachel,” Claud whispered her name, scared to say it out loud from fear that none of this was true. Perhaps he was hallucinating from eating something spoiled at the carnival. He took a step forward, staring at her as if she could disappear any moment. 

“It’s you.” he shook his head slowly, still breathing heavily. “You are alive. How is this possible?”

& ; @flamesofnorta

He had to chuckle at that, but he made every effort to keep still. “A little bit,” he admitted, peeking an eye open when she pulled the brush away and swapped it for some other tool. He closed it before she turned back around. He sat, the patient customer as she finished her work. She was a perfectionist, that much he could tell by the time she was taking with her work. It was admirable, surely. Finding someone dedicated to their craft for more than just the coin it brought the was an odd sort of occurrence, especially among the Reds. “You could say that,” he managed, a mischievous GRIN on his lips as she finished up and he heard Claud’s voice ring beside him. 

He opened his eyes eagerly to examine what hell Rom had wrought upon him, and he didn’t find himself disappointed. “I don’t believe you need a disguise with THAT outfit,” he replied cheekily, busying himself with digging into his pockets to fish out a tip for the artist. Dom failed to notice his friends words cut off, just as he’d failed to hear that Claud’s WORLD was crashing down around him, and similarly to how he’d failed to recognize the bright girl with whom he’d spent months in the Choke with. 

“THERE it is,” he grinned, finally latching onto the tetrarch he was searching for. He looked up, finally, holding the coin out in front of him, clearly pleased and still very oblivious. He paused, looking back and forth between the two frozen statues in front of him. His eyebrows laced together in confusion.

thinking...

                   thinking...

                                          thinking.....

                                                      D I N G.

                “ OH, S H I T  !! ”

Dom jumped up from the chair, knocking it backwards in his excitement. “DUDE,” he all but cawed, abandoning formalities and clearly not bothering to take note of the tension and heartbreak that was thick in the air. He was all but jumping around, unable to contain his excitement. 

     “IT’S HER.”            & @sunflcwergirl

[flamesofnorta]

& lucretia ––

She felt her skin crawling, but not in the sort of way that would make her want to flee– though fleeing was a viable option which she would gladly take should she say something unbearably stupid– as he looked her up and down. Lucretia fidgeted on the spot, looking down at her petite figure without thinking, sheathed in lace and light blue fabric without a stain in sight; what in the world was he looking at? Was there something in her teeth? Had her makeup smudged, or her dress torn? Embarrassment tightened her chest as she struggled to stay still; surely this scrutinization was all part of the rite of passage. 

“Dom,” she repeated the name with tangible relief, for calling him Your Highness all afternoon would grow rather cumbersome. And it was surely a testament to his character that he needn’t require it; the scales tipped in his favor, just a little bit. Her fingers fiddled at the loose lace of her skirt as he spoke, an instinctive smile playing at the corners of her lips, for he was hardly seeming as terrifying as she might have expected, though she was not put at ease by any means. “I am! It is; I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she smiled, nodding with unfettered enthusiasm, “I haven’t seen her all day; I hope she’s having a good time as well. She deserves it.” Her cheeks flushed with heat, and she fidgeted once more– in truth, there were very few who knew that she was to spend the afternoon with him. “Er,” she began, “she does not. But spending time with you would hardly be a waste of an evening, so she can’t be too unhappy with me, I hope.”

The silver blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. ( Dom thought she was a second away from turning the color entirely, head to toe, and wouldn’t that be a sight to see? ) He was amused by her timidness, the way her hands curled together with nerves and fingers grasped at her skirt, looking for something to occupy them. Her nervousness reminded him of Victoria, years ago when he’d approached her for their first dance. He was just as intrigued and challenged by it now as he was back then, and that, he decided, would be how he would make it through the evening. And even, possibly, more after that.

He smiled easily when she repeated his name, a friendly one lacking in ulterior motives, in hopes of putting her at ease. He raised a brow at her confession. “No? Surely that’s not true,” he asked, a genuine curiosity rising. Gods, if this was the most exciting event she’d attended, she was far more isolated than he’d originally assumed. The way she gushed over Helene nearly caused him to lose his lunch, but he held it together, giving her the curtesy of a polite smile instead. She couldn’t possibly believe those things, could she? She spent far more time with her than he did.. it just wasn’t POSSIBLE. He would get her to admit otherwise by the end of the hour, guaranteed. He chuckled, a genuine and reassuring one. “She needn’t know,” he assured her, though in all honesty, he meant the very opposite. Angering Helene was one of the f e w pleasures he would be getting out of this. He gestured forward then, prompting her on. “Shall we walk?” The only way, after all, to be sure that it got back to Helene was to be SEEN. 

[flamesofnorta]

& rachel ––

Rachel could not dampen a flicker of amusement and her lips twitched as she fought to hold back a smirk; now was not the time to laugh as if they were OLD FRIENDS. Pearly whites kneaded her lower lip as she regained her concentration, tapping a clean brush free of water as she listened. ″ You assume RIGHT. ″ Dozens of ideas flitted through her mind for her task at hand, each one more amusing than the last and none of them even remotely VIABLE. She knew she must be SERIOUS now, no matter how entertaining her other ideas might be. Sorting her darker and monochromatic paints in the space before her, a small smile touched her lips as she fished a can of black hair spray from a nearby box. ″ Think I can make it work. ″

His last comment made her stiffen, something she dimly hoped he didn’t catch. Her heart jumped to her throat and plummeted to her stomach in a sort of SICKENING, simultaneous magic trick. Instincts told Rachel to RUN, but logic begged otherwise—what more of a RED FLAG was RUNNING AWAY from the CROWN PRINCE ? So she relaxed the tension in her limbs and set to work, dipping a large brush into the black paint. ″ I’m gonna need you to close your eyes. ″

A brow was raised when she deposited what looked like a can of black spray onto the table, but he didn’t question it. She looked confident, arranging her paints and cleaning her brushes with lithe and EXPERT fingers. Besides, if nothing else, his position of power granted him a usual promise of excellency. No one, especially a RED, would defile the prince and future King of Norta. “Excellent,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

The quick flash of.. something.. that crossed her features when he mentioned the arrival of his fellow guardsman was obvious, even underneath the paint she wore. Domitius had always been good at reading people, and it was a gift that he’d crafted and sharpened over the years. But this... he couldn’t seem to place what she was feeling. No matter. It wasn’t his concern. There was a GREAT NIGHT waiting ahead for him, so he closed his eyes as she commanded. “I can trust you, right?”

[prosperinatitanos-blog]

figured out i’m burning slow

[flamesofnorta]

& prosperina ––

It was stupid, she told herself, stupid stupid stupid—but she still felt like she sensed the heat of him before he got close enough for it to be possible. It was like the hairs on the back of her neck lifted, like a quiet fire shuddered over her skin, like he washed her in flames. It was ridiculous…and yet, and yet. It didn’t matter, anyway. Her body’s reaction was irrelevant; all that mattered was the crown that would one day sit on his head.

His voice cut through the air between them and she allowed herself the smallest of smug smiles, staring down at the bows and the spot where her fingers rested against one. He was already riled—it was better than she’d dared hope. As at the ball she took her own temper (her own hurt) and scrunched it up into the tiniest size possible, pushing it down and down and down until it couldn’t take control of her. She would navigate this interaction as coolly as she’d managed the ball, she was determined. How else to prove what a perfect queen she’d make?

So she turned, slowly and thoughtfully, letting her fingers slip off the bows and come to rest loosely against her skirt. She dipped him a perfect curtsy, face so composed, and gave him a rueful smile. It was one deliberately dispassionate, endlessly distant—the sort of smile that she could have worn for a perfect stranger. Not the sort of smile their history deserved.

“Your highness,” she greeted warmly, her face already fading into a regretful expression as she took a step back, half-turned so that her body no longer blocked the shooting game and they could both look down at the bows on offer.

In a sad tone, as though she hadn’t felt even a hint of the fire in his words, she gestured at the game and agreed, “It is such a pity. I just haven’t had the time to practice, I suppose, with all the other things going on. Archery just never seems to be a priority when there are so many other things to worry about. Dances and lessons and training, you know? A great shame.”

Prosperina was not stupid, and not insensitive—and even if she hadn’t been, a monkey could have realised that her icy façade had provoked him at the ball better than any harsh words she could possibly fling. And that was what she thought she needed to resort to—anything to provoke and inspire conflict. That was all she could do to hold his attention. She was under no illusion that any of her feminine charms would work on him—after all, if Victoria Laris was his type; if that shiver was his type, there wasn’t anything about her that would ensnare him. She wasn’t small or sweet or content to sit on the edges of things. She had to rely on the few advantages she did hold, and this ability to drive him to anger was a major one.

“I don’t suppose,” she asked in her most charming tone, shooting him her most coy look, shameless in her intention, “You have a moment to remind me how it’s done? I had an instructive lesson with General Macanthos last week, but I fear I was quite beyond his help.”

The curtsy that she dipped into was unnatural, but perfectly practiced. It made him sick. A tight line was the only expression that he could manage in return, and he thought it a miracle that he’d been able to hold back the grimace that he’d really wanted to give her. His lips were pressed so tightly together that the bones in his cheeks were protruding more than usual, and his jaw was clenched like it’d been wired shut. 

He remembered the way he’d called her Lady Titanos at the ball, words shot out with no purpose other than to hurt her; the way she said your highness seemed thoughtless, careless. As if she’d no idea that the lack of his name was an insult in itself. They’d grown up together. They’d ran and played and shared their first kiss and such unfamiliarities weren’t meant for people that meant what they meant to each other.

Or, used to mean. 

Dances and lessons and training. All things that they’d once loathed and dreaded all the same, hiding up in the tallest tree they could find in order to escape them. He didn’t know when they’d stopped running from these things, and instead starting running TO them, but the longing never left him. The urge to take her hand and drag her off to the fields was just as strong now as it was ten years ago. He wondered, idly, as she spoke and he only half listened, if that urge would ever truly leave him. In all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure that he ever particularly wanted it to. “A tragedy,” he spat out, begging the words to be sharp enough to strike her.

There was a part of him that reminded him that she was doing it on purpose. At the ball, she’d won. He’d lost his composure and let his guard down and allowed her to needle under his skin, and he still hadn’t been able to get her all the way out. She was hanging on, digging into flesh with her sharp nails and drawing silver blood to the surface. Was this the way that she intended to win the crown? Did he mean so little to her? Did he ever mean anything to her at all?

Gods, she was shameless. Asking him to help her shoot an arrow, mimicking a damsel in distress as if she hadn’t stood by his side and lifted his elbow to guide him to the target just a few years ago. She wasn’t a student; she was the teacher. She was a fraud, a sham. DECEITFUL. He’d need to warn Graham of the games that Prosperina Titanos played. He said nothing, only grabbed a bow and the arrow from the counter, and shoved it into her waiting hands. “Give it a shot, Lady Titanos,” he ordered, slipping his hands behind his back. She knew what he wanted from her, and Gods, he would see Prosperina hit the bullseye before the night was over or he would be sure Queenstrial never happened, dammed the consequences.

[asheathes]

Can’t fix it now…

[thjslove]

[flamesofnorta]

wbs + guide to troubled birds ( pt. 4/? )

[flamesofnorta]

i had a sex dream about daniel sharman and i think it's your fault....

this is the wildest ask i have ever received