#Poor prince never stood a chance... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintobio · 8 days

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ACT I. THE LADY

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), slight mentions of gore

♱ notes. 6.5k wc, unedited. again, for anyone who missed my small announcement, the ‘juliet’ from my megumi r+j fic has a name here for narration purposes. she remains as you or yn in the original fic tho :) feedback would be highly appreciated!

series masterlist ♱ act two.

“I humbly beg your pardon, Your Imperial Highness. The lady declines any audience at this time.”

Throughout his princely life, Satoru had never before faced rejection from any of his subjects, let alone one of his own citizens. No one ever dared to deny the Crown Prince as they were aware of the consequences of offending a member of the imperial family, let alone the future Emperor of Caelum.

So, how could this mere daughter of a duke summon the courage to refuse his audience?

It was baffling to him. Were you not the one who had written him a lovestruck letter requesting a meeting? As one of the eligible brides for the Crown Prince and a strong contender for the position of Crown Princess, it was only natural for you to vie for his affection and secure your spot on the imperial throne. You had it all; the status, the power, the wit. You had quite the face, too. This would have been an opportune moment for you to ensnare his favor and win him over. Yet, what reason could you possibly have now to suddenly decline his audience?

“On what grounds did she refuse?” Satoru maintained a stern demeanor as he stood beside his white horse, scrutinizing the servant from the De Roma estate who trembled before the prince. His blue velvet cloak and imperial insignia added to the overall intimidation of his presence.

The maid, mindful of the perils that may befall her for the actions of her master, spake with evident apprehension. “The lady offered no explanation, Your Highness. She simply wishes to remain in her chamber.”

Needless to say, he felt a mixture of amusement and intrigue at this situation. The same noble lady who had previously been forward in her advances and infatuation towards him was now avoiding an opportunity to get acquainted? And to think, he had believed he was doing you a favor by granting you a chance to spend time with him this noontide.

“Very well.” The prince gazed down at the servant with a stern expression, raking his slender fingers through his arctic white hair before mounting his war horse. “Remind the lady that there are consequences for denying the rights of the imperial family. Each slight she casts is an arrow to her neck. Let her know that there shall not be another chance such as this.”

He sensed the maid’s fear after she offered him a curtsy, yet he could not fathom how she remained steadfast in her refusal to grant him access to your drawing room despite his clearly spoken warning. She was guarding the entrance to the estate as though she would face greater consequences for letting the crown prince in than for keeping him out. Were you truly so stringent in maintaining your distance from him?

So be it. If that was your game, then let it be played. In fact, you might be trying to seem hard-to-get after the stunts you had pulled at the hunting expedition two weeks hence. If his memory served him right, you were the one who sabotaged Lady Anastasia’s crossbow and led her in her near-fatal experience. You see, you might have gotten away with it, but Satoru was a witness to your deliberate crime. He had seen you tampering with Lady Anastasia’s weapon, replacing her regular bolts with ones laced with fast-acting poison, which left the poor lady paralyzed in the middle of a dangerous hunt. Had it not been for Satoru, Lady de Florentine would have likely been mauled by a wild boar.

Yet, his intervention only seemed to stoke your ire even more. Your jealousy after seeing him save Anastasia’s life only made you see red, almost revealing yourself the true perpetrator for the obvious expressions you had displayed. Still, he chose to remain silent about your malicious actions, pretending to be oblivious to your cunning ways and dismissing any suspicions of foul play in the incident. In a way, Satoru had saved your life more than you realized. Not only that, he had also safeguarded your reputation and standing in high society without your knowledge, as he understood that your animosity towards Lady Anastasia only stemmed from the way he had interacted with her, speaking in close proximity and kissing her hand prior to the hunting game.

Ha! What a devious little viper you were. What a brazenly proud woman. By declining to meet the Crown Prince, you had only ironically succeeded in piquing his interest even more.

“Is everything in order, Your Highness?” It was his close friend and personal knight, Suguru, who snapped him out of his reverie as they rode their horses back toward the capital. Three more of the prince’s knights trailed behind them. Suguru’s question hinted at concern for the prince’s sanity, given that he had been observed laughing to himself despite the insult he had faced just half an hour ago.

“It is rather amusing, is it not?” Satoru pondered, his hands firmly gripping the reins as he guided his horse along the uneven path. “Lady Y/N might seem out of her wits, but she is astute. I see through her tactics. She obviously desires my attention, which is why she is behaving this way.”

The long-haired knight chuckled with unease. “I fear that may not be her intention.”

The notion appeared absurd to him. “Not her intention? Grant her but a moment, and she shall trail after me once more like a shadow. This is a blessing, if anything. I am now spared the need to endure that lady’s temperament during formal events.”

Did you realize? Despite numerous instances where Satoru overlooked your transgressions, if you were to provoke his ire, he could surely publicly enumerate each offense. The stained dress incident involving Lady Serena? Your handiwork. The scandalous rumors regarding Lady Franchetta? Also your doing. Not to mention your mistreatment of maids and commoners out of mere boredom. Your actions would have easily rendered you an unsuitable candidate as the Crown Prince’s bride, yet he remained silent and never reported such occurrences to his father, the emperor. More than that, he should be relieved that you had chosen to avoid him and spared him further entanglements with you.

However, Satoru’s words contradicted his own sentiments, and he refused to acknowledge his hypocrisy. Although he claimed satisfaction with your decision to keep your distance, why did thoughts of you arise foremost when he passed by a jewel shop that showcased its newest collections? He and his men were traversing the city square when his sky blue eyes caught sight of a necklace with a large, deep-red garnet as its centerpiece, surrounded by intricate gold filigrees, and a single teardrop-shaped pearl dangling at the bottom. The overall design was bold and commanding, yet undeniably elegant. A befitting accessory for Caelum’s next crown princess.

“Would you care to inspect the jewel shop, my lord?” proposed one of his knights. “That necklace could serve as a splendid gift for Lady Serena, who is soon to celebrate her birthday banquet.”

The prince saw his reflection in the shop’s window, his white steed poised gracefully while he gazed at the jewelry on display. A smirk unanticipatedly graced his lips as he envisioned a particular scenario in his head. “Indeed.”

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Milena was cinching your corset when your father abruptly entered your chamber, his visage bearing a questioning mien as his footsteps loudened each second. You already anticipated the nature of his visit, for nothing else would prompt such urgency unless it pertained to your reputation. In retrospect, you remembered him having knowledge of your misdeeds against the other debutantes currying favor with the crown prince, and he was well aware of the details of your crafty schemes and all the deliberate sabotage you had orchestrated. And although your father often covered for you out of paternal pride, he still chastised you for your actions in private. The latter assuredly was the purpose of his visit now.

Well, dear father, your daughter is no longer the same.

“Maid,” commanded the duke, “Leave us for a while.”

Milena immediately bowed at your father. “Yes, Your Grace—”

“No, Milena. You will not take a single step out of this chamber.” Your order somehow surprised the both of them as though you had never sounded so authoritative before, like you had the imperial power and position to be issuing commands greater than your father’s. Ah, right. You were not an empress anymore. Or yet. None of these people were your subjects, and living in the past would really take some time getting used to. In an effort to conceal your years of imperial presence, you looked at your father with a gaze that suggested naivety. “What is the matter, father?”

Duke de Roma appeared visibly strained by his youngest child. “Y/N, is it true that you declined a visit from Crown Prince Satoru?”

You felt the urge to scoff, but opted against it. “Rejection is an understatement, Your Grace. My interest in His Highness has simply waned.”

“So soon?” The elderly man was perplexed by your assertion, considering your reputation as a notorious obsessive lover of the prince. You were perceived by all as the erratic woman who would engage in conflict with any rival who dared to court his affections. “What sudden change prompts you to speak ill of him? Were you not striving to win his favor?"

Yes, but that was before. That was the version of yourself who sacrificed everything for someone incapable of reciprocating the love you sought. Things have altered now, and you recognized it was wiser not to pursue Satoru after knowing and personally experiencing the peril it posed to both yourself and the empire. He would only seek to exploit your family’s military influence to stage a coup against his parents, beguile you with his false affections, and make use of you until you were no longer serving him any purpose. You refused to be complicit in his ambitions any longer. Not in this life, no.

“Rather,” you began with a voice of confidence, “I would choose being in a convent than to wed a man like His Highness.”

Your father nearly fainted from your words. “By Saint Peter’s keys! I cannot understand the youth of today. Tell me, is there another suitor who has captured your interest? Have you found another man more noble than a prince?”

With a smile, you looked at yourself in the mirror and prepared for the day ahead. “No, Father. On the contrary, I seek a life of solitude. If I could remain unwed for the entirety of my days, I would gladly embrace it.”

This, you believed, was the surest way to distance yourself from trouble and seek redemption for your past transgressions. A life without Crown Prince Satoru was the road to attaining highest virtue. Your love for him was the reason you had committed such sins in the past, so the best thing to do in this life was to steer yourself clear from his path at all cost. Otherwise, the thought of facing the piercing gaze of Archangel Raphael again was too daunting to bear.

“What folly is this?” Duke de Roma questioned your words incredulously. “Did you not aspire to become the most powerful lady in the empire? Pursuing the Crown Prince is the path to becoming an empress. Cease this nonsensical talk and continue your efforts to win his favor!”

Once he departed, you were left alone in your chamber, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. You were tempted to let out a groan of exasperation, but with Milena present, you had to maintain your composure. It was crucial for her to witness your changed mindset. Gone was the vicious lady she had served in her previous life. Though you could not offer a direct apology for the role you played in her demise before, you were determined to ensure her comfort and well-being in this new life.

As for your father, you were uncertain what to do with him yet. He was coming from a place of concern, knowing that your decision to enter a convent would ultimately make his investments futile. He had invested heavily in your upbringing, providing you with every luxury, the finest education, and the resources necessary to secure a prominent place in high society. His aspirations for you to become an empress were not solely driven by paternal pride, but also by the anticipation of reaping the rewards of his investment. Losing such an asset would undoubtedly be a significant blow to his plans and ambitions. Yet, he had no single idea what suffering you had actually endured in your past life after becoming Satoru’s wife for 10 agonizing years.

Well, in that case, you had an alternative plan—one that promised to secure the De Roma family’s status and elevate its wealth to unreachable heights without necessitating your ascent to the imperial throne.

“Milena,” you said, walking towards your window, “Prepare the carriage. We have somewhere to be.”

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“Fifty celestas?!” Milena questioned in disbelief, her hooded cloak framing her face as she confronted the artist before you. Today, both of you dressed down, adopting a guise that would allow you to blend seamlessly with the throng of commoners in the outskirts of the capital. “Signor, are you not asking for an exorbitant sum? You are exploiting My Lady merely because she is the daughter of Duke de Roma.”

It was a mistake bringing Milena with you, but it also served as a good signifier that the artist, Giancarlo di Firenze, was still operating in an era where his talent and skill as a sculptor had yet to be recognized. In the eyes of others, he was a struggling artist whose work warranted no more than a few trinkets. However, you possessed the advantage of foresight, bestowed upon you by your gift of clairvoyance (or in layman’s terms, a cheat sheet into the future due to your regression). You knew that Maestro Giancarlo’s sculptures would eventually gain widespread acclaim, particularly after they were displayed at the Veneran Museum, and he would be the most sought after artist in the continent with pieces worth thousands. Even your then-husband, the emperor himself, commissioned him for the notable Star Crossed Lovers sculpture for the ten year death anniversary of the prince and princess of the Astheryn and Caelum Empires. The 50 celestas Signor Giancarlo demanded now paled in comparison to the immense resale value his works would command in a decade’s time. This would be one of your best investments as a mere lady with no imperial wealth.

“Fifty celestas for this Apollo and Daphne sculpture seems a fair price,” you mused, scrutinizing each exquisite detail of the remarkable artwork. The sculpture was truly a masterpiece and very much deserving of admiration, which was why in your past life, it was highly coveted by The Venera for its sheer magnificence. However, you refrained from showering the Signor with excessive praise. To do so would only awaken him to the true value of his creations, and he could potentially inflate his prices beyond your budget. Thus, you maintained an air of indifference as you regarded the middle-aged sculptor. “It would make a suitable addition to our garden,” you casually added. “I shall purchase it.”

“My Lady!” protested Milena, but you silenced her with a gesture.

“In addition, I would like to acquire the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and a selection of your cherubic sculptures,” you continued, disregarding Milena’s objections and the delighted expression on Maestro Giancarlo's face. “Pray, how much would the entire collection amount to?”

It was as if he had stumbled upon a treasure trove. The Signor’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as he responded to you. “Lady de Roma! What a blessing you have bestowed upon me,” he exclaimed, leaving you sympathetic towards his years of unacknowledged artistry. “The collection would fetch two-hundred celestas.”

Your maid, filled with concern, cried out in protest. “Preposterous! This is a swindle!”

Again, 200 celestas was a trifling sum compared to its prospective worth. Moreover, it was a price that would not significantly dent your finances as a noble lady. However, if you acquiesced to his initial offer without negotiation, he might infer that you would readily purchase any of his other works at its highest prices.

It was a simple game of chess, and he was merely one of your pawns.

“A hundred and fifty celestas,” you countered, maintaining a steely gaze on Maestro Giancarlo as you made your bargain. “Take it or leave it.”

The man voiced his objection, nonetheless. “But My Lady, I have dedicated weeks to crafting each piece.”

Being ten steps ahead, you already anticipated his response, so you offered a compromise. “Yes, yet two hundred for a handful of pieces seems excessive. I will increase it to a hundred and seventy-five. Do we have an accord?”

“But—”

“Two hundred celestas,” you declared firmly, “on the condition that you add a few more cherubim to my collection.”

In the end, he agreed to your offer with an air of triumph as if he had hit the jackpot. He penned your receipt with a sense of satisfaction, believing he had outwitted you with his inflated price when, unbeknownst to him, he had just sold pieces worth roughly two-hundred thousand celestas. The clear winner in this exchange was you, though you kept that fact strictly concealed. Your strategy to amass personal wealth would remain a secret to all, even if Milena thought you had lost your mind paying such a sum for the work of a struggling artist.

And you did not plan to stop there. Your next task was to visit Pietro De Luca, a renowned painter from your past life who had risen to prominence during your time as empress. Like the sculptor, this man was yet to achieve fame during the future period of artistic renaissance. He was the one who painted you and your husband’s infamous portrait at the palace. Unfortunately, though, luck was not on your side when you visited the painter that day, as the man had apparently journeyed to Constantia and would not return for another fortnight.

Ah, well. There would always be another opportunity.

“My Lady,” spoke Milena, standing beside you as your father’s men loaded the sculptures into the spare carriage. “I never imagined the day would come when you would take an interest in sculptures. When did you develop an eye for art?”

To tell her the truth, you cared little for its artistic merit. Your sole concern was its value and the wealth it would bring you in a decade’s time. You could never reveal that fact to Milena, so you offered an excuse instead. “They make for lovely decorations, do they not? They would certainly add to the opulence of the estate.”

Your sentence was abruptly interrupted as a pair of playing children collided with you, causing your hood to slip down and reveal your face. The mother of the children, instead of offering an apology, was too stunned to realize that you were a noblewoman from the capital. They were clearly of lower status than commoners; they were beggars, clad in tattered garments and bearing grimy faces. Your heart twinged with pity, especially upon seeing the mother cradling a baby in her arms.

A poor infant. Almost instinctively, your hand flew to your belly as memories flooded your mind of the baby you nearly had in your past life. It was Satoru’s child, the future emperor of the empire, the sole heir to the imperial Gojou lineage. Yet, he refused to acknowledge it as his own. What would have happened to your child if he had lived? The bittersweet recollection clenched at your gut.

“Please, my lady,” pleaded the impoverished woman, “Any food or clothing would be a blessing.”

To think of it, in your past life, you realized that the commoners harbored resentment towards you for your extravagant lifestyle. None of the luxuries you enjoyed as empress were shared with the masses of the Caelum Empire. They remained trapped in poverty while you reveled in comfort, completely disconnected from their reality. It was no wonder you had incurred the wrath of Goddess Fortuna and Archangel Raphael.

And now, overwhelmed by compassion, you motioned for Milena to offer 50 celestas to the woman, who graciously accepted your gift. The sum would suffice for six months' worth of food supplies. Though you wished you could give more, your wealth was not infinite as the daughter of a duke. Nevertheless, it was the gesture that mattered, was it not?

As you and Milena continued to stroll through the plaza, you could sense the incredulous glances she would cast your way. It must have been strange for her to witness your kindness towards commoners, let alone your act of charity by giving away months worth of allowance to strangers.

“Is it the tea I served you the other morning, my lady?” she inquired, concerned. “You seem to be behaving differently, as if you have transformed into a completely different person.”

In your previous life, Milena’s straightforward comments would have resulted in punishment from you. However, in this timeline, you merely chuckled with her. “Life’s too fleeting to be evil all the time.”

Like an eager puppy, she nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, my lady. Indeed! It brings me joy to see you embracing life in a different manner.”

If only she knew the hardships you had endured in the past, molding you into someone who viewed the world through a different lens in this present time. She would have been glad to see you become an empress, but she would be horrified to know the amount of souls that died by your hands alone.

You were lost in contemplation throughout the afternoon, and you wandered aimlessly around the city, immersing yourself fully in the lives of the common folk until dusk began to descend. Just as you were about to make your way back to your carriage, a larger one passed by, adorned in white and blue with the imperial insignia proudly displayed.

Today heralded the return of Princess Savina from The Providence. She was the sister of Crown Prince Satoru and the infamous Caelum princess who had tragically perished alongside her lover, Prince Megumi of Astheryn.

Her tragic demise was also the beginning of Satoru’s descent to tyranny.

That could only mean one thing: the true story was just about to unfold.

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You felt unsettled.

Princess Savina’s return marked not only a significant turning point, but also served as a stark reminder of the events that had unfolded in your previous life. Her tragic death had set off a chain reaction of calamities. After her illicit romance with an Astherean prince was exposed, a devastating war broke out and claimed the deaths of innocent citizens. Shortly after, the prince and princess' dead bodies were discovered in the Sistine Chapel. While the conflict might have concluded with an armistice, it was also the catalyst for Satoru’s path to seizing the throne with your helping hand. It was this very moment that laid the groundwork for Satoru's eventual usurpation of the throne.

Soon after, Satoru’s ascension to power would be imminent, with you standing by his side as his chosen empress. He would eliminate every traitor you had identified, while you exacted vengeance upon those who had wronged you prior to your rise to an imperial status. Yet, despite your unwavering loyalty and dedication, Satoru never truly trusted or loved you as his wife, ultimately leading to his betrayal in the end.

How could you stand still and watch history repeat itself?

You had to have a plan. You had to devise a scheme wise enough to change the course of your life. And perhaps, befriending Savina might be the key. She might have a chance to live if her affair with the Astherean prince remained undiscovered, averting the tragic chain of events that led to her demise. That way, Satoru would not harbor the desperation to usurp his parents. He would not ask you to orchestrate a coup, and make you his pathetic empress in return. In this life, you resolved to be repulsive enough in Satoru's eyes that he would be utterly disinterested in you, even if you were the last person on Earth.

The plan seemed logical, yet simultaneously absurd. In your past life, you had strived with all your might to become Satoru's wife, yet now, you were doing everything in your power to avoid such a fate. Is this naught but a cruel game? You could not suppress a wry chuckle as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bright moonlight casting an illuminated glow upon you. It was enchanting yet horrifying at the same time to see a faint scar encircling your neck, a grim mark that reminded you of your previous fate as a beheaded empress. You were still uncertain whether you were the only one who could see the scar, but Milena had never seemed to notice it during your bathing rituals. Perhaps the scar would only manifest as a visible reminder of sin, and would fade with virtuous deeds. Your recent act of generosity towards the beggar, however, seemed to carry no weight in mitigating your previous unethical dealings with Maestro Giancarlo. It appeared that genuine acts of kindness were only truly rewarded when performed with sincerity, while any hint of selfishness nullified their positive effects.

You acknowledged that virtuousness was not inherently ingrained within you. While avoiding marriage to Satoru was your primary objective, the prospect of a life dedicated to serving the common people was not your desired path. As long as you refrained from inflicting suffering upon others, you saw no necessity in accumulating merits through good deeds. After all, your sole task, as directed by Archangel Raphael, was to atone for your sins, not to become a paragon of virtue. You were no saint.

Three days had quickly passed since that night, and this day held a special occasion that had your heart pumping heavily the morning you woke up. Today, as accurate as your previous life, was the day of The Mass of Annunciation—a holy Catholic mass to celebrate when Archangel Gabriel appeared to the Virgin Mary and announced to her that she would conceive and give birth to the son of God, Jesus.

The grandeur of the event was undeniable, and attendance was obligatory for all noble families of Caelum, given the devout nature of the empire’s populace. Moreover, the presence of the imperial Gojou family ensured the importance of the occasion. Yet, for you, stepping into Saint Peter's Basilica once more stirred nerves as memories flooded back from your time as an empress. Now, as a 20-year-old daughter of a duke, you entered the basilica beside your brother, Aristide, whose pompous demeanor drew the gaze of all noble ladies present. After all, he was the empire’s second most eligible bachelor after Satoru himself. In your first life, your brother had wed Lady Serena, and your relationship had soured when you declared him a traitor and accused him of treachery against your then-husband. Although Satoru had spared his life, he had decreed Aristide’s eventual exile, wary of the threat posed by a brother-in-law with ambitions for the throne.

The stark contrast between your current standing and your former eminence as an empress was palpable as you made your first public appearance in high society since your regression. No longer did heads turn and knees bend at the sight of you. Instead, you were regarded as a mere noblewoman, approaching the age where marriage prospects dwindled, and whispered rumors branded you as a woman with an unsavory fixation on the crown prince. It was a humbling experience, to say the least, and a reminder of the depths to which your reputation had fallen.

Despite no longer holding the title of empress, you spared no effort in your attire. You carried yourself with the same regal air, a testament to your upbringing and the lavish lifestyle afforded by your father. Your family not only produced the bravest knights, but also supported a prosperous weaponry business, which reflected your ostentatious way of life. That was why you had the means to wear a sumptuous gown of rich burgundy brocade, intricately woven with gold thread and adorned with delicate floral embroidery. You made certain that the modest neckline gracefully covered your neck to hide your revolting scar, while layers of sheer chiffon formed a voluminous skirt that cascades to your feet. Your hair was secured in a crespine, a delicate net-like veil adorned with lustrous pearls and sparkling gemstones, while around your neck hung a simple yet elegant silver cross pendant to add a touch of reverence.

In your eyes, you considered yourself a modest and conservative lady who was hesitant to reveal too much skin. However, your brother found it laughable, jesting that you might as well become a nun given how covered your chest and neckline were. He remarked that it was unusual for you to dress in such a reserved manner, as you had previously taken the initiative to wear attire that would attract Satoru’s manly gaze.

“Announcing the arrival of His and Her Imperial Highness, followed by His and Her Imperial Majesties—the luminaries of our empire.”

As the imperial family arrived at the basilica, a hushed anticipation suddenly fell over the gathered crowd. The air was filled with a palpable sense of reverence and awe as the imposing façade of the basilica welcomed the presence of the empire’s highest authority.

First to enter were Princess Savina and Crown Prince Satoru, the heir and heiress to the throne, their regal presence commanding attention as they made their way down the grand procession. Princess Savina was resplendent in a gown of shimmering silk and a coronet as her headdress, while there he came… Your then-husband. Your ex-lover. Your betrayer. Crown Prince Satoru, clad in a tailored doublet of rich blue velvet, projecting an air of quiet strength and authority as he stared straight ahead towards the altar like he did in your past life. You had almost forgotten how princely handsome he was when he was younger, and you could not stop your frenzied heart as you felt somersaults in your stomach. No, you must not! It was all in the mind. It was all a matter of mind games, and this might be the first time you had seen Satoru again in real life after your regression, but he was still a man who had ordered to kill you. You should never be fooled by his luscious white hair and sky blue eyes.

“In love?” whispered your brother, a smirk visible on his face.

“Out of love,” you corrected and remained resolute in your goal not to get swayed by Satoru’s charm again. “I feel not a single thing.”

Aristide scoffed at that. “Yet your eyes shine at the sight of him?”

As the imperial siblings took their places at the head of the procession, the assembled congregation bowed their heads in deference as the imperial family proceeded to their seats and their every movement watched with rapt attention by the gathered nobility. Following closely behind were the Emperor and Empress, the reigning monarchs of the empire, their presence heralded by the sound of trumpets and the swell of sacred music.

You chose not to bicker with your brother throughout the holy mass, although there were times you were tempted to cuss him out. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, ridiculing your attire and insisting that Satoru would never pay you any attention. He took great pleasure in reminding you of the prince’s supposed revulsion towards your obsession, when little did your foolish brother know, you would be glad if that was in fact true.

And the ironic thing was, in your previous life, you had done Aristide a great favor by marrying Satoru. This freed up Lady Serena for marriage, despite her supposed status as the crown prince’s favorite. You used to despise Serena out of sheer jealousy, while Aristide had always desired her, which was why your brother had urged you to win Satoru's affections to pave the way for him to marry the lady he so coveted.

In this life, you decided not to interfere in any potential relationship between Satoru and Serena, regardless of your brother’s wishes. You acknowledged that Serena would make a far superior empress than yourself, as she possessed enough empathy in her to prioritize the welfare of her people and avoid endangering them. She was not the type of person who would willingly bring about the destruction of an entire nation, nor would she welcome the spread of plague out of mere vengeance against her husband.

With Satoru out of your plans, Savina then came into the picture. You had to speak and get close to her—close enough for her to trust you and befriend you, but not attached enough for you to act like her older sister. You would only be here to guide her and avoid her from the path of her downfall in order to save yourself. Savina was the key.

Savina… Savina would be the one to save you in this life. Savina was your only hope.

As the mass concluded, some of the nobles began to disperse, while others congregated in a corner to converse with the Archbishop. Your sole intention at that moment was to approach Savina, allowing your feet to lead you to the direction of where she was. But just before you reached her, you stumbled upon a very significant individual who had played a pivotal role in bringing about your suffering in your previous life.

It was none other than Satoru’s advisor, Lord Maximillian.

“Lady Y/N, it is a delight to see you,” the man greeted, but you could see right through him. He never liked you now and in the past. In fact, his hatred stemmed from his peculiar fixation towards the imperial family. He may look younger presently, but he was still an old and rotten base-born cur.

Maximilian was the one responsible for introducing Satoru to the prophecy, and he was also the individual who whispered your demise into your husband's ears. Given his role in your past suffering, why should you afford him any respect?

“It is rather surprising you had not burned inside the church,” you remarked acerbically, eliciting widened eyes from the nobleman. “Yet it does beg the question, Lord Maximilian, what brings a heretic like yourself inside a Catholic church?”

Within the confines of the basilica, or at least the space surrounding you, a variety of reactions unfolded. A noble lady shot you a disapproving stare for your perceived rudeness towards a man of higher nobility, while your brother regarded you with a mixture of astonishment and concern as if you had gone mad. Conversely, a young nobleman appeared impressed by your audacity.

As for Maximilian, it was rather amusing to observe the crimson hue that spread across his face. You anticipated his retort and braced yourself for his comeback. “Why, you foul-mouthed wench!” he exclaimed, his voice laden with indignation. “Who do you think you are speaking to?!”

You grinned triumphantly at your success in offending him. “You should be ashamed to show yourself in front of God—” you began, relishing the opportunity to further provoke him, but was cut short when a formidable presence appeared before you.

The arctic white hair, the crystal blue eyes, the smooth ivory skin, the towering build from years of training…

“Your Highness,” Maximilian immediately curtsied before the prince, while you remained frozen in place. Like a statue. “Your Highness, this young lady is preposterous!”

On one hand, Satoru’s eyes bathed in humor as he observed the interaction between you and Maximilian. This was the first time you two had faced each other since the regression, and the emotions stirred within you were still raw. You were husband and wife when you last saw each other. You could still remember the last time you saw him the night before your execution, when he visited you in the West Tower and asked you to live a solitary life in the countryside as his mistress. Your heart seemed to constrict in your chest, yet simultaneously, it pounded loudly with anticipation.

“Max, it seems the lady has labeled you a heretic,” the Crown Prince remarked, his gaze unwavering as he focused on you. “Can you substantiate your accusations, Lady Y/N?” he inquired, prompting you to defend your claims.

Satoru, you fool. If you were to reveal what happened in your previous life, he would be an accomplice to the crime. He carried the highest position in the empire at the time, yet he was a supporter of heresy himself. That alone would have brought him into Inquisition.

You could not think straight. Oh for heaven’s sake! You could not focus. Could not breathe. Could not speak. Your thoughts were flooded by memories of your past life; of Satoru claiming you were useless for being barren, of him refusing to acknowledge your child, of him planning to wed another woman after the years you had devoted to him, of him ruthlessly ordering your execution.

Of him never saying he loved you.

Before you realized it, tears welled up in your eyes. You were utterly unprepared to encounter him today, let alone engage in conversation, especially while the wounds from your past were still so raw. Some wounds had yet to heal, and the mere sight of him brought them flooding back.

And with your unexpected reaction, his expression softened and morphed into one of genuine concern. Why? Why was he suddenly concerned now when he spent years of being an ungrateful husband? His smile had long vanished, replaced by a look of worry after seeing you on the verge of breaking down. However, before the tears could spill, you turned and fled, unable to bear the thought of crying in front of a man like him.

“Hold on, Lady Y/N—!”

His voice called out to you, but you refused to look back. No, you were determined to only keep moving forward, to distance yourself from the man who had caused you so much pain. Therefore, you hastily fled the basilica, seeking solace amidst the throng of nobles who were crowding outside.

As you ran, tears streamed down your face unchecked, yet you let it be. The ache in your heart was unbearable, knowing that the man you had once loved so deeply now had the power to hurt you all over again. Only when you found a secluded spot beneath a stone pine tree did you collapse, clutching your chest as you recalled the face of the man who had caused you so much anguish.

I despise you, Satoru.

“How could you betray me like that?” you murmured, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed beneath the tree, feeling utterly pathetic.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over you, and as you looked up, you saw a man with dark hair clad in shining armor. His smile was gentle as he approached and crouched down beside you.

“My lady.” It was the Knight Commander, Yuuta, offering you his handkerchief. “Is everything alright?”

#series: lltv #satoru gojou x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader

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a0random0gal · 8 months

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Hot take, but I personally think all the Criston Cole hate is bs. He's probably one of the most despised characters in hotd and the slander is so unjustified.

Like damn, are you guys really going to hate on him for despising Rhaenyra after all she put him trough?

I'm 100% certain that if the genders were swapped almost everyone would side with him.

Just imagine a girl that owes her dream job on a prince that is in a significant position of power over her. One night, after things don't go his way, he makes sexual advances on the girl. She feels like she has to sleep with him, because of how he helped her achieve her goal. Also because if she refuses, the prince may be enraged and make up a lie to get her executed. Afterwards, she feels dirty, she knows she broke her oath, and that if caught she would be tortured and murdered, so she deludes herself into believing they love each other and should run away together. At least that way, she won't have ruined her life in vain.

But when she tells the prince her plan and confesses her feelings, the prince tells her that he's not willing to give up the throne for her and that all he wants her for is sex. She's pretty much just his glorified whore.

I bet all I have that in this case everyone would call Rhaenyra an evil fuck boy misogynist who only sees ladies as objects to sleep with. But since she's a girl, then the fandom views her as an empowered, sexually liberated girlboss who takes what she wants. Even if that leads a man to almost committing suicide.

The fact that the fan base also has the nerve to call him a pathetic incel is just the icing on the cake.

Guys, I'm not sure if you now, but hating a woman for something that has happened between you is not the equivalent of hating all women.

Criston hates her and her only, while treating every other lady in the show with great respect, hell he worships the ground on which Alicent walks! And scolds Aemond for how he treats sex workers, 'Cause for him they should all be respected like the mother! He's probably one of the least sexist characters in hotd lmao.

Sometimes I wonder if Rhaenyra stans can't stand him because they genuinely can't fathom a man receiving her advances, being offered to be her lover, and rejecting. Like "how dare him break our queen's heart!"

Poor dude never stood a chance

#Obviously I'm not condoning what Criston did at Rhaenyra's wedding #That was still fucked up #Though I know some people have analyzes the shit out of that scene and it' super complex and interesting #pro team green #pro criston cole #pro alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #anti team black #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower

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throwaway-yandere · 4 months

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19th Century YANDERE!WANDERER x F!Reader idea:

You were once a well-liked farmer in a remote village. Despite owning a small library of your own, which was a massive social symbol of wealth at the time, you experienced no discrimination from both the rich and the poor. Each side treated you with respect for you grew the finest of fruits and vegetables at such a cheap price. Go any lower, and they'd think you were positively doing charity work. Every poor man and noble maids would line up each morning for a chance to buy "Lady (Y/n)'s produce".

However, you faced your peaceful life's turning point when a hooded young man opted to cut the line. With grace, you approached him and politely told him to follow the rules. You see, if he cannot respect others, how can he respect the food you've grown with such kindness and care?

That's when WANDERER's interest piqued. He understood little of the North's customs. Where he's from— most transactions can be accelerated with the help of a Fixer. When (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at the sight of his bribery, he understood that he royally messed up. He didn't apologize, but he admitted that he was wrong and left the marketplace. But that was when he knew, there might finally be a place for him after all the traveling he had done.

If the village thought your prices were near charitable, your approach to befriending the WANDERER certainly was saint-like behavior. You visited his inn and presented him with a bread basket. With a hearty laugh, you uttered hopes that you were not bothering him as you watched him fix his bed-head. The dark-haired man could only watch perplexed as you motioned to the chair and asked to sit down. You asked for his name, he didn't comply. You asked if you could call him "Iris", just like how you'd assign flower petnames to close friends, and he only replied with a morning grunt and a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

Iris Ensata, in the royal gardens, meant "a gentle heart". Whether you knew floral languages or not, each time you called him by that name, his chest tightens as though he has one.

He's grown fond of your conversations, but his travels cannot cease. WANDERER's goal had always been to find an ancient artifact his mother preached. Attaining it meant he would be the next to rule the land, for he was secretly the Crown Prince. He was vague whenever he talked about his troubles to you, but you instantly related to his musings. You yourself managed the farm because you wanted to please your father. He saw you as a lesser human, and decided that to prove your worth, you needed to manage your own small "empire". His mother was the same. Both of you were tested, and you are now standing on the same crossroad. To be a slave to a kin's whims, or to carve your own path? He had yet to decide that for himself...

Hence, when stress had taken its toll, he pulls out his map to find his way back to you. Moonshines later, he reached the point where he no longer required one. His soul knew where you were. Where home was. Stopping by the village just to see you was always a lull before the storm. And he was incredibly excited to tell you that his adventure is now finished, and the crown now rests on his head.

But what if he was too late to salvage what was left of such a natural disaster? What if the lull was eerie? What if the lull was a silent void he could never get rid off?

In his return, he found not a storm, but a rain of fire. There, at the center of the square, was you. The smell of singed hair defiled his senses, and your face burned in his mind. He saw you everytime he closed his eyes.

"BURN THE WITCH!!! BURN THE WITCH!!!"

The mob drags on. And on. And on. The chant does not stop. He stands there, petrified.

When only the lull remains, he pulled down his hood and looked over to the stake you once stood.

"It's just ashes..." He muttered. "Nothing left but a-ashes..."

He chuckled, humorless. His voice was once a small crackling sound, like the fire that took you, until it erupted into a full blown laughter. His eyes were wide, and his grip on both your ashes and the earth you once tended to and loved made his knuckles white. The WANDERER— no, The CROWN PRINCE laughed hard in his mind, but that was not what the townsfolk heard.

What they heard was the alarming anguished screams of a lover who had everything he had stolen away.

He will be merciful, for he knew you still loved your friends and neighbors even when they had tied and burnt you to crisps. He will make their deaths brief. As brief as his soldiers could make this whole village burn and purged off all its filth.

Maybe when the spring comes back, so too will you return. Maybe once he had purged off all the filth in this village's wreckage, he'll find his home.

But until then, there is no longer any sense of gentleness in his own heart.

#ansy-drabbles #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #yandere scaramouche x reader #no beta we die like demetrius-

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azurevi · 1 year

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in a crowd of thousands

aka a collection of ideas for my childhood friends to lovers leona au / aka my headcanons of the entire life of leona kingscholar. jeez

note: am i dumping all my ideas for this au here because they’re too disorganised and messy that i can’t work out anything but i don’t want to just let them go to waste? yes i am. this au has been tormenting me for weeks but my brain just can’t figure how to seamlessly plan it so chances are i’m gonna put it away. it’s not like i laid awake in bed till 4am because i was thinking about it last night anyways lololololol

i did actually write a bit for this au, which you can find at the end of all the points, but it is unedited and was done before the tamashina-mina event so it’s definitely not perfect. i would be happy if it was readable-

this idea dump is 5.8k (god bless), and the attached work is around 4k? so yea

The story starts when Leona is 8, begrudgingly attending Farena’s coming of age ceremony. Everyone is cheering and celebrating the beloved first prince’s birthday, all the while Leona sulks in the carriage, feeling the acidic jealousy rot in his stomach. He’s never received a celebration this grand in his name before, and he’s certainly never worn something some extravagant, even on his own birthday.

Just as he’s fighting his urge not to jump off of the royal carriage, he’s approached by an eager kid who, judging by appearance, can’t be older than him. they’re putting their short legs to use by chasing the carriage, a bouquet of fresh flowers secure in their grip. Leona thinks at first that it’s yet another present for Farena, but they’re calling for him instead, asking that he take the flowers. So he does, reaching all the way out of the carriage to grab the gift, earning surprised and distraught yells from the guards.

By the time he’s seated and looks back again, they’ve already disappeared in the sea of people.

Leona’s never received anything like this before. People only ever compliment and offer gifts to Farena, fuzzing over his bubbly personality and applauding the grace he presents himself with. Even back when they were faced with their mother’s death from a deadly illness, he was still praised for upholding his dignity and composure, while Leona stood at his side, mourning the death of one of the only people who truly cared about him.

So naturally Leona’s curious about the nameless admirer. And what better way to meet them than to order flowers from each and every florist’s shop in Sunset Savannah to see if they’ll show up for the delivery? It’s a long shot, one that depends entirely on the assumption that they even work at a flower shop and didn’t just buy the bouquet somewhere else. But he’s willing to bet on his luck.

So days passed, Leona’s made like twenty or so orders and his room is filled with foliage, from small pots of plants to tall wide leaves. Kifaji is honestly a bit confused by this, and a lot of guards are saying that he’s throwing an unreasonable tantrum. But never-mind them, because he eventually gets what he wants.

So on a fine early afternoon another delivery comes. This time it’s a whole cart filled with blooms of different colors. Sort of looks like a whole bush has been moved onto it. It’s so huge that he can’t see the person rolling the cart, but then he lolls his head to the side and spots those familiar eyes, the ones he’s been wondering about when he’s wide awake at midnight.

And guess what? They’re excited to see him too. So much so that they topple over and cause the entire cart to fall forward. The bush cascades onto him like a waterfall, but luckily the cart doesn’t crash him, but instead fall backward with a loud CRASH. Kifaji almost has a heart attack at that.

At Leona’s command the retainers and chamberlains leave him alone with the kid, and they get to know each other, like where the kid’s from, why they gave him the flowers etc. Turns out they wanted to thank him for the clothes donation he did for the poor kids living near Elephant’s Legacy a while back then.

Leona doesn’t have the heart to tell them that the donation wasn’t his idea, that he only said ‘whatever’ when the tailor suggested that he gave the ill-fitting outfits to kids in need.

Wanting to spend more time with his new ‘admirer’, he ditches class and sneaks them all around the palace, showing them things that have their eye’s sparkling in awe, but especially his personal achievements. They’re amazed by all of it: where people states that his interest in chess is somewhat boring (even though it’s just because he’s not as energetic and sociable as his brother), they think that it’s cool and smart. Even though he doesn’t like painting as his brother and father do, they don’t judge him for it, but instead agree that spending time in the library reading ancient books is more worthwhile.

Then they move on to talk about magic. Leona is obviously proficient, but they on the other hand actually don’t possess it. At least not yet. So they’re like ‘omg you have a unique magic already can you show me’ and that’s when Leona hesitates. He has endless ways to impress them, but his unique magic has always been something that others frown upon. It’s destructive, it’s messy, and it’s not beautiful. But you insist anyways, and young Leona decides, what the hell, screw it.

And to his surprise, they’re not a bit terrified. Quite the contrary, as you goes off on a tangent talking about how it could come in handy in so many situations.

And that’s the start of a precious friendship! Leona decides to order flowers regularly from their shop alone, and they get to know each other a lot better from there onward.

Years pass and they’re basically besties now. The young florist visits at least once a week, and the second prince is always more cheery and energised when they’re hanging out.

He tells them all about his life, how his mother had been sick for as long as he could remember and how her death took a toll on him. How Kifaji is pretty much the only chamberlain that doesn’t talk behind his back. How the others do it all the time just because Farena shines far brighter than he does.

The florist talks behind their backs as revenge, and it makes him feel just a bit better. And proud too.

It’s great knowing that someone cares and appreciates him. It makes him want to keep trying.

Similarly they let him into their life. They show them where they live, which is somewhere near the border between the bustling city and the neglected neighbourhoods, the poorer villages that fail to catch up with the Sunrise City and other major cities’ developments. Due to the country’s insistence to uphold the ‘coexistence with nature’ mission, little progress is resulted in those areas, and the disparity is beginning to look like a wide canyon.

Having lived in the palace for most of his life, this is the first time Leona learns of the parts of Sunset Savannah that the royals don’t talk about.

And as a result of the slow, almost stagnant growth of these places, infrastructures are nearly unaccessible. Even if people get sick (and they get sick quite a lot) they don’t get much medical support, at least not nearby.

One of the victims is the florist’s mother— and this is entirely the reason why they need to be working at such a young age. She’s been ill for a long time and is bed-ridden for the better part of a day, so they have to support the family. There is little medicine they can get their hands on, and even if they do get something, nothing really works.

With such a important mission on their shoulder, they’ve never really considered what they wanted to be in the future. The immediate goal was to have their mother get better, and to keep the family business going.

Looking at the ghastly lives of the people is sort of a reality check for Leona. And that’s when he begins to feel an ambition grow inside him.

He wants to change things, because no one in the palace seems to care about the people who are suffering so long as they’re out of sight.

The first time he raises the idea with his father, the king does take his words into consideration, but ultimately decides that it’s more important to preserve the country’s culture. Plus the councillors / politicians etc don’t agree with his views anyways, claiming that he’s too young to understand that ‘some sacrifices have to be made’.

Which is absurd, because he’s looking right at one of the sacrifices right now, and it’s their most important friend, who’s forced to provide for their family all on his own.

Leona doesn’t give up. He goes on learning more about the country he lives in, spends a little more time away from the glorious Sunrise City, and comes up with plans to improve Sunset Savanna. They’re not perfect, most of them are not totally feasible, but at least he’s doing something. Even Kifaji gives him his own opinions at times, unlike the other chamberlains who dislike that he’s trying to upend how the country’s always been operated.

All the while the florist gives him all the support he needs. Even when it feels like the majority of the world is against him at times, with them by his side, he feels invincible, like he can really change the world if he wants to.

Them making flower crowns for him as he works on his projects… that’s it. That’s the image.

Leona is maybe around 14, 15. His father falls ill (why is everyone sick in this story…) and there is a dire need of a new ruler to watch over the country in his hopefully momentary absence.

A king. Leona’s spent his whole life looking at one, and though he’s far from a mature adult, he tries his hand at politics anyways, hoping that he at least has a shot at becoming one in the near future. But everyone has already had their pick, and it’s none other than Farena. Farena, who rejects Leona’s ideals like everyone else.

“It’s simply too complicated”, he says, but Leona doesn’t see how hard it can be to take a new path.

But he’s still trying, at least for his dear friend. His dear friend, who’s been sticking with him through all the doubts and rejections. His dear friend, who’s promised time after time that they’ll never leave him or turn their back to him. His dear friend, who is there for some of the worst nights he has, comforting him as he winds down from nightmares. His dear friends, who always smells like a walking garden. His dear friend, whom he inevitably falls for.

At the same time, a romance is blooming somewhere else in the palace. Farena has fallen in love with Malaika, and after perhaps a few years of dating on the down low, they are ready to get married. And obviously this is good news. People see this as another indication that Farena will be a great king, seeing as he’s already had so much planned before him.

It’s like they don’t even plan to give Leona a chance.

But as always, his friend somehow sees the better side of things as they always do, telling him not to lose all hope yet.

Sometimes it feels like they’re the only person keeping him going. Would be. sad if they were to. Leave him. (clear throat) Anyways.

In the meanwhile, he decides to take advantage of the wedding. Perhaps the passionate atmosphere can assist him in his own romantic endeavours. Though it’s usually unusual and almost unorthodox for a commoner to attend a royal wedding, they get a pass since Kifaji assigns them to help with the decorations.

And it kind of does. He gets to dance with them, though the music is way too quick for him to really soak in the moment. He gets to see up close how there are stars in their eyes as they watch the bride and groom exchange their vows. Eventually, during dinner, he becomes annoyed by the other guests’ heartless questions about his life and sneaks away with his friend. It ends with a few guards hot on their tails, and in a moment of fight or flight, they dart into one of the empty rooms to hide.

Which just so happens to be the throne room. There’s no one around to berate him anyways, so Leona decides to stride towards the throne and take a seat on the gilded surface, overseeing the now vacant room. There seems to be power infused in this simple throne; the power he needs to make a change in the world, to make the ignorant listen to not just him, but also the demands of the people.

As if that’s not enough, they move to his side and jokingly calls him ‘your majesty’ and his heart does a whole somersault. Even though it’s just for a moment, he feels like he has everything he needs in his hand: the person he loves, and the throne that he so deserves.

And really, he could’ve just told them his feelings there and now, but he’s so caught up in the moment that he decides to postpone it. He’ll have the opportunity to do it in the future anyways. He’s certain that they’ll stay with him till the end of time.

When the invitation letter from NRC comes, Leona doesn’t bat an eye. There’s nothing the school can teach him that he hasn’t already mastered. Plus he’d rather stay here with his friend than go somewhere else all on his own.

Not to mention he’s busy trying to persuade those in power to agree with his vision about rebranding the country, which has been largely unsuccessful. Farena has been busy attending to other matters, and though Malaika sees where Leona’s coming from, she too is burdened by her share of responsibilities.

Time after time the officials have described his ideas as foolish, irresponsible, unreasonable, as if they still see him as an incapable child. Meanwhile it seems like they go along with everything Farena does, even if it jeopardises the livelihood of those under poverty line. All the while his friend's mother withers away. Watching the impending death looms over them places a knife in his chest. He doesn’t want to see them grief like he did when his mother left.

Leona can’t help but feel frustrated. Years of hard work hasn’t led him anywhere. As a kid he was more often frowned upon than not, but now that he was a teenager he still hasn’t gained the respect he deserves. Projects after projects are banned, to the point where the council members groan every time he shows up to their meetings. His ambition starts to dwindle. It feels like he’s trapped in the same tunnel with no hope of escaping.

Well, except when he’s with the only person who understands him. Even when they’re spending most of their time taking care of their mother now, he still derives strength from the occasional letters exchanged between them. (i loveeeee letters i love epistolary fics)

The pent-up frustration eventually leads him to do something rash: he challenges Farena for the position of Sunset Savanna’s ruler. To anyone else, it sounds like an absurd comedy. Leona— 16 and still growing— is challenging Farena, who not only is a decade older but also has more experiences than he does in managing a country.

I feel like challenges to the throne can go two ways; either they settle this with a physical fight or a peaceful voting. Obviously the former is going to hurt a lot more but I feel like it’ll be more impactful…

So say the rules require them to settle this with a fight. Which now that I think about would be more reasonable because there’s no way Leona will get enough votes anyways. So under a stormy night (for dramatic effects) the two brothers have an inevitable clash, and this isn’t just for the title of king.

It’s also the anguish Leona feels from living in Farena’s shadow all these years. His anger at the unattainable standard he has created for him. His jealousy at all the love that’s been thrown his way, all the attention their father has given him. But also the sadness from having him as a brother, from the lack of connection between them. It’s never really Farena’s fault, more like since the day Leona realized why the guards were more concerned with a paper cut on Farena’s hand than half of his room dissolved into sand, a crack formed in their relationship, and it only grew larger until it’s an impossible canyon.

The ending is written in stone. The guards and Malaika watch on, the spectators sparse and few. They’d rather not have the people know about such dispute within the royal family. The rain washes away the beads of red on the ground, but not the bruises on each of them’s flesh, and certainly not the gaping wounds in their hearts. Even as Leona is pushed to the corner, he doesn’t let himself stay down, his aching legs and sore arms be damned. And with him not admitting defeat, Farena can’t end the fight.

In the end, it is Kifaji who pulls him away before he’s injured beyond recognition, but even then he thrashes and attempts to push him away. “Let go of me”, “I’m not losing”. The words scratch his throat as he yells. Finally, Kifaji lets go of his arm, his face twisted in hurt.

“Tone it down, my prince! You’re being difficult!” It hurts him as much as it does Leona, but he goes on, “There’s no point.”

It feels like yet another inescapable twist. Kifaji, who’s always given him the silent approval. Kifaji, who treats him to sautéed mutton every time he’s faced with defeat. Kifaji, whom he trusts with his life. It turns out that he’s just like everyone else.

That day, it’s not just his relationship with Farena that shatters, but also the bond he shared with Kifaji.

Allowing no one near him, Kifaji has no choice but to visit his only friend. They rush with him back to the palace upon hearing about everything that’s happened, and feels their heart lurch uncomfortably at the sight of Leona’s battered state.

With utmost precision, they clean and bandage his wounds like how they wrap papers around bunches of flowers. The silence stretches, as if the moment it’s broken, the tears welling in their eyes will fall uncontrollably.

And so neither of them speak a word. Once they’re done with throwing away the bloodied towels, Leona lets his head loll onto their shoulder. Even in their presence it feels like his heart is hardening into a rock, one that upon being crushed, will never be recovered again. The night embraces them; two souls beaten down by life, robbed of their hopes and dreams.

Leona will never admit it, but that night, he holds their hand like it’s his only lifeline.

In the end, the thing that stomps on his aspirations is but a little child.

Cheka is what Malaika and Farena decide to call him. The young, adorable son of the king (in all but name anyways), who is also a promise that Leona shall never get the throne.

It’s… devastating. His steely, cold eyes are fixed unblinkingly on the snoring infant in his arms. Cheka had been crying non-stop in the middle of the night, craving his mother’s embrace, but Malaika is caught up in a meeting. As it turns out, funnily enough, he only goes quiet when he’s shoved into Leona’s arms.

Leona wills himself to feel hatred, to feel spite, but nothing comes out but for a single tear that rolls down his face. The only thing eating him up inside is pity for himself.

He feels lost. For the longest time he’s felt like he’s playing on the losing team, like the game’s rigged, but to think that the definite indication of his defeat is a young child?

The walls of the palace close in on him. Any second now they’ll come crashing down. Would anyone notice if he’s buried under debris? Probably not. The beloathed second prince, the disappointment in everyone’s eyes.

Is there any point in trying?

As hopelessness engulfs him, his only hope is to call for the only person left in his life who would still back him up. After all, they’ve promised time after time that they wouldn’t give up on them both. Hours tick by; he paces in his room, feeling every hair on his skin. There seems to be a predator in the corner of his room, looming over him, waiting to catch him in a moment of weakness.

He waits, and waits some more. When the guard returns empty-handed, he goes there by himself.

When was the last time they met? Right. Last month, when Leona asked the royal healer to gauge the cause of their mother’s illness. Dread overcomes him as he nears the shabby shop. Paired with the crumbling depression he’s been feeling the whole day, he won’t be surprised if the ground under him caves in swallows him whole.

It’s empty. The wooden sign says ‘closed’. There’s no light from the second floor, where they live. The flowers in front of the shop has withered. It looks vacant, deserted. Coincidentally, that’s also how Leona feels.

They’re just … gone. No one has idea where they’ve gone to; all of their neighbours claim that they just disappeared one day, like they were taken by the wind. Leona sends out anyone who’s not caught up in caring for the newborn prince to look for them, but to no avail. He has no idea what has happened to them, or whether they’re even still— alive.

The thought makes him sick to the stomach.

He waits for days. Weeks. Then he realises that he’s truly alone. For the first time in his life, there’s no one left in his life who know him.

Call it impulse, call it his mind playing tricks. He doesn’t have it in him to think about reason anyways. All he knows is that the longer he stays in this cage of a palace, he’ll suffocate.

A fortnight later, he digs out the crumbled, forgotten invitation letter from his drawer, and leaves for the college far away from his homeland.

Three or four years of school. That’s quite enough to make someone become a bitter, cynical person. That’s where Leona finds himself anyways, lazing his time away at NRC. He doesn’t technically like it here— too many people, too noisy— but it’s better than being stuck in the palace, forced to come face to face with the fact that he’s born with the short end of the stick.

Classes are largely meaningless. He doesn’t have to listen to a single lecture to get full marks in tests and exams. Leading his dorm and the Magift club doesn’t give him as much satisfaction as he initially expected. Most days it feels meaningless to do anything, but it doesn’t kill him. Whatever sadness or problems that come his way can be solved by a nap. If they persist, then two naps. Eventuality they will leave him alone; there isn’t much point in trying anyways.

Why the botanical garden? Well, it’s just a personal choice of his. Maybe it also has something to do with the fact that the mix of flowers and grass reminds him of a softer, better time. Not that he will ever admit it. If anyone asks him why he knows so much about botany, floriculture and all that, he can just brush it off by saying that he’s spent too much time in the garden.

He doesn’t really miss anything. Or anyone. This life he’s leading is not ideal, but, again, it’s just enough to get by.

At least he’s not totally lonely. There’s always someone bothering him, like Ruggie right now, who’s berating him for being late for the preparation of the entrance ceremony.

The corridor is packed with new, curious faces. Most of them seem to recognize the lion beastman and stay out of his way smartly. As he lazily trails behind Ruggie, he hears a bit of commotion coming from just around the corner. Gasps and cusses, and also muttered apologies.

It’s probably nothing, he thinks to himself as he turns— only to come face to face with a stack of books higher than him. It looms over him, threatening to fall directly on his head.

(is this… deja vu?)

Moments before he can feel the impact, Ruggie yells, “Laugh with me!” and manages to balance whoever’s holding the books. “Come on, Leona! We’re already late!”

As he clicks his tongue in annoyance and walks past the faceless student, he hears them mutter a thanks under their breath. It sounds- awfully familiar. Familiar enough to make him swivel around sharply, gaze drilling holes in their back.

“Leona!”

Damn it. He shakes the thought away and follows the hyena instead.

The little encounter gets forgotten in the back of his mind as he prepares to welcome a new group of dorm members. The newbies stand in a crooked queue, turning around and talking to the strangers around them. Some of them are adjusting their robes, the others fidgeting nervously. Whispers fly, most of them speculations of whichever dorm the speakers are about to be sorted in.

It doesn’t surprise him that most his new dorm members look to be physically advantaged. He wouldn’t want it other way; it helps raise his chances of victory in the next Magift tournament.

As he’s about to drift off into dreamland, he hears the next name being called. A name that he hasn’t spoken in years, a name that he’s been trying to bury in his memories.

There’s no mishearing it— his eyes are wide open now, landing on the hooded figure in front of the mirror. Their face is obscured, but then they give their own name to the mirror, and that’s when Leona knows for sure that’s it’s them.

He couldn’t put to words what was happening in his head. Happiness? Surprise? Confusion? An amalgamation of emotions blur within him. He holds his breath, waiting for the announcement of the dorm. What’s it gonna be? No, how even are they here? Have they somehow figured out magic? Where have they even been?

“The shape of thy soul belongs to… Savanaclaw."

Well, he'll be damned.

Immediately after hearing that, their head shoots up, eyes landing on the tall and muscled group of students. For some reasons he cannot fathom, he turns his face to the side, concealing himself. Is it because he's unready to confront a face from the past? Is it because he's hung up on the fact that they left him without a word?

No, it feels more like shame. He isn't sure if he wants to be seen by them in this state. Not yet.

He remains quiet during the trip back to the dorm. Ruggie shoots him a confused glance as he's supposed to give a short speech to welcome the first-year students, but he lets it slide.

Even as he's standing in the very front of the queue, he can make out that distinct flowery scent if he tries. Years of memories come crashing on him, so sudden that he finds himself at a loss of words as he leaves Ruggie to assign the rooms.

He knows there's no point in hiding when he's literally the dorm leader, but the thoughts within him are too much of a whirlwind. Even when he's time after time fantasized about meeting them again, this feels way too sudden. He needs time to untangle his feelings. Maybe then he'll have the guts to face them.

This plan goes down the drain in the end. He hates feeling like a coward, but what he hates even more is that they are literally in the same building as him, and he's knocking himself away. Propelled by nothing but a racing heart, he gets out of bed and down the hallways, coming to a stop in front of a room that he hopes is correct.

He knocks.

Seconds pass. No one seems to be answering. Just as he's about to give up and return to his room, the door is swung open, and in the doorway stands the person that's been weaving in and out of his dreams.

Time has been good to them. Their features have become more defined, and they are holding themselves up with more confidence now. Leona freezes right there like an awkward statue, mouth agape. Words fail him. What is he supposed to say anyways, except that he's missed them?

After a beat, recognition dawns on their face. The beam on their lips is so beautiful it could light up the whole building. They all but throw themselves at them, and Leona stumbles backward from the strength.

What is he to do but to wrap his ams around them as well? It feels like he's back in the palace again, only this time without any sourness coating his tongue.

So they finally get to talk about everything that's happened in the past years. It turns out that one night their mother got dangerously close to the edge of death, and in a moment of bone-chilling fear, they woke up the neighbourhood doctor for help. As usual, he couldn't do anything, but at the sight of their distraught tears, he advised that the two of them go away to this other country, where developments in technology and medicine were more advanced. With no time to waste, he helped them sneak onto the last late night ride out of Sunset Savanna and to the foreign land.

It turned out that there was indeed a possible cure for their mother, but the follow-up treatment was a long, taxing journey. They found a place to stay in, and it took six months for her situation to finally stabalize. By the time they had the time and money to return, Leona was already long gone. All they knew was that he'd gone to a prestigious school for magic users.

With the responsibility to support the family and continue the family business off their back, they could do whatever they want. And, as can be seen, they chose to pick up a few books from the local library and teach themselves magic, all so that they could meet Leona again.

At this, he is once again rendered speechless. All this time they've been giving their all just to get to him, and what has he been doing? Letting time slip through his fingers like sand? Suddenly he feels very, very small standing in front of them.

But as always, they don't push him away even after all this. Because they know the Leona who's buried under all these layesr: the Leona who's unafraid to speak up for his beliefs, the Leona who looks out for those around him, the Leona who never gives up no matter what. They're sure that he can pick himself up again.

And perhaps, with their hand securely in his once more, he can really try again.

I feel that it's a bit obvious that the ending is a bit rushed, even though it's supposed to be the 'to lovers' part in the 'childhood friends to lovers' equation. The truth is that my ideas only reached as far as the point where Leona goes to NRC, so the rest I just came up with on the spot. Not to mention this is just roughly how I imagine the au would go, so there may be plot holes. That being said, here are some other ways the ending could go:

They don't get back together right away, but instead they slowly approach each other again, tip-toeing around each other the whole time. Perhaps they meet when his friend is visiting the botanical garden, because of course they would. Leona is distancing himself a bit cause he doesn't want them to see how he's turned out. But they eventually get familiar with each other again.

Similarly they don't confront each other immediately, but this time Leona's overblot does happen and they show up to stop it. I feel like they'd be disappointed at his ourburst and him using underhanded methods to secure victory, but give them a few scenes and they'll work it out together and Leona will see his faults.

And now onto a little reflection about this au of mine... it's such a precious brainchild of mine I want to cradle it in my arms until it eventually grows up to be an actual fic. But regretfully I have neither the time nor energy to plot everything out, only scattered ideas as you can see. There are quite a lot of things I want to develop in the story:

obviously the relationship between leona and his childhood friend

relationship between leona and kifaji

leona and farena

leona and his parents

leona's backstory, specifically how he became who he is today

the theme of trying again and again

the theme of mutual support in a relationship

Juggling all of these and attempting to expand them to each their full potential have been a challenge. There are also other things that stand in the way, such as how to portray Leona in a young age. Personally I have almost zero recollection of my childhood so I can't help but struggle with balancing the helplessness he feels and the naive hope every child possesses.

But all of those aside, at least I'm putting this au out in the world. Maybe one day I'll get around to making it a real thing :) I hope y'all have enjoyed this mess of an au as much as I do!

If you're interested in the stuff that I came up with for this au weeks ago, it is linked below. JUST A HEADS UP: it's unedited and written before the recent event, so there could be inaccuracies. I also don't like how I've made Leona too bitter for a 8 year old. But feel free to read it and give me a few feedback!

google docs

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #sie writes #leona x reader

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aotearoa20 · 1 month

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Penance: Part One. One/Two/Three

The little messenger of the Valar was actually very lucky to have found them all together at the same time.

There were many rooms and long corridors in Mandos. Ambarussa had found Curufin in this one some time ago, on the small outcropping of rock by an underground waterfall. And he would not be moved. He sat with a form that was barely distinguishable and stared out at where the water hit the pool, causing a continuous spray of bioluminescence.

Caranthir had no intention of lingering beside his brother’s bitterness. He wandered, often to the Halls of Vaire. He met his grandmother and her handmaidens. Sometimes he looked for news in the tapestries. Sometimes he could persuade the solemn to give him work. They never let him do more than untangle threads but in a being barely corporeal, it was enough of a challenge to keep him for utter boredom.

Ambarussa wandered too, Amras trailing after his twin as he showed every nook and cranny left in the Halls. But they returned now and again, trying to coax their brothers into their explorations. Celegorm followed them once or twice but usually remained within eyeshot of the little room with the waterfall.

It was pure chance that Caranthir had ended at back there at the same time as the twins and nothing was said of it. They didn’t speak all that much, well, save Amrod who never really stopped. He seemed scared of the empty space.

Mandos is quiet. For weary broken souls, the silence is a balm. A space to reorient and to heal. But Amrod has long come to terms with himself. Amrod is long healed and Caranthir knows the dark quiet has been smothering him. He thinks he may go mad and could almost laugh at the irony.

A light appeared in the doorway and it was strange. There was light down here. Green flamed lamps and plants that glowed hues of violet and blue. But this was different. This was warm and too bright for his imagined eyes. The figure obscured its glare was tangible enough for his footsteps to echo.

"What news, friend?" Amrod smiled.

Caranthir shivered. It’s eerie the ease with which Amrod could speak with Namo’s Maiar. Their presence still filled him witth a sense of dread, though this one didn’t seem to. Celegorm stood as it drew near but made no move towards it. There was somethingwrong about it. It was too bright, too solid -

“I’m looking for Maedhros Fëanorian.”

There was a beat of silence before Amrod grinned, “You are not dead”

There was a excitement in his voice that sounded nearly like a threat. The stranger lowered the lamp and as his face came into view, Caranthir was almost certain he knew him.

“Lúthien,” he heard Celegorm whisper and with that he was certain.

“You’re Elros’ brother” he said as he rose to his feet. The elf opened his mouth to reply but for a moment no words come out. As if he didn’t know where to pursue his first question or ask a new one.

“He came this way before he left.” Caranthir continued making the choice for him, “He also asked for Nelyo.”

“I am Elrond Peredhel.”

Half Elven. Dior’s grandson. He would have been the Prince of Doriath if fate and his family had been kinder.

“But you are not following him?”

He would have assumed so. He knew their own twins dealt ill with being parted. Elros had not stayed long. Caranthir’s remembered thinking of asking him to carry a message to the otherside. Perhaps he should have.

But it would appear this one was not bound for the Doors of Night. Amrod was right, he was still living and evenso he could sense a solidness to his fëa that his brother did not have.

“No.”

“What do you want?,” Curufin's voice cut sharp from his little crevice of stone.

“To speak with Maedhros.” Elrond replied, undeterred by the coldness of it.

“Why?”

Caranthir took a breath he didn’t need, ready to defend the poor boy from whatever was about to leave his brother’s mouth when they were both silenced.

“Elrond?”

They all turned to the shadowed door.

Maedhros had arrived so close to fading, they feared they would lose him forever. Even now his fëa was barely a wisp of a thing. It was as if the darkness had found a voice.

“So for this one he’ll appear, but we are not so worthy,” Celegorm doesn’t quite growl but Caranthir elbowed him as hard as an incorporeal spirit can elbow another. He might scare Nelyo away for another hundred years.

“Maedhros…” Elrond began, the word hung in the air a moment before he shook his head and looked away, “I have petitioned the Valar for your release.”

“Little pity,” Amras echoed softly.

Elrond turned to the voice and nodded, “but not none at all, I have come to you all with a proposition”

“All of us?” Celegorm said in surprise, he like the rest, assumed any bargaining would be for Nelyo alone. But the half-elf smiled and went to sit on a small shelf of rock. His grip on the lamp shook faintly as he placed it down.

He took a breath and said, “The Valar, Namo especially, have no desire to keep you in here until the world’s breaking. Some of you have been in these Halls longer than Morgoth himself and your crimes though terrible could not be counted as worse than his.”

Caranthir didn’t intend to laugh, but Celegorm chuckled beside him and he found he could not help himself.

“Even so,” Elrond stared at them both unimpressed, “There are many who would argue most of the great woes of the world came to being at Morgoth’s first release and the Valar would have you free to sow discord in Aman. If you were to return there would be conditions.”

Unease shivered through his fëa. Caranthir wasn’t sure he wanted to know of whatever deal Elrond teased out of the Valar. Return would be a curse while the Oath hung over them. Here at least it slept once they realised there could be no escape from the Halls. Better they languish here until Maglor deigned to joined them, and with him any chance of reclaiming the last of their own. And then to Darkness, whatever that entailed. Compared to rhe alternative it would be a relief.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the boy’s efforts. Misguided though they were he had no reason to go through the trouble. It was sweet really.

“You would be put under the responsibility of one of the Valar and under their service – ”

Never mind, he was a petty bastard. Caranthir almost respected him for it. He laughed again, harsh and deliberate. This had to be a joke.

“That’s no reprieve, it is another prison.” Curufin had no face with which to glare. The flickering mist the made him up seemed to pulse and condense in on itself.

“But we could be free of this place.” Amras muttered, wincing more out of habit than anything else as his twin gripped his shoulder.

“To what end?” Curufin hissed, “Are we to be thralls until the end of time?”

“The Valar agreed they would be poor judges of the length of such service. A small council was appointed to judge when it would be safe for you to be left free and unchecked. Olwë, Elwing and Nimloth. Idril also was asked but she said would trust in the wisdom of the three.”

“Then we should be slaves forever! Who would agree to such a bargain?!”

More was said, by most of them, with far less grace. Caranthir himself had no desire to be the lackey of any of the Powers. He was quite comfortable down here, awaiting their doom in his own dread and despair and he was more happy to explain that to the little upstart.

Elrond sat patient enough until their protests died down.

“I have spoken with my father,” he said, quietly softly now, his eyes landed on each of them, “He said if you would agree to these terms, he would return to you the last of the Silmarils for as long as it was necessary to release from your Oath.”

The silence that fell was black and cloying. Maedhros had told them he and Maglor had watched over the peredhel twins for a time. He’d said little more, only to get him off his case, the last time they had been visited by other. Given the extent the Oath had ravaged him by the time he arrived here, they all gathered that it would not have been a pleasant experience for any involved.

He studied the boy’s gentle expression. Did he know the power he held over them all in a single sentence? He must. He must know he could get them to agree to anything for the sake of that offer. It would be a fitting and complete vengeance for this prince of the Sindar to hold the fate of them all at his mercy. Except he couldn’t align such cunning with the person before him.

And for all the humiliation being at the beck and call of the Valar would be, given the truly limitless possibilities, it was a fairly tame punishment. Perhaps it would have to be for the Powers to agree to it.

“What of our father?” Celegorm said suddenly, his voice strangely void of its usual elegance, “and Maglor, we don’t even know where he is.”

“This offer is open to all of you, I can go no further into Mandos like this but Namo said he would speak to Feanor” Elrond sighed, “As for Maglor, he is found. He rests in my house.”

“Is he alright.” Maedhros asked in a tight voice.

“He is not,” Elrond replied and for some strange reason he seemed grieved, “He will not allow himself to be helped but has conceded to follow whichever fate you choose. I... it is not a choice to taken lightly, but please don’t tarry, for his sake.”

“We will do it,” Curufin spoke up. He paid no heed to the stared that stares leveled his way, instead he turned to Maedhros, “We have to don’t we? What use is there debating it?"

Maedhros sighed so deeply him might have dissipated himself into dust. But he nodded and all at once Caranthir’s grip on eternity pitched once again. He had half a mind to resist it. He did not have to agree to this deal that he had not hand in shaping or bargaining. There were too many loop holes that could be explored and exploited both ways. But a familiar heaviness gripped him and turned his tongue to lead. He could not risk Elrond recinding his offer by asking too many questions.

The smile on the half elf’s face was drenched with relief. If he didn’t know better Caranthir would have thought the lantern itself shone brighter at the news. He couldn’t fathom why. His head hurt, so little has happened for so long, for everything he knew to change once more! But to be free... Such hope was as sharp as a knife pericing the depths of his fea. He tore it out and shook his head. Free to do what?

#cross posted on ao3 #my writing #silm au #i put here #So when I make moodboards later #they make sense #maedhros #celegorm #maglor #caranthir #curifin #ambarussa #silmarillion #tolkien #penance au

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jianghushenanigans · 6 months

Text

propaganda (SPOILERS) under cut

Jin Guangyao: All his mother ever wanted was for him to be in his rightful place by his father's side. Everything he's ever done, it's just to keep himself and the memory of his mother alive. He's honouring her, honouring her memory. If his father orders him to do something awful, then how can he say no, and disrespect his mother's memory? And if his father continues to disrespect his mother's memory... how can he be allowed to live?

Xie Wang: He was rescued from the streets, raised up from nothing. How can he not give his yifu everything he asks for? Do everything his yifu asks him to do? Become everything his yifu wants him to become? Yifu is the only one who loves him. Yifu is the only one who cares for him. Yifu is the only one he loves. Yifu... yifu doesn't care about him at all.

Prince Yu: You could be the emperor, they told him. Of all your brothers, you're the most like your father, they told him. All you have to do is play the game and wait for it to be your turn, they told him. He played the game, and he played it well, and it was finally his turn. He was finally chosen. Except, he wasn't. He was a front, allowing his pathetic younger brother to steal what was rightfully his out from under his nose. You have one last chance, they tell him. And what other choice does he have?

Shulin: His mother (the one who raised him) told him that she found him, abandoned. Asked him if he wanted to know where he came from. He was just a child. Of course he wanted to know where he came from. And then his home, his people (the ones who raised him) were destroyed. Destroyed by his mother (the one who swapped him for another child, the one who left him to die). Of course he wants his birth mother, his birth people to suffer the same fate as the only people who ever really cared about him. It's a kinder death than they deserve.

Xiao Yu: He is not his father's favourite son. Everybody knows that. As a child, he had liked to think he could compete, but he should have known better. Even with Chuhe gone, even as the only possible candidate, the title of crown prince is still not his. What's worse, though, is that he is not his mother's favourite son, either. She sits and she sighs about some other child that he has never met, as if he isn't right here, not loved by either of them. No matter. He'll use whoever he has to to get the power he deserves.

Ye Zun: He is nothing, he knows. You have no power, they jeer as they spit at him and beat him. His master laughs at his downturned head, taunts him with the knowledge that his own brother sold him to his life of misery. He has never had power… until he does. And once he’s found his strength… why would he give it up? Why wouldn’t he make them pay?

Shen Jiu: He was plucked out of a ditch as a child, with nothing. No food, no home, no parents. Only an older brother, and for years it’s enough. Then, not even that. Later there's power and prestige, but alongside it hatred, mockery. And then he dies, unmourned, unnoticed, unloved. Even his so-called older brother doesn’t notice. This is a secret he has always known - the only way that the story can end happily is without him.

Runyu: He has been pushed to the side in favour of his brother, but he can’t hate him. He is the only one who has stood by him. If that means stepping into the shadows as he strides into the light… well, it is no hardship. Until he meets her. His future wife, their fates intertwined since birth. The one shining promise that has kept him warm through the tormented millennia. And so, for the first time in his existence, he chooses to be selfish. Is that so wrong?

Yin Pei: Dear tumblr user. If you’ve made it this far, I’ll be real with you. I don’t remember what happens in tv shows unless I become obsessed with them or have watched them recently, and neither of those apply here. I can’t remember anything about Yin Pei except he had daddy issues and we referred to him as Kylo Pei in the group chat. Make of that what you will

many thanks to @nemainofthewater for writing ye zun, shen jiu, runyu. I don't know who they are

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mochie85 · 1 year

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To Have and To Hold - Chapter 7

THaTH Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: Loki faces his father, Odin, on Asgard. Violet tries to find a way to get back to Loki. Pairing: Loki x OFC/Reader Word Count: Over 2K Tags/Warnings: Lots of angst. Pregnancy. Early labor. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Loki landed in Himinbjorg, stumbling forward. The cuffs around his wrist kept him off balance and unable to use his seidr. Heimdall stood regal and unmoved as he welcomed the younger prince home. Behind him, stood The King of the Nine Realms, Odin. Along with the highest trained einherjar poised and ready with their weapons pointed at Loki.

“Why, hello father. What a wonderful sight to see you greet me home,” Loki sarcastically smiled, simulating the bravado and confidence of a hero being applauded upon their return.

The Allfather grunted and turned without saying anything more. His deep crimson cloak billowed as he made his way on his chariot back to the palace. The einherjar positioned themselves around Loki, prodding him to follow.

“Welcome back your highness,” Heimdall said with a bow. Loki just sneered back at him, angry at the turn of events and Heimdall’s participation in all of it.

Upon exiting the temple, Loki’s first steps on the Bifrost bridge were greeted by his mother who walked alongside him. “Shouldn’t you be in the chariot with Father? Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to be seen with the lowly prince turned criminal?” He asked looking straight ahead.

“I have never been prouder of you, my sweet boy,” the Allmother stated. Loki simply looked at her. His features did not betray the shock that he felt inside. “Stand proud. Chin up. Back straight. I walk beside you,” she smiled.

“Thank you, Mother.” They walked along the long stretch of the Bifrost on foot. The Queen’s hand tucked neatly under his arm.

The einherjar kept their weapons to their sides, not wanting to point them at Loki and subsequently their Queen. The citizens had all bowed down in her presence as they walked past the city streets. No one had seen the cuffs adorning Loki’s wrist.

It was a blessing to have the support of his mother. Even more so to have her pride. What did he do? He’s done nothing but break his promise to his restitution. What’s more, is that he made poor decisions that not only cost him his life but the life of the one he loves and now the child.

The child! The child is still alive! How could Violet lie about that? Why did she run away? So many questions ran through his head, and he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He was shocked, first and foremost. Angry, second, that you had lied to him. Relieved that he had found you and then a new worry. That he might not be there to see you give birth to his child. He knew what this was. It was a second chance. A fortune that he was granted to make things right.

As Loki continued walking in silence next to his mother, his mind wandered back to Midgard where you still were. Were you ok? Were you taking care of yourself? You looked so beautiful and radiant. Was it the glow of pregnancy or were you happier not having him in your life?

The warm afternoon air gave way to the cold breeze of the palace’s corridors. Loki was led straight to the throne to await the decision of his ruthless father. He stood to attention at the bottom of the dais. His mother squeezed his arm before letting go and left to join Odin by his side.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Odin’s voice carried with it a finality and heaviness that could bring anyone to their knees.

“What would you like me to say? Tell me. Because anything else that I say, which doesn’t fit with your explanation of things, would just be left unheard,” Loki said uncaring.

“Why do you insist on making things so difficult?”

“Who made me this way?! Who named me The God of Lies and Mischief?! If everyone, including yourself, sees me as nothing more than a troublesome, villainous god, why bother being anything else? You have all made up your mind. I tire of trying to change it. The only person who ever saw me for who I was, was Violet.”

“Yes, the poor Midgardian you decided to dally with. The cause of your indiscretion. I have half a mind to bring her here and…”

“Don’t you dare touch her!”

“I will do as I damn well please!” Odin screamed out as he stood up. “And you would do right by staying quiet and repentant as I decide both your fates!”

Frigga placed her hand on her husband’s arm, hoping to quell the anger rising in both.

“You have proven that you cannot carry out your sentence on Midgard. Thor had hoped to rehabilitate you on that rudimentary planet. But I see now that you are both fools. You will carry out your sentence here in the lower dungeons.”

“Darling…” Frigga tried to intervene.

“And no one shall change my mind on the matter. I have said my final verdict and it shall be carried out.” Odin finished, ignoring the quiet please of his wife.

Loki stood resolutely. The inner turmoil waging war inside him made his face contort in pain and anger. He refused to grovel for his freedom. Refused to beg like a commoner praying for some divine intervention. But it was not just his life now. This was for Violet and the miracle that he and you had created.

Loki wordlessly fell to his knees. His eyes traced the marble veins of the floor, taking a beat, wondering what he could say to Odin to let him have another chance. “I…” Loki swallowed. “I beg of you to reconsider. It is not for my life, I plead. But for the life of my…”

“Your beloved?” Odin scoffed. “Who is she to have my son, a god, on his knees begging for his life?”

“As your…son, I plead…no, I beg…I have wronged her, Mother.” Loki spoke directly to Frigga. “Not a day goes by where I have not wanted to apologize. And she is by no means absolved of fault, but I have yet to speak with her. All I ask is that…is that I see her. Stay, with her…”

“How dare you…” Odin was interrupted by a strong grasp on his shoulder. Frigga had stood up and had not taken her eyes off her beloved son.

“Who am I, if not the goddess of hearth and home, to deny my own son a prayer?” The Allmother decreed. Loki lifted his head and for once was filled with hope. Frigga had a distant look in her eyes. As if she were watching a movie that was filtered through a dirty window.

“Guards! Take him away.” Odin ordered. The closest einherjar grabbed Loki by the arms and hoisted him off his knees. As he was escorted down to the lower dungeons. Frigga had returned from her journey and smiled, “All will be well, my darling. Have faith.” Her voice echoed in his head before he descended into despair.

“Thor, please. You have to bring him back!” You grabbed his chest plate, shaking him as you spoke. Callum had ushered the three of you back into his bungalow. He could see how visibly distraught you were. The reappearance of Loki in your life had been looming over your head for the last couple of months. Callum wanted it to happen sooner, but not in such a dramatic spectacle as it did just hours ago.

“Violet, where have you been?” Thor asked. “My brother has been worried sick about you. He barely eats and sleeps as it is. What made you think you could run away like that?”

“Vee, where did you go?” Bruce asked.

“Here. This whole time with Cal.”

“How are you? How’s the baby?” he followed the question.

“The baby?!” It was then that Thor looked down and noticed the bump protruding from your abdomen. “I thought…I thought…” Thor pointed a finger down to your stomach. Then back up at you. Then back down to your stomach.

“Stop it!” You grabbed Thor’s finger and held on tight as you stared into his eyes. “What are they going to do to him, Thor?”

Like a crack of lightning, Thor’s expression changed. “It won’t be good, dear sister. This will be his second offense. Father will not take that lightly. He might be in the dungeons, permanently.”

“Permanently? He promised to come back.” The thought of never seeing Loki again filled you with dread. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why you left?

“Why did you guys come here? What made you think that it was ok for him to ignore his conditional release?” you asked angrily.

“To look for you, Violet!” Bruce yelled back. “You were injured! Then on top of that, you asked me to do something horrible and keep that baby a secret. Loki loves you! He went crazy these past few months trying to look for you. And honestly, we were scared too. How could you leave just like that?”

“I…” your lips started to tremble. You had hurt more than Loki, you realized. “I’m sorry, Bruce. Thor. I didn’t think that it would…I never…” More tears ran down your face. You held yourself tightly as your resolve came crumbling down. Your lungs gasped for air as the crushing weight of what you had done came bearing down on you.

You asked Bruce and Stephen to do a horrible thing. You undervalued the opinion of the one you loved the most and decided that he was better off without you. Now, he’s gone. Possibly forever. And it was all because you were too scared to talk. Too scared to admit you were less than. What a surefire way to prove your self-doubt correct.

“Would you believe me if I say I was only trying to do what I thought was right?” You mumbled incoherently through your cries. Callum came in and wrapped his arms around you. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” You cried into his shoulder.

“We know you didn’t, Vee. But the truth is, we’ve been worried sick about you. Loki was too far gone with worry. He even turned Thor into a frog!” Bruce declared pointing to Thor.

“Tis true, milady. I had mucous on my skin days after he changed me back.” Thor said reminiscing with a grimace on his face.

“He loves you, Violet. I hope you can see that. Especially now.” Bruce said. “He sacrificed his freedom to find you and hopefully bring you home.”

You stared quietly at Bruce. A plan was forming in the periphery of your mind. The pieces were falling into place, but now wasn’t the time for thinking. You were going to do exactly what you were good at. And that was running. “Thor. I need to see him.”

“I can’t help you, dear Violet. Once my father has commanded his return…”

“Take me to him. Take me to Asgard!” you demanded.

“What?” “No!” “Absolutely not. Not in your condition.” All three men shouted at once.

“I need to see him. To apologize. To let him know that I was wrong. And to let him know that I never stopped loving him. Please, Thor.” All three looked at you, with varying degrees of concern and worry on their faces.

“Well, Father never said anything about Loki not having visitors.” Thor mused.

“You can’t be serious?!” Callum yelled out. “Can you at least wait till after the baby comes?” he said directed at you.

“No. It has to be now. I don’t know what they’ll do to him, Cal.” You responded.

“OK if you go, then I’ll go with you. There’s no telling what the Bifrost might do to you in your condition.” Bruce decided.

“Really, Bruce?” You looked at him with fondness in your eyes. You had all but forsaken the Avengers, but he was still looking out for you. You hugged him tightly and whispered, “Thank you. I’m so sorry I put you through that. I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

Bruce hugged you tightly, “It’s ok. You’re forgiven. Just…just don’t do it again.”

“Ok. I promise.”

“To Loki or anyone else that cares about you! Understood?”

“I promise,” you said smiling. “Ok, Thor. I’m ready.”

“What about me? Colonel Rhodes is gonna be furious!” Callum said.

“Cal, I have to do this. Loki risked his life to find me after I was selfish and cowardly. I have to save him now. Please tell Rhodey I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to both of you. Ok?”

Cal sighed and gave up. He pressed a kiss on your forehead, “Just promise me this isn’t a goodbye. That I’ll see you and my niece or nephew soon.” His words made you realize something. You’ve been running way too often if even Cal thinks that he might not see you again.

“I’m sorry that you had to ask me that, Cal. Know that I never mean to run from you. You are my family. You will always be home for me.” You hugged your brother fiercely. He always looked out for you. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You better!” he said narrowing his eyes. You squeezed him one last time before turning to Thor. He opened his arms, and you stepped in, hugging his midsection tight. Bruce, on the other side of him, doing the same thing. Thor lifted Mjolnir into the air and called out for Heimdall.

You were instantly surrounded by a kaleidoscope of light, blurring and changing. You felt a pull from up above as if you were being stretched but your feet were heavy and stuck on the ground. Then you felt it. Like you were being freed from the bounds of Earth. As if the gravitational ties that once held you were sprung free and you catapulted into the space beyond. You held on tighter to Thor as Bruce screamed like a banshee in your ear.

In what felt like a rollercoaster slowing and stopping, you arrived feet first onto a gilded marble floor. Thor patted you hard on the back which started your breathing once again. “Are you all right, Violet?” Thor asked concerned.

“Y-yes,” you coughed. “Just needed time for the air to catch up with my lungs!” You took deep long breaths, holding your chest and wincing at the minute pain in your abdomen.

“Welcome to Asgard, your highness. Lady Violet. Doctor Banner.” Heimdall greeted all three of you.

“Good to see you Heimdall. Is father…”

“I have announced your arrival. He is awaiting your appearance in the grand throne room.”

“I thank you,” Thor said nodding in his direction. You looked up at Heimdall. The vision where he helped you did not do him justice. Physically, in the here and now, he was much more impressive. So much grander and brighter. You nodded once in greeting, and he returned it with a smile.

As the three of you made your way down the Bifrost bridge and past the town, you felt a mixture of wonder and sentiment, watching all the places where Loki might have spent his childhood.

When you arrived at the foot of the dais, you were feeling more winded and tired. A slight pain constricting in your lower abdomen and around your back.

“What is the meaning of this?” Odin boomed in the large hall.

“Father, this is Doctor Bruce Banner and Lady Violet Moreau. She wishes to speak with Loki.” Thor introduced you. At the mention of your name, the Allmother stood up.

“This is Lady Violet? The one that has captured my son’s heart?” she smiled as she came down the steps. She came up to you and held out her hands. You bowed down before her. Then placed your hand on hers. “But you are with child!” Frigga noted.

“Yes, your majesty.” You realized how this must look. Exactly what Loki’s parents had warned him and Thor about. A mere nobody coming to the palace claiming that they carry the future line of The Nine Realms. Expecting royal treatment. “I didn’t scheme to entrap him, your highness.”

“Call me Frigga, darling. And NO, I have not once thought that. We had not once thought that,” Frigga said forcefully, looking at her husband.

“I don’t want to make any claims, your majesties. All I ask is to speak…to speak to Loki. And perhaps discuss a few things.” You started wincing and your breathing got erratic. You squeezed Frigga’s hand as a small whimper left your lips.

Frigga’s eyes went vacant and far but quickly came back to their rightful blue. “It is time,” she said holding onto your hand. You screamed in agony as the pain got worse and worse.

“Violet, are you ok? What’s happening? Speak to me?” Bruce said next to you. “Have you been counting your contractions?”

“It’s too early. It’s too early.” You kept repeating.

“Prepare the healer’s bath!” Frigga yelled out to the closest guards.

“What is happening?” Odin demanded. Thor just shrugged, not wanting to get in the way.

“She’s going into labor!” Bruce yelled out.

⬅️ Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ➡️

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redheadjustin · 2 years

Note

Omg I would love a fic where Bella’s dad remarries a guy and Bella is like thrown off because she is too involved with being a vampire to notice her dad is bi and getting remarried 😂

You sighed happy in your husband's arms. You and Charlie swan had been Married for a few years and you were happy. Yes, Charlie Swan was Bisexaul and it was something he regretted hiding for years. He could have found a partner who respected his wants and desires instead of wasting years in a loveless marriage with Rene. Charlie wouldn't take any of it back. It gave him his little girl. If only she deserved him. It had been years since Charlie heard from his daughter despite her and the Cullens still being in Forks. It was something Charlie held deep resentment over.

You knew of Bella. But, you never met her and hoped you never would. You had spent your life babysitting and taking care of children so you knew that Bella was a grade one brat. You were a pediatrician and knew more about raising children than any parent. After all, you knew what not to do thanks to your parents. You were abused, mistreated and pushed to the side while your siblings were treated like princes. You became a pediatrician to make sure no child grew up like you did. You met Charlie when he brought a kid in with a broken wrist. You two had seen each other around town and had spoken to one another once or twice but for some reason you two hit it off when you talked about suspected abuse. It was how you also met your adopted son, Shawn.

You and Charlie adopted Shawn after the investigation concluded that the poor boy was being abused. It gave you a chance to heal the kid and show him the love you missed. It gave Charlie a chance to make sure it wasn’t his fault on how Bella turned out. You both showered Shawn with love and gifts. But, unlike Rene with Bella, you never spoiled him. You made sure he knew that if he wanted something he had to work for them. And it turned a Scared five year old boy into a strong, brave, loving, caring and respectful ten year old boy who would go on to do extraordinary things in his life.

You sighed as you heard a knock on the door. “I got it Charlie, just relax. I’ll bring back some coffee.” You told your husband as you stood to put your bathrobe on. You walked down the stairs cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to visit at eight in the morning. You opened the door and the person on the other side of the door was the absolute last one you ever expected.

“Charlie! Your Daughter’s here! Why don’t you come in?” You told the confused Vampire after hearing a shout from your husband. You knew she was a vampire as you were a member of the Quileute tribe. Plus your older brother, Paul, is a part of the wolfpack and you expected your little brother to rush to the house once he smelled a vampire near his baby brother.

“So, um, who are you to my dad?” the female vampire asked as she shifted on the couch uncomfortable. You were smirking on the inside. You knew that she smelt Charlie all over you. And she probably already guessed about your relationship but you couldn’t help the satisfaction that rose up at that. You always wanted to take Bella down a few pegs as she always seemed so Goddamn smug when you met her. You’d be surprised if she recognized you. You were always by Paul’s side and helping Emily before you went to med school.

“Bella, I’m sorry you had to find out about this but Y/N is my husband.” Charlie said as he stepped into the living room with a matching robe around his waist. “Wait, so, You’re Gay??” Bella asked and you flinched at the accusation. You knew what it was like. “No Bella, I’m bisexaul and so is Y/N. You never knew because you never visit and you keep your family away. I only see my granddaughter when Y/N sees his Brother and Jacob happens to be there. So, if you wanted to know you should have come around more. And you’d know you have a stepfather and stepbrother.” It was obvious that what Bella had been told had hurt her. “You catch her up, Charlie. I’ll help Shawn get ready.” You said as you went to go help your son get ready for the day. You smiled as you saw your son already awake. It was the same every morning. Shawn needed help on things normal ten year olds didn’t. Unfortunately, the abuse Shawn suffered gave him nerve damage and developmental delays. It was like he was two instead of ten. “Hey bud. Sleep well?” You asked as you went over to Shawn's dresser. You helped Shawn get dressed for the day and as you did you felt someone in the doorway.

“He’s special.” Bella said quietly. “He is. Shawn was abused heavily and he got nerve damage and delays in his development.” You told Bella softly as you let Bella closer. It seemed Charlie had a talk with Her about Shawn. “...You’re a doctor. Do…do you feel bad you can’t cure him?” You didn’t mind the blunt question. It was natural that she’d wonder how you felt. Everyone did. “Sometimes, yes. But I love him just the way he is and though I look for treatments I don’t care if I take care of him like this till he’s forty.” And that was God's honest truth.

“I’m glad you two are family. Dad said your brother is part of the wolfpack. Who is he?” Bella asked, running her hand through Shawn’s curly, blue hair. “ Paul Lahote.” You answered, smiling at the thought of your hothead brother. “I’m sorry.” Bella said playfully. “I don’t know why. He’s your uncle in law now.” You told her with a shit eating grin. You laughed at the grouan that came out of Bell’s mouth. You were glad Charlie and Bella reconciled. Shawn gained a sister and a whole extended family to help him. And you got to see Bella as she is now. Not as she was and that was everything.

#twilight #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #x male! reader #twilight x male reader

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dreamfyre03 · 1 month

Text

A Dragon's Love

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death

Chapter 16: Grief and Dreams

Daenys sat in her room reading another book Jace had brought her, this time, a novel about a princess who fell in love with a dashing prince, but was stolen away by the evil sorcerer. It was quite engrossing, and she almost didn’t hear when the door opened, and Rhaenyra entered. “Sister.” She greeted her, surprised. “Daenys.” She stood across from her.

“Have you come to kill me?” She asked her. “Despite my earlier outbursts, for now, your life is safe. You are better off to any of us alive than dead, and I’m no kinslayer.” Her sister replied. “Then why are you here?” “To give you a chance. The first strike has been landed against the greens, justice for their crimes. You can escape their fate, if you swear allegiance to me as your Queen.” Daenys felt fear creeping up her spine at her sister’s eerily calm voice.

“Rhaenyra… what have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything. Daemon, however, has many friends, people in all places, in King’s Landing.You might be especially interested to know her a butcher they call Blood, and a rat-catcher they call Cheese.” She revealed. Daenys imagined the worse praying that her siblings were alive… Aemond…

“My son’s death has been avenged, sister. A life for a life. A son for a son.” She said in a menacing fashion.

She felt a ringing in her ears, and her heart hammering in her chest. The realisation hit her so hard it physically sucked all the strength out of her body that kept her standing. Daenys fell to her knees, as a sob overtook her. Aemond had no sons. Which could only mean…

No.

Not sweet Jaehaerys. Not the little boy she held when he came out of her sister’s womb, smiling and giggling happily. Not Helaena’s pride and joy, and Aegon’s little miniature.

Daenys felt the last thread of hope in her snap, letting out a guttural cry as she mourned the loss of the nephew she loved as her own son. “He was a child, Rhaenyra! An innocent child!” She screamed, not even feeling the stone floors bruising her knees. “So was my son!” Her sister shouted back at her. “But this is war, and war is not fair sister. You have a choice. You can choose your rightful Queen, or you can leave see what awaits you if you lay your life down for the Usurper King.” She said, shutting the door behind her as she felt.

Leaving Daenys there, wailing and crying on the floor, nothing but a ball of grief on the ground, truly and utterly broken.

She laid there on the floor for hours, not even registering the soft opening and closing of the door, and Jace’s voice that softly called out her name. She felt numb, lifeless. She knew Rhaenyra would want some form of debt for Lucerys’s death, but never did she think her sister was capable of masterminding the death of an innocent boy. The war was raging for probably a month, but to Daenys it felt like an eternity. Perhaps it was her grief, or her captivity talking. She felt like the days before her father died were nothing but distant memories. Dragonriding with Helaena, drinking and laughing with Aegon, poor Daeron, she wished she had more time with him, and Aemond, her beloved Aemond. It wasn’t until she felt her body being raised up and she saw Jace’s face did she register his presence. “Please talk to me, can you hear me?” He asked nervously, and she felt a cool hand touch her cheek.

“He was just a child, Jace. Barely a boy, still so much like a babe. He still slept with his sister. When he was a babe, when he first said my name, he called me ‘Dany’. Just like Aegon did when we were children.” She didn’t know why she was rambling on like this, but surprisingly, Jace just sat next to her on the ground and listened. “Alicent was overjoyed Aegon had an heir. But Helaena, my sweet sister, she was just happy to have a child. She was so young when she had him, but I saw in the childbed, the moment she held him, there was nothing but love in her eyes.” Jace took her hand in his reassuringly, and in her grief she didn’t give the gesture a passing thought.

“Aegon was terrified to hold him, and Jaehaera. But when I finally convinced him to, it was as if all the pain in his heart simply melted away, and he felt genuine, true happiness in those moments. And now, that sweet child, a ray of light in his parents’ lives, is gone. Gods know I would have traded my life for his in a heartbeat.”

“Don’t say that.” Jace spoke softly. She turned to look at him. “I would. I wish Rhaenyra had chosen to take my life to settle the debt, than his. I would have laid my life down smiling. I have spent my life trying to love my family, protect them, with what little power a woman has, and I could not help him. I left to go North to give them all a better chance of staying alive, and it has all been for nought.”

Jace simply kept holding her hand, and Daenys had to ask. “Did you know?” “No. I had no idea until we received a raven from King’s Landing, announcing the death of Prince Jaehaerys, and proclaiming Prince Maelor as Aegon’s heir.”

“I suppose you are glad, your brother’s death is avenged.”

He sighed. “Killing a child is not justice. Only killing the man responsible is.”

Her mind instantly went to Aemond, Daenys had no doubt he was blaming himself entirely. She needed to feel his arms around her, she needed to cry and grieve in the arms of someone who loved those children as much as she did.

“Please, eat, and get some rest. I’ll come back to see you in the morning.” He said, getting up, and helping her to her feet. She rose and went and sat at the table, where a plate of food was, she didn’t even recall hearing or seeing a servant come in.

Before he shut the door, he turned around and called her. “Daenys?” She looked at him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You mother would be livid if she knew you were in my rooms at such an ungodly hour.” “Ah yes, but she won’t know, will she, sweet sister?” Aemond grinned as he watched her sitting up on the floor in front of the fire in her room, letting the heat warm her skin as they shared a bottle of Dornish wine Aegon left in her rooms earlier that day. Her skin was flushed from the heat and the wine. Her hair was slightly tousled from being roused from sleep, but she didn’t mind. He had a nightmare, and couldn’t return to sleep, so he sought her out instead, needing her presence to clear his mind. The firelight on her skin made her appear like a goddess radiating the beauty of Old Valyria, and when she drank again, and passed the bottle back to him, his eye couldn’t leave her frame as he watched her slip her sage coloured robe from her shoulders, exposing her pure alabaster skin to him, her shoulders bare but for the straps of her nightgown. Her wine stained lips curved into a kind, empathetic smile. “Do you feel better, brother?” She asked him softly, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair.

“Mmm” was his only response, as his eye closed, relaxing into her touch. She giggled, the wine’s effects beginning to show. “Aegon will be jealous when he learns I’ve taken his drinking partner.” Aemond said. She laughed. “I suppose you’ll have to learn to share me.” “I don’t think I could ever share you with anyone.” The wine loosened his tongue, and he realised his words, worrying that they would perturb her, but she simply gave him an affectionate smile, and shifted over to lie into his chest, and he tried not to look down her nightdress, but couldn’t resist the urge, and glanced downward to see the curve of her breast. “Well, you’ll have to learn. I received a letter from Daeron this morning.” “Mmm” “He’s excited to return for my name day. I told him he should come for yours instead, it’s only a few moons after, but he aches to return home.” “I would imagine so.” He couldn’t resist the urge and took advantage of their wine induced states, and pulled her closer to him, keeping his arm on her waist. She was so warm, and soft, and-

Aemond woke with a start in his bed, his sheets soaked with sweat, and Daenys’s name on his lips. Even in sleep, she haunted him. But he felt it was a blessing that she haunted his dreams, at least that way, the gods let him see her face.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond fic #aegon ii targaryen

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

would you be able to do an aemond x reader where she's high born and good at fighting etc and defends aemond by threatening others

A/n: this was incredibly rushed, no solid idea seem to stick to my brain, like at all. Also this is me choosing to make Ser Criston Cole even more of a dickhead.

“A highborn should never dirty their hands, there are those who are more then willing to make a name for themselves.” Was your parents response when you voiced your desire to pick up a sword. They saw it unbecoming and a hindrance towards potential suitors from more predominant houses such as House Targaryen and House Stark. Your parents counsel didn’t deter you from going behind their backs and descend to the training grounds dressed as a man; For had you went as yourself, the knights would be inclined to go easier on you or outright deny you the chance to train in due to your gender.

However those days were forcibly drawn to a close once you were sent off to your new home at the Red Keep in KingsLanding. Yet that didn’t meant you couldn’t descend to the courtyard every morning to watch Aemond train with Ser Criston Cole from the archway. To everyone in attendance you were just fulfilling your duty as the future wife of the young prince by being supportive. You manage to have everyone fooled, everyone except for Aemond, who noticed a sadness in your eyes as though you were mourning the missing part of your heart as blades cross in a flash of silver; He even took note of how you’d instinctively rub at certain spots of your arms when he managed to nick his opponent as though you were expecting the same pain. Or as though old wounds were reopening upon a sense of old memories resurfacing. Needless to say he grew curious about the contents of the habits you indulge in your spare time.

Aemond seemed to be so caught up in his thoughts that he almost forgot that he was still in the training grounds until Ser Criston Cole managed to take advantage of this and disarm him swiftly. “Had this been a proper battle my prince, you would’ve been slain on multiple occasions.” The knights eyes shifted over to the archway where you stood, cross armed and all before they shifted back to Aemond who’s jaw clenched at the implications that Criston was placing upon you. “It’s best to not be distracted by menial things.” Criston said with a carefree tone that told Aemond that he did not care for what was to happen to him as he was intentionally trying to provoke him. Aemond’s anger didn’t quell silently as it only boiled beneath his skin, like the raging lava of a dormant volcano ready to burst forth in blinding fury.

Meanwhile you were unfazed by the knights comments. It was blatantly obvious that he never felt the genuine loving touch of a woman despite coming from one. You genuinely wondered what his poor mother would think if she were to see her son making a fool out of himself and his family name; You certainly wouldn’t stand for it and you’d like to believe that neither would she. Aemond knew how to handle these sorts of situations himself, so you refrained from intervening in something that ‘didn’t involve you’ when it clearly did given Criston’s unsubtle and unprovoked jab. Neither you nor Aemond wanted to give the man any satisfaction whatsoever. Yet you noted in the way Aemond held the handle of his word, he was clearly close to severing Ser Criston’s tongue from his mouth.

“Don’t be provoked by him Aemond, the man speaks with a mouthful of shit.” You told the prince, causing a brief chuckle to pass his lips at your crude words. See Criston however didn’t find this as hilarious, “your foul mouthed bitch needs to keep her trap shut. It’s unbecoming of a lady,” he pauses to laugh nastily, “though then again if I were to say, it seems that between you and her, she’s more of a man then you are to speak to others in such a manor.” The small smile gracing Aemond’s face was quickly wiped clean off in exchange for one of pure anger. The courtyard that heard Criston, fell silent. You on the other hand, finally had enough of sitting on the sidelines and decided to step up to defend your husband to be; Marching up to Aemond and snatching his sword from his hand before quickly knocking Ser Criston’s feet out from under him, causing him to fall backwards on his arse and then poising the end of Aemond’s blade at his throat.

“My Aemond is more of a man then you’ll ever be,” you hissed venously, “you should be gracious that I don’t cut your tongue out right here and now for your impudence behaves should the current circumstances been any different, I’d make certain to drag your decaying carcass to the dragonpits to be fed upon.” You leaned closer to his face, pressing the blades tip just underneath his chin, “do I make myself clear Ser Criston.” “Crystal clear Lady y/n.” The knight merely murmured under his breath, embarrassed that he had gotten overwhelmed by a woman in front of an audience who would certainly let word spread throughout KingsLanding and beyond. He could already envision the smug smirks upon both Daemon and Rhaenyra’s faces which only made his blood boil even more. You smirked, having this fight won with ease whilst high on Ser Criston’s humiliation.

“Good, I would offer a hand but I feel as though your more suited right where you are.” You said snidely before looking back at Aemond who’s only eye beamed with pride as you expertly handed over his sword. “You didn’t inform me that you were well versed in the art of the sword my dearly betrothed.” He says as he sheaths his sword and escorting you back into the Red Keep, “Though I must say, It would’ve ruined the surprise had I known beforehand.” He adds. “Highborns aren’t meant to take up the sword but I always found swordsmanship to be quite the therapeutic stress reliever.” You responded, beaming with self pride and relief that Aemond didn’t think of you any less because of it. “Then perhaps we should train together sometime?” The prince inquired. You smiled as you reached for his calloused hand, “only if you won’t become a sore loser when I hand your royal ass to you.” Aemond couldn’t help but laugh at your pride as he stopped you to lean on close to your face. “If that’s your way of claiming a challenge my beloved,” he says in his velvety soft voice that housed a hint of mischief, “then I accept wholeheartedly.”

#hotd x fem!reader #hotd fic #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x fem!reader #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagines #Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 6 months

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-8- A Young Prince

Palace life was restrictive and oppressive because the prince was a controlling tyrant who loved nothing more than exerting said control, but it wasn't terrible. It was aesthetically beautiful, and everyone had their space to a degree. Those who were freshly turned created new family ties, becoming lovers, sisters, and daughters. They brought new stories and modern wisdom.

Women who'd been alone too long and even married women bored of the same man watched the prince, hoping to catch his eye and gain favor. The quiet goal was to ascend the ranks earning the Queen's chair that sat forever empty since Inamore. As Queen, they'd likely get first drink in feeds and first choice of found and confiscated gold valuables. They'd be above the royal guard and above reprieve. Best of all, they'd have the sought-after handsome young prince for their own. He was cold, cunning, and virginal, but he was the most attractive and powerful of all.

Perched on his main throne, he lounged with one long leg thrown over the arm and his elbow in the nook. It was the awaited Talent Night in the palace, and he was bored out of his mind watching the poor excuses for entertainment. Sword swallowing with no risk of a gruesome death was pointless.

His two most loyal servants stood poised at his left and right. "My prince," Huli quietly yawned, covering his mouth, "Should I lock him away in the dungeon with the others?" The punishment was of time, not of death. The only reason N'Jadaka didn't kill any of them was in honor of his late father, whom he'd never met. Legend had preserved his legacy and hailed him as a hero. His mother was hailed a saint.

Many of the vampires in N'Jadaka's service were truly ancient. They were older than him and had been original subjects of the late King Udaku before a baby was even thought of. Their commitment to the throne predated his mother, who had become queen. N'Jadaka had not met her either since she died in childbirth.

According to N'Jadaka's education, the people had mourned their wondrous queen and beloved king while swearing themselves in life-long service to the newborn progeny... which was him. Then came the full effect of curse that bound them all as prisoners to the forest. It was all due to the birth of the prince. Yes, his birth was the awful yolk on their shoulders, and they should've hated him or killed him for a chance at their freedom.. but they couldn't muster it. He was young and innocent N'Jadaka was told of it all.

Loyal through the bitterness of sorrow, the kingdom pulled together to raise up a powerful prince who would surpass the late king in every aspect but his heart. They taught him every world language, advanced mathematics, strategy and statistics, the history of tribes and kingdoms. They trained him in war, weapons, and every martial art. They handed down the secrets of the forest, which were handed down in foresight by the great King Udaku himself. Most importantly, they taught him about his royal lineage, starting with his parents.

King Udaku, placing high value on human life and family, had contained the curse within himself and sacrificed his own life in hopes that the curse would die with him.

N'Jadaka, however, had been born of his blood, transforming the curse. He entered the world orphaned, crying, and blood-thirsty. Though brand new and innocent, he was doomed to an eternity of murder and chaos.

This was N'Jadaka's burden.

After half a millennium, thirty-two original soldiers and servants of the king, with their wives and husbands, remained in the deep forest kingdom, unable to ever venture out into the world again. They were a tribe forever lost to time.

Young N'Jadaka became the strongest of men as a small child. He was the most precocious, the most viscious, and the most devious small devil because he was entitled with no one able to contain him or tell him no. His only boundary was created by the curse that had evolved with his birth to keep him in the forest away from humanity. The evil witch had considered it all. Secluded in the forest, N'Jadaka could go mad and kill himself, or the people could grow tired and kill him, effectively ending the King's lineage and ridding Wakanda of the curse. She was holding it all hostage. If she couldn't have the throne, no other Udaku seed would survive to inherit it.

Young N'Jadaka, upon learning his own story, dreamed of the goriest vengeance. As he grew through adolescence, refusal to meet his demands led to vicious tantrums, which meant pain or, in the worst cases, death. He drained over ten of his father's original men before his thirst could be somewhat thwarted and controlled. It wasn't until man eighteen was mangled and drained that the king's right hand Huli discovered the secret to immortality.

The then ten year old Prince N'Jadaka stalked him through the garden, attacking and spilling his blood across the irises, thus staining the grass and stone walkway with pools of red. Huli, in his refusal to die easily, bit back with all his might, drawing a few drops of blood from the boy. The cut stunned him long enough for the other guards to advance and recover Huli. Before then, N'Jadaka had never bled or felt physical pain. He hadn't understood the concept.

The speed of Huli's healing considering the severity of his wounds could only be deemed as supernatural, and it was credited to N'Jadaka's blood. With only a few drops, Huli was whole, healed, and better than ever. Huli also found that as a result of sharing blood, he shared a deeper psychological bond with the prince that helped him to see clear into the child's innocent soul. The boy lived in a state of being extremely and deeply lonely. He longed for a simple pious life as he'd read about with parents, structure, and a peaceful society.

Huli stared down at the troubled young boy feeling a wave of compassion, understanding, kindness, and fatherly love. The boy hadn't asked to be born a fearsome creature. He'd never asked to be born at all. The endless training and worship owed to one far beyond his age was his birthright and his path but not his choosing.

Despite what he now knew, Huli's body still bowed in submission under the weight of his promise and sense of duty, reaffirming his continued service to the jaded boy. "I shall never leave you so long as you live," had been his words, and N'Jadaka carried them. As the prince lived, so did Huli, Semi, and the others, having completed the exchange of blood and the transformation process from death to immortality. Together, they outlived the world of that time and the next and the next, and the kingdom continued to grow as brave travelers and stubborn hikers ventured past the barrier.

The law was to never bite nor kill. No one could move a finger without an order from the prince. When humans shed blood in the forest, they became prey for the prince, and only he could decide what was best. When a subject broke rank, they were punished. As for the forest's worthy stragglers, they were transformed, brought under the curse, and subjected to the law and reign of N'Jadaka, unable to escape and tell the outside world of what they'd seen.

The only exception since the beginning had been Dawn, and for that, many did hate her out of pure envy.

Huli forcefully escorted the jilted sword swallower down into the dark and dank dungeon while Semi remained stoic at the Prince's right side, directing the next entertainer to step forth and try his luck. It was a fire juggling act, interrupted by a host of lime green parrots flying loudly into the throne room.

N'Jadaka held out his hand in invitation as they circled the throne above his head, landing on his finger, arm, and shoulders. Curious eyes adhered to him in wait, wondering the meaning. He had a way of communicating with the parrots of the forest that no one understood or could decode. The seductive smirk on his lips meant one of two things. Either dinner would be served sooner and fresher than originally anticipated, or something never before seen was before them. All of the kingdom stood still as stone to see which way fate would have it.

They followed him on his steady trail through the expansive castle to the immaculate castle grounds and beyond, through the thick forest green and trees. They trecked effortlessly, floating through the leaves and dirt like ghastly aparitions.

The talent show was over. The sun disappeared and returned while all they were still gathered. No one dared move in fear that they might miss something monumental. When the sun disappeared and returned once more, bringing in another shrieking lime green parrot from the outside, N'Jadaka stood from his throne and descended the platform to walk the stretch of the wide hall, followed by the silent undead.

When the Prince came to a stop, they stood back, listening and watching. The only sounds were the rustling of branches, the song of birds, the slight hum of the wind, and the movement of animals and humans alike in the distance. The temptation to follow the smell of freshly shed human blood was strong. N'Jadaka sent Semi to pick up dinner to ease the tension, then he extended a hand that warned his subjects not to follow.

"Seems I have an appointment to attend to," he muttered as he advanced through the tree branches alone.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @uzumaki-rebellion

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer

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cittielinks · 10 months

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VILLAIN KDJ

Joongdok

Where Kim Dokja transmigrated into the main antagonist in the novel. The son of the most richest and powerful Duke of the Northern Kingdom.

Before, the previous Kim Dokja was timid, shy, and a pushover. He had always liked Yoo Joonghyuk the Crowned Prince. Because he was so obsessed with the Prince, Kim Dokja tried to make friends with all that supported Yoo Joonghyuk’s ally but every ally Yoo Joonghyuk exploited Kim Dokja. Poor Kim Dokja asked Yoo Joonghyuk for help but he did nothing and to add pain and insult to the injury, Yoo Joonghyuk married Lee Seolhwa, the kind saintess who helped him ascend to the throne. It had ruined the name of his parents and was banished from the Kingdom. Hades, the great ruler was no more.

When he transmigrated, Kim Dokja vows to change.

He refused to tarnish the name his kind father created for them, he hates how his mother worries for him and he loathes how he ruined the North Kingdom’s life all because he liked a boy who never even took his time to look at him.

So he began to change, fuck Yoo Joonghyuk and the plot! He’s gonna be a better son and a better heir for his land!

The very first thing he did was walk into the Academy of Neutral side and where an all-powerful figure studied, with confidence. He ignored the snickers and forced those weaklings to move away.

“Pfft. the scardey cat, Kim Dokja suddenly became confident? Ha! As if!.” snickered a nobody who has a lower rank than Kim Dokja.

Kim Dokja stood up and walked towards the laughing group of boys.

He slapped the man who bad-mouthed him and kicked his shin.

This took everyone by surprise, even Yoo Joonghyuk looked at the scene.

“Shut up, you lowly bastard. You are seriously ruining the air with your lousy mouth. Shut up will you?”

“You?!”

“Yes me.”

“Just wait! I will get you!”

“Why don’t you shut up, Son of Baroness Sung. As if you can get me. I heard you are a son out of wedlock. Poor you. Your bastard of a father gambled all your fortune and you don’t even know if you will ever get a chance to sit at the table as the Prince’s aid? I heard your mother has been soliciting around the nobles. Embarrassing. Just what power do you have to insult me? You’re nothing but a cloud of dust. I can crush all of you without batting an eye, even that Prince you all like. Your lucky we don’t care about politics here in this crusty almost falling Kingdom, because if I were my Dad I would burn everything to dust. So back off before I crush you, okay?” Kim Dokja smiled.

Everyone shivered and made a space for Kim Dokja as he walked back. The crowd of people around the fallen boy who insulted him dispersed and they began to murmur.

Everyone wondered what has changed Kim Dokja but none of them talked to the main subject.

Yoo Joonghyuk only stared at Kim Dokja, thinking that the man only has a tantrum and leave it be.

“Ah! Before I forgot. The Duke of the Northern Kingdom will forfeit their support for the Crown Prince. My father will write the document and have it sent by today. I just want to inform you in advance, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi.”

And then Kim Dokja fell asleep on his desk.

Everyone went into an uproar, Duke Hades was the biggest Support Yoo Joonghyuk has and now that they are forfeiting it will become a great hassle.

Yoo Joonghyuk clenched his fist,

He wanted to shake this madman out but he cannot do so, as he has a reputation to keep up.

Since then no one tried to make fun

The very next day, news around the whole nation talked about how the Northern Kingdom ruled by the Powerful Duke had receded his support and began to close off the trade of some of the most annoying nobles. No one could enter and exit their Kingdom without a permit.

All of the kingdoms has their eyes fearfully staring at the most powerful nation, the Empire was in shambles. The nobles forced their sons and daughter to be friends with their only heir but Kim Dokja became so closed off that no one wanted to be near him as he was surrounded by shadow guards.

And Hades and Persephone are just glad that their son, Kim Dokja has his eyes opened and also helps them rule the land that they created solely for their son.

(( would prolly make a longer fic with alot of drama and a slowburn joongdok but not now sadly))

#yoo joonghyuk #kim dokja #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #joongdok #kdj #orv kdj #orv yoo joonghyuk #yjh #yu junghyeok

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thelostgirl21 · 5 months

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Okay, but now I kinda want to see a Radskier version of this...

Because I can 100% imagine Jaskier being that adorable 7 year-old child that some evil noble would be jealous of and want to get rid of (because he's so damn charming and has such a beautiful, melodious voice, and natural way with words already, that it's obvious that the kid is going to be a menace that will have people falling for him left and right when he grows up!).

And so, he gets adopted by a bunch of outcasts (maybe Yarpen Zigrin and his men?) that are constantly trying to tell him to stay away from strangers, and stop putting random things into his mouth!

But he's a 7 year-old version of Jaskier, i.e. a puppy dog of a child with even less impulse control and inhibition than the adult version of him has! So, of course he just gets instantly fascinated with each new person he meets, and spontaneously goes to hug their legs, tell them he thinks they look pretty, ask them where they're from, want them to tell him stories, and will gladly eat anything they offer him that remotely looks edible!

Hell! He'll eat stuff lying around that don't even look edible! So, if it looks like an apple? Yeah. Poor child never stood a chance. The evil noble character wouldn't even have needed to try to interact with him or trick him. He'd just need to let a poisoned apple randomly lie on the forest floor close to the dwarves' camp, and you can be sure it would wind up in Jaskier's mouth, somehow!

And then, there's young 8 year-old Prince Radovid, that has the annoying habit of giving his guards the slip to go running off on his own into the woods; but somehow never gets lost - even when he goes missing for a few days - nor attacked by any of the forest's creatures, because he's that kind of prince!

You know, the kind of prince that can just summon squirrels through his bedroom's window to come clean up his room for him!

So obviously, he'd find the glass coffin with the "dead" but perfectly preserved boy inside, and immediately think "he's really pretty, and I think I should keep him with me!"

So, he finds this Witcher passing by on his horse Roach, tells him he's found a pretty boy trapped in a glass box that he'd like to bring back home, and the Witcher looks like he'd be strong enough to do it.

Intrigued (and perhaps just a bit concerned over the kid's sanity), the Witcher thus goes to investigate and finds out that young Radovid was telling the truth! He decides that he should bring the boy in the glass coffin to a powerful sorceress to try to figure out what happened to him, and if, perhaps, something could be done to wake him up.

He tries to convince the young Prince Radovid that he should go back home before his parents start to worry, but the kid is having none of it! He wants to stay with the pretty boy and is afraid that the Witcher will decide to just keep him, and that he'll never get to see him again.

Plus, he keeps insisting that no one will miss him, or even notice he's gone for a few days, at least! Because all that matters to his parents is his older brother - who's going to be king one day - and no one really pays attention to him. It's not the first time he's run off like that! Last time it took them about a week before they sent more guards to fetch him.

So now, Geralt is travelling towards Yennefer de Vengerberg's latest location by foot, with an 8 year-old Redanian Prince sitting on his horse and a glass coffin with some random child (that looks to be roughly the same age as the prince) trapped in some kind of death-like stasis of unknown magical origin inside of it hoisted on his shoulder...

At some point, Roach gets startled, and Geralt ends up tripping and almost dropping the glass box while attempting to make sure his horse doesn't accidentally throws Radovid off her back.

Next thing he knows, the "dead kid" is coughing out a large piece of poisoned apple, is fully awake, tries to hug him, wants to know if white is his real hair color, and if he'd let him wash and braid them later? No? Spoilsports.

And wow! How sharp are those swords? And why are there two of them? Oh! And does the wolf on his medallion mean anything? Also, he's hungry and wonders if Geralt has some food hidden somewhere (while actively rummaging through his bags)...

The moment he triumphantly pulls out a vial, thinking it's some juice to drink, the Witcher panics and knocks it out of his hands, immediately being called "rude" by a pouting and put off fucking 7 year-old kid!

But 3 seconds later, he totally forgets about being upset and now wants to know all about what Witcher potions are, and Witchers. Can he be one? Okay, maybe being a Witcher is not so much fun, then... But Yarpen keep saying he makes way too much noise to be a mercenary, too! So he'll have to figure something out and "be something" one day, right?

Apparently, the kid's full name and title is "Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove", but it's too long, sounds way too fucking pretentious (it's unclear if the dwarves that adopted him taught him to curse, or if it's a habit that the child had picked up before), and so he prefers to go by Jaskier.

Oh, and he really loves to sing! Would Geralt want to hear him sing?

When the sound of another voice says that they'd love to, Jaskier nearly jumps out of his skin going "What the fuck are you doing here?" at the other child, prompting a very confused and wide eyed "b-but I've been sitting here the whole time!" from the much quieter, and much more reserved prince.

The very second little Jaskier has a chance to take a good look at the young Radovid, however, he immediately goes from startled to utterly fascinated, and now he's trying to awkwardly climb on top of Roach until the prince casually asks Geralt's fucking horse if she would be so kind to help him, and wouldn't you know it! Roach just grabs the kid by the back of his shirt, lifts him up, and sits him down right behind the prince while Geralt is looking at the interaction totally dumbfounded.

At least, now all of Jaskier's questions are directed at the prince that apparently couldn't be happier to answer them, and to be the center of the pretty boy's attention.

Among other things, Jaskier wonders if the big, buff, scary-looking white haired Witcher person is always so silent and grumpy, asks if he can run his fingers through the young prince hair, and braid them - then, when he receives confirmation, starts commenting on how soft his hair is, and wondering what their actual color might be (it's a really pretty kinda reddish-blonde, that seemingly keeps changing color with the way the sun's ray reflects in them... Does Radovid has magical hair? They smell really good, too!)...

Meanwhile, Geralt is wondering whatever the fuck he did to Destiny to deserve to be carrying two noble kids around on his horse - including one that won't shut up - even when he's got his nose buried deep into the other child's hair...

Oh! And he's singing now! Wonderful!

He's genuinely starting to wonder if he should be asking Yennefer to check up on him and make sure that he won't be suffering from any long term complications from the spell he was put under...

Or if he should be asking her if there's any safe way to put him back into that box and make sure he stays there!

That is, if the damn child doesn't wind up back in a coffin all on his own!

For some reason, that fucking kid keeps trying to make friends with every single monster they meet in their travel... And, the moment the fangs inevitably come out, the prince will apparently step in, in an attempt to talk the monster down and protect his companion!

Geralt is pretty sure that having to look after these two together while trying to keep them both alive is going to result in him starting to age at a normal human rate!

He has to admit, though, that Jaskier boy has a very decent singing voice - especially coming from one so young... And he's got quite a few catchy tunes, too...

Then, there's Prince Radovid... From what little Geralt has been able to gather from him, he's starting to suspect that he might have been abused back at the castle, or at the very least the victim of parental neglect. He seems way too mature and self-reliant for his age, and craves Jaskier's attention like someone that's gone invisible for far too long...

Halfway through their trip, the boys apparently decide that the two of them are going to get married when they get older, and live together in a cabin in the woods, close to the coast.

Of course, he's not enough of an asshole to tell them that he's sure the King of Redania is going to be delighted to hear about his youngest son's plans for his future, and would totally agree to that.

Turns out he wouldn't have needed to since, when they finally reach Yennefer de Vengerberg, the sorceress gives the "little sing-songy twit" a clear bill of health, and somehow decides that she wants to adopt both of the kids (she's apparently been wanting to become a mother for quite some time now, and sees this as the perfect opportunity)!

The Prince, of course, is delighted at the idea! As long as he gets to stay with the "pretty boy", apparently, he'd be happy! Plus, the fact that Yennefer seems like a mother that would actually want him is also a huge plus in favor of that plan.

And Jaskier's not agains it, but insists for them to find Yarpen first, to let him know he's alive, have them meet his "dwarf dad", and allow them to figure it all out together.

Somewhere along the way, Geralt and Yennefer fall in love, and Jaskier decides he now has a Witcher dad and a Witch mom, too...

He refuses to remotely consider Radovid as a brother, though, regardless of them now having the same parental figures.

Apparently, marrying him when they're all grown up would be really weird then (Jaskier is apparently really good at keeping track of his priorities, and those are very much not straight!) - and the prince fully agrees on that.

Even if Geralt mistakenly believes that they will probably have the opportunity to change their minds at least ten times about getting married before they actually get to that point.

Eventually, they do reunite with Yarpen and his company, that are absolutely delighted and beyond relieved to discover that their beloved tiny big fucking mouth is now awake, and very much alive!

Apparently, they met with some ancient elven lady that told them of some weird prophecy about the child, and that they needed to build some glass coffin and leave him there in the middle of the woods for some other kid to find if they wanted him to survive...

Really weird fucking stuff, but they'd figured that it was worth a shot, at least, and a much better plan than letting Jaskier be permanently dead.

And then, Yarpen and his company, Geralt, Yennefer, and the whole Witcher Keep, apparently, wind up raising two random noble kids, protecting them from some evil character that wants Jaskier dead out of jealousy (still haven't decided who that would be... Maybe, in that world, Valdo Marx would be older, and part of the nobility... Actually, it would be funny if no one actually knew who kept trying to murder Jaskier, and that was something they'd only discover once he's all grown up and has finally become everything that the evil character ever feared Jaskier would become) that keeps occasionally trying to trick him to his death (it's a recurring occurrence... Every now and then, Jaskier nearly dies or dies, they find a way to save or revive him... the usual!).

As for Radovid, every once in a while, Redania sends out some troops in an attempt to retrieve him... But, since every time they try to send their cavalry out the horses won't budge, whales keep sinking their ships, and their infantry get chased around by bears, squirrels, skunks, and fucking pigeons, each new attempt becomes more and more halfhearted.

Jaskier eventually becomes the bard he was always meant to be... Perhaps Radovid eventually retakes his Kingdom...

To everyone's utter lack of surprise, they do very much get married...

Pretty sure that, at some point, one of the attempts on Jaskier's life involved something like "true love's kiss" to break the spell, and Radovid totally aced it!

Well, depending on who you ask, because Geralt would argue that "true love's kiss" doesn't usually require as much tongue and groping. And Jaskier would very much disagree, arguing that a decent amount of tongue action is 100% crucial to the kiss' chance of success!

Yennefer would likely settle the argument by saying that Jaskier's probably right, given he's way too much of a diva to come back to life for someone that's unwilling to put in a little extra effort into the kiss to show that they really mean it.

Oh, and when the boys were in their late twenties, and announced that they would be attending Queen Calanthe's banquet together because Jaskier had been invited to perform, Yennefer told Geralt to go with them for protection, in case someone would attempt to take the opportunity to murder Jaskier - again.

And Geralt came back home that night announcing to her that he'd just accidentally adopted yet another princess - with super powerful Elder blood this time - and that they would probably need to move closer to Cintra for a few years, so Yennefer would be able to help train her.

#Radovid #Jaskier #Radskier #Snow White crack A.U.#Based on that post about how in the original tale the princess and the prince were apparently both children...#And no kissing was actually involved...#My Posts #My Thoughts

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birdie123au · 2 years

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hubris

hubris - excessive pride tending to lead to defiance toward the gods

Being a young servant girl of a disgraced priest meant that you were often ridiculed; forsaken by the gods. By a chance encounter with the crowned prince of Salamis, Ajax, you find yourself infatuated despite the concerns of your dearest disgraced father.

part one of five

// next

The scent of sea salt came with the breeze as it blew through the palace halls. The sound of leather sandals against the granite floor flooded your ears as you walked down the hallway side by side with your dearest friend, Rosaria. The two of you were tasked with carrying large buckets of chum to bring down the cliffside towards the beach. The older Rosaria held two buckets with you only held one. Instead, you opted to extend your left arm outwards to run across the textured pillars that adorned the halls. The sun shone bright, high in the sky. The hot weather in combination with the cool sea breeze of the palace made for a perfect summer day. The perfect day for you to complete all of your chores in a comfortable, timely manner before the king would call you and your fellow servants in for meal time.

You had been born into servitude, similar to most of the other girls in your age range, such as Rosaria. What had made you so different, however, was the fact that your father was once a high priest of the goddess Hebe, daughter of Zeus. He was a well respected man throughout the land of Salamis, a philanthropist, an honest man, and a defender of the people. Many thought that he would someday become the head priest of the entire church, though those thoughts were shattered the moment he had you.

The very night you were born, you were told your mother had died. Your father packed all of his belongings into one single bag, and made the expedition to the king's palace to swear his life to servitude. Once word had gotten out about your fathers actions, many people of Salamis were appalled. As a priest of Hebe, your father was never supposed to marry, let alone had a child. Rumors had spread that this was the doing of the gods, that your mother had been cursed to die in childbirth and that your father was forced to become a servant. Some say you were cursed as well, whispering appalling things behind your back and calling you names such as ‘bastard’ or ‘the cursed child’. Those who were especially religious would oftentimes avoid you all together, afraid that they too would anger the gods if they stood too close.

Despite the fact that many palace members, mainly the upperranked servants or warriors, would purposely bully and degrade you, there would still be lower ranked, dirt poor servants such as yourself willing to befriend you. One of these people was Rosaria, a girl about three years older than you who was the bastard daughter of a weaver, the result of her mothers affair. She had been sent to live at the palace when she was five years old, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since. Servants like Rosaria grew to appreciate your father and his naturally moral manner. He always gave wondrous advice on how to deal with difficult situations, and although he was no longer permitted to lead sermons in the palace church, he found ways around this rule. Every other Friday night when the warriors and high ranking officials and servants would be out enjoying a game, you and the lowly servants would meet behind the large, jagged rock on the eastern side of the cliff to listen to your father preach and tell stories of great heroes and their adventures.

Tonight was another even friday, which meant you and your fellow lowly servants were in especially high spirits about the nightfall, and with the perfect weather conditions the two of you could hardly believe your luck.

“Rosaria, did you hear that the prince, son of Telamon, will be one of the players in the ball game tonight?” You asked as the two of you approached the rocky stairs that would eventually lead you down the side of the cliff. Rosaria simply scoffed at your question, clearly not in the mood to engage with you in conversation. It was also no secret that she detested much of the royal family, despite the fact that King Telamon was a respected and honorable warrior.

Your father had always been on good terms with the king, who was willing to look past his scandals and welcome into the servitude ranks, knowing the effect on morale he held with the poorest of workers. You had only ever seen the king in passing, when you and Rosaria were tasked with transporting items around the palace. He was a strong, muscular man, whose most prominent features you noted to be his long auburn beard that matched the color of hair on his head. The way he spoke and fought with a stone cold expression surely would bring even the strongest of enemies to their knees , you thought.

“Did the head mistress tell you where we should put these buckets?” Rosaria huffed, clearly growing tired from carrying around not one, but two buckets packed to the brim with chum.

“Oh yes, she told me to carry the buckets past the rocks and playing field out towards the stables.” you replied earnestly.

“Couldn’t they have gotten some of the boys to do this work? Why are they making their female servants do all the heavy labor!” she angrily replied.

“Well that's because all of the boys are setting up the formal playing field at the otherside of the mansion at this hour.” you said, earning you another exaggerated groan from Rosaria.

Of the many servants of the palace, a majority of the time it was the boys who did the heavy labor and long trips across the manor. Though because of the fact that they needed to set up the field for the copious amounts of wealthy guests that would surely be arriving today, they were needed elsewhere. The head mistress couldn’t have spared even a single boy to help the two of you young girls out, afterall, the young female servants of the house were forbidden to interact with the male servants until they were at least fourteen. This rule was put in place for your own protection , the head mistress would always say, you wouldn’t want your future husband to know you used to hang around and do your daily chores with a bunch of boys, would you? She was most certainly right.

The sweat on the back of your neck made your hair stick to it making for a quite uncomfortable sensation as the two of you approached the end of the step pathway. The moment your feet hit the sand you exhaled a breath of relief; the hardest part of your journey was over. You and Rosaria took a moment to place down your buckets and catch your breath. Under most circumstances your taking of a break would result in punishment, though Rosaria reassured you it would be alright since your superiors were nowhere in sight. You enjoyed the way your hair felt as it blew along with the cool wind, helping to take some of the heat off your body.

The creak of the bucket handles was Rosaria’s sign to you to follow her head and pick up your buckets once more; “So, do you know what legend your father plans on telling tonight?”

Your ears perked up at the word ‘father’; “Oh no, father would never tell me in advance. He refuses to spoil the surprise!”

Rosaria simply laughed in return as the two of you continued walking forward to your destination.

–––––––––

The everpresent seasalt wind viciously blows through your hair as you walk on the warm sand beneath your feet. You, of course, thoroughly enjoyed any amount of time you were permitted to walk along the palace beach, however, the way your hair vigorously blew into your face served as a great annoyance when you were trying to get your work done.

Rosaria seems to be having a similar issue. Though, unlike yourself, she did not have a free hand to brush away all of her hair that used to be in a ponytail away from her face. She instead opted to try to blow the hair away, but by the way she was huffing angrily you could tell her efforts were futile. You took this as your cue to inch closer towards her, tucking the loose strands behind her ears to the best of your abilities. The two of you walked in comfortable silence as you began to take note of the change in scenery all around you.

Before the only thing present from beside the long staircase on the rocky hill was simply the ocean. However, as the two of you walked towards where the front of the castle is at the top of the hill, you noticed an increase in greenery, playing fields, and marble statues of various gods attached to fountains. Despite the fact you were on the beach, the feeling of being in a lucious, green backyard never seemed to disappear when you were at the nicer parts of the palace. The parts of the balance where the nobles lived, worked, and played in.

“Ugh, I can’t do this anymore!” Rosaria angrily said, dropping the two buckets. As you turned your head to meet hers, you noticed she was staring at her hands. Two large blisters had begun to form where she was holding the wooden handles, no doubt she had splinters as well.

You began to panic as you realized you were now in a part of the palace in which head maids and servants lurked about. If any of them were in an especially bad mood and came across the two of you slacking off, you were sure you would be meeting the end of a stick that night.

“I shall carry them for you, Rosaria!” you said, childlike determination in your voice.

“Really?” she gave an annoyed reply, “You’re gonna carry all three buckets?”

She could tell she was teasing, though your face lit up lightly. How embarrassing. Rather than respond to her obvious gest of a question, you instead picked up one of her buckets and continued your walk forward.

“Well isn’t someone determined?” she smirked before grabbing the remaining bucket to follow after you.

“Oh look!” you suddenly said, “It’s the practicing field!”

You tried your best to point with one of the buckets, though you found it difficult to lift even a foot higher off the ground.

Amongst the columns decorated with green, there lay a large field full of sand with vertical hoops attached to the centermost columns. This place, known as the lesser field, served as a practice arena for all the young boys in the house, those who were training to be warriors. Currently, there were about twenty or so boys playing ball, some looked to be about your age, others either looked much older or younger.

“I wonder if Theo is playing right now!” you said.

Theo was a servant boy such as yourself. However, due to his innate talent at playing ball, and his natural large frame for a fourteen year old, he had been invited to practice with the rest of the wealthier boys. You wished you could ask him what his experience was like yourself, your father instead had to explain the various stories Theo would tell the other serving boys and their fathers. The stories you were forced to miss out on as you and the ladies learned how to weave properly in your spare time.

Although not all that interested, Rosaria stopped alongside you as the two of you attempted to view more of what was happening. You once more began to walk, only this time more towards the field. It was unfortunate timing, truly, or maybe an act of fate when a ball suddenly came hurling towards you. As you were in the process of walking, unable to stop yourself with such little notice, once the ball came in contact with your unbalanced legs it sent you flying forward.

Face in the sand with two painfully giant buckets of spilt chum all on your back, you heard the cries and laughs of boys coming from in front of you. Rosaria was at you side in an instant, despite the fact you swore you heard her chuckle the moment your face hit the sand. It didn;t take too much longer until the two of you were completely surrounded by the group of boys, who were all whispering and laughing amongst themselves. You had doubt they had ever been in this close of contact with servant girls such as yourselves.

“Woah man, you really hit her good!”

“Ew, what was she carrying?!”

“That’s so disgusting!”

The sounds of their mocks and questions overwhelmed you as Rosaria helped you up off your face. Although you were not that keen on crying in front of others, you felt that this moment would be a very justified time. Just as your eyelashes began to grow damp with tears, out of your peripheral vision you saw one of the guys, the one holding the ball that had just hit you, step forwards to meet where you sat.

“Are you alright?” he said, his voice an awkward combination of a laugh and a cringe. His shoulders were being held by two guys behind him, Rosaria’s hands grew tense. You recognized this boy immediately.

Telamon had four children, three sons and one daughter. The boy standing right in front of you was his oldest child, Ajax.

Ajax looked to be about your age, twelve or so. He was tall, but lanky, not quite yet old enough to develop any sort of noticeable muscles. His face was adorned with light orange freckles, most likely formed during the amount of time he had spent outside in the sun. His most striking feature of all, however, was his light ginger hair that illuminated under the light.

One of his arms rested rigid on the back of his neck, despite the smug grin he wore on his face, his inability to maintain eye contact with you was a sure sign that he was nervous. So this was who kicked the ball at your legs.

“Erm,” he made a noise at your lack of speech, “I’m sorry for…for hitting your legs.”

You only wished to cry more. What would father say? You panicked, unsure of how he would react to the entire situation you had gotten yourself into. You closed your eyes, simply wishing that you were elsewhere, somewhere where you weren't falling on your face and embarrassing yourself in front of a group of boys.

“Here, let me help you up.” Rosaria gasped as Ajax made his way towards you, handing the ball to one of the very amused boys observing his antics. You almost flew forward once more at the sheer force he used to pull at your arm.

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t know you would be that easy to pull up!” he smiled widely, his friends all laughing in response. You weren't sure if you wanted to burst out crying or slap him in the face. Maybe both.

“Oh, I know!” He said, “The ocean is right nearby! Allow me to take you there.”

“No! I mean uh, she can come with me…” Rosaria attempted to interject, getting shot back with laughs from the rest of the group. Making fun of her for daring to disobey the prince’s suggestion. Though you knew they had to know why she would suggest that in the first place.

Before she could open her mouth to reply, Ajax had once more taken your arm. He tugged less harshly this time, yet you had to admit it was difficult to keep up with him as the two of you ran off. Running along the sand was harder than you imagined, his and your feets picking up large amounts of sand whenever you tried to take a step. You tried to tell him to slow down, though you found it especially difficult considering you were yet to say a word to him.

–––––––––

“Ugh, this stuff smells real gross!” Ajax laughed, dunking you under the water once more. You were terrified, truly. Despite the fact the boy was only a few inches taller than you, he managed to have the strength to repeatedly pick you up and toss you into the water. You couldn’t even imagine how strange it must have looked from afar: the young prince trying to waterboard a young servant girl.

After ripping you out of the water once more, Ajax placed you harshly in the upright position. Your hair was soaking wet and you felt you had at least choked on a gallon of saltwater. As you took the moment to catch your breath, Ajax continued his berate of teasing; “I had no idea it was possible to look this much like a fish out of water! Don’t tell me you’ve never been swimming before.” He meant it as a jest, you assumed, but you couldn’t resist the urge to retaliate. To protect the little pride your father’s name had left. You lifted up your right leg before swinging it into the water in the direction of Ajax.

“Gah!” the prince cried, rubbing the salt water from his face. His expression quickly changed from that of pure shock to instead a mischievous glare. “Two can play at that game!”

Ajax took a swing at the water towards your direction, laughing as he did so. Perhaps challenging a boy who you had just witnessed playing ball was not the best of ideas, as the amount of water he flung at you sent you stumbling backwards, just in time for a large wave to knock you off your feet. Your body trashed under the water, you found it difficult to emerge back to the surface considering the wave sent you doing flips. It wasn’t until the ocean’s wrath settled down that you could finally stand upwards, falling back slightly as you felt a pair of hands secure your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry! No idea that wave was even coming, I promise!” the prince laughed, clearly not taking this situation as seriously as you desired.

“Gods…” you mumbled, spitting out the salt water that remained in your mouth. You were then hit by a horrible realization; “Oh no! My clothes…what will my father say?”

You had managed to destroy one of your only outfits. If you told your father, he would need to contact the head maids, and they would need to fetch you a new outfit to work in. This wouldn’t go unpunished either, you were very aware that no one would dare blame the prince for knocking you over. I’m gonna be on cleaning duty for the rest of my life! You lamented, angry at yourself for even trying to view the game in the first place. You knew you should have just done what you were told, afterall, look where misbehaving had left you…

“Oh, don’t worry!” Ajax replied, letting go of his grip on your shoulders, “I’m sure the sun will dry your clothes in time for supper!”

You gave a slight smile to him, though his words did little to sooth your worries; “Speaking of fathers. My name is Ajax, son of Telamon! Though I’m sure you already knew that. And you are?”

The boy flashed you his best prideful smile, putting his hands on his hips and shutting his eyes from dramatic effect. You resisted the urge to kick water at him once again. You finally introduce yourself formally, hand shake and all. Ajax seemed to take a special interest once you had revealed the name of your father.

“Wait, as in the old priest?” you nodded your head at his question, “Huh. I didn’t know his daughter was my age.”

The boy scratched his eyebrow as he processed all you had told him; “Father would sometimes mention him. I think the two of us were even formally introduced when I was little… That’s so awesome!”

The boy's attitude once again turned joyous. You were slightly put off by the level of enthusiasm he had when speaking with you.

“I think that’s super awesome that we met!” he said, “Where have you and your terrible balance been my whole life!”

You winced slightly as he playfully punched your arm. His jovial, carefree nature began rubbing off on you, as you soon found yourself laughing along with him; “What do you mean? I’ve obviously been dropping chum buckets the whole time. Can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner.”

The boy laughed even louder at your words, covering his freckle painted face with both of his hands as he attempted to calm himself down. He seemed to have a sudden realization as his laughter ceased with no warning.

“You’re coming to my game tonight, right?” he asked, eyes wide, “You are, surely?”

Your laughter halted at his question. You knew it would be rude to deny the prince, but you would surely be punished if one of the head maids had found you at such an event, surrounded by people well above your social standing.

“I’m sorry your highness, but I don’t think I’m allowed to go.” the boy opened his mouth to protest your words, you cut him off before he even began, “My father wouldn’t permit such a thing.”

Ajax knew better than to argue against the words of a father, so he reluctantly nodded his head as another wave crashed into the side of the two of your legs. The way his expression fell sort of made him look like a sad puppy. Though he swifty got over what was bothering him, shaking his head as his grin returned. He reached his hand out to grab your arm, guiding the two of you towards the shore.

“I get that! You probably have lots of important stuff to do.” he stopped as the two of them met the shore, turning his body to face you once again, “But promise me that you will come see one of my games soon. I’ll have one of my personal men talk to your dad myself!”

He held out his pinkie finger towards you; “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I’ll leave you for the flies. The heat will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the sand will burn your tongue so you never lie again.”

You bursted out laughing at the riddle he told you. Rosaria had taught it to you years prior, and the two of you had since declared it ridiculous. Ajax laughed along with you as your pinkies linked together.

Not long later, the young boy began his journey back to the ball field, giving you a small wave as he ran off to his friends. As you yourself made your way back to where you saw Rosaria in the distance, you found it hard to wipe the smile off your now warmed face.

–––––––––

“Y/n? My child, is that you?”

You heard the familiar voice of your father ring from the corner of the small shed-like home the two of you shared. Made of wood yet sturdy as stone, you lay your hand against one of the walls by the entrance to take off your sandals. Rosaria stands next to you in the doorway, arms crossed as she continues to process the events that had just occurred.

“Yes father, Rosaria and I have come home.” you replied.

Hearing your fathers signature rumbly laugh, the two of you turn the corner to see him sitting under the light of the window. His hair tied back into a low ponytail, despite his young age numerous gray hairs painted his hair. For a man of 32 years, he was more akin to that of a 70 year old man. He was reading another one of his scribes. The servants of the palace had always admired your fathers ability to read, a talent that you yourself barely possessed, while the majority of the servants were completely literate. You shudder slightly as you are met with flashbacks to when you were younger, sitting on the chair underneath that same window being scolded by your father for mispronouncing the alphabet. You were proud of how far your reading had come, especially considering the fact you were a girl.

“Welcome home, my girls.” he begins, “I do hope you finished your tasks in a timely manner today.”

Rosaria takes the seat opposite to your father, sighing in relief after being able to sit down for the first time in hours. You walked over to your fathers side, quickly trying to glance to see if you could recognize which story he was reading. Unfortunately for you, due to your fathers position, his arm was covering the majority of the text. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you notice your father’s body language change completely.

“Is that salt water I smell?” he asks calmly, “Oh my child, don’t tell me you evaded your work to go swim in the ocean.”

“Oh no!” you shifty retort, eager to clarify the meaning of this, though you found yourself stumbling over your own words “I had a little accident. One of the boys…he well– um hit my leg an-and I spilt the chum and then we–”

“The boys?” your father accused, “What could have possessed you to hang around those–”

“No father! We were quite far away, it was a ball that hit my legs!”

Your father’s gaze softened ever so slightly; “Whose ball? Must I tell the headmistress about this?”

“Please don’t father. It was the prince’s kick that hit me.”

You realized quickly the mistake you had made judging by the way your fathers eyes opened wide, his mouth falling open in shock.

“The prince?” he asked angrily, “You fool! Don’t you know what kind of reputation you will have seeing as you have made a mess of yourself in front of the heir to the throne? Is he the one who helped you swim?!”

As he continued his lecture, his voice grew angrier. Your father had only ever wanted to protect you, as he was very aware of the foul reputation you already had due to his own wrongdoings. He couldn’t bear to watch you in pain anymore, even if his methods of expressing his disapproval were often harsh.

Before you could respond to his accusations, he cut you off; “Rosaria? Did you know about this?”

You looked over to your equally surprised friend. She clearly did not anticipate this foul reaction from the man who treated her like his own; a man who would do anything for his daughters.

“No–well, yes sir. But it wasn’t Y/n’s fault! The prince knocked her over, mocked us, and then nearly drowned her in the water!”

“Drowned!” your father yelled.

He looked towards you for confirmation. You reluctantly nodded your head, gazing to the floor rather than trying to meet his eyes. “Y/n, my child. Promise me. Promise me you will not become too attached to this boy.”

You looked at him, confused as to why he would think such a thing. His expression grew quite painful, it was obvious he knew something more about the implications of your interaction with Prince Ajax, though you weren't quite sure how or what he knew.

“Father…” you replied, “I don’t understand.”

“Then tonight, I will make sure you will.”

Your father’s bold declaration was accompanied by his swifty standing up and reaching for his cane left on the side of his chair. You and Rosaria both were quick by his side, offering to help him go wherever he needed to. He motioned the two of you away, claiming he needed to go on a walk of his own, as he needed to rethink his entire lecture for the night.

Munching on the stale bread your father must have grabbed more from the kitchen after the conclusion of his work day, you and Rosaria sat in silence as you nervously imagined what he could have possibly meant by his words. Perhaps you would try to ask him once he returned, perhaps he would be unwilling to communicate with you entirely. Regardless, you knew it must be a very serious matter.

–––––––––

The small bonfire lit by one of the older serving men lit up the dark knight sky. The stars seemed to be hiding behind the clouds, something unusual for the island you all lived on. You and dozens of poor servants sat gathered around the fire, while your father had taken a stand in front of everyone. Propped up against his cane as well as one of the youngest boys, years younger than you, your father prepared his sermon for the night.

“Daedalus was a genius man.” your father began.

“Born with the hands of a sculptor, he created pieces of ceramic so fine that even the most perceptive of men could not distinguish them from real humans. The inventor of our beloved bath houses, dance floors, and wooden dolls. Daedalus could create it all.”

A few excited murmurs from the crowd arose as your father began his story; “Daedalus was so wonderful, that many said he stretched human limitations created by the divine.”

Limitations created by the divine. In Greece, mortals were mortals, and the gods were gods, there was no circumstance in which those lines were to be crossed. “Much like all good things, an equal yet opposite reaction occurred. Daedalus was an egotistical, stubborn, hubris ridden man.”

“Driven by madness to be the greatest creator, he soaked his hands in the blood of his own uncle. He was forsaken from Athens, city of scholars, and forced into the Kingdom ruled by King Minos.”

A few gasps could be heard from the crowd, you and Rosaria's hands gripped tighter in anticipation; “King Minos’s foolish wife was cursed by the God of Sea and Earthquakes, our own Posiedon.”

“The shameless woman fell in love with a bull. With the help of the cocky Daedalus, she was able to conceive a child, the Minotar, with the bull through the use of a prosthetic cow costume.”

Disgusted whispers filled the audience, condemning both Daedalus and the foolish wife. “King Minos did not stand for this. After demanding Daedalus to construct an inescapable Labrinth, he was locked away along with his only son, Icarus.”

“However, this did little to stop Daedalus.” your father’s gaze darkened, “Using wax from a candle and the loose feathers of a bird, Daedalus constructed wings for both him and his son. Together, the two flew into the sky.”

“Unfortunately, Icarus too was a fool to the power of hubris. Ignoring his fathers commands to be weary of flying too close to the ocean or two close to the son, Icarus was overwhelmed by the power he felt when being able to fly.”

Your father took a pause, “The wax on the wings melted, and Daedalus could only watch in terror as his sun was struck down from the sky.”

“Afterall, the only creatures who could fly besides birds…” your father looked directly into your eyes, “are gods.”

At the conclusion of his story, the crowd erupted into cheers and riveted discussion of your fathers magnificent story telling. As you and Rosaria discussed what you had heard, you felt the warning gaze of your fathers eyes on the back of your head.

–––––––––

As you lay in the bed you and your father were both forced to share due to the size of your home, you found yourself struggling to sleep after all that had happened in just twelve hours.

The moral of the story that your father expressed through his sermon was clear to you, though you failed to stay focused as thoughts of the red-haired prince clouded your mind. You found yourself infatuated by your interactions, replaying each individual word the two of you exchanged.

Eventually, you began drifting off to sleep, hoping only that the prince had too been thinking of you…

#tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #rosaria genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #greek gods #tragedy #angst with a happy ending #genshin angst #time skip #growing up together #prince ajax #poor reader #daddy issues #misoginy #duh its ancient greece

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