#monarchy au

[miryum]

Don't Pity Me, My Princess (Azriel x Reader)

With Azriel as your personal knight, it's getting harder and harder for both of you to ignore your feelings.

Warnings: whole lotta angst. Talk of children and childbirth because royalty need heirs, you know? Az doesn’t have his shadows (even though it was so hard to write him without them) but is still called Shadowsinger. Azriel's mother was abused and there's like, one sentence about it

Word Count: 5k

Azriel had lived at the palace since he was a young boy. His mother had knocked on the servant’s quarters one dark night, begging for someone to take her son. She could handle an abusive husband, but she couldn’t bear her baby boy to suffer the same fate as she did. An old maid took pity on the new mother and agreed to house, clothe, and educate the child. Just before the new mother left, she kissed Azriel’s cheek and whispered his name. “You’ll do good things, my dear. I am so sorry.”

Coincidentally, a couple months later, the Queen gave birth to an infant girl. Princess Y/n was heralded with parades and celebrations, the new heir apparent. Meanwhile, in the servant’s quarters, a baby with a thick head of black hair and small little wings was just learning how to lift his head, staring up at the maids and butlers who saved his life.

Azriel grew up preparing for the life of a knight. He remembered growing up watching the knights train as he played with his own wooden sword. He remembered beating his still-developing wings to try and see over the wooden barrier of the jousting arena. He remembered when the knights first caught sight of him, trying to hack away at a dummy. They teased him at first, but then, just like his entire life, they took pity on him. The next week, Azriel began training as a squire.

It was a long time before he earned his leathers and then his siphons, but the Shadowsinger became a name that was both respected and feared throughout the kingdom. The King sent him on missions all over the continent and Azriel always returned successful. He would fight in the jousts and consistently win. He had maidens and ladies swooning over him, but they weren’t who he yearned for.

That’s why he volunteered, almost a bit too hastily, when the King asked for extra protection over his daughter, Princess Y/n. 

Azriel’s mind was filled with you, almost every moment of every day. It couldn’t be healthy, that he was aware of, but having grown up next to you, even if from the shadows, he had forged a deep connection to you.

When he was young, he had hardly noticed the little princess completing her studies. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw her in the halls or at the training ring — which is where he most frequented. But one day, a year or two after he had turned a teen, Azriel had fought in his first joust. In any joust, it was customary for a knight to be sponsored by a lady of the court. A lady usually had a favourite knight she regularly sponsored, so Azriel’s stomach was in a pit when it was time to trot by for potential sponsorship. Who would ever cheer for the newest, youngest knight? Azriel sure could beat a village boy in combat, but he was still the smallest and scrawniest of all of the palace’s knights — if you could even call him that. He could recall his anxiety as if it was yesterday. The way the crowd was cheering, the way his horse’s hooves kicked up dirt underneath, and the way he began to sweat as he tried to sit straight. 

And then, as he passed the royal box, you stood. Azriel almost kept his horse trotting by, sure it was a mistake, but when he saw you extract your blue handkerchief, he pulled on the reins. By some fortuity or fortune, your handkerchief was the same colour as his siphon. He had just earned his first one the week prior. Through his metal visor, he stared, wide-eyed, as you reached down and tucked your handkerchief into the folds of his armour. The rest of the court was watching too, but Azriel didn’t see them. He could only focus on the way his heart sped up when you whispered, “good luck.” 

You were an utter vision. Azriel was sure that you had chosen him to be your champion because of the closeness in your ages, but your support, even if it was just a piece of cloth you had embroidered, meant the world. He hadn’t won his first joust, or his second, but you kept sponsoring him. Azriel became accustomed to stopping under the royal box and bowing to you before heading to his starting position. Sometimes, especially if it was an important event, you would have a new handkerchief for him, or even some whispered encouragement, but Azriel didn’t need those things as long as he could keep making eye contact with you. And then he started winning. He could still hear your excited screams as his javelin hit his opponent straight on, which gained Azriel the championship. It wasn’t unusual for members of the court to get invested in the jousting, but others found it humorous that you were jumping from your seat to see better. However, you were only a teenager, and they knew you would soon be able to control your emotions. 

You had not-so-patiently waited for Azriel to bring his horse back around to the royal box after doing a lap of the stadium. People had thrown flowers and kisses and Azriel had shed his helmet, his cheeks hot from both the exertion and attention. When he saw you, he bowed deeply and handed a flower that someone had thrown to him. It was a small red rose. Your gloved fingers brushed his as you took the flower. His black hair hung over his face as he ducked his head. You made a mental note to have the barber stop by the barracks. “My Princess,” he muttered, head still bowed. “Thank you for choosing me as your champion, all those months ago.”

“Well, Sir Azriel, it certainly paid off, didn’t it?” you replied, smiling down at him. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” You nodded to one of your handkerchiefs that was tucked in the chink of his armour, right above his breast. 

That was the past. And now, Azriel had the glorious opportunity to stand in front of the King and Queen, multiple siphons displayed proudly as he suggested his own name for the position of your bodyguard. Your childhood knight was retiring, something everyone thought was best as his wit, speed, and strength declined. That opened up the position. The King and Queen had called for the Shadowsinger’s opinion and he gave it, however biased he was with his feelings. “Your Majesties, I believe that the best thing for this kingdom and your daughter would be if I offered my services.” 

“And why is that, Shadowsinger? Wouldn’t you rather be sent on missions and participate in protecting our kingdom?”

“With all due respect, my King, the princess is the face of the kingdom,” Azriel said, a knee pressing against the floor of the throne room. It hurt, yes, but he could handle it if it meant sparing you the pain. “The people love her, but that also means many hate her. There are too many dangers, especially with other kingdoms threatening to encroach on our borders. I would be able to protect the princess, and you and the Queen, more efficiently if I was her personal guard.”

The two monarchs exchanged a look before the Queen nodded. “Very well, then. You’ll assume the position effective immediately. You shall accompany Princess Y/n to events and daily excursions. You’ll be briefed more extensively later this week.”

Azriel nodded and stood. He thanked the King and Queen and hurried out, trying to conceal his budding smile.

“Do you remember all the signals?” you called from your dressing room. 

Azriel was standing outside, content to just listen to your voice, but he replied, “yes, my princess.”

“And you’re wearing your dress uniform?”

“Yes, my princess.”

“Are all the other guards as well?”

“Yes, my princess.”

The door then opened and you peeked out. “And are you sick of me asking you senseless questions?” you asked, an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Never, my princess,” Azriel answered softly, eyes holding yours. “Are you almost ready?”

You ducked back into your dressing room, voice floating out again. “Almost. I believe we just need some more hairpins, yes?” Your maid responded in an affirmative and a couple minutes later, the door opened once more. There you stood in a cobalt gown that cascaded down to the floor, hair all done up, and jewellery proudly displayed on your knuckles and upon your collarbone. It didn’t escape Azriel that your dress was the same colour as his siphons.

Azriel had spent years serving under the King and Queen, honing his emotions to be the stoic force he needed to be. But, with you in front of him, he found his resolve cracking. His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Do I look that horrible, sir?” you teased.

The guard immediately shook his head. “No, my princess. Quite the opposite, in fact. You…” his jaw tensed. “Those princes and dukes will be tripping over their feet.”

As much as Azriel would love to pretend that you were his and he would be the only one accompanying you tonight, he knew that this ball was for a very specific reason, and one he did not like. Your parents needed you wed, and it couldn’t be to him.

Nobility and court members alike knew to avoid Azriel when he was watching you. You were on your fifth dance with the fifth man and Azriel made sure to walk around the dance floor as you moved, always being as close as possible.

The moment Azriel had known he was to be your new personal knight, he had created a series of hand signals for you to use covertly. He was always on the lookout for your well-being and thankfully, there had only been a few times when you had needed to use the hand signals.

Months prior, your parents had held an anniversary ball for their marriage. You were a bit younger, more naive, and Azriel had only been your personal knight for just under a year. He had loved every moment of it, but he couldn’t help but feel a budding sense of anticipatory fear as he saw you twirl around the dance floor carelessly. You had one of your younger cousins in your arms and was spinning them around to their delight. While Azriel wanted to imagine a smaller child in the stead of your cousin, perhaps one with dark hair and your eyes and little wings that replicated his own, he was more focused on the older man that was watching you.

A measly Count from further South, the man looked twice your age and three times as intoxicated. He stayed on the outskirts of the celebration, but the Shadowsinger was not one to miss something.

When the Count approached you after your dance with your cousin, Azriel didn’t intervene. He couldn’t act only on a suspicion that the Count was malicious. And he wouldn’t act without your express approval.

But then he saw you twist the ring on your pointer finger.

When Azriel had first become your bodyguard, you were unsure if you could remember all the signals he had wanted you to memorise. A deeper fear, admittedly, was that he wouldn’t be watching and then unintentionally leave you to your own devices. Azriel was determined, however, to never waive your trust. He immediately came marching in, whispering something meaningless into your ear under the guise of matters only you, the princess, could attend to, and swept you away. A dirty look was thrown to the Count and Azriel made sure never to let you near him again. In fact, the Count was barred from any and all future events.

Meanwhile, you had finished your dance with the nameless suitor and Azriel already had an arm stretched out for you. You took it gratefully, needing a respite from all the men giving you unabashed stares. “I really do hate this,” you said to him as he guided you away. “I don’t see why they’re even letting me choose my husband if he will be from this very specific pool of men. At this point, it would be easier to simply betroth me to whomever they see fit.”

“You know my feelings on that, my princess,” Azriel replied. “And I’m sure your parents feel the same. They wish for you to have some sort of semblance of choice and happiness.” Even if it is not with me, the man who would worship you.

You sighed and looked down at your feet. “I know, good sir. But it’s tiring, as I’m sure you can realise. I’d much rather be in my room, engaging in the arts or taking a nap.”

Azriel couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh, one that drew your lips up into a brilliant smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you would.” He paused and then looked down at you. You looked so perfect on his arm and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep you there. “Here’s a proposition: if you survive the rest of this evening, I will dance with you.”

Your eyes immediately light up and Azriel swore the stars themselves burned brighter, pledging their allegiance to you. God, you were like ambrosia in his veins and how he wished for it to keep flowing. “Really?” you gasped. Azriel had been very conservative in his dances, even though, unbeknownst to you, he would dance on forever if you asked. But whenever he held you in his arms, it was too intoxicating. Too dangerous. He was still the Shadowsinger, even if he was sworn to protect you. The hands he held you with had been the notorious cause for so much pain. The thought of telling you about his past missions… It scared him more than imaginable. Those memories were ones best kept locked away within the shadows. He didn’t want you to think of the people he’s hurt – of the suffering he had caused – when you looked at him.

So all he did was nod back, smiling the soft look only you could bring out.

The night slowly wore on, the candles flickering over the walls, bidding the departing guests farewell. And still you stayed. Even as the moonlight rose above the windows and the maids and butlers slowly began cleaning up, you stayed. Only the musicians remained as Azriel led you to the middle of the floor. There was an unspoken trust between you and the musicians, knowing they wouldn’t tell your parents (who had already gone to bed) about your singular, last dance with your knight.

Easily, you placed your hand on his shoulder and Azriel’s palm flexed on the small of your back. The way your dress swished softly was a small distraction from the thoughts swirling in Azriel’s mind. He drew your joined hands closer to his chest as he thought back to how you danced with those other men. As if you knew he needed comfort, you stepped closer to Azriel, resting your head on his chest and eyes closing with exhaustion. His arms automatically wrapped around you, holding you tightly – almost protectively – as he let his cheek rest on your hair. His eyes softened and he murmured, “tired, my princess?” 

“Over a multitude of things,” you replied. 

Azriel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “A multitude of things?”

“I almost wish I didn’t have to marry,” you admitted. “It’s not as easy as it seems in the stories. I need to take alliances into consideration and the happiness of my people. Along with wealth, resources, and good blood. My feelings hardly add into the equation, even though I want them too.” You then shook your head and changed the subject, a teasing smile on your lips. “Has anyone complimented your wings before?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“No,” he responded, a bit hoarsely. “No one has.”

You hummed and shook your head. “They should.” Your eyes trailed down to your intertwined hands before giving his palm a small squeeze. His burn scars marred his skin, contractures stretching over his hands and arms and small keloids by his wrists and creeping up to his elbows. Azriel winced slightly at the pressure of your hand on his scarred skin, memories of the pain flooding back. He tried to hide it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. You instantly lifted your hand slightly to give him reprieve. Azriel wished for the contact back, but he knew he was the one to blame for the lack of touch. He was the one to make you flinch away.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, trying to bring the conversation back to his wings. "You’re the first.”

“I’m privileged then,” you murmured as he spun as the music lilted. “Though it truly is a pity.”

As you spun around, Azriel's wings extended instinctively, the iridescent membranes catching the moonlight. He held you close, ensuring your balance, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to revel in the beauty of his own wings. They were a part of him, and something he couldn’t imagine living without. He watched you longingly as you twirled in his arms. His eyes followed the movement of your gown as you twirl. When he had you pressed close to him once again, he replied quietly, “is it really a pity, my princess?”

“They should’ve been complimented — all of you should’ve been complimented a thousand times before now,” you corrected yourself quickly, thumb sweeping over his hand where yours was placed on top of his. “You don’t see how amazing you are because you hide behind your scars and memories. But you’re the best knight I’ve had.”

The words carved him open deeper than any blade, striking into the insecurities he held. The sincerity in your voice and the gentle touch of your thumb on his hand made something in his chest ache. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. The idea of all of him being complimented, rather than just specific parts or aspects, such as his fighting ability, was a foreign concept. He glanced down at you, eyes filled with sereness. “All of me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough.

You nodded with a caring, hopeful smile on your face. Maybe he would finally see how sensational he was.

Eventually, you came to a stop, standing in the middle of the room. The musicians finished their song and quietly packed up, leaving. Yet, you and Azriel were still in each other’s arms. Azriel continued to hold you, savoring the moment. He relished being able to hold you like this, without anyone else around. 

“Do you truly pity me?” he wondered.

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered out. “I would never be able to pity the man who devoted his life to me. I would never be able to pity the man who devotes himself to me. And I don’t think I have it in me to pity the man whom I truly care for.”

For a brief moment, he stood rigid, unused to such easy affection. Then, his wings unfurled slightly, wrapping around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the world outside. “As I you, my princess,” he allowed himself to say, scared that if anything more were to come from his mouth, it would be a declaration of unwanted love.

“Will you ever call me anything else?” you couldn’t help but tease, looking up at him.

Azriel smiled back down at you, hazel eyes warm with love. “No, my princess.” The night was silent, but Azriel didn’t want to be. His lips parted to tell you something, but when your eyes darted down to them, he found himself asking, “have I yet praised your dress?”

“You have,” you laughed. “But it’s kind of you to do it again. I wanted to match you, you know?” You reached down and pulled your dress to the side to reveal a glittering sheen of fabric under the thick cobalt fabric.

Azriel’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Beautiful, princess,” he admired sincerely once again. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” He repeated the words you had said to him all those years ago.

“I’ll always wear your colours,” you replied. “You’re my knight, after all. Ever since I was young.” Your hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck, thumb brushing against his skin and along the hair by the nape of his neck.

The Shadowsinger couldn’t contain his shiver. “Must you, my princess?” he breathed out, voice rough.

“Must I what?”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut and his head dipped down, nose brushing against your forehead. “Must you marry some duke or prince?”

It took you a while to respond and Azriel’s heart only beat faster each second that passed. “No,” you admitted quietly. “But my parents would like it. They won’t have me marry a commoner, but… I could very well marry a knight.”

“Princess…” Every part of his soul seems to be reaching out, grasping for you. His grip tightened slightly, holding you against him as if he feared you would be ripped. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your waist. There was a vulnerability in his eyes – a desperate need for confirmation that the words you said were real. “Do not give me hope if you plan on tearing it away. It is too cruel of you.”

“So it’s true,” you muttered. “You have feelings for me?”

“I am not brave like you,” he instead said. “I’ve been your loyal knight for years, my princess. But I couldn’t bear to make myself a liability to your heart. I couldn’t do that to you. I care what others think of me, as much as I hate it. They cannot pity me, I cannot have it so.”

You shook your head sadly. “Sir, they do not feel sorry for you. No one does, especially not me. You’ve protected me for so long, you’ve more than earned your place here by my side. This isn’t some fanciful notion born of youthful indiscretion. You and I both know that. This is a mature, considered love that, hopefully, you feel too.” Your voice cracked as you continued and tears shone in your eyes. Oh, how Azriel hated to be the one to cause you such pain. “My love for you, as you are, flaws and all, is why I adore you so deeply.”

The man couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What did one say when the love of their life confessed feelings?

You couldn’t see the way he gazed down at you, almost lovingly. You stubbornly kept your cheek on his chest, trying to minimise the way your cheeks heated up. Why wasn’t he saying anything? But you were already so far in, so you couldn’t help but whisper, “you would do most anything for me, correct, good sir?”

“Within a heartbeat.”

“Do you mind if I demand something from you?” you asked.

Azriel chuckled softly at your question, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. He tilted his head curiously as his fingers traced small circles on your lower back. “What did you have in mind, my princess?” he asked, his voice low. “I'm curious now... What could possibly entice you enough to make a deal with the devil himself?” 

“Oh, the devil himself?” you repeated, shaking your head as you laughed softly. Somehow, he always managed to make you feel better, no matter the embarrassment that coursed through you. “Is that what you truly think of yourself?” You smiled up at him, not answering his question as you tried to find the courage to do so. Finally, you whispered out, “a kiss.”

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at your whispered confession. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, hardly believing what he heard. He could feel his heart skip a beat, like a leaf in the wind. You looked so small in his strong arms, so hopeful. “Is that all you would ask for?” he finally managed to ask. His wings twitched a bit.

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. That’s what I would demand.”

He stared down at you, taking in every detail of your face - the slight parting of your lips, the wide-eyed gaze, the flush creeping up your neck. He could feel the tension between you, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. His hand slid up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. Gently, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Just a kiss,” he repeated, his voice a low rasp. “Nothing more?” 

“Ignorant knight,” you whispered out once, laughing.

“Is that still what you want?” he asked again desperately. His heart hammered in his chest so hard it made him dizzy. His eyes traced over your face over and over again. 

“Oh, Shadowsinger,” you muttered, shaking your head in amusement. You reached up and cupped his face in your palms. “Why won’t you kiss me?” You reached up on your tiptoes before slowly connecting your lips. 

Azriel had been struck by lightning. Every nerve ending in his body came alive, sending sparks of pleasure through him. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Then, with a low groan, he melted into the kiss. His hand came to cup your face tenderly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. He poured all his pent-up longing and affection into it, trying to convey without words just how much you mean to him.

From the sheer intensity of it, your knees weakened under you, but Azriel quickly wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you securely against his chest. You tilted your head and it felt like a dream. But he didn’t need to wake up because you were real. You were there, loving him fully and kissing him sweetly.

Azriel laid in bed, body and wings curled around the smaller form. His eyes blinked slowly, gazing down reverently at the infant. The baby had small wings that were almost exact to Azriel’s own. They had made the birth difficult and Azriel had been about ready to break down the door when he heard your screams. He hadn’t been allowed in the room, even though you had begged for him. Your cries had brought him to his knees and replaced the nightmares about his past missions with ones of your sobs.

Nevertheless, you had accomplished the horrible feat and Azriel had rushed into the room. He had first checked up on you, hands and anxieties flying about, kisses being placed on the skin that he could reach. Then he saw his little son, whom he now held in his arms. 

You had recuperated over the months, but it never got old to Azriel to hold his child. It never got old to hold you either. The moment he had gotten his child in his arms, so unbelievably worried about doing harm to him as he had done harm to so many others in his past, Azriel had asked for another. 

You had almost thrown him out of the room.

That first night, Azriel had held both you and child close to his bare chest, for the midwives had said that skin-to-skin contact was best. For the next few weeks, Azriel hardly put on a shirt (which you didn’t complain about), so it got normal to see the ex-knight pressing his son against his chest as he walked around the castle, as if giving the newborn a tour. The baby’s head fit perfectly in Azriel’s palm and more often than not, he would look up at his father with wide eyes that were so much like his mother’s, reaching out to grab at Azriel’s chin or wings.

The Shadowsinger had yet to be thrust into the life of King, for your parents hadn’t passed on, but for that he was grateful. It gave him more time to spend with his wife and child.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Azriel looked up to see you entering your shared bedroom. A smile instantly broke out on his face. “There’s my wife,” he murmured, reaching out with his hand that was adorned by the perfect ring. Its twin sat on your own finger. “My princess.” The words had such a sweeter connotation now.

“Husband,” you replied, having yet to get used to that word. You took his hand, and with a smile of your own, crawled into bed next to your son. “How are my two favorite Shadowsingers doing?”

“Oh, he shall not need that title,” Azriel hummed. “It’s much too dangerous for our little boy.”

“And what would you rather propose?”

Azriel gazed down at the small child, a hand ghosting over the boy’s thick patch of dark hair. “That’s for him to decide,” he finally said. “He will be able to make his own name and title and we will love him whichever path he chooses.”

After some blissful moments passed, you allowed some words to tumble from your mouth. “Are you happy, my love?”

“Of course.” He looked up at you, concerned eyes snapping away from the babe. “Why do you ask? Do you doubt my love for you?”

You shook your head, smiling. Your voice was quiet, worried about stepping over a line. But if almost two years of marriage had taught you anything about Azriel, it was that he never held secrets from you. “No, never. I just remember how, before we were wed, you were certain that everybody pitied you. I was wondering, do you still think they do?” 

“No,” your husband replied, eyes soft as he looked over at you. “Why would they? My entire world is here with me now. I hardly need anything else.”

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ACOTAR fic so I hope I did Azriel justice. 😊 I wanna thank @pellucid-constellations for writing amazing Azriel fics and getting me into ACOTAR in the first place and just being amazing. (Also @illyrianbitch for posting today and giving me the excitement to post for Az) 😁

[didderd]

You don't have to accept this request but can you draw a fell?

:3 a Prince Red for you <3

[yakuly]

Gente 👉👈

Se por algum a mcaso eu apagar a publicação de "monarchy" e postar em outro momento, vcs não ficam bravas, nem tentam me matar? E se eh apagar e postar de novo, vocês prometem que vão ler de novo?

Pq assim...NÃO ERA PRA TER POSTADO! Mas o timblr me tombou, e tô desde esse dia em completa agonia por que não foi no meu momento (eu sei que é loucura, mas sinto q não era a hora de postar). Aí eu só queria saber mesmo a opinião de vcs sjnsj

[dimneo1010]

Oughh sorry for being dead for SO LONG I've gotten really into MP100 recently so I didn't really draw so here's my frist ever real fanart

(bonus Monarchy AU doodles + an edit)

[nite-eyes]

today my bf (bookseller) told me that someone came in looking for a book called "killer student" and he was like "uhhhh...no I don't think we have anything with that title??" and they were like "hang on, that's not it..." and looked something up on their phone and came back and said "actually it's called assassin's apprentice"

[peppymintdreams]

Faithful to the King

Lord Diavolo x MC

The kingdom you called home had been nothing more than a hollow shell for as long as you could remember. The palace gleamed with wealth, each opulent room a monument to corruption, while the people who toiled in the fields and villages were starving, dying under the weight of the royal family's greed. The king and his court were cruel beyond words, their hearts blackened by decadence. It was no secret that they lived lavishly off the sweat and blood of their people. The royal family's cruelty was the very foundation of the kingdom’s decay.

You had grown up in the kingdom’s shadow, a "peasant" by status, though you carried blood that was tied to the higher ranks of the village. Despite your position, you had watched as your people were ground into the dirt. The kingdom needed a savior—a liberator. But who would dare to challenge the monarchy? Who could even hope to do so?

The answer, you found, lay in the realm of the unknown—the Devildom.

You had learned of dark magic, of ancient rituals whispered by those who had dared to walk the forbidden paths. Your desperation had pushed you to study these lost arts, to summon an entity powerful enough to topple the evil that reigned in your kingdom. There was only one being you knew of who could accomplish such a feat: Diavolo, the King of Hell himself.

You knew the price. You had heard the rumors. A deal with a devil was never free, but what choice did you have? If you were to free the kingdom, you would need power—unimaginable power.

On that fateful night, you stood alone in the deepest recesses of your cottage, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs and candles. You muttered the incantation, your voice trembling but determined. The symbols etched into the floor began to glow as a low hum filled the air. With every word, you could feel the air grow colder, darker, as though the very fabric of reality was bending to your will.

And then, before you, a rift tore open in the fabric of the world. The ground trembled, and from the darkness, he emerged.

Diavolo.

The King of the Devildom. A figure that was both mesmerizing and terrifying, his presence commanding and undeniable. His golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race, his lips curling into a smile that was both sinister and entrancing.

"Ah, so you’ve summoned me," Diavolo’s voice was rich, deep, like thunder rolling in the distance. "A mortal, no less. You must be desperate, to reach out to me."

You didn’t flinch. "I seek your help," you said, your voice steady despite the shiver running down your spine. "The royal family in my kingdom is evil. They care nothing for their people. They live in decadence, while the kingdom crumbles beneath them. I want to see them fall. I want to see my people free."

A glint of amusement flashed in Diavolo's eyes, but there was something else—a dark interest, a spark of curiosity. He tilted his head, regarding you with a mixture of admiration and caution.

"Bold," he mused, stepping closer. "And what do you offer in return for my help? The price is never small when dealing with someone like me."

"I offer you my soul," you declared, your voice unwavering, though your heart ached at the weight of your words. "In exchange for your aid in bringing down the royal family and claiming the kingdom for myself. I am willing to bind my fate to you, Lord Diavolo, if you will help me."

Diavolo’s smile widened, his sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. "A soul for the fall of a kingdom," he mused, as though testing the weight of your words. "I find your offer... tempting. But are you certain? The cost of such a pact is not one easily undone. You will be mine—body, soul, and everything in between. You will belong to me forever."

You took a deep breath, knowing that the moment you sealed this deal, there would be no turning back. "I would rather be yours, Diavolo, than live in a kingdom ruled by monsters. I will make them pay for their sins."

His laughter rang out then, rich and dark, a sound that sent a shiver of both fear and excitement through you. "Very well, mortal," Diavolo said, his voice soft but laced with power. "Your soul is mine. And in exchange, I shall grant you the power to destroy the royal family and claim the throne as your own. But know this: you will have no other master. You will walk by my side, as my consort, my partner in both power and desire."

You felt a surge of energy, a sudden rush that left your senses reeling as the pact was sealed. The magic crackled in the air, binding you to him in a way that left your very soul trembling. The weight of your decision settled over you like a cloak, but it was not one of regret. It was a cloak of purpose.

Diavolo's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. "When you claim the throne, remember this moment," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Remember who made it possible. And remember that it is I who holds the strings of your fate, mortal."

As the rift between the realms closed, you were left standing alone in the aftermath, your mind racing with the enormity of what had just transpired. But the excitement, the anticipation of what was to come, burned brighter than any fear you had. The royal family would fall, and you would be the one to deliver their doom. The kingdom would be free. And once it was, Diavolo’s kingdom would have its own place in your heart, and you would have no regrets.

But as the darkness of your pact settled in, you knew one thing for certain: nothing would ever be the same. You had given your soul, and now, you would be bound to the devil himself. And yet, despite the price, a strange thrill coursed through your veins.

You would bring them to their knees. You would bring them all to their knees. And in the end, you would rule by Diavolo’s side.

The throne would be yours, and the kingdom would be free—forever.

[llitchilitchi]

played around with some monarchy restoration Karl designs

[c-kiddo]

scottish au caduceus implies that ludinus daleth took part in the highland clearances (instead of doing fantasy chernobyl)

[kindred-spirit-93]

au-niverse expansion

hello had a thought this morning (i need to stop having them lol) abt a potential new angle of the oikoi au where hermione is sent to live with penelope when helen is abducted!

she knows her 'auntie' penelope and refuses to let anyone else be her primary caretaker. her father tries to reason with her to stay at home where she grew up, where its familiar, and where everyone knows her and will seek to protect her, but she refuses.

he cant stand seeing the tears that well in her eyes, just like helens. he arranges a convoy to send her and a very apologetic letter to the king and queen of ithaca, who have their own newborn to worry about.

shenanigans ensue. idk i really want to explore the 10 years of troy from penelopes perspective esp ruling a kingdom while raising her son (and now niece) and keeping herself together. and also another 10 years that is much darker and heavier and tackles her trauma bc she too became a monster rawr rawr rawr at some point, just differently.

--

and then hermione is sent on her merry way home when menelaus and helen send for her after writing a letter confirming their victory and shipwreck i think it was (diomedes had kindly written to her telling her the war was over and the ships had set sail homewards but she hadnt heard from anyone and the horizons were empty).

anyway now with newfound hope odysseus is merely having sat nav issues lol. she loads hermiones ship with gifts to welcome helen home including plenty of fabric and pieces of her own design

(something i reeeally want to add lol is that telemachus goes with her after winning a bet with penelope to let him go, and well he is his fathers son so he trots off and has a grand week with his aunt and uncle. menelaus tells him of his fathers cunning blah blah tele is even more pumped to meet his dad omg poor bby).

and then when he returns he suddenly finds several guests?? penelope is shook and trying to handle the situation with grace. tele is half hiding behind her and holding onto her robes, a hand is on his head and the other over he heart.

the 'guests' only increase in number and nothing is quite the same. at least his aunt ctimene and cousin eupehmia are still here. only a few years down the line they too are forced away and it really is tele and pen against 108 horrid men whos audacity only grows with their appetites.

AND THEN when tele goes to search for his dad the gut punch is the parallel of menelaus being like son ur father is the most badass lil shit ive ever known to son idk how to tell you but but hes not coming home. idk lots of crying here

the point is its all told through penelopes perspective and several external povs bc those are fun and give u, well, new perspectives XD

currently toturing all my blorbos. let them weep (harder)

@notsolonedesert hi >:3

[felixnorstubblewealthington]

They are here! Malum Monarchy! Civilians + Royalties (click for higher quality)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) Close-ups and some messages underneath!

Just to be clear from the start! If you are planning to make fanart you can absolutely insert your headcanons! Like changing their eye colors, body types (excluding the characters that are canonically fat, DON'T make them skinny.) (ahem ahem Buggs), adding moles, freckles, scars, I really don't mind! Have fun!

The adults and the hall monitors will have reference sheets too but not for now.

Close ups (higher quality):

This took me two weeks to finish and I'm so happy it's finally finished!! Please tell me your favorites (if you want to) I'll be really happy!

Also Happy April fools! even tho I don't have a joke to make.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

Okay I saw more of your art and had to come back (if it’s okay)

Maybe this time….King Marty? Like in a kings outfit with the septor

and crown and stuff? Idk

no problem at all! i'm just happy you enjoy :D

anyone with any remote knowledge of historical dress from any vague period or region please avert your eyes.

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 15

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Tag list: @notleclerc @sunsumonner @saturnsrinqs @livster @chonkybonky @eau-rougee @champomiel @justyouraverageeverydaysimp @multifandom-loser

Warnings: smut 18+ minors dni (p in v, nudity, f receiving oral and fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex) and swearing

This chapter can be skipped if you’re uncomfortable- no major plot points other than the smut will take place. (That’s why it’s literally just the smut)

Okay, I know I just posted a couple hours ago, but I had ideas for this chapter and I just had to write it and here we are... Hope you guys like it! 😁 😅

ao3 link  next chapter>>

Charles raised a brow. “Would you like to continue the wedding night?”

Your heart started beating a little quicker. “Lead the way.”

Charles scooped you up and carried you over the threshold of your room. You laughed loudly, hitting him lightly in the chest. “What?” he winked. ”I have to make up for what we missed.” You rolled your eyes, a fluttering erupting in your stomach. 

Charles set you gently on the bed, pressing kisses down your collarbone. You pulled his face back towards yours, needing to feel his lips. Charles discarded his shirt, hissing at the cut along his arm. You stilled. “Are you sure we should be doing this? You’re hurt, Charles.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t stop this for all the riches in the land. It’s just a small graze. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Your hesitations were cut off with another kiss. Shrugging your robe off, you were desperate to get rid of the layers separating you and Charles. Already, you could feel heat spread along your body, circulating at the bottom of your stomach.

Your husband helped you take off your sleepwear and soon you lay to him bear, save your underwear. “Beautiful, cherié. Simply gorgeous,” Charles uttered, taking you in. 

You ran your hands down his chest, feeling the muscles and curves that you had the sole pleasure of exploring. “I could say the same to you.” 

“May I take care of you?” Charles whispered. You nodded in reply, not trusting your voice.

Charles’ mouth trailed down your body, mumbling worships and reverence. He paused at one of your breasts, glancing up at you before taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. You gasped as he pulled at it softly, the feeling of his teeth unexpected. He repeated the action with your other breast, putting as much care and love as he had the first. 

More open-mouthed kisses trailed down your stomach stopping right above your underwear. “Y/n, are you sure? I need you to be positive you want this.”

“I want this, Charlie,” you insisted. “Honestly, your need for consent is making you more attractive.”

Charles chuckled, eyes darkening. “Call me that again.”

“What?” Your lips curved into a smile. “Charlie?” Charles groaned, hips jerking forward, desperate for friction. A spark ignited in your chest, now knowing the power you held over him. “Or… would you like me to call you… My Prince?” 

“Cherié,” Charles warned, lifting an eyebrow. “Be careful. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me.” 

A moan filled the room, Charles’ head falling back. You admired the curve in his neck. “As you wish, my wife.”

His fingers curled around your underwear, tugging it off. You felt the cold air hit your bare skin and Charles murmured in appreciation, hands gracing over your hips. 

“Please, Charles.”

“Anything you want, cherié.” Charles slowly swept a finger up between your folds. You whined, wanting more. “So wet for me, hm?” Charles muttered, “so ready for me.”

His finger smoothed a faint circle over your clit and you begged, “Please, Charles, please!”

“No, princess, that’s not my name.” Charles shook his head, growing hard at the sight underneath him.

“Fine,” you conceded. “Charlie, please touch me.”

“There we go.” Charles went and licked a stripe around your bundle of nerves, moving down to tease your hole. You gasped at the sudden contact, hips bucking because you needed more. 

Charles continued to suck along your clit and you grabbed at his hair, tugging slightly. Charles let out a moan that vibrated along your folds and your breaths became shallower as you felt your heart rate pick up. Your walls clenched around nothing and you said, “Ch- Charlie, I think I’m almost there!”

You started to complain as Charles moved away from you, wanting the feeling of his mouth back. “Not yet,” he said. “I want you to come around me.” You realised what he meant when he started undoing his pants. 

During your wedding night, you had been too embarrassed and shy to look Charles in the eye when he was handling his cock. But now, Charles lifted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes,” you licked your lips and Charles’ gaze was drawn to it. “But shouldn’t I return the pleasure?” 

Charles’ chuckled. “Y/n, you don’t have to ‘return the favour’. Today is about you. And besides, if you truly want to, you can take charge next time.”  

Next time. A promise. It made you smile. 

You let out a desperate sound as Charles’ tip brushed your entrance. It didn’t hurt as much as last time, but adjusting to his size still stung a bit. He waited until your hips started rocking against his to match your pace. He could barely hold back a groan as he increased the speed. Using one hand to grip the headboard, Charles thrusted deeply into you, making you moan. You inhaled sharply when you felt his other hand glide down to your clit and start rubbing small circles onto the bundle of nerves. You cried out and your walls clenched around him. 

“Shit, Y/n, I don’t know how much longer I can go if you keep doing that,” Charles sucked in a breath. 

“Charlie, I think I’m about to come!” You felt the tight coil of pleasure in you build up, finally snapping, and you came around Charles. His breathing became irregular and his hips jerked back and forth. You could tell he was on the verge of joining you in ecstasy. You reached up and placed a kiss right under his ear, gently sucking on the tender spot. Charles shivered and let out a loud moan and with one last thrust, he filled you up. 

Slowly, he pulled back from you, panting. Your chest rose and fell and you tried to calm your heart. Charles didn’t pull back immediately, instead, he rested his head upon your shoulder. 

“I- I liked that a lot better than before,” you commented. 

He let out a chuckle, dragging a finger along your jaw. “You’ll get to experience it whenever you want, cherié.”

Instead of agreeing, you simply said, “I love you.”

“And I love hearing you say that,” Charles kissed your cheek. “I love you too, my princess.”

[didderd]

May I smooch prince red 😳

Red will happily give out smooches. :3

[yakuly]

Gente 👉👈

Se por algum a mcaso eu apagar a publicação de "monarchy" e postar em outro momento, vcs não ficam bravas, nem tentam me matar? E se eh apagar e postar de novo, vocês prometem que vão ler de novo?

Pq assim...NÃO ERA PRA TER POSTADO! Mas o timblr me tombou, e tô desde esse dia em completa agonia por que não foi no meu momento (eu sei que é loucura, mas sinto q não era a hora de postar). Aí eu só queria saber mesmo a opinião de vcs sjnsj

[dimneo1010]

A small rush of inspiration for my Monarchy au Dragon Samurai Dimple

Reigen allowed Dimple to choose a host since Dimple does all the magic work. Unfortunately, the closest person by was Samurai Yoshioka. He gained the dragon traits after the possession which led to his body shifting. (He has a tail it's just hidden also he's missing a horn instead of his ear being slightly chipped).

[wnbnny]

the blood crown. (chapter 1.)

pairings: prince!chan x reader, prince!minho x reader, prince!changbin x reader, prince!hyunjin x reader, prince!jisung x reader, prince!felix x reader, prince!seungmin x reader, prince!jeongin x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, death, poison, suggestive jokes but no smut, competition amongst noble families, ot8 are princes

author's note: hellooo:) welcome to my first series on tumblr! i wanted to go with a sort of dark theme for this fic:> please please do leave likes and comments, it truly makes my day!

You grew up in a household made of lies, deceit and poison. 

Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you were born to an ordinary village girl, and your father, a high-ranking noble. Your mother had been training you since you could barely walk; always smile politely, always walk gracefully, always greet your guests. Each time you would get something wrong, the feared cane would come down upon your hands, enough to hurt but never enough to leave bruises. Your mother had grown up in a poor village, using her charm and wit to seduce your father and charm her way into the ranks of high society. She was ruthless, cunning, and most of all: ambitious. She dreamed of ascending to the very top- the royal family. It was no surprise that when you were at the mere age of ten, your father was pronounced dead on a Thursday afternoon in his quarters, being assassinated by a thief who had supposedly snuck into your house. 

But you knew. 

You knew when the corner of your mother's lips curved up ever so slightly, at the funeral ceremony of your father. Barely there, but it was the smirk of a triumphant winner of the chess game. All your father's assets were transferred to your mother, and she became head of the household- never remarried and never gave birth to any more children. 

Your kingdom was governed by the Bahng's, who had eight sons and a daughter- Christopher, the heir to the throne and the king's sole legitimate child, Minho, the second, born to a concubine in the king's harem, just like the rest. Changbin was the third, along with Hyunjin, then Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, and finally Jeongin. And then there was Princess Areum, the king's beloved daughter and second legitimate child. 

Your mother heard from the gossip circles amongst the ladies at the tea tasting ceremonies she hosted often, that there were talks of Princess Areum being engaged to Duke Choi's son, Yeonjun. The Choi's were a rival family, always competing with your mother for power. 

One day, when you had just crossed the age of eleven a few weeks ago, your mother called you to her study. You sighed, getting up gracefully from where you had been perched on a chair reading, and walked to her study, knocking first, three sharp raps.

"Come in," she called.

And so you put on a demure smile, hands clasped in front of you, never tripping or stumbling on your way. Clothes neatly ironed, not a single hair out of place, the pinnacle of perfection.

"Y/N." her perfectly shaped brows rise, scrutinising you, before smiling softly. Your mother was always strange like that. You knew she loved you, but in wanting what was best for you always pushed too far.

"You know of Princess Areum's engagement." 

You nod, brows furrowed.

"She is not the heir to the throne and poses no danger to us as she is a girl, but her future husband does, unfortunately. The Choi's will surely use their newfound power to gloat over us and trample us underfoot if their son was to be married to the princess. However, we must target the girl this time, it is far too risky to target the boy. Weeds in a garden have to be pruned, ripped out by the roots, to maintain the beauty of the garden. Surely you understand. Tell me the number one rule in chess again." her once soft expression hardens, and she leverages you with a stare, piercing through you.

"Always predict your opponent's next move." you reply, unsure of where this conversation is going. 

"Yes. The Choi family will immediately suspect us if something happens to their precious firstborn, meanwhile the princess will be easy to manipulate and target." your mother sighs, folding her hands neatly on her lap.

"I want you to make friends with Princess Areum, invite her to our house if possible. We'll see from there." 

You nod, hesitant yet confused. What did she mean by target the princess? Was she going to manipulate her to cancel the engagement? 

It turns out, the outcome was far worse.

Princess Areum had become fast friends with you quickly, both sharing common interests. Soon, she began to invite you and your mother to the royal palace, your mother becoming close with the queen too. 

You should've known. 

Years later when you were older, you finally understood what had happened. A tiny bottle of liquid your mother had claimed to be a restoring health tonic, carefully tucked into your mother's sleeve as she made her way to the palace together with you for your weekly afternoon tea sessions with just the four of you.

Princess Areum's rigid body falling to the ground when she took a sip of her afternoon tea, the cries of Queen Bahng echoing out throughout the room as the princess drew her last breath. 

You knew.

The King was heartbroken, his only daughter buried in a grave six feet under the ground. No one even suspected your mother.

One year later, Queen Bahng departed from the realm. The people claimed she died from the heartbreak of losing her only daughter, but only two individuals ever knew the truth. 

Your mother pretended to be inconsolable at the funeral, sobbing as she watched the casket, and you almost wanted to applaud at how convincing her acting was. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Crown Prince, Christopher Bahng, standing beside his father who had a tight hand clasped on his shoulder. The prince's eyes were clearly red from having cried the night prior, yet he remained stoic throughout the ceremony. He never let his emotions nor his grief consume him, you supposed it was how you were like with your mother. Never allowed to show your imperfections to the world. Though you wouldn't admit it, deep down you felt sorry for him, a broken child just like you.

The Choi's never rose to power, and your mother's plan worked. 

"You must take what is rightfully yours," she had said on the carriage ride home. "And you must do what it takes."

"But at what cost?" you asked.

"Everything."

-years later-

You stared out the window at the bustling city, feeling extremely uncomfortable in the many layers of silk and fabric you were clad in. 

"Remember," your mother turned around to look at you, her sharp voice cutting through the silence. "Keep your head up and your eyes trained upon the goal. Charm Prince Christopher.”

“Become the next queen."

~part 2 coming soon~