I’m moving Francis to my new multimuse.  This was not an easy decision to make, but considering that the Reign fandom is quite small and often inactive (and my interest in AUs lie primarily with ASOIAF and not much outside of it), I see no good to having him on his separate blog. Not in any way does this mean that my interest in writing him has dwindled (though it’s obvious that I’ve lacked returning here). On the contrary, considering my primary place of activity starting today/tomorrow will be my multi, he’d immensely benefit from being moved there. I want to write him, he’s incredibly near and dear to my heart— which is why I’m making this decision.

As of today, he can be found here.

When I’ve been doing the one thing that I dislike doing the absolute very most (iconing, despite the subject being the ever delightful Toby Regbo), you know I’m approaching my return here. I know I’ve been preaching it for a while, but I’ve been meaning it. Perhaps it’s my patriotism or perhaps it’s really just that Francis is an incredible character and muse, but he’s imprinted in heart and mind and I can’t shake him. While I hands-down love the other two muses that I have, Francis feels... like, home, somehow, I’ll always return to him, no matter how short or long the absence.

Anyway, I know numerous of you have already gone to sleep or will soon and thus won’t see this, but if you’re awake and a like comes out from your end on this post— you’ll receive a thing somehow.

Activity on Francis will resume, I’ve never changed my mind— he simply doesn’t have priority. I’m hoarding drafts on my Jace Herondale until I finish and release them all. Once I do, I’ll be rearranging and replying to very old owed things (if the people are still around), turning some memes into threads and answer some memes of my own. 

/is all kinds of emotional, actual tears in my eyes /stomps foot /angrily hits the turn on button on the kettle /is still emotional Why do I write Francis? I don’t know, man.

The delicacy of her hands within his own, never would they cease to garner every inch of his attention and gaze within an instant, if such time had even passed; would he ever know, or would he find himself forever too all-encompassed, too enraptured? When sound finally did come to abandon him in response, it seemed rather as if he were speaking to the recollection of a childhood seemingly long since past, instead of her words at present, but nothing could be more untrue, “I’ve never feared uncertainty, not when it’s come to you.” The envelope of hands was his to lead then, the daintiness of such extremities sitting ever cautiously within his grasp, one ever protective and kind within its hold, “The thrill for me with you has always been in the waiting.” It’d been ever true, words spoken in utmost earnest to their childhood and their present, “And is that not what the future is; God’s test of our patience?” A smile emerged, bright in its authenticity and reassurance, rivaling the gentle tug on her person, guiding her to a furthered and envelope in jest, "I shall not have you fret any longer, Mary. As much as I may love my mother, I shan’t have her peering over our shoulders any more than she’s already been.”

/cracks knuckles. It’s hard to get back into this guy each time ‘round, but it’s always worth it.

❛  do you not find it peculiar, however——   ❜   there’s still that bit of awe in her eyes as she takes in the scene, an easy smile resting on her lips.     ❛   ——that with all of the time we spent out here as children, running through those very same hills ——how little we appreciated it ?   ❜     and perhaps it had simply been a different perspective growing with them as they got older, she muses, finally turning to look at him, her smile breaking into a wide grin as her eyes meet his. with everything they’ve been through leading up to the here and now, mary will never be unaffected by the way he can disarm her so, and with no more than a look. her eyes sparkle with amusement, even as she sets her accusation upon him.

❛   francis ——were you even listening to me ?   ❜

A glimmer became apparent within those depths of blue, of which each was wholly captivated by her; the smile resting upon her lips in such ease, every feature which had, without any doubt, been beauteously and carefully sculpted personally by their Maker himself, with those locks which appeared an auburn within the autumn’s rays now, perfectly framing the most incredible canvas he could ever behold. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, as beautiful as she was here, shone ever bright; a queen any man would lay down their life for, but she was his queen, his love, his light— “Yes.” I heard every word. The smile was subtler upon his own features, as if still momentarily caught in overwhelming awe, “There is not a word you could speak that I would not hear and want to hear again and again, Mary.” With no hesitation to withhold its movements, a hand reached for her own, the gaze trailing it ever as enamored as the caress of his thumb upon the delicate expanse of skin, the touch ever gentle, “However, I oppose the accusation that you’d think I’d forsake one of my many vows to you with such ease and prompt.” 

A smile met hers then, found in its commencing steps to matching her own, “I’ll pressure you, listen to you, argue with you, and love you, until the day I die. —Were those not some of them before you graced me with the grandest yes any man could hope for?”

“Trod?” Offense almost found him then, though it’d be met by the smile that further brightened a golden countenance, his voice echoing the light glee within his heart— “Well, I say that the fault would be entirely yours if I’d be guilty of such an offense still.” It was a returned jest, all in lightheartedness, glee, “For I highly doubt it was my father who relentlessly reviewed my tutors for these activities.” A ring barely circled within his patience, always an eager witness of these moments of obvious joy within his mother. The enthusiasm that accompanied the judgment towards her decisions was careful, but genuine— and the smile? It was still there, “As for me, I take offense to your insinuation, mother, that I require the help of some dance to impress my wife.”

I very firmly disagree with the seemingly common belief that Francis loathed or, at the very least, disliked his father or vice versa, in private and/or public settings alike. There’s a severe difference to me between dislike and, while one can’t exactly call it dissociation by role, it is, in a sense, exactly that. Not through force, but out of experience, time and perception throughout the years.

Haven’t forgotten, been going down my to-do list on Tumblr— first everything non-IC so that it’s all out of the way and I can fully focus on each blog and its IC activity. Almost done, bear with me. <3

lumenrectis: