Historical Au - Blog Posts

It's plague time, wheeeeeee — slightly belated (as always, rip me), but here is my piece for the 2024/25 DaiSuga Bang for @kings-highway 's awesome Historical AU "Danza Della Morte" (on Ao3) 🕺🏻💀👍

(Please click for better resolution — Art by me, concept by King — This art may not be used or copied by anyone else for any purpose!)

Moonlit Throne | Masterlist

“do you… trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered. 

“yes.”

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 40/45 words: 57.6k/? contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!

historical context/references. | fic playlist.

february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.

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Smut - | ☼ |

Fluff - | ♡ |

Angst - | ♥ |

The Return of an Empress  | ☼ |  | ♡ |  | ♥ |

Genre: Isekai au, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut (Later on), Slow burn

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be ecstatic, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months by the seven men she trusted most.

The only thing on your mind now is to try and convince everyone that the empress is a changed person, literally, but you’ll soon find out that proves to be difficult when seemingly everyone wants you dead.

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wicked • 1

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader feat. Seokjin

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 4k

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Note: I’ve sat on this story for like 8 months and I still feel bad for posting but bYe I’m a hoe for e2l and I sure hope y’all are too bc gOd daYum

To be a princess, is that of obtaining and following duty whenever it calls. Whether you agree with it or not is of none concern to no one, even yourself to an extent. There were many times in your life when you could assume that, if you felt strong enough about a situation, eventually, your parents would sit you down and work something out that was, at the very least, comparable.

Those times were few and far in between as you often understood that you had to do things, even if you didn’t personally want to, from a young age that you could no longer remember. But still, to be told this. It was a laughable matter at the time, you were so shocked that you couldn’t even fully believe it, it was two years ago after all. But for the day to have finally come. 

For the little bubble you had sheltered yourself in, to pop.

It was laughable only at how pathetic you were, you had two years to prepare. And yet here you were, still in denial and even more bitter than before. You had cried, begged your parents for some other alternative, but low and behold, they could only look at you with pity in their eyes. After all, what good was a daughter outside of selling off in marriage?

“Mmm, is something wrong, my love?” Your heart beat had risen and your hands were a little too shaky, was it because you were naturally shy during such activities as these? Or was it the shame cast over you? This was the day you’d meet him, and you were currently in your room doing this. 

A hand tenderly stroked your face, cupping your cheek as he gently raised your chin to look at him, Seokjin’s face was soft as a finger traced your jawline, your lips had jutted a little and your expression strong in remorse, if you stared at him any longer the moment would be ruined by your tears, “I’m fine.” You mumbled, offering a weak smile that you were sure if Seokjin looked close enough he would be able to tell it was a lie for the sake of the moment. 

Your hands quickly got back to work to keep him from asking any questions, you didn’t want to talk about it. Nor did you want to be in this position either but when would be the next time you got to do this? If ever. 

Sexual favors were not something you were often inclined to do but Seokjin was an exception as he was your lover and originally, had things gone the way they should, you would be married off to Seokjin. But of course not, no, Penumbra had to frighten every nation in the world by threat of invasion. 

They had to be so cruel in their wars and battles, their soldiers and training, it was no match for anyone. No matter how many troops were sent, they were torn down one after the other by the highly skilled soldiers there. Penumbra was everyone’s worst nightmare, a nation so bitter and angry, they’d stop at nothing to seek vengeance on everyone who once destroyed their original nation of Seoul. 

They didn’t take mercy on children or women, they didn’t care about anything but their own. You wholeheartedly despised and stood against everything they were. And for your parents to look you in the eyes and say you’d have to marry their Prince. 

The Wicked Prince. 

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AU August - Day 23 - Historical

I just realized I hadn’t drawn sweet little Chloe. She’d probably be pissed by that :p

For @auyeahaugust

Observances

Merlin/Arthur | Mature | No Archive Warnings Apply | Word Count: 373

Historical AU | Festivals | Prophecies | Second Person POV (Merlin)

For the @merlinmicrofic prompts "feast" and "new year."

Will post to Ao3 once it's back up.

Arthur's halls are decorated for the birth of the sun, Saturnalia was a sennight ago, and you saw an ominous sign this morning in the movement of the birds.

small tw: for animal (bird) death

☾ ☾ ☾

Arthur’s hall is decorated with yew branches. Up and down the benches there is elaborate food upon decorated plates of a dull silver that he told you was called pewter. His hounds whine and beg for scraps from the revellers, having grown bored of the swan wing that had been tossed to them. Now it lay on the straw strewn floor, gnarled and upsetting. 

Your eyes are on him, but everyone’s eyes are on him, they always are. Warlord, lord, king. Tonight he wears an abolla that is a red as rich as blood (and you’ve seen plenty of blood, by now). His hair and eyes are pale against the colour but not diminished by them. 

But his eyes are on you. They shouldn't be on you, not as much as they are, they need not ever be on you, but they are. You’re a servant, what’s more you are of the Silures, reviled by his father, yet his eyes have been on you since you were crowned with oak leaves for saving his life.

What a strange mix of observances that he claims as his own. 

On Saturnalia he said that you could do anything, so you sat in his lap and had him feed you figs and almonds with his fingers.

But that was a sennight ago, now above his chair there is a bower of willow and ivy, now he raises his cup and you go to his side to pour him grape wine from across the sea. 

He would put you to death for your aurgury this morning. It was the flight of the hedge sparrows that alerted you just a breath before it happened; a peregrine claimed an ouzel, too slow to retreat to the coppice, right before your eyes. There are signs in everything, you are finding, even the strange prognostications of the Romans. Ouzel cock, black druid, guide to the otherworld. Your people go unmarked in death as they do in life. There are few left, even, to cry your name. Fewer still will survive to see the spring.  

The fire is making you sweat, causing the woad staining your arms to run. 

His cup goes up, the room stills.

“The sun is reborn,” Arthur says.