#pale court au

[oneangrykneegremlin]

No idea who he’s talking to here but it’s a fun concept. He deserves violence as a treat.

He wouldn’t go out of his way to pick a fight but you better expect him to fight back if you push him. And he fights back HARD.

[lendubsofficial]

I surrender…

Hornet: Me Hollow, Pale King: @phoenixvitae Ghost, Radiance: @mimikiplovesgaming

Art @pickles4nickles

[thwispsings]

the idea came to me in a migraine induced dream but now im obsessed with the concept of a mu qingfang who knew the abuse bunhe was going through at the hands of og!shen qingqiu/shen jiu and did his best to treat the kid whenever he could (and bring his concerns to zhangmen shixiong, which were obviously very much ignored) and his constant worry over the situation means that when the qi deviation happens he is suspicious of shen qingqiu’s changes for all different reasons and very much protective of luo binghe -who is a sweet child and an earnest disciple who seems to always find the most incredible medicinal herbs to bring to his mu shishu as thanks for the care bestowed upon him- which means that when the whole shen qingqiu dying thing happens instead of bad mouthing luo binghe or fighting him at every chance he does his best to come over and keep an eye on things to try and help him and make sure luo binghe won’t kill himself trying to bring shen qingqiu back because he remembers that earnest kid and he’s witnessed luo binghe’s devotion to this shen qingqiu first hand and knows there is no way that the kid who cried when ning yingying found a bird with a broken wing and begged mu qingfang to fix it and the kid that would always borrow medical texts and try to find new herb combinations as if it was a game between him and qian cao disciples is actually doing anything nefarious to shen qingqiu’s corpse.

anyways in this essay i will-

[nonuggetshere]

Some silly AU doodles

Get bucketed idiot

[dairyfreenugget]

I have a disorder where I accidentally make characters look very dragon-like in this AU

[randomboiplush]

Isma!

Lore drop for her:

isma has a mechanical device around her neck due to a Disease she has(I am completely making the disease up it is called Vocalis Fatigare Syndrome (VFS)) she has had it since birth but it started to show up more at about 15-16, and by the time she was working with the other 5 great knights, she had basically lost her voice entirely, so pk gave her that, the disease also eventually if bad enough can kill(ismas naturally wasn't that bad at this point), and it can be altered by something like the infection(not purposeful on radis part) but she secluded herself off in her grove to keep herself safe. Anyway back on tech stuff she lost her one arm in the battle of the blackwyrm, which got replaced by a metal one by pk

[regaleur]

//tag list

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[muffinlance]

Can confirm, Sokka's copyright lawyer is particularly obsessed with stolen beams in his arguments

the whole ‘firebenders can’t create fire’ thing from the atla movie is just so funny to me

like, imagine every zuko fight but beforehand we see zuko crouched down with twigs and flint trying desperately to get a little fire going

[nightingale-prompts]

(Kutos to the person who started calling this AU the Beholder AU. You are so real and valid.)

Beholder AU - DC X DP prompt

More here

This AU is basically about what Ghosts have a different definition of what is attractive which is reversed from what humans consider beautiful.

The more pale, waxy, and lifeless you appear the more beautiful you are. Of course, every ghost has their own preference. Some prefer more greenish skin others like gray. Some like what humans consider ugly or repulsive.

Its not just looks that they are chamed by. Scarecrow is considered a heartthrob because of his ability to cause fear which to ghosts makes him a good previder, a ghost you see yourself settling down with. Strength is a deciding factor in most old-fashioned courting.

There is an inverse of this. Humans are drawn to ghosts as well. Not every ghost of course because just like some ghosts are drawn to deathly humans there are humans drawn to lively ghosts.

Ghosts that are considered ugly to other ghosts are beautiful to humans.

Danny has the misfortune of not being the hottest of ghosts. In fact undeath has made him appear downright lovely.

His skin turned into a perfect inhumane porcelain. Not a scratch, blemish, or mark. His skin was so clear and smooth you'd confuse him for a marble statue. His skin was only tinted by green-tinted blush that dusted his cheeks and shoulders.

Danny's eyes weren't creepy at all. They had rings of blue and green. If you stared into them you'd see flickering stars. You'd get lost in them rather than being paralyzed in fear. They weren't even bloodshot and no bags under them.

It was a travesty.

His fangs weren't even that big and sharp nails on long gnarled fingers. Danny looked healthy and youthful with full cheeks and pearly teeth. You could mistake him for a model.

Lets not even mention the hair! It was silver! Soft. No flames. Not even oily and unwashed.

The other ghost found it tragic that every imperfection was erased without even a crooked tooth. How would the poor boy find a partner? Even with his power could someone overlook just lack of fearsome traits.

Even Clockwork could help but sigh. Even just a few beastly traits would help the boy just there were none.

The problem on Danny's end was that while humans found him attractive he was a bit too attractive. Some call it uncanny, hauntingly beautiful or photoshopped. Like he walked out of a book or magazine cover. Which made him unapproachable by most people.

[oceanreveuse]

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗵𝘆𝗱𝗿𝗼 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲.

◟sub!neuvillette, dom!reader, canon!au, two dick!neuvi send tweet!! overstimulation, orgasm denial, handjob(s), dacryphilia, forked tongue!neuvi… pet names (baby, mon amour - my love), not proofread, pronouns not used so can be read as gn!reader!!

‘hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.’ you remember the rhyme as clear as day, like you’d been raised with it carved into your mind. it’s chimed like a chorus on the streets of fontaine by the children, small and innocent - and adherently unaware of the world around them.

the room fills with another choked sob, whimpering into the pillows of your shared bed. the bedsheets, silk and shiny, are sodden by numerous liquids; tears, drool and if you’re kind enough to your beloved husband, cum. if only that was the circumstance, dragging both of your lithe hands up and down red tipped cocks in languid strokes. you never lose your rhythm and as much as NEUVILLETTE has always held a candle of admiration to your resilience and dexterity, by the archons he wishes you would let up for just a moment - just for him.

neuvillette can feel himself slipping away, crumbling in the palms of your hands the longer he attempts to endure your torture. his cries seem to fall on deaf ears, drowned out ironically by children innocently on the streets of the court of fontaine, outside the window as they chime happily in the downpour, “hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry!”

there’s a smug look on your face, eyes glittering as you lean over the iudex’s muscular body, decorated nicely by those white hairs that almost pale in comparison to the man’s skin colour. plush lips linger by his pointed ears, breath fanning over his skin that’s warm to the touch. neuvillette has never been one for sweating but it feels like hours since you started and there’s beads glittering on his forehead and neck, threatening to run down crevices untold.

“how sweet of them, don’t you think baby?” you murmur and neuvillette chokes on a noise that gets caught in his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the lump. his whimpers are so light and airy, almost as dainty as the way the large man carries himself - as if he’s fragile porcelain.

“m-mon amour— hhnngh— p-please—” you cut off the male by capturing his lips in a searing kiss, messy when he arches his back in order to press more against him. he uses it as an escape to muffle his moans that get louder, threatening to breach the walls - and windows - of the bedroom and reach the ears of unsuspecting bystanders. you use it as a means of silencing the otherwise loud dragon, saving yourself the time of hearing his pathetic attempts at begging you for mercy.

he ruts his hips into your hands, forked tongue slivering to fight against your tongue in a hopeless battle of dominance. he wants so badly to finish, for thick ropes of white to paint his abdomen or the back of your throat but you’re relentless and he should have known this from the start. crystalline tears run rivers down flushed cheeks and sharply carved jawlines, rain battering against the windows as the citizens of fontaine call for their children, ushering them into shelter.

the chorus of rhymes end but it doesn’t stop you from filling the silence with a symphony of neuvillette’s desperate whines and delicate whimpers, his moans breathy as he pants to catch his breath. you swipe a thumb teasingly over the tip of one of his cocks, collecting treasured drops of precum and eliciting a sharp hiss from the parted lips of your husband.

your hands pick up pace, watching the way he claws at silken sheets to grasp anything - literally anything. there’s a fire in his abdomen, heavy balls tightening when he’s finally climbing those precious stairs to climax. he’s ready, he’s oh-so-ready for your praise and the soft aftercare you’ll spoil him with, that he’s very much deserved. the poised man prepares himself, rocking his hips into your fists as he chases his high, only for your hands to pull away just at the precipice. his hips stutter, cocks needy and twitching from yet another denial as he chokes out a sob.

your amused voice chides into the hot air of the bedroom, soothing your palms over his tense thighs, “hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

© oceanreveuse 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not repost, steal, translate, etc. on any social media platform & do not feed to ai.

[ the magazine is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

[oneangrykneegremlin]

Very hastily doodled idea I had recently for the Pale Court/Hallownest Rebirth AU.

Quirrel is old, yes, but when he joins the Court as a Knight he still has quite a bit of time left. Years, maybe a few decades or so. As Hallownest is rebuilt, a memorial to Monomon is built in the Archives. He retires from the Court eventually and completely sticks to tending to the Archives as Monomon did. At some point he’s promoted to Teacher of the Archives like her and after he retires from THAT position, and possibly after he dies, his own statue is erected next to Monomon’s. Together at last.

[lendubsofficial]

Make them feel comfortable…

Hornet: Me Hollow, Pale King: @phoenixvitae Ghost, Herrah, Radiance: @mimikiplovesgaming

Art @pickles4nickles

[yandere-daydreams]

i couldn’t read past suguru saving one of the less traditional virginities of yours for satoru…

got swept up with ass only for satoru.. pray that suguru doesn’t get your pregnant (he does) bcs the court will not be happy when the next heir is looking like the king’s advisor instead of the king (they’ll execute the ppl regardless tho i tink)

tw - afab!reader, non/con, LOTS of anal, and unbalanced power dynamics.

this ask inflicted me with the Rot unfortunately,,, no because imagine it,,,, even outside of the royalty au,,, just walk with me here i promise it'll be worth it,,,

satoru gets put on ass-only by suguru as a punishment. the justification doesn't make a difference. maybe he's been fucking you too often, leaving your pussy too sore for suguru to take his turn, or maybe suguru's just in a particularly malicious mood that day - the only thing that really matters is the fact that satoru is no longer able to engage with his favorite comfort object (your pussy) and is left with only a pale imitation to pass the time. he may whine that prep takes too long, that it's not fun if he can't feel you getting wetter and wetter around him, but he's never going to go against something suguru say and you're going to be the one who pays for it, even if you aren't technically the one being punished.

and satoru doesn't like it, at first. he hates having to remember to keep lube stocked, hates the way you cry and cry and cry as he stretches you open, but he gets used to it - even starts not mind, after a few days. sure, it's a pain, but it's kind of nice that you can't try to claw his eyes out while lying on your stomach, and even if he still misses his first love, it's kind of cute when your choked sobs turn to desperate whimpers, when you have to ask him to rub your clit because he's too caught up in the way your ass feels wrapped around him to get to it on his own. soon enough, he stops pestering suguru to lift his pussy-ban, and not long after that, suguru sees fit to stop denying your poor cunt attention, even though you've never dared to complain. still, satoru is having so much fun, and surely, there's no reason to stop him just because more than one part of you needs tending-to.

you'll just have to learn to live with receiving too very different kinds of love at the exact same time <3

[nonuggetshere]

imagine if TTH goes to the mantis tribe and they view them as an outsider but TTH knows like all the like rituals and practices n all that stuff and just shocks the tribe

HOLLOW, BABY, PLEASE, YOU CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS

[nana-au]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄...

 𝜗𝜚 Satoru Gojo Prince AU ♡ part two

 𝜗𝜚 Summary: the arrival of the annual ball the gojo's host each year stirs up a lot of emotions for the prince. he's expected to make his first moves of the social season. with all eyes on him, satoru finds himself openly declaring where he stands on the matter. story summary based off of this drabble

𝜗𝜚 Warnings: forbidden love, unspoken feelings, heavy angst, hurtful words aimed towards reader regarding her place in society, satoru struggles with adhd

 𝜗𝜚 wc: 3,411

𝜗𝜚 an: part two is here! this one is a closer to what happened in the drabble i originally wrote. buckle in.

┊p1┊p2┊𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠... p3┊

A week passes by quickly after that heart fluttering moment you shared with the Prince, and the dreaded day of the Gojo’s annual ball falls upon the palace. By the time you go to wake up Satoru, he’s already sat up in bed staring at the wall ahead of him. The uneasiness that filters from his body and surrounds the atmosphere is hard to ignore. “The King and Queen are requesting your presence at breakfast,” you tell him, his right eye twitching at your words. You knew what this meant for Satoru better than anyone. It was the first ball where he would be expected to find a royal debutante to court. You fought back a shudder at the thought. After moments of silence he finally gets up, hastily buttoning up a sleep shirt to face his parents before walking down the halls of the estate with you. His already pale face was ghostly white as he walked in step with you. His legs were long, one stride for him being two strides for you - but you've long been used to keeping up with his pace. Finding it as easy as breathing. You reach your pinky out to touch his, trying to subtly offer him your touch as support. His slender pinky feels yours and he quickly intertwines the two digits. He relaxes slightly, allowing the small amount of your skin against his to ease his anxiety. It isn't much longer before you're at the King and Queen’s preferred dining room, feeling Satoru start to stiffen again. “Deep breaths,” you whisper to him before pushing the doors open. His anxiety seems to disappear under the watchful eyes of his parents as he nonchalantly makes his way to his seat. You follow, pulling out his chair for him before making your way to the spot against the wall behind him. When it's just the two of you, Satoru insists you sit across from him and even begs you to break your fast with him. But being in front of the King and Queen, the rules you abided by were no longer Satoru’s but the two people who dictated both of your lives. It irritated Satoru to no end that he couldn’t see you behind him, and instead of eating his food he decided to push the pieces of meat around on his plate. 

“Satoru,” the Queen called out to him, causing him to straighten his back, “Remember your manners. Especially today of all days,” she huffed, taking a sip from her water glass. Upon getting his attention she continues talking to her son, “There will be plenty of high status women vying for your attention tonight. I ask that you entertain at least one,” she says sternly. “That includes participating in at least one dance, Satoru,” her hard face seemingly daring the Prince to ignore her requirements for the night. His own face finds the palm of his hand as he once again slumps in his seat and you feel a bead of sweat run down your back. As his servant, you’re not entirely in charge of getting the Prince to behave, but it doesn’t exactly make you look good either. 

“Prince Gojo, please make sure you are giving your full attention to the Queen,” you remind him and if you were any other person he wouldn’t be capable of biting his tongue at the statement. All though, it didn’t feel good to have you scold him either. He felt betrayed for some reason, and he struggled to keep the hurt from bubbling to the surface. He nodded to his mother regardless, adjusting his posture. 

𝜗𝜚

Upon leaving his parent’s private dining room, you bid goodbye to Satoru for the day. You’re not surprised when he suddenly has a burst of energy, “Wait, what?” he asks you, stopping you in your tracks. 

“I have to help my mother in the kitchens. I’m sorry Satoru,” you tell him, almost whispering when you use his given name so close to where the King and Queen spend their days. He huffs like a child, giving you pleading eyes.

“But who will pick out my attire?” he asks you, finding any reason to excuse you from your responsibilities in the kitchen. 

“Already taken care of,” you pat the top of his head and he groans, “The Queen picked it out anyways,” he goes to open his mouth but you’re already interrupting him, “There are other servants assigned to help you bathe and dress and fix your hair up. I wasn’t going to abandon you without setting you up well today,” you tell him, a small smile spreading across your lips. He still isn’t amused, reaching his pinky out to yours one last time. You can’t help but do a quick scan of the hall before intertwining yours with his, squeezing his in reassurance before turning your back to him and walking down the hall. “I’ll see you tonight, Prince Gojo,” you call out to him and you chuckle when you can hear him whine at the formality. 

𝜗𝜚

Satoru’s day dragged on without you in it. His mother had sent one of her own personal servants to walk him through the many guests that would be arriving. He didn’t bother to pay attention as the petite, older woman read out their names and status one by one. The Queen had to be a fool to believe Satoru was going to bother memorizing a single person. 

The servant made note of each available woman of royalty as she read down the impossibly long list and Satoru started to zone out completely at the first mention of a viable woman to court. The details of her political standing, who her father was, how sizable her dowry was… it was all useless information. To hell with it all, Satoru thought. The side of his head rested in his right hand, his eyes scanning the luxurious paintings around him; desperately wishing he was in an open field or the calm waters of the Ocean. Just like the scenes in the gold framed paintings depicted. Anywhere but where he currently was. 

He chose to focus his thoughts on you; lips forming a tight line as he pondered his circumstances. He vividly remembered his childhood with you. Being the only child his mother was able to carry to term, she was entirely devoted to his wellbeing at first. You had been born the same year as him and she saw no better fit for his development than another child. You lived a privileged life compared to other servants born into their servitude. You played in the gardens with Satoru; chasing grasshoppers and trying to catch the colorful fish in one of their many ponds. He still remembers the color of your eyes as you stood under the beating sun, your hair tied up neatly every morning by your mom. Younger you looked so much more alive. He wondered if he also changed like you. Now a hollowed out man with an equally hollow face.

You had even been able to attend some of Satoru’s classes with him as a child, since you were the only person able to get his unwavering attention. No matter what the teacher’s tried, the Prince would only listen to you when you pointed to his books for him to read a passage. The adults in your lives couldn’t understand what there was about you that kept his attention. But for him, it was the only thing in his life he could understand. There was always something about you that commanded his devotion and peaked his interest no matter how many hours in his day he spent with you. You were different from everyone else, and sadly you were different from him too. His head involuntarily shook when his memories went to a less favorable place: the same place that had you in the kitchens and him going over a list of women he would never dream of wanting. 

“Prince Gojo, you’re keeping up, yes?” the older woman asks, her voice sickly sweet but hiding her underlying annoyance with the Prince. Satoru yawns in response, nodding his head but not bothering to verbally answer her. 

𝜗𝜚

Time went on despite the Prince’s wishes and servants came in and out of his quarters. They bathed him, cleaned up his hair, and smoothed out his luxuriously blue waistcoat all despite the swatting of his hands and the roll of his eyes. Satoru had nothing to look forward to in his evening. You would surely be spending your time in the kitchens, assisting your mother in loading up endless drinks and fancy snacks that Satoru could only name because he kept track of every bite-sized morsel that offended his tongue. 

The night arrived and the guests began to pile into the Gojo’s massive ballroom, meaning Satoru had to unfortunately act like a Prince. He smiled at every face that passed his, entertaining those who struck up conversation, and offering drinks to keep people from getting ‘parched’. His princely display was entirely rehearsed, even the part where Satoru pretended that the sound of the live orchestra wasn’t driving him mad underneath the never-ending string of thoughts he always struggled with. 

Unbeknownst to Prince Gojo, his mother sat in the Queen’s seat at the center of the room, eyes glued onto her son’s every move. She silently critiqued him whenever he failed to hide his grimace and clicked her tongue as he avoided meeting a debutante's lingering stare. She leaned into the King’s ear, unable to keep her observations to herself and the King grunted in response, slurping from his chalice. 

The part of Satoru’s night he was most dreading arrived but the Prince was too distracted to hear the sound of the announcement he was anxiously waiting for. The Princess his mother’s servant drilled into his head earlier in the day was loudly greeted by the piercing sound of a trumpet and the roaring claps of the people inhabiting the room - but it was impossible for Satoru to hear when the glow of your face under the bright light sparkled in his line of sight. His breath hitched and he felt the familiar feeling of his throat tightening at the sight of you, his vocal chords tensing from the desire to call out your name. He swiftly made his way to you, hardly acknowledging the people he was pushing past when relief was just in reach.

He was directly in front of you when your eyes finally snapped up to his, the lines of your face smoothing out from the relief of seeing him. He breathed out your name and you smiled earnestly at him. “Prince Gojo,” you said, equally as breathy as you let a wave of ease crash upon your previous misery. It was your first time being on the ballroom floor during one of the Gojo’s regal events and you sweated at the intensity of it all. If you had it your way, you would never be subjected to the blinding lights and the heat caused by so many bodies in a single room; but one of the girls who would usually be holding your plate of hor d'oeuvres got sick moments before the first guests arrived. So here you were, standing around like a fool as you offered rich people mushy bites of whatever the royal court deemed popular that season. They didn’t even bother to look at you as they all grabbed the food off the tray you were holding, and you were reminded how these people saw you; not even worth the seconds it would take to meet your eyes.

Satoru was overwhelmed in a whole new way upon seeing you in attendance. It didn’t even cross his mind that you were doing a job; to him you were more important than every person standing in the room. None of their job descriptions or royal titles were even close to importance once you walked in. Satoru studied your figure, noticing the servant's uniform reserved for special occasions hugging your curves and your delicate lips colored with rogue. “You’re sparkling,” he says, not realizing it was out loud and you giggle awkwardly, unsure what he meant by that - but in his eyes you shone brighter than the heavens under the light given by a nearby chandelier. His hand comes up to the side of your head, and before you can even think of pulling away he’s twirling a single strand of hair that came loose from your ponytail around his slender finger. You hiccup at the action, seeing how enthralled he was to touch you in a room full of people. 

“Satoru-” you say, your voice barely above a whisper; the deep blush you now sported heating up your face worse than the lights. “You should really get back to the guests,” you tell him. He pays no mind to your words, his electric blue eyes entranced as he watches the strands of your hair lace around his digit.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the King and Queen see everything. They see their son choosing the company of a servant rather than their important guest - their son ignoring the Princess that just arrived despite the Queen making it clear he was to greet her. They watched as their son twirled your hair around his pathetic finger and smiled down at you like you were his world. It was making the Queen sick as she fanned herself, unable to look away from the disturbing scene unfolding in front of her. 

Satoru was insatiable. He tried to make conversation with the other royals roaming the ballroom but he stood no chance knowing you were just at the other end of the room. He gravitated to you, no matter where in the room you ended up in. He didn’t even bother to take the food off your plate to make it maybe even a little less obvious what he was doing. When it got closer and closer to the end of the night and Satoru still hadn’t asked someone for a dance, you pleaded with him to do as he was instructed. It was expected for the Prince to have a dance at every one of their annual balls; and this year it was anticipated that he would choose an available woman close in age to show his interest to everyone attending. Satoru only chuckled when you took an exasperated tone with him, insisting he hurry up and choose a dance partner. He does his signature eye roll, full of amusement and teasing before his face finally loses its humor. His lips part as he moves in close, his large hand coming up to grip your shoulder as he leans closer and closer into you, “Alright, I’ll dance. But you're still the only girl I want to hold in my arms,” he leans away just as fast as he had entered your personal space - giving you a cheeky smile before asking the first random woman he sees among the crowd of people. She’s a round woman, obviously out of his age range and sporting a wedding ring, but that doesn’t matter to Satoru. The crowd of people whisper amongst each other at what the Prince could possibly mean by picking her. Your stomach drops at the realization Satoru wasn’t even going to try and play by the King and Queen’s rules. His eyes were glued to yours the entire dance, releasing the once hidden defiance that always swirled under his skin for the entire room to finally see. Satoru wasn’t going to adhere to what society expected of him.

That terrified you. 

𝜗𝜚

You barely finished cleaning up the kitchen when the Queen’s most favored servant made an appearance, your father alongside her with a pale face. “The Queen is requesting your family’s attendance in her study,” she simply states before turning around and making her way down the hall, expecting you all to follow her. Your mother sets down the towel she was drying dishes with and hurries along, calling out your name when you fail to move with her. 

The long walk to the King and Queen’s quarters does little to steady your beating heart. It felt as though it was trying to jump out of your chest, abandoning you to deal with the consequences it caused. 

You knew this meeting had something to do with the Prince which made every step feel heavier and heavier, your feet practically dragging across the marble floors. The look on the Queen’s face as she sat primly on her chaise lounge sent your stomach into a series of flips. She was alone surprisingly, the King obviously tucked away in bed to leave his wife to unleash the storm of words she readied for you. Upon entering, your family got onto their knees, bowing low to the white haired woman with cold eyes. “Our Queen,” your father spoke first, adjusting his tone to sound like a child who was caught stealing a cookie; a tone that was laced with guilt and begged for forgiveness. 

“No more,” she says, her voice in direct contrast to your fathers: loud and shrill. “You will be the Prince’s personal servant no more,” she aims her rage towards you and you jump, your body beginning to shake when your brain finally processes the words she used. “Tonight was an embarrassment. Positively humiliating!” she grips the tea cup in her hand, knuckles turning white, “the King and I will stand for this no longer. You are to be moved to kitchen duty immediately! All contact with Satoru will cease tonight. I forbid you from ever being alone with him,” you’re shaking as she describes to you your new reality, unable to dodge the venomous sting of her words. “Disobey my orders child,” she insults you, attempting to put you down regardless of the fact you are just as old as her adult son, “-and you and your family will find yourselves on the streets, shunned by the people who are loyal to this kingdom,” You don’t look up, your eyes fixed on the plush rug of her study to hide the tears cascading down your cheeks, but you can feel both your parents tense at her words. She huffs, taking a pause to sip from her cup before continuing her speech. 

“I trust you aren’t so foolish as to think this little crush was going to become something more. The Prince may be infatuated now - but once his responsibilities sink in you will be nothing but his property. Forced to raise his children and scrub the forks that touch his lips,” You choke back a sob, desperately trying to hold it in until you make it back to the servant’s quarters. “You may be what he wants but you could never be what he needs. Your place in life ensures such. Satoru needs a wife of high status to continue our legacy. Your blood would just smear it,” she sighs, almost like the conversation was starting to bore her. “I trust you understand the words I am telling you. It’s your responsibility to ensure Satoru wants nothing to do with you. I don’t care how you do it, but this silly little infatuation he has must come to an end,” she says before she dismisses the three of you with a wave of her hand, turning her attention back to her book that rested in her lap as you sauntered off. 

You meet your parent’s eyes once you leave her study, their faces sunken in from stress. Looking at the both of them, it is obvious the sacrifices they made for you. Their hands were rough from decades of labor, their eyes dark from sleepless nights, and their clothes worn down from years of wear. You don’t give them the opportunity to speak, too scared of what they could say. “I’m sorry for the worry I have caused the both of you. I-,” your voice breaks but you steel yourself as best as you can, “I promise I won’t do anything more that may jeopardize our family’s honor.” You leave it at that, turning your back to them and heading to your room.

That night you cry enough tears to fill all of the Gojo’s ponds - and maybe even enough to water their gardens too before your exhaustion outweighs your pain and you drift off to sleep. 

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(ty for all the support! comment to be added/removed)