#incognitomuses

[isles-of-man]

The lecture hall was emptying fast, a low shuffle of shoes and murmured goodbyes fading into the hallway. Professor Ayden Ward closed his copy of The Waste Land and capped his pen, the day’s discussion still echoing faintly in his mind. “That’s it for today,” he’d said a moment ago. “We’ll continue with the Modernists on Wednesday. Don’t forget your essays on ambiguity.” Now the last few papers were stacked neatly, the projector cooling with a soft hum, and the air settling back into its usual stillness.

He was gathering his notes into his leather satchel when he noticed one student still sitting in the front row, notebook open but untouched. Everyone else was gone. The student hesitated, half rising, then stopped, as if weighing whether to speak. Ayden paused, adjusting his glasses. “You needed something?” he asked, his voice even, stripped of the formal tone he used at the lectern.

@incognitomuses

[isles-of-man]

King Henrik stood at the edge of the castle battlements, the wind tugging at his heavy cloak as he surveyed the frozen waters of the harbor below. The gray sky mirrored his impatience, clouds thick and low, promising snow by nightfall. His fingers drummed against the carved stone railing, a rhythm matched only by the distant cries of gulls and the slap of waves against the pier. Today, Daphne was due to arrive, and the entire court had whispered of her beauty, her wit, and the alliances she might bring.

He shifted his weight, scanning the horizon for the first glint of sails. The harbor remained empty, save for a lone fishing boat bobbing near the shore. Henrik’s jaw tightened; the wind carried a bitter chill, but he barely noticed. This wait was not merely for courtesy. Daphne’s arrival carried the weight of diplomacy, of strategy, and of promises that could shape the realm for decades to come.

A horn echoed from the distant docks, sharp and commanding, and Henrik’s eyes snapped to the water. A line of sails appeared, faint against the gray of the morning. He straightened, lifting his chin with the authority of a king accustomed to command. Servants and guards began to stir, the subtle bustle of anticipation moving through the courtyard below. Henrik’s hand tightened on the stone, his pulse quickening not with fear but with the thrill of what was to come.

As the first ship edged into the harbor, he let himself finally breathe, though his expression remained calm, measured. Today, negotiations and introductions would begin, but first, he would see her—Daphne, the woman who had already captured the whispers of his court, and perhaps, the reckoning of his own heart. Henrik stepped back from the battlements and moved to receive her, every stride precise, regal, and certain.

@incognitomuses

[isles-of-man]

Erik unlocked the front door and stepped inside, hauling their suitcases over the threshold. He set them down in the hallway, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiffness from travel. He kicked off his boots and moved through the rooms, flicking on a few lights and glancing around the familiar space as if reacquainting himself with home.

He grabbed the bags again, dragging them into the bedroom before dropping onto the edge of the bed with a long sigh. After a moment, he pushed himself up and began unpacking, sorting clothes into neat piles, shaking out wrinkled shirts, and hanging a few items in the closet.

Finished with the unpacking, Erik pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through messages from professors, reminders about assignments, and a few unread emails he’d ignored on the trip. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand, ran a hand through his sun-bleached hair, and caught his reflection in the mirror—tanned, a little tired, but relaxed.

He wandered into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and leaning against the counter, listening to the hum of the neighborhood outside. That’s when he spotted her at the counter, busy with something he didn’t need to see to know she was up to her usual careful planning. He leaned against the doorway, grinning. “Well, well… look who’s already at work,” he teased. “Tell me—have you started planning our wedding yet, or are you going to make me wait a little longer?”

He stepped closer, resting a hand on the counter near her, tilting his head with a playful smirk. “Come on, you can’t hide from me. I can already see the glint in your eye—that’s the ‘I’ve got a whole list and I’m going to drive you crazy’ glint, isn’t it?” Erik shook his head, chuckling softly.

@incognitomuses

[isles-of-man]

The castle gates loomed high as August rode beneath them, torchlight glinting off his polished pauldrons. The courtyard bustled with motion—guards in foreign colors lined the walls, servants hurried to steady horses and unload baggage, and banners bearing a crest unfamiliar to him fluttered in the chill wind. He dismounted with practiced ease, his boots striking the cobbles, and turned immediately to the carriage. With a nod, he signaled his men to open the door.

August offered his arm but kept his eyes forward as they crossed the courtyard. As they approached the castle doors, he felt the weight of eyes upon them—the courtiers, the guards, and the lords who would soon judge not only his words but the woman at his side.

Inside the great hall, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of burning pine and beeswax candles. August’s voice rang firm as he bowed deeply to their hosts. “My lords,” he said, his tone carrying the authority of a man used to command, “allow me to present my lady wife, Mary of House—” He paused briefly, letting the name carry in the hall, his gaze steady as he met the eyes of the ruling family.

As the formalities passed, August guided her forward, his hand never straying far from hers. Every bow, every word was measured, yet beneath his calm exterior was a quiet protectiveness, an edge sharpened by the knowledge of the child she carried. Tonight, they would dine as guests; tomorrow, the negotiations would begin. But for now, August allowed himself one fleeting breath of pride. He had not come merely as a lord seeking favour, but as a husband introducing the heart of his house.

@incognitomuses

[isles-of-man]

Jorah crouched low on the rush-strewn floor, his broad hands outstretched toward his son. Duncan stood a few paces away, legs wobbling beneath him, fists clenched tight for balance. The boy’s wide eyes fixed on his father’s steady hands, and a soft, breathy sound escaped his lips—half laugh, half determination. Jorah murmured something low, his voice a quiet rumble, and crooked a finger to beckon him closer.

The boy took one step, then another, his small feet scuffing against the packed earth beneath the rushes. Each shuffle was slow, cautious, yet full of resolve. Jorah stayed still, though every muscle in his body was taut, ready to spring forward if Duncan toppled. His own breath slowed, steadying the moment as if the entire hall held its breath with him. Somewhere behind him, Kate watched from her chair by the fire, her gaze warm but silent, leaving this triumph to father and son.

Duncan wavered, swayed, and then pushed forward, a laugh bubbling from him as he toddled into his father’s waiting arms. Jorah caught him up, lifting him easily, the boy’s small weight pressing against his chest. He pressed his stubbled jaw to Duncan’s soft head, breathing in the faint, milky scent of him, and held him close for a long heartbeat.

With a low chuckle, Jorah shifted Duncan onto his hip, one large hand steadying his tiny back. The boy gurgled and kicked, eager for more, but Jorah only tightened his hold, his broad shoulders relaxing as he rocked him gently. Kate’s smile lingered at the edge of his vision, but Jorah kept his focus on the boy in his arms. For now, the lesson was done.

@incognitomuses

[yourd4rkdesire]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫: @incognitomuses

it was already dark outside, stars the only thing giving a little bit of light, when elias and his entourage stopped by the nearby tavern. the prince, dressed in simple cloak as to not bring any attention to his person, jumped off his black horse and led it to the small stable so it could rest and feed, rest of the men following his example. then, they together entered the tavern. the foul smell and warmth from the hearth hit him immendiately and the latter was so needed that he could almost completely ignore the former. despite late hours, the place was nearly full. good. it will be easier to hide themselves. the men chose a table in the far corner and took a sit. ❛❛ beer and soup ❜❜ he spoke to the dark—haired woman when she approached their table.

[deviiates]

@incognitomuses plotted a starter || finn and emily

finn figured that she'd find her way here at some point. a few of his fellow firemen at the house told him that a woman had come around looking for him, and that they'd given her his address. normally, that was frowned upon, but his buddies thought emily felt harmless and she only wanted to thank him for saving her life. and the first time she popped up at his home, it had been sweet, endearing even, how much she wanted to offer his thanks for risking his life to save hers. it was his duty as a fire fighter and he'd do it a thousand times over and never once think about it.

but this was the third time he's come home and he's found her waiting for him outside, and this time, it's not as endearing as it was the first. and still, finn can't help but be nice to the gorgeous woman who was waiting on a bench outside of his apartment building. " emily, you're back again. i told you. you don't have to keep coming by and trying to thank me. " there is a moment of pause and he moves so he's closer to her, the gap between them closed to almost nothing. " you want to come up? you came all this way. least i can do is offer you a beer or something. "