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    1. MorningStar1399 6 yrs ago

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MorningStar1399 or flowers-for-mars pretty much everywhere, either currently or formerly.
Polyvore was my main thing and where I got started with rp (outside of irl friends of course).
I don't do fandom rps unless there are reasons (and even then I'd prefer not to for many reasons).

Idk what else to say atm...

I'm a creative writing major. I act, sing, read, write, play instruments (viola, guitar, and piano), and draw.

I'm really dull...

Most Recent Posts

E L I A S K O K I N O S

P R I N C E o f P Ó L E M O S



w i t h a p p e a r a n c e b y D A F N I K O K I N O S , P R I N C E S S o f P Ó L E M O S



interacting with @ayzrules

The following morning Elias woke Dafni at dawn for a quick breakfast of oranges, chocolate, and coffee before hitting the palace gym. The two trained their bodies with weights and other exercises, then practiced sparring per his insistence. They returned to their rooms and showered, then dressed for brunch.

Elias decided against a chiton, and instead put on a turquoise blue three-piece suit but left off the tie and the top two buttons of his sky blue shirt undone. He left his bedroom to find Dafni dressed in black jeans, gold heels, and a rather lovely sheer black wrap-like top with gold trim. Her hair was down in casual twin braids behind her, a loose version of the hairstyle she’d sported that morning for training.

“Well don’t you look lovely?” Elias remarked, and Dafni beamed.

The two set out to the parlor the brunch would be held in and entered, Dafni all smiles and Elias his usual seriousness. However, as they both left the food tables with loaded plates and cups of juice and tea, Dafni started to gravitate towards a familiar blond. Elias simply nodded at him.

“Alejandro,” he said simply, then nodded at the princesses before starting to walk away.

But Elias, it’s Alejandro,” Dafni protested in Pólemesian.

Yes, and he will join us if he wishes to,” Elias replied, glancing at Alejandro. “Right now he’s entertaining others. Now come sit.

She nodded and joined him at a small table, where they set down their plates and cups and began to eat.
A N A S T A S I Y R O M A N O V A

G R A N D P R I N C E o f G L A V N Y A



After Isabella had left, Anastasiy had remained, for the most part, by himself. He’d managed to eat, but he didn’t speak, if only because he was afraid of his English failing yet again. It wasn’t even that it was bad. He simply…had to correct himself too much, and that was entirely unacceptable for him.

He’d left when he felt it was early but not too early, as there were some people leaving as well. He’d undressed, undone his hair, and showered before calling home to say hello. He only managed to speak with his brother and sister, but seeing their faces made him relax and feel comfortable again. Anastasiy stretched before bed, then laid down and tried to get some sleep. It came much easier than he expected.

He was up insanely early and dressed in very short shorts and a tank top, and took his dance bag with him to the first room that looked appropriate enough for some level of dance rehearsal. Despite being forced to go into politics, Anastasiy refused to lose his ability to dance, and thus stretched and warmed up and stretched before working through old routines to very quiet music playing from his phone, although at this point it was not much to do with the music and more to do with counting beats and steps.

At some point, however, he turned up the music. It was just piano instrumentals, considering they felt the most like the ballet school, so it likely wouldn’t disturb anyone, he thought. He wasn’t even paying attention to anything but the music and the steps, leaping and pretend-lifting and pirouetting and so much more, feeling a freedom no other Glavnyan grand prince was ever really going to get. He lost track of time and was going to be cutting it close, but Anastasiy was too in the moment to care.
E L I A S K O K I N O S

P R I N C E o f P Ó L E M O S
interacting with @Amethyst & @darkwolf687

Elias chuckled. “Perhaps so.” He raised his brows as a man almost as tall as Elias himself approached with five guards, two of which carried a golden chest and one looking…more important than the other four guardsmen. The man at the head was practically dripping with gold and jewels.

And when he bowed and started to speak, Elias couldn’t help but think he was dripping with pretentiousness too.

This must be Edwin Drakewine of Britannia, Elias thought. Perhaps I should leave to let these two speak. They are betrothed, are they not?

Elias glanced around the room, and couldn’t help but notice Alejandro looking his way as the blond crossed the room. The Pólemesian offered him a nod as their eyes met before returning to the approaching prince and his entourage.

The man bowed, and Elias merely blinked at first, but returned the bow with a traditional Pólemesian hand gesture and bowed his head rather than fully bowing. He did not appreciate the reminder of the assassination attempts. “On my brother’s life, not mine,” he clarified. “You make it sound as though I was the target.”

If only Elias knew…

He bowed his head as he accepted the gift, saying a small, “Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate it.” However, as the conversation transitioned to more between Dom and Edwin, he determined it was likely his time to leave.

“Forgive me,” he said, turning to Dom. “I shall not linger. I hope to see you again to practice, perhaps is the better word. I will suggest it to Dafni to see if she will join us sometime.” He turned to Edwin and nodded his head. “Thank you again for this generous gift.” With that, he walked away, hoping to find some good wine somewhere. Likely it wouldn’t be strong enough.

He found a glass of red and looked around, eyes straying again towards the blond hair that still made him think of pleasurable sunrises and romantic sunsets. It seems he’d…found someone. Andronikos of Athens, or something like that anyway. Elias had never suddenly cared about who he was more. Alejandro was clearly about to have another fling. Good grief, he’s found another one, he thought. Gods help him. Apparently he has lost all taste.



A N A S T A S I Y R O M A N O V A

G R A N D P R I N C E o f G L A V N Y A

interacting with @ayzrules

He was a little surprised to be approached by a young woman in what was honestly a breathtaking although simple gown. Anastasiy afforded her a polite smile and a slight bow at her compliment. “Thank you, ma’am, and we do, you are correct.”

His Glavnyan accent was unfortunately thick, and the English words on his tongue tasted funny in a way. They felt like they came out wrong, though he double-checked what he’d said and they were indeed correct. Overthinking will get you nowhere, Anastasiy, he mentally chided himself.

“Your dress, er, gown, is...also quite lovely,” he replied, being careful in his articulations. “If not too forward to say.”
He paused, then repeated: “If that is not too forward of me to say.” Anastasiy sighed. “Please forgive...rather, please forgive me, I have limited use of English in practical setting, or rather I have had limited use of English in practical setting, and I am aware my accent is quite thick.” He sighed, the self-disappointment evident in the creasing of his glabella and his frown as well as the down-pitch of the sigh. “I am better at understanding than speaking.” There, a sentence he could execute clearly and without issue. Thank God.

He offered his hand, then realized it might not have been the right move and carefully pulled it back and bowed slightly. “Anastasiy Romanova of Glavnya,” he said. “By what name may I know you?” There. Another sentence he could say clearly and without issue.
This was going to be a long night.



E L I A S K O K I N O S

P R I N C E o f P Ó L E M O S

interacting with @Amethyst

Elias couldn’t help the faint curve in the corner of his mouth that formed in response to her answer. It wasn’t a grin, but it was the most he typically allowed himself these days. “These days” of course had been almost five years and countless assassination attempt preventions. There was a reason the Pólemesians did not come with bodyguards. Alright, there were two. Dafni and Elias were trained and skilled enough to protect themselves, and Elias did not trust guards to protect them when they could not even protect their crown prince and left it up to the second prince to save Stefanos.

How do you think he got the scars on his face? On his arm? On…well, just about every scar on his body came from those attempts on Stefanos’ life. And Elias had plenty of them.

Still, Elias was glad to know the…well, he wasn’t sure if ‘princess’ was the right term for person beside him based on Lusitania’s titles for their “royalty” and how one acquired them, nor was he even certain he should use female pronouns with them. The way Domitia presented themself, he was almost certain they had a modern interpretation of their gender identity.

But that wasn’t necessarily something one discussed.

He shifted his head slightly, working out a slight kink in his neck before relaxing his head as he said, “Well, perhaps it is merely my understanding of English, or perhaps it is the soldier in me, but ‘duel’ is a far more official thing, and in most places considered murder now and therefore illegal, while ‘sparring’ is similar to training.” He looked over at his companion. “Perhaps a bit of sparring would do you good, then. Keep you in shape. And I’m sure my sister would love to join you if you think sparring with me might be a bit too intense. Dafni is always good at making sure sparring is more fun.”



E L I A S K O K I N O S

P R I N C E o f P Ó L E M O S



w i t h a p p e a r a n c e b y D A F N I K O K I N O S , P R I N C E S S o f P Ó L E M O S




Elias was entirely grateful his elder brother wouldn’t be present. Parties of any kind with Stefanos there had the tendency to get bloody or would leave the middle child incredibly tense and unable to enjoy himself as he waited for an attack that might never come. He was, however, incredibly grateful his younger sister was going to be there. Dafni got along well with Lea, and would get along well with others, too. Plus, her status as a multiple medalist (silver and gold) from the last three consecutive Olympics would likely fetch her plenty more attention.

Damn overachiever, Elias thought as he watched his sister walk into the common area of their shared suite. Unlike him, she was dressed modernly in a two-piece gown of a dark violet, one she’d call by a name he would gladly forget within two seconds of her telling him. He watched as she adjusted silver sandals despite her wrists jingling worse than bells, raising his brows as she attempted to slip a knife in the laces.

Pretty sure they won’t be allowing weapons in there, Daf,” he said in Pólemesian.

She frowned but pulled the fancy blade from her shoe and set it down on the table. “You don’t think they’ll notice the knife on my thigh, do you?

He gave her a look. “Trust your combat skills, Olympian.

Aye aye, captain,” she teased with a mock salute, removing the knife tied to her leg and letting her skirt flutter to the ground again.

Hey, that is commander supreme to you, not captain.” Elias warned lightly, wagging his finger at her. “And I do not take my rank lightly.

Yes, anyone can tell you’ve more than earned your status, Mister ‘I-Won’t-Wear-A-Suit.’” She shook her head. “You’re about to stand out terribly.

Elias sighed, looking at their reflection in the mirror. Her modern dress, with her dark hair in complex-looking braids on her head and stuck with pearl pins and framed by her gold laurel crown, and his traditional chiton and red cape with gold lion-head fasteners and his own gold laurel crown atop his shoulder-length hair, couldn’t have been more different. His hulking frame and her lithe athletic build were both on display in their revealing attire, and they knew it.

My little sister,” Elias said, arm wrapping around her waist supportively. “All grown up. When did she become this beautiful young woman?

Dafni smiled, and patted her brother’s arm. “There, there, brother.” She snuck out her phone and opened up the camera. “Picture time?

After taking more pictures than they likely needed to (some serious, some goofy-faced selfies, and there was definitely one Charlie’s Angels-style photo taken by one of their attendants), Elias and Dafni left their guest chambers and made their way to the ballroom.

Immediately Dafni was excitedly taking Princess Lea’s hands and squealing with her in excitement. The two exchanged hugs and took selfies on each other’s phones, at one point dragging Elias in with them, the gold sparkles on Dafni’s cheeks glinting with the flash, and after Elias bowed and offered a traditional Pólemesian hand wave greeting—wrist rolling so the palm faced up as the hand was brought out towards the recipient—as well as the necessary congratulations, he managed to drag his sister away.

Dafni was quick to snag herself a glass of champagne while Elias took a glass of red wine, though it was immediately rejected. Not strong enough.

A familiar voice caught his attention, and he looked across the room to find exactly who he expected. Memories of sunrises and sunsets, of chariots and swimming, and of some of the last days of happiness he could remember, were contained in that long blond hair and infectious grin. Despite how much it hurt, that month of summer had been too good to forget. But his friend and once-lover (it was but a fling, Elias, remember that) seemed occupied with…wait, that’s Erik, from the party that one time. Maybe I should say hello anyway…no, bad idea, they’re having a conversation on their own. Let them talk. You can find them later.

He continued to look around, and at some point raised his brows. There was someone in attendance…in a suit of plate armor. Is that…Domitia Viriatus of Lusitania? If so, that in the corner must be Liviana, the…aunt. Confusing family.

He left Dafni to her own business, knowing she’d find a way to occupy herself and would be checking in at various points through the evening, but decided to approach the refreshments table to pick up some kind of pastry—he didn’t care until he tasted chocolate—in order to more reasonably strike up a conversation with Domitia.

Elias stood to their left, facing the crowd. “So the stories are true,” he said plainly, then looked their way. “The armor is a bit of a giveaway, I suppose. A well-deserved accomplishment, even if others will not recognize it.” He finished his pastry, licking his fingers before looking at them again. “Do you still spar?” he asked.

interacting with @Amethyst
A N A S T A S I Y R O M A N O V A

G R A N D P R I N C E o f G L A V N Y A



He honestly wished he had the ability to sneak off and bury himself in Tumblr or perhaps find a room in which he could practice ballet rather than pretend he was going to be king at some point and would therefore need to try to make friends to possibly make alliances in the future, or that he would need to prove to the world that Glavnya was to be taken just as seriously as any other country being represented that night. Yes, there were problems that they needed to address, but they would get there. Hopefully before his reign could begin.

”I should not be the future king,” Anastasiy had told his mother. ”That was Anatoly. He should be the one who will succeed Father.”

But the terrorist group The Niet and their five bullets said otherwise, and thus the late Grand Prince Anatoly Romanova and his pregnant wife Karina were dead.

A year in the grave and Anastasiy was still upset. This was his brother, and his brother knew that he didn’t want the throne. He just wanted to dance. But someone decided he was no longer going to dance, and thus for the last year he had been cramming extra lessons on diplomacy and politics. And tonight, at the welcome ball to set off the festivities leading up to the wedding of Princess Ayleanna Lynton to Prince Zhou Mei, the crash-courses would be tested.

The entire world was about to be represented, it seemed, and Anastasiy had to try to leave a lasting positive impression on it.

And possibly gain future allies.

No pressure.

”What would you have done, Anatoly?” he asked the portrait of his brother sitting on the vanity in his guest quarters at the palace. ”Would you have been frightened, nervous, ready to tear yourself to shreds like I am?”

He looked at the confident smile, the mustache over his brow, the one Arseniy had threatened to shave off so many times, the blue eyes (the left of which held a fragment of brown), and the rings on his left hand, and Anastasiy knew.

”No, you would not have been nervous. You would have made friends with everyone and been the hit of the party. Hell, you might have even ended up being the one getting married in the end if you weren’t already.”

Anastasiy shook his head. ”But I’m not you. I was just supposed to be a ballet dancer. I wasn’t supposed to be future king.”

The grand prince eventually stood and looked at himself in the full-length mirror a few feet away from him. A navy blue three-piece suit, with the jacket covered in a silver floral pattern, met a white collared shirt secured at the neck by a blue and silver cravat tie. The pants were tight, like the tights he was so comfortable in. His boots were black, with silver floral decals on the sides, and had a heel to them he hoped no one would care about. With these boots on, he was a good inch and a half taller, which was honestly unnecessary. On his right ring finger was a white gold ring with a mottled blue stone, engraved in which was the sigil of his family: the roaring lion beneath a crown. On his left pointer finger was a simple platinum band with a pattern of square swirls. His dark curls were down, save for small sections from either side that were pulled back into a half-bun, though a few strands hung loose at his hairline to keep from looking completely awkward.

He had been advised against wearing a crown, so instead there were tiny silver pins that looked like the tiniest of flowers spread throughout the top of his head and framing his small bun. A touch of black eyeliner on the top lid and white on the bottom lid completed the look.

Two bodyguards glad in black suits with white gloves followed close behind him, there only because of the recent threats by The Niet (as well as the actual attack on his late elder brother’s life). He was announced, and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he was presenting the right image. For many, this was the first time they were seeing Glavnya’s new crown prince, and he felt he’d just ruined Glavnya’s image forever.

No, don’t think like that, Anastasiy forced himself to think. This is who youare, not your country. Do not forget that, and do not let them forget it either.

He approached the hosting royal family and bowed, offering a greeting and a series of compliments before stepping away and looking around. So many people were already milling about, talking as if they knew people. There was a flicker of recognition as he saw a girl with red hair and freckles talking to a woman in a gown with roses at the bottom - Genevieve of Maris and Mai Mei of Liang - wait my friend lives in Maris…I wonder what she would think if she knew I met her princess - but he couldn’t place why he felt he knew the princess of Maris. He’d never met her, nor ever been to Maris. He had no reason to know her. He pushed it aside for now.

A flash of gold caught his eye again, and he looked over to see a man in a…honestly breathtaking gold suit with floral embroidery, rubies glittering in the light, and what he could only imagine was lovely blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. This man was beyond words beautiful. Anastasiy gasped as he was struck by the sudden almost unwelcome image of the man pushing him against the wall and furiously making out with him, his knee against Anastasiy’s groin. The Glavnyan prince blinked a few times to attempt to make the image go away. If memory served, this was the prince of Castillya, which would make things impossible. Though damn the fact that first person he found himself sexually attracted to in a while was an untouchable god. The man he was talking to was also rather attractive, he realized, though the medals on his jacket made him think of Anatoly.

Anastasiy found himself looking down awkwardly. He looked up, around, anything. There was a man with purple pants talking to a servitor with bright blue hair. A—wait, the purple pants…didn’t they belong to the lead guitarist of The Mutiny? Decidedly not Anastasiy’s usual music taste, but surprisingly good. He wanted to ask, but he was afraid of interrupting their conversation. A clanking caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but cock his head at the sight of someone in a suit of armor. A conversation starter for sure, he thought. Still, he decided it could also be a sign that they didn’t want to talk to anyone, and thus Anastasiy found himself wandering in the direction of the blond, Alejandro Aguíla de Agustín, and his dark-suited companion, Erik von Rothschild of the Empire of Veredun.

Formidable friend, if I have my identities correct.

He didn’t exactly want to interrupt, but the blond was too pretty not to try to get a better look, and perhaps this would afford him a better look at the princess of Maris to try to figure out why he thought he knew her.
@ayzrules Lea's is great omg




OKAY ELIAS IS DONE NOW
sorry he sucks but I gave up okay?



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