#The past and present|Royal Knights|

[forbiddenchildren]

Hey Royal guys or gals, I love my leather play in bedroom be it rough or soft. Who here love those kind of plays? 😉

Andres choked on his drink as he read the question with everyone. Everyone was in agreement that they would not out each other on certain kinks or things they do.

[solxamber]

Knights and Oaths - Leona Kingscholar x reader

You come from a long line of knights that have served the rulers of the Savannah. But sometimes traditions are meant to change and the second prince is looking like someone worth changing them for.

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the Savannah in golden hues as you approach the ceremonial grounds. It’s been years leading up to this moment—years of training, discipline, and growing up side by side with royalty. Your mother serves Falena’s wife, and your father serves the king himself. By all accounts, it’s expected that you’ll follow suit and dedicate your knightly oath to Cheka, the five-year-old prince. That’s just how it’s always been—loyalty passed down through the generations, swearing fealty to the rightful heirs of the Sunset Savannah.

But you’ve never been one for following expectations.

Not when you’ve spent your childhood in the shadow of two princes, one of them your closest companion and sometimes, greatest annoyance. Leona Kingscholar—second prince of the Sunset Savannah, the man who always seemed just a step away from what he could have been. Too lazy to reach it. Too proud to admit it.

When you were kids, Leona’s idea of "training" usually involved you chasing him around, trying to get him to spar when he’d much rather nap beneath the acacia trees. "What’s the point?" he’d grumble, arms folded behind his head, the sun casting dappled shadows across his face. "No matter how hard I try, Falena's the one everyone cares about."

Yet somehow, despite his best efforts to seem indifferent, you always found yourself drawn into his orbit. There was something about Leona that you couldn’t ignore—a pull, a desire to prove himself despite his constant veneer of nonchalance. You saw him in a way others didn’t. And maybe, somewhere along the way, he saw you too.

That’s why today feels different. Your whole life, everyone assumed your path was already written. You’d swear your oath to Cheka, Falena’s son, just as your parents had sworn theirs to Falena and his wife. It was expected, anticipated. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know about you and Leona, the time spent laughing, bickering, and—more often than not—arguing over ridiculous things like who could run faster or who could climb the tallest tree.

Now here you are, stepping into the hunting grounds, your sword at your side, ready to make your choice.

The hunt is a time-honored tradition. Whoever brings back the most impressive game gets to make their dedication. You can almost hear the whispers as you prepare—"Cheka’s knight," they call you. It’s been assumed for years. But they don’t know what’s coming.

The ceremony itself is simple enough. Each knight pledges their loyalty by dedicating their game to the person they swear to serve. It’s a public declaration of fealty, one made before the entire royal court. But there’s more at stake than just loyalty. The knight who brings back the most impressive game is awarded a golden rose—a symbol of something far deeper than duty.

Love.

Hours later, when you emerge from the hunt with the largest bear the kingdom has seen in years, all eyes are on you. The whispers grow louder, anticipation thick in the air. Everyone knows you’ve won the rose, and with it, the right to swear your loyalty. They’re expecting you to kneel before Cheka, the adorable five-year-old prince bouncing with excitement. Even Leona’s lounging nearby, watching the whole affair with that bored, half-lidded gaze of his, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

But you? You have different plans.

With the golden rose in hand and your bear presented, you walk right past Cheka—past the gasps of the court, the murmurs of confusion, the stunned faces of your parents. And you kneel before Leona.

Leona’s eyes snap open, and for the first time in ages, he looks genuinely surprised. His eyebrows raise, just the barest fraction. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grin, because of course he’s trying to play it off like this doesn’t matter. "Swearing my fealty, obviously," you say, loud enough for the court to hear. "I dedicate this hunt and the rose to Prince Leona Kingscholar."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can practically feel the jaws dropping across the Savannah. Even little Cheka’s mouth forms a perfect little "o" of shock.

For the first time all day, Leona stirs, the mask of indifference slipping just enough for you to catch the flicker of something beneath it—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. His eyes meet yours, sharper and more intense than ever, and for a moment, the world falls away.

Leona’s eyes narrow, a mixture of suspicion and amusement flickering across his face. "I thought you’d be on your knees for someone else," he drawls, his lips quirking up at the corners.

You shrug. "Everyone else may have decided my fate, but I make my own choices."

“For you, Leona,” you repeat, your voice steady and loud despite the pounding in your chest. “I dedicate my loyalty to you, and this rose... to the one who has always held my heart.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s Leona, after all. He doesn’t do grand gestures, never needed to. But you notice the way his fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and take the rose immediately. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, a bit rough around the edges, but there’s an unmistakable thread of satisfaction laced through it.

“You really know how to cause a scene, huh?”

There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his gaze flicks down to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. “A bear and a rose... For me?”

The teasing tone doesn’t hide the way his chest seems to expand just a little bit, like someone had finally acknowledged him for the first time in years. He reaches out and takes the rose from your hand, his fingers brushing yours in the briefest of touches. It feels electric, like every unspoken word between you is packed into that fleeting moment.

He twirls the rose once between his fingers, his smirk growing. “Guess I should thank you,” he says casually, though there’s a weight to his words, something you’ve rarely heard from him—appreciation. Real and tangible.

Leona stands up slowly, stretching as though this whole event is just another inconvenience, though the pride in his stance is unmistakable. He knows exactly what this means, both for you and for him. No one can dismiss him as just the second prince anymore, not after this. Not when someone like you, bound by honor and tradition, chose him. Over everyone else. Over Cheka. Over the kingdom’s expectations

He leans down, close enough that his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks softly, for you alone to hear. “I never thought you’d choose me. But I can’t say I’m not... pleased.”

Your heart does a strange, fluttering thing in your chest at his words, and you dare to meet his gaze, only to find a look there that you’ve never seen before. Something softer. Something real.

Before you can react, he tugs you in close, his arm settling around your waist in a way that feels both possessive and protective. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of his body radiating through your armor. The smug grin he wears is softened by something deeper in his eyes—something that makes your heart skip a beat.

His hand lingers at your side, thumb brushing lightly against your hip, like he's claiming you just as much as you're dedicating yourself to him.

Before you can respond, he turns, still holding you close, and faces the crowd. The murmurs have turned to outright whispers of shock and disbelief, but Leona seems entirely unbothered by the spectacle you've made. In fact, he revels in it.

“This knight is mine,” he declares, his voice steady, ringing with finality. There’s no hesitation, no doubt—just that lazy confidence and a quiet triumph that says he’s more than pleased with your choice.

And in that moment, you know that, despite everything—his pride, his laziness, his gruff exterior—Leona Kingscholar is proud of you. Proud that you chose him, that you saw him, really saw him, when so many others didn’t. And as his arm tightens around you just a little, you can feel it too: the quiet, unspoken promise of what comes next.

A lifetime bound to the second prince—exactly the way you both want it.

Masterlist

he's so special to me :(((

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (Aegon is jealous)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This part has an extra reader/Aemond interaction. Time is skipping from present to past.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: aegon has a cold

- Next part: royal wedding

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995

The Red Keep is unusually quiet this afternoon as you’re making your way through the castle, intending to visit the gardens where you can enjoy the warm air and perhaps indulge in some idle gossip with your ladies. It’s a perfect day for it, or at least, it was until Aemond Targaryen unexpectedly appears in your path.

He stands in the hallway, arms crossed and expression as stern as ever, as if he’s waiting for some important meeting. When his single, icy violet eye fixes on you, it’s clear he has no such plans. You have the distinct feeling that this encounter is as unwelcome for him as it is for you.

“Aemond,” you greet with your best attempt at politeness, offering a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Aemond doesn’t bother with a smile. Instead, he inclines his head slightly, regarding you with that same, unblinking stare that could make a lesser woman wilt. But you’re no lesser woman. “Y/N,” he replies, his voice cool and precise. “I’m surprised to see you without my brother clinging to your skirts. Or did you manage to give him the slip for once?”

You chuckle, deciding to meet his coolness with warmth. It’s what you do best, after all. “Oh, Aegon can’t always keep up with me,” you say with a wink, gliding closer. “He’s busy with kingly duties, you know. Someone has to manage the realm.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, though whether it’s the beginning of a smirk or a grimace, you can’t quite tell. “Yes, I’m sure he’s terribly preoccupied. I imagine it’s quite exhausting, all that lounging about with a goblet in hand.”

You ignore the jab at Aegon’s expense, well aware that this is Aemond’s typical mood—bitter, acerbic, with an ever-present undercurrent of disdain. “Well, he does deserve some rest, don’t you think? After all, he’s got me to keep him on his toes.” You give him a bright smile, the kind that you know Aegon would melt for, but Aemond merely stares at you, as though you’ve sprouted a second head.

“And how fortunate for him,” Aemond mutters, rolling his eye. “I can only imagine what you keep him busy with, though I suspect it involves more idle flattery than sound advice.”

You laugh at that, a light, melodic sound that echoes off the stone walls, but the humor doesn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, Aemond, I didn’t realize you were so interested in my life with Aegon. I thought you preferred to keep to yourself, all stern and serious like some sort of dark knight.”

Aemond’s eye narrows at your teasing, his mouth flattening into a line. “You presume too much,” he says coolly, though he can’t quite disguise the irritation that seeps into his voice. “I have little interest in your affairs, but unfortunately, it seems I am forced to endure them regardless.”

You bat your lashes at him, taking great amusement in needling the typically unflappable Aemond. “Endure? My, my, Aemond, you make it sound as though I’m a burden. Surely you can find some enjoyment in my company.” You place a hand over your heart, feigning a dramatic sigh. “After all, not many get the pleasure of my presence without having to fight Aegon for it.”

Aemond’s expression remains stony, but you catch a flicker of something behind his gaze—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe resignation. “I would hardly call it a pleasure,” he replies dryly, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “More like an exercise in patience.”

You smirk, unperturbed. “Oh, patience is a virtue, they say. And I’ve been told I can be… a bit trying at times.” You lean closer, dropping your voice to a mock whisper. “But I’m sure a serious, level-headed man like you can manage it.”

Aemond’s jaw tightens as he regards you with barely concealed frustration, and for a moment, you think you might have finally struck a nerve. But then he huffs softly, a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so begrudging. “You are nothing if not persistent,” he concedes, though his tone remains clipped. “I suppose that’s why Aegon finds you so endearing.”

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious smile. “Is that jealousy I hear, Aemond? Surely you don’t wish you had more of my attention?”

Aemond’s eye sharpens, and he steps closer, looming over you with his taller frame. “Hardly,” he retorts, his voice as cold as the North wind. “I prefer company that doesn’t talk my ears off with false pleasantries.”

You pretend to consider his words, then shrug with a grin. “Well, not everyone can appreciate my charms. But I can assure you, Aegon seems to have no complaints.”

Aemond rolls his eye, clearly done with your banter, but before he can walk away, you step into his path, forcing him to pause. “Come now, Aemond, it wouldn’t hurt you to smile every once in a while. It might even soften that terrifying expression of yours.”

He arches a brow, unimpressed. “Why would I need to soften my expression?”

You give a playful shrug, glancing up at him from under your lashes. “Well, it might make you seem less like you’re plotting everyone’s demise at any given moment.”

Aemond actually snorts, though it’s a dry, humorless sound. “You misunderstand me, Y/N. I’m not plotting everyone’s demise.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confiding a great secret. “Only a select few.”

You let out another laugh, genuine this time, and Aemond’s lips twitch slightly, as if even he can’t help but find some amusement in your audacity. It’s brief, but you catch the ghost of a smile before his usual stoicism takes over again.

“Well, as long as I’m not on that list,” you reply cheerfully, stepping back and giving him a mock curtsy. “I suppose I shall leave you to your brooding, then.”

Aemond watches you for a moment longer, as though considering whether to respond, but then he simply inclines his head, his expression settling back into cool indifference. “Good day, Y/N,” he says curtly before striding past you, his coat swirling behind him as he disappears down the corridor.

You watch him go, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. Aemond Targaryen might be as rigid as the Iron Throne itself, but it’s almost fun to poke and prod at that iron shell of his. He may endure your company with all the grace of a man suffering a long sermon, but you know he’ll remember every word.

And that, you think with a smirk, is victory enough.

The Red Keep’s dining hall is bathed in the warm glow of candlelight as the royal family gathers for a dinner. The long table is laden with platters of roast meats, steaming vegetables, and freshly baked bread. It’s meant to be a family meal, a time for unity and bonding, but the atmosphere is already taut with the undercurrents of various rivalries and tensions. At one end of the table, King Viserys looks weary, doing his best to keep up with the conversation between coughs, while Queen Alicent hovers nearby, ever the dutiful wife.

You sit comfortably beside Aegon, who is only halfheartedly stabbing at his food with a fork, glancing up every few moments to check on you. But tonight, for once, your attention isn’t entirely on him. Across the table, Aemond sits with his usual upright posture, speaking to you with a surprising degree of politeness, even if his compliments have that sharp edge he never quite seems able to dull. It’s enough to draw your interest, and Aegon can see it.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Aemond says, his tone smooth, “have you ever read the histories of Old Valyria? I find them quite fascinating—the rise and fall of empires, the shaping the bloodlines. Few truly understand the weight of it.”

You smile at him, leaning in slightly, clearly interested in the conversation. “I have, actually. The legends and lore are beautiful, if not tragic. It’s incredible how much history shapes our present.”

Aegon’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles turning pale. He glances between the two of you, his mouth curving into a frown that deepens with each word exchanged. You’re supposed to be looking at him, not his self-important little brother. He coughs loudly, just shy of a theatrical gag, as he leans closer to you. “Y/N,” he says in a voice that’s far too loud for the setting, “you remember that story I told you about that time I fought that wild boar on Dragonstone, don’t you?”

You blink, turning your attention to Aegon, who is now staring at you with an intense, almost desperate expression. “Yes, Aegon,” you reply, though your voice carries a hint of amusement, “you’ve told me that story a few times.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit, but he says nothing, instead taking a slow sip of his wine. You get the sense he’s enjoying watching Aegon squirm, though he hides it well. Aegon catches the subtle smirk, and his frown deepens. He isn’t about to let Aemond outshine him tonight.

“But did I ever tell you about the time I caught two wild boars, at once?” Aegon blurts, leaning in closer as if the detail will turn the tide of the conversation. “It was quite the ordeal, really. Very dangerous. Everyone said it couldn’t be done, but I proved them wrong.”

Alicent shoots Aegon a withering look from her end of the table, clearly exasperated with his antics, but Aegon doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s too busy trying to win back your attention.

You give Aegon an indulgent smile, though it’s clear you haven’t entirely forgotten your conversation with Aemond. “That does sound… impressive, Aegon,” you say diplomatically, though you can’t resist glancing back at Aemond, who raises an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Aegon’s eye twitches at your distraction. He reaches for the jug of wine and refills your cup to the brim, his movements overly eager, as if hoping the gesture might sway you. “You know, Y/N, Aemond may know his dusty old books, but I—” He thumps a hand against his chest, nearly knocking over a plate. “—I know how to live. And isn’t that what truly matters?”

Aemond’s expression barely changes, but his single eye gleams with amusement. “Is that so, brother?” he drawls, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “I suppose it takes a certain… perspective to see chasing boars as living.”

Aegon bristles at the veiled insult, his face turning a shade redder than the wine in his cup. He reaches out, draping an arm over your shoulders in an overly possessive manner. “Y/N knows what I mean, don’t you, darling?” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You prefer my company, don’t you?”

You manage to suppress a laugh at the sudden shift in his demeanor. It’s like watching a puppy bark at a much larger dog, trying to prove it’s just as fearsome. “Oh, Aegon, you know I appreciate you,” you say, patting his hand in a way that’s meant to soothe, but your amusement is barely hidden.

Helaena, who has been sitting quietly beside Aemond, looks up from her plate of roasted duck and glances between her brothers with mild curiosity, though she seems more fascinated by the way the candlelight reflects off her goblet than the tension in the room. “Boars can be very tricky,” she muses dreamily, as though it’s a perfectly normal contribution to the conversation.

Viserys, who has been struggling to follow along with the rapid exchange, chuckles weakly, though it’s clear he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. “Yes, yes, tricky creatures,” he mumbles, before lapsing back into silence, his weariness overtaking him again.

Aegon takes the opportunity to press closer to you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant to sound sweet, but it comes out more desperate. “You see, Y/N? Even the king agrees with me. I know how to keep life exciting.”

Aemond snorts softly into his wine cup, just loud enough for Aegon to hear. “Yes, brother, you’re certainly a master of excitement. Like that time you… fell off your horse at the tourney? Or was it when you set fire to your own cloak trying to light a candle?”

Aegon’s face flushes with annoyance, his grip on your shoulder tightening. “That was an accident, and everyone knows it!” He turns to you again, trying to recapture your attention with an exaggerated pout. “But you don’t think I’m clumsy, do you, Y/N?”

You look between the two brothers, thoroughly entertained by their bickering, and finally take pity on Aegon, though not without letting a hint of mischief creep into your voice. “Of course not, Aegon. I think you’re… very capable. In your own way.”

Aemond raises his goblet in a mock toast. “Yes, to Aegon’s… unique talents.”

Aegon glares at him, and then, as if he can’t think of a better response, leans closer to you, pressing a noisy, dramatic kiss to your cheek. “You see, Y/N, some people might call my talents unconventional, but I think that just makes me more… interesting.”

You try not to laugh, but the sound escapes despite your best efforts. Aemond rolls his eye again, a faint smirk playing on his lips, but he remains otherwise silent, clearly enjoying Aegon’s discomfort too much to intervene further.

Alicent clears her throat, her patience wearing thin as she glares between her sons. “Enough,” she snaps, her voice low but cutting. “This is a family dinner, not a competition.”

Aegon, undeterred, clinks his goblet against yours with a grin that’s more petulant than charming. “To family, then. And to those who know how to enjoy life to the fullest.”

Aemond merely raises an eyebrow, taking another sip of wine, but you can see the faint amusement lingering in his gaze. He seems content to let Aegon claim his small victory, knowing that the real prize is seeing his older brother squirm with jealousy.

You lean back, enjoying the view of the two brothers’ very different styles of vying for your attention, thinking that this family dinner has turned out to be far more entertaining than you’d expected.

[amourdivine]

୨ ♡ ୧ THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE YOUR CRUSH! ୧

Hello everyone! Welcome to another crush-themed pick a card, inspired by the 90s whimsigoth aesthetic. This reading is all about the next time you see each other! Feedback, likes and reblogs help me grow my platform and are highly appreciated! If you liked this reading, please consider tipping me at @ amourdivinetarot@gmail.comvia paypal! xo ♡

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›    none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise. ›    personal readings are available!

the piles.

1 → 2 3 → 4

HOW TO CHOOSE YOUR PILE.  take a few deep breaths and look at each picture separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later!

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ༉ ‧ saigon.

important note. this PAC was very intense, so the piles may not resonate with everyone and that's okay.

eight of pentacles / ace of wands / seven of swords / the fool death / ten of swords / knight of pentacles / ace of cups. 19: waking the lion.

So much intensity. Regardless of when or where this happens, it will feel chaotic. A little too much. Lingering stares. There's avoidance, fear and a desire for a new beginning, whilst knowing things will never be the same as they were. Is this an ex, or someone who did you dirty? Regardless, both of you will be confronted with the truth of this relationship and it will not be something easy to forget.

You will talk. Not too much, but you will talk about something meaningful, hinting to forgiveness and a new beginning on the horizon, for both of you. It will be a slow process, but a significant one regardless. You may want to hold this person's hand, but keep your distance. So will they. The feelings might be bittersweet, but more sweet than bitter. Whatever has happened in the past will stay there and something new is waiting. The question is - will you take this leap of faith when it comes to you?

Avoidance and lies no longer serve this relationship. Although you may want to keep your feelings dead and buried, they will be there, too obvious to be hidden. This encounter will be an invitation to be bolder than you're used to, to refuse to drown in shyness or ambiguity and follow the story to see where it goes.

Little gestures, stolen glances and forbidden smiles may be present. This encounter is likely to happen at night, maybe at a place where you can't fully express yourselves or be together, like a workplace reunion. However, you'll communicate through your own secret language. This person has changed, but you may not believe them. You may have your walls up, but they're eager to climb over it, to bring you closer.

The channeled song speaks a lot to this pile, I recommend listening to it, especially the lyrics "when facin' the things we turn away from / we're chasin' the way we were in saigon / oh, it's picked apart until there's nothin' left of us to carry on / now we're facin' the things we turn away from".

channeled words and messages. illicit affairs by tswift, secrecy, heartache, dark brown eyes, "you don't feel a thing", unrequited, 19, 20, "i've made peace", booktok, main character, "ive changed my mind", tall, dark and handsome.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ༉ ‧ super far.

important note. this PAC was very intense, so it may not resonate with everyone and that's okay!

six of pentacles / six of swords / two of swords / king of pentacles high priestess / ace of wands / seven of pentacles / the tower 16: the royal you.

You hate it, don't you? You hate how much of you this person has or may have had in the past. You're not even sure if they like you... if they look at you. So you're taking matters into your own hands. You're trying to move on, but you're also wanting to stay. I see a big confrontation, a sudden upheaval, a confession.

"Do you even like me? I can't take this anymore."

You will take charge. Done with the mind games, done with the indecision, you will listen to your gut and do what is right by you. Spirit is heavily emphasizing your power, not theirs. It's as if this person is merely a non-playable character and you're the main moment, like the outcome does not matter so much as you stepping into who you truly are and how you truly feel.

This next encounter may happen at a big event near a body of water. It will give you clarity. You'll no longer feel plagued by this person's existence, they will not have any control over you any more. To some of you, this means they will step up their game. To others, it means they will be left out in the cold. You'll cut chords abruptly. No explanation, no apologies. No goodbyes.

Your heart is too precious to be held like a heavy stone. You may intimidate them. Your beauty, something in this very moment is it. It seems like this person has no idea your feelings are so intense, so big. It's the "oh" moment, where things will finally head to where they're supposed to be. With or without them.

channeled words and messages. "claim it", dorama, 7, 8, scorpio, 666, slow moving, slow burn, "please notice", golden aura, big party, mayor, love like you care by perlo.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ༉ ‧ cowboy.

important note. this PAC was very intense, so it may not resonate with everyone and that's okay!

three of swords / ten of wands / the moon / five of swords rx king of swords rx / judgement / four of cups / the empress 43: spirit of gratitude.

You'll be over them. Oh, they have put you through so much. Too much. Even if unintentionally, your heart was broken, you were battered and bruised, torn by this person's lies and deceit, but you'll be over them.

A part of you will love them, but not want them back. You'll be feeling good, over it. All that's passed and gone. They'll look at you and realize whatever they have taken for granted is now no longer theirs. With your back turned to them, they'll realize the great error of their ways. But god, you look so good now, so different, you look so uninterested in them, you look so healed, so empowered.

The channeled song speaks volumes to this pile. The lyrics are incredibly relevant, with the singer shouting "I should know better by now". In your next encounter, they will realize they should have known better. The roles will be reversed but you will not be vengeful, you'll be merciful. Grateful. Their rejection has been your redirection onto something better, something different.

And no matter how much of your heart this person may have rip to shreds, you've been reborn. There's nothing left for them here. This crush is one-sided now, you can't feel the same way for someone who didn't appreciate it when they had the chance.

channeled words and messages. alternate universe, "in another life", "in a perfect world", third party, "you don't look at me the way you look at her", "it was you", ignorance, pettiness, scorpio and libra, scorpio and taurus, toxic, gameboy by rosé.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ༉ ‧ just friends.

important note. this PAC was very intense, so it may not resonate with everyone and that's okay!

the devil / ten of pentacles / the empress / king of swords the hermit / eight of cups / the tower / king of cups

Ah, the sweet temptation of caving into their desires. It's too much. You're too beautiful, it pains them. Someone is in a relationship, a long-term commitment. They'll need to choose between love and logic. There's big third party energy, I will not lie. Maybe nothing happened between the two of you happened, necessarily, but someone has feelings for someone who is not their partner.

Despite the temptation, the tenderness, the desire to be with you, there's a stoic wall between you two. While they will be holding onto their partner's hand, caressing them, putting on a facade to be with this person, their eyes will be on you.

It'll feel so disappointing, so heavy. Someone may not be able to handle the weight of this encounter and leave early... It's no fun being a second choice, someone's side option, a replacement, a fool.

In the midst of leaving, something shocking might occur. They may follow after you (or vice-versa) and confess their feelings. The truth will come out, someone will not be happy (perhaps their or your person), but peace will come afterwards. Stability. Emotional fulfillment. This encounter is the chance for you to be together for good or not. Someone will be forced to choose between a current partner or a future lover.

channeled words and messages. cheating, red lips, wings, halloween, "have your cake and eat it too", broken promises, side chick, shadow, ego, shallow, "friends don't look at friends that way", hopeful, marriage.

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DISCLAIMER. tarot is a divination tool, it’s not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i don’t take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. be mindful ♡

[leonw4nter]

And When The Sun Left, I Thought You Never Loved Me

RE4R!Leon x F!Reader royal AU

You yawn and feel the exhaustion take over your senses and weigh down your lids yet sleep does not claim you; you consumed three thick books, all three stacked on your bedside vanity but you find yourself unable to sleep, for some odd reason. Warm milk with honey, sniffing peppermint oils, and an opened window to let the cold evening gale circulate in your room– you’ve tried it but you still continue to lay awake and irritated in your bed, turning over to lie on your stomach to groan into your silk pillowcase. You’re sure that the sun will rise from the sea again in a few hours, the tweeting of birds rending you that the night is over and you’ve lost the chance to rest for the day ahead will be busy, overseeing wedding preparations with your betrothed, Leon. Only having migrated to his palace a week ago, you were still in the process of familiarization with the ins and outs of his grand residence. You assumed that sleeping in a new environment, one wildly different from your manor, affected your sleeping habit.

One of your nurse-maids has also informed you that being far from your husband-to-be, especially in the evenings, could be one of the sources of your troubles with sleeping. Though he is to be your husband in a matter of days, you are not very familiar with him and the same goes for him; you two have only met a month ago, over a talk of paintings and music. You must admit, he seems to be genuine of heart and truly kind to any person he meets but you know that this could change as soon as he marries you and is expected to give the kingdom heirs. You wince at the thought of heirs, unprepared for such an undertaking despite the public’s expectations, especially the families joined by your union. At first, you were hesitant and against whoever your parents paired you with but after getting along and taking a liking to the crown prince of the kingdom, you are now only half hesitant to this marriage.

Turning to your side with your eyes trained on your curtains gently swaying along to the cold breeze, you wonder if Leon is also struggling to fall asleep right this moment or if his own nurse-maids have given him remedies to induce a deep and restful sleep. What do they give him? Warmed milk or cold milk? With or without honey? Does he even need these in order to fall asleep? Since Leon is often busy with building strength and engaging in his studies in his palace’s own library, you figure that each day for him must be eventful if slumber claims him so easily. The more you ponder about his sleep habit and regiment, the more you grow envious of him right now; you itch to get up, depart your chambers, and head to him, maybe even fall asleep tucked away safely into his side– if he loves you back and is willing to breach the conduct between betrothed pairs– to sleep in separate chambers until the night of their wedding. As soon as the idea is entertained, the harder it is to ignore its appeal to your current state. You sit up and shake your head, trying to clear your mind of any thought that involves you walking down unlit and unfamiliar halls, looking for the door of the crown prince’s royal chambers. Even if you are familiar with the maze-like residence, you doubt that you can get through his doors that are guarded by elite-ranking knights. Sighing, you accept that you will hear birds soon and will appear before your family and his with dark bags beneath your eyes.

“Ah, yes. I struggle with sleep,” you suddenly recall him telling you quite some time ago. “The images of battle, the smell of rust and blood harass me just as I slip into slumber. It… it haunts me.” You sit up, pity settling deep in your bones; you have experienced losing sleep due to nightmares every once in a while yet here he is, plagued and haunted by the monsters of his past and present every night. The bags underneath his eyes suddenly make sense, along with his frequently chapped lips and his exhausted aura. Not even the most calming and fragrant oils could help him, for those only served as temporary relief for the troubled young prince. Determined to go to him, more for his sake than your own this time, you grab your maroon cloak, and quietly leave your bedchambers. A few steps down the hall, a considerable distance from your door, you regret not bringing along a lantern with you. Despite the silver gleam of the moonlight, this would be little help to a place as foreign as this. Far from your door and forcing yourself to be familiar with what will soon be your residence, you continue on in the dark with a hand around the walls as you tread along, feet gently padding along the carpet.

“Floors are equal to rank,” you mumble to yourself. “The king and queen are on the uppermost floor, crown prince on the level beneath theirs. I’m on the lower levels, which means I will climb a staircase… twice or thrice.”

You’re not sure where you are or where the staircase is. You’re certain that there is a painting hung by the stairs but as you continue walking, you’re certain your memory may be playing tricks on you. To make matters worse, you’re growing increasingly afraid as you head to his chambers alone in the dark. The eyes of the portraits of past royals feel as if they are moving and staring at the back of your head, ready to pounce from the gold frame and maul you. Doing the sign of the cross and mumbling a proactive prayer for yourself, you dash down the hall and turn to the first hallway extension you see. You keep a hand firmly fastened around your mouth, mentally reminding yourself to keep yourself silent. So much for staying silent when you bump your elbow against the wall, startling yourself, and tripping over your own feet and landing harshly on your side with a thud. You are not in pain, not yet at least, because your attention is turned to the stretch of the hallway behind you and the dead-end in front of you. You focus on leveling your breathing and trying to limit the noise you’ve been making since earlier, the thudding and the yelp you forgot to conceal. The dead-end in front of you appears to melt and disintegrate, the walls opening up but you look up and realize that it’s not a dead-end; it’s a door.

“Who dares to interrupt the crown prince’s slumber.” A gravelly, baritone voice demands. You gasp, looking up at the man in front of you. Leon. Your eyes widen, breath hitched in your throat.

“My prince!” You whisper with urgency, adjusting your position to be kneeling in front of him, forehead to the ground with your hands laying flat beside your head. “I- I apologize. Disrupting and causing a ruckus was far from my intentions!”

Leon crouches and tips your chin up politely, blue eyes inspecting your blushing and reddened face. “You look troubled. What bothers you?”

“I ran here, my liege. I am unfamiliar with the palace and bumped my elbow, which startled me. I apologize and ask for your forgiveness, my prince.”

“You did not exactly answer my question, my princess.” He says, helping you stand up. He lays his hands on your shoulders, looking you over before he gently takes your forearm and inspects your elbow. A slight redness right where the anterior band should be.

You mentally berate yourself for not giving him an answer, wishing that you hit your head instead and fell concussed so that you didn’t have to deal with this situation.

“Ah, my deepest apologies once again.” You keep apologizing, you look like a hooligan! “I came here to see you, sire. I…” I wanted to see if you were kind enough to let me into your bedchambers and perhaps let me lay by your side to fall asleep! “I… was wondering if you were sleeping soundly. I t-thought about you, my prince.”

He hums, gently setting your arm back to your side. You take a swift moment to observe him– he still had bags beneath his eyes and his lips were cracked as ever, his skin paler than usual, and droopy lids. Tufts of wheat-colored hair stood at odd angles at the back of his head, a telltale sign of him tossing and turning in his bed for only god knows how long.

“Are you being honest, my princess?” He asks. “You thought about me?”

“Yes, my liege.” you respond, dipping your head in a shallow bow. “I found trouble with falling asleep and you came to mind and I wondered if you were also having trouble falling asleep.”

“I am.” He curtly says. “I am and have been finding trouble sleeping. I… I find it warming that you would think about my well-being.”

“You, my prince, are human just like the rest of us. The worst spares no one,” you respond with a soft smile. “Would you like me to accompany you until you fall asleep?”

A look of surprise crosses his face and you wish you never offered that in the first place, appearing desperate in front of the man you must impress.

“Yes,” he quietly says as he opens his door wider for you. “I would love that.”

It’s your turn to be surprised yet you nod and cross the threshold of his chambers for the first time; the walls were covered in gray wallpaper, meticulously embossed with dainty damask patterns in gold leaf. The ceiling was painted with a mural of a soft sky with hues of some pink and light blue along with clouds of different appearances, some looked like cotton while others looked like feathers. The baseboards and crown molding of his room were all sculpted and painted gold as well, similar to his bed frame with an impressive canopy that loomed over. His sheets were made of dark gray silk with subtle damask embroidery, as well. A magnificent chandelier crafted in the form of a chimera hung overhead, decorated with diamonds and sapphires. His room is just as breathtaking as he is, his space a reflection of his personality. You let go of a breath you didn’t know you held, head craned towards the heavens to admire the artwork above you. If you thought your room was grand, his was even more so.

“I see that you seem to like the mural on my ceiling,” he observes.

“Yes, I do. It is quite the beauty,” you softly smile. “I did not expect you to have such a treasure like this confined in your quarters, my prince.”

He grins, walking behind you as he observes your impressed face. When visitors take a peek into his room, the sole thing they would consider as a treasure is his chandelier. He expected you to do the same but instead opted for the soft pink and light blue view suspended above your head.

“I am glad to know that you still recognize the colors despite a tiny sliver of the moon beaming in. Consider me impressed.”

You grin, giving yourself a small pat to the shoulder when Leon isn’t looking your way. “So, my princess, shall we retire for the evening?”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You and Leon lay on opposite sides of the bed, both of you sleeping on your backs. His eyes are shut, brows furrowed while you try not to fall asleep just yet, keeping your gaze trained on the canopy above. Every now and then, you tilt your head to steal glances and take in the finer details of his face– the slope of his nose, the permanent furrow of his eyebrows, and his long lashes. Before you can help it, a giddy smile manifests itself in your lips the longer you stare at him.

“You are staring at me, dear princess.”

Your eyes widen, snapping your head to face the opposite side as you shut your eyes and tense your body. Your ears pick up a heavenly sound, his laugh, beside you and you turn to face him, confused. “What amuses you, prince?”

“What amuses me,” he faces you. “Is how I am utterly wrapped around your delicate finger, my dearest princess. You have me wrapped around the same delicate finger you used to carefully take apart the walls I built around my heart yet I do not wish to take action against that.”

Your cheeks burn beet red, heart challenging even the fastest racehorses that Leon’s father owns. You nod, a silent acknowledgement of his flattery for you cannot properly conjure the words to say to react to that.

“It makes me nervous that our wedding is to take place soon,” you speak up. “I am not sure if I will be the princess the people will need, if I can serve you properly. There are certain things that I am not ready for.”

You feel Leon’s finger experimentally brush against your knuckle underneath the duvet, careful so as not to cross a boundary that you’re not ready for yet. Returning the same gentle brush of a finger, you slowly link fingers with him as your heart explodes in the most vibrant colors inside your ribcage.

“I am certain that you will treat the people with utmost respect and kindness, my princess, worry not. As for serving me, your presence alone is a service beyond measure. I do not ask for more.”

You giggle, a melody Leon looks forward to hearing.

“Thank you. How about you, my prince? Are you nervous?”

“Very much so, we both have a lot to bear on our shoulders with this union. I must admit, that is one of the few reasons I have been lying wide awake almost each night. I am sorry that even you are disturbed.”

“No, my prince. I am not disturbed at all– far from it, actually.”

“We tend to apologize frequently,” Leon observes. “Another thing we share in common.”

“We’ll add another trait that we share in common soon,” you beam.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Our surnames. We will share them soon.”

Leon’s eyes widen, warmth travelling from his cheeks towards the tips of his ears. He quickly tilts his head to the side, away from your eyes, and lets out a wide grin. He must admit, you got him there.

“As anxious as I am, a part of me cannot wait.”

“I believe we share the same sentiment.”

Slowly and carefully, you tilt your body and inch a little closer to Leon. His positive reception to your presence is taking a toll on you, glowing with confidence and that confidence leads you to be a little more forward with your actions.

“A little closer, dearest.” He says, moving a little closer to you. “You are not quite near enough, in my opinion.”

After a little more shuffling and getting cozy, you two finally settle into a position that is comfortable and fall asleep together with his arm wrapped around you and your arm slung around his chest.

NOTE - I feel so old rn coz yesterday, only my right knee was the one hurting... now it's both knees + my back 💀 Joints cracking at every movement too so now I've been drinking milk... why? I think my bones need the extra calcium <3 Anyways, sorry yall for this mid ass fic 😭 My brain stopped working mid-writing but for some reason I was still determined to finish this so.... yeah :') I decided to do some cleaning before posting this and I came across a bunch of old school records from when I was younger (think 6th grade and lower) and bruhh... I WAS SO STUPID?!?!?! LIKE I STRUGGLED WITH SPELLING AND IDIOMS?? HUH???? I NEVER KNEW THAT??? I always thought I understood idioms well so ion know what the fuck happened... like I looked at schoolwork that involved idioms and I did get good scores, perfect even, but for some reason the comments on my OLSAT performance then said that I was below average when it came to spelling and idiomatic expression understanding so 😭😭😭 No clue mates.......... Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!! I <3333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hanging jewels divider was made by @mikeykuns , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[anyca786]

"YOU'VE BOTH MATURED YOURSELVES THESE PAST FEW YEARS,"

Daemon targaryen x sister/aunt!Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen.

WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/targcest (brother and sister, uncle and niece, aunt and niece) fluff, kissing. (Idk how to write warnings)

Series

Daenys had some spiralling conflicts with her mind and her heart. She felt a sense of connection with Rhaenyra that she had never experienced before, and it was scarying her. So she decided it was time to pay a visit to her favourite cousin.

7 moons later

Laena, her sweet niece had recently claimed Vhagar, the largest dragon alive.

They were currently flying throughout Driftmark and, 'Aunt, mother, look!" Laena, who sat on top of Vhagar in the saddle, pointed to the ship in the distance.

Daenys wore beautiful blue riding clothes gifted by her dearest cousin. Her luscious silver hair flowed freely with the wind.

Rhaenys eyes squinted at the number of ships, and her eyes widened. The distant sound of Caraxes whistle could be heard, which made Nyx's head turn at the sound, and she let out a pleasant roar.

'Velaryon flags..- " Daenys' shock was replaced with a happy expression while coaxing Nyx to calm down, "Shh, I know you missed Caraxes," she pats her dragon.

That meant Daemon was back from the Stepstones and have won against the crabfeeders.

"Father and Laenor are back!" Laena said delightedly and turned to her Aunt Daenys and flashed her a teasing grin, "You must be pleased that your betrothed is back."

"He is not my betrothed, silly girl. Now, if you excuse me -" Daenys scowled, "Sovegon."

Rhaenys sighed, watching her little cousin fly off in the direction of Kingslanding and then gave her daughter a look.

Rhaenys knew that eventually, the two would get married soon. They both shared the blood of dragon. The other Lords that offered their hand weren't worthy of the precious Princess Daenys.

🥀

To say Daenys was genuinely surprised that a party was being thrown for Daemon in the royal gardens was an understatement. She had heard the rumours of him being the King of the Stepstones, which brought a small satisfied smile on her face.

Everyone present seemed to be enjoying the warm weather. Daenys ignored the preying eyes of lords and knights on her and solely focused on her family wearing a genuine smile.

A servant passed by with a tray of wine, which she gladly took and thanked the servant.

Alicent stood by the King like a dutiful wife she was wearing a tight smile. Though she remained still to the best of her ability while rubbing her arms clearly discomforted by the Rouge's presence. It was clear that Daemon loathed the Queen just like Daenys herself.

"Princess Daenys, Your Grace" Daenys's name was announced, and immediately, the crowd stepped aside for the Princess.

Some were in awe while others held feelings of lust for the silver-haired princess, which made Daemon for some reason feel a rush of irritation.

Rhaenyra didn't waste any time walking over to her beautiful aunt. " Daenys."

"Rhaenyra.' she happily accepted her embrace, and Rhaenyra blushed when she pressed a kiss on her cheek.

"Come enjoy some lemon cakes with me. I saved you some chocolate." Rhaenyra said shyly.

That seemed to catch Daenys' attention and immediately accepted Rhaenyra's hand as she guided her to the dessert table, unaware of the Hightower Queen watching them with an enviouse glare.

"I can't believe he's back." Daenys mused, tasting her wine while Rhaenyra tasted the candied lemon slice in her mouth. Rhaenyra just looked at her and licked her fingers before swiping away the leftover wine on the corner of her lips.

"Nyra!" She whined.

"It's fun teasing you, my dearest Aunt." Rhaenyra had just gotten back from her six moons of tour and rejected the majority of her suitors.

The way she felt about Daenys wasn't simple. When her mother had died, Daenys had been there for her more than anyone. Rhaenyra adorned this woman.

She spent every morning, noon, and night thinking of Daenys Targaryen, their passionate kisses, her gentle touch, her aunt's genuine concern about her. She was a goddess in Rhaenyra's eyes, whether it was her pretty smiles, her pouty lips, or her fiercely protective nature.

Daenys smiled at her, "I take it the tour did not go well."

"They were old enough to be Vhagar's age." That made Daenys' nose scrunched displeasingly, making Rhaenyra giggle.

"Perhaps I have not found the one with the blood as hot as a dragon like mine, yet" Rhaenyra said, looking at Daenys's eyes.

"Let us go greet your father and Uncle," Daenys said, clearing her throat, trying not to address what Rhaenyra meant.

"Wellif it isn't my Prince Charming. Congratulations on your victory, brother," Daenys said, earning a laugh from Viserys.

"You shouldn't have thrown the party. Now his ego is bigger than Nyx, " Daenys said to Viserys, pouting.

'Thank you, Princess," Daemon spoke with a small smirk that held a double meaning behind his words. Daenys blushed at his words. Daemon looked irresistibly charming in his new haircut.

'And I have heard that Rhaenys is considering marrying you to Corlys' youngest cousin brother, Victor Velaryon. He will make a fine Prince consort. He's a good man." Viserys said remembering him years ago.

This brought a fake laugh from Rhaenyra and a hum from Daemon as he narrowed his eyes in amusement.

"Pin-cess!" Daenys turned her head to see small toddler wearing a gummy smile bouncing towards her with her arms out. Her septa hurried behind anxiously, "Apologies, Princess," the septa bowed her head.

" Hello, little princess," Daenys cheered, smiling brightly at the little girl with brown hair. Apparently, she was a daughter of some High Lord. The little girl was captivated by Daenys's beauty.

Daemon watched in awe as Daenys picked the girl in her arms. He had seen her interact with Rhaenys' children, yet he found himself imagining the baby in her arms, was his with long silver hair and big beautiful purple eyes.

His eyes hungrily wandered at her form. She looked absolutely beautiful over the years they've been apart.

Her hair was flowing freely, and it was clear from flying on Nyx. Her cheeks got fuller as well as her breast, which made Daemon hard just by the thought of it.

However, Daemon wasn't the only one staring her, Sir Criston Cole blissfully observed Daenys.

Daenys offered Sir Criston a smile.

"Perhaps the Prince Daemon and Princess Daenys would care for a tour of the gallery," Alicent offered, trying to mingle.

Rhaenyra's lips twitched at the thought of Daemon exploring the gallery.

"They haven't seen the new tapestries gifted to you by Norvos and Qohor." Alicent pressed.

"Would you like to see the tapestries?" Viserys asked Daemon before laughing out loud.

Daenys saw the hurt look on Alicent's face and turned her head to look at her brother, ready to snap,

"He has no interest in such things," Viserys said humorously.

"I'd like to see them. Would anyone like to accompany me?" Rhaenyra asked, trying to escape this dreadful talk.

"I would," Daenys replied merrily

"Oh, then you should not deprive yourself," Viserys told her.

But before Daenys could move, Daemon grabbed her wrist, "Later," he announced and dragged her with him. Daemon lightly chuckled, finding this situation amusing, making Daenys roll her eyes.

"Daemon!" she exclaimed, turning to face him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Come," he said, his voice low and urgent. Without waiting for a response, he pulled her away towards a secluded corner of the garden.

As they reached the privacy of the overgrown bushes, Daemon turned to face Daenys. His gaze was intense, his expression a mix of longing and desire. Without any warning, he cupped her face in his large hands and leaned in for a passionate kiss. Daenys, initially taken aback, couldn't resist the pull of his desire. She returned his kiss with equal fervour, her heart pounding in her chest.

"And I missed you too," she replied, leaning in for a brief, chaste kiss with a smile.

Daemon's kiss deepened, his hands cupping her face. He lifted her effortlessly, allowing her legs to wrap around his torso. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, their passion igniting like a wildfire.

"Don't pull that stunt ever again," Daenys complained, her voice muffled by Daemon's kisses, "I was in the middle of a conversation".

Daemon chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. "I won't," he promised, pulling away to press a tender kiss to her temple. Setting Daenys down, Daemon smoothed her hair and cupped her face in his hands.

"How's your wife? Mysaria? Was it" She asked, her tone playful.

Daemon rolled his eyes. "Just accept it, you're jealous," he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

Daenys scowled, but he found her reaction amusing. He moved closer, their faces mere inches apart. Daenys refused to waver, her gaze unwavering despite the proximity of their lips.

Daemon grasped her neck with his large hand and grinned.

"There you two are," Rhaenyra's voice interrupted them, her tone light and teasing.

Daemon resisted the urge to scrowl at his niece when Daenys pulled away quickly.

Rhaenyra wore a content smile, yet her eyes trained on Daemon almost smugly, "You seem content on Dragonstone. Why did you come back? There is surely more to your return than simply taunting my father." She asked in High Valyrian.

"So what do you want?" She said.

"Only the comforts of home and to see my favourite niece and baby sister," Daenys felt like there was a whole other meaning behind it but chose not to say anything.

The three moved to the shade. Daemon chose to sit while Daenys and Rhaenyra stood.

"I had not thought you would particularly be comfortable with this home," Rhaenyra spoke.

Daemon poured glasses of wine for the two girls and then offered Daenys to seat on his lap.

Daenys gladly took a seat on his lap while Rhaenyra shifted in her spot, visibly not pleased.

"The adventurous must've changed you," and the two Targaryens stared at her with a soft gaze.

"You've both matured yourself these past few years,"

Daemon stared at Daenys in admiration. She had certainly become a fine woman, and it was certain that he wasn't the only one who thought that. His niece seemed quite taken with her as well.

"My father seems content to sell me off to whichever lord has the biggest castle,' Rhaenyra spoke in annoyance. Daenys grabbed her hand in support and said,

"Your father is getting on my nerves, lately"

"There are worse things to be sold for," Daemon replied, speaking of experience. He had been young when he was betrothed to Rhea Royce.

"Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like," Daemon directed his words at the Princess.

"For men, marriage might be a political arrangement. For women, it is a death sentence." Rhaenyra said in High Valyrian.

"Would that it was. I would've been rid of my Bronze Bitch ages ago." He replied in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra sipped on her wine while refilling Daenys' goblet.

"Your wife has been fortunate. You haven't put a child in her." Rhaenyra said.

"I doubt a child could grow in such a hostile environment." Daemon replied, his laughter fading away as Rhaenyra scoffed.

"My mother was made to produce heirs .. and it got her killed," Rhaenyra spoke heavily in emotion. Daenys remembered the time when Aemma gave birth to Rhaenyra and how much she suffered then. The horrifying birthing scene made young Daenys run away from home in order to avoid marriage and the same fate.

"I won't subject myself or Rhaenyra to the same fate," Daenys stated strongly.

"What happened to your mother was a tragedy. But this is a tragic world." Daemon's words were laced with comfort towards Rhaenyra.

"I have no desire to live in fear. Only solitude." Rhaenyra replied strongly. Daemon smiled at the two women with such newfound fondness.

🥀

As Daenys was getting ready for bed, she noticed a bag sitting on the chair. She moved it and lifted the bag onto the table and poured out its contents onto the table to see commoners' clothing.

"Daenys?" A whisper spoked, a voice she recognised.

"Rhaenyra?" Daenys replied. She turned around to see her niece come out of the wall. A secret door she had no idea existed, "Rhaenyra, how did you even discover the secret passages?" she asked in awe.

She momentarily forgot about the bag and went up to Rhaenyra in excitement, "Can you imagine what we can do with this? We can sneak into kitchens or -

Rhaenyra had placed a hand over Daenys' mouth to keep her quiet, "Now aunt-you do not want us to get caught do you? Now, have you received a bag from Daemon?"

'Yes... Where are we going?" Daenys's eyes widened in curiosity, but for some reason felt a bit giddy as to what they were going to do tonight, Daenys lived for adventure.

"We are going out tonight and exploring the streets with Uncle Daemon as our guide."

Daenys wasted no time getting changed into the dress and cloak. She had pinned her hair up and had it tucked behind a long scarf. There was no way she'll have herself recognized.

"You look very handsome." Daenys complimented Rhaenyra, who was dressed as a little boy.

"Why, thank you, Princess," Rhaenyra replied cheekily.

Daenys reached for Rhaenyra's hand, "Well, what are we waiting for?" The Realm's Delight chuckled at her aunt's impatience. Together, they go through the secret door and into the hidden corridor.

When they reached outside, Daemon was already standing there dressed in a cloak with a hood over his head. "Took you both long enough." He smirked.

A/N: Double update <3

[babypinkhearts]

forgive me, for i am far too weak to control my desires.

pairing: geto suguru + fem!reader

summary: thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

warnings: royalty au, prince!suguru, princess!reader, fluff, fluff, fluff, they both have massive crushes on each other, suguru is so very lovely

word count: 2.5k

a/n: my birthday was this past week and writing this seriously felt like a mini present in itself :3 prince suguru supremacy!

a summer night is tainted with some hesitance. slight frustration, too.

morning feels far.

if you could see it — the light, any peek of sun, it’s down an endless corridor. maybe you can imagine it; hope that it comes somewhat quicker.

and yet prevalence is sickly, and you’re subjected to the dark.

gojo satoru’s land is stupidly big. the palace, even worse. you’ve told him more than once; he’d refute and say he could never imagine himself living somewhere ‘suffocating.’ but there’s too much space for a single person, and the enormous balcony connected to his mere bedroom is just the cherry on top. the absence of humbleness is apparent when you’re around him, he loses some sight. you can only slightly rationalize the size because of how often he’d have people over, all poor victims to his constant need for attention. satoru grows bored easily, and if you’d all let him, he’d take everyone’s belongings and move them into his home immediately. company keeps his world moving.

it’s the reasoning for the banquets — all ‘small’ get-togethers he’d frequently host, inviting those of neighboring kingdoms, as the ‘unpretentious and welcoming’ prince of his family. the gojo clan had respectable reputations, and you loved satoru like a brother, but they all seemed somewhat out-of-touch, no matter your own title as a fellow noble.

it’s around midnight, you think.

you can still hear the band playing. the bass of trumpets and soft melody of violins are almost distant, but you feel the tremors below your feet. it’d been a miracle that you’d momentarily escaped the ruckus, as well as fleeting royals’ hands. to turn down an offer to dance, in the vicinity of hundreds of hungry, watchful eyes — a horrid nightmare.

the noise is muffled from upstairs. every conversation, every obnoxiously loud laugh. surely, nothing can be that humorous.

satoru’s balcony has a nice view, especially at night. however, any verbal compliments have always been sealed tightly between your lips whenever you visit. his arrogance grows stronger day by day — you needed to stunt it for as long as possible. he’d become a bit of a liability, you hardly felt bad for sneaking off to his room for some privacy.

there’s a few clicks behind you when you lean just a little more into the railing.

you pray the footsteps are satoru’s, because the need for some sort of herbal tea is the most prevalent thought in your head, and you have no clue where to look for it. you know that the cabinets in the main kitchen run nearly bare if it’s anything but sugary sweets, and there’s some pool of doubt in you that believes satoru probably lacks anything remotely similar that can satisfy you. he doesn’t exactly seem like the tea type.

you’re a little overwhelmed. you craved to enjoy these banquets — you had imagined that after the fifth one, you’d be adjusted — but your attendance has always felt laborious, and the attention you receive has only grown alongside your age. your head hurts from bowing to lords and queens, the occasional knight and prince. formalities are a chore, a simple game to appear the most presentable.

the footsteps behind you halt. you hold yourself steady, and turn to your right slightly.

locks of black greet you in your peripheral vision. the smell of nice cologne follows right after.

“hate it that much?”

mellow and teasing, it’s suguru’s voice that brushes through. like gently plucking at the strings of a harp, quietly catching your attention. you give him a little glance — to make him feel noticed, and maybe to get a subtle and selfish look at his face. he looks comfortable, you think. at least, as comfortable as you could seem in form-fitted clothing. he looks good, more importantly, blending in nicely with the darkness.

an owl’s coo drives the night, melting like stardust and fading into the sky. it allures you, only draws you closer to the new warmth beside you.

“yes. badly.”

you hear his laugh — it’s the type that trickles with remnants of lasting drowsiness, just hinting at the state. every movement you’re able to peek and see from him is all quite slow, and it’s a mini battle to fight a slight upwards quirk in your lips. he’s tired, it’s obvious. maybe a little inebriated too.

you’ve never felt the need to lie to him. suguru is more like a breath of fresh air; someone genuine in a world of acting.

hesitantly, you turn towards him, meeting calming, honeyed eyes. he’s a little intimidating, even with some visible fatigue. suguru’s gaze has always been piercing, and you’re nearly positive that he’s aware. there’s a confident twinge, a sight of his effect being knowingly apparent. it’s a little annoying.

“you don’t happen to hate it too, your highness?”

when you speak, you break eye contact, far too mentally flustered to continue such embarrassing torture, no matter how addictive. you can feel him still watching you (perhaps, with a small, shameless smirk), and he slowly bows his head in a nod.

“yes. badly.”

it’s you who laughs this time.

you liked suguru. you liked him a lot. since the moment you’d been introduced to him, years ago at a winter’s ball (hosted by satoru’s family, of course). he and satoru were joined at the hip, far too inseparable to even consider letting anyone in between. but then came the addition of shoko, the daughter of one of satoru’s knights (who had later turned into his own), and then you, the daughter of his father’s new royal comrade from a neighboring kingdom.

the two of you don’t swim in riches like satoru. kingdoms separated from the gojo clan require more thoughtful spending — it’s uncommon, the priority your families hold for your citizens. you blame that for the reason why suguru is so easy to talk to, so tastefully levelheaded. he sees through unhealthy voraciousness, just like you.

but a kingdom doesn’t develop without some kind of offering. a trade-off, a contribution of sorts.

you’re shaken out of your thoughts, grimness dissipated, when suguru’s head motions to the opening behind the two of you, left bare and unattended.

you’re slightly surprised shoko isn’t guarding the exterior. but, then again, she’s most likely monitoring the banquet.

“i was growing tired of a bland talk i was having.” suguru explains, leaning ahead, similar to you. an arm stretches out across the railing, and he lets out a sigh. “fresh air sounded much better in comparison.”

there’s something in his voice that you can’t exactly pinpoint. not close to a lie, however not entirely truthful. you’re unable to read it on his face. but, in all honesty, it was hard to pay close attention to anything when he was staring so intently. his eyes might burn through.

transparency reads best. and yet suguru chooses to hide the fact that he’d seen you flee from the chaos of the banquet mid-conversation, and followed right after. the desperation for your attention seemed to had overridden his rationality, and possibly costed him a bit of his reputation. (he’s sure the woman he was talking to might have bored him to death, though).

“it’s suffocating in there.” you reply, shaking your head. “i’m not sure why satoru likes hosting these so much.”

a stamped envelope with a pretty wax engraving shows up outside your castle gates every other month. you hear the stallion of a messenger, and know by the purple hues of the letter that it’s an invitation from satoru. you’ve kept every single one, storing them in a carton box below your bed.

the banquets are phenomenal. you’re left speechless every time you walk inside the ballroom, eyes drinking up every detail from hand-painted flowers on the walls to rich crystal chandeliers. the event itself is an unsaid contest to see who could dress the best, who really screams of royalty.

suguru purses his lips, eyes trailing down below where he can see some guests leaving. servants follow suit. they carry items of negligence, holding on to a toddler’s hand as their parents carelessly cackle ahead.

he makes a motion, beckoning you to crouch from any observant eyes. two young royals sneaking off to a bedroom — it’d be the scandal of the century. his parents had warned him of publicity far too often. you follow his instructions without any complaints.

from the slivers in the space, you still have a good view of the front entrance. roses and topiary line the walkway, leading down a distant road.

a familiar figure steps out, hair slightly blending in with the bright lights behind him. he waves to the departing folk, a large grin adorning his face.

“he likes a crowd. the whole family does.”

satoru was made for royalty.

your shoulders slump in fatigued defeat. the dislike for such public conventions plagues your conscience. you’ll always be tied to them, even unwillingly.

suguru looks to you, fondness in his very gaze. he feels your worry; knows of conversations that you don’t. nothing has ever been fair for you, he’s known it since you were children.

thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

he sees you know, grown and enchanting. with a dress that looks so indescribably perfect, and face so pleasantly captivating. you could be in a story book. surely, you aren’t real.

and maybe he is far too smitten, eyes always chasing yours whenever you’re in the same room. at every ball he goes to, every social gathering, he searches for your name on the guest list first.

he remembers when satoru introduced you to him. the all-knowing smirk on his face, the slight shove he had given (mischievous, because he could tell how flustered suguru had become). and yet suguru had kissed your hand ever-so-gently — even bowed in respect.

he keeps hope. that your soul of sun orbits around him for eternity, and that you’ll always be within reach.

there’s more foolish thought, though.

his eyes trail to your bare ring finger.

to wed you —

well, that would be an idea of strictly fiction.

“a duke from the fushiguro clan wanted to ask you to dance. i heard him talking to your father about it.”

suguru’s voice cuts through the silence, cursed words disguised as mystic melodies.

you wince.

it’s hidden through the curtain of your hair, and you’re sure he’s oblivious to it. some part of you wishes he had kept that information to himself.

a dance is all it takes. a dance, then a conversation, then an inescapable ring. marriage is for business, not love. nothing more than the chance to unite two lands — greed runs through royal blood. it all seems hereditary.

you rub your arms gently, and shut your eyes.

“did he?”

suguru raises his head, intrigued.

your voice sounds a little exasperated. breathing a large gust of air, almost in… disappointment.

suguru nods in response, swallowing thickly. you’re friends, you’ve spoken about subjects like this for years. suguru remembers your expressions of secret distaste you would flash to him whenever another royal would attempt to make conversation. you were good at faking interest — suguru thinks you’d be wonderful performing in a play. all maturity (forcefully) weighs you down, however. a means to accept adulthood; accepting a loss of those childish glances and joyful memories. you’re still the same, though.

but could it be, that because you’re older, the age close to a bride, that it all feels much different.

suguru feels a little sick, in fact.

he glances to you, watching as your perched head rests on your hand.

“would you have gone?”

a sound of amusement leaves your lips.

he’s a little cruel to ask for a response so conflicting. it’s all melodramatic, insignificant in the grand scheme of the things. but you know your duty. your heart just doesn’t seem to follow through.

your dress suddenly feels more uncomfortable, and you straighten a little.

“would you like my honest answer?”

you’d never find the courage to lie to him, anyway.

suguru smiles, tilting his head with a small chuckle. once more — you’re a lot less proper in private, always have been. where there’s no fear of gossip or judgement, just your authenticity. no expectations to uphold, just beauty in your natural grace. suguru is blessed.

“enlighten me, princess.”

the name, while being the correct title (something you’ve heard daily your entire life), sounds different when suguru says it. it always has. he’s a siren, you fear. those mystical beings you’ve only heard tales of, the kind that keep your sailors at shore. everything sounds better coming from his lips.

guilt tears you in two.

your best interest should be aimed towards your people — more opportunities, for the price of one measly sacrifice. an unhappy marriage, for many more happy lives.

and yet you say, without giving yourself any time to regret it,

“no.”

you look a little paranoid after you speak, as if guards with chains and pitchforks are just outside the door. but that fear feels minimal when suguru is looking at you, proudly.

some confidence overrides thoughts of ridicule. he’s the armor you desperately desire. quietly, you repeat, “no. i would have said no.”

your interests lie somewhere else. not with a duke who sees nothing further than mere appearance and riches.

weight is lifted.

suguru stares. it’s imminent, his voice. threatening an appearance whenever he swallows too quickly, preparing himself for words he feels are a little too heavy on his tongue. you’re not looking at him — he thanks the heavens that you’re turned away.

he’s unaccustomed to nervousness. you are really the only trigger to it.

he doesn’t dare glance in your direction when he finally speaks.

“would you have gone if i had asked?”

it catches you by surprise.

suguru is looking into the starry distance when you turn to him. he’s smiling a little.

he looks a prince. a real, beautiful prince.

you’d danced with suguru before, dozens and hundreds of times when academy lessons would force the eventual omission of two left feet. learning to waltz was one of the most important rules in the book — a presentation of grace, ‘civility.’ but that was before the simple gesture meant more to the public eye. citizens find such a display as an act of courting.

there’s something in suguru’s expression; sheepish, maybe a little troublesome. like he knows your answer, and only waits for you to confirm it.

you enjoy teasing him, though.

“perhaps.”

there’s a twinkle in his eyes. charm in his gaze is apparent.

the band plays lowly — they’re finishing their last few songs. stringed instruments strum their tune, and it’s delicate harmonies for intimate sways. slow dancing.

a beat goes by. it enhances the feeling of slight wind across your face, pushing back your hair, servicing suguru with a clear view of your reddened complexion.

the midnight moon reaches you, it casts an illuminating glow.

you’re very pretty when you’re looking at him so shyly. as if he’d deny you anything.

a smile reaches his features, eyes crinkling in pure delight.

“well, princess,”

and a single hand reaches towards you, open and inviting.

“will you honor me with a dance?”

[draczrys]

I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

[fantasybabygirlslutsworld]

The Prophecy - 1

As said before, the celebration for Princess Mariana Targaryen's birth was indeed considered as the most lavish one happened in a decade.

All the lords of westeros and free cities came to king's landing to see the newborn Targaryen and participate in the hunting and tourneys conducted in the princess's honour.

A welcome feast was prepared for welcoming the lords and ladies staying at the palace.

The whole Targaryen family were sitting in a long table facing the lords with King Jaehaerys in the middle. Queen Alysanne sat on her husband's right side while Crown Prince Baelon sat on his left. His son Prince Viserys and his wife Princess Aemma sat beside him while Princess Rhaenys and her husband sat next to the Queen .

Prince Daemon was seen speaking with some lords from Lys and volantis. Recently,the young Prince had started to trade with the wealthy lords of the free cities.

Prince Baelon thought it would be a good experience for him but both the King and the Queen didn't think so as there was still raising tensions after the death of Prince Aemon Targaryen. Some lords of Lys and Braavos might have helped Dorne even though it is not proven by anyone.

Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell had gifted books about the old gods and various dresses made of a wolf's fur hunted by him and his entourage to the little princess. He brought along his five summers past son,Cregan Stark, who curiously looked at the princess lying in the Queen's arms.

" Thank you , Lord Stark. It was nice to see all the lords gathered up for this occasion. " Queen Alysanne remarked . With all the festivities, the palace is looking very lively than ever.

" Then, you would be perplexed seeing the gift prepared by House Lannister,your grace"

 Lord Lannister said while shoving past the Lord of Winterfell. He presented a necklace huge enought to be worn by an adult made of pure gold along with other ornaments. All the jewels resembled  the lannister sigil - a Lion or silks in lannister red. Even though the gifts were harmless , the intent was apparent that lord lannister was hoping to arrange a betrothal to one of his sons. Mayhaps, the Lord had thought by being the first in line for the hand of the one day old Targaryen princess  may guarantee  them an upper hand.

  " We thank you for this wonderful gifts , Lord Lannister. I am sure my granddaughter can wear them when she becomes a lady which will 16 summers from now" 

Prince Viserys chuckled while Princess Aemma's smile tightened. She didn't want to think about her daughter's marriage only a day after her birth.

The King and Prince Baelon all had similar reactions in their faces whereas Princess Rhaenys sighed next to her husband. This was the fate expected of a Targaryen Princess - she can either marry one of her family member out of love like late Princess Alyssa or be some lady to one of the lords in westeros like late Lady Daella Arryn  .

While thinking about this ,  the members of House Targaryen didn't seem to notice a dark aura emitting from the rogue prince . His usually hot blood was boiling even higher at Lord Lannister's apparent intent . He want to cross over to his table and strangle him and his twin sons to death so that they may never think of his niece again.

However , if he want to kill every lord and heirs who were having intent of a betrothal to his niece , then Westeros won't have any lords anymore  by the time he finishes his rampage. 

-----------------------------

Aside from that moment , the celebration went smoother with other lords gifting jewels, dresses and various land deeds for the princess.

For the next week, the royal tourney was held in the princess's honor. Several knights across Westeros had came to participate in the jousting contest. 

The winner was obviously Prince Daemon Targaryen who had beaten against the heir of house tyrell who had broken his left arm . All the ladies who are of marriagiable age seem to lean closer towards him hoping to be crowned as his Queen of love and beauty.

With everyone's gaze turned on him , the Prince  went to the royal stand in his horse . As if reading his mind ,Princess Aemma slowly went near the stands with the Princess in her arms.

" As befitted for her , Princess Mariana Targaryen will be my Queen of Love and Beauty today." 

Prince Daemon proudly said while looking at his niece. He carefully placed the crown made up of dragon's breath on her head. The Princess was also curiously looking at him with the same intensity.

Everyone in the arena cheered as Princess Aemma displayed Princess Mariana to the crowd. Although they expected the Prince to offer the crown to a lady of a respectable House , it was acceptable for the Prince give it to his niece.However, everyone didn't seem to notice the possessiveness glinting in the Rogue Prince's eyes.

In the evening, a small celebration was held in the honor of the tourney's winner . As Prince Daemon was the winner, the royal family also attended the celebration.

The said Prince could be seen mingling with his fellow knights in the garden . While all of the sudden , Prince Baelon came to his side .

" Congratulations, son . Your mom and I are proud of you . " Even after his sister-wife's death , Crown Prince Baelon didn't remarry anyone. He still believes that she was always present near him.

" Thank you, Father. The fights were rather easy enough that I can close my eyes and still win every knights" Prince Daemon mocked his opponents .

" When I look at her eyes and hair , I see your mother in her , Daemon . It is like Alyssa had reborn again ." Prince Baelon said with pure sorrow in his eyes.

" Indeed she is , father." Prince Daemon said while looking at the sleeping form of his niece in her mother's arms.

In the future, Princess Mariana would cherish this day by being told by her Septa and maids .

Part 5

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Author's Note: Sorry for the delay,guys . I am trying to balance time to write for my other stories. Do vote for the story if you sure like it.

Taglist : @snowtargaryen @girl-of-multi-fandoms @immyowndefender @kpopfanfictionfantacies @cwallace02sblog @rosecentury @bitchycollectorvoid @sadmonke

@hc-geralt-23 @universallyrascaldreamercookie

@majun2024 @ayamenimthiriel @waterismylifeuniverse @ranshin03

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter one: A Favor Given.

Content warning for some … outdated views on women. Don’t worry, you can fix him.

The tournament of Fata Morgana brought with it all the excitement of a tournament, but given it fell so close to the annual Festival of Cupid, it held more still. For as well as the honour of victory, a gold purse and acclaim, the winner was given a crown of roses, to give to any maiden he saw fit to choose, and to open the Ball of Cupid by sharing a dance with said maiden. Captain Jason Todd, the knight of Arkham, had won the past three years, and each year, the same maiden had been given the crown.

You.

You, the princess, and only daughter of the king of a small yet ambitious nation. You, who while understanding that your affection for the hero of the battle of Arkham, the captain of your personal guard, could never be fully realised or acted upon. You, who had the last three years watched him compete with baited breath hoping to dance with him once more. You, who after he had first presented you the crown three years hence, had given him a favour the next two years. You, who on the eve of his fourth tournament, are sneaking down to where the competitors have pitched their tents around the competition field, to do so once more.

The air is warm, crickets and the nickering of horses punctuated by the occasional voice. They are stoic, not rowdy or drunken, that will come tomorrow when the contest is over. Tonight, the sense of anticipation and solemn preparation lingers over the field. You find his tent with relative ease, it’s blood red fabric near black in the darkness, but his steed is tied outside and pays you little mind as you hesitate outside the tent flap. There had been no hesitation when you slipped past your guards. No hesitation in deciding to come here. Still, you hesitate now, when the only thing separating you from him is canvas, struck with nerves over what exactly you would say to him.

Your stalling is ended by the tent's flap opening to reveal the Knight of Arkham standing there, staring you down looking less than impressed. Your mouth goes dry as the desert.

He stands there in loose pants, and a white shirt with the top eyelets undone to just above the lowest point of his pectoral muscles. His hair is mused and out of order. You feel your breath catch, and it is only your lifelong etiquette lessons that prevent you from doing something completely humiliating and degenerate like bite your lip. Granted you saw him nearly every day, but there was something about seeing him out of plate, seeming so much himself rather than maintaining stoic professionalism.

“Your royal highness, you ought not be here so late - and where is your guard? God preserve me…” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

You try not to stare at the way the action causes his arms to move and flex, or how soft his hair seems. Instead, you force yourself to look him in the eyes, and reply.

“All is well, surely. These tents are filled with knights. Men of honour. I am perfectly safe.” You speak softly, so as not to draw attention to your presence, despite what you verbally claim, you know full well that being undiscovered will better serve you.

Captain Todd-Wayne opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Sighs. You suppress an urge to smile, practically able to see his mind working on how to respond to that without offending your feminine sensibilities.

“Your Highness while your father’s knights - myself included - would of course never consider harming you, the matter persists you are without escort.”

You bat your eyes, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “You are the captain of my guard, and have acted as my escort a great many times.”

His jaw clenches, and he makes no attempt to rebut the statement. “Who was meant to be guarding your door this evening?” He asks tiredly.

“Sir West.” You supply.

“Well. Rest assured that by sundown tomorrow he shall be thoroughly reprimanded for allowing this to happen.” He says, anger brewing under his carefully stoic features.

You sigh, but do not argue. You came for a reason, and you will not be distracted by his ire in your goals accomplishment.

You reach into your pocket, and produce a thick, blood red ribbon of finest velvet.

You hold it out, and he takes it, carefully not touching your hand, but where the ribbon hangs from your fingers.

“Best of luck in the morrow.” You say softly. You hope he understands what you really mean. What you cannot say.

You hope he knows you love him.

You turn back into the night before he can respond, the soft look of awe on his face, though the same each year, too great a source of pain and longing for you to take.

___________________________________________

Later that night, Jason lays on the temporary bed in his tent, staring at the ceiling as he idly runs the ribbon through each digit, feeling its weight, its softness. He slides it through his fingers, pulling it through and winding between each with his opposite hand. He closes his eyes and his breath shakes as he recalls its owner. Imagines it in her hair, tying it up, exposing her neck and …No. No. No.

He clenches his hand into a fist, his eyes snapping open. He was a knight. Her Knight, Her protector.

He would not dishonour her with his perverse thoughts.

He refused to.

She had done him a great kindness, in extending her favour. Clearly she knew of his affections, given his actions at the three Tournaments of Fata Morgana past even a woman could deduce the truth of his pathetic circumstance.

It was a great kindness indeed that she allowed him to indulge, one night a year in an unreciprocated fantasy, even feeding into it with this, the most generous of gifts.

Fata Morgana. An illusion. How terribly fitting, his lone solace, the one mercy he allowed his starved soul. To dance with her, once a year. To lay the wreath of roses in her hair, and pretend he was more. That he was worthy.

That he was not the second, adopted, common son of his father. That he hadn’t been sent off to be a squire so young that the Wayne estate no longer felt like home. That he had risen to his honoured rank of his position because he deserved it.

They’d said he was. The king had called him a hero. The people called him a legend. It would not surprise anyone if his story outlived him three generations. Jason Todd, the hero of the battle of Arkham. He had rallied his men, and turned what should have been a massacre into an unparalleled victory, but when the screams fell silent and the dust settled, he had disappeared. He had been declared dead. Turned into a martyr. A fallen hero.

Until he had been found in the woods of the Al Ghul estate, with no memory of who he was or how he came to be there, six months later.

The greatest of healers had helped his mind return - but what happened to him in the lost six months escaped him still.

His Father had asked him to recover at the Wayne estate. He had refused. He said it was duty. It was. But not to his king. It was duty to her, and to his heart. He had not spoken to his father since.

He knew she surely saw only a knight. How could she see more, given how little he was? A knight pinning after her to be sure, but not one she would seriously consider as a marriage prospect. He was not heir, afterall. He was not respected, he was a novelty. A fearsome novelty.

Sleep finds him eventually, a merciful reprieve from his spiralling consciousness. Only to take him away to the same nightmare he has had each night since his return.

That flash of sky, of rocks ascending skyward, the smell of salt and of decay. Pain. Nothing.

[bunnyinvanilla]

old!royal knight!john price x soft!young princess!reader

🗡️| just an idea I’ve had in mind for a long time, fluff, john is the captain of the royal army and you’re the king’s niece, of course laaaaarge age gap as always, john is in his mid 40s and reader is 21,

your fingers moved like a gentle, intimate lover against the pages of your book, bestowing your gaze to the the following chapter as you turned the pages — the early afternoon sun was your favorite, casting a golden and bright glow inside your room, shining over the walls like sunlight tapestry, and wrapping you in a blanket of warmth. 

a hand tapped against the back of your door, a feeble sound that pulled your eyes towards it like an invisible hand on your chin — you waited for the maid to let her presence be known, but only her voice echoed through the wooden door. 

“Your majesty, the Captain of the royal army is here, he’d wish to be attended”

you blinked your eyes, as sweet as a spring apricot, and carefully closed the book, placing it on the shelf of your window seat. Your uncle wasn’t home, meaning the Captain should’ve waited for his return, to be received — you were alone, reading in your chambers and spending your time between the loving hugs of your books, but as the only member of the royal family present at moment, you were expected to receive anyone who asked to be greeted. 

you were the youngest, barely even legal, and as the first niece of the king, who didn’t have any children of his own, you were loved as his own daughter, earning the title of princess — 

you walked nervously towards the living room, mentally praying your uncle could come back soon, having absolutely no clue what you could possibly serve the Captain with — the only things that occupied your mind, heart and free time being books, people from the village, animals and dresses. You had hoped a chaperon lady would accompany you, but rather you found yourself attending your duty alone. 

the creamy walls of the living room would have usually caught your attention upon walking through the room, with their soft and delicate color you liked so much, but this time, your eyes focused solely on the man standing right in front of the large window. 

your heart stilled, blood rushing through the quickening beats of your young, innocent heart and flowing into your cheeks, painting them a bright shade of red. 

“Your Majesty,” his voice rumbled like the far call of a distant thunderstorm, gruff and husky, and that roughness only fueled your blush as he walked closer, “Captain John Price, at your service” his hand, large and warm, gently took ahold of yours, bowing ever so slightly and pressing a light kiss on your palm, never adverting his gaze from yours. 

Captain John Price, a seasoned veteran of the Royal Army, stood as a paragon of discipline and unwavering resolve. His grizzled appearance, with a salt-and-pepper beard and weathered features, spoke of years spent on the frontlines, facing battles far from the safety of the royal halls — he reminded you of a grizzly bear.

clad in the dark, ceremonial armor of the king’s elite forces, he bore the weight of his rank with quiet authority — standing tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded the rugged strength of someone who had spent decades in the service of the crown. His build was muscular, honed from years of battle, and you, a young and blooming little girl, thought that he resembled the ‘buff’ body your many romance books told of..

his face was a map of his past: weathered and scarred, the lines of age and experience etched deeply into his skin, and you found him to be attractive, rugged in a charming way, with his thick, graying beard and mature lines — his hair, once a dark brown, had begun to turn a slight silver at the temples, he was clearly much, too much older than you, old enough to be your own father, seemed to be the same age as your uncle (little did you know, they’d known themselves for years)

“you…” your eyes flecked over his, seemingly starstruck, a naive awe that made you stare at him, blushing heavily, heart almost pounding out of your chest, briefly forgetting about your manners — but you quickly tried to regain your composure, shaking your head lightly and giving him the hint of a shy, sweet smile, lashes blinking delicately at him.

“please, sir, no need for such formalities, I’m not my uncle,”

he straightened his back, allowing his gaze to travel slowly, appreciatively along your whole body, such a young, pretty thing you were. 

“I’ve heard you’ve been looking for my uncle, but he’s not here unfortunately, so…” you nibbled on your lower lip, tilting your head “I don’t think I could be of any assistance with any of your questions regarding the, uhm, army.”

“I’m aware of his absence, princess” the corner of his mustache twitched slightly, “I was told upon my arrival, but I must make the most of my time no less, cannot go back to my soldiers without a royal summon, it is important for the upcoming mission”

you blinked, twice, dumbfounded, “you need a..royal report?”

“yes, princess,” he replied, authority and confidence dripping from every word, making a warm, unfamiliar tingle fill your belly, a knot that made it hard to breath “the king and I have decided that I shall come here to gather decisional informations about his will, before having my army carry their swords”

“I, well, have no idea what his will is, the king will definitely be more useful with his own judgment,” 

he looked at you with an unreadable expression, entertained by your humble tenderness, politeness and sweetness, he could practically taste the inexperience and innocence dripping off you, and it made something stir deep inside of him, a growing, illicit hunger and desire

maybe it was your dress, how it ended slightly above your knees, it wasn’t long and luxurious, but rather short and modest, your long hair didn’t carry a large crown, but a thin, sparkling tiara that possibly weighed less than his sword. “what about you, princess?” 

“me..?” you hesitated, slightly lifting your brows, you? what could you possibly know about war? “personally..in my modest opinion, I ween you should simply interrupt the war” 

stupor crossed his intense, calculating eyes, and you expected him to laugh at you, but a spark of amusement came by his gaze, curiosity even — how odd, for a princess as young as you, to reveal such a drastic measure

“Interrupt the war, you say?”

“I, uhm..” you timidly shrugged your shoulders, your fingers fidgeting with your ring — his eyes fell on it, awareness grew into his war scattered, old heart: a purity ring. 

“I must admit I keen nothing about the current war, but if I have learned something, is that it can never bring anything good, and people should simply cease them, just as easily as they start them,” you dared a glance towards his unmoving stance, his eyes bore focused on yours, and you’d ever felt so seen or listened before. 

“they’re unnecessary, just an arrogant and terrible way to prove strength, and..well” you swallowed on your own words, shyness wrapping around you like your so loved lace ribbons, and gave him a gentle smile “In my humble opinion, that course of action may not be the best, im a firm believer and defender of kindness, even between enemy legions”

he smirked, dozens and dozens of years behind his back, and he’d never come across such a pure innocence before — oh, dear, protected by the nightmares of this world, the reality of war, so naive it made him almost undeserving to stand in such a pure presence.

he only shifted his position, unclenching his jaw and regarding you with slight tilt of his head, “well, princess, I’ll make sure to take your advice at heart, though I must admit, if it were this simple, I would not still be fighting battles since before you were even born, your highness,”

“i admit it might sound juvenile coming from me, i know my uncle owes you deep respect, and although this is my first time seeing you, I’ve heard about the many conquers under your name, sir,” you blinked again, your big, doe eyes tantalizing the hunter inside of him — you’d never seen him before, only heard about his reputation in the army, and wished your uncle had introduced him to you. “therefore, I’m flattered to be able to stand before you, Captain Price”

who knew the king had such a young, sweet little niece? you looked like a trembling fawn underneath his gaze, a fragile bunny wrapped in innocence, someone who could use his protection, who’d look good sitting on his lap, who could be the perfect trophy and gift for an old, experienced, weary soldier who served the crow his entire life.

he grinned, knowing what to answer the king, next time he asked him what he desired as a offering gift for his service to the crown.

[pendragonsclotpole]

help, i just got slapped in the face with the existence of WILL. be still my beating heart as i write an essay on this man, will of ealdor

firstly, i adore the silent and implicit trust hidden in the first joke that introduces will’s character. like merlin’s been aware his whole life that if his secret is ever found out, he will be hunted down and persecuted, but here comes will with a jab that they both inherently understand is a joke in the macabre style only true friends can lovingly master. the smile they share almost immediately gives me ned stark and robert baratheon meeting again in the courtyard of winterfell in season one of got. there’s also something so normal in their interaction that speaks of a familiarity borne from their equal status and years of friendship. i know merlin’s friends in camelot tend to skew to the non-royal/non-noble, but when you tally it up, those closest to merlin often hold some title that’s greater than merlin’s role as arthur’s servant. gwaine is a knight implied to be of noble blood; lancelot, percival, and elyan are also knighted and esteemed members of arthur’s court; gwen is the lady morgana’s maid and close companion long before she is ever queen; gaius is a physician and long time member of camelot’s court; morgana before her betrayal is literally uther’s ward. i feel like when placed among them all, merlin has a tendency to fade into the background offscreen. obviously the audience knows how important merlin is to the overall story given how much of the storyline focuses on him, and the characters regularly acknowledge merlin’s importance to them or arthur, but all of them still regard merlin as merlin the servant from camelot and few of them are privy to the plots we as the audience see firsthand. and even when they acknowledge him for his merits, his role as arthur’s close friend and confidante takes precedence. look at leon’s reaction in the later seasons when merlin is bewitched by morgana. merlin literally makes a comment about plotting to kill arthur and leon barely even blinks before quipping back, “driving you mad isn’t he?” or something along those lines. except for a few instances with even fewer characters, they never get a chance to know him as merlin the sorcerer from ealdor.

will does! and more than that, he got to know merlin as he is without arthur. we all hype up their status as magical soulmates but damn if i wasnt living for how jealous of arthur will seemed to be in this episode. call me crazy, but it makes me desperately headcanon a realistic past in ealdor for merlin, full of hardship and strife, but never without it’s moments of happiness. furthermore, will’s lone appearance in season one shines some real light on the unfairness of the fate that has been bestowed on meelin. the moment that will points out why he’s been so obstinate with arthur really strikes a deep chord. sure it could be just jealousy, but more compellingly, i choose to read it as a deep sense of care for merlin. everyone merlin has met within camelot, (or reunited with in the case of his own mother) has continually pushed him closer and closer to arthur. will presents a crucial exception. he knows exactly who merlin was before camelot, and who merlin is completely separate from arthur.

will is staunchly in merlin’s corner, and that position allows him to identify a key characteristic of merlin’s series’ long arc: his complete devotion to arthur. will even points it out himself: merlin could singlehandedly defend their home if he just used the full extent of his power. merlin doesn’t, and actively chooses not to because of his desire to stay close to arthur. it’s such a small moment, but i think it demonstrates how much of merlin’s decisions become motivated by his desire to stay close to arthur and to always put arthur first, even at a detrimental cost to himself. merlin understands and readily accepts arthur as his destiny, but this acceptance does not come about independently, instantly, or of merlin’s own volition. it does so eventually, but initially merlin sticks by arthur’s side because of the encouragement of everyone around him. “arthur needs you, merlin” or “arthur is your destiny, merlin” or “arthur is a good man, merlin. he has the potential to be a great king, he just needs the right people, merlin.” its codependent as hell.

sure, merlin originally does not tell arthur about his magic because they do not know each other and as far as merlin knows revealing his magic would lead to his death, but eventually the reasoning changes and becomes so focused on doing what’s best for arthur. merlin can’t tell arthur because then arthur would have to kill him and then who would look after arthur or ensure his fate? merlin can’t tell arthur because if arthur chooses to defy uther’s law, merlin is then forcing arthur to turn against his father and how could he look after arthur then? merlin can’t tell arthur because another betrayal from magic would ruin everything and truthfully, he wonders how would arthur react? merlin comes to fear what his magic might do to arthur and what it’s reveal might mean for his place in camelot more than the laws of camelot and their verdicts.

by this logic, merlin is a magical solar system orbiting entirely around the celestial body known as arthur pendragon. eventually merlin cared more about his relationship with arthur and what arthur thought about him than his own life. in retrospect, it’s so sad that will died so early on, because it strips merlin of a person solely in his corner. will’s death is the first in the series’ long pattern of loss that merlin endures and that eventually comes to define him because people either find out about his magic and their knowledge is directly tested against his loyalty to arthur, or he cannot allow them to know about his magic because it will unravel his relationship with arthur.

will, freya, balinor, morgana, mordred, arthur.

also the fact that will covered for merlin’s use of magic in his last moments just adds to the tragedy AND the growing pile of moments merlin could have told arthur about his magic but didnt. and also the fact that will literally died to save arthur. like tell me that just doesn’t prove my point. tell me. will never stood a chance. tell me every aspect of merlin’s life does not get consumed by arthur pendragon.

i’m all for merthur being soulmates, but god the original series is rife with the unbalanced mess of merlin being wholeheartedly aware of arthur’s great potential and destiny leading to some intense devotion and faith that yes, arthur earns and pays back in full measure but can never fully reciprocate because he just does not know anything. by the triple goddess, it can get so toxic. i wish will had lived if just for that. and like the jealousy arthur gets whenever merlin has other people. because i 100% live for possessive arthur and protective merlin dynamics.

[heartfullofleeches]

I remember there was an ask about Damsel with a weak darling.

What if there is a knight that tried to upstage weak darling? What would Damsel do?

They can see it in your eyes.

The total erasure of hope and will to fight on. For a knight, such lose would surely spell in death, but the ally you swore to protect til last breath has prove time and time again they'd place their own life as bargain for your yours. Pathetic- how could someone like you call themselves a hero. They deserve better. A knight who ran into danger as opposed to waiting for it to find them. A hero noble and brave - like the challenger who has approached you in battle for your maiden's hand.

"There you are!"

Golden hair blocks your view of the risen sun. The accompanying party tucks the end of their flowing skirt beneath them as they sit with you in the grass. Their hands pull your head to their chest and your arms from your lap - their voice a haunting lullaby as lace biting the skin of your wrist draws you from the trance it pulls you under. You inspect the charm, curiosity written in every move.

"What is this?"

"You're worried about your upcoming battle, aren't you? As long as you wear this you will never lose a fight as it's infused with my faith in you, and an even stronger magic no one can snuff out."

"And this is?...."

"My love."

The dread in the pit of your stomach returns, but with it comes a glimmer of hope. You're sure to lose this fight, but you'll give it your all as promised in the past and go out like a true hero. That determination, and the way you hug your wrist to your chest as they leave is all Damsel needs to know that in their eyes you will always be the hero of their fairytale.

-

Damsel finds your rival on the opposite side of the field. It's true that they are strong, but their vanity - and the audacity to make ill of your name muddies any praise the royal had for them. Practicing for battle, their blade and a single drop to the earth as Damsel approaches. The knight rises from their bow without given word and reaches for their hand. Damsel recoils as if touching hot stones. Repulsive.

"Fair maiden. It.. is an honor. Have you come to congratulate me on my winnings so soon?"

Damsel's smile never falters - disgust corroding their core with every second they hold it steady. "Not quite. Since as I've given my knight a present it is only fair that I give you one too. Hold out your hand."

The rival knight stands with a grin as they extend their hand. Their expression drops to that of discomfort as their skin pairs with Damsel's. Their complexion is not as soft as first look would lead to belive. Their skin is sticky, stretching like raw honey as the knight attempts to back. It is with horror and a numbing pain firing up the length of their arm that they're attached to this monstrosity by thin barbs poking from their palms.

"It's true that my knight isn't the strongest, but there's so much so this world and them than strength. They are brave... Kind.... The most selfless and charming knight this land will ever see, but there's one more important than that and what separates you from them most of all..."

Crashing to their knees, a stray whimper leaves the knight's throat as Damsel's free hand nears their face - stroking falling tears into their skin. The pain in their arm and body is gone. There is nothing anymore - same as them.

"They still have their head."

[somelazyassartist]

To go with my last post about Thistle acting capital-W Weird™ around Laios, it really does make perfect sense when you think about their history from Thistle's perspective instead of through Laios' like we actually see.

Imagine being Thistle, and you're like, I don't know, 14, and you're the royal court jester and adoptive son of your King. And you just got a baby brother and you're so excited about it. It is, without doubt, the happiest day of your life so far. While you're celebrating a few of your family's servants and guards come in to help. One seems somewhat confused about the situation but you probably assume he's just a new hire, it makes sense to bring in added security when there's a new prince around. You don't see this knight again anytime afterwards, but you're not exactly in charge of hiring or firing guards, so it's not really any of your business where he wandered off to.

You are Thistle, and you're now probably around 40 or so, still rather young for an Elf but a fine young man nonetheless. You're all dressed up to the nines and eager to perform your newest flute composition in honor of your little brother's wedding, and you're so, so proud of how far he's come. You helped your father raise him well. And just as the ceremony's about to kick up, and the people are starting to get drunk and make merry and dance, the King, your father, collapses. Poison, assassination, you hear people cry out. But as you run towards him you slam right into one of your guards- and have the extremely fleeting thought of "WAS that one of our guards? I haven't seen them around but they seem so familiar somehow"- but as soon as the thought occurs you're snapped right back into the present, and the fact that your father was murdered right in front of your eyes, and that you couldn't do a thing to stop it.

It's been a small time now, enough that you've had time to lay your King to rest, and to prepare your brother for the throne. It's his coronation day. You should be happy- you are PROUD, of course, of how far your little brother has come- but it is not the joyous day that you would have hoped for, and instead one of mourning for you. And looking around the room as the Kingdom's crown changes bearers, you see a guard, rather out of place. And this time, you have time to process why he feels so strange here. You've seen this man before. You KNOW you've seen this man before. This is the man who you have seen exclusively on the best day of your life and the worst, with no trace of him elsewhere in your life, and he is here, now, again. And for one who is clearly a Tallman, he hasn't aged a single day. There is something wrong with him, and with you, and you feel that if you keep crossing paths it will only end in disaster for you. So you try to kill him. And he disappears, right in front of your eyes. You don't see him around after this. You pray you never will again.

You are now The Mad Sorcerer- no longer, even, the false name given to you by your King. Only the title used by those who want to kill you remains in people's minds. It's been so long now. You can't even count how many years it's been, but you know your life has reached centuries upon centuries past what you were meant to live. And so has everyone you've ever cared about. In these years you have done everything you can to preserve the last bit of what you can call home, trapping yourself and your entire kingdom in an oasis of immortality. So what if the people may grow to resent you? You're protecting them. It's not your fault people may mistake your kindness for cruelty. Though many adventuring parties have tried, none have gotten through your defenses, so as long as you keep focused on your goal things will be fine. Except for this last week or so, where one particularly troublesome party has been making their way further than most would dare venture. And you swear on your Kingdom's throne, if this party includes who you think it includes, you are going to have a fucking aneurysm.

You are the Lord of this Dungeon, and unfortunately for you, your house has just been broken into. Even more unfortunately for you, you know exactly who did it. When you step through your front door, everything is unsettlingly clean. You wonder why in the world the man following you for your entire life would take the time to tidy your house if he's here to psychologically torture you. And then a thought hits you like a punch to the gut, and you rush upstairs, and you see all of your diaries taken out of their hiding spots. And you know that if they took a look through them they would find roughly 200 pages of glittery pink gel pen writing out repeatedly,

✨ This motherfucker again ✨

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | analysis

i am putting near my all into this series because 1. i love visenya, she is so misunderstood and 2. doomed by narrative both romantic and familial ties do something to my angsty soul. princess y/n targaryen, you will always be famous to me. most of this is for you to understand more-so where the characters in this universe come from (near headcanons), i do love analyzing. here is a small analysis of rhaenyra and y/n's relationship as well as an introduction of erryk and y/n's,

"rhaenyra will be the daughter of westeros, as y/n will be the daughter of the dragons".

half return - adrianne lenker.

though the realm tends to nitpick at rhaenyra's and y/n's relationship as they expect y/n to be jealous of her sister, it does not impact their relationship for two reasons: 1. y/n may be the younger twin, but she protects her sister as if she were to be years her senior, 2. throughout the realm, men are sexist and misogynistic to girls, a sibling rivalry will not solve ones hierarchy.

when rhaenyra and y/n were younger, they'd often clash in the ideals of who got their parents attention, as viserys gave rhaenyra minutes of his time, he gave y/n seconds. this led to y/n being surrounded more by aemma, similar to that of maegor and visenya. this is also reminiscent of their dragons, as balerion was ridden by maegor- a bigger dragon than that of aenys's quicksilver who was the quarter of the size, and syrax is smaller than nymeria.

by the time of their 10th name day, y/n was fluent in high valyrian, though viserys was not impressed, but impressed with rhaenyra's progress into the language. y/n frequently restrained herself from being jealous of her sister seeing that her sister could not control how their father chose to father them. then of course, viserys's comment on comparing y/n to maegor as the entire realm distastefully uses his name as an insult, when the girls were much older.

"a kingsguard is no fit for a husband better yet, a princess".

the only exception - paramore.

ser erryk is knighted into the kingsguard with his twin, ser arryk. y/n was there as otto chose the twins to fill vacant spots of the guard, she was often present when it came to the concerns of the kingsguard, to which people whispered was akin to visenya. viserys's repeatedly attempted to get y/n out of combat affairs due to the maintenance of image, he did not want rumors to be further spread.

before the series begins, y/n and erryk have extremely brief conversations in passing, but enough for her to notice her intrigue in the knight. arryk was also starting to notice the affections that arose in his brother.

these two, well four if you want to include harwin and rhaenyra, are doomed by narrative and circumstance. though, when the affair begins, y/n is unaware of harwin and her sister, until she catches them. this is where the sibling rivalry almost begins seeing that she envies the fact that her sister can marry and then fulfill the duties to sire heirs with a different man, but it was rather because, harwin is not bound by oath- being lord commander of the city watch is a different ball game than a kingsguard, he did not hold a vow of chastity and abstinence. but erryk however did, though an oathbreaker, it hurt y/n greatly in the fact that there is always something standing in the way.

erryk sees a woman in her, not a princess, or a dragonrider. he sees the woman who is outspoken but overlooked in court. he sees the wielder of blackfyre and how gentle she is. he sees the woman who snorts when she is laughing intensely, he sees a woman the royal court cannot see. truth be told, he sees his past, present, and future with her.

taglist: @wolvestitches @callsignwidow

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Chapter Three - Anguish

Summary: The error of his ways is seen in a new light. Morpheus realizes that perhaps he is the monster he claims he is not.

Notes: ~7.4k words. This chapter flips between Reader and Morpheus a bit since they're not always together so I apologize if the timeline is confusing... Lightly edited, if you see the tenses switching between past and present, no you didn't

Warnings/Tags: more angst, self destruction/mental breakdown. Morpheus learning he's the problem

Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be added :)

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Anguish (n.) - extreme pain or suffering, both emotional and physical 

That night, the King doesn't join you at dinner. Your company is that of footmen and maids as they try to not stare at you eating alone at the long table. The next night, he doesn't show again, nor the next, nor the night after that. Matthew and you have begun to fall into a comfortable silence as he follows you around. 

The knight is starting to take his role more seriously and even resists eating another bug in front of you when you go back to your garden and tend to the nursery plants. In turn, you have started to talk to your plants, even if you know they won't respond back. You fear if you never use your voice again, it may as well be lost. 

A common bird in a golden cage, with no one to sing to. 

It is to none of your surprise when you walk into the private dining room and see the empty seat across from your place. Again. The royal chef always cooks enough for two, and he didn’t hold back tonight either. 

It is so unbearably quiet when you eat, you can hear each chew of your food, every scrap of your silverware against the plate, each clink of the glass back onto the table. Looking down at your half-eaten food, you’ve long lost your appetite. 

Perhaps you would’ve had your fill if your mind wasn’t constantly running with thoughts, feeding into your loneliness. These thoughts formed into hideous monsters that follow you no matter where you went in the palace. In every crevice, every nook, in every page you want to read. It was exhausting, to say the least. You could feel them as tingles on the back of your head and through the whispers of palace staff and attendants. 

“I am done for the night,” You announce as you push away your half-finished dinner. 

“Was the food not to your liking, Your Majesty?” A maid came by to take your plate as you stood. 

“It was adequate, I simply am done. Thank you.” You send a small smile to her before you leave. 

Matthew was waiting for you when you exited the room. His armor jostles as he stands up straight, seemingly surprised at how fast you finished your dinner. You don’t wait for him as you already set your sight on your bed, walking with purpose down the long halls. Your head was pounding, again, and sleep seemed like the perfect resolution to the problem. 

“Was the food that good?” He asks behind you. 

“I can’t complain, not any good as any bugs you have eaten?” You ask in a small joke. 

Mathew doesn’t bother with a response. He had in fact eaten bugs again, but this time nowhere near his queen in fear that Jessamy is going to randomly appear in front of him again. A blush creeps onto his cheeks as he thinks of the woman and he’s glad for the cover of his raven helmet. Whether the blush was from embarrassment or admiration, he isn't quite sure of yet.

“You can leave for the night, Matthew. I’m going straight to bed,” You say as soon as the two of you make it to your room. 

“I still can’t do that, as you know. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” Matthew comments and remains in position with no plans of leaving. 

With a sigh of resolution, you enter the room. The maids haven't arrived yet to light any candles, too busy eating their own dinners. So it was up to you to undress yourself. Thankfully, Agnes was kind that night and left the corset untieable by your hands. You pick a random nightgown to wear and head straight to bed. 

Your headache is still prevalent, but with your head against the cooling pillow, the intensity seems to dwindle slowly. Pulling the covers over your chin you close your eyes as you beg for sleep to come to you. 

♔♕

In a different part of the castle, sits Morpheus. He rubs his fingers against his temples as yet another piece of paper is placed down in front of him. Lucienne stands in front of his daunting desk with even more in her hands. His dinner plate has long since been forgotten, cold and with only a few bites taken out of it. The fork stabbed into the meat in a most unprofessional way; if his mother saw this, she would have his hands spanked. 

“Is this the last of it?” Morpheus asks slowly as he picks up the parchment. 

“Do you want me to lie… or…” Lucienne drags out the last syllable as she speaks. She peers at her King over her glasses as she does so. The stacks of papers in her hands were obvious enough. 

“Ha!” A new voice laughs.

“Something funny, Robert?” Morpheus basically spits out his name. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know laughing was banned in the castle,” The man holds up his hands in fake surrender. He lays languidly on some grand couch, a hand resting over his eyes and his legs folded over each other. “Also, seriously, we’ve been friends for how long? Just call me Hob.”

“No,” Morpheus mutters and returns his attention back to the paper on hand. Hob throws out his hands in exasperation as he gives a look to Lucienne, who only returns it with a shrug. 

The markings on the large piece of parchment were starting to swirl together, or his eyes were beginning to become crossed. Either way, there was no way he could make out anything. With a groan, he throws the paper back on the table and rests his head on the back of his chair. 

Flashes of his discussions today play in his mind. There was the possibility of a drought this year, and last year’s food rations had already run out. He needs to think of something for the farmers. Desire’s pettiness is still willing to wage some unknown war on his kingdom, but he currently has no information about their plans, only that they managed to wrangle Despair into their plans. Then, his out-of-commissions brother, who decided to leave the country to “find himself.” Whatever that means. 

Then there was his wife who he hadn't seen for several days in hopes of avoiding you. His lover who won’t even speak to him alone. His older sister, whom he has no idea where she is. There was too much on his plate, and he could feel each new task weighing down on his shoulders. 

With another groan, he presses his palms into his eyes, making swirling patterns behind his eyelids. When he opens them again, Lucienne is waiting patiently for him. 

“Shall we stop here for the night, my lord?” She asks. 

“Gods, please, let’s stop now.” Hob comments, voice slowly slurring as he fights sleep. 

“Robert, you did not help at all. How can you be tired?” Morpheus glares at his friend though he knows he can’t see him do so. 

Hob doesn’t bother with a verbal response, instead faking a loud snore with a slight smirk on his lips. 

“Let us continue,” Morpheus sighs and picks up the parchment for the third time.

“Actually, there is something I wanted to bring up,” Lucienne pauses and waits for Morpheus’ attention before she continues. “Just gossip, really… There’s rumors going around that you didn’t consummate your wedding, is it true?”

“The rumors… are quite true,” Morpheus admits, unable to lie to his loyal advisor. 

Surprise takes over Lucienne’s face as she hears the news. She blinks as she tries to think of an appropriate response. Witnessing how the two of you acted a few days ago, she felt as if something was off, but she didn’t think it was because of this. 

“Then you must consummate at once, it’s for the betterment of the kingdom,” She responds calmly, holding his gaze. 

“Is it?” He huffs out a small, fake laugh. The question was not at all genuine, and sarcasm lay heavily within it. “It is none of anyone’s concern except ours. Though, you should find a way to stop the rumors. They are doing more harm than good within my walls.”

Lucienne does little to hide the displeased look on her face. Why was it her responsibility to stop the rumors, didn’t Morpheus just say the concern is none of hers? 

“He’s saying he can’t get laid, is all I’m hearing,” Hob voices his thoughts once more. 

“Stop jesting or I will hang you by your inflated head,” Morpheus growls at him.

“No, you won’t. Or else you lose 50% of your friends. And that, my friend, is some pretty bad math.” Hob scoffs.

The titled royal heaves as he sits up, his outfit having long since wrinkled from his position. The tunic was starting to wrap a bit tighter around his abdomen and he swears he will start exercising the next day. Perhaps get back into the sport of hunting before his body gets wasted away. But that was a thought for the next day, or the day after if tomorrow didn’t suit his taste. 

“Ignoring him,” Lucienne quickly interjects the two men loudly. “I think it wise if you were to do something for your wife. If she doesn’t look so forlorn, perhaps the rumors will stop on their own. They’re obviously feeding off something.” 

The message was clear for both Lucienne and Hob: “You’re acting like a shit husband and everyone can tell.” Morpheus was willing to brush off the topic, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind agreed with them. He stares at the bracelet that wraps itself on his wrist, following the red string that intertwined with the black. The King doesn’t voice it often, or ever for that matter, but Lucienne and Hob’s company were always appreciated. 

The king taps his finger against the wooden desk in thought.

Fate.

What a horrible thing. 

“I will think of something.” His words were the final verdict of the night. 

♔♕

Your morning starts as it always has. With a sharp tug of the bell, Agnes’ face is the first to greet you. Sleep is still evident on your face, the early retirement last night wanting you back in its grasp. Agnes and her maids dress you in something simple today, the weather is far too hot for anything else. 

“Anything planned for me today?” You gasp as your lady’s maid pulls the last string on the corset. She should become a sailor instead if she can tie ropes this tight. 

“None of your schedule, Your Majesty.” She responds as she backs away from you, a satisfied smile on her face as she gives you one last look over. 

“Great,” You grit through your teeth. Same as always then. 

Agnes gives a curtsy and she and her army of maids leave you once more. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you cross your arms over yourself. The self-hug was all you had going for you. Long since another person touched you and even if you missed the way your mother treated you, you long for her gentle touches on your scalp. 

With a deep breath you open the door, perhaps a little more forceful than necessary. As always, Matthew is waiting for you. This time, however, he’s standing with his hand raised in a fist, ready to knock on the door before you open it. 

“You scared me,” You say with a sharp intake of breath. “And why are you staring at me like that?” If you were wearing pearls today, you might as well be clutching them. 

“G’morning, boss lady!” Matthew greets you as he looms over you in his armor. It was ironic how stoic his armor set made him look, only for his personality to be the complete opposite of it. 

“Is there a special occasion?” You reply with a smile. This was the first time he used the term “boss lady” for you and you remember him asking ever so nicely those days ago. 

“The king handed me this, he said it was for you and that special locked door we found on your first day here.” Matthew opens his palms and a single key is laid within it. 

When you go to pick it up, it’s heavy and rustic and reminds you of something that would lock up the basement. There was a small note attached to it which read “something for you to do” written in excellent penmanship by His Majesty. 

“He touched me…!” Matthew’s voice gushes a mile away in your head as you reread the note. Morpheus remembered that you wanted something to do. That was new, you were sure he had even forgotten you existed ever since that unplanned visit in the gardens. 

“That makes one of us,” You mutter back at him. The snide comment didn’t process all that well in your mind before it launched itself from your mouth. 

“Do you think it means I’m blessed by the Gods now?” Matthew asks, choosing to ignore the statement. 

“More like cursed…” You respond absentmindedly again.

Your fingers go to touch the bracelet the Crone had given you. You did try to take it off your wrist, several times. But each time proved futile as the string just twists tighter around your wrist until your hand turns purple. It only returned to its normal size after you stopped fiddling with it. Blessed by the Fates or cursed? At this point, you’re starting to think these two are the same thing. 

The string bracelet glows with a soft and warm touch as you touch it this time. Perhaps there is hope for the two of you yet; a gesture was a start. At the very least, Morpheus hasn’t forgotten about you. 

Before you know it, you stand before the grand doors once more. Its secrets are no longer hidden from you as you insert the key. With a sharp jiggle, the key turns and the resounding click of the large locking mechanism opens for you. A simple push was enough to open the doors. 

Rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of books greeted you. Staircases and ladders ascended upwards to even more beautifully bound pages of knowledge, other worlds, and art. Your jaw slackens at the sheer beauty of it. 

Natural light was in abundance as you see dust and dust sprites floating in the air. The dust sprite glowed brightly, the only thing you could make out was their insanely fast-beating wings as one flew past you. Their chatters were nothing but the sound of jingling bells and gibberish as they held conversations with each other. One sneezed, a light sound and new dust exploded into the air. 

They part as you walk into the library, running your fingers across the spines of a few books. The feeling of parchment and bound leather briefly remind you of home and the library it housed as well. Though this was much grander, the sentiment was still felt. 

Muffled human voices catch your attention, and when you round the corner a familiar face greets you.

“Lucienne,” You say excitedly and your smile grows when she acknowledges you. 

“My Lady!” She says in surprise, eyebrows shooting to the high heavens. 

“Oh… the something he thought of…” The other person whispers to himself. 

When he notices that your attention is on him, he clears his throat and introduces himself. 

“Sir Robert, erm, Hob Gadling of Bourneberrel.” He drops an exaggerated bow, flourishing his arms as he does so. An easy smile rests on his lips as he comes back up. 

“Bourneberrel? I haven’t traveled there before,” You respond. 

“Ah, good wine, even better hunting grounds. I would love to host Her Majesty over the summer.” Hob’s arms are spread out as he describes his land to you with a tone of nostalgia. 

“I would be delighted, so long as our King finds privy to the idea.”

“Eh, knowing him, I unfortunately doubt he will.” Hob rubs his earlobe as his plans suddenly fall apart before they can form. 

“How do you know him? The King?” You ask, sudden interest perked.

“Oh, our families are old friends, been with him since we started primary school together. Though, that’s nothing to our Lucienne here. She’s been here since they were both in diapers,” Hob explains with a soft smile. He gestures to Lucienne as he does so, who is more interested in rearranging books at the moment than the conversation. 

“So the two of you must be familiar with royal life,” You say.

“I would say so, I spend more time here than in my own estate. Though, my late wife would not have complained much,” Hob sighs with a distanced look. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, my condolences for your loss.”

Hob nods at your comment, thanking you silently for your condolences. He misses his wife and his son whom he left out of conversation. It would have made it all the more depressing and he didn’t want to make your life any more difficult. Perhaps in a different time and circumstance, with a little bit of alcohol in his system. 

A silent pause fills the room, only accompanied by the squeak of the chair as Hob sits back down and Lucienne files through her books. You turn to leave, no longer wishing to bother the two. However, something stops you and you turn back around.

“Is there something that I can do here?” You chew the inside of your cheek after you ask. Your breath held in anticipation in hopes that there would be something.

“Is there anything Your Majesty pertains to?” Lucienne's question comes soon after. Her glasses fall down her nose a bit and she pushes it back in place with the back of her finger. 

You think for a moment, looking around at the library. You enjoyed reading, but that was something you could do on your own time. If Lucienne was going to offer you something to do, it should be worth thinking about. You dig through your hobbies and when you decide on one, you look her dead in the eyes and speak. 

“Painting, is there anything here for painting?” You take another step forward towards Lucienne at your request. It may be a long shot, but it’s worth asking. 

Lucienne and Hob share a look, exchanging a conversation using only their eyes. After a particular look from Lucienne, Hob stands and beckons you to follow him. Excitement courses through you as you fall in step with him. You fight back a smile as the two of you venture further into the library. 

Hob leads you to another set of doors. He stops and takes a deep breath, then he opens them to a studio. Easels, canvases, unfinished pieces, and paint buckets greet you as he leads you further inside. Dust sprites scurry away in fright at the sudden intrusion, whizzing past your hair. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Matthew flinch at the sudden intrusion and you wonder if he got spooked by the sprites or if he was fighting back the urge to grab one for a taste. Matthew moves to stand by the door, guarding the entrance as Hob continues speaking. 

“This is, was…sorry, my wife’s studio,” He says after a deep breath. His finger glides across an unfinished portrait of him and his wife. 

Hob looked happier in the painting, clean-shaven and fit. His wife hung onto him by his arm, but her face was unfinished, leaving only a blank canvas of her skin tone. Hob thought he was over the death of his sweet Eleanor, but grief never truly leaves you, does it? It waits in the memories of your treasured loved ones and hurts you all the same when you recall them. 

“I can not possibly take this from you…” You say softly as you watch him. His face falls as he finds another canvas, this time of a young man.

“My son,” He cries out as he holds the canvas in his shaking hands. “Forgive me,” He apologizes as he sees you staring at him, his own vision blurring from his tears. 

Hob is quick to leave the studio, the portrait of his son still in his arms. Before he fully leaves the space, he turns to you. 

“I want you to know that I do not regret coming back here.” He pauses to collect himself. “These memories… They are sad but they are all I have of my family. My wife, she would have wanted it if you showed this studio love again.”

Hob leaves by shutting the door and you hear him sigh once more on the other side before his footsteps recede. It takes a few moments longer for you to unstick yourself from your position. You explore the space a bit more, occasionally looking towards the door in case Hob returns and goes back on his words. 

Reluctantly, you set up a blank canvas on the easel and begin to paint. Finally, there was somewhere to put your emotions to. Your thoughts take control of the brush as it swipes across the linen canvas. It dips, swipes, swirls, and blots as an image slowly begins to form. 

You place everything you could into the image, the emotions that you’ve bottled up since you’ve arrived. What were you doing wrong here? Was it enough to really harbor such hate from Morpheus? From the helpers and gossip mongers that will never truly know you for who you are? 

When you set your brush down, you stare at the art you’ve produced. A lone swan in a vast lake has its head hung low. The scenery was beautiful, but the algae and duckweed around the lone animal were slowly dying as it cried out for help. 

♔♕

Another week has passed since you arrived at the library. And like every night, Morpheus doesn’t show up for dinner. Instead, he stays alone in his office, having long since dismissed Lucienne from her duties for the night. He sits pondering, his entire day he wondered if you liked the gift he gave you. He’s heard of your exploration adventures and knows of your attempts to enter the library. 

Lucienne’s library isn’t the only one in the castle, but it certainly is the most special. Not only is it the largest, but only a select few may enter it. Last week, you would’ve joined the concise list of guests permitted within its walls. 

Morpheus tells himself it was so it would be easier to face you when the two of you have to host the Summer Eclipse Gala that’s coming soon. On that day, once every year, the celestial lovers Sun and Moon meet. For that one night, the people of the Dreaming drink, dance, and feast until they can no longer understand the physical world. Then, when the total eclipse locks in place, it sends the kingdom into darkness for the rest of the day. 

It was a wondrous occasion, even he cannot deny it. At the very least, the two could pretend to be amiable during the celebration. They would have to put up a unified front so as not to spread any more rumors about their marriage. However much Morpheus hated the idea of it. 

Time passes as he stays within his thoughts, before he knew it the moon was high in the sky. Its fullness illuminated his path as he took a midnight stroll. It had recently rained, covering the colonnade to his gardens in a thin layer of water. Petichor follows him from the castle to the outdoors as he breathes in the earthy scent. 

He doesn’t really know where he’s going, only that when he is out here, no one can bother him; no responsibilities could chase him. He didn’t have to be king in the dead of night. When it was simply the moon, gentle and caring as She, he could breathe. The moon’s dominion over the night sky casts a blue glow over his figure, illuminating his pale skin as he basks in Her guidance with closed eyes. 

When he opens them again, a small flickering figure stands before him. The figure grows two flame-like limbs and motions Morpheus towards itself. The will-o-the-wisp glows a warm yellow and slowly turns purple when Morpheus walks closer to it. He glances at the moon one last time before the will-o-the-wisp disappears. 

Just as it disappears, another one appears further down the path. Slowly, it turns purple just as the last did when Morpheus walks closer. The will-o-the-wisp lead him further from his original path, taking him deep into the gardens. His pants gather leftover raindrops as he walks across the flowers. 

When he looks in disgust at his foot after stepping in a particularly deep puddle, he notices that the will-o-the-wisps he had been following have gathered around his legs. They dance between his legs and try to untie his shoelaces, though with their astral bodies, they find difficulty in doing so. Morpheus only rolls his eyes as another one gathers with its friends and a new yellow will-o-the-wisp beckons him again. 

A soft humming pulls him out of his small quest and he notices that the will-o-the-wisp no longer appeared. He follows the humming, and in the pale moonlight, he sees you. The will-o-the-wisp that gathered around him trill in excitement as they notice you as well. They fly towards you so fast their flames almost flickered out in the cool night air. 

Morpheus watches in awe, jaw slackening as you move across the pavilion under the moonlight. If the moon was kind to him, then She absolutely dotes on you. Her light hugs your figure like a cloak, passing through the fabric of your clothing, and leaves close to nothing to the imagination. Morpheus finds himself unable to move, simply entranced by your beauty.

He stands as the will-o-the-wisp surrounds you, holding hands as they dance with you. Your humming continues, not noticing the little fire sprites. Your feet were bare and you wore simple clothing, as if you had snuck out of your room not too long ago. Your arms were held up as if dancing with an imaginary partner as you twirled again across the mosaic flooring. 

Morpheus recalls the conversation you two shared on your eventful wedding night, about how you loved to dance. How much has he avoided you to the point of you dancing alone in the middle of the night? The question zips across his mind like an icicle to lava and guilt takes over him. Just as fast as it appeared, he buried it deep and let anger take its place instead. He needed to have a serious conversation with his eldest brother. At his departure, the will-o-the-wisps leave your side and follow Morpheus. His robe billows behind him as he abruptly turns, the sound hidden behind the whispers of the wind, leaving you all the more ignorant to his presence.

♔♕

It was easier said than done to sneak out of your own room. Matthew, ever loyal to his station, was posted outside your door. And no matter how long you waited by it, listening carefully for his unforgettable snoring so you could sneak past him, midnight came sooner. 

Your room was becoming stuffy and even standing out on the balcony felt like you were trapped. You only considered it once, barely fornicating the plan in your head before you threw yourself over the ledge and climbed down the ivy that scaled the side of the castle. The bark was surprisingly soft under your skin as you slowly made your way downwards. 

When your feet touch the cooling grass beneath you, a smile erupts from your face. Goosebumps scatter across your body as the night air easily nips through your sleepwear but you pay it no mind as you begin to wander. Eventually, you find yourself back in the royal gardens. A pavilion with astronomical stars scattered beneath you greets you in the dead of night. 

You peek around you, even though you’re sure no one would be awake so late. Then, carefully, you tiptoe onto the pavilion, the stone proving much colder than the grass. You don’t mind, though, and slowly begin to hum to yourself to fill the silence of the night. Humming turns to dancing as you pretend you aren’t dancing alone, but rather attending a grand ball where you get to wear your favorite dress and gems. When you close your eyes, you hear laughter as you twirl, and the sound of glass clinking against each other. The wind blows and you swear you could hear the draw of strings as the orchestra begins their next piece. 

A twig snaps and echoes across the garden and you stop, your eyes opening quickly. The full moon gave you enough light to see a silhouette hidden within the trees, but not enough to make out who it was. You suddenly feel exposed and slowly back away from the silhouette. Matthew’s name perches on the tip of your tongue at any given notice. 

“Well, hello there,” The silhouette speaks and comes into the moonlight. He joins you in the pavilion, hands placed inside his suit pockets. 

His smile was charismatic, posture perfect, and any question as to whether or not he was a part of the palace would have been thrown out the window. Yet…

“Can you see out of those?” You ask cautiously as you stare at his dark glasses. 

He chuckles at your straightforward question, but it doesn’t pass you when he doesn’t answer it. Instead, he asks his own. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You don’t answer him and risk turning your head back in the direction you came from. 

“A whooole lotta dangerous people out there y’know. Even within the castle walls.” He continues and takes a step closer to you. His voice carried a slight accent to it

“Who are you?” You reply, taking your own step back to maintain the distance, feeling the edge of the pavilion on your heels as you do so. 

“Our, oh so gracious, King calls me the Corinthian. Sends me out when there’s dirty work to be done…” He looks at your figure slowly with a deep sigh.

“Am I… dirty work?” You ask. The tremor in your voice was hard to hide, at the very least you’d say it’s because of the cold air, but then you’d both know you’re lying. 

The Corinthian chuckles again, this time open-mouth and towards the sky. “Ah, no, I can’t lay a finger on Your Majesty,” He sucks in his breath through his teeth.

His comment held a certain lilt of sarcasm in it, and it didn’t at all help you feel any more at ease in front of him. Saying he can’t doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to or could. He’s simply obligated by something that’s holding him back. 

Something about this man was dangerous even though he desperately tried to hide it behind his aloof manners. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Corinthian,” An obvious lie, a perfect farewell. “But, I’m afraid I must be going now.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. Sweet dreams.”

You risk another look behind you to make sure to not fall off the pavilion, but when you turn back around, the Corinthian is gone just as fast as he appeared. With one last look around, you begin your way back to your room. Your walk slowly turned into a pace as your eyes darted across the dark garden, any shadow reminding you of him. Soon enough, you’re panting hard as you barrel through the gardens on pounding feet. 

You look behind you as you begin to scale the ivy to your room and close the door with a slam, locking it, and pulling the curtains tight. The room turns pitch black and you light a candle to illuminate the space. That night, you slept with the candle going, something you hadn’t done since you were a child. 

It felt childish, but the fear that followed you from that pavilion was anything but. You swallow your beating heart as you lay in your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you count the swirls once again. Tomorrow morning, you will ask Agnes for more Natterhorn milk to be added to your bath. Matthew will be outside your door should anything happen and he will greet you tomorrow morning just as he always has. When you close your eyes for the night, you dream of teeth. 

♔♕

To others, he was the archbishop of the church, the one who speaks the will of Gods, the Reverend Destiny. But to Morpheus, he was simply Potmos, his eldest brother. Morpheus finds him within the rose maze of his garden, as he often does. Destiny rarely spends time in his church, except for special occasions, as he hears the voices of Gods no matter where he goes. 

In the dead of night, Destiny wanders, the faint clinking of his chained book the only sound he produces. He leaves no footprint, and Morpehus only finds him when the smell of dust and books grows heavy. 

“Potmos,” Morpheus seethes at him. 

Slowly the archbishop turns, his hood covering his pale eyes. He doesn’t speak, waiting patiently for his younger brother to start speaking to him. Morpheus storms closer as the will-o-the-wisp follows close behind. As the sprites slowly come to recognize their master, they leave Morpheus’ side, and with more trills, they fly under Destiny’s cloak to hide. 

“What games are you playing at? Will-o-the-wisps?” Morpheus accuses, adamantly pointing at Destiny’s feet. 

Once again, Destiny stays quiet as he listens to his brother's rant. Anger was evident on his face, but if he was willing to dig deeper, even his blind eyes could see the small boy drowning in guilt. He feels the will-o-the-wisps dancing around under his robes, their fire tickling his exposed ankles. Will-o-the-wisps came to him soon after his powers did as a small gift from the Gods. 

From that day on, he was no longer Potmos, crowned prince of the kingdom, but merely Archbishop Destiny. His job now was to make sure that the Gods’ voices were heard and their plans were placed into action. An idea all too novel to Morpheus, who seeks control over anything he could set his hands on.

“If the will-o-the-wisps led you to your fate, I am not one to deny their claims.”

“She is not my fate. I do not love her.” Morpheus can’t bring himself to even say your name. 

“Perhaps not now, but it is fated. She was created for you, you are created for her. Sun and Moon, Light and Dark, Land and Sea. Balance in duality, my brother.” Comes Destiny’s answer. 

“I do not love her. It is forced love. Fate cannot tell me who to love, I choose to love Calliope, I wish to have her.” Morpheus whispers the last few words, mainly to himself. Destiny, as always, hears them. 

“Does she wish to have you?” Destiny asks instead. 

The question strikes him hard, like a cold, hard slap of reality to the face. Ever since that conversation with her on his wedding night, Calliope had been the one to ignore him; not at all dissimilar to how he had been avoiding you. 

Morpheus was unwilling to come to fruition with the truth and he turned to anger once more. Grabbing at Destiny’s book, he opens it and watches as the pages flip to the page he needs. He faces the book towards his older brother and points at the names written in golden ink. There were plenty of other words written on the page, about unification, about soulmates, but he looks past all of that. 

“This,” He jabs his finger where he signs his name next to yours. “This is why I ‘love’ her. It is not real.”

“It is real. Open your eyes.”

Morpheus shuts the book with force, the slam echoing in the hedge maze. It only floats back gently into Destiny’s after he drops it. Morpheus storms off, arguing with Destiny is like arguing with a brick wall, except the brick wall is always right. He can’t deny it, his brother is the voice for forces even greater than him, but he can hate it.

“It is time you come to recognize her. Find her soon or let disaster run its course.” Destiny’s voice reaches him even after he leaves the maze, his voice carried by the wind and the fragrance of roses. 

When he gets back to the castle, thinking at the very least that he may turn in for the night, the Corinthian is waiting for him. The conversation was brief, both men were tired and wanted to sleep, but Corinthian had important information he must let his king know. 

He tells about one of Desire’s plans, to send a man named Rodrick Burgess after his sister. To manipulate the man into thinking his sister could bring back his dead son; it would be Rodrick’s greatest wish, his greatest desire. 

The solution was easy, and with the promise of increased pay, Morpheus instructed Corinthian to deal with the man before he became a problem. The Corinthian only smiles, pay was not the reason he spied on the other kingdom, nor the reason why he was all too satisfied to end another’s life. He was great at it: the drama of killing another, the power he feels when he hears them beg beneath him. It is what he was made for. 

That night, when Morpheus closes his eyes, he dreams of you. He watches as you’re taken by Rodrick Burgess, just as his sister might soon be. When he woke, the king didn’t dare to go back to sleep again. 

♔♕

Destiny’s vague warning and his dream last night make him seek you out after his daily responsibilities the next day. He finds you after spotting Matthew standing in front of Eleanor’s old studio. Lucienne wasn’t in the library at the time, and Hob was off doing some new exercise cleansing ritual that he didn’t really bother to listen to. 

“Your Majesty,” Matthew greets with a salute, his voice laced with something between panic and bewilderment.

“Is she in there?” 

“Huh?” Matthew caws in confusion. Who?

“Is Y/N in there?” Oh…. Oh!

“Oh, yes. Her Majesty has been here since the morning.” Matthew replies with a smile, though his king couldn’t see it. 

Morpheus motions Matthew to stand aside with a wave of his hand and he does. Jessamy follows Morpheus like a poisonous shadow and goes to stand next to him as well. She doesn’t bother to look at the knight, but still, he shakes with anxiety at her close proximity, or the fart he was suddenly holding in, he can’t tell at the moment. 

Morpheus hesitates to open the door, in fact, he almost leaves, but the bracelet that rests on his left wrist constricts as if unhappy about his decisions. When he places his hand on the handle once more, it releases itself in content. 

Slowly, he turns the handle, hoping to not make a noise and startle you. When he comes into the room, you don’t notice him, too entranced in the process of your painting. Your brush was held mid-stroke and you stayed still in thought. 

From this angle, he could see the slope of your nose and the curve of your lips and eyelashes. In the late afternoon sun, he can see every detail of your face. Morpheus opens his mouth to greet you, but a glint is caught by the sun and he stops. 

He watches with a frown as a tear slowly falls from your eye, it collects itself on the tip of your chin before falling and splattering itself on your painter’s palette, diluting the colors. Another tear forms in your unblinking eyes and joins the other. Your arms begin to shake as you let your tears collect and the sudden rush of emotions makes you lurch in pain. A whine tries to make its way out of your throat, but you clasp a firm hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Your brush staggers across the canvas at the movement and you stare in shock at your ruined painting. You don’t know why, but you scream at the canvas, the defining streak runs across what would have been a perfectly adequate art piece. Everything seems to mess up in front of you, no matter how hard you try to be perfect. 

“Stop,” Morpheus calls out to you at your outburst, but you’re too deep to hear him. 

Perhaps it was all of the emotions you’ve kept bottled deep within yourself finally bursting. Your hands grip the frames of the painting as you scream again, tears now freely coming out in fat drops. Anger runs through your body and you let it. 

This stupid painting!

You scream again and throw your palette across the room, the paints splattering across the wall like blood. Sobs rack through your body, shaking you to your core as you find your hands toppling over the canvas, watching as the wooden frame cracks after coming in contact with the floor. 

“Y/N, stop!” You hear his voice closer to you this time, but the buzzing thoughts keep you occupied. You see your monsters seeping in through the cracks of the stone walls and they echo out your thoughts.

“Let yourself feel rage, Y/N,” they whisper tauntingly in your ears. They stick to your skin, they drown in your lungs, restricting you in any way they could. 

This stupid marriage!

It’s getting hard to breathe, your hands grabbing your hair's scalp as you look around the studio. All of your past paintings look back at you and you feel their melancholy coming back. 

“Why did you make me like this? Y/N, why am I sad? Y/N, why am I alone? Y/N, why am I scared? Y/N…! Y/N…! Y/N…!” The paitings ask as their forms take on black goo like monsters. You're storming towards them, to hit them, destroy them, anything to allow the anger to stay.  

Anger would be better than feeling lonely anymore. 

Arms wrap around your body from behind and hold you back as you begin to thrash in the hold. It was so constricting, your body heaves gulping breaths and your teeth buzzes at the brink of hyperventilation. Your fingers go numb, your mind blank and you scream again. 

“I hate you!” You cry out in the embrace, squirming as you try to break free.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Morpheus whispers back as he tightens his grip on you. Your trashing doesn’t die down and he grunts as a particularly hard elbow hits him in the ribs. 

“I hate you, I hate you!” You continue screaming. 

“I’m sorry, please, stop. I’m sorry.” He holds on tight. An uncomfortable feeling creeps up his throat and he realizes he’s holding back his own tears. His knees buckle and he brings you with him, falling to the floor with you in his arms. He turns you towards him to hold you closer, to shield you from the outside world. 

“I HATE YOU!” You sob one last time as the pent-up energy is finally spent, leaving you nothing more than a bag of flesh and bones in Morpheus’ arms. You slam a weak fist against his chest, throat screamed raw. “I hate you…” 

Your body is racking with hiccups and remnant sobs as you feel the warmth of his embrace. You grab onto his jacket lapel, knuckles turning white and you realize that this is the first time someone has held you, touched you, embraced you since your wedding night. He still smells like earth and licorice.

The two of you stay like that for a while, and despite all circumstances, Morpheus can’t find the will to let you go. Your eyes and nose were cherry red from crying and the guilt once again starts to eat at him. This was his fault because he was too pretentious in what he thought he could control. He runs a delicate finger across the top of your forehead when your breathing evens, moving the hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Morpheus could think of saying. 

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Went fishing around in my greifcase for this one I think. Found the angst pretty deep in there

See you next time ( ` ᢍ ´ ) ᵐᵘʰᵃʰᵃ

♡ Yours, Layla

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