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rosclind:

she can not help the smirk on the corner of her lips, and it is by little it does not turn into a scoff. by the time of maximiliam’s christening, when he was only a week or two old, she was healthy, but confined to a bed – perhaps frederick’s words are correct, she thinks as she ponders over them, as she would have gloated so much on the ceremony the poor newborn boy would have not received the attention he deserves.

however, she does not feel the same at the present moment – she was already off her confinement, so there was no particular surprise she was now present, dressed in a gown that showed only the good results of the pregnancy on her body, smiling in content to be back once more in an open quarters instead of the dungeon-like chambers she had spent the last months on.

she does not need to look for others right now, as she knows his words are right, and instead she continues to look at him, not straying by a moment. “what of you? who is more interesting than your queen?”

even not really looking at her, barely seeing her by the corner of his eyes, frederick can feel hers resting on the side of his face. different from her, he is far from wanting to be the center of the attention: he was not born for such a thing, it made him restless and sometimes annoyed... but the feeling of her attention on him had already grown on him.

not that she made that many times, not in public, staring at him and obviously poking him in the lightest way with her tone — but it was more comfortable than the nobles staring at him as if waiting for something to be said.

taking another sip of his wine, he turns his head back at her, he stares into her eyes for a brief moment before they lower to her lips, and down to her collarbones. “no one is more interesting, my queen,” his lips curl briefly into a smirk, eyes back on hers. “but i did not suppose you demand my attention right now,” he adds, raising an eyebrow at her. “do you?”

rosclind:

oh, she knew that, better than anyone who shared the little prince’s blood (the wet nurses might know better, but their irrelevancy makes their part unremarkable in her head), and it filled her chest with pride of her child; the first time they had parted for long was during the child’s christening, but then she had been asleep, making this truly the first time for her to be this distant from her son. with her thoughts on the newborn, she turns to her husband with raised brows, a bit taken a back by the tone of his accusation – playful, as if he had somehow received the intimacy to poke at her like this. “would i? how so?” she asks, not one bit afraid to challenge him. “is there attention on me now, you would say?”

in his head, he does have the right of poking at her like that—he doesn't think much of it either, treating it as something simple and not to overthink. he did have noticed, after this time together, how she felt about any attention she received. there is nothing bad about it, in his opinion, and he doesn't bother with her tone now either, knowing she is challenging him.

“definitely. the woman who gave this country a new king, present on his first appearance?” he comments, as if those were enough of an explanation. smirking lightly and still with the globet in front of his lips, he looks away once again, eyes on the nobles who enjoyed this moment to take a better look at the queen. “look for yourself,” his tone is once again low and directed at her, “all eyes are on you,” but his own at that moment, that is.

rosclind:

she raises her brows, before giving a shrug of her shoulders. a saint wouldn’t have bore the country its new king, and that was enough to hold her on her place despite any cheekiness or any misbehaving – and that place was above that of a woman who could be told to sit down and not to speak unless she is told to.

“oh, i merely asked him how was the christening. of my son, the prince heir. future maximiliam the fifth.” she had the name on the tip of her tongue the moment the child was pushed to her tit, and if her courtesy and her falseness had been her armor since then, her child’s birth right was it now.

“he grumbled something in german. i did not understand it.” she did that a lot these days – purposely pan out anything these rats spoke, and get lost in her own little world.

licking her bottom lip once more, her eyes find her husband’s and for a few moments they stay locked, distracted. her son’s eyes were dark too, likely like one of his father’s. "how was it, though? did he behave?“

there is nothing he does or says as she talks of every part of their son's name, paused even, in a way that makes him even more amused. it probably only shows in his eyes, his features remaining just the same for everyone else to see—but it does show nevertheless. “yes, he did. as well as a baby can, that is,” frederick nods slowly, looking away from her for an instant, hand slowly dropping by his side though remaining close to her.

maximillian was a loud baby when he wanted to be, they all came to notice, wailing as any baby would—but he was a very strong boy, one that already made his father proud, and hopefully would continue to do so. “it was alright. you would've liked the attention,” he comments, noticing the way their guests look at them and probably talk about their queen, before lowering his sight at her once again. he pauses for a bit, accepting a new globet of wine, not breaking the eye contact. “much like now,” he finally says, taking another sip to hide the small smirk on his lips.

rosclind:

the touch has her arching up, flinching out of habit – not the months kept away and made willing for all sorts of probing has taken the distaste from her – and she is ready to glare at the hand’s owner when his voice beckons her to acknowledge him first.

“frederick.” she does not sigh on relief, but her features soften and it is enough sign of that (despite how she had not been able to recognize him, but she does not dwell there). “you wouldn’t find much use for me if i was a saint.” the look on her face might deceive in making others believe she is demeaning herself, but she did not think he was the kind of man who would need a virgin Madonna for a wife – his physical hunger for her have told her enough.

putting her goblet on a servant’s tray, she turns her body to him, a luscious and genuinely content smile on her lips. “have you been scolded by the mighty bishop? did he tell you to put your wife in her place?” she almost purrs, her voice barely above a husky whisper–by the clearly alluring manner she spoke, one might think she could see no one but him, or that confinement has left her bare of society manners.

it is probably the surprise of what she says that gets a light snort off him—lips curled in a gentle smile and eyes still down at her, watching her with both amusement and confusion. it's been too long they've seen together and to have her words already ticking his flesh is enough for him to know that night would either be long or a torture (or both). at least until they are alone, that is.

“i believe he wanted to tell me so,” he comments, letting his hand slide down on her side and rest on her waist then. “it wouldn't work, however. as you said... there is no use of a saint,” he adds, lifting his drink to his lips once more, sipping the rest of his wine before placing the empty globet on a tray as well. “isn't it correct?” he reassures it, lifting an eyebrow at her once his eyes lie on hers again.

rosclind:

@frxderickb

it has been years since the last time she felt relieved on attending service – despite growing under a very catholic mother, religion was not something she was keen on, nor was she comfortable with the never ending praying in her confinement chambers; thus, to attend her cleansing mass was the closest to divine worship she had done gladly (despite the begging for forgiveness of her sins she denied to do, leaving the archbishop a little discontent). all done, she didn’t really care and was almost genuinely happy to be the so said hostess of a welcome back celebration – which was something to say when loudness and crowd did not agree with her at all. yet, she smiles at a noble who crows congratulations over her successive birthing, taking a sip of wine through the yellow smile before she can look away and lick her lips.

he may not have seen it happening, but the sooner it gets to his ears, it amuses him to no end. it is also not at all surprising, he supposes, sipping on his own wine and watching as the guests settle around just a little before rosalind herself makes her appearance.

it's relieving to see her around once again, even though it has been barely a week since he broke the confinement just to spend a while with her. if any of the guards informed anyone else about this, he hasn't heard of it—and neither her time locked in her chambers have increased. things had been said and others, done; it had been too long, after all, and he had missed being with her. it doesn't matter how quiet he is, to hear her talking to him and his own fair attempts to make conversation (not as bad as they once were, he thinks) was what helped his own mind to settle and calm.

and, now, he luckily has those back.

frederick approaches her calmly, seeing she has not yet noticed him, and places his hand on her upper back, eyes looking down at her. “i've heard you are still a sinner,” he comments lowly, only for her to hear, and raises his eyebrows. “but far from me to complain about such thing.”

for those who are staying / still around! anyone interested in plotting? i really don’t have much to do for frederick at the moment and i am not on hiatus anymore, so... i need interactions *sweats and laughs nervously*. if you’d kindly like this post or message me? i would love to get something to write here!

#the narrator.#irp.ooc #also if anyone has threads with me and wishes to drop and start a new one? i'm totally up for discussion ^^!

queenxfroses:

Rosie wasn’t in the gardens the whole morning like she had been the past few weeks. She didn’t enjoy watching the flowers start to wilt and then die off. She wanted to keep the memory of them strong and sweet. So instead she sat around the the corner from the meeting room was being held today, she could hear shouts and laughter and wondered how the two fit together. And wondered if William would ever allow her to take part in seeing how the meetings went, maybe soon or never depending on if he agreed.

Her head snapped up hearing the door open. She gathered her skirts and went to round the corner seeing if it was William who exited to see if he wanted to go horseback riding or something. But it was answered with another man, but happily not a man who she did not know. She fixed her tiara and shook her head. “No its quite alright,” she said, smiling to him. “Is William still in there, majesty?” She motioned to the door before looking back to him.

his hands go to his back and his shoulders straighten, presenting himself as he usually did: a respectful recently crowned king, like he’s been told to do so. he usually did the same posture during war, as a prince and a warrior, but now it seems to hold much more meaning, to make himself present (and he is still debating if he likes this or not). yet, the corner of his lips lift up slightly seeing the woman who he only knew by sight—but knew either way. it was always better than coming across a stranger or someone he met during war.

frederick takes a few seconds to remember seeing her husband, lips parting before he actually answers. “i think he excused himself not long ago, to somewhere more quiet. the library, perhaps? he left through the other door. the men in there are not treating of important business anymore,” he informs, nodding slowly. usually, he would simply inform and move, not one of simple talks in the hallways, but, in the end, he does end up standing there for a bit before offering: “would you… like me accompany you to find him?”

#ft. rosalie nystrom #rosalie: one

rosclind:

nights have always been a moment to relax, to reassemble and to rest, by herself, when there was no one to see or hear or judge but herself. it has been half a year since this situation has changed, and rosalind does not let herself think on how it surprises her she does not hate the company or the warm body next to her – frederick is different, though, she tells herself. he does not judge nor he talks much, and, well, he listens. it could be worse, she always tells herself; going blindly on a match, moving to another country, meeting a man very few people met for nearly a decade…the risks, then, were too many for her not to worry, yet she had been lucky.

the smile she greets her husband with is not entirely constructed, but she does not move an inch more, busy with the lady that tied the laces under her bust – her fellow english woman was quite excited to be at god’s capital, and at the provided variety of well…everything; but when the king of austria appeared with his imposing frame and aura, the girl was quick to finish folding the queen’s dress and to excuse herself for the evening. “she is still scared of you, i believe,” the blonde tells him, the amusement laced in the tone of her giggle enough to hide the light annoyance at her cousin’s weak spirits.

only then the queen moves, and there’s barely any malice in the way she helps him undo his pants. “not him, no. his wife was hard to miss, though.” the queen of england had been blessed with a fertile womb who did not give in – rosalind had stopped counting after the twins, the ones that always reminded her so much of her own lost one. pursing her lips lightly, the blonde finishes her task and looks up at her husband, raising a brow momentarily. “what for? should i seek him for you tomorrow?"

many have been the times he simply entered the room like that, not feeling bothered at the presence of his wife’s lady and, most of the times, barely noticing the exact moment she left. this time would be the same, had the commentary not made him lift his eyes from undoing the cords on his shirt’s collar to his queen. his eyebrows raise as he looks in the closed door’s direction, both unaware and confused with such a thing. “is that so?” he mutters quietly, looking at rosalind as she moves closer. while she had a lady to take care of her clothes, frederick seemed too comfortable to do it on his own or, at least, let her help him—which is precisely what he does, only looking down at her hands as she undoes his pants.

it isn’t at all uncommon for either of them—even with just six months being married, at least the lack of embarrassment while changing to sleep is present in their lives. even though it has been slightly different since they arrived to rome. used to sleep in the couch and not close to her, simply because nice mattresses made him uncomfortable, frederick rarely slept with his wife, letting her take his bed as he took a nap on the sofa. now, however, there is no couch… and he knows that the floor is not an option—rosalind surely would stop him before he even suggested anything like it.

“another child, huh?” he questions about her sister-in-law, lips pressed together as he looks down, not so unconsciously, at his wife’s flat belly. different from the other queen, they had not yet been blessed with a heir. their court spoke (way too much, even), and frederick was starting to feel uneasy over the pressure. his features frown as he looks up at her again, at the simple mention of meeting her brother. he doesn’t believe he would ever be at ease with the man’s presence. “no need. just curious if you are spending time with your family,” he explains then, stepping out of his pants and picking them up, only to leave it along with their other things before turning to her again, ready to go to bed with the long shirt that covered his intimacy and the top of his thighs. “how many kids do they have so far?” he plays it innocently, moving to his side of the bed and sitting down, the pillow on his back and covers over his lap.

#ft. rosalind blanchard #rose: one

dxlacroix:

The war had given him plenty. Though none of it was what he expected originally. As a boy–barely a man, he wanted glory and victories for France. No one ever told him how you would never lose the scent of blood, or the grief that constantly plagued your life. He often wondered if perhaps he was just weak–that others slept soundly when their eyes shut at night. That when they returned to the old world it wasn’t filled with unfamiliar faces and men who were once enemies.

One of those said enemies stood across from him at that very moment. With clenched fists and a locked jaw Charles fought the urge to attack the man on sight. How many times had their blades clashed through out the years? How many scars that decorated his body were sliced by that very king? A king who gained his crown–from his words, though Charles himself. It was difficult to suppress the urge to say, ‘you’re welcome.’ As if that would solve anything. Eventually Charles would hold the same duties as Frederick did, and they would wither and grey just the same. Though that didn’t silence the rage in the prince’s gaze. How Rosalind could tolerate such a man, he would never know. (Or perhaps she didn’t, he never bothered to ask.) “Yes, we have.” His tone clipped. “Though that was long before you bore a crown, your highness. Or married my dear friend. How is the queen? I haven’t seen her since my arrival to Rome.”

it’s been a bit more than a year since his older brother’s death, but it was all too clear for him yet, the day he lost him. it was a battle against france and, to add to the irony, frederick was aiming to go to the front so he could find this exact man in front of him, to kill him with his own blade—he would never accept otherwise, never accept anyone else got to charles. years of rivalry over the simple fact of both being fighters, it was a known fact that frederick would never hesitate in battles against that country in specific. he almost still feels albert’s hand on him, trying to pull him back like many times he did. it wasn’t the prince himself who killed him, but it feels as if it was on the king’s view—if things were different, perhaps he wouldn’t be the one with the crown and a wife right now. those were supposed victories for his brother, not him.

yet, even with things like this right under his skin, filling his thoughts, the blonde continues with his strong features forcing a small smile, especially at the mention of rosalind. of course she would be mentioned, he knew it and was somehow prepared for such. “a year without meeting does feel like forever. especially when we are not in a battle anymore, no?” he comments with excessive politeness, clenching his jaw whenever his lips close. “my queen’s been well, i hope you reunite with her properly,” he doesn’t—but it is not like he would say it out loud or would feel bothered, as it would happen either way. “i believe that was the first time you’ve seen her since your betrothal was called out, was it not? or has it been longer than that?” frederick doesn’t help the comments, as he knows how charles (much like him) spent too much time in the war.

#ft. charles delacroix #charles: one

w. rosalie nyström, queen of the netherlands // @queenxfroses

it is all too loud when there are this many royalty together, he notices, eyes observing the others making conversation and just standing there, quiet, hands on his back and a serious expression that surely didn’t seem approachable—perhaps the reason why anyone didn’t come close and let him just be comfortably silent on his own. but the whole noise from the court is distracting, making his thoughts tangle and bringing a small annoyance.

reaching his limit, frederick pushes himself out of that particular large room and walks down the hall, finally feeling like he could hear his thoughts once again. thinking is something he has been doing a lot over the past months, since the war ended—it is all he could do, after all, with his lack of understanding and, at the same time, need to do what’s best not only on his advisors views, but also his and his wife’s, and the others, as the idea is to keep the peace.

distracted, he barely watches his way and, when he turns a corner that guides out to the gardens, he bumps onto a woman. “apologies, your majesty,” he recognizes her quickly, having ran to her many other times whenever he left his meetings with william.

#the history.#ft. rosalie nystrom #rosalie: one #queenxfroses

wordsnquotes

I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.

Neil Gaiman, The Sandman.

#the inspiration.

w. carina baeder, princess of austria // @carinaxc

it is a recent and an old thing to expect to see his own sister. almost a decade ago, these would be normal, they would have a good laugh—he would most likely walk around the castle with his arm laced with hers, commenting on childish things, like the visitors that would be in their court (even though carina was not old enough to be completely allowed in all the places). even with the seven years old gap between them, frederick would easily join her for tea in the afternoon, sometimes ‘stealing’ her from her friends and ladies so they could spend time together.

but things change and they stayed away for too long during the war. he still remembers how tight he had hugged her and anja before he left and how he wished everything would go well for all of them. the next time he was definitely in austria again, to stay, anja wasn’t around anymore, their brothers were dead and he was to be married and crowned king of their country. many things changed in the course of nine years. their talks don’t quite fit as well as they once did, but they were still siblings—she was still the same eleven-year-old in his head, the one who needed his protection, unaware of how she also changed over all this time with their grandparents.

“i’m glad we all came,” frederick says, the moment they find a seat in the gardens, a nice shadow over them. coming to italy had been a task for him, knowing all the people that would be there, but he was convinced to do so—and having carina there was also helpful, as they wouldn’t spend more time apart once again. “it’s good to have time to see you, sister.” and he should enjoy it as long as he could, when he fairly knew about her betrothal to the prince of romania. “have you reunited with your acquaintances?”

#the history.#ft. carina baeder #carina: one #carinaxc

w. william van der berg, king of the netherlands // @vandcrberg

frederick’s whole situation still feels a bit off and weird—there is a lot he has to learn, a lot to study so he could become as much of a good king as his father once was, and as his older brother would’ve been, had he survived to take his rightful throne. he isn’t feeling the most confident person lately, and with a reason: he is young, he hasn’t been prepared for this his whole life like the others that were surrounding him there, judgement and skeptic and more experienced men than he has ever been. talk about war and fights and training, he would proudly present his skills—but as a ruler… there was only so much he knew.

his wife has been helpful, and so have been his advisors, but he wouldn’t be surrounded by any of them during the whole day, of course. so it isn’t at all uncommon for him to be found in the less crowded places during this time of the afternoon, when the court was surely going as usual with the whole socializing. it was in one of these moments that he had met william—the man was as quiet as him and it wasn’t hard for frederick to feel comfortable in his presence, cups of tea and books between them as they rarely talked. when they did start doing so, however, he couldn’t help but know it would be a good talk, different than the others. and it was like this that he’s started to see the man as a mentor, hearing his comments as the king of the netherlands and wishing to learn more from him.

“so that’s how you’ve been dealing with former enemies?” he asks then, eyebrows slightly raised. austria was a former enemy, like many others, though they’ve taken their ways off the war a few months before it actually ended, with his marriage. it was a good move, he supposes, knowing that it helped leading to where they currently are.

#the history.#ft. william van der berg #william: one #vandcrberg

w. charles delacroix, prince of france // @dxlacroix

when frederick was told he was to marry an english princess for an alliance to bring peace, there was little he knew about the deal he was getting himself into. to begin with, he wasn’t the one supposed to marry rosalind: the agreement was for her to marry the crown prince of austria who, at the time, was his older brother, who was still alive. with the oldest baeder’s death, a lot had fallen on the man’s hands—a marriage, a crown and people to rule, advisors to put him on line, to make him a king and not the soldier he had became. with the crown prince’s death, frederick ended up in this family, brother-in-law to the english king, who is married to an french princess, who was the sister of no one else than charles delacroix.

it is like life has played him, to bring him at the point of having to meet the same man who he confronted several times in the course of the past eight years, who injured him and who he had injured just as well, both always meeting in battles between austria and france, both princes and second sons and just a war to fight. to make things even worse (on frederick’s point of view), he’s known how his wife was betrothed to this man for the longest time, knowing him since childhood and, to say the least, he dislikes all this dearly. “oh, we’ve met. several times... right, your grace?” he says with a light and forced smile, trying to keep calm.

#the history.#ft. charles delacroix #charles: one #dxlacroix

w. rosalind blanchard, queen of austria // @rosclind

everyday is a new struggle, a new challenge, and like many of them, this one had been one he wanted to be over since it began. he was not in war anymore. it’s been months since he was taken from the battlefield and a few others since the cease fire had started. however, in his head, it has never been over. nine years acting like a soldier, being in the front most of the times, losing his brothers in the process—nine years that changed his life and his way to see things way too much. a painful process that doesn’t fail to take his sleep away and make him uneasy around these people.

enemies, or former enemies, filled the italian court as all of them were put together to bring peace to their lands, new alliances being made in hopes of keeping things as at ease as it was possible. frederick is not against the peace, per see—the war took too much from him, it took his brothers, it made him thirst for revenge. but as much as he had wished to inflict pain in those who took his family away from him, he wishes it not to happen anymore and possibly take what he has left. to be a king is already quite the task and he is not used or happy with it—but he was the only one left, the only brother who had returned. the one who married the english princess in place of albert, as he already knew, back then, that could happen.

it’s only been months since they’ve been together and, still, there are a lot between them—and that’s evident as he enters the room, finding said wife already preparing herself to bed. frederick greets her calmly, trying to ease his mind and take the happenings of the day—casual meetings, some running into other men who’ve been at war (and were on the opposite side he was) that made things extremely uncomfortable—and walks around the room, removing his clothes so he could also get ready to sleep (or try). “have you seen your brother today?” he asks then, casual as usual, like they both seemed to have mutually agreed on their first days together, keeping the first name basis, sometimes using the titles.

#the history.#ft. rosalind blanchard #rose: one #rosclind #the bedroom warfare.

introducing his royal highness, frederick matthias alexander baeder, the twenty-seven recently crowned king of austria. fearless, he is known to be the only of the three austrian brothers to return from the war. he looks a lot dominic sherwood.

‘suuup!! i am jae (she/her, 25, gmt-2) and very excited to be here!! i am awkward af, but i hope i can get to write with as many of you as i can. i never know what else to say so... let’s get to know more about ma boi! this is LONG AF, rip. also!! if you want to plot something, either pre-established or for a thread, like this post and i will drop you a message ^^;;

#irp.intro #the narrator.#the tales.#death tw #( this was super long and took me hours because i'm a failure... BUT THERE YOU GO )

daily-men

#the king.

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