#noble prince

[tweedfrog]

People: "omgg Catelyn was such an evil bitch if she was so hurt at Ned she should have taken it out on him instead of Jon who did nothing wrong!"

Westerosi noble husbands who have full legal and social control of their household (including their wife) if their wife ever attempts to "take something out on them":

[bigfatbreak]

every time a love interest is apart of a royal family and has "gold" hair but its just normal blonde and they're just freaking blonde and considered of Noble Blood due to that feature or whatever my eyes roll clear back into my skull and I lock gazes with the hamster running circles in my head and we just Look at each other

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I walked into Barnes & Noble to see that Prince Hamlet was the cashier and he was trying to sell his autobiography in play form, Hamlet. He didn’t know who Shakespeare is.

[roses-are-yonic]

hey sorry about your girlfriend, she turned into a car. yeah, it's a metaphor for her becoming your vehicle for escape to leave your abusive family. yeah, you'll be going to a world without roads. yeah, the outside world has no roads. at least you can always build new ones! no? okay.

[polnapietruszka]

[dunnowho180125]

I absolutely love (Zukka or not) fanfics in which Zuko has very dubious talents like lockpicking or pickpocketing or shady bargaining and being generally good with boats and where he doesn’t always live the lavish lifestyle of a prince and where Sokka is the one who can put shit together in nature and who can actually hunt and know what to eat and whatnot and is super good at geography and-

[patroclusdefencesquad]

enter : the prince of redania

[worstloki]

Mu Qing ascending is objectively so funny considering Feng Xin and Xie Lian also do. Out of the people in your kingdom who accomplished immortality there’s this guy who used to be your servant but is now on equal rank to you and he‘s super rude now and also thinks you hate him because he remembers when you were 18 and lacked socioeconomic-interpersonal awareness

[ghost-bison]

Guys I had a thought

Tenth Doctor = the Little Prince

Rose = ...well, the Rose

Donna = the fox

Bonus:

[fennekn]

in my heart they’re besties

[wordycheeseblob]

Hey hmm

Not to imply anything but you think the Rhodelite King ever went abroad?

[xenascribbles]

i forget sometimes that i am actually a writeblr account so here’s a snippet from The Noble Prince

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

“What’s your name?” he asks before he can think better about it, and then goes all in. “Mine is Kieran.”

Eyes still closed, her head begins to sway back and forth as if listening to music. “They used to sing my name,” she murmurs. “I’ve since forgotten it, and I think they have, too.”

“You’ve… you forgot your name?”

“I hear them whisper it. I hear them call for me in the silences between heartbeats, but I cannot answer.”

“Who calls for you?”

“Everyone,” she says. “I heard you, too.”

“And what did I say?” Kieran doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining her madness. Nothing she says makes any sense.

Until it does.

“It was hard to hear you over the roaring flames.”

Kieran stills completely, momentarily going back to that night, the night he woke up in flames. The night the fire took everything from him.

She continues on, her crystal eyes boring into Kieran’s. “You begged me to save her. Begged her to save herself.”

Kieran’s blood runs cold, his mind racing with so many thoughts that they all jumble into one incoherent mess.

“She would have let you burn with her.”

[n0blefl0wer]

Tell me you’re neurodivergent without telling me you’re neurodivergent. I’ll go first:

Im a marauders fan

I started learning Swedish just to watch young royals

End of list

[thelostgirl21]

Okay but...

Jaskier always wore blue-green doublets (various shades of teal, olive...) in Season 1, except for one episode...

That episode. The one where Geralt told him that if life could give him one blessing, it would be to take him off his hands!

On that episode he was wearing a bright red doublet over a blue-green shirt.

And, ever since, he's been wearing his red/burgundy coat, and has totally abandonned those blue-green color tones.

Besides red, he's been sticking to whites and browns and more earthly tones (his vests are also a mix of red and gold).

Red is the color of Radovid's Kingdom (note: the chaotic part of me almost wishes Redania's color was blue, just to mess with people's expectations!), often combined with white, gold, brown and black.

The wardrobe of nobles and people at court is dominated by those colors.

In terms of 100% accidental foreshadowing, I just think it's interesting that Jaskier was already on his way to adopting the colors of Radovid's own world when Geralt essentially "cast him off" from his.

(And that the very first time Geralt and Jaskier met, Jaskier's doublet had slits with just a tiny bit of red and gold seeping through.)

I'm starting to think that it might have been a good thing that Jaskier was only wearing a pair of pants and a shirt that first time he and Radovid met.

As revealing as that outfit was, Jaskier standing there in all of his bardic glorly with his long red leather coat, flashing hints of gold at Radovid, just might have clearly signaled to him that he'd just found himself a suitable mate!

Don't know if that was the intent or not, but Jaskier's outfit on the show also offers a nice nod to him actually being Redanian nobility (viscount), but with a much less formal vibe...

He basically looks like a Redanian noble that escaped into the wild and went feral!

Yup! Jaskier is now dressed like a feral Redanian viscount that keeps "wailing" (Joey's words, not mine!) outside to attract mates, stealing scraps of food from everyone he comes across, sneaking into people's homes to go sniff around your perfectly domesticated Redanian prince...

Next thing you know, your domesticated Redanian prince is stealing food from your plate, hissing and giving you attitude, then he suddenly runs away from his prince-sitters to disappear into a forest in the hopes of finding the feral Redanian viscount.

He finally manages to locate him when he hears the distant and familiar sound of him "wailing" a feral Cintran princess to sleep, makes noise to attract him outside, starts "wailing" back, and winds up mating with him in the back of a woodshed!

And the moment your domesticated Redanian prince is eventually found and brought back home - all dirty and stinky, no less - the first thing he stubbornly wants to do is run off into the wild again to go chase after that pesky feral Redanian viscount to go help him reunite with the rest of his feral pack, and hopefully be allowed to join it so they can mate more often!

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XIV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N joins Contessa Zabini for tea. Luna and Y/N make way to Reine, Norway. Y/N remembers something important about Regulus.

Part XIII / Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: The Zabini's and Baroque architecture just makes sense to me. Also uhhh have fun <3.

The cranberry tinted cup that sat in front of you made your tea flush like diluted blood, the glass flared at the rims to resemble a blossom, imposing on the matching saucer that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from. 

Luna sat perfectly quaint to your left, eyes running across the opulent clusters of furniture that accessorized the already extravagant room. Intricate carvings lined cream pillars that pinched the rounded windows in front of you, each imposing structure veiled by heavy blush curtains. The wooden table in front of you was polished spotlessly, matching the ornate chair that sat sturdy underneath your rigid body. On the opposite wall, you’re suddenly aware of the colossal gold-trimmed mirror that was no doubt reflecting your squared shoulders. 

Blaise was living in a baroque daydream. Damn him. 

Your tongue was doing a funny thing, tipping between sensitivity and leathery roughness. That would be of your own doing, having immediately drawn your lips to the scalding tea in an effort to diffuse the tension in your shoulders. Despite the abrupt burn, you had held in the sputtering that twisted in your throat in order to maintain some semblance of decorum. 

The silence was becoming unnerving and you could tell that Blaise agreed, the usually composed slytherin was twitching to twist his rings for the nth time. Unexpectedly, when you all had arrived at the Zabini Manor, you were met with a rather unimpressed Theodore Nott. Blaise had quietly whispered that the boy was well-liked by his mother and was often a guest at their manor. 

It felt like you and Luna had become prey trapped in a den full of beguiling predators. The Contessa sat across from you with Blaise to her right, the woman not even batting an eye when Theodore chose to round the table and sit next to you instead. 

Easy access to attack you or was he also intimidated by the elegant woman?

“So you were at a wedding, dear?” The Contessa’s voice was smothered in a richness that complemented her unflinching gaze. 

Clearing your throat lightly, you lean forward to meet her keen eyes, “Yes.” Your tone was mellow–formal, and the lack of embellishing in your answer seemed to both amuse and vex her. 

Not giving up so easily, the woman stirs her tea without breaking eye contact, “I see, and you were both making a quick trip to Diagon Alley afterwards?” The question would have seemed innocent if it were coming from anybody else (perhaps with the exception of Voldemort), but you could practically see the gears in her head turning. 

“A little disruption ruined our appetite for celebration.”

The woman raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you, “Oh? What’s a wedding without a little family drama?” 

You felt like someone had taken a bludger and scrambled your brains with it, high society was truly not for the weak to stomach. You weren’t even sure if the Contessa was teasing you or trying to prod for information. 

It was likely the latter, and the thought made your stomach twist a little. Your exchange of letters had always been polite, borderlining strained pleasantries that involved Hogwarts classes, your research, and plans to meet up (that you were hoping to never attend). 

“Family drama would have been preferable, I’m afraid,” Your tone lifted ever so slightly, but the small smile pulling at your lips hid how irritated you were becoming with the tango of words. 

You shoot Blaise a small glance and see him watching you both with an unreadable expression, though his intense eyes unnerved you a bit. Like mother, like son.

The Contessa’s lips purse thinly and you get the impression that she is also becoming increasingly irate with your resolution, but then her face settles into a sharp grin.

Humming lowly, she tilts her head to assess you before speaking, “You impress me, my dear. It would seem that Blaise is getting better at picking his companions,” You see her shoot a small approving glance at Theodore, who merely sips his tea nonchalantly, “Theodore, Y/N – I hope you both will continue to look out for Blaise. We Zabini’s pride ourselves in our unflinching loyalty and we always return what is given to us threefold.” 

Chancing a peek at the boy next to you, you see Theodore meet your eyes evenly. Your move. 

Nodding at the dignified woman, you smile genuinely for the first time that evening, “It would be my honor, Contessa Zabini. However, my devotion to Blaise would have continued without question, he is quite-” you raise your eyebrow at the boy, “-fascinating, after all.” 

By fascinating, I mean half as scary as you and ten times more approachable. His wicked sense of humor is also a plus.  

Blaise narrows his eyes goodheartedly and drops a sugar cube into his cooled tea, “Thanks.” The dry response has Theodore hiding a small smirk in his tea cup, while the Contessa merely shoots an unimpressed look at her son’s sickly concoction. 

“Indeed, you are quite personable, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder though, what is your stance on the current political climate? It would be ever so insightful for me.” The woman smoothly questions, the calculative glint in her eyes flashing under the chandelier lights. 

Translation: Are you going to induct my son into Voldemort’s goonies or Dumbledore’s sycophants?

Stirring your tea absentmindedly, you decide to answer honestly, “I have my own motivations that don’t exactly align with the polarized ideologies of our sphere. Of course, I have a preference for who I wish to see come out on top, but either way, my own interests outweigh my desire to participate in politics.” 

Your answer seems to catch everybody off guard (except for Luna who smiles like she’s known all along), and you see consideration paint the Contessa’s face, “Interesting. Blaise has indicated that you are quite close with Harry Potter, yet you declare neutrality?” 

“Neutrality for as long as my interests continue to hold my attention, but I hold no ounce of admiration for the Dark Lord or his underlings.” You hesitate to continue, feeling shifty with how easily your words were spilling out. 

Blaise seems to grasp onto your words and leans forwards to prod you, “But?” 

“But, I do not think that certain knowledge and teachings should be tabooed.” 

Theodore speaks up for the first time to confirm what you were insinuating, “The Dark Arts.” 

You nod and lift up your tea cup, sipping carefully despite how tasteless it was due to your burns. 

“And these interests of yours, do they involve the Dark Arts?” The Contessa swipes a manicured nail around the handle of her cup, eyes no longer shrewd. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you lean back before answering lightly, “They might. I cannot say for certainty that they do. However, it does involve unusual magic.” 

“I see. It makes sense now why you asked to see those Norwegian tomes.” The woman’s eyes are alight, a glow that made it seem as though an investment of hers bloomed to fruition beautifully. 

You shuddered imperceptibly. Was it an honor or an omen that she seemed so intrigued by you? 

Theodore perks up and he turns to you with wide eyes, “Norwegian tomes?” 

The boy’s eagerness for knowledge was palpable, and you couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. It was so familiar because you saw it often in Regulus. 

Regulus. You winced. You wouldn’t think about it anymore. 

“Yes,” Turning to face the Contessa, you weigh your options, “If I may, I was wondering if I could borrow an owl for a letter. I want to inform my other friends of my plans going forward.” 

Blaise raises his eyebrows and frowns, “Plans? Are you not meeting up with them soon?” 

“Actually, I-” Luna turns to you with determined eyes at your slip up, “-we are heading North.” 

“North?” Blaise looks exceedingly unimpressed and you knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere until you satiated his curiosity. 

“Yes, up North.” 

“Where up North, pray tell?” He drawls with crossed arms. 

“Norway. We’re going to Norway.” Your tone was flat, eyes conveying your exasperation. 

Blaise sputters indignantly and barely restrains himself from throwing his hands up, “Norway? We have school in two weeks! How long are you planning to be there for?” 

“Indefinitely. It’s for my personal research.” 

“Well, I’m coming with you.” Blaise’s declaration has you darting your eyes to the Contessa with bated breath, watching the woman cross her arms. 

“Absolutely not. You have school, caro.” Blaise frowns deeply at his mother’s refusal and sits back in his seat, shoulders sagging in defeat, unwilling to argue with her. Theodore looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, likely considering if he would be able to leave school early too with the excuse of sabbatical. 

The Contessa turns to you, ignoring her son’s fit, “Of course, I’ll have one of my house elfs fetch you some parchment and ink. I’m sure Blaise wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his owl,” The woman suddenly rises from her seat and shoots you all a pleasant smile before smoothing out her dress, “This evening has been quite insightful. I look forward to our next meeting, Y/N. Safe journeys, don’t be a stranger.” 

Without waiting for a response, the woman spins on her heel and struts towards the double doors, calling for an elf as she crosses the threshold, “Viren, bring some parchment and ink for my guests.” The door clicks shut behind her as her last words reach your ears, and you slump in your seat as exhaustion soars through your veins. 

Before a disgruntled Blaise or an eager Theodore – the bloody ravenclaw in snake skin, can get a word out, a light pop draws your attention towards a rather properly dressed house elf, parchment and writing supplies in tow. 

Luna is quick to gather the supplies and quietly thank the elf, smoothing out the parchment in front of you. 

“I still want to go with you.” Blaise’s voice is soft, and you’re unable to detect any irritation. 

Peering up from your writing, you smile lightly at the two boys, “Sorry. You two need to hold down the fort. I didn’t say anything earlier, but the Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort and his followers, that’s why we left the wedding in such a hurry. Scrimgeour is dead as well,” You heave a sigh and flick the quill casually, “I suspect Hogwarts is going to be overtaken next, and Harry and I wouldn’t be caught dead there this year, we’d be like little crup puppies in a ball pit.” 

Both slytherins look stumped by your straightforwardness, and Blaise huffs out a little ‘well shit’ that has you nodding. 

Theodore stares deeply into the translucent pool of tea in his cup, voice barely above a whisper, “The war is going to end soon.” 

“Yes, and Harry’s going to make sure Voldemort is damned all the way into the afterlife.” If either of the boys were unconvinced by your conviction, they didn’t let it show, opting to share a look of understanding with each other before turning to you and nodding lightly. 

Blaise rounds the table and drops his hands onto your shoulders, “You better not die. And I guess I can take care of our ward for the time being.” 

“Ward?” Theodore sounds (rightfully) perplexed by his best friend’s words. 

“Little Draconis,” you supply, much to Theodore’s bewilderment, “And Blaise, stop making it sound like we’ve adopted him!” 

You wave your friend off and finish up your letter, leaning back in satisfaction as you hear Blaise clamber away to fetch his owl. 

Prongslet (and co), 

Luna and I are going to redeem our meal tickets (not as bizarre of a gift as one may think). We may not be back before darkness falls. Tell the old menace I said hello, and that I will make good on my promise to him. Stay safe and stay together. 

- Someone’s beloved Birdie 

Norway was incomparably arctic to Britain, the frigid winds bit at the tips of your fingers with fervid rushes, and you were positive that your legs were now flesh icicles. Despite how ardently your body protested against the climate, you couldn’t help the serene smile that mapped the muscles of your face. The chill was not the only difference the region had over Britain, and its tranquility was almost foreign to you. 

Now more than ever, Wizarding Britain seemed to have a miasma of doom looming over the country and the change of pace was almost tangible. 

“Here we are,” Luna’s airy voice was a welcomed sound amidst your inner exultation. You couldn’t help but draw similarities between the mysticality of Luna’s magic and disposition, and the blankets of fog that permeated over the lake in the far distance. 

Both were curious in their own aspects, but you couldn’t help but want to melt deeper in the feeling they both surrounded you with. 

You pulled your overcoat tighter around your body, thanking Merlin and those above that Blaise practically tore his closet right to left to find suitable clothing for you and Luna before you both departed from Zabini Manor. 

Stepping closer to Luna, you hum as you observe the view in the distance, “It’s beautiful.” 

Reine was truly idyllic. The fishing village was cupped by snowy peaks that towered over the clots of buildings which mottled the shores of the lake – a place truly untouched by the withering fog of petulant human conflict. 

The apparition was quite tiring and you could feel fatigue coiling around your muscles, urging you to quickly seek refuge.

“Couldn’t have picked a better place really: picturesque, remote, and lauded for proficiency in multiple languages.” Your words are light and playful, spurning a grin to bloom on Luna’s face. 

Dumbledore practically handed you a bubble-wrapped opportunity served on a golden platter. 

The both of you begin to trek towards the village, not wanting to risk apparition in case you were seen by any locals. To your knowledge, this Anders Fiske was the only magical folk in Reine, holing himself away from densely populated regions for reasons only Merlin knows. 

As you approach the banks of the waters and the largest building amongst the cluster, you inhale shakily as you see a sinewy man exit the building. The man seems to pause and do a double take, fully turning when he realized that you weren’t a figment of his imagination. 

“Hello,” His voice is gruff and gratingly neutral, only weakening your resolve. 

Talking to people was hard. But you survived a – conversation? interrogation? with Contessa Zabini, this should be a piece of cake. 

“Hello, we’re looking for someone named Anders Fiske,” your tone is even and you try your best to look as friendly as possible. Luna simply stares off into a red house in the distance, seeming to look straight through the man in front of you. 

Immediately, you can see the man tense before he forcibly relaxes his stance, pinching his eyebrows together as he surveys you, “There is no one here by that name.” 

You would have believed him. If you were a dolt, of course. 

“Are you certain? It’s rather important, and he’s the only one that can help us.” The man doesn’t falter and you frown when you feel something inch towards you. 

Helga almighty. 

He had a magical signature. The man in front of you was clearly a wizard, whether he knew it or not. 

Before you can ruminate on your discovery, the man speaks up, “Yes. So you both should leave.” 

A subtle bone in his body, there was not.

Feeling your eye twitch, you decide to do some searching on your own terms. Releasing your magic, you slowly blanket the surrounding buildings in search for another magical signature. It was clear enough that the man in front of you was not who you were looking for – unless Dumbledore wanted you to have some grilled monkfish with the most conspicuous wizard ever to roam the earth since Godric Gryffindor himself. 

As you continue to scavenge the village with your magic, the man in front of you shifts from side to side, clearly becoming wary of your sudden silence and blank stare. 

Before you can continue, a thunderous slam has you flinching out of your concentration. Peering around the looming man, your eyes meet a guarded gaze. Tilting your head, you sidestep and assess the newcomer, smiling slowly as you realize that he was another wizard. 

The new man was much older and you could see the way he leaned on his right leg as if his left one was aching from the slightest pressure. He was hunched in the pathway of the red house Luna was observing, mouth set into a deep frown. 

“Bingo,” Without waiting for the younger man to say anything (or possibly toss you into the lake), you stroll over toward the older man who was slowly retreating back into his house. 

Luna follows after you and nods happily to herself, starting to skip by your side. 

Stopping a few yards away from the man, you roll your shoulders to ease your soreness before jumping into the golden question, “Are you Anders Fiske?” 

The man appears to be ready to vehemently deny your question, but Luna speaks up before he can even utter a mumble, “Dumbledore sent us!” 

“Dumbledore?” The man’s harsh wrinkles smooth over ever so slightly, and your former headmaster’s name seems to roll off his tongue instinctually. 

“Yes. In his will, he told me that I needed to seek you out for a…meal? I’m in need of your help,” The man seems nonplussed by your declaration, and you purse your lips before sweetening up your words, “Please.” 

You see the man’s eyes flicker behind you and back rapidly, seeming to mull over everything. 

Without a word, the man dips into the shadow of his house with one last glower. 

Excuse me, what?

“Come,” You’re startled out of your stupor by a familiar deep voice, and you can only trail forward, mouth hung open, as the younger man leads you and Luna inside. 

As the younger man closes the door shut behind you, an array of lamps flicker to life around the room, illuminating the perimeter much to your amazement. The room was cozy and frazzled in a similar fashion to the Weasley’s home, and your eyes couldn’t help but trail across a wall of tomes the size of your head. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” The older man – Anders, grumbles from the middle of the room, sat at the dining table with a demeanor you found synonymous with Moody during meetings at Grimmauld Place. 

Smiling coyly, you watch Luna as she wanders almost weightlessly towards the small corner kitchen, “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Anders.” 

The man lets out a low grunt and you almost have to physically restrain your eyebrows from floating off your face. This man was literally Moody in a different, older font. 

“You would have figured it out anyway. Could feel that magic of yours suffocating the whole place from in here.” His tone was rough, but you wanted to believe that there was an impressed shine in his eyes. 

The younger man who was (surprisingly) still behind you, decides to interrupt your conversation, “Father, who are these people?” 

Anders places his elbows on the table and gives you and Luna a once-over, “Magical folk.” 

“A threat?” Anders’ son carries an edge to his tone that has you nearly rolling your eyes. 

You were about to blast him through the window, but you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away because of unbridled temptations. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

Anders’ reply seems to placate his son for the time being, and he heads off towards Luna as the girl hunches over to study a chipped teapot on the counter. You shift and make your way to stand in across from Anders, not exactly sure what approach to take. 

The yellow lighting bounced off the man’s face and gave him a sickly complexion, emphasizing his stress lines and suspicious eyes as you drew closer. 

“So, Dumbledore is dead?” He sounded almost regretful. Either that or you knocked your head on the way in. 

“Unfortunately. War is not forgiving, especially to martyrs.” Your tone was not nearly as sad as it probably should have been, but it seemed to be of no trouble for the older wizard. 

Anders sighs and leans back in his seat, one hand coming to clutch his shoulder unconsciously, “The old fool knew what he was getting into,” He raises his eyes to look at you appraisingly, “Can’t imagine why he’d send you my way, anyway.” 

“I’m researching. Something that is unfortunately, extremely niche. Dumbledore said you might be able to enlighten me on the subject.” Your determined tone seems to draw in some interest from him, and you have to mask the victorious feeling that washes over you. 

That’s right, scholar to scholar. Hook, line, and sinker.  

The man waits for you to continue, so you slowly pull out the chair in front of you and sink down across from him, “It’s about magical essences. It seems that you are quite sensitive to magical signatures, seeing as you could sense me releasing my magic earlier,” Anders gives a brisk nod, and you clench your hands as you continue, “A few summers ago, I encountered something strange–special. I found a portrait that was imbued with magical essence, and this portrait, he was extremely sentient.” 

You feel a knot lodge in your throat at the reminder of Regulus, the wound of his destruction feeling painfully raw again. Seeing your sudden hesitance, Anders raises a scruffy white eyebrow, “And where is this portrait now?” 

Your gaze drops to the table, your eyes blazing right into the worn wood, so marred and aged, unlike the one at Zabini Manor. 

“Gone, then? I don’t know how I’m supposed to be of help in that case.” You raise your eyes and meet his cold gaze, clenching your jaw at his stoic expression, “You both can stay the night in the basement, for the sake of doing an old friend a favor. I expect you to be gone by daylight, tomorrow.” 

Without pause, Anders pushes himself off the chair and limps further into the house, leaving you to awkwardly stew in your rejection while his son and Luna linger behind you. 

Anders’ son breaks the tense silence first, “Sorry about him, he’s…” 

“Stubborn?” Luna offers. 

“Honest.” You reply at the same time. 

Whirling around in your seat, you will away the veil of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind and look up at Anders’ son, really seeing him for the first time. You see the resemblance between the both of them, from their narrowed eyes to their thin noses, and the unmistakable metallic chill engulfed in both of their magic. 

Slowly rising from your seat, you send a fleeting smile to the boy, “Don’t believe we know your name.” 

“Asger,” His tone is much less taut than before, from pity or understanding, you didn’t know. 

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.” 

The boy–Asger, waves off your thanks and simply juts his shoulder forward, silently telling you to follow him. Feeling all of your survival instincts switch off, you tread behind him with glassy eyes, barely aware of your surroundings even when Luna tucks her arm around your body, guiding you around the unfamiliar environment. 

It appeared that Anders utilized his magical prowess and performed a disappearing act by the time you reached the basement, the older man being nowhere in sight despite the fact that there was only one door in the back of the house–which led to the basement. 

You and Luna got settled in, not bothered by the loose threads of your blankets or the dusty boxes that rested against the walls. You were both given a (surprisingly) comfortable mattress to share, and you almost wanted to cry when Luna started to draw patterns on your palm as you both stared up at the spackled ceiling. 

“Our journey has not ended yet,” Luna’s voice is small, but still fueled with conviction. 

“Thanks, Luna. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.” 

A comfortable silence descends upon you two, and you shift to get comfortable in your spot, realizing that Blaise’s overcoat was making it difficult to turn over. Slowly sitting up, you shrug off the thick material, and fix your jacket, realizing it was slightly askew from your movements. As you smooth down the material, you freeze as your hand moves over a thick bulk in your inner pocket. 

Portrait…? 

No. Of course not.  

Ignoring the cold sinking of your stomach, you fish out the object and search blindly for your wand. 

“Lumos.” 

Your breath hitches. 

Regulus’ journal. The one you found stuffed between his mattresses. Swallowing harshly, you slowly run a hand over the wrinkled cover. 

How could you have forgotten?

As you try to maneuver your wand to allow both of your hands to be free, a gentle tug has you swiveling your head to the side. Luna merely smiles at you before looking back at the journal, nimbly holding your wand over the book so you could flip through it. 

“I can look away if you want,” Luna’s gentle voice slices through the air with a warmth that you viscerally feel in your chest, and you smile at the girl in gratitude. As she turns her gaze to the darkness, seemingly becoming entranced by nothingness, you slowly furl the first pages open. 

Property of Regulus Arcturus Black 

You turn the page, fingers twitching as you resist the temptation to trace the swirls of his name. 

3 November, 1976 

Today is Sirius’ birthday. The first year he will celebrate away from home, as a disappointment to the family name. Mother and Father were particularly cold today. I just have to try harder. Sirius has stopped replying to my letters, and he avoids me in the halls. 

I think I hate him. 

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest as you reread the entry, struck by the unfamiliar loathing coated in his tone. Sirius was sixteen when he left, so seventeen in 1976. Regulus was only fifteen when he wrote this, and already so tied down by his family and abandonment issues. 

The next few pages contain similar entries, all filled with abhorrence for Sirius and bitterness towards his parents. 

Then the year changes. 

8 September, 1978 

The Dark Lord is going to change the world, make it a better, purer place. Mother and Father were pleased when I announced that I would be taking the mark soon, already having made strides among his growing forces. 

Sirius would hate it. I know he would. But he would expect it. He should, anyway. 

He already hates me, what damage could this do to our already broken relationship? 

He should hate me. 

I hate myself. I hate him.

I hate him so much.  

17 December, 1978

Visiting my portrait was eventful. I can feel him growing stronger with every meeting. I think I’ll have to repaint it soon, looking at it and seeing a reflection of who I used to be never gets easier. 

The next repaint, I’m going to finally do it. Hopefully, all my research will have paid off. Uncle Alphard’s book on magical essences was more helpful than I could have ever imagined. 

The room is complete, and I can feel my magic all over it. If I can imbue it into my portrait as well, it will be perfect. 

Maybe then he can forgive me. If I explain. If I try. 

The Dark Lord is expecting me soon. 

3 January, 1979 

The repainting was a success. My hand will be sore for the next few days, but it was all worth it. I finally figured out how to key the room. The only person who will be able to access it now is Sirius. That is if he ever returns home. 

My portrait is so like me, it’s truly uncanny. Perhaps I can publish my findings after I graduate. 

My mark aches often. 

I miss Sirius. 

5 March, 1979

The Dark Lord tried to kill Kreacher. 

After everything I’ve done for him. After everything I’ve sacrificed. 

Sirius was right. 

Kreacher keeps talking about a potion and a locket. I need to understand. I have to. 

It is imperative that I impart everything I know to my portrait, so Sirius will know that I tried. That I finally understand. 

Is this my punishment? Must I suffer so for forgiveness? If he does not forgive me, will it all have been for nothing? 

I need to find out what the Dark Lord is hiding. It will be my repentance. 

19 May, 1979 

Horcruxes. 

Such vile creations, a defiling of one’s soul. The Dark Lord has a horcrux. I need to destroy it. 

My portrait grows restless with me. To think it was even possible. He only has the faintest ideas of my current ambitions, but I feel everyday that he is growing to be someone I never could be. Someone that Sirius would be able to forgive. 

I’ll destroy the horcrux and accept the conditions tied to it. 

There is no other way. 

8 June, 1979

Everyday I grow closer to executing my plan. 

I have given my portrait everything he needs to know. 

I wonder, is all soul magic as abominable as horcruxes? I begin to see parallels with magical essences and soul magic. Yet, they feel completely different. 

Or perhaps I have finally lost all sense. I have always been a hypocrite. 

I wait with bated breath. 

I will destroy it even if it kills me, and it will be glorious. 

28 July, 1979 

I fear that if I wait any longer I will go back on my conviction. 

Mother and Father are growing increasingly vexed with me. I think they want to marry me off by winter. 

It will be before then. 

I have stopped confiding in my portrait about my deeper feelings. I fear that my weakness will be obvious even to him. 

I have read more about magical essences to distract myself. Even the Dark Lord is not omniscient. Magical essences have ties to one’s soul, the bounds of such revelation I do not know. Yet, I have learned of something even the Dark Lord is ignorant to, and because of that, he has debased himself with horcruxes. 

A small victory, and an inkling of how it will feel when he’s gone. 

When he falls. 

14 August, 1979 

I will do it in autumn. 

I hope it will all be worth it. 

26 October, 1979 

My portrait can cast magic. 

I wonder if Sirius will be proud. 

29 October, 1979 

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

2 November, 1979 

I never really had aspirations outside of what was expected of me. 

Have I always been so pitiful? Was I the only one who couldn’t see it? 

15 November, 1979 

I hear that the Potters are expecting their first child. 

I wonder how Sirius will treat their baby. 

I think I’m going crazy. 

17 November, 1979 

Tomorrow. 

You flip through the journal hastily, and you feel your eyes sting in the darkness at the crushing realization. 

Blank pages. Empty and unfeeling, and so telling of his fate. 

You weren’t going to leave tomorrow. 

Anders would have to drag you kicking and screaming. You wouldn’t give up on Regulus, not after everything he sacrificed. 

You will do whatever it takes. 

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[sanyu-thewitch05]

I need more messed up female reader inserts. More ambitious, manipulative, unapologetically cut throat characters. So for this next idea I have a Male Yandere General X Female Reader Noblewoman.

General premise…reader Darling is a noblewoman whose family took in a slave mother and son during young childhood because they looked more unique compared to other slaves on the market. (I have no idea what type of era this is set in, but maybe this is more fantasy based?) Darling is a prodigy and sees the slave son (whose the yandere) natural gifts at combat/weaponry, so convinces her father to make the boy into a soldier for their family to use to win favor of the royal family. Darling manipulates the boy for years, knowing full well his romantic feelings for her. She promises to marry him  and give him his freedom, as long as he keeps climbing the military ranks, winning battles/wars, and contributing to their noble family name. Darling knows that doing this will ensure an easy bargaining chip with the royal family and the general people that her family deserves to be “rewarded” for their contributions to the kingdom. In other words, Darling wants to be future Queen, always has, and she’s seen poor yandere as nothing but a pawn. After yandere comes back from latest brutal war, he hears the news of Darling’s engagement to the crown Prince. Heartbroken and betrayed, he snaps and launches a coup (which is quite easy because the kingdom loves yandere more than the royal family), granting Darling’s wish of becoming future Queen…just not the way she imagined…And Darling will always be the apple of his eye, but maybe she should “earn” and “fight” her way up to Queen from slave, just as he had to fight from hell and back all his life from slave to king. Couple goals, am I right?

A/N: Finally finished this ask! I hope you like the twist and many hints within this. BTW, this is more tame and doesn't have smut. It does have a happy ending though. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this!

TW: Mentions of drugging

You were always meant for greater things. Luckily, you have a plan as to how to get it. First, you must work your way up the nobility ladder until you reach the prince. Then, seduce the prince and bear him children to secure your throne. But that takes time, and time is limited when you're a human. So you took a shortcut and used the latest Elve slaves to help you. The son, Rhys, around your age (14), possesses great potential, not only in magic but in swordsmanship. So, you convinced your father to put him in knight school. Behind the scenes, you make false promises of freedom and marriage to him.

The one condition he has to follow is to keep climbing the military ranks and contributing to the family name. He believed it like a fool, and soon enough, he became your personal knight. A knight in shining armor or a white knight in a way. Rhys was always around you. Which led to him witnessing your most vulnerable moments.

"Milady, wake up. My lady!" Rhys whispers, secretly using his magic to float up to your levitating body.

"Hm?" You moan, waking up and realizing your body is floating several inches into the air.

"You were doing it again."

"Sorry, Rhy."

You think of a feather slowly falling, and you're on the mattress again. Rhys climbs onto the bed and sits next to you. He lets you climb into the safety of his arms for sleep.

"Please don't tell anyone, Rhys," You say, resting your head on Rhys's chest.

"I won't, milady," Rhys says, rubbing your head until you go to sleep.

The next morning, your mother took you to a cottage in the wilderness near the Elves's kingdom for your 16th birthday.

Then, one brutally hot summer day in your delicate 21st year of age, war broke out with the Elf kingdom. King Faenelis of the Elves used magic to fight the war. This created a problem for your kingdom, and so Rhys, other elves, or mages were sent to war. Admittedly, you missed his presence around the manor. You missed him teaching you things about his culture. You missed the gifts from the forest he would give you. But, good news came, and your dream came true. The prince of your kingdom, Prince Calion Veranda, proposed to you at a ball you attended after a night of drinking, dancing, and mock swordfights.

You immediately moved out of the manor and began your life at the castle. You were so happy with the prince that you forgot about the war until it arrived at your doorstep.

"Kill the prince, but spare the girl!" A familiar voice screams, the sound of footsteps coming towards you.

"Go into the tunnels and keep running. I'll find you!" Calion whispers, pushing you away.

You run into the tunnels, and your brain rings from the sound of water dropping and hearing your own footsteps. The tunnels seem never-ending. Suddenly, as if you're losing your mind, whispers start to echo through the stone walls.

"My love, come back."

"I'm here for you."

"I can hear you."

"I feel you."

"I know you."

"Did you really think you could run away?"

"Ooh! Would you shut up?!" You scream, making everything go silent.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Dri-

"Found you!" Rhys says, his milk-white hand pulling into the walls.

You open your eyes and see a more rugged Rhys standing in front of you. His muscles are bulging through the silk white, and green royal clothing.

"Hi, my queen," Rhys says, grabbing you by the chin.

"Rhys, what are you doing? You're going to ruin our family name," You ask, looking him in the eyes.

Those silver eyes mock you.

"I came back and launched a coup with the support of the people. Don't worry, your family is safe. But this kingdom is going to be ruled by me and renamed into Faeranda. It's all your fault. You know, I heard about your engagement and came for you," Rhys monologues, pointing his sword at the crystal wild violet necklace around your neck. "You still wear this necklace? I thought your parents-no! Your father told you not to wear that. What did they say, "Don't wear anything that woman gives you." 'sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"Don't bring grandma into this!" You yell, pushing his sword away from your neck.

"A crystal wild violet for a girl born on the first of May," You and Rhys repeat, making you shocked at what you said.

"Now I see why your little prince was so eager to marry you despite your dirty family secret. You asked your grandma for advice. And advice she gave in the form of a pink bottle. Like mother like daughter."

"That's impossible, she's dead."

"Dead? Ha, don't make me laugh! You forget your parents made your personal knight. I've read your diary. I managed to break the spell you put on it. I know that three times a week and on certain holidays, you would go to a cottage in the woods housing your grandmother. All covered for by your dear half-witch mom."

"..."

"You learned magic. You know spells, curses, and hexes passed down through generations of your maternal line. You have a grimoire, a personal and family one. You wanted me out of the way so you could get the prince you never had a chance with. But guess what? Your prince is dead, and I'm the new king. You're going to be my queen."

"Rhys, you're crazy."

"You wouldn't want to break dear grandma's heart, would you? While organizing for the coup, King Faenelis, my father, found your grandma, and she told him her deepest wish was for her granddaughter and daughter to have a safe place to live and practice magic. With me as king, I'll bring a new age of magic to this kingdom. Your grandma can live with you again. You can see the cousins and family you never saw in public. You can feel no shame when your magic slips up. You could ride your broomstick whenever you want."

Rhys made a tempting offer. Sure, he killed the prince you drugged to get, but Rhys being king had many benefits for you. You knew what he wanted in exchange, and you had to grant it.

"I, Y/N L/N, break the physical and magical chains placed upon you and your family. You are free," You say, using magic in front of Rhys.

Silver chains appear around Rhys's body and dissolve into dust. You feel the suppressed magic of Rhys and back away. He summons a ring with a bloomed rose design for the green amethyst. Rhys puts it on your finger, and the elf magic flows through your body. A chain appears around your wrist, and a handle in Rhys's palm.

"What have you done to me?" You ask, feeling weak.

"I made you my slave. You're going to have to work your way up from slave to queen. You have to earn my trust. Don't worry, it's temporary. You'll be free after your true self," Rhys replies, pulling the chain so you crash into his chest. "I love you. We're going to have a great wedding with an even bigger after-party."

You hide your face in his chiseled chest. Both of your feet slowly levitate until you're hugging him midair. Being with him always made your magic act out. Then again, it was for the best. You were so tired and wanted to let it go wild. With him, you could do that. You could always do that with Rhys. It was one of your dirty secrets.