#PALACE LMAO i meant dungeon

[spectralarrovv]

i cant believe you fuukari'd and shukita'd.... realest ever

anon, just for you i’m gonna draw fuukari again

[alinaastarkov]

I don't think it's clear for you that Dany using a slave army means she's a slaver. She should have freed them rather than attack several cities, ruin hundreds of thousands of lives and unleashing a deadly plague that'll kill millions. The way her dragons ate children is just a small part of how destructive she is. I'll never forget how she refused the only ally coming from a Westerosi family and how she laughed at Quentyn Martell. She doesn't understand diplomacy or how to peace or make allies.

You’re right! It’s not clear for me because that is utter fucking bullshit.

Did you even read the books? Cause Dany did free them. After ensuring that the monsters who put them in chains, and would have killed her to continue their oppression, were dead, she freed all of them.

"Spears!" Dany heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. "Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!" When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling on the bricks. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood. And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer.  "Unsullied!" Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. "Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see." She raised the harpy's fingers in the air . . . and then she flung the scourge aside. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" "Dracarys!" they shouted back, the sweetest word she'd ever heard. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day. [...] Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, "It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. [...] They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

Yes, she bought them first. Why? Because she was explicitly told they would not obey her and continue to obey their slave masters. If she had tried to inspire them to kill their masters without buying them they would not have listened, and the masters would have made them kill her instead. So, she buys them, inspires them to kill their masters when they are no longer under their thumb, an opportunity they clearly relish in by the way, and immediately frees them so they can choose whether or not to stay or go and, if they stay, they will be free men with wages and rights and freedoms. So, she did free them, and them being free meant they were free to join her. And the sacking of cities was, surprise, TO FREE MORE SLAVES, IDIOT. She didn’t go to Yunkai or Meereen just cause she likes destruction, she goes there to free hundreds of thousands of men, women and children from bondage and end thousands of years of oppression.

"Mhysa!" a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. "Mhysa! Mhysa!"  Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. "Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother. The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse's mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay. Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!"

And whose lives did she ruin? Slave masters, oppressors, men who viewed other humans as property. If she hurt anyone else it was purely by accident because she is a 15 year old girl who has had to dismantle an entire economic system and replace it with a new one. It is an insurmountable task that has never historically been achieved without any mistakes or harm coming to others. That would be impossible. So you must be complaining about the slave masters’ lives she ruined on purpose. Cause, yeah, she did ruin their lives on purpose. She did destroy their livelihoods built on owning people and kill a few of them because they were completely reprehensible people. And you know what I say to that?

Seriously, if you’re upset she killed slavers then you’re the slavery apologist, not her and not us. And are you now suggesting Daenerys caused the pale mare on purpose? Seriously?? Have you read the books? Do you have any idea how illnesses work? Read a little up on it then get back to me cause that suggestion is straight up ridiculous.

Her dragon killed (not ate) one child and her response to that was to immediately lock them up in a dungeon because she couldn’t allow it to happen again. Nice try, Karen.

Lmao “she doesn’t understand how to make allies”. Did you forget Xaro? Barristan? (And that was without even knowing it) Daario and his whole group of sellswords? What was marrying Hizdahr if not making allies and securing peace? There are more on this list. Btw, yes she laughed at Quentyn for a moment. And immediately after she stops others from insulting him.

"Fifty thousand?" mocked Daario. "I count three." "Enough," Daenerys said. "Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy."

She also had Quentyn stay at the palace so they could continue to talk, only refused him because she was already engaged. And that marriage would secure her people peace and security in the present, where Quentyn’s offer would only help her in the future/ if she abandoned her children, which she was not prepared to do. Any idiot can see that she could not have “accepted” Quentyn’s offer even if she wanted to, and all that happened to Quentyn was his own fault. I love the kid, but his mistakes are on him, not Dany.

So, you’re full of shit nonny! 👏

[vesuviancourtthirst]

Hello there! Can we get a Valdemar x an innocent nurse female reader NSFW Fanfic? I have this innocence kink that i need to feed, pretty please? 😢💕

Yesssss the sin has begun

i'm going with a scenario here, hope you'll like it ! It'll be my first fanfiction in english !

edit : I didnt see the rest of the ask lmao tumblr is awful

Working in the dungeons wasn't part of your job. You were simply a palace nurse, here to help the doctors take care of the sick and the wounded.

Most of the time, it was nothing hard, nothing tragic. You only had to pat a few nobles' backs to help them cough out the food they almost choked on, maybe offer a drink to guests who fainted after one of Lucio's dramatic parties.

But you wouldn't complain, you always did your job with a smile, happy to be able to help, feeling rewarded that you were useful. In the doctors' minds you were literal sunshine. Some nurses would always be grumpy and snap at patients. But not you. You truly loved to take care of them, and of course, everyone was grateful for your enthusiasm.

You loved to watch patients get out of the doctors' office, safe and feeling better. After all, you chose this job to help, and to save people's lives, eventually.

You always feared the possibility of one of your patient dying, but you'd reassure yourself by thinking that it was fine, Vesuvia was not a diseased city.

And then came the Red Plague. Thousands of Vesuvians were dying at its hands and you could do nothing. You were scared, you didn't want to let all of these people die without helping but at the same time you feared to watch them die. But when Count Lucio himself caught the plague, you had no choice. All of the medical personnel of the palace was required to work, to find a cure for him. Surgeons, doctors, apprentices... and nurses.

That is when you found yourself in the dungeons, long gloves on your arms, an apron tied to your waist and a mask to hide the putrid air of the dungeons. The smell was like Death itself was working with you. You were given the number of nurse 27. You've been told that it was because there were so many people that it was easier to use numbers. You didn't care about this, the only thing you cared about was seeing the patients, your patients, die.

But at the same time, this is where you met them. Quaestor Valdemar,your boss. You knew everyone was scared of them. Their green skin, their big, unblinking, red eyes and their razor-sharp teeth. And their headpiece. You once heard a doctor say she was sure they were hiding horns underneath. It seemed quite unprobable but the thought amused you.

You soon found yourself very intrigued by the Quaestor. You first thought that it was curiosity but you soon discovered that you were... quite attracted to them. They had nice, soft features, their skin seemed smooth and you had noticed the faint freckles on their cheeks. If it weren't for your dear patients ( who wouldn't stop screaming ) you wouldn't be able to unglue your eyes from their face. They were so pretty, always gleefully working. You wondered if it was because they were happy to know that they'd be able to find a cure to the plague. You never really noticed how their smile would grow wider when their patients' screaming increased in volume or when blood splattered a bit too much.

You thought you were subtle with your looks, but you really were not and soon, everyone knew you had a special interest in the feared Quaestor. They were all scared for you. You were way too cute and innocent ! Oh, what would they do to you if they noticed ? So, they tried to play as if they weren't aware of your little crush, hoping that Valdemar was to busy with their experiments to pay attention to you.

But they were not. And they had noticed you. You, and your loving looks. Oh, it has been so long since someone looked at them like that. They barely remembered it but people grew scared of them as soon as they became a demon. Which meant... roughly a thousand years ago.

Your affections amused them and they soon decided to try and test and a few things on you, simply to see how you'd react. They'd put their hand on you hip as they had to walk past you, they'd touch your shoulder, let their hand slide on the small of your back and sometimes they'd even wipe the blood off your face.

And you always reacted oh so lovingly. You'd squeak, blush, shiver, bite your lip, or you'd shoot them a look of embarrassment, cheeks red and heart beating wildly.

They loved this more than they cared to admit. It wasn't unusual for the people around them to have a quick pulse, but it was usually because of terror more than because of... love ?

Valdemar wasn't exactly sure if you loved them. They often wondered to themselves, how would it be if you actually did ? Would you confess your feelings to them ? You were the only one who didn't jerk away when they touched you with their cold hands. Had you thought about holding them ? Would you-

Valdemar stopped. They were thinking about you. More then they were thinking about their experiments, and more than they were thinking about the plague.

They realized they were pacing in their office, as they stared into the small mirror behind their desk, they saw that their pupils were dilated. They weren't stupid, they knew what this meant. They were obsessed with you, they cared about you and what you thought of them. It annoyed them but at the same time it made them feel... warm. Well, as warm as their cold body allowed them anyway.

They blinked. Once. They had thought of a plan. The next day, you'd be theirs . They busied themselves in their work, waiting for everything to fall into place.

The next morning came fast, you opened the door to the dungeons and walked down the stairs to the elevator. Your heart was already beating fast, you were excited to see the Quaestor. You sighed, feeling like a lovestruck highschooler.

You put the key into the door, and stepped into the small, creaking elevator when you heard a voice behind you.

" Would you mind if I got in with you? It is unfortunate, but it seems that I forgot my key. How careless of me, isn't it ? "

You whirled around, your cheeks bright red. In front of you stood Valdemar, their cat-like grin bigger than ever. You assured them that it was okay ( more than okay, you loved the idea ) and made as much room as you could so they'd fit in the elevator with you.

They walked in unbothered, as if everything was normal. In the small elevator, you were pressed against their chest, you could feel the cold from their body and you could feel them stare at you with their unblinking eyes. They soon reached behind you to push a button and the door shut itself while the metal device went down. You expected them to take their arm back but instead they allowed it to rest around you, their hand on your back. Surprised, you lifted you head to look at them, and before you even had the opportunity to open your mouth to ask what they were doing, they brought their hand to your face, their thumb brushing your lips. You froze, your heart hammering in you chest and your cheeks burning . What were they going to do ?

They chuckled, amused by your reaction and they leaned down to murmur your name to your ear. Oh, how sweet it sounded on their tongue. But, how did they know it ? Weren't you supposed to be just a number ?

" Congratulations, sweet nurse. You seem to have caught my... interest. Don't you think you should be rewarded for such an exploit ? " They said, as they took off their mask.

You blinked at them. Rewarded ? How ? What were they going to do ? Wait, had they just called you sweet ? And did the just said you had caught their interest ? Did they like you back ? You were starting to feel overwhelmed when you felt cool lips against yours.

Quaestor Valdemar was kissing you. After a second a frozen shock, you kissed them back, and they deepened the kiss, slipping their cold tongue in your mouth. You let out a small moan and pressed against them even more, if that was possible in the cramped elevator.

You felt their grin against your lips, pointy teeth stinging your bottom lip. You felt warm blood flood your mouth as they bit you. Their tongues lapped at it and you let out another moan. You felt their hand slowly leave your cheek and slide to your chest. They quickly slipped your top off and they roughly grabbed one of your breasts. You squealed, the contact cold and harsh. You weren't sure if you were ready yet for this. You never did something like that before and you never thought your first time would be in a small elevator with your boss in such conditions ! They took their mouth out of you, maybe to let you breath, and they laughed.

" Don't worry, little nurse. Today I will just make sure you're ready for what is about to come."

You blinked, not understanding and you squealed once again when their mouth found your nipple. They licked with their cold tongue and bit. Hard. You didn't have time to feel the blood drip down your chest, they were already licking it off as if it was some kind of sweet.

They swiftly slipped their hands under your skirts and in your panties, as if it was nothing. Your face felt like it was on fire, you opened you mouth to protest when you were cut off by a moan. Their gloved hand had found your clit and they started rubbing you in circle motions.

They grinned, showing their needle-like teeth .

" Well, sweet nurse, for someone so innocent you sure are wet, aren't you ? "

You gasped, half-offended, half out of pleasure. They dropped to their knees and they started licking. You never felt something like that before. It was... intense. They grabbed one of your thighs,for better access, and they squeezed it. Soon, you were nothing but a moaning mess. Begging for them To go faster, harder, to do more. You wanted nothing more than to feel them. They chuckled again, and they used their free hand to slip a finger inside of you. They crooked it like a vice and started rubbing against your sweet spot like an expert. It made sense, they were a doctor after all. In less than a minute, you threw your head back, letting out a way-too-loud moan and coming on their finger as they kept licking.

They slipped their finger out of you and stood up, kissing you and giving you a taste of yourself while rubbing your thigh. You were somewhat shocked at their display of affection. Maybe they weren't as cold as they were said to be. They quickly pulled your panties back up and pressed another kiss to your mouth. They pulled back, and as you were about to reach for them once more, you heard the 'ding' of the elevator. They swiftly put their mask on you and went into the dungeons as if nothing had happened, leaving you bright red with a dreamy look on your face and drenched panties. And probably a bite on the lip, from the sore feeling.

You reached for their mask and inhaled. It smelled like them.

Just as you were about to get out of the elevator you stopped,remembering what they said . Making sure you were ready for what was about to come ? What did it mea- Oh. There will be more.

[thecardssayfuckoff]

Meet My Apprentices.

It’s the time, finally, and theirs. Let me just say to things, quickly:

First one, these aren’t finished, but I know that I won’t end them in the near future for school and so, and I’m impatient and want to talk about them already, so I’m throwing them here. They look… decent. Not good, just, decent. (Side note: If some colours look a bit weird, like their eyes, it’s because my pc got kind of fucked up so it doesn’t show the colours exactly as they should look).

Second, this is going to be lengthy. I’m gonna talk about them in their lore (?), and then about them individually. I also don’t know if there’s like, a format for when you publish your apprentices, so I’m going by heart. Fight me or teach me.

I really hope the damn “read more” works. Gonna post the drawing here to get some attention, and then the read more. Please work.

Now, the girl to the left is Crystel, and the girl to the right is Vitali. Let me give you some context: My best friend and I can’t work separated apparently, so after getting her to play the game, we (I) totally started to work in the story. Crystel is technically her apprentice, and Vitali is mine, but they share the story. What I mean is that one takes the place of the MC and the other would be kind of a side character, but not really. Just listen:

Crystel is the apprentice. She’s the one that dies and then revives, and gets involved in all the stuff. Vitali is her sister, who also gets involved in everything. I’m planning on writing a formal fic about this, but I’m lazy, so I’m just gonna be throwing things and facts and surely a lot of spoilers for said still-not-written fic.

The thing is, they’ll follow kind of Julian’s route, until they separate to Muriel’s (for Crystel) and Lucio’s (for Vitali). Crystel will end up with Muriel, that’s for sure, but to be honest I’m not entirely sure about Vitali. Neither of us is.

I screech Julian, she screeches Lucio, and I agree to this, but then she likes Julian more, and then Valdemar comes into play (we don’t give a fuck they’re aro/ace, it’s our story and we want them to shag), and so on and so forth.

Back to what I was saying… I tried to do kind of a, summary I guess, but I’m really bad at it so I didn’t feel like it was good enough to add. We’ll have to let things there for their story. I’ll proceed now to talk about them individually now. We starting with Crystel.

♡

Full name: Crystel Rhodes.

Nickname: Crys.

Gender and pronouns: Cisgender female, she/her.

Height: 1.72cm.

Body complexion: Normal really, but rather strong.

Familiar: Not designed yet.

Love Interest: Muriel.

Talent/type of magic: The same as the canon apprentice of course, although she has a thing for fire magic.

Arcana: Not sure, probably The Magician. We know nothing about this.

Personality: She’s a ray of sunshine. Easygoing, kind, has a good heart and a strong sense of ethic, justice, and morals. Extremely protective and caring. However, she’s kind of quick to lose her temper, mostly with people she dislikes. Very in contact with her emotions and feelings. Intelligent, although sometimes distracted.

Description (which I’m adding since I surely couldn’t capture it in the drawings because I’m bad at drawing): Has shoulder-lenght purple/reddish hair, bright blue eyes with long, curly lashes. Almost always wears a smile. Has little pigmentation on her lips, but her cheeks are naturally flushed, giving a more appealing look.

What would other characters describe her as: A beauty. Not only physically, but mentally.

Clothing: Not designed yet, probably something similar to Asra.

A curiosity: Her hair gets fuzzy when she’s angry.

Now let’s talk about her story, in a more freeform manner:

Crystel, as the apprentice, has experienced all the things the original apprentice has. She knew Julian and Asra, Julian failed to save her, she died, revived without memories, and all that jazz. When it comes to her backstory, however, things get better.

She’s older than Vitali for a couple years, but the other one is who took care of both of them since their parents had fallen ill because of poverty, which meant feeding badly and having poor living conditions; and latter on, they died because of this. It was hard for Crystel, who wouldn’t ever be really able to get over their death. She had no more option than to obey Vitali’s orders, who managed to find a place to live and a work for both. This all happened when she was around eight or ten.

They grew near the docks, and after some years, for reasons I’ll talk about in Vitali’s description, she separated from her, but maintained contact. She moved to a new place, and throughout more years, established a friendship with Julian. Her fascination for magic, though, lead her to also met Asra, and because of Vitali’s work, she met Nadia and Lucio. She became friends with all of them, excepting Lucio, holding a deep disdain for him.

Then she died, end of story.

♤

Full name: Vitali Worth.

Nickname: Vits.

Gender and pronouns: Genderfluid, and doesn’t give a fuck what you use to address her (although I mostly write about her using she/her).

Height: 1.80cm.

Body complexion: Thin, but has a slightly worked abdomen.

Familiar: Astaroth, a black fox.

Love Interest: Not sure, but has had encounters with Julian and Valdemar.

Talent/type of magic: Blood magic.

Arcana: Not sure, maybe Death.

Personality: Cold, methodical, stoic, and a tad of melancholic. She always chooses head over heart. Doesn’t really have morals, or ethic, but she’ll peruse truth to the end of the world. Easy to annoy her, but really hard, almost impossible, to get an expression out of her face. Mostly quiet and lost in thoughts. Extremely intelligent, observant, and sly. A bit malicious, too.

Description: Short, curly and puffy blonde hair, with pink ends. Deep green eyes, and death-pale skin. She uses makeup to make her lower lashes stand out more. Has a lot of pigmentation in her lips, making them catch one’s attention. Also, freckles!

What would other characters describe her as: An ice cube.

Clothing: Not designed yet, but mostly formal, yet not fancy.

A curiosity: If you learn to read her eyes, she’s kind of an open book.

Story time (warning for some strong things, kind of):

Her story begins the same as Crystel, but from her point of view, there was nothing to be sad for when her parents became ill and the died. The fuckers weren’t even good parents, not even before becoming so poor. On the contrary, they were abusive. Her father would beat them often and on one memorable ocassion, he almost raped Vitali; her mother, on the other hand, would punish them in horrible ways, like starving Vitaly for days or locking Crystel in the small trap door under their hose all night long, knowing that she was scared of darkness. So when they died, Vitali was happy. Crystel could’ve forgiven and forgotten, but she wouldn’t.

Hate would only lead her to nothing though, so she pushed herself to find a way of surviving.

At around fourteen, owning already a little house for her and Crystel, Vitaly began to learn about and practice magic. Forbbiden magic. The Red Magic, to be more specific. Magic fueled by blood. Vitali loved it. She didn’t care how much blood had to be spilled, either hers or some else’s.

But Crystel didn’t like this, and after a heated argument, she parted. Vitali didn’t stop her. She wouldn’t force her to like her things, but also wouldn’t change for her, so she waved goodbye and from time to time, they’d write letters to each other.

Sometime after that, having mastered the Red Magic, Vitali’s endless curiosity was pinched by science. The Red Plague was becoming more and more dangerous, and she wanted to know everything about it. So she became kind of an apprentice, learning from Street doctors until she moved on to doctors with license. At some point she was known by most doctors on Vesuvia, and after a little while,the Palace asked for her.

Working in the dungeons, she met Julian. They became fast friends, and she was a bit surprised when she found out he’d been freinds with Crystel for quite a while back.

And in there, she also met Valdemar. They established a solid and strong work relationship, since Valdemar took her under their wing, fascinated by her attitudes and fast learning brain. This evolved to a strange friendship, and then culminated in a stranger romantic relationship. However, this turned out to be a bad thing. Not beacuse they didn’t work as a couple, but because Vitale became an even worse workaholic. Trapped between her work, her thirst for knowledge, and her lover, Vitali was oblivious to Crystel’s illness.

And the Crystel died.

At the exact momento she did, at her house after a long night of work, Vitali suddenly fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until a couple of months later, barely remembering who she was. She did remeber clearly two things, though: One, her parents; and two, her Red Magic.

But deep down, below the headaches and fevers, her mind, or perhaps her heart, tried desperately to reach a forgotten memory, until it finally pushed hard enough: her sister.

♤

And there you have it. I hope I didn’t let any important info out, but I surely did lol. Not the end of the world though as I’ll be posting more about these two soon. Feel free to drop and ask about them if you’d like to know more. Also, reblogging would help a lot. I want them to be popular and cool, unlike me, lmao.

And be prepared for even more terrible art.

[coeurvrai]

Serefin, the idiot, panics that he’s lost his eyesight until he realises it’s night time, so of course he can’t see jack shit. 

Apparently we have gone from the royal gardens to his BEDROOM, somehow! Talk about a hard fucking cut, like jfc

“This is scandalous, Żaneta,” he mumbled, resting his head back against the pillows.

“Definitely more scandalous than the prince being attacked in his own palace gardens,” she agreed.

Żaneta has her head screwed on, which is more than I can say about Serefin for the entirety of this book so far.

Apparently the assassin that Serefin “acrid sprayed” in the face survived and is in the palace’s dungeons, so that’s something; though bad news for Serefin, his father has heard about the whole thing. If the assassins aren’t ones sent by the king, you’d think he’d get better security by now.

Serefin muses that it’s probably not his father’s because they wouldn’t have failed to kill him if it was. I mean... probably not? Considering this whole thing has been that his dad has plans for his heir and those plans are murder plans. Also what’s happening with the Rawalyk? Also how much time is passing in between these chapters? How long has Serefin been back in the palace? Does time pass at the same rate in both POVs?

“My father is going to blame the Kalyazi,” he mused.

“Was it not them?” Żaneta asked, standing up.

“I . . . don’t know.” The Kalyazi did not train incompetent assassins; his eye was a tribute to that. This could have been the work of the Crimson Vulture. Perhaps his father was behind the attack and she had shifted the pieces so incompetent assassins were sent instead to give him a better chance. He hated living with a black cloud of doom hovering over his steps, certain that his future was bleak but not having any clear answers.

I mean, how do we know that? Lmao Those could’ve just been very competent assassins and these could’ve been very bad assassins, if they are Kalyazi.

Serefin makes Żaneta leave the room and Kacper comes in instead, and Kacper comments that Żaneta didn’t look too happy leaving. Kacper mentions that a Vulture is interrogating the remaining assassin.

What information did he have? An attack on his life, a plan to find a queen for Tranavia, and questions with no answers. Why was his father sending thousands upon thousands of prisoners to the Salt Mines? Why was his father working so closely with the Vultures? To what end? Why now?

What was happening?

Well apparently your dad wants you fucking dead and he’s trying to achieved godhood through blood magic and dead people, apparently, so y’know. Why the Vultures are going along with this when it’s been made explicitly clear that they only answer to the Black Vulture, their king, who knows? Maybe this is a play by the Vultures themselves to manipulate and control the king, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Have you seen the current list of families participating in the Rawalyk?” Kacper asked.

“No, why?”

“It seems to be fluctuating,” he said. “Names of girls keep appearing then disappearing suddenly.”

“What do you mean?”

Kacper shook his head. “I’m not sure. I want to look into it, see if the girls are just getting nervous or if it’s something else.”

Serefin let out a breathless laugh. “We are so paranoid.”

I do hope that this fucking means something and isn’t a plot thread that’s going to be dropped later on in the book. I mean, that’s a futile hope considering @jefflion​ told me that the Rawalyk is pretty worthless. But oh boy, Serefin hasn’t looked at who he could hypothetically marry? Dude, why wouldn’t you?

Serefin decides that after nearly getting assassinated, it’s time to see his mum cause oh well, not the time to procrastinate.

He wasn’t sure she could help him, not with anything. But it was all he could do at this point. He was trapped in a cage of gold and iron with no door to escape from and had been given a dagger when he needed a saw to cut a hole in his prison.

Okay then, Serefin lmao Look, I’m all for that “a golden cage is still a cage” imagery, but like, chill. Being more edgy with it does not, in fact, make that allegory any more impactful.

Serefin nodded absently, before frowning and squinting up at Kacper. “Are you all right?”

Kacper blinked in surprise. “Me? Of course, why? They weren’t trying to kill me.”

Serefin eyed the other boy, taking in his dark hair and skin, the scar that cut across one of his eyebrows, and his sharp, brown eyes. He hadn’t grown up fighting off assassination attempts like Serefin and Ostyia. By all rights, Kacper should have been just another soldier in the king’s army; he was of low birth. His exceptional talent with blood magic and his sharp skills for espionage meant he had been shuffled around in the army until he was assigned to Serefin’s company. Their friendship had been struck a month into Serefin’s first tour of the front when he was sixteen. Kacper had gotten into a spitting fight with Ostyia. She broke his arm, he fractured three of her ribs, and it had taken Serefin knocking them both unconscious to get them apart.

Serefin still didn’t know what the fight was about. Neither would tell him. It had taken another week for Serefin to promote Kacper to his personal service after Kacper had nearly lost his other arm on Serefin’s behalf.

I get it, Kacper is brown, Kacper has dark skin, you don’t need to be Like That about it lmao Also that’s such a heavy-handed way to exposition your way through how the three of them met and became friends. Also Kacper is good at espionage and I’m trying to figure out whether he’s a more functional version of Azriel from ACOTAR or not...

But I mean, Azriel is a lowwwww fucking bar to clear, so I mean even if he is better than him, that doesn’t mean much tbh lol

But a “spitting fight”, fucking what? lmao Also if he’s so good at espionage, what is he doing as a common soldier in the army in the first place? Also I might just be being petty, but I still feel like rewarding a person for personal heroism and saving your life by assigning them as one of your personal bodyguards after your apparent childhood best friend got into an intense fight with them a week before is a bit of an overreaction but that might just be me.

Also, would like to know the circumstances of how and what Kacper saved Serefin’s life from but alas, we don’t get that important detail. A shame.

Anyways, Serefin and Kacper talk a bit more before Serefin leaves with Ostyia to see his mother. She seems like an utter delight.

“I have been in this blasted city for weeks now and my only son has just finally deigned to grace me with his presence.” The graceful lilt of his mother’s voice came floating down the hall. Lena shot Serefin a sympathetic look. Serefin had always found his mother to be a bit baffling. Both of his parents were larger than life, greater than reality. He had seen so little of them growing up.

His childhood had been spent with tutors and servants. His parents were figureheads who would move in and out of his life with little permanence. They sometimes appeared in the evening at mealtimes only to disappear once again at the start of a new day. Serefin had Ostyia—whose family had always lived in the palace—as well as a cousin on his mother’s side, but that was all. The cousin had left when they were still very young, off to the country for his health. His aunt and uncle were still seen around the palace, Serefin knew that much, but he had never seen his cousin again, and had eventually stopped inquiring.

Isn’t he your only child period? lol Also I’m sure this cousin was so important, as ED doesn’t bother to even give him a name. It’s also apparently the next fucking day, which is just a common theme in this book where we just jump from location to location or day to day, and expected to just follow along. I still don’t know how long he’s been at this palace, and how time passing in one POV relates to time passing in the other POV.

Serefin and Klarysa talk a little bit about the assassination attempt while Klarysa reinforces her apparent contempt for the city of Grazyk, and she’s not happy that he visited Pelageya before he visited her. I don’t know how egregious that is considering we don’t know how long it’s been since he visited her on his first day back in the palace.

Oh and Serefin describes the room as lavish, befitting of the Queen of Tranavia but we don’t get any description of its lavishness.

“Do you think I can turn the court to my side?” he asked.

She blinked, straightening in her chair. “Serefin?”

“Oh, I’m sure he knows anyway,” Serefin said, waving a hand. “I just need to know how many steps ahead of me he is.”

“Your father—” she put emphasis on the word ‘father’ as if it meant something to Serefin. Maybe once it had. Years ago when he thought he might win his father’s love. Not anymore.

“I found a cleric in Kalyazin. No one else seems to find that important. Doesn’t it strike you as a bit strange? They sent the Vultures after her, but she escaped.”

Serefin, our incompetent alcoholic prince, we’ve been over this a million times already; let’s not get into your blatant hypocrisy again. Also it’s kind of funny how this chapter just isn’t up to snuff compared to like, the last Serefin chapter. Like of course it’s better than any and all Nadya’s chapters so far, but like, oh boy.

His mum tells him that he should listen to Pelageya and her prophecies. I don’t get why, if his mum cares so much, that she isn’t doing that much to protect her only son. Like if his mum doesn’t really care about him, that’d be another thing, but we have no real reason to believe that she doesn’t so far.

“Listen to her, Serefin. I know you don’t want to. I know you think her mad. But listen to her. She could be the only thing that saves you.”

“Saves me? Yes, I’m clearly trying not to die here, but I don’t think the witch is going to help.”

“Not from your father, from the Vultures. From the gods. From everything.”

“Mother?”

“Pelageya knows what she speaks of.” His mother was speaking quickly, her voice low. She knew whatever they said would return to the king. She cast a suspicious glance toward where the wall met the ceiling, the likeliest of locations for eavesdropping spells. “I can’t help you, Serefin, you know that.”

Firstly, eavesdropping spells?! Can’t Serefin cast a spell to detect other spells or charms??? Also you’re telling me that Serefin, ultra talented general blood mage prodigy that he is, can’t cancel out any potential eavesdropping spells so he can have this conversation in peace??? WHY DON’T THEY JUST HAVE THIS CONVERSATION IN PELAGEYA’S TOWER SINCE NOBODY HAS FUCKED WITH THAT PLACE APPARENTLY.

It’s not like Pelageya cares! Pelageya apparently likes the Queen and the Queen likes Pelageya! She’s a companion of the queen!

Serefin felt cold. “What has he done?”

Klarysa shook her head. There was fear in her eyes.

She can’t tell me, he realized. If she tells me, he’ll kill her, too. What did she know that he had yet to figure out?

“Give me something,” he pleaded.

“Your father has always been a monster,” she said. “But at least he had his own mind, his decisions were his own.” She shook her head. “I fear he too has been taken by the Vultures.”

I swear to fucking god, if his dad is a fucking Valg, I will scream. I am not going through that shit again. FE: Fates already did it too and I am just, leave it be.

It was altogether likely there was discord amongst the Vultures as well. That the Crimson Vulture was working apart from her own king, the Black Vulture. But who was holding the strings?

Serefin still had no answers.

And so don’t we, about a lot of things. But that is the end of that chapter! We learn really nothing new on the whole “king is evil and corrupt” front, that he’s being manipulated and controlled by the Vultures is kind of a given. Not as interesting as this plot initially was. But still, I will take mediocrity over whatever the fuck is going on in Nadya’s chapter.

Which is up next!

[fan-tasticfour]

Could you recap your persona verse? It sounds like it was super detailed.

Absolutely!

If you’re on a computer, I have a Persona Verse page you can check out [ here ] with more details and explanations. If you’re on mobile, I don’t think the Tumblr App works, but you can technically navigate the page on Chrome. It’ll just look a bit weird.

I’m happy to take headcanon questions about anything lmao

I also technically have a P4 verse, with Uendo doing rakugo in Inaba and a description of how his dungeon works, but I’ve only watched the anime so I overall gave P5 more thought since I’ve played through that one.

So, to try and sum things up as much as I can:

Uendo is staying in Tokyo as a part of his usual rakugo exchange trip. He’s generally found in Shinjuku in front of the Suehiro Tei, where he performs rakugo, or in Akihabara nerding out over video games and anime merchandise.

I’ve put my characterization of Uendo under the Moon Arcana. The Persona wiki sums up Moon Arcana characters as having tendencies to project their fears and faults onto others, trouble accepting themselves for who they are, and trying to correspond to an ideal person. In Tarot in general, Moon Arcana also has a lot to do with empathy, creativity, and mystery. There’s mentions of anxiety and trust issues, too.

Uendo’s persona is Mademoiselle La Maupin. Her Wikipedia page has everything you need to know about her, but the best I could explain is that Maupin was a badass, bisexual crossdresser from the 17th century who sang opera and kicked everyone’s ass at fencing. Highlights of her life include dressing however the hell she wanted, stealing a dead body and setting a convent on fire, stabbing a dude in the shoulder for insulting her and becoming lovers a couple days later, kissing a girl and getting challenged to a duel by three different noblemen (and winning against all of them), and consistently being on the run from the law.

I designed La Maupin to look like a topsy-turvy doll. One half is a musketeer and made for physical combat and tanking hits. The other half an opera singer with more magical abilities and designed as a support unit. The idea was to make Uendo’s persona flexible in combat, AND be representative of the way Uendo and his alters switch depending on the situation and who is best equipped to handle it.

Uendo’s Metaverse outfit is based off Simon Blackquill’s prosecuting outfit. From my understanding, the outfits are based off each member’s idea of ‘rebellion’, and to Uendo, the most rebellious person/group/anything, to him, is Simon Blackquill.

Uendo’s Palace is the Kurukuru Tei, the rakugo theater that he pretty much spent his entire life in. The exterior looks like a really awkward birdhouse concept with a birdcage all around it. The inside looks similar to the real theater at first, but as you progress through it and distortion gets stronger it keeps gaining more birdcage elements and the walls almost look kind of glitch-y and trying to be multiple Palaces at a same time. There’s also various areas with hints of violence (blood, slashed furniture, etc, Mostly in the dressing room and Geiru’s bedroom), and manipulation (wooden crosses and strings, marionette stuff in general).

Shadow Uendo is designed to look like a worn out marionette. He’s got cracks in his face, tears in his clothes, looks dirty and dusty and the colors are all washed out. Overall kind of dressed in the usual jeans and zip-up hoodie, but he also wears a hooded poncho over the whole thing that’s meant to resemble a sun parakeet.

For the Boss Battle, Uendo’s Shadow turns into a Nine-Headed Phoenix. The Jiu Feng was originally a really important symbol of intelligence and wisdom and good fortune, and being compared to one was considered immense praise, but then some sort of war happened in which one of the larger families using the Jiu Feng as their symbol was demonized and it quickly took on negative connotations about cunning, treachery, being unscrupulous. Uendo would tell you that he likes to think of it as a lucky symbol since the negative aspects were a result of war and not because of the bird itself, but his Shadow would take on a more nightmare-ish appearance because that’s how Uendo views himself at his worst– cunning, treacherous, something to hate and reject.

[jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s]

Hey who wants some unnecessarily bloody Game of Thrones inspired Fantabi AU? It’s got Percival as a disgraced man made courtesan. Credence lops off GG’s head with a sword. There’s a big-ass dragon. Warnings for character death and, well, it’s Fantabi and GOT. Also lmao I did not even proofread this.

[[THERE IS A READ MORE HERE. Also no preview cause it’s really just RIGHT to the beheadings.]]

Gellert had believed the prophecy was about him. The wyrm was the serpent he had made when he was very young. The bewitched sword in his hand had cost him a beloved friend. The tyrant was the reigning queen Seraphina.

Her blood upon the steps to the throne. Her head at the gates. Gellert Grindelwald believed he had fulfilled his destiny.

But the wyrm was only a poor girl laid upon by a curse, and he had murdered his only love’s sister for the blood-forged sword. The prophecy was about Gellert, yes. He did not fully understand until a sword of blood and tooth was against his bare throat. For the moment his head departed from his body, Gellert understood.

He was the tyrant.

Credence held the witch-king’s head in his right hand, clutching it by the hair. He raised it, dripping gore, into the air.

“I have come to the throne,” he said. “As has long been written in the book of prophecy.”

Outside the city’s walled palace, an ink-dark beast opened its toothy maw and roared out smoke and fire. The wyrm’s massive head was too broad to breech even the main door to the palace. It coiled around the walls and, for lack of any other word, sulked. Credence had not been parted from the wyrm since he ran to the sea rather than be sold off by his mother and found it there. That had been a very, very long time ago.

Beside Credence, the beast-talker Newt pouted in sympathy with the beast.

“Does anyone challenge me?” Credence said.

Blood dripped down the steps to the throne, oozing from Gellert’s inert body. Credence tossed the man’s head down to the floor below him with all the care of a serving woman tossing the chamber buckets out a window into the street. One of the serving boys in the court muffled a scream.

Whenever Credence moved, the needle-like tooth strung from a cord around his neck also moved. He could not bear to think of her, but he could no more take it off.

“My first act as king,” Credence says. “Bring me the Goldstein sisters.”

He looked at a soldier wearing Gellert’s royal seal upon her armor.

“Was I misheard?” he asked. “Bring them to me.”

So Porpentina and Equionie were freed from their dungeon cells and brought before the blood-soaked throne. The soldiers stepped gingerly around the mess through which Newt moved so casually, nimble as a deer. Small creatures peeked out of the pockets tied to his belt and even out of his clothing. The sisters bit their tongues when they entered the throne room.

“I dismiss all of you,” Credence said, sitting on the throne. He held his hand against his chest to still the serpent’s fang.

The guards looked pale at the command, but they all obeyed. Outside, the wyrm tried to peek into the throne room with one massive, milky white eye.

“Oh, seven,” the dark-haired sister said. “You’re both alive!”

She ran to Newt, heedless of the blood staining her threadbare prisoner’s garb.

“Careful,” he said, “I’ve got… friends.”

Queenie was more cautious. She had known they would be safe. She knew the moment they got within range of the city. Slowly, she ascended the stairs and reached for the hand which Credence held against his chest.

“She would want you to celebrate,” she said, softly.

Credence was silent. In the space he left, Tina began to question him about his plans for a coronation. Queenie knew it was the time after the coronation which weight upon him.

“We were meant to do this together,” Credence whispered, after some time. Tina did not hear him. She had a great many practical questions about Credence’s rule. There was so much damage to the city and the kingdom which would need repair from Gellert’s violence and neglect.

The royal guard were called back and with Queenie’s assistance, Credence sorted the wheat from the chaff. He kept the good soldiers and ordered Gellert’s few living loyalists outside. The wyrm would handle them as it chose; Credence’s dark mood ensured that it would not choose mercy.

“Who is still living who knew the late Seraphina’s rule?” Credence asked Tina. “Who do you trust?”

She did not have to think hard: “Percival Graves.”

With Gellert’s blood drying beneath his fingernails, Credence told his guard, “Bring Percival Graves to me.”

“Your Majesty,” one of them said with a measure of doubt in her voice.

“I want him with me before night falls,” Credence threatened.

Then he ordered Gellert Grindelwald’s head displayed on the wall. When the birds had reduced it to bones, he would have it carried throughout the kingdom and, perhaps, flung into the sea.

Credence made a great many more orders after that and then went out to meet with Jacob, the head of his own armies. He directed them to clean the fallen from the city and offer them proper burial, regardless of their affiliation. Then he assisted, until the wyrm’s need of him grew too great to ignore.

When he rested his hand against the beast’s dark nose, he could almost think of her without feeling like he would be sick. The memory of her coiling body convulsing and then going still played behind his eyelids no matter what he did. Credence leaned his forehead against the wyrm.

“Obie,” he said. “I don’t know how to be a king.”

Heat stabbed at Credence’s eyes, but no tears came. The angle of his body made his shirt and the tooth necklace hang away from his chest.

At dusk, Credence finally found his ways to his bedchamber — to the rooms where just last night Gellert Grindelwald lay his head while Credence and his army of men and beasts beat down the doors to the city. He had not yet found the baths.

He did find empty rooms full of sumptuous fabrics, pillows, half-concealed mirrors made of glass and polished silver. Books and relics around him thrummed with bloody magic like the dark pulse of a draugr. Credence took care not to touch anything.

The center chamber was the largest — and heavily fortified. Yet, Credence nearly tripped over a belt of silver on the floor. He kicked it lightly with his foot, watching the blood on his boots tarnish angles of Grindelwald’s seal.

Finally, he looked up.

A naked man reclined at the foot of the king’s bed. 

Credence staggered back with his dragon-tooth sword raised. The man did not move, though his eyes followed Credence. He did not move to cover any part of his body, which seemed to shine in the light of the room’s oil lamps. The hair had been plucked or shaved off of him in most of the places where Credence would find it on himself, except his head and his eyebrows. He had a bit of stubble along his jaw and he was — well, Credence could see the man wasn’t a eunuch.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, your majesty,” the man said, his voice soft.

Credence bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from saying something too sharp.

“But I didn’t want to offend by wearing the colors and seals of your enemy,” the man continued. “And, well, I have nothing else to wear but that which he gave me.”

The sides of the man’s head had been shaved and the rest of the hair dyed a darker color, but when Credence let himself move closer there was something familiar about this man. He felt as though he knows him. But he certainly couldn’t. It would be impossible.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You requested me by name, your majesty,” the man said. His bow-shaped mouth formed an uneven smile.

The man adjusted the position of his thighs and slowly rolled his shoulders. Credence found himself looking for a moment before quickly glancing up at the ceiling. There was a very large capstone at the top of the domed roof. Perhaps it would fall out of place and kill him before this naked assassin had an opportunity.

Somewhere outside the palace, the great wyrm flicked its tail with irritation.

“Percival Graves at your service, your majesty,” the man said.

Credence released a breath, but he still did not look back down.

“I want to name you as the king’s hand,” he said, quickly.

“You cannot,” Percival told him instantly.

Credence looked, now, but with a scowl. Percival remained impassive, but he was no longer smirking.

“I am king,” Credence told him.

“And I am a king’s whore,” Percival said, just as quickly.

He sat up, no longer posing with clear intent to provoke at the foot of the bed. He held his knees apart and leaned a hand against one of them. When Credence looked closely, he could see the scars of a warrior and a mage on Percival’s hands and arms. He had one particularly nasty mark on his hairless calf.

“Your majesty,” Percival began, “the man that you killed — thank you for that, by the way — paraded me before this city’s entire people as his property in flesh. They will all remember that. I cannot be your hand.”

Credence did not care what the city’s people thought. He touched the front of his shirt. The tooth bit into his skin. If he is to be king, Percival meant to say, he will have to care what the people think.

“But I need someone who knows the rule, who knows the city,” Credence said.

“I can still be that,” Percival told him. He leaned forward and his face clearly tried to be open, tried to win Credence’s trust.

“Then who shall be my hand?” Credence asked. He moved his fingers slowly up and down the handle of his sword.

Percival sat up straight and lifted his chin. Were he dressed appropriately, he would look every inch a king’s advisor. And he was once — he was the queen’s hand before Gellert Grindelwald hacked her head off in the throne room.

“Pick someone that you trust absolutely. Pick an outside who will confound those here who wish to influence you,” Percival said. “Pick anyone but me.”

Outside the palace, Newt leaned against the scaled body of the wyrm as easily as any other man might lean against a brick wall. He spoke excitedly with Tina Goldstein about the battles she had missed.

“I should like it if you stayed in the city,” she said, tentatively reaching out to pet the head of the small furred creature poking out of Newt’s shirt.

“I am not sure that I can stay,” Newt said. “But I suppose if the king asked me, I could not refuse.”

Tina smiled at that. “No, obviously, you can’t refuse the king.”

In the bedchamber which now belonged to the king of seven realms, who bares the bone, who slays tyrants, who rides the Great Wyrm, who tamed the serpent of the Golden Isles, Credence of Bare-bones felt like a child who knows nothing. He could not even read until he had fled the slave markets where the woman he called mother intended to leave him. It weighed on him already, and he did not yet wear a crown. How heavy would that prove to be?

“But I need your knowledge,” he said.

“In gratitude for killing that son of bitch,” Percival said, “my knowledge is yours to command.”

“And how will you advise me, if not as my hand?” Credence asked.

At this, Percival moved to recline again. “Name me as your consort.”

“What?” Credence grabbed at the tooth beneath his shirt. She would surely be laughing at him now.

“That is the role that I have been placed into,” Percival said. “No one would fault you for taking the king’s spoils as your own.”

Credence, who had moved close enough to see Percival’s scars and the witch’s mark of magic on his cheek, took a step back.

“I am not — I refuse.”

Percival smiled at him. At first, his mouth was crooked. But it softened with a kind of fondness. Credence trusted fondness less than he trusted scales and crookedness.

“You don’t have to actually do anything like that with me,” Percival said.

He smiled until it showed Credence his teeth. “I assure you, the soldiers and the other courtesans keep me plenty entertained at my age. While I’m sure you’re a lovely, murderous young man, I’ve no interest in your flesh, your majesty.”

This made Credence frown.

“But you would pretend to, is what you are saying? So that you may be at my side.”

“As I said,” Percival told him. “I am at your service, your majesty.”

[jhoseokslut]

Chapter 1

Prologue

Reader x Namjoon

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff, humor - Royal!Au

Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, blood and gore, violence, mentions of physical abuse and rape

A/n: If any of the mentioned might be triggering please do not read my story or know that you are reading at own risk. It is my story but I cannot control how my audience receives it.

Rated: M

Summary: The young thief, Y/n, marries the king of Omelas to bring peace to the kingom. The young king and her don’t get along very well with their two very different backgrounds despite some sexual tension… Will they be able to bring peace to the seven kingdoms or will it all go to shit?

A/n: I suck at summaries sue me lmao

The room was dark. The only light coming from a small window outlooking the ocean from the tower she was stuck in.

Having been caught stealing, she imagined a dungeon, water dripping from the ceiling and chains around her frail limbs but instead she was in the most luxurious room she had ever seen in her life, apart from the throne room of course.

The walls were glimmering with its colourful tapestry, there was a queen sized bed placed in the middle of the room covered in cardinal and blush colored sheets and soft looking pillows lined with golden strings.

One of those pillows could feed her family for a week.

One of the walls in the octagonal room was covered in funny shaped mirrors that allowed her to see her condition. Her hair was greasy and hung around her face in dirty clumps. Her pants were more grey than the original black  and had rips on the knees from falling and scraping them, her scarred knees covered in dried crimson.

Her blouse had been ripped up on the stomach showing her ribs almost poking out from hunger, her arms were thin and her fingers calloused. she licked her dry and crusty lips lapping up the single drop of blood that escaped from the strain.

Her eyes were hollow and reflected years of poverty and homelessness. She scoffed and made herself as comfortable as possible on the floor, not daring to lie in the bed in case she’d get beaten for dirtying the expensive linens.

two hours earlier

The girl had walked in, with her head held high and her shoulders back. Her eyes, slightly squinted, were studying her surroundings and you could almost see the wheels turning behind the dark orbs. What caught his attention though, was the strikingly royal blue surrounding the pupils. She was pale and thin, her body looked fragile yet her soul was without doubt burning with a fire Namjoon hadn’t seen in years.

A fire that reminded him quite of his mother’s, and a pang of nostalgia in his chest made him clear his throat and sit straighter in the chair. Most criminals brought to the feet of his throne had to be dragged, kicking and screaming from the dungeons or the street, wherever they had been caught.

Yet, the young girl was walking as if she had come to sit on the throne in his place and for a second Namjoon felt like he had to offer her a seat. Shaking himself out of it he waited for the girl to kneel, beg for forgiveness but nothing happened.

The guards didn’t dare touch her or so it seemed, she stood proudly and stared directly into the dark mahogany of his eyes. “Kneel for your king, girl” Marcus, his advisor, spat.

The girl scoffed and took a step closer, the guards reacting immediately pointing their spears at her. “I have no king” her words were piercing and Namjoon knew without doubt she meant it and had no plans of changing her mind anytime soon.

The young king was handsome, he had messy, dirty blonde hair sticking out from under the simple golden band placed on his head showing surprising simplicity and elegance. Something about the simple shirt, pants and boots had Y/n doing a double take.

The old king had been boasting around in golden jewelry, a long expensive cape and a big crown on top of his dark brown hair. No one had ever seen the prince until his father died and he took over the kingdom. The transition from his father to him had been major. The castle and kingdom was filled with double up on knights and wounded warriors were no longer coming through the port.

The young king had pulled himself from the ongoing wars and had claimed to wanting to make the kingdom a better place, a beautiful and peaceful kingdom of refuge to those who needed it. That was a year ago and nothing had happened. The people were as dirty and poor as they were under the late king’s rule and people were getting impatient and angry, a revolution was simmering just beneath the surface.

The tension in the town square whenever Y/n was there for the market was unbearable and more than once she had returned with a pounding headache.

The king looked at her curiously and as she was inspecting the throne room, looking for a possible escape, he was watching her.

His eyes ran over her features and stopped at her eyes, and stayed there even though his mind seemed to be elsewhere. She had refused to kneel, refused to show weakness and refused to be submissive to the monarch perched on his lavish throne.

“Y/n?” the king asked and her brow quirked at the mention of her name. “You’re quite famous around here” the young ruler stated and rose from his seat. His steps were long and confident, yet slow and a bit cautious, as if facing a wild animal that could pounce on him any second.

With a delicate flick of the wrist, the guards removed their weapons that were pointed at Y/n.

“An orphan who left the kingdom only to join The Foxes in the eastern forest. A group of thieves that steal from unknowing travellers just passing by…” his eyes flare with disgust, just enough for Y/n to catch it “innocent people” he says tauntingly, as if trying to get a rise out of her.

Now, Y/n liked to think she was a calm and collected person that rarely got angry, someone you could come to for help and advice.  Yet, something about the young king had Y/n itching to destroy that pretty face of his.

“Innocent you say?” her eyebrow quirked in question, and so did his in return asking for her to keep going.

“Innocent are the young girls that walk around trying to sell homemade creations in the town square being easy targets for disgusting horny men that can easily force her into a side alley and rape her, beat her, till she is left lying in a pool of blood, tears and dried cum having to decide whether she should let herself die there or get up and keep going knowing that no one cares what happened and there is no one to ask for help. Nine months later she walks around in the square again with a baby strapped to her chest trying to sell homemade creations that no one buys. The rich land owners that travel through the forest so that they can throw themselves to the floor and kiss your feet so that you won’t let their bussiness die are the ones that are the reason no one cares that the young girl were raped and eventually died of hunger. They aren’t innocent” when she finished ranting she was panting and she had stepped so close to the king that their noses were almost touching.

A knife was at her throat within seconds and she was forced to her knees in front of him. She could see earlier that he was most definitely a lot taller than her, but now on the floor, he towered over her with a sadistic smirk on his face. She refused to back down though, still staring into his eyes with a hard glare.

Despite being strong and passionate, probably having trouble trusting people, she was still quite naïve, thought Namjoon. She was giving him everything he wanted after all. Getting her angry was easy, almost too easy and he couldn’t help but smirk when she was forced on her knees.

In a moment of weakness he imagined her on her knees doing other things than glaring with a dagger to her throat but Namjoon pushed it away before the image could fully form behind his eyes.

“Marcus, very kindly ask Seokjin to bring her to the tower so I can talk to her after the assembly” Marcus looked as if he was about to protest but a pointed look from his majesty has him scrambling to get the cook.

Despite the bad impression Y/n had gotten of everyone else in the damn palace Seokjin was something entirely different. The cook had grabbed her dirty hands without remorse and lead her through hallways all the while complaining about the young spoiled brat having him do everything when he was just a damn chef, this was the thanks he got for having raised the poor boy after his mother’s death.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the fond grumbling until she realized he was talking about the king and her mood immediately soured. She couldn’t help but think of the kids back home and how they must be worried, no doubt she was going to be hanged, she just hoped the boy would be smart enough to stay away while it happened. Wouldn’t want him to watch a sister die.

With these thoughts clouding her mind she didn’t realize they had arrived at the so-called tower.

“This is your destination, child”  despite hating being called child, Seokjin said it so kindly she couldn’t help but grin slightly before entering the room, letting the chef lock the door behind her.

The gathering had been shit to put it mildly. Namjoon had listened to every single grey haired acquaintance of his late father, trying to convince him to return to war, to put away his pride and beg King Park to get back in the alliance before the kingdom was attacked.

Namjoon had left the wars, being against his father’s sickening killing addiction. Whatever criminal came in, petty crimes or bigger, he would have their head and Namjoon was disgusted with it.

The previous king’s obsession with the wars against the southern kingdoms had sucked the life out of the kingdom he once called home and it was no longer safe for him to leave the castle. He had been cooped up in those castle walls for ten years, staring at the same paintings of his blue blooded, overdressed ancestors and talking with the same five people for all that time.

Namjoon didn’t like death, or killing. That’s why the kingdom dungeons was filled to the brim with criminals and he was going insane with the pressure to kill them. It didn’t help that his people didn’t trust him and wanted him dead since he hadn’t been able to live up to their expectations.

Namjoon stood from the empty table and stretched, satisfied with the way his joints popped, before heading towards the kitchen.

He had been standing in the doorway watching the the busy kitchen for awhile when a young servant noticed him and dropped the bowl of fruits that was pressed to her stomach. Her gasp, and the following clang of the bowl garnered the attention of the entire kitchen who then noticed him. Jin stood by a table cutting vegetables with his back to the mess but Namjoon could see him taking a deep breath and releasing by the way his broad shoulders moved up and down, before he turned and glared at the young girl.

“Emily, how many damn times do i need to tell you to be more careful, you should work in the pigsty where you’re supposed to throw things to the ground rather than in the royal kitchen. The girl bowed and fell to her knees to clean up after herself.

Namjoon bowed down and picked up an apple that had rolled to his feet. The girl looked up and met Namjoon’s dark eyes. She was cute. Big round innocent eyes, pillowy lips and a button nose. Just his type, he liked to think he tained something pure, probably a trait adopted from his father. Namjoon internally scoffed at the thought and smiled warmly at the girl before taking a bite out of the apple and winking.

When he stood fully he was met with Seokjin’s judging gaze and Namjoon couldn’t help but smirk before throwing the bitten apple for the cook to catch. In return Jin threw the keys for the tower at his face and Namjoon just cackled childishly before leaving to go visit the pretty thief.

Y/n had been leaned against the bed, staring into the mirrors, when the sound of steps and a jiggle of keys reached her ears. She didn’t bother get up and just looked back at herself.

“Hello there princess, enjoying yourself?” the asshole smirked at her and locked the door after himself. Quite a lot of trust he’s putting in her hands she thought.

“Princess?” she quirked her eyebrow sassily, still looking at herself. The king watched her for a while.

“If I can convince you, soon enough everyone should be calling you queen”.

This garnered her attention, and she tilted her head to the side to look his way. She reminded him of a cat. With those eyes, everywhere at once always drinking in the things around her, the careful way she moved her body as if hunting a prey and of course the lazy yet aggressive slur in her speech.

“I assume you know the story of my father and why the kingdom that was once green and rich has fallen”

Yeah, Y/n knew the story alright. The queen died, the mourning king was manipulated by King Park of Volven to believe the southern kingdoms were at fault and therefore made him join the northern alliance to go to war and spend all the money the kingdom had on weapons and soldiers. Motherfucker.

“I’m not like my father, when I took over the kingdom I withdrew from the alliance and therefore, the wars, so that I could restore the peace and the kingdom’s riches”, Y/n knew all this too, “the people are disappointed and angry that I haven’t changed anything in the one year I have reigned. Yet, they forget it took my father ten years to destroy this kingdom and Rome was not build in a day Y/n”.

“What does that have to do with me being called queen?” Y/n could already feel her head pounding and there were more questions than answers and honestly could the king stop fucking talking and just answer the original question.

“Well, you see Y/N”, before she could reply with a comment of what she wishes she could see instead of him, he continued, “to fix the kingdom I’ll need more time, but you and I both know the people are getting impatient and a revolution is being planned as we speak” at least he had realized that much, so he wasn’t completely blind.

“I can only gain more time, if I gain some trust from the people, frankly I can’t go and talk to them personally, that would only result in my death, and I’m not much good dead” she couldn’t help but scoff at that and Namjoon sat down next to her, catching her eyes in the mirror.

“The people trust you” the statement caught her off guard, and the pieces fell into place.

“You want me to marry you, to gain trust?” Namjoon nodded slowly, remaining eye contact. She had to laugh. After having laughed for what seemed to have been a couple of minutes, Namjoon stopped her with a hand on her knee that send chills up her spine.

“Sorry to break it to you, your highness, but marrying me won’t give you the people’s trust, they’ll just lose the trust they have in me” Y/n croaked, wiping her eyes.

“Not yet”. Namjoon stood, pulling Y/n with him, who surprisingly enough followed willingly.

“You and I alone won’t fix anything obviously”.

His hands still held hers as he dragged her down the staircase and hallways and down more stairs and then up some more. They ended up in a large library. The tall walls were lined with dark wooden shelves stuffed to the brim with thousands of books. The room was glowing a soft yellow, lit by the occasional oil lamps, carefully placed as far away from the paper materials as possible.

“Yoongi, you old bastard, where are you hiding!” the king yelled and a yelp was heard followed by a crash of a man and several books hitting the floor a few metres to their left.

“Damn you Kim Namjoon and your untimely fucking visits I should have twisted your fragile little fucking neck when I helped deliver you at birth”  the man grumbled as he refused the young king’s offered hand, and got up by himself.

“You were three years old” The king deadpanned and squeezed Yoongi’s shoulder. Despite obviously being older than Namjoon he was most definitely not the old man Y/n had first imagined. He was small, still taller than her but small with big veiny hands, black hair that almost covered his cat-like eyes and fair, almost ghostly skin. Despite looking just as ethereal as the dimpled king and the broad shouldered chef, he looked twice as scary and Y/n almost took a step behind the king but realized he would never let her live that down, so she yanked her hand from his and walked towards Yoongi.

“And who is this?” the man drawled, sounding disinterested.

“This is Y/n” the king answered before she could even open her mouth. “Wait, you caught the general’s daughter?” Yoongi looked at Y/n with evident curiosity this time. His eyes raked down her body from her dirty hair, sullen eyes and protruding cheekbones to her thin arms and bruised legs.

“I think you should let her wash up and eat before we continue with anything to be entirely honest, Your Majesty”.

Next chapter~

A/n: Ay hoped you like that, if you wanna read the next chapther please be patient! I post chapther whenever I have finished writing the next, so I’m always one step ahead if that makes sense. Anyways, if there are any mistakes please excuse them since english isn’t my mother tongue. ILY<3