#royal morality to lean back on.

[kraniumet]

“what if beato was a [real] witch?” that, my friend, is called yu gi oh

[twstowo]

Kissing Their Foreheads [Rollo, Che'nya and Neige]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You kiss their foreheads.

♡︎Reader is from Noble Bell College in Rollo’s part and from Royal Sword Academy in Neige's part

♡︎I feel that I wrote so much more for these guys than the rest…my bad?

[First Years]☆[Second Years]☆[Third Years]☆[One final forehead kiss]☆[Here]

⋆⋅☆Rollo:

You have no idea how you ended up in this situation, but here you are, stuck in the same room with Rollo Flamme while he is giving you the chills. To be fair, he always had those dead eyes, but surely he isn’t mad at you, right? He doesn't want to burn you or anything... That’s just how his face looks all the time.

Well, you're not so sure about that anymore because now he is approaching you! And he is getting way too close for your comfort. You can hear yourself gulping from the nervousness.

You don’t even know why you’re reacting this way. You and Rollo were somewhat close; you’d dare to call him a friend by now, though you’re not sure he sees you that way. The two of you always ended up studying together after classes. Whenever you had trouble understanding a subject, Rollo would always help you out. He wasn’t that bad of a person once you got to know him.

However, he still had those questionable morals of his, and right now, he didn’t seem very happy. He kept ranting about the students from Night Raven College and by the Seven! He seemed particularly mad at this Malleus Draconia, and he had kept on rumbling about him for the past hours.

At this point, you had just shaken off your feeling of unease. You knew that Rollo was probably just stressed about wanting everything to be perfect for the new students. Yes, that had to be it! In fact, you were starting to pity his state.

So, without thinking about your own actions, as Rollo sat down next to you to continue your study session, you took hold of his face and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. As you leaned back in your seat, realizing what you had done, you noticed that Rollo was as embarrassed by your actions as you were. Both of your cheeks had a pink tint as you stared at each other, and now you had no idea of how to get out of this situation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Che’nya:

There you were, invited to an unbirthday party by Riddle himself. You were having lots of fun eating and drinking while talking with your friends when, out of nowhere, Che’nya decided to show up and scared the living daylights out of you with his floating head.

And that wasn’t all. He seemed to have enjoyed your reaction so much that it turned into a contest to see how high you could jump when he scared you. Not fun. Not fun at all.

The second time his head popped up, you spilled your tea all over your clothes. You had to excuse yourself from the party to wash your shirt.

The third time, you almost stumbled against one of the pink flamingos. You swore that if Che’nya hadn't vanished right away, you would have hit him with one of those.

By the fourth time, you were ready to just run away from the party. But you were having such a fun time with the rest of your friends that you didn’t want Che’nya’s antics to get to you. You really needed to find a way to get payback—something that would surprise him so much that he would no longer pester you.

So, by the fifth time he showed up, you didn’t think twice. You grabbed hold of his floating head, not wanting him to escape. Che’nya had a huge grin plastered on his face, and you were so annoyed by his attitude. You did the most unthinkable thing you could think of: you kissed his forehead.

For the rest of the day, Che’nya didn’t annoy you anymore.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Neige:

By now, you and Neige had become pretty close friends. Not that it was very difficult—the guy was a ball of sunshine. He was also such a hard worker, helping out the dwarfs, studying for exams, training for his acting gigs; overall, he was always filled with work. Yet he always made time for the two of you to be together.

You always tried helping him out, whether by summarizing some of the content from your classes to help him study better or by making his lunch so that he could fully focus on his own stuff.

Neige always appreciated your help, even when he kept on saying how much he didn’t want you to overwork yourself because of him. You never listened to him.

One day, you found Neige, the ball of sunshine always full of energy, knocking at your dorm room. Normally, he would send you a message when he had free time; he never showed up without warning. And by the uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes and that quivering smile of his, you knew he was tired. So you let him in, and you let him rest in your bed as you cuddled him, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead to help him relax.

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[lousypotatoes]

Hi! I have no idea how to request stuff but if you wouldn't mind, would you be able to do a helluva boss Andrealphus x reader? (Im not sure if you write for him or not since he doesn't have much screen time I'm sorry if u dont!) Where Andrealphus is so caught up in his duties that he accidentally neglects his partner and how he would make up for it. Pure fluff! Thank you for your time!!

I can try, but I can't promise it'll be good 😭

Never Again - Andrealphus x GN! Reader

Song Recommendation:

You Are The Reason - Calum Scott

Pt.1

that's supposed to say pt 2 and its not letting me fix it 😭 sorry

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Being married to royalty definitely had it's pros. You had people waiting on you hand and foot, people knew who you were, and you got to shop without worrying too much about the money.

That was one of the best parts.

But being married to royalty also had it's cons. You constantly had people trying to kill you, you had to deal with your husband's bitch sister every time she came over to visit, and your husband got too caught up in his royal duties that he sometimes completely forgot to pay you any attention.

That was the worst part, by far.

Right now, you were currently sitting on your bed, texting your brother in law, Stolas.

You and Stolas were close, confiding to each other about anything and everything, from his feelings towards an imp, to how much the both of you absolutely loathed Stella.

Deciding that you were getting bored of texting, you put your phone down and went searching through the castle, looking for your husband.

After about a few minutes of looking, you found him in his office, typing away on a typewriter. From what you could tell from his body lanuage, he seemed stressed.

"My love are you alright?" you asked softly as you walked into the office.

No answer.

"My love?" you asked a little louder.

Still no answer.

"Andrealphus?"

He still didn't answer.

Letting out a puff of air, you walked over to behind his chair, putting your hands on his shoulders. He didn't say anything, instead easing into your touch.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, lightly massaging his shoulders. "You seem really stressed."

"Yes, I'm fine, dear" he said, resting his head back, meeting your eyes. "I just want to get this letter sent out before the end of the week."

"Who's the letter to?" you asked, continuing your massage.

"Asmodeus,"

"Asmodeus? I thought you didn't like him?"

"I don't, but this is a rather urgent matter," he groaned as you hit a pressure point.

"What's the occasion?" you asked.

"He wants the two of us to meet at his club to discuss his sex toy production,"

"Why would he want to do that exactly?"

"That I don't know, my dear,"

"Do you want me to go with you?" you smirked, leaning down to his hear. "For moral support, of course."

Your husband chuckled. "As much as I want you with me" he started. "I don't want you in that type of environment."

"Aw, you're no fun," you playfully stuck out your tongue. "When do you think you'll be done?"

"Later today,"

"There's a but isn't there?"

"I'm sorry, my love," he said, lightly frowning. "But after I finish this, I have to attend a meeting at my sisters."

"Of course it's at Stella's," you said under your breath, pulling your hands away from your husband. "Is it actually a meeting, or are the two just going to bitch about Stolas the whole time?"

"No, this is an actual meeting," Andrealphus said, getting out of his chair. "The whole Ars Goetia is going to be there, including Stolas."

He gently cupped your face with his hands. The cold touch of his palms and fingertips making a shiver go down your spine and goosebumps appear all over your skin.

"I know you want us to spend more time together, Y/N," he said softly. "I do too, but you know I have duties to attend to."

"Yeah, I know," you grumbled, looking up to meet his blue eyes. "I just wish you didn't have to all the time."

"I know, I know," he said before closing the gap between you two and kissed you softly.

His cold lips were a nice contrast to your warm ones. Even though this was probably the thousandth time the two of you had kissed, it made your heart melt and your knees turn to jelly.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," he whispered as he pulled away. "How about we go to a nice place for dinner, hm? Would that make up for it?"

"Mmm maybe," you giggled. "Only if you're paying."

"Don't I always, love?" he laughed. "I'll meet you out front at 8, you better be ready by then."

"I will," you said, pecking him on his beak. He blushed. He absolutely loved when you did that. "I'll see you then, handsome."

He removed his hands from your face, kissing you on the forehead. "I can't wait to see how you look, my love."

"Well, I better go start planning my outfit then," you said, walking out of the office. "I love you Andrealphus,"

"I love you too, Y/N,"

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@al-of-the-stars i'm sorry if this wasn't to ur liking i tried my best 😔

i had more planned but i got lazy so im gonna do a part 2 instead 😭

im so excited for the nest episode to come out 🙏

i may or may not have a helluva boss x reader planned out 🤫

stay safe and drink lot of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[minnie-cai]

TIMECAST - Golden Age Of Piracy

To Plot A Storm

cartographer!patrick zweig x pirate!reader

c.ai bot | moodboard and introduction

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Smoke still clings to the deck like a sulking ghost, thick with salt and gunpowder. You step over a shattered beam, boots slick with the blood of men you didn’t bother to ask names for. Your coat flares behind you, wind catching the torn edge, and you drag it shut with one hand as your eyes settle on the mess of uniform and attitude they’ve dragged to the brig.

He’s not what you expected. Not a sailor. Not a soldier.

He’s slight, sharp-shouldered, glasses somehow still perched on his nose despite the scuffle. He’s got ink on his cuffs and an expression like he’s trying very hard not to breathe through his mouth. His jaw is clenched with the moral outrage of a man who just saw a library defiled.

“Captain,” Bones says dryly, nudging the prisoner forward with the butt of a pistol. “Says he’s a cartographer. Naval, but civilian. Won’t shut up about his qualifications.”

“I am a cartographer,” the man snaps, glaring sideways. “Royal Navy Contracted, Oxford-trained, and absolutely not a combatant.”

You crouch to his level. Tilt your head. He flinches when your coat brushes his knee.

“Tell me, Oxford, do you often chart your way into pirate fire?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“You were on a Navy ship.”

“I was documenting longitude discrepancies in the Meridian approaches.”

“Ah.” You grin. “So you were being annoying.”

His lips twitch—tight with frustration. “I was being accurate.”

You reach for the keys at your belt, consider, then toss them to Bones without looking. “Put him in the brig. If he talks too much, gag him with one of Mira’s socks.”

Bones grimaces. Patrick sputters. You walk off before either of them can say more.

The next time you see him, he’s sitting stiff-backed in the brig, surrounded by men who smell like sweat, salt, and a complete lack of respect for the Queen’s English.

He corrects Mira’s grammar within three minutes.

By the fourth, he’s being used as a hat stand.

You crouch again, just outside the bars. He glares at you through his spectacles.

“I believe this is a violation of the conventions on treatment of civilian captives.”

You pick at a nail. “I believe you’re too mouthy for a hostage.”

“I’m only mouthy because I’m surrounded by people who can’t distinguish between ‘less’ and ‘fewer.’”

You blink. Slowly.

Then: “I like you.”

His jaw drops.

You stand, smiling. “You’re not worth a ransom, but I think you might be worth keeping.”

You find him in the navigation room the next morning, hair mussed from sleep—or a lack of it—lips pursed around some complaint you don’t let him finish.

You slap the rolled parchment onto the table between you.

“What’s this?” he asks warily.

“A mystery,” you say. “And a job.”

He adjusts his spectacles. You watch his fingers, delicate and ink-stained, as he unrolls the map.

His eyes narrow. “This is nonsense.”

“That’s not how you say thank you, Captain, for not throwing me to the sharks.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “There’s no such island. Not here. Not anywhere. These coordinates are impossible.”

You lean in, close enough to smell the starch still clinging to his collar. “Then explain why every man I’ve ever known who’s gone looking for it never came back.”

He looks up at you, visibly weighing your madness. “Correlation does not imply causation.”

“I’m not asking for causation, Professor. I’m asking for a course.”

He hesitates.

“I help you,” he says slowly, “and you don’t let Mira hang me off the mast by my britches again?”

You grin. “Deal.”

It takes less than a day for the crew to nickname him Professor.

It takes less than two for him to correct every single one of them at least once.

Niko, trying to explain a compass reading, gets a full two-minute lecture about magnetic deviation and hemispheric bias. Mira starts calling him “Fancy Charts.” Bones pretends to take notes just to mess with him.

You don’t stop them.

You enjoy it.

You enjoy him.

Watching him stumble across the deck like a newborn deer, watching his horror at the hammocks, watching him try to hold dignity in a shirt Mira dyed pink by accident.

He corners you on the fourth day, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Your crew is impossible.”

You smirk. “Aye, but they’re loyal.”

“Loyalty doesn’t make them grammatically sound.”

You grin wider. “That so?”

“I counted seventeen misuses of ‘ain’t’ in a single conversation.”

“I counted one man still breathing because he’s useful.”

He pales slightly, but squares his shoulders. You like that, too.

You step closer. “Say ‘ain’t’ one more time, Professor.”

He glares. “I refuse.”

You lower your voice. “Coward.”

“I prefer precision.”

Your breath brushes his cheek.

He doesn’t step back.

A week in, a storm brews.

Patrick warns you.

You ignore him.

It hits like God’s own temper tantrum, and the crew—bastards that they are—shove the two of you into the charting room and bar the door.

“Don’t come out,” Mira yells through the wood. “Not ‘til one of you admits something or murders the other.”

You pace.

He fidgets.

Rain drums the deck above. Lightning flashes against the parchment on the walls. You can hear Bones laughing outside like it’s a tavern brawl.

“I told you this would happen,” Patrick says.

“Yes, and I ignored you.”

“Well that’s encouraging.”

“I didn’t say it was a good decision.”

He scowls at the maps. “You could at least admit when you’re wrong.”

You cross your arms. “That would break the natural order of things.”

“You are infuriating.”

“You’re obsessed with commas.”

“They matter!”

“You don’t.”

It slips out sharper than intended. He flinches. You regret it instantly.

The silence that follows is heavy—heavier than the storm.

“I know I don’t,” he says finally, quietly. “Not out here.”

You stare at him.

He’s not looking at you. Just at the floor. At his own boots. Like they’ve betrayed him too.

You step forward. Touch his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

“You do,” you say. “You matter.”

He blinks. “Why?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Because you make good maps.”

His lips twitch. “That’s not very romantic.”

“I’m not very romantic.”

“You flirt by threatening to stab people.”

“And yet here you are.”

When the storm breaks, he’s still in your room.

He stays.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t have to.

Later, you catch him correcting Niko again—with patience. Mira nearly faints from shock.

Bones starts calling him our cartographer.

You don’t correct that, either.

You watch as Patrick begins to stand without swaying. As he stops flinching when Mira tosses him food. As he argues back with Bones. As he sharpens Niko’s compass without being asked.

You watch him become crew.

He still yells about grammar. But now, they laugh with him.

You think it’ll be the island that kills you.

It’s real.

Against all odds, it’s real.

Looming in the fog, full of cliffs and secrets and the kind of beauty that always spells disaster.

You send the rowboats out anyway.

You and Patrick walk the shore alone, maps in hand, pistols hidden beneath your coats.

You find ruins—ancient and strange and not on any chart.

He stares at them like a man seeing god.

You stare at him.

And when he says your name—not Captain, not you, but your actual name—you kiss him.

Hard.

Messy.

Desperate.

He kisses back like he’s trying to catalogue it.

You tangle fingers in his hair and forget how to be cruel.

You return to the ship in silence. The taste of him still lingers. But neither of you says what it means.

Days pass. You’re supposed to be focused. Charting, sailing.

Instead, you’re watching him.

He’s leaning over the map table, candlelight catching in his hair, the salt-wind curling his shirt at the edges. You were supposed to be talking about currents. Instead, you’re watching the way his throat moves when he swallows.

NSFW content past the divider

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You move behind him slowly. No warning. No sound. Just presence.

He stiffens when he feels your breath on the nape of his neck—but doesn’t step away.

Your fingers brush the curve of his waist.

He exhales. Not startled. Something worse. Something deeper.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, voice low and taut like a line pulled too tight.

“Do you?”

“You think if you get close enough, I’ll fall apart.”

You lean in—until your chest brushes his back, your hands splayed flat on the table on either side of his hips. He’s trapped, but not resisting.

“I don’t want you to fall apart,” you murmur. “I want you to come undone.”

He makes a sound—half breath, half break.

You don’t touch him yet. Not properly. Just the heat of your body behind him. The whisper of knuckles grazing fabric. His spine arches ever so slightly—like a compass needle tipping toward something it shouldn’t want.

You place a single hand on the small of his back. Lightly. Like blessing or blasphemy—you’re not sure which.

He shudders.

Your mouth finds the space just beneath his ear. “Still think I’m doing this to win?”

“I think,” he says, strained, “that you don’t know how not to.”

You drag your fingers along his side, slow and reverent. As if his skin is ink you’ll smudge if you go too fast.

His head drops forward. He breathes like he’s drowning and doesn’t want saving.

“I hate how you touch me,” he whispers.

“No you don’t.”

“No,” he agrees hoarsely. “No. I don’t.”

You turn him, finally—his breath shallow, pupils blown, every inch of him begging for more and too proud to say it. You kiss him like it’s a storm you’ll never survive. Like the only way to map the contours of his body is by tracing every inch with your palms, your mouth, your teeth.

He kisses you back like he’s memorizing coordinates he’ll never write down. Like he’ll never get another chance.

Your hands are in his shirt, his fingers twisted in your coat. There’s no gentleness left—just gravity. Just need.

When he gasps, you catch it with your tongue.

When he claws at your belt, you let him.

When he says your name like it’s both a curse and a confession—you swallow it whole.

His breath is shallow as you pin him between your body and the edge of the map table. The charts beneath his hands crinkle—carefully drawn lines smudged beneath shaking fingers.

“Say it,” you whisper.

He swallows, hard. “Say what?”

“That you want this.”

His eyes close, lashes trembling. “I’ve wanted this since you first threatened to throw me overboard.”

You smile. “Romantic.”

His reply is a gasp—your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his trousers, fingers skimming skin that’s too warm, too soft for someone so sharp. He shudders violently, breath hitching as you cup him through thin cotton, his body betraying him completely.

“You’re already this hard for me?” you murmur against his throat. “Pathetic.”

“You’re cruel,” he breathes, but he rocks into your palm like he wants more of it.

“You love it.”

You press your mouth to his collarbone, then lower—tongue tracing the bones of him like coastline. You unbutton his shirt slowly, lazily, like each layer is a secret you’re peeling away. He watches you with glassy eyes, skin flushed, trembling under your touch.

You bite at his ribs. Kiss his stomach. He twitches violently when your mouth brushes just above the line of his cock, still trapped in those proper naval trousers.

And then he begs.

“Please,” he whispers, voice raw and ragged.

You undo his trousers and push them down slowly. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking, and he groans like it hurts.

You wrap your hand around him and his hips buck helplessly. He grabs the edge of the table, knuckles white, charts slipping under his grip.

“You’re going to come just from this?” you whisper, amused.

“I’m going to come,” he chokes out, “from you.”

You lick a stripe along the underside of him, slow and indulgent, and he nearly folds in half. Your tongue circles the head, and when you take him into your mouth, his breath leaves him entirely. He makes a sound—utterly unguarded. Desperate.

You set the pace—slow, deliberate. Letting him feel every flick, every press, every inch of heat and pressure. His thighs are trembling. He reaches for your shoulder, unsure if he’s asking you to stop or stay.

You pull back, spit and pre-come glistening on your lips.

“You’re not coming yet,” you say.

“Why not—?”

You silence him with a kiss, dragging him toward the cot. You push him down and straddle him, skirts bunched around your hips. He stares up at you like you’re the sun—too bright, too close, too much.

You guide him inside you slowly, watching his eyes roll back, his hands flying to your hips like instinct.

You’re tight. Warm. Wet. And the way he fills you—perfectly, painfully—makes your breath catch. You sit fully down on him, grinding once, deep and slow. His hands tremble against your waist.

“I want you to watch me,” you tell him, rolling your hips again. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

He watches.

He watches like you’re myth. Like you’re map and monster all at once.

You ride him slow and hard, using him for every inch of tension he’s ever made you carry. Every argument. Every correction. Every moment you wanted him and hated that you did.

He’s saying your name now. Over and over.

“Please—Captain—please—”

You grab his wrists, pin them above his head. Lean down until your breasts brush his chest, your lips an inch from his.

“Do you want to come inside me, Patrick?”

He groans like the question hurts. “Yes—God, yes—”

You fuck him harder.

Until the table rattles. Until the candle flickers. Until the whole ship might as well be listening.

And when he comes, it’s with your name in his mouth and your body wrapped around him like a storm.

You follow seconds later, clenching around him, your voice in his ear like thunder.

You collapse beside him, both of you breathless and ruined.

And still—still—he has the audacity to whisper, “You misplaced a modifier back there.”

You bite his shoulder. He yelps.

You’re both smiling.

You lie tangled together in the humid dark, legs draped over maps neither of you are going to be able to use without remembering how your sweat soaked through the parchment.

He’s quiet.

Which is new. And suspicious.

You brush a curl from his forehead. His skin is damp, his breath finally slowing.

Then he says, “If we’re being honest…”

“Mmm?”

“That was… grammatically chaotic.”

You grin. “You want to revise my syntax, Professor?”

He hums. “I’d start with the way you incorrectly placed your—ah—emphasis.”

“Tell me where I misplaced it and I’ll pin you down again.”

He opens his mouth.

You straddle him before he can answer, press your hand to his chest, feel his heart lurch like a ship pulling from shore.

���Go on,” you say. “Be precise.”

“I was going to say—” His voice cracks as you roll your hips gently. “Gods, Captain…”

“I like it when you call me that,” you murmur. “Say it again and I’ll misplace something else.”

He groans.

You kiss his jaw.

And suddenly the teasing stills—just for a moment. You press your forehead to his. Let the silence stretch.

When you speak again, it’s quieter.

“You okay?”

He nods, mouth soft. “You?”

You nod back.

And neither of you say the word feelings, but it hangs between you anyway—unsaid, but not unacknowledged.

You lean in again, press your lips to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re mine now, compass.”

He looks dazed. “That a declaration?”

“That’s a threat.”

His smile curves slow and deep. “Then threaten me again tomorrow.”

[palms-upturned]

Somewhat ironically, direct contact with Europe had always been important for fomenting revolutionary movements in the Third World. The Indonesian independence movement had early roots in Holland, and it was in Paris that Ho Chi Minh got his political education. When studying or working back in the imperial capitals, colonial subjects often came into contact with ideas that were never allowed to reach their territories. Much of colonialism had relied on the logic of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Or in practice, “Do as white say, not as white do.” So while Europeans themselves were extending education to their entire populations, and their intellectuals were debating the merits of socialism and Marxism, much of this was banned in the colonies. The natives might get ideas. For example, in the Congo, brutally controlled by the Belgians since King Leopold II established the Free Congo State in 1885 (and the United States rushed to be the first country in the world to recognize the colony), authorities banned left-leaning publications and liberal lifestyle magazines that circulated freely back in Europe, and were scared even by the fact that working-class blacks lived together in urban areas. Wouldn’t this lead to subversion, or worse, Bolshevism? Congolese pupils learned about the Belgian royal family, but not the American civil rights movement, and the French Revolution was explained very carefully, so as not to make that whole affair seem too attractive in African editions of textbooks.

The justification given by European authorities in the Congo went like this: “All those in our colony are unanimous in stating that the blacks are still children, both intellectually and morally.”

Vincent Bevins, The Jakarta Method

[kitten8chcocolate]

This is what happens when you've read @sararaasch royals and romance books many times, love DnD, have ADHD and the creativity spark hits you at random hours, you get the characters as DnD characters. Now if someone would come and take the excess ideas...please.

Coal you might think this man is a bard. No. Coal is an artificer and fighter. This man is amazing with bringing ideas to life. He loves making gadgets and trinkets for his party. If you mess with or hurt his team, well good luck, because this man has plans. 

Kris, people mistake him for being a barbarian or even a paladin because they see muscles, the hammer and shield. However he’s a cleric with bardic tendencies and those are absolutely accidental. His goal is to write an epic poem about his adventures with his brother and their friend, while making sure everyone is okay. He’ll be fine. He doesn’t need a heal, he’s got a shield. In theory he should be in the back, but he’s got a shield and a hammer that his brother made with their family crest on it. Also a bag full of bad jokes. 

Hex, people see him and think yeah this dude is a necromancer. First off, both Hex and Coal find that rude. Hex is a sorcerer, his family magic is really old and eventually he’ll get his familiar. He’s also pretty good at alchemy and has several darts. Most of them are poisoned. He and Siobhan are a great tag team when it comes to magic.

Iris, a half tiefling, this sweet girl is a rogue and no one suspects her. The amount of people she’s stolen from is unfathomable. This includes Finn’s heart. Iris is an excellent acrobat and actor. She has on more than one occasion hidden the group in costumes. She’s got a short sword and a dozen daggers. 

Loch an elf druid ranger. The banished prince who’s going to get his throne back with the help of the humans and tiefling. Loch’s main weapons of choice are a longbow and his shillegagh (an Irish walking stick) that is imbued with magic to help with his own earth and luck based magic. He uses it mostly to bonk people in the head who dare touch his human. He called dibs first. This man also has his family’s sword, (belonged to his dad) which he uses well. He’s also got a giant wolf named Caine as a companion, these two have been friends since Loch was a child. 

Finn is a bardic monk. A banished elf princess like her brother and sister. She’ll punch you while mocking you without missing a beat. To this day no one knows how, but she and Kris are pals with the most platonic P.  Finn also has a whip made of thorns and Coal has promised to make her brass knuckles that’ll whistle whenever she punches someone.  

Siobhán is a druid wizard. The final banished elf princess.  She’s also got a shillegagh that is her wand and she’s got daggers. There is currently no known number of daggers.  

Also from my mind a few  canonical things that have happened with this messy DnD crew.

The group had been trying to open the door for the past five minutes but nothing seemed to work. 

Hex: The door has to be cursed or something!

Coal: Nothing’s worked!

Iris: The lock can’t be picked!

Loch: leaning on his wolf. How about ya turn the feckn knob.

Coal: That’s so fucking…turns door knob and door open. Don’t say a word. 

At a random inn

Finn: banging on the door Loch ya decent? Loch: Morally I ain’t sure, and Kris and I are naked. So no.

Kris whispering: The fuck.

Finn: The fuck!

Kris and Loch’s first interaction after a huge misunderstanding 

Loch has Kris pinned down with a dagger to his neck: I should kill ya human.

Kris: Your eyes are like a gentle fog covering a forest that one could get lost in for days on end.  

Loch: …

Kris: …

Loch: walks away while contemplating the really handsome human.

Finn and Siobhán: cackling

[starillusion13]

MINE TO KILL (Teaser)

Pairing: Royal! Yunho x f! reader (ft. Wooyoung)

Genre: Royal, Mature, Enemies to (?), Smut, Angst

W.C: ??? [1.5k (this is only for teaser)]

Warnings: mention of - to kill someone and threats (all the rest warnings will be in the main plot.

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Note: Thanks for reading and reblogging. I appreciate all of your reviews and feel free to text me if you want. Spread love to others, not hate. I love Yunho when he is angry and guys finally I have identified my bias in Ateez I think it’s Yunho😃 dw it will change in my next fic lol

"And you thought I won't notice?"

You flinched to the sudden dark voice from the stairs. The ceiling lights and the lamps had a warm radiant but those lights were still piercing on your skin. As if the hatred inside you was adding to the heat of the lights.

Your piercing eyes reflected the shining light of the light chain decorated on the railings. You gripped the glass tighter in your hand, feeling the anger rising in you to watch him descending the stairs.

He should slip a step and fall from the stairs in front of you. You scoffed mentally.

The boots hit to the marbled stairs slowly, the walk was slow, too slow to let you hear each sound of his boot precisely and clearly.

Your glares directed towards him made his corner of the lip to tug upwards slightly. He watched you intently and noticed your slight fear which you were trying to hide it but still couldn't.

At this point, the grip on the glass could have broke it easily but somehow it didn't break.

Maybe like the hatred inside you was enough to burn him but the slight fear was more powerful to hold it back.

"Why are you here?" You hissed.

He eyed the glass in your grip and walked forward to stand a bit too close to your liking. you were glued to the ground where you were standing. you wanted to run away but still something inside you was forcing you to face it, face him like the royal you are. are you strong enough? maybe not. he is more powerful than you. both in morals and money.

"If I say...for you?" he said and leaned forward to inhale the perfume. he hummed near your ear, "same sweet smell. It always remind me of the night. don't you miss that night of us?"

"Never. why can't you just forget about it?"

he chuckled and stood straight, "oh it's too perfect and interesting to remember. how can I just let that sweet moment slip through my mind. I am carving it on a campus to make it remember even if I have amnesia one day."

you gritted your teeth and raised the glass to throw the wine at him but he was quick to get a hold of your hand and took away the glass from you. you glared at him but he just smirked at you and brought the glass to his lips, maintaining an eye contact with you. you could hear some people passing by the passage through, outside the main door of the hall in the backyard of the palace. you glanced to the direction of the door and hoped someone to enter so that you could escape his grip because your strength was nothing to his.

the voices became distant and the hope inside you died down with the rising of the bubble of the little fear.

"I hope you soon have the amnesia and so that I can kill you by myself." you wiggled your hand under his grip.

he ignored you and asked, "did you drink this yet? did your lips touched the glass?" He swirled the wine in the glass.

"why? will you drink from it now?"

he poked his inner cheek and smirked widely, "oh! I am craving for the lips from that night and if you don't give me the honor to devour them again then I have to do it in this way."

"Yunho, mind your words." you threatened him only to get a loud laugh from him. he threw his head back and amusedly watched his grip on your wrist. the image from that night flashed in front of his eyes. the same way you were whimpering under this hold and begging to him. He could feel something inside him stinging, might be the hatred for you.

"But you loved every words from me when I was choking you." He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Please stop it."

"And if I don't?" He loosened his grip on your wrist and as soon as you stepped backward, he harshly grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him. "Does Wooyoung know about this?"

"About what?" You hissed at him because the grip was leaving red marks on your arm and the rings in his fingers were pressing on your skin.

The touch was filled with hatred or love?

It's visible that it's all about the hate for you.

"About us? The love we shared that night. The way I made you feel good." He leaned to your level to whisper into your ears, his breath hitting your nape and you shivered, "the way I marked you mine. When in the first place you were always his."

"There is nothing called us. That night was a mistake. Don't talk about it again. I don't want Wooyoung to know about it. And I am never yours."

He sipped the wine from your glass and closed his eyes, humming in the taste of the liquid. You watched him in disgust. Gulping down the glass, he noticed your glare.

He paused to stare at the door and when the voice of the person on the other side became distant and he noticed that you were distracted.

He threw the glass across the room and glared at you. You flinched to his sudden action and his grip tightened.

"y/n...y/n...y/n..."

He sang your name and his voice and the name coming out from his mouth sent a shiver down your spine. He noticed your little gulp and harshly turned you around and flushed your back against his chest.

"Y/n and Yunho...isn't our name fit nicely together?" He darkly chuckled in your ears. His one hand grabbing your arm tightly and the other placed on your throat. The hand was caressing the skin around when he suddenly squeezed it.

Your choking sound made him smile widely and in satisfaction he whispered, "it will be so fun to kill you, y/n."

You scoffed, "is that a threat?" and gritted your teeth.

He chuckled amusedly, "why? Does that sound like a compliment?"

He loosened his grip around your throat, you coughed out and took deep breaths but he held you against his body.

"Leave me, Yunho."

"I will only leave you when I will kill you."

He gripped your jaw and made you face him. His glares were strong, his muscles tight against the jaw and neck and the gritted teeth hissing at you.

"Then kill me."

"Y/n. Y/n, where are you?" Wooyoung's voice echoed around the place and you both could hear it. You broke the stare with him and looked towards the door when the door was pushed open.

Yunho changed your position quickly and placed his hand on your cheek and other still holding your arm. Smiling at you and you stared at him in confused silence.

Why is he suddenly acting like this?

Wooyoung entered the hall and found you with Yunho, he smiled at your form who was held by his brother. You both were facing side to him. Yet to notice his approaching steps towards you.

“There you are my love. What are you doing here, y/n? That even with Yunho?” He was smiling all the way and when he reached near you, you pushed Yunho’s hand and hugged Wooyoung, burying your face into his chest.

Wooyoung smiled and patted your head in his embrace and with confusion, he looked at his brother.

“What happened to her?”

Yunho chuckled, “she lost her balance in this dress and her glass fell from her grasp so I was just helping her out.”

Wooyoung nodded and felt your hug tightened around him. You clutched his coat tighter and closed your eyes in anger.

These brothers were always different from each other. Even this day, Wooyoung was in red attire representing his love and passion for you. Whereas Yunho in black attire radiating luxury and power in elegance shooting towards you.

“Are you okay, y/n?”

You nodded to his question and he urged you to stand straight. He told his brother that he would like to leave the place with you to spend some time and his brother nodded. He guided you towards the door and you followed him with your hand entangled with his and looking down. You could feel a stare burning hole on your back but you didn’t look back.

Yunho’s eyes followed till you both exited the door and took a turn. As soon as you were out of his sight, he grabbed his hairs and harshly brushed it back in annoyance.

“I will kill you, y/n.”

He clenched his jaw and glared at the way from where you left with his brother.

“Always remember that you are mine.”

He exhaled heavily and clenched his fist where his knuckled turned white and the palm was almost flushed red with slight edges of the nails digging into his skin.

“Mine to kill.”

T.B.C.

[READ HERE]

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn @ssrnghwa [open!]

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[leeknowsintrusivethots]

A Stray Concubine

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Pairings: Prince!Lee Know/You, Prince!Bangchan/You, RivalNoble!Hyunjin/You? We are all about possibility here. Summary: Entering into a harem choosing was something you have been groomed for since you were young. Your aim is to make Crown Prince Christopher fall at your heels in order to restore your ruined family name and fortune, but games of love are much harder than games of lies and deceit. Content: Angst (is it me if it's not?), slow burn, smut(warnings below when applicable), fictional historical universe, dark themes, second person perspective, historical-typical gender roles, imperial harem-inspired concubine system, multi-pov, lotsa plot/world building, political intrigue WC: 5246 Minors do not interact. Do not repost my content to other websites.

Taglist: @blondechannie @torialefay

Notes: Things got out of hand. Side note, our main character now has a last name to avoid the excessive use of 'Y/N.'

You

“I’ve heard the young Lord Hwang is here in the Capital for the festivities.” 

“I do wonder what the the Lord is up to now. 'Twas a nasty business with his parents' death and all.” 

A flutter of feminine words carried by the cool breeze of dusk. They were as hollow as the chirping of birds, but with the weight of lords clanging swords. 

“I suppose that's why he's here,” the middle aged gentleman said conspiratorially to his companion. He was dressed in the fine, rich fabrics of the upper class, but his dress did not hide the lascivious glances he would steal at the young woman he spoke to. 

It was another lesson you had learned: social standing was meaningless when it came to the lustful notions of men. It didn't matter King, priest or commoner; all men floundered their morals when presented with something pretty dressed in silks. This gentleman was no different. 

“It's such a shame to have felt such tragedy so young,” the woman said softly. It was another flutter, a fine beating of appropriate sympathy and poise. Whatever lot she had hailed from, she had been trained well. 

“Oh,” the gentleman intoned with a glance around him. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone. He scanned the ladies and lords who conversed and drank around him quickly before his eyes settled. He was looking directly at you. 

You had been wandering through the throngs, seeing and being seen for most of the festivities. You had to ensure you played your part of a well-bred lady making connections. It also served to listen; gauging the mood of the nobles who inhabited the palace alongside the royal residents. You had expected attention, but none so blatant. 

“But I do hear the daughter of the Wicked Witch of House Sterling is in attendance,” the man stated, loudly enough for his feminine companion, you, and everyone within the breadth of the long table he occupied to hear. Lords and ladies alike recoiled as if hit. Some laughed with unease, but most seemed unsettled by the reminder of years past. 

“My Lord,” she exclaimed with exaggerated scandal covering her classically attractive features. She fanned herself as if the wave of her hand could rid her of the shock of his statement. “Is it true?”

“It is, my dear. They say The Witch and her daughter ensorcel men with the bat of their lashes, and use their livelihood to keep themselves young and beautiful. I fear for the young bucks of the court.”

The woman saw her cue, and like any well trained woman – she took it. She leaned in with the bat of her own lashes to whisper into the man's ear. At her attention, his own wandered from you back to her and her hands on his weak shoulders. She pulled back just far enough to wink directly at you. She was playing the game, and she was playing it well. 

Grateful for her intervention, you gathered your skirts loosely in hand and set off through the crowds. 

The banquet hall of the palace was large enough to house the entirety of the nobles in the realm and most of their major retainers as well. It was a grand structure with elegance and richness built into the very walls. Tapestries with the heraldry of the Bangs hung from every beam and nook— The yellow eyes of the black and white wolf following all those who dared their presence with a sly keenness. 

The women who made up the King's Harem had their own heraldry, passed down from the families they hailed from and kept if only as a token of fondness from their lives before. They were not permitted to hang in places of state, nor were they permitted to even be within eyesight of the Wolf. It was a threat to their power to place such importance on lower houses, and could be seen as an act of treason to even suggest such. 

It was a shame. The banners of houses Seo and Yang in particular were vibrant and colorful. They would have brought life to the white, gray and black of House Bang but nothing could overshadow the crowned wolves. 

Your thoughts of banners and symbols were a distraction from what you planned. The beating of your heart had its own flutter, one far less beautiful and flattering than the woman from earlier. It's crescendo sped as you stepped into the line of courtiers that neatly led up to the dais where the royal family sat like pretty paintings. The line moved, but painstakingly slow. It inched forward like the crawling of a slug after a hard rain, and you could only wish someone would salt you and be done with it. 

Those in front and behind you chatted and carried about merrily as they waited their turn. They were of two sorts: simple creatures who had neither hide nor hair in the affairs of court or sordid schemers whose flattery and lies were concealed enough to be on the winning end. They had no fears of how their presence would be received by the rulers of their realm. They were safe, while your head was already placed on the metaphorical chopping block. 

Your only hope at calm were the banners.

Every time the herald at the head of the procession called out names and titles, you brought their banners to mind. House Jeon, Lords of the Anpanman Woods: a wooded forest with an archer riding atop a monstrous hare at its forefront. House Wang, Wardens of the Southern Border: a thin sword with a snarling hound’s head as the pommel. House Kwon, Protectors of the Treasures of the East Sea: an extravagantly colorful sea dragon dripping in molten gold as it ascends from a deep blue ocean. House Min, Keepers of the Western Jungles: a rare, white tiger stalking amongst a dark green growth.

Every Great Lord was in attendance with their minor counterparts, and every one of them had their proud banners and symbols with deep rooted history and lore. You had been taught all of them by your tutors in your childhood, growing up with stories of their conquests and lineages.

You remembered that House Jeon was one of the youngest of the great houses, rising to power by claiming the timber bounty of their woods. House Wang was older and more storied, a history of mismatched allegiances with the King across the wastes and ancient claims to the Crown of Miroh. House Kwon was even older and as powerful as it was queer: Sea Lords with ties to the Free Isles in the West. House Min was the most shrouded. They were covered in the mythos of legends, with fact and fiction blurring reality.

“Lord Hyunjin, of House Hwang, Keepers of the Heartlands,” the Herald called. Their banners depict a common ferret curling around a brilliant sapphire. They were upstarts who had risen with the Bang's rule; they were no friends of you or yours.

You watched as the handsome Lord smiled and jested with the Royals, even with stern King Bang himself. He seemed to pay close attention to the Princes’ Christopher and Felix. It would not do to dwell, but you noted his connections with a keen interest. 

The Hwang's had been close to the crown for more than two centuries, since the House Bang had risen from their ancestral home of the Forded Rivers to claim the throne through blood and war. The Hwang's had been Champions of the cause, steadfast allies of the offensive in the Red Rebellion . Their loyalty had not been forgotten and their rise had been meteoric and quick compared to the lengthy reigns of other Great Houses. In a matter of a few generations, they had risen from titles minor landholders to a major power in the politics of the realm. You had no doubt that Lord Hwang sought even more favors with the friendships he curried with the Princes. 

As you continued your wait, you watched the man in question lobby about. He was tall, but graceful and as elegant as any old house could be. Even as he spoke to fellow couriers, he was refined but approachable in a way that most were not. He smiled coyly at another courtier before his eyes met yours and his lips fell flat. You averted your gaze quickly, your mind faltering. You had not killed Princess Mai, but his stare suggested otherwise. 

“Young Lady Sterling,” was all you received from the Herald when your time came. There were no titles, no honors, no places of power. All you had was a family name that was dying, connected to a murderous traitor. 

Relying on your training in graces and decorum, you dropped to your knees and bowed to the family who ruled the lands you called home and recited words from a distant memory. “Of bravery and courage, of rule and might; blessed and long be your reign.”

“You may rise,” King Bang commanded.

And so you rose to regard the man who condemned your father to death.

He sat in the middle of the dais with his queen to his right and his Most Favored, Beauty Lee, to his left. She was as resplendent as ever in expensive silks with her hair coiffed into the most stylish fashion with a pleasant smile curving her rouged lips. The queen was more somber. She wore the dark purple hues of royalty, and kept a regality that was unapproachable to say the least. She regarded you coolly, but you could see the hostility in her eyes. Princess Mai had been her natural daughter. 

“You certainly favor your mother,” King Bang commented gruffly. It was not an exclamation of emotion, it was a simple observation.

“I’m pleased to hear I have my mother's charms, Your Majesty,” you replied with eloquence. You spoke softly, keeping a demure coyness about yourself that you had honed to a fine art.

“She was always a welcome sight,” the King added. Courtly arrogance mixed with courtly love. He too was playing the game. He blessed you with a smile that had the scar at the corner of his mouth standing to prominence before posing a question that had you caught off guard. “Which one of my sons is it then?”

“I'm sorry your majesty, I don't–”

“Is it the laughing and fierce Prince Jeongin? Or mayhaps the shy and courtly Prince Jisung? Or do you prefer the bold and strong Prince Changbin?” 

“I–”

“Or perhaps your mother plans to aim higher?” He barreled along, his words never losing the flirting intrigue of courtly love but gaining the edge of a longsword. He glanced down the table of the dais, past his queen and to the silver crown threaded with dark iron wolves that sat atop Price Christopher’s head. He made no comment, but he did give you a look akin to pity. You hated it that look and everything it stood for.

“Your Majesty,” you spoke, inflicting an intentional waver to your voice and forcing your eyes to water with tears. It was not hard to fein being the weak, scared girl that King Bang required of you. “I would never dare to presume any grand intentions. I a humble servant of the crown, and I will do whatever you require to earn your love back for the House Sterling.”

“I owe no love to your family, young lady, and I never intend to. House Sterling is dying, and I will not save the family of Traitors. It's only by the good graces of your Mother that you both were not banished across the northern border.” The edge was dulling. One flutter. Two flutters. A few more until it wouldn't even be able to cut butter. 

“My mother has retaken her maiden name, returning to the mantle of the Jeons. I have no such luxury, Your Majesty. I will forever be cursed by the sins of my father, but I will forever work to make amends.” A flutter of a sweet song. Honeyed with the naivety of a girl, and blessed to come from pretty lips. The blade was dulled, but you were set on making it crumble to iron dust. 

“And how would you do that?”

“Put me to work, Your Majesty. I will slave as a Maid until I earn your love, or my death.”

A rumble went up behind you at your proclamation. You paid them no mind. Your attention was on the King. 

He's the king of a realm. Make him feel like the King of the world. The only man within your sights. The highest of them all– a God.

“The youngest of the formerly Great House Sterling content to scrub floors and empty chamber pots?”

“My House’s pride is nothing to me. I serve the crown before all others. My duty is to to realm, Your Majesty– to you.” You dropped to your knees to peform the formal bow again. It was a sign of respect, a sign of your servitude. 

“You may outdo your mother's charms yet,” the King remarked with a hidden smile playing in the shadows his golden, heavily bejewelled crown cast upon his face. “I will discuss your plight with my Councilors, Lady Sterling. Until a decision is made, you are welcome to feast and revel in the glory of the Royal Court.”

“You are most kind and just, Your Majesty.” You stood from the ground with the help of the Herald. He touched you delicately and respectfully as the flutters stirred up the dust of iron. You had won. It was a small victory, the first of many, but it was still a victory. 

In the haze of the glittering particles, the court watched.

Beauty Lee regarded you with renewed interest. Queen Bang was stony, her murderous eyes portraying her displeasure but no words leaving her pursed lips. The Princes all watched with varying levels of interest in their Father's affairs, but the only one whom mattered still looked at you with pity. 

It stoked your anger. You were a daughter of the Great Sterlings, former Wardens of the war torn Northern Borders. Your family was fierce and proud, tempered by the harsh climate and the even harsher hands of the war torn barbarians. You had the blood of warlords, conquers, and leaders. You may strip your pride to appease the King, but it would always be in your heart. You hated the Princes' pity, but you could use it in the same way you used the King's fondness for beautiful damsels.

His son would be no different. He would fall at your feet, ready to restore you and your family for no other reason than the love of being a hero for a the songs of singers across the continent. It was as simple as playing him like the harp you spent so many hours practicing. His tune would be notes of restoration and riches. 

“Lady Sterling!” A boy called as you made for the Hall’s exit for a breath of fresh air and to revel in your victory. He was young, freshed faced with the hint of acne playing across his forehead. He dressed in the livery of House Wang: the metallic glint of iron present on all the accents of his dark clothing. He bowed politely before handing you a scratch of gray fabric.

It was rimmed with shiny silver thread and had intricate wolves with gems inlaid into the fabric for eyes at all four corners. The initials LMH elegantly scrawled along the center in delicate lines and swirls. 

It was a royal favor, but not the one you had desired.

Christopher

To the great ire of their father, Minho had refused his place on the dais. 

The refusal had led to a screaming match that could be heard in the next wing. The roars of his brother and father filled the halls with curses and anger. It only worsened when Minho refused to attend the festivities all together. King Bang had threatened to have him whipped, to which Minho had laughed maniacally and downed the rest of the fire whiskey he insisted on having on hand with his father. 

“Do it! I've learned well how to bear pain, Father,” Minho screamed in rage at the threat. 

Christopher wasn't certain on what lengths King Bang would have gone had he not stepped in with a sobbing Beauty Lee at his heels. He wasn't even certain on which had calmed the King; his intervention and promises to handle his wayward brother or the tears drenching Beauty Lee's silks. Either way, he had relented and Minho had avoided the whip. 

It was the beginning of a deadly dance. He would have to balance the both of them: his father's hot headed rages, and his brother’s own uncontrolled hatred. The price of losing would not be a simple sore foot. A wrong step could ripple across the floor and disrupt the entire performance; sending everyone toppling to their dooms. 

“That was the murderer?” Changbin asked from his side. The third prince had been too preoccupied with his food and the ladies milling about to pay much attention to the King's audiences. He had only taken note when the girl had fallen to her knees to prostrate herself in desperation.

“She's no murderer,” Christopher chided. 

“Did her family kill our sister or not, Chris?” Changbin countered with annoyance. Anger simmered just under the surface. Princess Mai was a sore topic even so many years later. 

“They did. She did not. She was just a kid when it happened.” They had all been young then. A child's blissful ignorance was no place for the blame of their parents’ faults. All of the Princes' should know that, but Christopher knew it most. 

“Mai was just a kid, too. An innocent, sweet, lively and damn charming kid. Had she lived, I would probably be in debt for sweets and dresses. I would have been a beggar proudly for our baby sister, yet you take up in defense for the blood of her murderer?”

“I miss Mai as much as you do, more even, but her murderer was executed. There's nothing else for us to do,” Christopher shot back. He was feeling his own anger rise. There were few things that he wouldn't do for his family, his siblings. Changing the past was not within his realm of capabilities. 

“Are you truly that much of a fool?” Changbin asked incredulously. His anger was still held tightly in check. 

“Is it foolishness to allow a person to pave their own path?” Christopher returned. He lacked the heat of his younger brother. He could never be mad at any of the boys who shared his blood. They were all young, still finding their way into manhood and rule with the black and white lens of good and evil. If only the world were so simply colored. 

“It's foolishness that could end in an early grave.”

It was not Changbin who answered. The voice was feminine, but hard. It was the voice of a woman who had seen too much, been forced to harden her edges at the behest of those in power around her. 

Queen Bang regarded her natural son and his brother with a stern stare. The panes of her face were sharp, severe even. Hers was a beauty that didn't often mesh with the other ladies of the palace. It was refined but not delicate; the type of face that would strike fear in a man's heart as much as lust. It had both Christopher and Changbin sealing their lips tight to stave off any protest that bubbled.

“This is not appropriate banquet conversation,” she stated with a final withering stare before turning her attention back to the audiences entertaining the King. He was deep in conversation with a Captain from the Free Isles about some strange sea beast that had been spotted. From the look of the table, he was also deep in his cups as he boasted about hunts from his youth of beasts of yore. 

Taking the reprieve, Christopher searched the room for Minho. He had promised he would at least be present, wandering the room discreetly so as not to raise gossip about the Second Prince being excluded from the dais. He was to have his first pick of any Lady that caught his eye, and he had only to choose one– one gentlelady to give his father the illusion that the wayward Prince had been subdued into court life.

Of course, Minho had to make even a simple task an effort in patience and persistence. 

However, Christopher could not have patience. It went against everything he knew and everything he was, but he had to act. There was no room for error, nor weakness in the Court of Miroh. 

At a look, the page was running towards him. He was well dressed in the colors of his Liege, the fabric glinting in the light like polished iron. With a well placed command and Changbin watching curiously, the boy took off with quick feet and vigor for a promised knighthood.

A future King had to be a man of action. 

Minho

The palace library was a place of wonder for any intrepid mind. It was filled with the works of great scholars and war strategists renowned for their taciturn. Works from all across the world, they told of histories, battles, and gentleman's philosophy. It was all knowledge that any young man should know, approved by the crown and kept up by an army of ever present eunuchs who dusted the shelves and kept the sight fit for royalty.

Tomes upon tomes of knowledge lined the high walls with ladders placed at intervals to reach the topmost shelves. The tops of the ladders ended in marbled ceilings that supported the second floor balcony. It was a wide open walkway lined with yet more books that opened up to show the floor below. 

Minho had spent a lot of his youth in the brightly lit rotunda. He studied with his appointed tutors, absorbing the knowledge a spare must have like a sponge desperate for hydration. Even when the old men would give him leave, he would stay. Day would turn to dusk as he poured over the words of wise men.

But Minho had learned what the library could teach him. When he had reached out for more, he had been denied. The Library eunuchs had told him that they held all the knowledge in the world in their shelves. His tutors had brushed off his queries with well mannered hands. His father had outright scoffed and berated him to work harder at his swordsmanship instead of wasting his time with yet more books.

Desperate for more, Minho had sought knowledge through travel.

His early years had seen him guesting the courts of Great and Lesser Lords, browsing their own shelves for things he had yet to learn. Each time, he was disappointed. Each time, he moved on with more vigor. It wasn't until his desperation took him to the city taverns, art houses, and lone monasteries in tall, reclusive mountains that he learned the greatest lesson of his life: through understanding of life could never be found until one experienced the people of the world itself. 

He had come to hate the palace library, disdaining the time he had wasted learning what was deemed appropriate for a Prince. It was unfortunate that it was an excellent place to find a quiet and unassuming corner with few ears that listened. It was even more deserted with the Selection happening. No Lords browsed the shelves, and few eunuchs were on duty. 

“How have you been, old friend?” Hwang Hyunjin asked as he slid into the seat next to Minho. They were cushioned and pushed into an empty corner, meant for spending hours reading. 

“Better,” Minho answered. The table between them held a silvered platter complete with three tumblers and a decanter of liquor. He poured them both a drink and took a healthy swallow of his own. 

“Does the idea of Miroh court life distress you so much?” 

“As much as having my manhood chopped off,” he answered wryly.

“I'm sure our glorious King would love to have that arranged if you don't fall in line,” Jackson Wang joked as he took a third seat. He squeezed in next to Hyunjin, the table separating the Prince from his guests. 

“Yes. He would,” Minho agreed grimly. Another sip of the liquor had fire burning in his throat. He poured some for the new arrival in the empty glass. 

“It needs not be that way,” Hyunjin stated. “It's as simple as doing what he asks.”

“I will not, and I'm surprised you would even suggest such.” 

Minho had spent time with almost all the Lords of Miroh. He had supped in their dining halls, listened in on their councils, advocated for reform favoring the small folk with what attention he curried. He was familiar with them all, but none more so than Lords Wang and Hwang. They were as close to him as his own brothers. They knew his views and he knew theirs. 

“We have discussed this before. If you want to seek change, you have to be in a position to do so,” Jackson said. He picked up his tumbler and sniffed the liquid indulgently before taking a healthy swallow. 

“And it shall not be by so blatantly ignoring your father's wishes,” Hyunjin added. His own glass remained untouched. 

“You wish me to abandon everything I believe and play the part?” Minho was annoyed, but not surprised. This was a normal point of contention in the trio. 

“Jackson controls the Southern Border. I have dominion over most of the Midland Plains. We have influence, but with a Prince advocating to our ends, we could scarcely be denied”, Hyunjin said, passion deepening with every word. It was the same old conversation, but never had he pushed so blatantly. Minho's return to Court seemed to heighten his resolve. 

“We could not risk altering the realm within a fortnight. We have to play the long Game. Even revealing our cards too soon could lose us royal favor, and power. Your father is not so inclined to a liberal nature,” Jackson added. He had abandoned his seat all together, glass of liquor in hand.

“The long game is waiting until Christopher is crow–”

“Your brother is a strong and moral Prince, but he is a traditionalist. Even in him, you will not find the ally you think,” Hyunjin cut off Minho's protest. 

“If you are suggesting we overthrow my brother, you won't have to deal with my father. I'll have your head of my own accord,” Minho spat, sudden anger getting the best of him. His brother's all had their faults, but he would forever be loyal to them. 

“We would never suggest such a thing, but he will need the right people around him when he ascends. The current Council, baring myself and Lord Wang, are all bootlicking yes-men with traditionalist loyalties. They would see the same wars and the same laws in place for eternity,” Hyunjin countered. 

“Ah, the Late Lord Jeon’s writ on the rights of a nobleman. What a crock of shit,” Jackson hummed as he browsed the shelves. He was sipping his liquor as Minho and Hyunjin spoke, browsing through the tomes on the shelves next to their group as he did. Even though he didn't seem too invested, Minho knew it would be unwise to think so. 

The Wang were an old name and had ancestral rights to the Southern Border. Across that border, was an endless stretch of desert ruled by a King shunned and forgotten by all except the Wang’s. It was said the family's outlandish politics were an extension of that King's will, and the Wang's did not hide it. If anything, they flaunted it and were the only Great House to push for liberal reform– at least with any visibility. 

“He needs you to be his right hand, but the other Lords would never accept you as you are now,” Hyunjin advised, ignoring his friend's outburst. 

“What our ever so serious Hyunjin is suggesting is a mummers’ farce. Do your father's bidding where the world can see, while playing your hand behind the scenes,” Jackson said, still making the odd disproving noise as he browsed the books written by less inclined individuals. “It's not ideal, but it's become necessity.”

Minho did not like anything that was being said. 

He had spent his whole life concentrating on the belief that rule and power could never end without corruption. It didn't matter how just and moral you were, the reigns of an entire people would callous and blacken your beliefs until your life revolved around cowing populations into submission with the threat of a sword. That was simply how human nature worked. 

His beliefs had not come without cause.

The Red Rebellions had torn the realm asunder. It had been all in the name of ridding themselves of a tyrant King Kim. When the Bang's had won, the Kingdom entered a golden age. Arts and philosophy flourished and laws changed to usher in a new world for the people of the time, but history had proven to be cyclic. Even being his own family, Minho could not deny that the reign of the Bang family was heading in the direction of the Kim’s. 

His only consolation had been Christopher. He was a just and upright man, but he had been raised to rule under the constant traditionally forged sword of their father. He had never seen the world outside of the Capital, and likely never would.

He would never see the villages in the dense Jungles of the West. The deeper you went into the verdant green, the more sparse populations got until civilization gave way to angry wildness that had retaken abandoned towns; their peoples forever lost to disease. Many still living remained under constant quarantine, never able to leave their homes for fear of spreading illness and death by the swords of those who held them there. They would not be helped. They would die and be forgotten like the others. 

He would never know the desperation of the poachers in the Anpanman Woods. They were injured soldiers who had served the realm only to be discarded when they were no longer of use. They were green boys who were forced to support their families. They were the downtrodden no one cared for until they stepped on the toes of a Lord. 

He would never see the sorrow of the wives of the Eastern Coast. Their husbands left them with babes still at the breast to mine gold in the crown controlled Free Isles. For the cost of the Crown's coffers, a lot of them would perish at sea or in the mines. They would never see their children grow. 

Christopher would have to connect with his people. He would have to live amongst them to remember that it was not a Nation he ruled, but living humans with lives and stories of their own. Forgetting that was often the fall of a good King. He could not forget. Minho would not let him. 

“Give me a script and dress me in motley, damnit.”

[zeldaelmo]

For @zelinkcommunity ‘s zelink week 2023 - forbidden

Summary: Link joins Zelda’s class so that her students can learn first hand about the knights of Hyrule. Turns out they aren’t as prepared for the children’s questions as they thought...

Set between BotW and Totk. 

No warnings apply, rating: General. Words: 3031. Big thanks @mistresslrigtar for editing this for me! Check out her zelink week pieces!

Rumors have wings

"Oh, but just look at him! He even has a red feather thing on his helmet!" Aster, one of the four children shifting on tiny benches in front of Hateno’s school, whispered behind her hand.

"That's a plume, Miss Zelda explained it last week, you doof—", another child, Karin, started to answer, but was interrupted by their teacher.

"Children! Please calm down," Zelda exclaimed, raising her hands to get her students' attention. The small smile the children managed to elicit from her whenever she saw them adorned her face. While the morning sun warmed her back, she observed them fondly and waited until they were ready to start the lesson. "As you've already noticed, we have a special guest today. Link is kind to attend our lesson so that you can learn firsthand about the knights of the kingdom that ruled over Hyrule 100 years ago."

"A new mission for our spy team, I'm sure, Sefaro!" Azu whispered to his bench neighbor. "My A-zoom senses are tingling!"

"Miss Zelda?" Aster raised her hand so high in the air that her behind nearly left the stool. 

"Yes?"

"Is Link the reason that the lesson is outside today? You said weapons aren't allowed in school, and he has this"—she gestured toward the spear in Link's hand—"thing."

"You can't call everything 'thing'," Karin hissed out the corner of her mouth. "Miss Zelda will surely tell us the correct name if we wait."

Link cleared his throat and moved his weapon from his back to rest the tip on the ground in a motion done so often that it had become subconscious. 

"This is a Royal Halberd,” he explained. “Only the most trusted knights who guarded Hyrule Castle's throne room were equipped with it. Its ornate design was applied by a craftsman in service to the royal family." 

A lot of 'ohs' and 'ahs' came from the children's mouths, and Zelda giggled into her hand. She could not deny that Link was a sight to behold in his full armor, and these kids had never seen a knight before. It was a shame that Link wouldn’t wear it more often. He only bothered with the full armor when he accompanied Hoz’s Monster-Control-Crew and they had their eyes set on a particularly nasty bunch of enemies. He claimed it was for their morale and not for his protection, but she knew he had become gradually more responsible about his well-being with every year that had passed after he defeated Ganon.

"How do you know that about the knights?" Sefaro asked, his eyebrows drawn together in a skeptical frown. He was a spy; he wouldn't easily fall for this story. "I've seen weapons like this hanging from a Hinox's neck. So how would you know they were given to the knights who guarded the throne room?"

Link made eye contact with Zelda and winked. As always, it made her stomach flutter. Then, he turned back to the kids and leaned conspiratorially closer, all of his armor clanging together. "I was one of them. And Zelda's father, King Rhoam, gave it to me."

"No way!" Aster cried. "You're the weird guy who lives with Miss Zelda in the house behind the bridge! No way you're a knight! You can't even remember the Bolson dance! I bet you just bought the armor in the Ventest Clothing Boutique!"

At these terrible (but not untrue) accusations, all four children jumped from their places and started to inspect Link up close. They tugged at the gauntlets and pricked at the chainmail, all while Link hid his face in the little stand-up collar so that only his eyes twinkled under the helmet, and nobody but Zelda saw him chuckle. 

After they had assured themselves that at least the armor was authentic, they strolled back to their seats. 

“Alright, kids. Now let’s review what you already know about knights. Who wants to start?” Zelda asked and looked expectantly from one to the other until Azu raised his hand.

"They were responsible for guarding the royal family and the kingdom. I heard there was a horrible test to pass if you wanted to become one. Something about a monster fight that only half of the candidates survived." He paused. "That's why I'm a spy and not a knight."

"It was a Stalnox," Link explained quietly. "And the older knights jumped in to beat it back if it was obvious a candidate wasn't ready. But, of course, it was still dangerous. One of my fellow knights got his nose broken and lost his sense of smell."

Azu snapped his mouth shut, and Sefaro shifted uncomfortably on his bench. The story was a little too detailed to be fake. Right? Aster, now also hooked, raised her hand, and at Zelda's nod, she asked, "So just everyone who could beat that monster could become a knight?”

“Goddess, no!” Zelda laughed. “Only the best soldiers could become a knight. Not only combat skills were important, but character, too. Only those of a pure heart and extraordinary courage were offered the opportunity to reach knighthood."

Karin scrutinized Link. "You don't look very courageous."

Link choked on a laugh when Zelda said, "You'd be surprised," and he added, "Some prefer the term reckless instead of courage." 

Zelda giggled and shot him a playful, warning look. 

Karin's eyes went from one to the other. She crossed her arms and said, "Well, I heard that knights and princesses weren't allowed to court. So since you are courting Miss Zelda, this is clearly a fabrication to pull our legs. You can’t be a knight."

"What—what if—" Azu shot forward so quickly that he nearly fell from his bench. "What if it's a secret relationship? Se-sefaro! We've got a new case!"

"Some spy you are," Sefaro murmured, rolling his eyes in mock disinterest. "The rumor that Miss Zelda is courting him has been around forever. There's no secret about this. At all."

Link pointedly stared at the tree behind the children in the courtyard. If he took one glance at the grinning Zelda, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from breaking into a fit of laughter that would last several moments. After being the center of the rumor mill a hundred years prior, the gossipers here in Hateno were so refreshingly harmless that they never felt the need to clarify any shift in their relationship with anyone. Zelda preferred it that way and insisted her private life was hers and didn't concern anyone. Link couldn’t care less about what they said about them, but the whole topic had become a bit of a tender subject ever since Impa had the guts to ask Zelda about an heir to make sure the bloodline of the Goddess wouldn’t run dry. 

Zelda clapped her hands. "Back to the topic, please! Any more questions for Link or me?"

Karin raised her hand again. "So, is it true that a knight wasn't allowed to be with a princess or prince?"

Zelda sighed. "This really interests you, hm? Alright. It's a bit more complicated than that. Link was not only a guard who watched over the castle, but he also became my appointed knight. That means he accompanied me everywhere and—"

"Sometimes she ran away from me, so not everywhere, but pretty much everywhere," Link whispered, the back of his hand directed toward Zelda as if only the children were supposed to hear him.

"Hey!" Zelda cried, boxing his armor (regretting it instantly), and laughing.

"It's true." Link winked at the kids.

"Well, who constantly stared at me judgingly without uttering a word?"

"That was my job!"

"I think they're married," Azu whispered toward Sefaro, who gravely nodded. Maybe he had been wrong, and there was, indeed a spy mission in disguise at hand here.

"And?" Karin pressed on.

"Uh, and? Ah, right, the rules. Yes, my father was very strict about us not being allowed to court. Link had to write reports and all that. I think they feared I would distract him from keeping me safe somehow."

"As if I would let anything happen to you," Link murmured, but nobody had heard him this time.

"Forbidden relationship, write that down," Azu hissed from the corner of his mouth. Sefaro chewed on his pencil, thinking, before he nodded firmly and jotted a few words down—definitely a new mission.

“I don’t know.” Karin crossed her arms. “Both can’t be true because if you were a knight, you wouldn’t be courting Miss Zelda.”

Slowly but surely Link was becoming overwhelmed by the situation, and tipped his head toward Zelda. She would know what to do; she always did. He didn’t mind the children knowing about their relationship status and hadn’t the point of coming here in full armor been so they learned about knighthood? That effort would be in vain if they didn't believe that his knowledge was firsthand. But then again, if the children knew… not soon after, the whole village would know, and then the whole Kingdom and the pressure was back on their shoulders.

Zelda paused and tapped her index finger on her chin — a gesture she had picked up from Purah during the countless hours they spent in the lab. The children regarded him with various stages of skepticism; Karin pouted with her arms still crossed, Azu frowned and licked his lips, and Aster outright made a dismissive hand gesture and rolled her eyes. Only Sefaro still scribbled in his notebook, but bullet points like ‘patrol’ and ‘scouting spot’ didn’t hint at his eagerness to follow the lesson's topic. 

"Okay…" Zelda started. "We need to go a little farther back than I anticipated, but it's alright."

She put a hand on Link's pauldron. "You're correct and, at the same time, not. Link made several oaths and promised to follow the rules my father, King Rhoam, set. But you all know that the kingdom no longer exists, so the rules hold no value anymore."

A click of fingers, urgent.

"Yes, Azu?"

"Is that like the thing when you don't have to do what your parents say when you're all grown up?"

"I—" Zelda swallowed, and Link shot her a concerned gaze. These children didn't know that talking to their parents and not to a cold stone was a luxury. "Yes, a little bit."

"Oh."

Zelda glanced back at Link, sighing in resignation. Kids immediately knew if they weren't taken seriously, so there was no way around it.

"So… yes, Link and I are a couple. But…" She stepped closer and crouched at the benches, waving them to join her. The children gathered around her, eyes wide, knowing instinctively that they were about to hear something important.

"You know that I'm not only a teacher, but the princess of Hyrule, too, right?"

The children nodded eagerly, and Aster opened her mouth but got silenced by Karin's elbow in her side.

"As a princess, I have a lot of responsibilities, and a lot is expected of me... if everyone knew that Link and I are together, people would expect even more of us. And Link has given so much already for Hyrule…” She chuckled. “I want to give him the opportunity of being the weird guy I share the house with a little longer.”

“Heh!” Link laughed, crossed his arms over the handle of his halberd in mock offense, and tipped his chin up.

The children chuckled but turned back to Zelda the moment she spoke again. “Don’t worry about him; he’ll come around again,” she said. “What I wanted to ask you is… You’re a team of spies, right?”

“Not all of us,” muttered Sefaro, and Zelda winked at him. “Well, now you all are. My team of royal spies, how does that sound?”

“R-royal spies!?!” Azu nearly fell from his bench again. “Sefaro, this is the coolest day ever! We’re so having a new mission!”

"All of us?" Sefaro mumbled with a side glance at the girls.

"Yes, all of you. And the rest of the village kids, too," Zelda added, knowing very well how the kids who were too small for the lessons lurked around the school and pretended to be spies, too. 

"We will be the best spies around, Miss Zelda, I promise!" Karin said with sparkling eyes before she leaned over to Aster, whispering, "What exactly is the job of a spy?"

"Why, spying, of course!" Aster answered. What a stupid question!

Zelda, satisfied with the children's reaction, took another look around. “Ok, so your most important task is…” she beckoned them even closer and whispered, “...that nobody finds out that Link and I are married, alright? This order is in effect as long as I don’t give another, contrary order, understood by everyone?”

“Yes, Miss Zelda, understood,” Sefaro hissed. “Your team of royal spies is at your service! As the head of the spy team, I assure you we will do everything in our power to ensure the success of this mission.”

“Who said you are the boss, stupid Sefaro?” Aster was not happy about this development and tried to kick Sefaro’s shin. 

Link stared at the tree behind them so intently that he feared the leaves would turn red and fall to the ground. Countless years he had trained to school his face into a stoic mask, and had endured several situations that had put him to the test, but these kids were giving him trouble not to burst out laughing.

"Ok, I'll take that as your word that I can count on you all." Zelda smiled at their eager nods. Perfect. She had struck a chord in them. Maybe they could keep up the fog surrounding their relationship like the lost woods a little longer. They both weren't against the idea of their own children, far from it, but they had lost so many years to prepare for the return of Calamity Ganon that they both wanted to live a little first. There was so much to see in the world; just the other week, they had discovered a whole new species in Faron! They would continue to help rebuild where they could, and one day, they would make their relationship official. And yes, then they would talk about children, potential consequences for the monarchy, and whatnot but not a moment sooner. 

Well, that was if the village children managed to keep their little secret…

“Link actually has another set of armor we want to show you,” Zelda said. “It’s the set of a royal guard. I’ll help him change, and you can take a break here in the school yard so that you’re well-rested when we’re back.”

The children cheered and ran off — who didn’t love an unscheduled break?

Inside, Zelda fumbled with the strap of the helmet under Link’s chin while he chased her cheek to give her a kiss. “Hey!” She laughed. “Stop messing with me, or I’ll never get you out of this thing. You’re lucky I don’t mind doing a squire’s job!”

“Oh, messing with you, is it now? I remember when we got married, you were much more—” Link stopped, frowning at the voices that came through the window.

“...tell everyone who says they’re courting that they’re plutonic friends!”

“You mean platinous.”

“Yeah, pla-pla— what you said! Just friends.” They could practically hear the quotation marks that Aster made with her fingers. The children must have gathered directly under the window sill. One of the kids started to toss a ball against the wall, the tap-tap-tap allowing Zelda an undiscovered giggle about their little confusion.

“But that’s boring. Nobody is going to believe that,” Sefaro’s voice now rang through the open window. “We’re going to tell everyone she kicked him out of his house, and they’re loose acquaintances at best.”

“What?” Karin’s voice was high-pitched — she must have even gotten on her tiptoes to be more intimidating. “Miss Zelda would never! She’s the nicest person in Hyrule! She saved his life 100 years ago; she would never kick him out of his house!”

“But that’s the point,” Azu argued. “We want to distract from the rumor of them being together. But maybe you’re right, and it’s too crazy. What about he's just her swordsman running around Hyrule and doing errands for her? You know, because she's his superior or whatever it was called 100 years ago.”

On the other side of the window, Zelda helped Link pull the royal guard uniform over his head so he didn't need to bother with the buttons. "Hmm… taking advantage of your duty to me," she whispered into his ear when his face was free again and chuckled. "That's a new one." 

Link snorted and pulled her closer, softly biting her earlobe. Raising his mouth a few inches higher, he whispered, "You dramatically overestimate the motivational factor of duty, my love. I wouldn't have made it off the Great Plateau without your sweet voice beckoning me like a siren."

Zelda blushed at the implications of that, but any risque answer was cut off by the ruckus the kids made outside. She quickly placed the spiffy cap on his head and winked at him.

The children surpassed each other with propositions now.

"There has been an evil Oracle!"

"An attack of cuckoos!"

“She got captured by the bad Sheikah, the… Yoga!”

“Stop! How should that help to distract? You’re all so mean, I don’t know if I want to play spy anymore,” Karin pouted.

“Hm, ok, nothing evil anymore. What about if someone spots Link walking around the house in his undies again, we'll tell everyone that’s a new order of Princess Zelda to… to… keep the spirits up!”

Everyone giggled at that idea, and their laughter coaxed Link to grin. 

“Oh, hush!” Zelda cried quietly, not without suppressing a smile herself, and adjusted the red cord of his armor. “This was a bad idea. They’re going to spread so much nonsense about us!”

“Oh, no, this was one of the best ideas you ever had,” Link whispered back and kissed her, well hidden from the eyes of the village, from Impa, and the rest of Hyrule, thanks to the newly-established royal spy team taking their duty very seriously.

Edit: Link to Ao3

[fandomworld9728]

Dance With Me, Kiss Me:

"Oh Alastor, stop hiding in the corner and come join the party."

The party in question was a celebration for their victory against the Exorcist Army and had been the princess' idea. A way to thank those who helped in the battle and to raise moral.

Alastor had to admit, it wasn't a half bad idea. The residents' moods had improved tremendously after the rebuilding of the hotel and during the process of putting together this clam bake. It had even turned into an impromptu bonding activity for some of them.

Which is the reason the radio demon was standing in a corner away from everyone, nursing a drink. He had found himself getting a little too close to the King of Hell. Most sinners would give anything for that chance. Alastor on the other hand? It scared him.

Once they started to have an actual conversation, it was frightening how easily Alastor had spilt his guts to the other man. As if they had been close for years. Charlotte was correct in her insistences that the two were similar and would get along if they just gave it a chance.

Their distaste in modern technology, mainly television, was one of the main bonding points. The other... had been their lack of interest in romance and carnal desires. It had led to the deer demon confessing to the fallen angel how much he hated kissing and his horrible experience with the action.

"Then how do you know for sure?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How do you know for sure if you dislike kissing? All you have to go off of is that one bad experience."

As much as Alastor hated to admit it, and he would never say this out loud, Lucifer had a point. Not that he was eager to lock lips with someone. However, their talk got him thinking. And not just about kissing.

"I am contemplating my next move. Tell me, my dear, what is your stance on our king? Do you believe him to be trustworthy?"

If there was anyone's opinion he valued down here in Hell, it was Rosie's. She was an excellent judge of character (not counting her many ex-husbands) and had a talent for reading people.

"Well now, what a surprise. Finally making a move to add the other member of Hell's royal family to your plans? Let me see."

Getting her teasing out of the way, Rosie let her eyes scan the room for Hell's King. She knew something had been up with her friend since she saw him. And if he was coming to her about it on his own, she wasn't gonna mess with him about it. Not too much anyways.

Finding her target off on his own, Rosie took a few moments to watch him before turning back to her fellow Overlord.

"I may not know a lot from personal experience about our lovely ruler, however, if there were anyone here in Hell to trust... honestly it would be Charlie. That being said, do remember who raised that sweet girl."

~

Leaning against a wall, Lucifer lightly swirled his drink in his hand and took the chance to people watch. It's something he's enjoyed since he first came into creation. Now, the fallen angel was usually the life of the party, but that was because those parties were with the other Sins and upper-class Hellborns.

He didn't want the guests to feel like they had to walk on eggshells when they should be having fun. So, he stayed as a wallflower and made sure no one caused any trouble. One less thing for his little girl to worry about. This also gave him time to think about his conversation with Alastor.

Turns out talking to the radio demon was easier and surprisingly enjoyable when he wasn't intentionally trying to piss the king off. So much so, that the two openly discussed their experiences with intimacy.

"So, you had not so great times with that kind of stuff too?"

"Indeed. A former friend of mine, Vox, showed me how unpleasant and repulsive kissing can be. Not to mention the time I grew up in."

"Oh yeah. Dating culture was a lot different back then. What had he done to make kissing so gross to you?"

Lucifer knew as soon as Alastor hesitated that a line had been crossed. That seriously pissed him off. He had half a mind to go find that piece of scum and handle the sinner himself.

No one deserved that. Not even murderers who cannibalized their victims and seemed to love to poke and pick at the devil to get a reaction out of him. Who has done other horrible things in his life and afterlife. Before he could get too spun up from the memory, a hand came into view, outstretched to him.

"Care to dance, majesty?"

Next >

[peaches2217]

“I’m here to kidnap the king,” Luigi says, leaning into the room where Mario’s busying himself with administration work.

“I was rather hoping you would.” Toadsworth has clearly been assisting him, but now he’s tidying up and sweeping papers aside as Mario’s head swivels back and forth between the two. Then Toadsworth is herding him towards the door and bidding him a restful afternoon as he’s led away. Luigi tries not to find Mario’s flustered confusion funny, but he can’t quite help himself.

That said, Mario looks awful. His eyes are dark and sunken in, his hair and mustache are messier than usual, and the stubble on his chin and cheeks is patchy, like he hurriedly started shaving days ago and then gave up halfway through. It’s not really surprising; Peach is due any day now, and he’s taken on her responsibilities while she’s on combination bed rest/baby watch.

Peach, in fact, is the one who sent Luigi to kidnap Mario. He spends all day fretting over royal duties he’s not as well-equipped to handle and then spends all night fretting over her. The only sleep he gets is when he gets still and his body forces him into rest, but he’s right back up as soon Peach makes the slightest movement or he hears any sound other than basic ambience. And Peach can’t even stand for very long without help at this point, so her efforts to get him to relax and rest have amounted to nothing.

Cue an elaborate plot that involves Luigi, Daisy, Toadette, and Toadsworth, because she knows four people is the absolute bare minimum it’ll take to get him to stop struggling.

So while Luigi leads his bedraggled brother to a spare bedroom, he lets him know that Toadsworth is covering all of his assignments (which he’s more adept at anyway), Daisy and Toadette are keeping Peach company and watching over her condition, they’ll let the brothers know if there’s any developments, and otherwise, Mario is going to sleep for the rest of the day at the absolute least.

Mario, predictably, resists. These are all his burdens to bear! He’s king consort! He’s Peach’s husband! He’s the father of her child! He can’t just put all of this off onto other people! And Luigi just hums and nods and lets him keep ranting while he coerces him into some nightclothes, because he’s sure talking is the only thing keeping him awake at this point.

Somehow, he finally gets Mario to lay down, and he climbs under the covers with him, both because it’s the best way to guarantee he won’t try sneaking out at some point and because he wants to let him know he’s there, and he can, in fact, give his burdens to other people. That alone does wonders. Comfortable, warm, and alone with his brother, Mario cracks and lets it all out: he’s scared, and he feels worthless. Not because he’s not as good a ruler as Peach, no, him being acting ruler is only temporary after all. But he feels like he’s failing her.

Luigi holds Mario and strokes his hair as he sleepily, almost tearfully pours his heart out. The final weeks of her pregnancy have taken a toll on Peach. She’s weakened, and she’s uncomfortable, and he can’t change that. He can help, but he can’t take away her pain. And what sort of a man does that make him? He’s supposed to protect her. He’s supposed to protect them. Surely he’ll make for one sorry father if his inability to help Peach is any indicator. He doesn’t care that he can’t sleep; she’s constantly tired too, so the least he can do is share in her suffering at least a little. He wishes he could suffer more. He would take it all from her if he could, but he can’t, and he’s convinced himself that that’s some kind of moral failing on his part.

Anyone listening could tell you his fears are nothing more than a combination of new parent jitters and sleep deprivation blowing otherwise rational concerns out of proportion, but that doesn’t make Luigi’s heart hurt any less for him. Mario’s top priority has always been the well-being of his loved ones. There’s a lot on his plate right now, and there’s absolutely no way he can manage it all alone, but that hasn’t stopped him from trying. Luigi wishes he would have stepped in sooner.

But for now, all Mario needs is a listening ear and many, many, many hours of sleep. Having given him the former, Luigi encourages him to take the latter, promising to help in any way he can once they wake up. Mario’s family is his family too, after all. And having used up the last of his energy lamenting his woes, Mario finally stops resisting.

“She’s so strong, Weegee,” he mutters, and Luigi can barely understand him. He’s already dozing off. “I need to be strong too.”

“Then sleep, stars’ sake.” Luigi grins and ruffles his hair. “You can’t take care of her unless you take care of yourself too.”

Mario makes a noise that might be an agreement or might be one final protest, and then he’s breathing deeply and evenly. He sleeps until the following afternoon, and Luigi stays by his side the whole while.

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

I, apparently, get some validation in the form of likes and I go all gung-ho about writing stuff.

Anyway, Part 1 on Aladdin!AU punkflower.

Miles Morales…was bored.

He was sat next to his dad, at the head of the table, because for the past three months his father had decided that Miles was old enough to start listening in on the financials of their kingdom. Miles had been excited, at first, ready to help his kingdom and start thinking of ways to present himself as someone to be taken seriously; until he actually sat through four or five meetings and realized what they usually ended up being: a group of people, sitting around a table once a week, discussing what to do with money the kingdom barely had and how to generate more money for it, and all he was supposed to do was sit down and listen. Every so often his dad would interject, throwing out this idea or that one, and the table would devolved into a debate about how it would work.

The group consisted of Jeff Morales, the king, and Miles, the prince. Wilson Fisk, the royal advisor, was sitting on the left of his father, two seats down so that he was visible to both king and prince. Miguel O’Hara, the captain of the guards, was on Miles’s right, directly across from Wilson. They had their respective seconds next to them, Olivia for Wilson and Jessica (or Jess) for Miguel. The seat next to Jess was taken up by Pavitr Prabhakar, who was representing the Prabhakar family as a whole as the son of the earl; across from him was the Watson family representative, the countess Mary Jane (or MJ). On Pavitr’s other side was Peter Benjamin Parker, who usually went by Noir and theoretically wasn’t part of the meeting per say, but was sent to watch over Pavitr due to the teen being the Prabhakar’s only child. Rounding out the last of the people in the meeting were William Baker, and Adrian Toomes, both of whom were fairly new additions to the table, according to his dad.

The meeting today was sort of dragging on, and where he sat next to his dad meant that he was just out of reach of the sun, but there was still a lot of heat coming in through the window to make him sleepy. Combined with the late night he’d had the night before and the fact that while his clothes were elegant, they were thin and very comfortable meant that Miles was kind of ready to doze off and take a nap. He was slouched as much as he could be, staring blankly at Wilson as the man droned on and on about…taxes, he thought? Or the guards training. One of the two, Wilson always seemed weirdly focused on those two things. Miles had known the man for years, he’d held his position since before Miles had been born. Outside of the meetings he was usually fairly quiet, a startling trait for someone as big as Wilson was, and was good at somehow moving money around so that his dad could continue running the kingdom the way he needed to without worrying too much. He was smart, Miles could give him that, and definitely was the kind of man that had brute strength on his side; he made Miguel look tiny in comparison, and Miguel was also a fairly big guy, so…

His dad rapped his knuckles on the arm rest, making Miles sit up straighter and blink rapidly to cover the fact that he was zoning out a bit. From a bit further down, Pavitr leaned onto his palms, covering his mouth in a way that made him look like he was deeply invested in what Wilson was saying; Miles could tell was just to hide the grin on his face from Miles getting caught out.

Miles couldn’t even glare back at him, not from his position at the head of the table, and especially not with his dad right next to him, nodding sharply at whatever Miguel started with next. Captain of the guard and all, it was definitely about the guards this time and Miles sort of wanted to slam his head into the back of his chair.

He wouldn’t mind it so much if he could actually participate; hell, Pavitr could throw in ideas and join the debates going around the table, and so could Mary Jane, and even his dad could jump in when he wanted, but Miles couldn’t say anything. The first time he offered an idea, four meetings in, the entire table save for Pavitr and his dad laughed at him and when he tried to defend his idea, his dad shut it down.

Afterwards, his dad had told him “listen, son, I know you want to help, but you need to learn what’s going on in the kingdom before you can start participating in running it.”

So here he was. Learning, though Miles thought that the meetings always ended up going round in circles without ever changing anything. Clearly nothing was working, because these meetings were held every week without fail and sometimes it felt like the same four ideas thrown around all the time: open the kingdom gates more often for travelers, raise taxes, raise rents, funnel less money into the upkeep of the kingdom. Nothing about the actual people in the kingdom, how this affects their day to day living, and at the end of the meeting nothing is decided. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Until…

“The prince is fifteen now, right? What if Miles marries?” The sound of his name jolted him into attention, and Miles’s eyes locked onto Wilson’s as the man looked him over. “We can start searching for eligible candidates, maybe have him married by this time next year.”

Wait.

“What does Miles getting married have to do with the kingdom’s financials?” Pavitr asked. His eyes were narrowed at Wilson, though he was approximately the same size as Miles so it kind of looked like a month old puppy glaring down a husky. Still, he seemed to be the only one who wasn’t seriously considering it; even Mary Jane was looking thoughtful, hands crossed in front of her mouth delicately.

“Look at it this way,” Miguel told Pavitr, whose gaze didn’t shift even though Wilson wasn’t talking anymore. “If Miles marries, especially someone from a neighboring kingdom, then we can start working towards helping the population here. New food, new traffic, money coming into the kingdom instead of out of it.”

“He’s only fifteen.” Mary Jane said musingly, drawing attention to her while she looked to the king, “Doesn’t he have to wait until he’s matured enough to make decisions like that on his own, according to the law?”

“Hey, I can make decisions like that on my own!” Miles interjected, and Pavitr shot him a look that read shut up, shut up now, stop talking. Miles gulped, especially when all the eyes turned to him. “I-I mean, like, in the right — ”

“He is too young to start looking at marriage.” His dad said, and Miles breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Nobody liked to go against the king, so if his dad thought he was too young —

“I understand that his age is an issue,” Wilson said, “but the marriage wouldn’t necessarily have to happen right away in order to be beneficial to the kingdom.” Jeff leaned forward, and Miles felt his heart sink. It was basically a sign saying ‘continue’, and that meant his father had gone from being against the idea to seriously considering it now. Wilson knew this, too; a small smirk tilted his mouth. “We can set up an arrangement with a neighboring kingdom, have a long engagement, and marry them when they’re of age. Gives them plenty of time to get to know each other, all that stuff.”

“I don’t want to get married, though!” Miles said, and he was ignored as his dad leaned back in his chair. He looked thoughtful, which spelled bad things for Miles, he could tell.

And then, sure enough, his dad ran his hand over his face, shifting his glasses just slightly, and said “let me talk it over with his mother.”

[danikamariewrites]

can i please request some more rowaelins daughter x elorcans daughter? maybe some jealousy? imagine they’ve only told their parents about their relationship and want to wait incase of anything happening to them. And at one of the balls held in terrassen, someone in her parents court come up to her and introduce their son to reader. Reader is standing next to Diane and their parents. Di is absolutely fuming and gets closer to reader. Reader just smiles and declines. Right then and there they decide to announce their bond and relationship.

I’m Flattered But…

Elorcan daughter x Rowaelin daughter!reader

A/n: these two are my new favs to write for🥰

Warnings: teeny tiny angst

A knock sounds on your door just as your handmaidens put the finishing touches on your gown. You watch in the mirror as Diana enters, stopping as she looks at you in awe.

“Wow,” she breathes out, “you look so beautiful.” You smile at her through your reflection as she comes closer. “Thank you ladies.” You say in dismissal. You want alone time with Diana before the ball tonight.

While your family, immediate and extended, know of your relationship the rest of the kingdom does not.

You turn on the raised platform, holding out your hands for your mate to take. She holds them tight, gazing down at you with love in her dark chocolate eyes.

You’re almost eye level with Diana. She inherited her fathers height making her almost six feet tall. While you stand at a comfortable five foot six. Personally, you love the height difference. Tall and muscular, Diana is every inch the warrior her father molded her into.

Leaning up you capture Diana’s lips with yours in a slow, loving kiss. When you pull back you wipe your lipstick from her plump bottom lip. “You’ll dance with me right?” “Uh-huh.” She hums out wrapping her arms around your hips as she lifts you off the platform.

Diana holds out her arm for you to take. “I’m also here to take you down to the ballroom.” You playfully roll your eyes at her, “Of course you are.”

The ball was going just like any other. Your whole extended family was in attendance. Manon and Dorain accompanied by Chaol and Yrene with their daughters. Elide and Lorcan with Diana’s siblings, Aedion and Lysandra, Gavriel even talked Vaughn into coming out of his hiding spot.

Before dinner and the real party started you, your brothers Sam and Nolan, and your sisters Malin and Evelin, stand by your parents thrones. As the oldest you stand between your parents to greet royal delegations or other lords and lady’s.

You tensed as your eyes landed on a lord and his son from Melisande. Looking at your father you saw a muscle in his jaw tick. He hates Lord Stagspire and his entitled son, Owen. They boy had been given everything he asked for since birth. Which made him think he was entitled to you.

Your mother let out a sigh as they approached, joining the staring session you and your father were having. They knew exactly what Lord Stagspire was here to ask. And the answer was a firm no. But as Queen, King, and Princess you had to put on a smile and play nice.

“Queen Aelin, King Rowan.” Lord Stagspire bowed deeply along with Owen. You gave a small curtesy back. As the lord prattles on kissing up to your parents you try to look anywhere but at Owen. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your dress.

You finally found Diana talking to one of Chaol and Yerne’s daughters. Her gaze met yours and she tilted her head in confusion. She began to make her way over to the dias. When she spotted Owen anger flashed across her beautiful features making her pace quicken.

Diana sidled up to Aedion at the edge of the dias, pretending to speak to him as she watched Owen like a hawk. She knew he made you uncomfortable. You felt better even if Diana was just off to the side for moral support. Plus you knew she’d absolutely kill Owen if he ever tried to fight her. The little lordling was absolutely pathetic.

Lord Stagspire clearing his throat brought you back to the conversation. “Now that your daughter and Owen are of age, I wanted to propose a marriage between the two. I think they’d make a fine pair your highness.” You heard Nolan cover up his laugh with a cough. Your mother didn’t hide hers however. Then you felt the rage from Diana’s side of the bond. You had to put an end to this before the two females you love most cause a scene.

Stepping forward, you place a hand on your mothers shoulder, giving her a calming look. “I’m flattered my lord but unfortunately, I don’t believe Owen and I’s pairing would be a fit.” Before he could say something he could regret Lord Stagspire gripped his sons shoulder, holding him back.

“Princess y/n, I was speaking to your parents.” “About a matter involving me and the crown I will one day wear. So I believe I have a say.” Your mother speaks up next. “I trust my daughters judgment and she is allowed to speak for herself as future queen of Terrasen. But, we thank you for coming tonight.” Your mother waved him off and he begrudgingly left.

At dinner you were quieter than usual. You had to sit with your family at the head table. Staring at your mate with a far away look you became a little jealous. You wanted to socialize with her and your friends. You wanted to show off your relationship freely.

Your mother nudged you with her elbow. “You’ve been quite since the dias. What’s wrong my love?” You let out a sigh placing down your fork and knife. That far off look not leaving your face. “I just want to be able to spend time with Diana during these things. I know we haven’t accepted the bond yet. But I want us to be able to be happy together.”

Aelin’s heart broke in that moment. As a mother all she wants is for her children to be happy. She would let you and Diana do whatever you wanted, Elide as well, but your fathers had voiced some concern. They just wanted to keep their baby girls safe.

Looking at Rowan, Aelin found the same heartbreaking look on his face. “I’ll go talk to Lorcan.” He said down the bond. The King pushed back from the table and strode over to the Lord and Lady of Perranth. Crouching, Rowan spoke to his brother.

Roughly five minutes later Rowan returned with a smile on his face. He gave Aelin a thumbs up and her lips widened into a grin.

Your mother leaned over to whisper in your ear, “What if we announce it right now?” You look at your mother with wide eyes. “Are you sure?” She nods lightly. Standing, Aelin raises her wine glass, tapping her fork against the side to demand the attention of the room.

“Thank you all for coming this evening. It is so wonderful to see my friends, my people, and leaders of Erilea together. It truly warms my heart.” She slowly set her glass down as your heart pounded in your ears. You ripped your eyes from your mother to look at Diana.

Elide was whispering in her ear about what Aelin was about to announce. Your mate looked to you with the biggest smile on her face that you returned. “On top of all other happy events of this evening this announcement is my favorite. My daughter, Princess y/n, has found her mate! She and Lady Diana Lochan are planning their ceremony and we hope you can join us when the happy occasion arrives.”

Applause sounds around the ballroom and Diana rushes to you. You pull her to a tight embrace, resting your head against her shoulder. You pull apart and the applause dies down. “Go have the first dance,” your mother encouraged.

You took Diana’s hand leading her to the dance floor. The quartet began playing and Diana began guiding you across the floor. “You sure you’re ok with this?” You ask, looking up at her with a bright eyes. “I’m more than ok.” You felt so happy you could cry. You sent a wave of love down the bond that Diana returned as she spun you.

Pulling you back to her chest you started laughing. “What is it love?” “We’re going to have to start planning our ceremony.”

[cryingpariah]

Royals dead and fled! The end of the most important Reverie in history! Pt 1

Feathers on metal. It’s a very uncommon sound in the world, a sound any normal person would go their whole life without hearing.

Jackie was not given such a pleasure. At much too early o'clock the sound of feathers on metal hit her ears. She tossed the blanket over her head and scrunched her knees to her chest, ignoring it as best she could. Alas, the sound continued.

“Up and at em Jackie! Big News is happening!”

“Kindly sod off, it’s too early for this!”

“It’s 1:30pm.”

True, it was well past noon at this point but she had gotten back at 5am! And was only able to go to bed at 7am! Is it so wrong to want 8 hours of rest? She certainly didn’t think so!

“Irrelevant, I’m sleeping right now and there’s no news big enough in the world to-.”

“It’s about the Reverie.”

….

The door opened, revealing the Living Log Pose in all her Victorian nightgown glory. She leaned on the doorframe, a petulant frown on her lips but that sly sparkle of interest in her eyes.

“What about the Reverie exactly?”

Morgan grinned. “A inside source seemed to have run into some trouble and has agreed to divulge some insider information in exchange for sanctuary.”

Jackie's eyebrows shot up. While the World Economic Journal does get to report on the Reverie, it’s never anything particularly surprising: it’s always playing paparazzi for incoming royals, changing policies she’s never heard of and swearing to crack down on the ever growing pirate population.

This year promised more, with the arrival of the Royal Family from Fishman Island with the first topside appearance of the Mermaid Princess herself and the reinstatement of the Riku family as the proper rulers of Dressrosa, there had been so much to report on that first day. But, as usual, they were “asked to leave” as “the royal families do not feel comfortable with the heavy scrutiny of the press looming over them.”

(Jackie would have argued that people in their positions that hold the power they do should have tougher skin if a little street interview has them shaking in their crowns but at the time she was too busy placing free roaming Den Den mini cameras around the area, yknow, just in case.)

“Ignoring the moral dubiousness of only letting them seek refuge because they have information we want..”

“It’s just good business! Push and pull, we scratch their back and they scratch ours.”

“I’m still ignoring it, who exactly is the mystery contact?”

A brief, almost comedic silence overtop them. Big News Morgan had quite the obvious tell when he was trying to soften whatever blow he was about to deliver to his apprentice. Be it more overtime or a last minute meeting with Germa Princes that she had no choice but to attend, he always found a way to sneak a suspiciously comforting feathered hand on her shoulder. Now was no different.

She shrugged him off. “Sir, who is the contact who's going to be living with us on this ship for the foreseeable future?”

“…King Wapol of the Evil Black Drum Kingdom.”

A quick slam and she was back to relocking her door. “Never come to my door with such nonsense again or I’m putting in my two weeks notice.”

“Save the dramatics for the headlines, he’s not that bad!”

“A man who abandoned his kingdom to flee from pirates, got lost, the kingdom both survived and got better without him, eventually returns only get quite literally kicked out does not fill me with confidence in his honesty.”

“All true but he’s really turned his life around since then! We’ve written all about his climb to success, it was a very popular issue! Plus he’s too much of a blubbering coward to lie to us. Anyway him and his companion need our help.”

“First of all, that issue was only popular at the time and forgive me I don’t want my ear drums constantly bleeding from his “Oh thank you Miss Jackie-chan, oh it’s no problem Miss Jackie-chan.” or whatever fresh hell his fiancé is going to bring-.”

“His fiancé is still at the Reverie.”

Jackie stopped mid rant. She glared at the door, her hand once again hovering over the locks.

“Who’s with him then?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I do know a way we can find out.”

Ugh, damn her curious nature. She kept the latch chain but cracked the door just slightly open.

“Fine, how exactly am I getting them on board?”

“We're heading over to them as we speak. They’ve apparently snuck onto the cargo hold of some oblivious aristocrats. I’ll be “conducting an interview” while you put the Arrow Arrow fruit to good use.”

She sighed but couldn’t contain the thrum of excitement coursing through her. Despite the Wapol-ness of their most current harebrained scheme, she wasn’t the kind of person who wouldn’t follow through, especially with the potential scoop of a lifetime on the line.

“Alright you bossy bastard I’m in. I can be ready in 30.”

“Glad to hear it! Oh and take your time, we’ve still got 5 hours before we get there.”

“…..SO WHAT IN THE HELL POSSESSED YOU TO WAKE ME UP NOW?!”

It was too late, he had already began striding off muttering fake interview questions to himself and cooing over their guests arrival. She was left hovering in her own doorway steaming mad and unfortunately very awake.

(She’d let his transgressions slide, but only for now. Later she’d find a chance to have him see her reading “The big book of bird recipes: Albatross edition.” That always freaks him out.)

[llowlifepunk]

project$$

**lucki describing advice earl sweatshirt gave him on what to do when you can't write

i look at projects as "reports on my life". i used to look back and listen to my old ones for the same reason i don't today; when i listen to them, i'm instantly transported back to where and who i was when i made them, for better or for worse. when i listen to "shit happens", i feel like that desperate 17 year old kid trying to get one last word out before it's too late. when i listen to "(deadman)", i remember being the 18 year old black sheep of my family trying (and kinda failing) to take steps towards adulthood. when i listen to "life happens", i hear a 19 year old who's losing everyone around him and terrified of growing up.

"otherwrld" broke the chain because instead of reporting what's going on in my life, i created a whole new world and a whole new character: vincent. that's what you'd think, right? lol

of course, vincent is really just me! vincent is me if i never had a family or loved ones to put me on a good path and/or guide me. if i didn't have those things, i would almost certainly be an interstellar assassin from a dystopian earth. (sidenote: some things nvr change is one of my best and favorite songs i've ever made)

that brings us to "slaps 4 da spaceship" (or s4ds/slaps).

slaps was originally supposed to be a short ~5 track ep about vincent A) traveling to participate in a deadly intergalactic battle royale in pursuit of the prize, which is having one wish granted, and B) falling in love for the first time. of course, me being me, it became an entire 8 tracker which i'm dropping this friday, february 14th. life happened, though, and i ultimately came to the realization that college and creating a webcomic? not particularly sustainable or doable, especially where i'm at in each aspect of my art. i decided to lean a little less into the "concept" part because 1, i'm still mastering the art of telling a fictional story through music without making it corny and tryhardy, and 2, i've already decided i'm coming back and remaking this later.

simply put, i do not think i have it in me to write, draw, and publish my own webcomic while working on music and being a full-time college student. i thought i did but right now, i don't. as much as i wish i was (SPECIFICALLY in terms of doing this kinda thing lol), i am not andrew hussie! surprise

i've got a lot of the writing for the comic down (fucking 31 pages worth btw and thats just the outline), but that's about it. decent amount of panels but not nearly enough. animations? pfff...this shit is so time-consuming bra, and i think that even if i pushed myself to get it all out there, it wouldn't be worth it because i don't think my music or drawing is there yet. operative word being "yet". i will come back to this, because i genuinely do think this multimedia project could end up being my magnum opus. but when i do come back, i'm probably remastering otherwrld and remaking slaps. maybe i'll come back to it sooner than either of us think. who knows?

btw i recognize that this isn't as big of a deal to y'all because you've barely been introduced to this large-scale concept, but it's a really big deal to me because i've been planning and working on this for almost a year now and i got HELLA invested in it for a minute there. felt important to put out there.

for now, i have one or two more concept projects left in me, and then i'm honestly just gonna make and drop whatever tf i want for a while so i don't burn out again. the thing about trying to tell a story with your music is that it's exhausting. trying to make every piece line up perfectly and get a message across in a way that feels authentic to you and your listeners is time-consuming and fucking hard. especially when your morale and ego have been beat down at almost every turn for the past year and a half. sure, i make a lil bread off this shit, but i'm ultimately doing it for the love of the game and after almost seven years of making music, sometimes that isn't enough. which is cool because i'm a human and not a music making machine. after all, that's what makes it interesting and that's what makes me authentic.

s4ds drops this friday. until next time!