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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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What The Heart Wants || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @aemondtargaryen divider by @firefly-graphics

Summary: This marriage was nothing but unhappiness. You always felt like you lived in the shadow of Lucy Gray. But you try to pretend, pretend that this marriage was everything you could have ever dreamed of.

Warnings: little detail of smut

Wc:

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Your fingers play with the ends of your dress that your mother insisted you wear. In your opinion, the dress was abit too tight, short, and the neckline a tad bit lower than what was deemed appropriate for a simple get together with the President, your fiancé.

“Smile Y/n, Smile.” Your mother urges with a forced smile as you roll your eyes. The door suddenly opens as your mother and father immediately stand up. You let out a huff before standing up as well as Coriolanus Snow in all his glory walks in.

He doesn’t even spare your parents a look or you for that matter. He just sits down on the armchair beside yours with a huff. You watch him as he rolls up his sleeves, he had yet to speak. “Lovely too see you again, Evangeline, Festus, and Y/n” He politely nods.

His voice was stern, cold. “Likewise, President Snow, likewise” You mother grins widely, her tone sickly sweet. “Please, call just call me Coryo. You are to be my in-laws soon. Best to cut the formality early on,” He voices out as he leans over and pops a grape in his mouth.

Your knees were crossed as you stare down at your hands. Snow turns his head, finally looking at you. You could feel his gaze from your peripheral vision. A sudden kick to your shin made you groan out loud as your mother gives you a death glare.

Clearing your throat, you face Coriolanus. “What colour do you plan to wear for the wedding day? So you know, I can match,” He stares hard at your face, studying every detail. “White.” Is all he said before facing your parents again as he starts conversation with them on a topic you couldn’t care less about.

Snow had always been cold towards you from the moment the two of you started courting each other. It wasn’t a marriage for love, it was arranged. Coming from a high born family in the Capitol, disciplined to be the perfect wife, you were a perfect candidate to become First Lady.

And not to forget how close your parents and his parents were before they died. Coriolanus had changed when he came back from exile. He was no longer the sweet boy you used to remember.

He was now driven with power and authority. You never asked him questions about the details of his exile as peacekeeper during the times you would spend together. He would merely brush it off and tell you never to ask him about it again.

You were never one to listen to Capitol gossip but there were whispers going around about how Snow was in a relationship with his tribute, Lucy Gray. And that she ran away from him just before he returned back. You remember seeing the two together on camera, there always seemed to be a certain chemistry between the two that not much people paid attention to. But you.

He seemed completely closed off when you first met him after his banishment. He was always drifting in and out of reality. You had a feeling he wasn’t over Lucy Gray. No matter how much she hurt him for leaving.

“Coryo,” Your voice was gentle as you place a hand on his arm. He was out of it again. “She asked what flavour cake you wish to have,” You slowly say as his eyes were stuck to the wall behind the woman sat across from them. “Whatever flavour you want.” He shrugs. Before you could open your mouth again, he beats you to it.

“Is this really necessary? I have other important things to be doing right now.” He snaps, unfolding his sleeves as he gets ready to get up. You furrow your eyebrows at him as the woman starts to pack up the papers on the table before you stop her.

“Coryo, you told me you cleared your schedule today.” You fold your arms as he buttons up his jacket, looking at you. “I’d rather be home than here.” And with that, he doesn’t spare you another look and walks away. You watch his figure disappear as you sit back down, defeated.

“Should I continue without President Snow?” Your eyes move to the lady awkwardly sitting there. “Yes, yes you can continue,” You sigh. This was the third time Coriolanus blew these meetings off. Both of you despised the idea of getting married, especially to one another. But it had to be done. For duty.

“Oh you look absolutely gorgeous, my love. You’re going to be the prettiest woman Coryo has ever laid eyes on.” You scoff, downing the liquid down as you get ready to walk down the aisle. “Remember, smile!” Your mother points to her smile as you roll your eyes and link arms with your father.

The doors opened and the crowd gasp. You looked ethereal. Perfect. Doll-like. You smiled like you were taught to do and walked with such elegance and poise. Snow’s back was turned to you, but the moment he turned around, you swore you couldn’t breathe for a second.

Coriolanus’ hands were cold against your warm hands. His piercing blue eyes studied your face as words around you drown out. “You may now kiss the bride.” Coriolanus leaned in as did you and your lips touched. The kiss was gentle and didn’t last long. You could tell he was reluctant to kiss you.

He then smiled brightly, turning to face the crowd and your mother’s words come rolling in. Smile. Pretend you’re happy. You both had to act like you were infatuated with one another for the rest of the day until you arrived at Snow’s mansion. Your new home.

The moment you walked through the doors, the façade was over. Coriolanus made a beeline to his study where he slammed the door shut as you stand alone in the hallway, still in your wedding dress. Exhaustion caught up to you so your heavy footsteps led you to your shared room with him.

You were helped out of the dress by servants. The silk slip soft on your skin as you let your hair loose. It was quiet. Too quiet for yo ur liking. You sat at the end of the bed for some time, thinking about everything and anything until the door abruptly opened revealing Snow.

He paused when he saw you, almost forgetting that you two were married now and were going to be sharing the same bed from now on. He sighs before closing the door behind him.

He starts taking his jacket and long sleeve off. “Why aren’t you asleep” He voices out, his back turned to you as you watch his back muscles flex. “I’m not tired,” You said, barely a whisper as Snow turns around, his eyes trained on you. “Suit yourself,” He said before entering the bathroom.

You decided to move up the bed and lean against the backboard of the humongous bed that you and Snow will be sharing. You played with your fingers the entire time Coriolanus was in the shower.

You hear the water jets stop and he steps out, towel hanging around his hips as he has another towel drying his platinum blonde hair. He gets dressed in just boxers before making his way to the bed. He turns off his bedside light and lays on his back. You were still leaned up on the backboard.

Coriolanus then leaned over you and turned your bedside light off before sleeping on his side, back towards you. You stared at the back of his head for a while. “Coryo…” You softly say. You knew he was awake. “Coryo.” You say once again, your hand gently on his shoulder as he sigh and turns to lay on his back. “Y/n. It’s been an exhausting day. Can this possibly wait until tomorrow” He snaps.

“No.” You say in a firm tone that was abit too loud. You took yourself by surprise as Snow raises an eyebrow at you. “We’re married now.” Your tone was bitter. You were becoming just as frustrated as he was with you. A long due reciprocation.

“I’m aware.” He flatly stated, his eyes shifting away from your body to the ceiling. You sensed his unsatisfactory behaviour towards you, and you felt, a feeling that you had become very familiar with recently. Vulnerable. Coriolanus did not want you one bit. You knew that.

But you wanted to atleast pretend that you were going to spend the rest of your life with someone who loved you. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it. A part of you understood that this was obviously wasn’t ideal for either parties, but you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, like you weren’t enough.

You were always hit on by other eligible males in the Capitol, but when it came to President Snow, you weren’t even remotely spared a glance. So, you decided that tonight, your honeymoon night, to pretend that there is as much passion as you needed to make you feel as though you were marrying the man of your dreams.

“Look at me.” You demanded, watching as Coriolanus beside you slowly tore his eyes away from the ceiling to bore into your face. “Coryo,” You began, moving from the backboard to get closer to him. You leant into him, foreheads touching. You could feel his breathing stagger, his breath began to tremble as if he was straining tears.

"Please," Your grabbed his face desperately, almost beginning to start sobbing yourself, as if your bodies being this close to one another transformed them into one big, contagious product of unfairness and agony—indulging in one another helplessly.

"Please, Coryo, pretend I'm her," you never once thought in your life you would have to beg for a man to worship you the way he did another—before courting the President of Panem, you would have ques of eligible men at your feet—not even having to raise a finger.

"What?" He mumbled back, an unconfident whimper, his eyebrows furrowed—casting a shadow over his vacant eyes, causing his piercing blue eyes to darken.

"I never though I'd have to say this, but " You breathed out, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, "Pretend I'm her, pretend I'm Lucy Gray Baird. Even if she broke you, atleast you felt something for her." Your voice cracked as the nonchalant popular girl of Panem facade you’d spent your entire life up keeping, having Snow as a publicity accessory, had shattered in his grip.

Coriolanus didn't know what to say. He had never seen you in this state. You didn't know, but he watched you all the time through the cameras around the mansion and around Panem. Snow barely knew how to express his emotions adequately himself, let alone watching you break down.

You were in pain. As if you were swallowing back acid. "I just want to feel loved," You trembled. This was all so new to you, expressing your feelings, confiding to someone. "Even if it takes you having to think about someone else to make me feel like it.l And so, Snow silently agreed.

He took the invitation of being allowed to think about Lucy Gray in his embrace if it made you feel better. Selfish to an extent, but technically, what you wanted from him was equally so. As long as he appreciated your body as if it were a relic, to make her feel something, he'd be able to fantasise about the one thing he'd usually feel guilty about thinking. Lucy Gray crushed his heart. His soul.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the girl who betrayed her. And so, you mollified into him as he embraces your frame, kissing you the same way he'd been musing about doing so with Lucy, if he were to ever get the chance again.

Both your tears were the supplement of real passion, the dampness on your faces resembling sweat as tears fell between each aggrieved, desperate kiss.

More desperate, more intimate. You knew what Coriolanus wanted, and you gave in. You allowed him to see Lucy Gray through your eyes. And although they were a completely different colour, Snow swore he saw her eyes gazing back at him for a millisecond; and that was motivating enough.

Now you were both in pieces, too bad puzzles aren't taught how to piece themselves back together.

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #hunger games #tom blyth #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #president snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow angst

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green-typewriterz · 5 months ago

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can you write an art donaldson fic where the reader has been in love with him for the past ten years but it’s obviously unrequited love… until art divorces tashi.

ps: can it be a lil angsty? I love it

Obsessed with your ex

Art Donaldson x reader, Tashi x reader if your looking at the subtext

Ask: above

summary: you're in love with Art...but due to a rather obvious factor known as Tashi Duncan, it's severely unrequited.

Warnings: none?? I guess swearing

Author Notes: sorry this took so long love!!! I was in a major editing groove for a long while meaning my writing got unceremoniously sent to the backburner... but i'm back with this as a sort of consolation!! also i was listneing to teeth by lady gaga on loop while writing this which is why theres some very gay subtext between you and tashi...

word count: 1826

Tashi fucking Duncan. That’s how she was known in your subconscious - though you weren’t sure if it was a positive or negative thing. You wanted to be her, of course you did. She had everything you wanted. A natural skill for tennis, perfect looks and a close (confusing) relationship with both Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig.

Obviously, you were horrendously in love with Art and it hurt to an almost embarrassing degree when some more crass girls in your tennis class began to gossip about Tashi making out with him and Patrick. You weren’t sure where they could’ve got the information, so you told yourself it wasn’t true - a rumour. Regardless, it hurt. Maybe it hurt just as much as Art Donaldson having no clue you felt how you did.

You were reasonably close with Tashi, close enough to call yourself a friend but it was reasonably clear to most that you wanted what she had (and maybe you also wanted her as much as Zweig and Donaldson though that was a deeper emotion). It was interesting to watch how she’d interact with each boy as if they were pawns, something that was increasingly clear at that fateful match.

You could hear the crunch throughout the entire court, though the scream was what rattled you. Art leapt from his place in the stands, running as if she were going to die. You stood, racket still in hand, shifting awkwardly in the absence of play before making your way over to your friend to check on her.

Art knew you were trying to be helpful, his small, thin lipped smile showing this clearly, but Tashi didn’t want you there. So that was that. You let him take over and rocked back on your shins, eyes tracking his hands that gently held her head. A more desperate side of you seemed to hope that it had been you who had broken your leg so he would be holding you instead.

This accident, though sadding, seemed to be detrimental to the success of your career. It was as though you had escaped the shadow of Tashi fucking Duncan and could finally play your best. You slowly but surely took Tashi’s career, the trophies she should’ve won, the brand deals she should’ve posed for. You weren’t ever really sure how to feel - though, you had always wanted to be her.

___

TEN YEARS LATER

Ten years pass quickly yet with excruciating slowness and you found yourself at a peak in your career, winning match after match. This particular one was no different. You were playing against Mueller - a match you knew you’d easily win due to the girl's childish anger.

Your eyes scan the crowd, seeing who had bothered to watch a match with such an obvious ending and you were shocked to see an old face in the crowd. Tashi fucking Duncan. She was sitting comfortably in a lacoste shirt - one that was presumably Art’s - with a large pair of rather reflective sunglasses but her small smile said everything.

It was the nod she sent you that sent a shiver through you. She wanted you to win, told you to win all with just a nod. It was like she wrapped her arms around you and whispered it - you stood in place for a moment, pausing for longer than usual before your serve. The breath you let out was shaky but determined. She told you to win. And so of course you did.

You were the one to approach her after, thanking her for coming and other similar niceties. Eventually though, these ran out and you resorted to the questions you actually wanted to ask.

“How’s Art?”

“Tired.”

Oh. You had expected a longer response at the least. Then again, you hadn't expected her to be so honest - it wasn’t something she was known for. You stood in silence for a bit, still wiping the sweat of the game from your brow when you said, “why are you here?”

Tashi paused, smiling. She had wanted you to ask. “I wanted to see you beat that racist bitch.” The reply was blunt and, yet again, honest. You laughed gently and your eyes trailed to Mueller who was red faced and whining, eyes stroppily trained on the floor.

“Are you happy I did win?”

“No. You’re where I should be. But good for you.”

You paused and almost let her walk away but found your words before it would be a moment too late and followed after - if you were watching yourself do this you would’ve kicked yourself for how pathetic you looked. “Tashi, I idolised you. You had… still have everything I want.”

Tashi’s eyebrow raise spoke for her. She wanted to know what you meant, she was giving you a chance to explain yourself without mentioning her husband.

“I just mean I look up to you, as a player, as a coach.” you replied, attempting to save yourself from the embarrassment of the words you had spoken prior. Your thumb idly massaged circles into your palm as she tilted her head to the side, analysing you.

“Y/n, you’re a good player, with a good coach. But you’re too unemotional, too kind,” Tashi replied, voice even and accurate. She was right, you were far too nice on the pitch. You had never found that anger that other players had, never experienced that rage that made a game so entertaining. Tashi was bored.

“So?”

“So be a bitch. God knows most tennis players deserve it.”

You nod, muttering regards toward art.

---

“I watched Y/n play. She was good.” Tashi said idly, sitting on their clean white sofa, brushing through the blonde hair that rested against her shoulder.

Art looked up, eyes worn but curious all the same. “Was she you?” The question was one he had asked often, though he never meant any malice toward you with it. He asked this whenever Tashi watched a tennis player, something to praise her. This time though, her response had changed, her face lifted with a soft smile.

“She could be.”

---

NEW ROCHELLE

You were through to the English open, of course you were, but your coach still thought it a smart idea to get you to play the New Rochelle challenger as a warm up, to get you ready. Part of you felt like you were just there as an advert, as if you had been invited to play for the sake of selling tickets - you weren’t sure how much you minded this idea.

Something unexpected, however, was Art Donaldson and Tashi Donaldson sitting in the stands, watching you play against the poor tennis player who wasn’t handling her current loss well.

Tashi leans toward her husband. “She’s good,” she whispers. She’s testing him, seeing if he can spot what she had.

“She’s too kind.”

Your eyes linger on Art, trailing over his face. You were still horrendously attracted to him, in fact, you weren’t sure that feeling ever left. Tashi, ever vigilant, had realised this - of course she had. Her stare felt so much more grating without her sunglasses. She knew how to change your emotion, she needed you irritated, jealous so she could watch an entertaining match. Her hand gently resting on Art’s thigh seemed to do this.

You win with much more ferocity than you had been known for, something that erupts the crowd, cheers ringing through you. It felt more rewarding somehow, to win this way. You hadn’t been kind. It felt fun.

Tashi’s smile was venomous. She was right about you. Art followed you back to the changing rooms, wanting to congratulate you but instead found you pacing. You looked up to face him, face hot in embarrassment.

“You won.”

“Fuck the win. I couldn’t give less of a shit.”

His brows furrowed as he stepped closer, holding your hand in his to get you to stop pacing. You pulled away but came to a stop in front of him, angry. He stared for a moment before saying, “I thought you liked playing?”

You sigh and run a hand through your hair, shaking. “I do but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to win. I want something else and Tashi knows it but you never did.”

Art’s more confused now, standing silently as you sit down on the locker room bench, head in your hands. “What do you want?”

You scoff and look up, fury dissipating into disappointment toward both him and yourself. “The fact that you still don’t know now tells me everything.”

You let him walk out silently.

---

Art’s game was much more interesting. It was like watching a dance, the way he and Patrick moved was something you had never seen before. Patrick, as per usual, was cocky and irritating - something you had oddly found endearing when you were younger - but it was Art that had you fixed. He was furious, eyes sharp with tears and knuckles white. There was something that only the three of them knew that created this anger, creating such a captivating match.

The only thing, in your opinion, that beat the high emotion of the match was seeing Art after it, face red and shirt slick with sweat. The thing that held your attention, however, was the slight tan line around his finger. He had taken off his wedding ring.

---

A FEW MONTHS LATER - WIMBLEDON

Art was ready to retire and had been for a while, but you were still going, having found a more passionate love for tennis than you had had before. You were warming up before your final match, only an hour or so before playing the finals at the English open when there was a soft knock on the door of your dressing room.

You opened the door to see Art standing there, eyes soft and observant. You let him in, eyes still stuck to his ringless finger. He traced over your features, seemingly committing parts to memory. “You’ll win today,” He said after a while, words as gentle as the smile on his face.

“Maybe. But am I Tashi?”

“You’re better.”

You both laugh quietly, nothing but a few short breaths, then stare at each other. Though it seemed as though that didn’t last long. Art crossed the small distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. He tasted sweet, like strawberries and cream - no doubt from one of the many Wimbledon food trucks that sold them. You leaned into him, hand finding a place on his thin waist. His own calloused hands rested against your hips, his lips moving gently against yours. Eventually, you both pulled apart, foreheads rested against one anothers. Art smiled.

“I know you’ll win. But just for luck.”

He placed a final kiss against the corner of your smile and headed toward the door, sending a final glance in your direction. You knew you were going to win too, though it felt like - in a way - you already had.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #angst #art donaldson #art donaldson oneshot #art donaldson x reader #challengers oneshot #challengers 2024 #art challengers #challengers

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starscabaret · 7 months ago

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College Student Athlete Yandere! Elizabeth Gets Jealous ✧.*

pairing : yandere! elizabeth x fem reader

summary : Lizzie fucks reader in a jealous possessive rage after she catches her flirting with the other team after a tough loss

authors note : this is lesbian elizabeth is a girllll

warnings: nsfw, established relationship, Crying, rough, dramatic, dub-con, strap-on, smacking…just whew

You stood around defeated on the court as the other team and fans cheered and celebrated around you. You joined Lizzie at an away game. Her team should have won, they were predicted to win. But the game turned sour when the referees seemed to favor the opponent. Lizzie’s team had lost. You were upset but even more upset for Lizzie as you knew what the game meant to her. The game had just ended, and she joined her team in the locker room with no time to talk to you. You were waiting for her to come out of the locker room so you two could return to the hotel room and relax for the evening. You stand around with a group of friends and family of Lizzie’s teammates when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Uh hey! You’re Elizabeth Moore’s girlfriend right?” a player from the other team smiles down at you.

“Yeah, I am…” you state a bit puzzled.

“We saw you on her Instagram and were wondering if we could get a picture with you! You two are the cutest couple!” She asks enthusiastically. It’s only now you notice the rest of the other team standing behind her.

“Aww, that’s so sweet yeah sure!” you reply, you’re a bit shocked people know of you and Lizzie. But you can’t say no to all these nice girls.

The girl that approached you hands her phone off to someone nearby while you and the girls start to move around for a picture.

“You two in the middle!” someone shouts.

You stand in the middle surrounded by these giant women a bit intimidated but flattered as they gush over your relationship.

Due to the severe height difference the girl beside you, the one that approached you, leans into you resting her elbow on the top of your head you all laugh because it makes for a funny shot.

The person with the phone is snapping multiple photos. You get distracted enjoying the girl’s humor and posing for the photographs, so you miss Lizzie exiting the locker room and coming onto the court to look for you.

That is until you see her standing behind the cameraman looming over them.

“y/n come here please we are leaving.” Lizzie glares at you, with her jaw clenched gripping her duffle bag tightly on one hand.

“Sorry Moore, just had to borrow her for a second!” The girl beside you says causing all of her teammates to laugh.

“Of course, Lizzie, let’s get back so you can rest.” You say scurrying over towards her, eager to make her feel better about the tough loss.

Oddly Lizzie doesn’t even reply, she just heads for the exit.

“Bye ladies, nice meeting you all!” You shout running out of the gym after Lizzie.

At the hotel, you are lying in bed in your pajamas as Lizzie takes a long shower. This was typical of her after any game, so you have no worries. That is until she comes out. Long blonde hair slightly wet, completely naked except for her favorite strap-on.

“Oh hi, babe.” You whisper just assuming she was feeling frisky as usual.

“Don’t hi babe me y/n. You know how I get about you.” She replies with a glare.

“Huh? What’s wrong? did I do something?” You question.

Without replying she makes her way to the edge of the bed grabbing your ankles once her shins hit the bed. She pulls you to the edge of the bed throwing your legs open revealing the panties you wear under your t-shirt. She moves her large hand down between your thighs gripping your whole mound.

“This is mine. You are mine.” She says while looking you in the eye, and moving her hand so her thumb is pressed against your clothed opening.

“Yes, I know.” you gulp nervous as to what is bothering her but also too aroused to ask again.

“You weren’t acting like it today. Why the fuck were you taking pictures with them? I saw her arm on you. I saw you giggling and smiling at their lame-ass jokes.” She glares at you while pressing her large thumb even deeper into your opening, creating a damp spot right where she pressed.

“Uh I, they just asked for a picture, Liz. “You breathe out.

You feel her hand pull away from your pussy. you almost whine immediately for her touch to return. But you don’t have to before you can blink, she lays a stinging slap to your pussy over your panties.

“You think I care about that?” She huffs grabbing your jaw to look at her.

Before you can even answer her question her hands are at your hips pulling your panties down.

“I don’t, all I care about is this right here. You. You know that. They only did that to piss me off you know. Losing the game, we should have won and then putting their hands on you, my love? Oh, that was the cherry on top. Next time we will win. I promise you that. But for now, you need to learn something.”

She rants while still looking you in the eye while sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What is it, Liz?” You ask fully obedient and ready to calm her any way you could.

“You’re mine, no one else’s. Ever. I don’t want those girls or anyone touching you like that ever again. Or I swear to God y/n I will hurt them. Now sit. Obviously you didn’t believe it before, so ill fuck it into your brain.” She speaks against your lips grabbing your hips to lift you over her. placing your thighs outside of hers with her cock between your legs.

Already so obedient and eager for her cock you reply, “Yes mommy.”

You have no trouble sliding yourself to the base of her length. Her possessive nature had softened and moistened your warm cunt. Even though you hate to admit it.

Once your clit meets her strap, she grabs your hips using her strong hips and arms to bounce you on her strap. After just a few bounces you feel as if she is going to split you in half. You moan aloud almost drooling at her pace.

“Yeah, look at you, you’re getting it now good girl.” She coos as she continues pounding and massaging the walls of your pussy.

But it’s not enough for her. She has to continue drilling it into your head. You are hers, and no one else’s. Her frustration from losing the game combined with her intense emotions at watching you interact with the opponent drove her insane.

She moves her hands from the tight grip she has on your hips, which she is using like handles to fuck you like a toy. Her arms make their way around your torso pulling you flush against her with her face breast into your breast. She continues her pounding by thrusting her strong hips into you. Rutting and moving the strap into your hole like she was opening you for the first time again.

“Mine, OK? You promise?” She asks into your chest fervently moving her mouth around to suck bite and nuzzle her face into your boobs.

“Yes, Mommy I promise.” You throw your head back shouting willing to say whatever you needed to for her to keep fucking you on her cock. Also to appease the dark urges you knew she had at seeing you with others.

Lizzie still in a possessive jealous frenzy kept fucking you causing you to scream and moan out. Your clit hitting the base of her cock, your hole full of her, it all became too much. You were going to cum soon.

Too cock drunk to notice earlier you feel tears against your chest as Elizabeth’s face is pressed against it. Still full of her strap you look down at her and she’s crying.

“Liz what’s wrong honey?” You ask lifting her face to look at you.

But she doesn’t stop fucking you. She speeds up her pace widening and opening your little cunt even more.

“Please y/n, don’t leave me. I love you. I’ll take care of you. I’m all you need ever.” She chants as she continues lifting you up and down her strap like a toy. The desperation and tears in her eyes make you even wetter as she fucks her devotion into you.

“I won’t Liz, I won’t ever.” You respond as tears well up in your own eyes from her emotions and the aching stretch of her cock inside you.

She notices your orgasm building up. To make sure her message was heard she flips you onto your back shoving her cock deeper into you as she leans over you.

“I know princess, I know.” She chants whilst grabbing your jaw and fucking you to an orgasm. Your arms wrap around her holding her close, calming the shock waves running throughout your whole body.

She doesn’t stop after your orgasm; she continues slowly rutting into you with her sore body. Giving all that she has even after exhausting her body during the game.

Once she becomes too tired to thrust into you anymore, and you are thoroughly fucked, and the bed is covered in your juices she doesn’t pull out. She keeps her strap in you and lays all her weight on you heavy breathing and kissing into your neck.

You are too cock drunk to try to clean yourself. You rest and let her lay on top of you controlling and owning your body, in the way that she pleases.

Both exhausted from the day’s events you too fall asleep with her strap still stretching her pretty pussy.

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itstimetojellyfish · 5 months ago

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Hi Jellyfish,

I just wanted to say I really liked the Argenti reader angst fic and I had brainworms because of it the entire day at work. I got an idea of how it follows up.

It goes like this: Boothill is not feeling well about the situation because Argenti played with readers feelings and betrayed them and he one hates betrayal ab two is scared that Argenti could grow tired of him aswell.

So he brings Argenti to go to reader to apologize.

When Argenti go's into their home he finds everything in disarray and the place covered in thorns, rose petals and ginko leaves and in the middle of all, reader who ia losing themselve to the mara (The rose petals are from the transformation aswell)

Yeah... that's as far as I got in my mind and I have been microwaving the idea in my head the entire day so I thought I'd share :>

Anyway do with that whatever you want and enjoy your day/night

Ahem . I LOVE THE GODDAMN PLOT YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND.

Roses and bullets with a bit of Ginko( Argenti x reader x Boothill)

Link to the first part : I’ll wait for you

It’s been well over a month since the incident with you , Boothill , and Argenti happened. However it’s not exactly an easy argument to forget and move on from .

Something was bothering him ever since he saw your face , all pretty , and yet crying fat droplets of pure anguish and pain because of what Argenti said .

He’s never like betrayal from day one , the IPC betrayed their title , so called “peace makers” when all they’ve done was destroy planets including his own .

Something in him worms around whenever he remembers what happened , and it doesn’t exactly sit right with him how watery those pretty shinning eyes of yours were .

( it makes his stomach crawl even though he doesn’t exactly have a real one)

It bothers him how Argenti didn’t even look guilty, only disappointed, when the water slipped from your tear ducts . You fell to your knees and curled in as Argenti guided him out , he could’ve swore your eyes started to glow a warm amber .

It was like a dam broke in you , when he walked out he cast one last look at you and even though he couldn’t cry , it felt like he would’ve right then and there when he saw you sobbing your heart out and clutching your chest.

After that , it was just… like before , Argenti courting him and bringing him to places that Boothill likes .

But…

He’s … scared…

Scared that Argenti will get bored of him or is playing with his feelings and will eventually leave him heartbroken and empty just like how you felt .

So …

Boothill does what he’s best at , confronting people and making them pay .

But , since this is his lover , the worst that he’ll do is just make him apologize to you for playing with your feelings .

He could’ve just rejected you so you could heal faster but no! He accepted the offer and now Boothill feels like crap for making the knight fall in love with him!

So now he forces Argenti to your house and then knocks on the door with one hand while the other has a firm grip on the knights arm so he won’t run away.

Argenti just sighs and looks away into the flower field , consisting of red roses and white roses that you planted for him, they’re usually well maintained .

However , he notices that the roses haven’t been pruned and plucked yet , did you really resent him that much?

It’s been a minute now , no one has responded.

So Boothill does what he does best , break into building by using his gun or brute force , he kicked the door down and then said “ Hey lady! I brought rosey here to apologize.”

He then realized what bad shape the house was in , rose petals all over the place , vases shattered, bright yellow ginko leaves everywhere.

Argenti entered ,” Y/N I’m sorry but-“ He stared at what had become of your home .

Next thing you know your bedroom door is forced open as Boothill and Argenti look in terror as they see what has become of you .

“The Mara-struck…”Boothill makes a poor attempt at cursing before giving up and starting to raise his gun but before he can , Argenti stops him.

Your arms are covered in black , cracked open with roses and ginko leaves , a feature of the love you lost , you now suffer.

You can’t be saved anymore , the one you loved betrayed you .

They saw you squirm in pain and then….

Silence . You’re dead now .

Argenti and Boothill ran over to your position and saw , you died in between the process.

You’re gone forever.

And it’s all because of them

#Argenti x reader #Angst no comfort #Argenti is an airhead #Boothil is guilty #angst #no comfort #Boothil x reader

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softsoundingsea · 5 months ago

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Ryukyu Clothing (Ryusou/Uchinaasugai - "Kimono")

PSA: I am not a professional dresser or historian and finding this information is more of a cultural hobby. Please correct me if you see any discrepancies.

From a Ryukyuan-language standpoint, I don't think it's appropriate for Ryukyuan clothing to be called "Kimono" because it isn't Japanese. The general term meant to talk about Okinawan clothing in the Ryukyuan Kingdom context is 琉装 (Ryusou in Japanese/Uchinaasugai ウチナースガイ in Uchinaaguchi). I'm calling it "Kimono" here because it's the most easily understandable. Additionally, this post will not include textiles from the Amami or Ishigaki region and focuses on Uchinaa.

Most Ryukyuan clothing is made for the weather of the region, which can be more humid and hot than Japan. Sadly, if there was record of Ryukyuan clothing before the Kingdom era, it's lost to history. Being a region of trade, a lot of clothing takes inspiration from the many cultures and countries the Ryukyus were in contact with (Southeast Asia, East Asia). Textiles that included Bingata, Kasuri, Silk, or Patterns were for those of upper classes.

I think the most well known style of Ryusou is the one that incorporates a Bingata robe over ウシンチー (Ushinchii). The robes were made of silk and was usually worn by the upperclass citizens in the Ryukyu Kingdom. They tend to have larger sleeves for air. It also tends to fit "loose" since it's very easy to sweat in the region. For men and women formal attire consists of a two-piece outer garment worn over an underwear garment.

ウシンチー　Ushinchi

Below is an example of me being dressed in a ウシンチー (Ushinchii) style, which as you can see in this situation the ウシン (Ushin) sash is small. Doesn't always incorporate Kasuri, sometimes it's a solid color. Sometimes it will incorporate other Ryukyuan style clothing.

This is a more formal style of dress but this is an example of one look when they are paired together.

ドゥジン & カカン Duujin and Kakan

There are other clothes for women like one worn by court ladies that are "two pieces" likeドゥジン (Upper piece) and カカン (skirt). They can also have a Bingata robe worn over it. I believe the Kakan is inspired by the Hanfu and Mamianqun.

(Source)

ハチマキ Hachimaki

For formal wear for men in upper classes, the clothes tend to be more simple. They wear a ハチマキ (Hachimaki) which is a hat meant to denote your rank. Men also would tend to wear thicker sashes or obi than women.

(Source)

芭蕉布 Bashofu

For common people, I don't know what the name for the attire would be but it was made of Bashofu (banana fibre). Now the textile is quite rare and sought after but before the war, it was commonplace to wear and typically worn much shorter than a Japanese kimono (around the shins). It was a relatively breathable fabric and the sleeves are more like open sleeves than what a kimono is like.

(Source)

There are more names, terms, and history that I need to learn but thank you for reading this.

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deusvervewrites · 21 days ago

Note

White court: so who are some notable members of the court. Nemoto,ippan,and nezu are already mentioned. Hojo , tabe,and setsuno could be possible members. Potentially toga or twice. For sure spinner and maybe shoji

The White Court's whole thing is covert operations, so most of their members are in some way undercover. This ranges from members like Nemoto infiltrating the Eight Precepts yakuza to several Pro Heroes.

The members I've decided on are:

Inko and Izuku, of course

Nedzu

Ippan Josei

Nemoto Shin

Iguchi Shuichi

Hagakure

Kuroiro

Hado

Mt. Lady

Mandalay

Uwabami

Bubble Girl

O' Clock (Never lost his Quirk because AFO died)

They would also have members inside of the police force and various political institutions. However, we see very few named characters meeting those descriptions, so I did not include them in the list. Furthermore, the MLA has been around and recruiting long enough that they would have agents there as well.

In addition to their active members, they also have a few associates.

Eri (Rescued by Nemoto)

Himiko (Rescued by the Court but not currently an active member)

La Brava and Gentle Criminal (Anonymously tipping them off to targets they want hit)

#asks #white court au

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feederheart · 4 months ago

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CW: extreme humiliation, bdsm, and weight gain.

Death of Dignity: PART 2

From then on, whenever I would escort The Queen around the palace, she would be as jovial as ever as if the collar on her neck was the finest piece of jewelry mankind had ever seen. It was as if she thought that the stares she got were from those envious of her beauty and the collar’s enormous worth. I would sometimes give the leash a tug if she looked too happy but it didn’t seem to bother her; she rather enjoyed it. Sometimes when I had her chained at the bottom of my throne, she would grind against my shin in front of the entire court. She even began wearing a much shorter sarong that barely covered her at all, only her vagina and about a small part of her massive ass. And the cherry on top was that she was ballooning at an incredible rate.

Soon enough she began to develop love handles and rolls on her sides. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, meaning the servants had to lotion them every day. Her belly began to hang over her waist and develop stretch marks. Her breasts grew larger, reaching further down her massive gut; she was always topless so everyone could get a view. Everything from her face to her feet began to pile on the fat. Her ass was getting huge as well, taking up more space than the two servants feeding her put together. Her meals became larger and larger over time, causing her to pack on even more pounds. Soon enough she was eating enough for a family of ten with ease.

One day, a little over a year after the coup, I was sitting on my throne with The Queen at my feet eating from a large bowl of fruit when a loyalist woman evaded the guards and threw herself before The Queen begging her to stop eating and take back what was rightfully hers.

“Are you kidding?” she dismissed coldly. “Why would I ever do that?”

“M-m-my Quee-”

“As The Queen, I have all of the food I can eat and I don’t have to lift a finger ever again,” she answered. “So why should I care about my weight? Why shouldn’t I eat whatever I want?”

“Y-your lineage!” she pleaded. “You are supposed to rule over us and lead us to a golden future! Your bloodline was chosen by the gods!”

“Sorry, but, the gods are fake,” she scoffed rudely with the ice-cold cruelty of a father snapping at an unwanted child. “The pantheon of the true gods is the official pantheon of The Kingdom. Anyone caught worshiping the false gods will have their harvest confiscated by me to eat.”

Nobody could believe their ears, especially not me; I would have never thought that those words would come out of her mouth. I was speechless, shocked, and slightly turned on for some reason.

As the poor woman, also stunned in disbelief was dragged away, the rest of the court murmured to themselves as if they needed each other's advice on how to process The Queen's words. It was clear that those who leaned loyalist were disgusted by her and had lost what little bit of hope they had for the old regime. My brethren amongst the court officials could hardly contain their laughter. Regardless of who supported what, the respect for The Queen was now dwindling to zero. In my stupor, I thought I saw her hips rocking as if she was getting off to this.

That ridiculous idea was enough to snap me out of it.

“SHUT UP!” I snapped. “ALL OF YOU, QUIET. THROW HER OUT OF MY SIGHT.”

The guards escorted the lady out and silence was restored.

After that incident, the loyalist spirit had been extinguished as rumors of what had become of The Queen spread. I made a point of walking her around the city on her leash, sometimes on all fours. I’d let people watch as I made her beg for more food in front of them and let her gorge like a pig. Dinners with foreign powers would always start awkwardly as The Queen greedily gorged herself at the dinner table as soon as the food was put in front of us; I even had to yank the collar a few times because I thought she risked choking if she didn’t slow down. I would always swoop in and save the meetings, reminding them that I hold the reigns, not her, and that she was just a fat lazy pig disinterested in ruling. She continued to eat and humiliate herself while maintaining her toplofty persona of a queen, seemingly oblivious to how sloppy she looked.

Most importantly, she enacted every reform I wanted and signed every decree I wrote for her. That was until one day, she decreed that we would be getting married and I would rise to the throne. I was so infuriated that I dragged her leash before she could get on her feet all of the way into my bedroom.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I demanded.

“Aside from sealing the deal and making you the father of a new dynasty?” she replied sarcastically; she seemed completely unfazed by the dragging.

“You don’t decree anything unless I tell you,” I snarled. “Everyone already knows I hold the chains.”

“Well I had to do something,” she said in defence of herself. “My time as this kingdom’s ruler, even if it was in name only, is over. I’m too tired of even the formalities.”

“You don’t get to be tired, you don’t have any free will,” I reminded her pointing my finger in her face. “You’re my puppet and I need you to dance for the loyalists.”

“Do you think they still want me on the throne?” she asked me incredulously; she stood up and began to step toward me, once again swaying her wide hips and massive ass seductively. “To them, I’m nothing more than a fat, hedonistic, pig whore content to be reduced to a pet as long as she gets to eat. My belly hangs when I walk, my legs now jiggle with every step, I’m getting winded from walking across more than one room, none of the clothing will fit me, you’ve refused to get me any that fit, and all of it is constantly on display for the entire kingdom to see. And I’m LOVING every second of it.”

“What?” I responded, baffled by her claim of loving my humiliation. “Love it?”

“Yes,” she crooned as she stood face-to-face with me. “And I think you love it too.”

I couldn’t tell if it was anger or simply blushing, but my face suddenly grew hot. As she stepped even closer and tried to grab my crotch, I stepped away, unwilling to fall for the ploy.

“You love this?” I asked dishonestly. “How about I double your meals again? I bet you would love that too.”

“How about you triple it and feed it to me yourself?” she cajoled seductively, licking her lips and rubbing her belly with both hands.

For a moment, I found myself choking on my words; I was speechless. I opted to stay silent, leave the room, and lock her inside. I hurriedly made my way to the kitchens to give her what she wanted since she “loved” it so much. Could this nonchalance, laziness, greed, and general lack of care about anything be genuine? Is she just slowly turning into a caricature of the fat, greedy pigs that we took this kingdom from?

I demanded the chefs prepare triple the food this time. Meats, bread, butter, fish, cream, ale, vegetables, fruit pies, cakes, and an entire bottle of the appetite enhancement potion brewed by the palace alchemist made their way into the lounge. I waited patiently for them to finish and I grabbed the food and brought it to The Queen.

“You have until sunrise before you get thrown in the dungeon if you don’t eat all of it,” I threatened.

“Oh no,” she said, unimpressed by my threat. “Maybe you should chain me up too and make the loyalists watch me stuff myself like the fat greedy hog I am.”

I opened my mouth to say something, however, she ignored me and began tearing into her meal like a starving dog, hardly chewing at all. She would stuff her fat face hand over hand finishing plate after plate. She would wash everything down with cream and butter before rubbing and patting her taut tummy.

“You really are a fat greedy hog, aren't you?” I asked her, impressed by her commitment.

She beamed at me and opened her mouth to answer, but I didn't let her. I grabbed her leash and yanked her off her seat and onto the floor. I then dropped one of the pies onto the ground in front of her face.

“If you’re a hog, then eat like one,” I demanded.

“Your wish is my command,” she said and she got to work, eating the pie while leashed on her hands and knees.

I watched with shock and awe as she went at it, gobbling every last bite and making a colossal mess on her face in the process. Bright red fruit preserves covered her cheeks and nose; it didn’t seem to bother the greedy hog, she didn’t seem to notice what a mess she was making at all.

The hours progressed and The Queen ate more and more, on pace to eat every last bite with time to spare. She gorged away, gulping down ale, tearing apart the meat, swallowing all of the calorie-rich grain, and licking the frosting off of the serving trays before finally moving on to the next thing.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I had never seen anyone completely give themselves to hedonism like this. She genuinely did not have a single ounce of shame. It was mesmerizing and somewhat arousing too; perhaps it is arousing because I used to hate her so much and now I can see that she had been reduced to a fat and lazy hog sitting at my feet.

Speaking of arousing, she seemed to be getting off to her own humiliation. I could see the inside of her soft, juicy thighs darkened by excess rubbing and she was dripping wet. After seeing that, there was no going back. If there were any argument in my brain between my libido and my seething hatred for her and her family, it didn’t last long. I needed to fuck this fat hog and make her my whore.

“Get up,” I snapped. “Stop eating and get up.”

“But I’m not finished,” she whined.

“I SAID GET UP!” I shouted and I yanked her leash upward until she was standing.

I dragged her to the palace lounge with the balcony that provided an amazing view of the entire capital. I grabbed her and pushed her against the railing as I removed my tunic and trousers.

“Oh god yes,” she gasped as she realized what was coming. “Do you think they can all see me about to get railed?”

“You’re a fucking whore,” I whispered in her ear playfully.

“I’m your whore, My King,” she moaned as I slipped inside her.

Hearing “My King” drove me wild and I laid into her, pounding her massive ass with such a ruckus that I could see people down below looking around in search of the noise. The Queen released a deep and echoing moan loud enough to draw their eyes up to where we were. Some pointed, others watched with their jaws dropped, and some were offended by what they saw and walked a little faster.

“OOOH CHOKE ME WITH THE LEASH!” she moaned loud enough for everyone to hear.

I happily obliged, sliding in and out of her sopping wet pussy and sending waves of jiggling fat moving across her body with each thrust. My eyes wandered upward and my focus slipped into admiring The Kingdom’s distant horizon; everything from here to there was being rebuilt into something far superior to The Kingdom of yesteryear. The fat, sloppy whore I was currently fucking was a part of that kingdom and I am standing in the palace that her father used to rule; if only he could see what’s become of The Kingdom and what his daughter has turned into. I’ve never felt more victorious than in this moment, nor have I ever been as rock hard; it felt like the skin on my dick was stretching beyond its limits.

“I’ve waited so long for this, My King,” moaned The Queen. “Do you like your kingdom, My King? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I do like it,” I grunted as I continued to fuck her. “The Kingdom has never been more prosperous. Overthrowing their greedy pig of a queen and humiliating her was the best thing to ever happen here.”

“Oooooh, yeees, My King,” she moaned as I mocked her mercilessly. “I want you to take everything.”

“Look at how embarrassed they are down there,” I teased as I pointed at the onlookers below. “You’re not a queen, you’re a fat, flabby fucktoy and I’m going to parade you wherever I please and do whatever I want to you.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she repeated, half sobbing and half moaning.

Suddenly I felt myself grow hot with anger as I remembered how much I despised her and her family. I began to thrust and pull the leash harder, hatefucking her with all of the strength I could muster. Her moans grew louder until they became ear-piercing screams of either pain or pleasure (I did not care which). Her soft, supple skin on her ass grew bright red as I smacked her as hard as I could.

“THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR BEING A GREEDY PIG WHILE WE STARVED!” I bellowed as I continued to spank her ass.

Her screams grew louder and her pussy seemed to somehow get even wetter; I was gliding in and out of her effortlessly, pounding her jiggling flesh as if it stole from me. She kept trying to say something but I had no idea what it was, she was completely unable to form a coherent word. Her mouth hung open stupidly as I had my way with her pillowy pussy. I tugged on her leash as hard as I could, trying my hardest to cut off her airways. Her screams of pain or pleasure turned to choking and sputtering as she tried to breathe but that made me pull harder. I grabbed both of her fat hands with my available hand; her fat fingers were unable to break free of my grip for it was the same hand that held my sword in battle.

“You like that you hedonistic whore?” I snarled as I kept pounding as if I were trying to shatter her pelvis. “You like this view? This view of The Kingdom that you let slip right into my hands? If it weren’t for your stupidity, you would still be a dignified princess of a kingdom built over the bony corpses of those you rule over. Now you’re a fat greedy hog getting rammed from behind in front of your people. You sold off everything including your dignity for copious amounts of food and to become a chained-bound concubine.”

The Queen seemed to be choking in agreement, trying desperately to say “Yes, My King” despite the pressure of the leash.

I watched as more people gathered to see The Queen getting fucked violently over the palace balcony. Some still thoroughly enjoyed her making an embarrassment of herself; they showed no signs of being fatigued by her constant stream of ignominious behavior. Others just shook their heads, looked away, or even cried in second-hand embarrassment.

“You’re nothing now,” I taunted. “You were always a puppet for me to dominate and control but your loyalists were devoted. Their resolve was as solid as that of the true gods but nonetheless, you managed to convince even them that you were a stupid, fat hog who only cared for her own pleasure. You say you always wanted to help and make The Kingdom a better land but you failed until I came along. I need to do everything for you, don’t I?”

The Queen choked in agreement; I could feel her pussy tighten and leak like a burst aqueduct.

“YOU BETTER BE HAPPY NOW YOU FAT WHORE!” I shouted, now tapping into every last bit of strength I had to violently pulverize her pelvis. “I SAVED EVERYONE FROM YOU AND NOW YOU HAVE TO REPENT!”

“Take- me-” she grunted, still choking on the leash. “I’m- yours-. Please- take me-.”

I released every last bit of rage I had from every sacrifice I made to throw my life away and do what needed to be done. I ignored every metaphorical callous on my hand from my climb to power and fucked her as hard as I could. I could feel myself ready to release my load into her undeserving cunt; I didn’t want to disgrace myself by letting that happen, but for some reason, I struggled to pull myself away. Instead, I opted to stake my claim inside of The Queen. I pounded her as hard as I could as I felt my dick erupt like a volcano, filling The Queen with my seed. I thrust into her soft behind a few more times before finally stopping. After I let go, The Queen collapsed on the ground covered in sweat, cum, drool, and food from her earlier feast.

“I bet you liked every second of that,” I taunted her.

The Queen did not respond; she remained on the ground, shivering. Strangely enough, I felt as if I had orgasmed all of my hate for her inside of that pillowy pussy. I used to be able to stave off any feeling of sympathy or pity as I force-fed her by remembering the crimes of her despotic family, but now, it was as if my reserves of hatred had been emptied. I just couldn’t hate such a soft, pathetic creature, how could I be so cruel?

“My Queen?” I called out, concerned for her well-being for the first time ever.

Suddenly, she began to move again. She began to whimper in pain as she slowly got up to her hands and knees. She crawled over to my feet and without saying anything, began to lick the drops of cum on my feet that fell when I came inside of her. She then used her tongue to clean the stone floor of the balcony, seemingly desperate to find more cum to lick up.

Thus ended any ounce of animosity I had toward her. How could I hate such a weak, pathetic fat pig anyway?

After that, I dragged her back into the lounge so that I could force-feed her the rest of the food. I was ready to cram it all down her throat but for the first time ever, decided to show mercy.

“How about I get My Queen cleaned up and take you to my bed?” I offered her.

“I’d love that so much, My King,” she answered cheerfully.

So I helped her get bathed, I escorted her to my room, and the two of us slept together in the same bed for the first time, her soft, jiggling body wrapped around mine.

Soon enough, news of our upcoming wedding spread. The people were just finally happy to have a real monarch, having given up on her bloodline the way it was. The Queen continued to get fatter, lazier, and even more despised but eventually the decline in her approval plateaued; it eventually became common knowledge that The Queen was a useless greedy fat whore and that the entire kingdom should be grateful for the new king and everything he did for them to ensure their future.

Our wedding was a spectacular affair and celebration, but unlike other weddings that celebrate new friendships between families or the union of two lovers, this wedding celebrated the solidifying of my dominance over the royal family. The Queen did not even get to wear a dress, but rather her leash, some fine jewelry, makeup, and metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles. I forced her to be walked on all fours on a leash to the temple of the true gods to have our wedding consummated and she obliged happily.

Any idea of returning to the old family was now lost. The fear that her family’s name struck into the hearts of mankind had disappeared, never to return again. Their memory faded and my legacy grew, just as her fat, greedy body did with every feeding.

And now, here I was in the modern day; experiencing a golden age never seen before and a gorgeous, fat queen to share it with.

I pushed open the door of the lounge and made eye contact with an armored guard standing just outside.

“Go down to the kitchen and have them send up another round,” I ordered.

“As you wish, Brother,” he answered.

I closed the door and turned around, taking in the size of my gargantuan hog of a wife, slowly losing her mobility. I walked up to her and waved away the servants rubbing her down, feeling rather sadistic. I poked her real hard right in her tight, taut belly and she squealed like a pathetic pig. I poked her again and again watching her fat body struggle as she was to fat and weak to do anything about it. I then checked between her thighs and lo and behold, he was leaking like she usually does when I do that.

“You four, get out,” I demanded.

The servants immediately ran to the door and left.

I licked my lips and removed my clothes as I mounted my mountain of a wife. I reached down and pulled her massive legs apart, revealing where her pussy was buried in fat. I lifted up her gargantuan belly to get access to that fat pussy and slowly entered inside her. It was like laying atop a bed made of bread dough and sticking my dick inside. I only felt mounds of soft jiggling fat spilling everywhere as I thrust into her pathetic hole. I could hardly tell what was her thigh, her belly, her back, her arms, or anything for that matter. The Queen moaned and whimpered as I fucked her pathetic, ocean-like body that moved like tidal waves when I thrust.

Her soft, sexy body was too much for me and I found myself ready to cum inside of her again. I released my load and painted her insides white, much to her ecstatic pleasure. I stepped back and admired my corpulent cum-soaked queen who helped me get this kingdom. I remembered everything she did by throwing away her dignity, but more importantly, I remember how happy she was to do it and how much she enjoyed watching her reputation dissolve. Being a fat laughingstock not only aroused her, but it was what I needed to get The Kingdom to this point. She truly was the greatest Queen that I could ask to rule beside.

“My King, I’m hungry,” she whined.

“I know, My Queen,” I cooed, rubbing her enormous, shiny belly. “They’ll be back soon.”

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radiocreature · 6 months ago

Text

📻 The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want (Radiorose Week Day 6) 🌹

Word count: 7,738

Summary: Alastor has been in hell for eight years. His friendship with Rosie developed quickly, the two bonding much faster than they could have anticipated, and they're riding high together. After a perfect night of dancing, Alastor asks Rosie out again twice in quick succession, but something about him seems less comfortable, and Rosie is determined to figure out why.

Warnings: cannibalism, unbeta'd, this will be getting a massive edit/rewrite on AO3 after I've had some time to SLEEP.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56617597

@radioroseweek

The Freedom To Be Whatever We Want

Nothing happens in Cannibal Town without Rosie knowing. Sometimes she knows what people plan on doing before they know themselves. The honest ones will seek her out first. The less honest ones will get a visit from her if their plans may harm others. One of her most reliable sources of information arrives to her fresh on a silver platter from her favorite clients: good, old-fashioned gossip. And right now, something has the young cannibal beaus and belles all atwitter.

It starts with an influx of singles’ advice. How to tell if they like you back, how to make the first move, what does this or that very-specific behavior mean? Then, three young men in relationships with women book her on the same day to ask what to do if his partner looks at other men, how to tell if she wants to break up, the signs of cheating, all of which leaves Rosie concerned after they leave. Her nicest, most expensive dresses and suits fly off the racks with urgent requests of custom tailoring. By the time her head and hands stop spinning, the entire town feels alight in a way it hasn’t in decades.

At first, her pointed questions get her nowhere. “Oh, it’s probably nothing.” “Oh, it’s just wishful thinking.” “Oh, it’s no one in particular.” “Oh, it’s a shot in the dark.” Then, “it” gets a gender. “He’s just so handsome.” “He caught my eye so long ago.” “Everyone wants him.” She drives herself to the edge of madness trying to find answers and solutions to a problem that might not even be a problem.

And then Susan, of all people, comes in clutch. Sometimes blunt has its uses. “It’s that fellow with the stupid voice and puny antlers, they all think he’s fixing to court someone. All the ladies want it to be them, for some reason, and all their men are rolling over. If that prude could handle seeing another person naked, he wouldn’t be goin’ for no dames, I can tell ya that.”

And sometimes blunt people have no more of a clue than anyone else. If Alastor wanted a relationship, Rosie would know years before he figured it out himself. She saw him two months ago, not long before this hullabaloo started, and he made no mention of it. Alastor claims very few friends, but she knows without a doubt he considers himself closest to her. The idea of him seeking out a relationship without consulting her not only sounds out of character, but also strikes a nerve somewhere near her heart.

Whatever inspired this, the cannibettes have it all wrong. Though she must admit, imagining the look on Alastor’s face when she tells him what’s had the town all out of sorts gives her a good laugh.

With perfect timing, he calls on her soon after for a night of “sorely-needed” music and dancing. “I’m feeling rather boisterous, and it’s been a while since we upstaged an entire room of people, don’t you think? Wear something extravagant, my dear, and let me know the color so I can match you.” He never fails to charm her into saying yes, not that she ever has any objections to his plans. Their tastes align to an uncanny degree.

As a challenge, she tells him red and white: a dress he’s never seen, that she’s sat on for years, waiting for the right extravagant occasion. A multilayered and tiered evening dress with an uneven hem falling to her ankles in the back and rising to midway up her shins in the front. She dyed the fabric herself to get the perfect fade, from pure white at the neck down to a bold crimson when it reaches the skirts. It gains more jewels and beads every year in her failure to leave it alone. She twirls in the mirror a few times to watch it move, fantasizing of how it will catch the light when Alastor tosses or spins her. She chooses shorter, chunkier heels to stick the landings, a pair of black pumps with a web-like design pattern over the foot that ties at the front with a bow. Ornate, but not too distracting.

He arrives in a striking white pinstriped suit, with a red waistcoat over a white undershirt, red-tipped white shoes, a red bowtie and pocket square, and a wide-brimmed white hat with a single black stripe, his antlers acting like hat pins to keep it secured to his fluffy head. She stands in stunned silence for a moment before squealing with delight and spinning him around.

“Oh my stars, don’t you look gorgeous!” She says.

“I believe I’m meant to say that to you, my dear,” he laughs, petting her back with his free hand hand. The other digs his microphone cane into the ground to prevent them toppling over, as can happen when Rosie forgets her strength.

“You can say that about me every day. I have to wait for you to clean yourself up, first, and don’t you just clean up so nicely!” She smooths out his coat when she finishes smothering him.

He bows for her to hide the anxiety in his amused chuckle. “And you, darling, just when I think you can’t possibly be any more beautiful. I can hear the hearts breaking already.” With his microphone tucked behind his back, he offers her his arm. “May I have the honor?”

She giggles, slipping her arm through his. “I suppose you’ll do.”

As a general rule, she avoids leaving Cannibal Town for prolonged periods. The peace her people enjoy relies on her as a permanent fixture. She can leave for a few hours to attend meetings or make social calls without worrying, but will return at the first drip of uncertainty. And, not for nothing, she spent a long time carving her own niche into this corner of hell. She promised the cannibals protection, and in exchange, they dedicated themselves to her vision. While not a utopia, the residents of Cannibal Town avoid the stress and suffering of other sinners by crafting their own reality.

Alastor spent an entire year as a fixed resident, but his ambitions and wanderlust coaxed him back out into the greater city, even as the shifting culture started to displease him. Cannibal Town’s singular place in time will turn into a safe haven for him, but for now, Pentagram City still has the best jazz clubs.

Some new developments leave him feeling sour, but he took to the evolution of jazz and swing into the 40s very well. They’ll jump, jimmy, jive, shake, shimmy, and swing until their feet fall off, or until they collapse, though she can’t see him ever tiring from dancing. Given the tension in his body for the entire walk to his favorite club, he needs the release. Slaying Overlords won’t fix everything—much to his chagrin, she imagines.

The arrival of the infamous Radio Demon brings the dancers to a halt, or tripping over one another, but the band plays on. Alastor tips his hat to the bartender, who waves a hand before grabbing a bottle off the top shelf. She allows herself a smug grin, something she may allow herself many times tonight. The last (and first) time she visited this club, when he found it several years ago, they treated him like anyone else. Now, with the identity of the Radio Demon known, he gets treated different everywhere, but the composure of the barkeep and the band suggest they see him as a VIP rather than a threat. The VIP treatment suits her well, too.

They start with drinks to assess the crowd, the bar patrons putting space between them. It thinned down a little when they entered. The standees all watch them, and the dancers keep eyes on them when facing in their direction. She wants to think it’s because they out-dressed everyone here—no one else even tried—but she can’t ignore the Overlord effect. Especially when Alastor’s antlers grow more points.

They finish their drinks after sizing up the place. Dismissing his microphone staff, Alastor bends at the waist and holds out his hand in invitation. She takes it, and lets him lead the way to the dance floor. The other dancers give them a wide berth. The band changes songs on a dime, starting them off with a classic Charleston number. With matching smiles they face each other and kick into the rhythm.

Weight falls off her with every movement. She watches Alastor shake weeks of tension out of his limbs. They never had the pleasure of knowing each other in life, but she gets a glimpse of his vitality when they dance. Bold movements of simultaneous control and abandon, colorful and vivacious and bursting at the seams with spirit. Dancing makes it easy to forget her ill fate, the pain and the sweltering heat and the personal torments and the insatiable, ravenous hunger that curses all of cannibal kind. Dancing with Alastor, though, makes her feel alive again.

For the first few songs they stick to fancy footwork and simple hops or skips. Exhausting themselves in the first thirty minutes of the night won’t do. They pace themselves as the band takes them through different styles of jazz and swing, challenging them to get creative. Building towards more demanding moves.

Years ago, the first time he tossed her, she went over his head and lost her grip on him. She expected to fall on him, or get dropped, but he caught her with ease and corrected her position to land her on her feet. After that, she trusted him with anything. She loves rolling over his back, or flipping upside down to kick her leg behind his neck. He often uses that momentum to flip her around his head instead of working against it, then spins back to his full height.

As if reading Alastor’s mind, the band transitions into a fast-paced jive with snappy drums and the type of taunting, choppy brass that precedes a wild tune. Rosie beams when she catches his pupils dilate in the dim light. They wink at each other and take their starting pose. Over years of improv, trial, and error, they perfected their own Lindy Hop routines. The slight points to his pupils tell her everything she needs to know about how he plans to lead, and her veins thrum with anticipation. He wants them to wipe the floor with everyone here. When the brass kicks to life, so do they. Pulling, pushing, circling, and twisting light on their feet with snaps of their arms and hands for balance and flair. The wind from her dress flowing with her movements sneaks a squeak of excitement past her lips before she can stop it. Their controlled chaos never threatens to bump into any of the other dancers, but the crowd clears the floor and forms a circle to watch with slacked jaws.

Alastor signals her for a lift. Well-past the point of warmups, she aligns their bodies and lets him flip her up and over his shoulder in a somersault. The crowd whoops and cheers, stress and tension giving way to fun at last. They join hands again to keep circling one another. Once they have momentum again, she signals him with a request to go low. She bends her knees and he whips her with one arm, her lead leg and free arm extending out to graze the crowd. Some scoot back to give her room, others reach out their fingers to meet hers. He leaps over her when she reaches him, spins into the movement, and scoops her back onto her feet.

They separate for a segment standing side-by-side to dance in synch. A chance to soak in the joy and wonder from the crowd cools the ache in their lungs. Rosie adds a few extra wrist movements to wave to those waiving at her. They transition to facing each other, mirroring one another’s kicks and flairs.

It takes Alastor hours to break a sweat sometimes, the fit bastard. Some strands of his hair cling to his forehead now—hers adhered to her skin after three songs. They breathe as one, steady and deep to fuel their frantic moves, their grins stretching to their maximum points. She keeps her eyes locked with his as long as she can. She loves him like this: the most candid of his smiles, the red of his irises consumed by blissed-out pupils, The Radio Demon left at the door. His right hand takes her left, his left hand pulls her in by her shoulder blade, and for a moment it looks like he means to kiss her. She hops and skips into the next steps, letting him push and pull her with the momentum from his larger frame. Their tempo increases in unison with the band, the frills of her dress almost invisible from the extra speed. The song ends soon, and she dares Alastor with her eyes for a big finish.

Delighted, he spins her by her arm above her head, and spins her, and spins her, stopping her by her hips with her back to his front. She bounces on her toes, then leaps as he lifts, kicking her legs out to clear his head when he tosses her up and over. His hands await her when she lands. One bunny hop to keep the rhythm, then she launches herself as high as she can, his arms twisting to help pull her into a somersault. When her hips meet his shoulders, he pushes out, allowing her to straighten her legs and flip straight up and down back over his head. For a few airborne seconds, their joined hands are their only point of contact.

Though she sees it upside down, the heartwarming smile he flashes vaporizes the last of her bodyweight. High on his smile, his scent, his energy, his unwavering, grounding grip on her hand that promises never to drop her, she relaxes into the motion and lets him guide her back to the floor.

She bends her knees to absorb the shock, rolls backward into his parting legs, and releases her hold on him. As he bends down, she continues rolling back, parting her legs and letting him guide them around his torso. With his arms hooked around her legs, she lifts from her core when he straightens his back, resulting in him swinging her straight out from his middle. They both release her legs so the lift lands her back on her feet, their hands joining in the air again.

She sinks to her knees again, pulling his arms with her. He goes over her shoulders this time, springing from the balls of his feet up and over. He rises to his feet out of the somersault in one fluid motion, hoisting her into his arms. She strikes a pose midair on the last beat of the song.

The crowd loses their fucking minds.

They bask in the glow of the whoops, cheers, whistles, and claps for a few seconds before looking at each other. Chests heaving, muscles aching, grins from ear to ear. Alastor’s hair got tousled during their big finale and his pupils still swallow up most of his irises. The static and crackles emanating from him get a little louder when their gazes lock. Heat rises to her cheeks.

She throws her arms around him and hugs him as tight as she can from her horizontal position. Laughing, he spins her around one more time to put her back on her feet. They join hands for a bow and curtsy, her free arm lifting her skirts while his tucks behind his back.

They head straight to the bar. Emboldened audience members follow to strike up a conversation. Someone offers to buy their first round so they can ask for pointers, questions about how much to prepare versus improvise, and improving their dancing in general. Someone else buys them a second round to keep the conversation going. It feels so good, so good, to have a normal conversation again outside of Cannibal Town. They both love the cannibals, and the Overlord treatment has its up sides, but others evading them when they go out to socialize gets frustrating.

Hours of dancing mix with top shelf booze, warming her from head to toe and liquifying her muscles on the way. Lightheaded, she leans against Alastor for support. His arm slips around her waist and pulls her closer, letting her head rest against the side of his. Her heart lurches, heat rushing to her face. From the booze. Definitely.

After a third round, Alastor and his unparalleled stamina look ready to keep dancing. He can drink himself senseless and still dance like he’s sober. With the way alcohol sloshes around in her stomach and her tendons wilt like noodles, she has to decline. Summoning his microphone, he offers her his arm, and they bid the club farewell.

With no sun down in hell, it doesn’t appear much different at night. The Pride Ring’s crimson red sky darkens some in the night hours, but the city’s bright lights keep it looking like daytime. Still, the crowd thins out at night, giving their walk a quiet start. She stays close to him to keep from swaying too much.

They walk past the movie house right as an audience leaves. Half of them light up smokes, puffing out clouds of putrid gas in their path. Alastor’s gums show through the disgusted curl in his lips. Rosie tries to make out the posters next to the ticket booth.

“Have you ever seen that Fleming fellow’s pictures?” Rosie asks.

“I haven’t,” Alastor says. “I never cared for them. I prefer the pictures in my head painted by the radio plays. If Orson Welles ends up down here Hell might finally get some culture.”

“I’m torn on whether to build a picture house in Cannibal Town. I know there’s interest, and you know I’d do anything for my clients, but where to put it, how to make it match,” she waves her hand in an et cetera gesture, “what to play. The worst of them get down here before the directors are even dead, like that Fleming fellow, and some of them are just garbage. Don’t watch Birth of A Nation.”

“Duly noted.”

“I think I saw a flyer for that one,” she nods towards the last poster on the end. “It looks like a romance. I don’t think I’ve seen a romance before, no one’s making those once they get down here. Wonder what he did.” The possibilities bring a smile to her face.

“Directed a romance?” Alastor says, earning a laugh from Rosie.

They walk in comfortable silence the rest of the way back to Cannibal Town. A low, dark saxophone tune reaches their ears when they round a corner, dancing around their heads as they approach. Alastor tosses a coin in the busker’s open case. They hold on a note to tip their hat, and the pair give courteous nods.

Rosie pulls Alastor into a tight embrace when they reach her front steps. “This was fun. I didn’t know how much I needed a night of dancing until we got there.”

His whole body turns rigid. Static and radio feedback try parting the alcohol fog in her brain. She knows Alastor’s dissonant relationship with touch, and her sober self usually waits for him to initiate or gives some indication first so as not to alarm him like he is right now, and she should let go, but his friendship makes her so goddamn happy—

��His hands rest on her shoulder blades, careful not to dig sharpening claws into her dress. Static dulls to a hum as the tension leaves his thin frame.

“It was a wonderful night, thank you for joining me,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for a better dance partner.” His hands slide down to the small of her back, then rest on her hips.

He snaps out of the embrace, tension back in full force. She blinks. With a bashful cough, he folds his hands behind his back and flashes his default charming smile.

“Have a good night, sweetheart,” he gives a slight bow before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Her mind struggles with what just happened. She regrets that last round as she heads inside to bathe, change, and try to commit the evening to memory so the alcoholic fog doesn’t make her lose anything. They must have made quite the pair on that dance floor with their coordinated colors and flawless routines. She removes her dress with care and hangs it back up in her closet after her bath.

A memory jumps to the front of her mind, of a split second where it felt like him pulling her in for a kiss. A delayed reaction to this hits her now. If he had meant to kiss her, she would have let him.

She climbs in to bed with a tipsy sort of befuddlement. He held a genuine smile the entire night and never once felt uncomfortable, until their hug goodbye, when he tore himself away from her and slipped a mask on. When his hands cupped the swell of her hips.

“Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh,” she slurs, and giggles to herself. Whether he intended to touch her there or not, either way, he spooked himself. A few more giggles bubble out from her.

“Dammit! I forgot to tell him about the cannibettes!” And then she passes out.

She rides the high of a perfect evening for several days. The next week, another young bachelorette books a session with her to ask for relationship advice. The new dating trend of seeing more than one person at once confuses and frustrates her. She wants to know how to tell the difference between someone looking for friendship and looking for a romantic partner.

“They do look similar nowadays, don’t they?” Rosie empathizes. “It comes down to intent. If you’re not interested in dating someone, but you think maybe they are, or vice versa, ask them for clarity. It might feel awkward, but it’s the easiest and most surefire way to set expectations.”

The rest of the day she spends working the floor of the Emporium. Assisting with garment fittings, helping people pick out the right snacks or raw ingredients, upselling her recipe book, and anything else her customers need. She has help on the weekends, but during the week she prefers running the store on her own to prevent downtime. Locking the door behind the last guest at the end of a long day on her feet brings immense satisfaction.

Not long after she secures the deadbolt, a swirl of black smoke slips under the door. Alastor materializes in a spiffy red and black suit. A solid burgundy coat and trousers over a black collared shirt, with a red bowtie and red-tipped black shoes. A visible sliver of the waistcoat suggests a more crimson red, with light red or pink stripes.

“Shop’s closed,” she teases, still counting the till.

“Pity,” he says, admiring his nails, “I had such grand dinner plans.”

“Should have planned better.”

He laughs, approaching the counter. “Well, since a nice home-cooked meal is out, how about this instead?” He holds out two tickets to the theater downtown, the same one they passed on their way to the jazz club last week.

She takes one of them. “You bought us tickets to the movie house?” She looks at him quizzically. “You bought us tickets to the movie house?”

“You pointed that one out on our way home last week, and tonight’s its last night. I thought you might like to go.”

“I do,” she says, “but do you? It’s a romance, dear. Your eyes twitch when you see couples holding hands near you.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “My mother listened to her romance stories on the radio all day, every day, my whole life. I’ll survive one more. They told me it’s based on a play, which gives me hope for the writing, at least.”

She beams. “You’re a peach, Alastor.”

His nose crinkles. “On second thought—”

“NOPE!” She grabs his collar so he can’t escape while she rounds the counter. “Too late! You’re coming inside for a snack while I get changed and then we’re going!” She chuckles as he stumbles along in her grip, knowing full well he could turn to smoke if he wanted out.

She fixes something quick for him to eat in the kitchen while she gets changed. She has a burgundy gown that deserves to go out for a spin. Pink chiffon on the neck and chest with black trim separating the neck piece from the body of the gown. A simple black tie at the waist adorned with a small skull accentuates her curves, matching the black stripes at the end of the skirt. The puffy red sleeves tighten into pink chiffon cuffs midway down the forearm. She pairs it with an umbrella and her favorite hat.

Alastor lifts onto the balls of his feet when she emerges from her room. “You look wonderful, dear,” he says with a soft smile, “I fear no one will be watching the picture but us.” He offers his arm.

“Always such a charmer,” she says, slipping her arm through his.

“Keep it up and I may have to marry you.”

“Oh, I’d never restrict like that. A woman of your integrity should never be chained down by a man.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she teases, “you’re just afraid of ending up like my first husband.”

“Your first three husbands, if I recall.”

They poke fun at one another and gossip their way down to the theater. They arrive early enough to wait in line for concessions, ordering a popcorn to share, two beverages, and some candy for Rosie. He lets Rosie choose their seats. When the lights dim and the opening title card announces Sol Lesser Presents: Our Town, he nudges her with his elbow. He reaches into his jacket to reveal a bag of fried fingers he snuck out of her kitchen to bring with them. He winks and takes one to nibble on. Giggling, she takes a few and snaps them into thirds to mix in with the popcorn.

She sneaks glances at him throughout the runtime. He puts on a good front, but his discomfort shows through at the most amorous scenes. The story takes its time setting up the romance of the main couple, from courtship to marriage. They both snack throughout, with him losing his appetite during the more amorous and poetic moments. His eye twitches at the first kiss. And every subsequent kiss.

The film lasts for an hour and a half. She enjoys staying for the trailers, but the fuzzy radio crackling emanating to her left encourages her to leave without them. Wrapping her arm around his confirms the tension in his body. His arm stays rigid at his side while they make their way to the front of the building.

Outside, he takes a deep breath, and exhales. He looks down at their arms. “Oh, pardon,” he says, relaxing his arm to free her from its death grip. They carry on walking with an appropriate hold. “I hope you enjoyed it, dear.”

“It was cute,” Rosie says. “Thank you for taking me, and for putting up with it. Even when I hear about things I rarely think to actually go out and see them. Maybe I should be getting out of Cannibal Town more frequently.”

“Not at all,” he says. “It’s where you’re comfortable and where you’re needed, no one will fault you for that. Live theater performances will always be superior to these picture shows, and Cannibal Town has some of the best theater in Hell.”

“All our props are real,” she laughs. “The film seemed harmless, though, and I overheard someone say the director’s not dead yet. I wonder what he’s doing up there that let us get it this early.”

“There’s a war on, from what I’ve gathered,” Alastor says. “I’ve acquired some fresh souls recently with the same type of shell shock I saw after the Great War.” He smirks. “Promise them never to have to fight in another war and they’ll shake your hand without even asking for a contract. It almost feels like exploitation.”

“Almost, eh?” She shoves him with her body. He shoves back.

Back at her home, she gives him a hug on the stoop again, with proper warning this time. He hugs back, still a little hesitant.

“Where are you staying right now, honey?” She asks as she pulls away, fishing out her keys to unlock the front door. “I know you move around a lot. You know if you ever need somewhere—”

“I’m set up at the radio station right now,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, “I converted part of the second floor into a living area. Since they won’t be needing so many broadcasters anymore. But I appreciate your generosity, as always.” He takes her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I can’t say I enjoyed the film as much as you did, but your company is all I ever need. Have a good night, dear Rosie.”

“Goodnight,” she says, clear and calm despite the odd emotion caught in her throat.

He dissipates into a cloud of smoke, his shadow lingering behind to wave at her before catching back up with its master.

“Huh,” she breathes. That has so many wonderful implications, and she can’t wait to analyze all of them instead of sleeping tonight. He never fails to give her much to think about.

Dearest Rosie, I hope you’ve been well. As you may have heard from my broadcasts, I’ve been quite busy. Please allow me to treat you to lunch next Saturday afternoon. I know a good spot in Pride Rock Park where we shouldn’t get disturbed by any dissenters with no taste. I know you’ll insist on making something, but don’t strain yourself, it’s my treat to you. Yours truly, Alastor

Another Overlord falls victim to Alastor’s broadcast a few days after their outing. In all honesty, she expected this one to end up as one of his special guests a lot sooner. He treats each Overlord like an episode of an anthology series, spinning a tale for them that they will help perform by way of their screams and pleading for mercy. Some stories conclude in one broadcast, others take several days to conclude. This one, he savors. He switches between the little sketch he prepared and airing out the true reasons why this one ended up on his broadcast. All the distasteful transgressions that built up over years, most of which harmed others, not Alastor himself. How this one Overlord embodied so many things he cannot stand, and will not tolerate anymore. This one’s story took over the airwaves for nine days before reaching its conclusion.

Eight years in Hell, and Alastor has rewritten so much of it. Entire power structures, dominant for centuries, gone overnight in comparison to how long they endured. Every year his power grows, and each new voice on his broadcast demonstrates it. Though they’ll never admit it out loud—to each other or themselves—the other Overlords started fearing him long ago. He took nine days to declare even the oldest and most powerful among them shouldn’t get comfortable.

Rosie uses it as background noise to make her signature “strawberry” “lemonade” and brew sweet tea (unsweetened, though it always tempts her to sweeten it and watch Alastor’s face pucker).

His letter inviting her to lunch in the park told her not to go overboard, since he intends to treat her, but she knows he’ll forget refreshments. She also wants to try out a new recipe on him, so she makes enough for two. Extra plates, napkins, and silverware sit on the counter as a reminder. The last time he treated her to a picnic, he forgot to pack the utensils.

She rushes to the door the moment she hears the knock. “Come in, come in!” She exclaims, pulling him inside by the arm holding the picnic basket. She registers another new outfit on him, a red-on-red-on-black three piece that she will pick apart later. Peaking inside shows he remembered everything this time. “Oh good, we’ll actually be able to eat.”

“It was one time, and we still ate,” he says.

“After having to run down the street and buy new utensils.”

“Which I needed anyway.”

She makes room in the basket for the beverages. “Which you wouldn’t have still needed if you lived somewhere.”

“I do live somewhere,” he goads.

She waves kitchen knife at him before dropping it in the basket. “You’re lucky you’re cute, mister.”

“Why are you bringing that.”

“I’m not,” she suppresses the urge to laugh as she takes it back out and replaces it in the knife block, “that’s just how crazy you make me.”

He balances his microphone staff with the same arm that holds the basket so he can offer her the other. “Well, crazy loves company.”

“That is not how that expression goes,” the joy with which she takes his arm contrasts with her grumpy tone.

According to the plaque, Pride Rock Park takes its name from one of the stones cast at Lilith by Adam when she left him for Lucifer, which heaven threw at them again when they banished the couple to Hell. Casting stones became a common practice for punishment against sin. The rock in the park could crush an entire house, so either humans in the Garden of Eden started life as giants, or the rock here is symbolic.

They set up their blanket under a tree. Despite the heat in Hell not coming from a sun, settling under trees in parks remains a habit for a lot of sinners. The breeze off the toxic saline lake deters others from picnicking near it, but having both grown up by the ocean, they both find the scent pleasant.

Alastor throws down the blanket, using his microphone to hold down the side against the breeze. Rosie spreads out their meal. Her mouth waters at the sight of all the treats Alastor made. Cannibals all throughout hell know Rosie’s famous cooking, and will travel from halfway around the ring to get a taste. The fact that Alastor is a better cook than her—something she has said aloud to him with no shame—stays their secret. She takes great pleasure in knowing sides to him no one else will.

They start the meal in silence, savoring every bite and enjoying one another’s company without need of conversation. She tells at least one cannibal a month that sitting in silence with another person reveals a lot about your true comfort levels. She and Alastor can sit in silence together for hours: reading together, listening to the radio, or enjoying a picnic.

And yet, he seems… off. Stiffer than last time, unsure how to position himself, and unsure what to do with his hands when not holding a fork or plate. Each time he adjusts his position, he inches closer to her, but it also adds to his tension. She relaxes her posture, opening her body language more, and leans back. Mirroring her appears to take some of the tension out, but his gaze never quite reaches her eyes.

After finishing most of their meal, they sit back and enjoy the post-feast sluggishness. Some light helpings remain that they’ll pick away at before returning home. Both of them planned their day around this, intending to spend all of it here with each other.

“I’ve never actually seen a boat at that dock before,” he says, nodding towards the lake.

“Maybe someone drowned,” she says, amused by the thought.

Alastor stands and offers his hand. She looks up at him with suspicion. “Seriously?”

“It’s been an age since I was last on the water,” he shrugs, “care to join me?”

Her eyes stay narrowed, but she smiles, and takes his hand. She takes her parasol, and he conjures his microphone back into his hand, but otherwise, they bring nothing else with them. Lifting her skirts, she steps into the boat, keeping a hold on one of his hands until she sits. Once inside, he pushes them off the dock with one leg, and rows them out towards the center. The lake stretches long enough for them to lose sight of their belongings, but anyone stupid enough to steal from a cannibal cookout deserves what it gets them.

“The cannibettes have been all atwitter the past couple months,” she says as he rows them further and further, “took me days to figure out what had them all acting up.” She considers her words. “They got it in their minds that you were looking to court someone, so they all started asking for relationship advice and buying up my best clothes. I had no idea where they got that from, until I saw you with three new suits in a row and you took me to see a movie.” Rosie puts her head in her hand and smirks. “A talkie, no less, and a romance. You barely tolerate silent films, I know that was torturous for you.”

“Silent films at least have a dream-like quality to them,” Alastor lambasts, “you don’t get distracted by whatever drivel the characters say at each other. Why are we listening to something we’re meant to watch.”

She giggles. “I’m not saying I haven’t enjoyed all of this, because I have, very much. We became friends very quickly because we have a lot in common, and we trust each other, which isn’t something I take or do lightly. I think it’s safe to say we’re close to each other.” Her smile falls a bit. “I know you well enough to know you were uncomfortable that whole day, and again today. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

His eyes pinch as he tries to maintain a charming countenance. He pulls the oars in so he can let them go, then takes a moment to crack his back and stretch out his legs. One hand wipes down his face, shifting his expression to something conflicted. A smile that doesn’t understand the effort it takes to maintain. His hands dangle off his lap.

“‘There’s someone out there for everyone,’” he breathes down at his shoes, as if quoting or reciting a rule. “My mother always told me that everyone has someone. Another person they’re meant to fall in love with and marry. Despite raising me alone and never remarrying after my father abandoned her.” Those last few words come out in a slight snarl, his lip quivering to reveal some of his upper gums. “I had several acquaintances whose parents permitted me to call on them, or others who wanted to introduce me to their daughters, or so on. I tried a few times, but I didn’t really care to get to know any of them better, and mother always said I’d know when it was the right person.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, scratching at the bases of his antlers; a stress response, not one she sees often. He keeps his gaze pointed down. “Down here there’s a higher concentration of degenerates, but it’s much the same as up there, couples courting, marrying, having sexual relations, all of that.”

“And mariticide,” Rosie says.

That gets an amused huff from him. “That one I understand. My mother wanted me to be happy, and she was certain meeting ‘the right person’ was the key to my staying happy after she was gone. She died before she got the chance to see me marry, or have the grandchildren she always wanted. And I died young.” His fingers clench and relax as he talks, trying to grasp something that keeps slipping through the cracks. “Besides my mother, you’re the first person I’ve been this close with, in life or after. It didn’t require any thinking, so it took me some time to realize how much we’ve….bonded. How I enjoy your company.”

At long last, he looks at her. “How I trust you. I thought that was the ‘knowing’ she spoke of. And she had me read all the etiquette guides when I was a boy, so I’d know what to do for what came next. How to court a lady properly and be a gentleman so we might both marry for love, not solely as an obligation.”

“It doesn’t sound like you find any of it appealing,” Rosie says, keeping her tone soft.

“I find you appealing.”

“Oh, well thank you, darling!” She teases. “Don’t you just know how to butter a woman up. Learn that in one of your etiquette guides, did you?” He stares at her while she has a laugh at his expense. She chooses her next words with care, keeping her tone fond and earnest. “Alastor, sweetie, listen to me. You’re dead. None of those silly rules matter anymore. There’s no books to follow, no laws or societal expectations or cultural norms to force you into a position you don’t want to be in. Not for you or for me. As weird as it is to say, down here, we’re free of all that.”

She meets his eyes and holds them. “So, what do you want? Right now. For yourself, or for our relationship.”

He stays silent while he thinks, his hands still trying to close around something out of reach. “I think… I like us how we are. Is that… is that alright with you?” The worry in his eyes makes her want to fling herself across the boat to hug him, but she knows touch would overwhelm him right now. “I don’t… want any of this to have impacted our friendship, or to hurt you if you were hoping for more with me.”

“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself.” Oh, how she wishes she had her Rolleiflex to capture his bewildered, affronted expression. “I’m just kidding. No, I’m not upset at all. I like us how we are, too.” She smirks. “Why mess with perfection?”

Palpable relief washes over him. He sits up straight, smooths his hair out, and takes up the oars again. “My thoughts exactly. What do you say we get off this lake? I’m curious if anyone tried stealing our stuff and, frankly, I hate boats.”

“Why the blazes did you bring us out on a boat, then?”

“Saw it in a picture, once. My old boss at the radio station used to call them the devil’s handiwork, I’m starting to believe him.” He joins her in laughing, this time.

Back at the dock, he hops out of the boat with a fresh spring in his step, and offers his hand to help her step out. They return to their blanket to find nothing stolen, which almost disappoints them. A hunt would have made for a fine afternoon.

She sits against the tree, and he sits next to her, all tension dissipated. The difference in his demeanor feels light night and day. They watch the other sinners enjoy the park, commentating while munching on their remaining snacks and giggling like school children. He summons some books from his library for them to read. And when the food coma hits him the way she expected, he starts to slump into her. Putting her book aside, she pulls his head down into her lap, scratching his scalp with her free hand while the other brings her book back into view. He tries to continue reading but dozes off in less than a minute.

The large park sits far enough away from the city that, when night begins to fall, the park will darken some. When the incandescent street lights flicker to life, she wakes him. They pack all of the containers and plates up, fold the blanket, and lock arms for the walk back to Rosie’s. The loud, bright, bustling avenues of Pentagram City give way to the quieter, oil-lit streets of Cannibal Town not a moment too soon.

She expects him to resist coming inside with her, but he follows without complaint. In the kitchen, after he helps wash and put away her beverage containers, he pulls her into a hug. It stuns her, but only for a moment, before she hugs him back twice as tight.

“Thank you, Rosie,” he whispers.

She rubs his back. “Thank you, Al, for being the best friend a girl could ask for.”

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” he mocks distaste, wrinkling his nose and standing up straight, “I don’t think I like this friends business, either.”

“Oh shut up,” she swats him with a dish towel, then flicks it at the picnic basket, “and hand me all that. You’re staying here tonight.”

“Rosie—”

“Nope. I’m not done with you. I don’t care if you’re staying at the studio, you fell asleep at the park, so you haven’t been sleeping at the studio. You sleep when you stay here, so you’re staying here tonight. Not up for debate.”

His shoulders sag in defeat, the fight leaving his body. He dries dishes while she washes, placing all of his belongings back in the basket when dry. The night clothes she keeps for him stay in the dresser in the guest room. When they retire for the night, he gives her a kiss on the cheek. His shadow stays behind to wave at her before joining him in the guest room.

“Huh,” she says again. More shadow behavior to ponder.

She takes her time with her night routine, starting with drawing a bath. As she removes her clothes and folds them on the counter, she hears the water turn on in the guest room. Smiling to herself, she slips in and soaks the day away, knowing her companion does the same.

Alastor shows little interest in connecting with the other Overlords, or many other sinners in general, but they gravitated towards each other early on, and haven’t left each other’s orbit since. Whatever the future holds for them, however their relationship develops from here, she has no expectations, but she knows one thing for sure: they’re going to have a bloody good time together.

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coreancitizen · 11 days ago

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How did Jeong Tae Eul's ID end up with Lee Gon in the first place?

Tracking the journey between worlds and across time

There was a Twitter question about which show you'd like to watch again for the first time and I, of course, responded with "The King Eternal Monarch." I just remember how much fun it was trying to figure things out. A friend even had a virtual "murder board" for who's who LOL! In a reply to my tweet, someone asked: How did Jeong Tae Eul's ID end up with Lee Gon in the first place?

TKEM has one of those loop thingies with time travel so lemme just start with episode 1, with adult Lee Gon heading to the past, to the Night of the Treason. He gets into a shootout with Lee Lim's men, kills several, and after they escape, he goes to check on his younger version. As Gon feels the boy's pulse, Baby Gon lifts his hand. They hear an alert that the Royal Guards are coming so Gon stands up. Baby Gon catches the lanyard and pulls Tae Eul's ID card out of Gon's pocket.

In a flashback in episode 2, Baby Gon, now the king, asks Head Court Lady Noh if she has the two things he had with him on the Night of the Treason: half of the flute, which he suspected was in the riding whip she held, and the ID card. Head Court Lady Noh produces both.

And so that's how Lee Gon keeps Tae Eul's ID card with him in the kingdom for the next 25 years. In episode 1, we see Lee Gon has it inside a copy of "Alice in Wonderland," with the ID card right smack on top of the illustration of the White Rabbit. Symbolism much? LOL! The book, of course, is referenced a few times by both Lee Gon and Jeong Tae Eul.

One of the more interesting details of the time travel in TKEM is that at this precise moment (Sept. 10, 2019 at 7:45 p.m.), when Lee Gon is looking at Jeong Tae Eul's ID card while sitting in his private study in the Kingdom of Corea, the card doesn't actually exist YET in the Republic of Corea.

When Lee Gon decides to follow the White Rabbit, or rather the sound of the flute, into the other world and meets Jeong Tae Eul for the first time, she has an entirely different ID, one that shows her in her police uniform with her hair down.

This ID card is still with Tae Eul in episode 4 when she leaves the library (where she'd been researching parallel words, etc.). As she approaches her car, she finds her keys with the big-ass tchotchke in the form of a lion tangled with the lanyard of her ID. As she was separating the two, she is bumped by a boy on a bicycle, sending the ID card flying out of her hands and down a grate, straight to the sewer below.

BTW, the culprit on the bike is none other flute boy (fun fact: flute/yo-yo boy is actually played by a girl, Kim Bo Min).

Jeong Tae Eul gets her photo taken for a new ID card. She has her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and wears a cream sweater. The photographer advises her to put on something with a bit more contrast so her face doesn't stand out too much in the photo. Tae Eul opts for a navy jacket. And while she is not aware of her outfit's significance, we see the image Lee Gon has been staring at for 25 years.

Later, we see Tae Eul apply for a new ID card. Hilariously, she says the old one was "lost after a fierce scuffle with a suspect." She remembers Lee Gon telling her the ID card he has was issued on Nov. 11, 2019, and so she asks the civil service worker when the new one is going to be ready. Much to her relief, she's told about a week, in late October.

BUT Fate has other plans, of course. Kang Shin Jae tosses Tae Eul her ID. The agency apologized for accidentally leaving her out. Her ID was issued that day: Nov. 11, 2019. Lee Gon was right! Tae Eul is justifiably flustered. She gets even more flustered when she gets a phone call from Lee Gon.

She rushes home and finds Lee Gon standing in her yard, like a freaking statue. This is one of my favorite TKEM scenes ever but I'm gonna rush the summary here: Tae Eul asks Gon details about her new card, which he is able to answer correctly, proving he does have a version of her ID. He invites her to his world so she can see for herself. She accepts.

In the kingdom (episode 5), Jeong Tae Eul is asked by Head Court Lady Noh to put her belongings in a box as part of a security check. Lee Gon assures her it's something everyone does including court ladies and the prime minister. Tae Eul tosses in handcuffs, her wallet, the lion tchotchke, a Kahi multibalm stick lol and, of course, her newly reissued ID. She seeks assurance that she's gonna get all the stuff back, saying she'll be penalized if she loses her ID again. Head Court Lady Noh recognizes the ID.

Fast-forward to episode 6. Japanese warships are heading to Corean waters and Lee Gon has to send Jeong Tae Eul home earlier than planned. Lady Noh retrieves the box with Tae Eul's belongings — side-eyeing palace security here as the unlocked box is stored in a dresser in her room — and realizes the ID is missing. No way to check who took it as the CCTV was cut off in that area of the palace last night starting at 8 (because of JTE's unexpected arrival). Tae Eul ends up taking back the "old" version of her ID card.

So where did the newly re-issued ID card go? It shows up tucked inside a book in the bookstore of one of Lee Lim's minions with a note identifying it as "guestroom user." We later find out that Lee Lim's contact is no other than Kang Shin Jae's Corean mom, a court lady who has Lady Noh's trust.

In episode 11, Lee Lim captures Tae Eul's Corean doppelganger, Luna, and convinces her to switch places with our heroine by showing her the ID card and Tae Eul's family. Luna, who'd never known her parents, agrees. She's taken to republic with Tae Eul's ID and picks up Tae Eul's phone at a locker in a station. Her first order of business: Apply to take all of Tae Eul's 21-day vacation. Smart, LOL.

This is around the time Lee Lim's men kidnap Jeong Tae Eul and take her to the kingdom. Lee Lim plans to exchange her for Lee Gon's half of the flute. But she foils that plan by escaping and we get the famous "Protect her! She's the future queen!" battle cry from the king.

Jeong Tae Eul eventually returns to the republic with Lee Gon in episode 13. After introducing her boyfriend to her dad, she arranges to meet Gon after work. She gifts him with a black jacket, which he thinks looks a bit familiar. Later, as he's trying it on, the doorbell for his hotel room rings and he finds Tae Eul at the door bringing beer. It doesn't take him long to realize it's Luna he's with — she's got a look of anxiety that JTE doesn't have. He pulls Tae Eul's ID from Luna's coat pocket. As he's checking it out, he notices his image in the mirror and realization dawns, he looks exactly like the man who came to Cheonjongo on the Night of the Treason and saved Baby Gon. He saved himself!

Unfortunately, Luna had spiked the beer and Lee Gon goes down, ID card still in his hand at the beginning of episode 14. As Luna tries to search for the whip that contains the flute — she's not interested in taking his life — Jo Yeong arrives (he'd gone out to get drinks). She flees, minus the ID. The captain of the Royal Guard, with Tae Eul's help, takes him to a clinic owned by a friend of the medical examiner (Chief Park's wife). When Lee Gon comes to, he could hear the flute crying, just like he did when he was a boy on the Night of the Treason. It is the signal to go back. He enters the doors once again, ID card still in his pocket, as Lee Lim enters his, enabling them both to return to the past to try to fix things.

And we're back on the Night of the Treason. Lee Gon arrives at Cheonjongo and gets into a shootout with Lee Lim's men.

#the king eternal monarch #TKEM meta #kdramas #kim go eun #lee min ho #jeong tae eul #lee gon

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supernovasilence · 9 days ago

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wrote in that Narnian accent post that the Pevensies would be using the equivalent of 1820s slang when they come back in PC, and got distracted looking up period slang. I found this article (12 Lost American Slangisms From The 1800s) and honestly I think we should bring some of these back. let's all start saying we're going to "wake snakes" (do a mischief) again

full list for your perusal:

Too high for his nut — beyond someone's reach. "That clay-bank hog wants the same pay as a Senator; he's getting too high for his nut," according to a grammar-corrected version of the Oakland, Calif., Tribune on Jan. 12, 1885.

Bottom fact — an undisputed fact. "Notwithstanding all the calculations of the political economists, the great bottom fact is that one man's honest, steady work, rightly applied, especially if aided by machinery and improved modes of conveyance and distribution, suffices to supply the actual needs of a dozen burdensome loafers," according to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle of Jan. 31, 1871.

To be Chicagoed — to be beaten soundly, as in a baseball shutout. "Political corruption ... if the clergy only keep to that topic, Lincoln will be Chicagoed!" from the Plymouth, Ind., Weekly Democrat of June 7, 1860.

See the elephant — to see all the sights of a town, especially the edgier aspects. "A young Sioux Indian from Haskell Institute ... said he was going to Chicago to hunt buffalo. He was told there was no game of that kind there, but that if he wanted to see the elephant he was on the right track," the Lawrence, Kan., Daily Journal reported on Sept. 2, 1891. Also sometimes used by members of the military to describe going to war.

How came you so — inebriated. Describing an illustration, a reporter in the Gettysburg, Pa., People's Press of May 22, 1835, wrote: "A gentleman a little 'how came you so' with his hat on the back of his head, is staggering about in the presence of Miss Fanny, who appears to be quite shocked."

Lally-cooler -- a real success. "That north show window of Shute & Haskell's is a 'lally-cooler,' " the Jan. 4, 1890, Salina, Kan., Republican noted.

Shinning around -- moving about quickly. "It is shinning around corners to avoid meeting creditors that is sapping the energies of this generation," opined the Dallas, Texas, Daily Herald on Oct. 31, 1877.

Shoddyocracy — people who get rich selling shoddy merchandise or services. "A lady of the shoddyocracy of Des Moines found, on returning from a walk, some call cards on her table," observed the Harrisburg, Pa., Telegraph of June 30, 1870.

Some pumpkins -- a big deal. "If there was any kind of trading," noted the Grant County Herald in Wisconsin on July 17, 1847, "in which Simon B. ... flattered himself he was decidedly 'some pumpkins,' it was a horse-trade."

Like Thompson's colt -- doing something unnecessarily, like jumping a fence when the rails have been removed. "Thompson's colt," a reporter in the Saint Paul, Minn., Globe of Nov. 20, 1882, wrote, "was such an infernal idiot, that he swam across the river to get a drink."

Tell a thumper -- construct a clever lie. "When anyone told a thumper more palpably outrageous than usual, it was sufficiently understood ..." Reminiscences of the Turf by William Day, 1891.

Wake snakes — get into mischief. "So I went on a regular wake snakes sort of a spree, and I went here and there turnin', twistin' and doublin' about until I didn't know where or who I was," a man testified in court as to why he was intoxicated, according to the New Orleans, La., Times Picayune of Aug. 15, 1842.

#language #slang #1800s slang #period slang #historical language #19th century #nova actually post stuff #some of these feel *exceedingly* tumblr #good omens fandom i trust you to have fun with wake snakes #also: bottom fact #no comment. but like. i know tumblr #not to brag but i'm some pumpkins #given this site's obsession with halloween #etc #(i know wake snakes isn't used as a verb in the example but language is fluid and “do a mischief” isn't proper grammar either)#the higher the queuer

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bonniebird · 2 years ago

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Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

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You watched as your mother embraced Alicent. She seemed rather happy to see her. Happier than she usually was when your father insisted on visiting Otto, she wasn’t overly fond of King’s Landing.

Otto had been a mentor to your father and a friend to your grandfather. It wasn’t unusual to be invited to King’s Landing. Your father had broken off to speak with Otto quickly and they both seemed in high spirits too.

“Does it feel like everyone is a little too happy?” Aemond muttered as he approached you from behind. You turned to face him and took a few steps back. He had a smug look on his face as if he had information that he wasn’t planning on sharing.

“You know something.” You snapped and glanced around the room again before looking back to find Aemond with a satisfied smile.

“Do I? I believe it was you, the last time your family visited us, that said I was an idiotic princeling who knew nothing of the world outside the castle and would not be able to survive without my mother… If that were true how could I know anything.” Aemond’s smile twisted deeply and you realised that he was not going to tell you what he knew unless you took back what you said.

“Well someone needed to tell you the truth. I imagine you will want to avoid embarrassment when you are let out into the world and end up at my home, being spoiled by my father. Lest one of his dear mentor's grandsons see a day of worldly adventure.” You grumbled. Aemond chuckled and leaned in closer as the doors to the room opened again.

“I may well visit your father's home if I decide to travel. But I think you’ll find that it would not be your home any longer.” He pretended to look as startled as you when you looked away from the door, having tried to see who else was joining you all for lunch, to the prince who chuckled again. “I imagine by then you shall have been shipped off to them.”

You turned and recognised a Lannister sigil. Three of the cousins. Or nephews. There were always so many of them you could never recall their names. You and Helena liked to sit alone in a corner at gatherings and make up names for them and use silly voices to make them say silly things as you whispered to each other in a hush.

“Why would I go anywhere with any of them?” You asked.

“My Lady! Did no one tell you that this is a dinner to celebrate the joining of two houses? You are to begin courting in hopes of a marriage match.” Aemond’s tone was playfully cruel as he let out a laugh and stepped away from you. He joined his siblings, who had been gathered next to Alicent, to greet the Lannisters. It left you entirely alone and you didn’t like the way the two older sons looked at you as if they were starving dogs.

You were sat between two of them during the dinner. Helena sat at one end of the table with her grandfather and your father while Alicent sat at the other with your mother and the mother of the three Lannister brothers. Aemond and Aegon sat opposite you. While Aegon seemed to get on with the boys, who made pigs of themselves as they tore into their food, Aemond was taking delight in taunting you.

“So. How many sons would you like, my Lord?” Aemond had asked. One of the men turned to you and looked you up and down. You gave him a rather incredulous look that you hoped was withering and cold.

“A lot.” He grunted out before tearing into another piece of meat.

“A lot… do you think you would be up for that dear (Y/N)?” Aemond was clearly taunting you and received a glare from Alicent. He tried to give her an innocent look as he could manage but you kicked his shin under the table which made him flinch. It felt rather satisfying.

The younger of the three stayed politely quiet and listened to your father, Otto and, as it turned out, his uncle. Apparently, their father had passed away a few years before. When lunch was finished everyone moved out to the grounds to walk around. Aemond was distracted by something Helena was saying to him. It gave you a chance to try and slip away as he had been the only one keeping a close enough eye on you to notice that you’d turned a corner ahead of everyone else.

You rushed off at your first chance only to collide with the quiet Lannister.

“My lady! I am sorry.” He gasped.

“It is no trouble. My fault really.” You said and laughed a little. An awkward quiet passed over the two of you until you hesitantly began to talk. Once he opened up he was quite enjoyable company. He was interested in the Red Keep and how it was built. You’d lived there when you were younger, your father had worked for Otto for a while. So you were able to answer a few of his questions. Things had been going well until you heard a tutting noise.

“Sneaking off together. What will people think?” Aemond. He was grinning at you, barely acknowledging the poor Lannister man who was stumbling over himself to explain that nothing untoward was happening.

“Oh! Aemond, I am grateful that you are escorting them. (Y/N)! You know better than to wander off.” Your mother scolded as the rest of the group caught up. Aemond seemed to preen under the fuss your mother made of him. You noticed that somehow Aegon had managed to sneak off and decided you’d scold him for not taking you when you next saw him. Helena gave you an encouraging smile and hurried to link arms with yours as the group started to move again.

“What do you think?” Helena asked.

“Of the lions? The younger one is fine. We like similar things. If I have no choice but these three I suppose he shall do.” You said quietly. You should have realised that no matter how quietly you whispered to Helena, Aemond was always close enough to hear.

He continued to pester and bother you, so much so that Alicent pulled him aside and furious hushed words were exchanged ending with Alicent looking at you as if she was shocked. It was clear that your parents were hoping that if you liked one of the matches you would announce that you were officially courting over dinner that evening. Though it appeared that you had no choice but to pick one, you were grateful you had a choice as it was a rare luxury in Westeros.

Aemond found you again shortly before dinner. You wanted a quiet moment to yourself. Your father had agreed that he would insist on a year or two for you and whoever you picked to get to know each other. He had given your sister the same time and it was only fair. Taking a moment to yourself in the Godswood you had sat on one of the stone benches and closed your eyes to soak up the quiet.

“Cutting it close.” He said. He hadn’t startled you as you heard him approach. It seemed to bother him a little as if he’d hoped to make you jump.

“Cutting what close?” You asked.

“The rejection. Normally by now you have whipped everyone into a frenzy, and upset my Grandfather who has taken it upon himself to help his dear friend’s daughter find a good match. They are all hopeful it will stick this time. All talking about how much you must like this one.” Aemond’s tone was different. Taunting but with a touch of spite to it. As if he was trying to figure out what you had planned.

“Why do you think I would reject him?” You asked, standing as you felt irritation bubble up. He always knew exactly where to hit to get you snapping back and forth with him. Even when you were young.

“You always do. You’re waiting for a better offer.” He said confidently enough to make you grit your teeth.

“Oh! Is that what I do?” You huffed out. He smiled and nodded.

“I know it is. Because you want my father to make a better offer. The one he’s saving.” Aemond circled you and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Helena and Aegon watching.

“What is that? To marry poor Helena and your pig of a brother like the old Targaryen’s used to?” You snapped. He chuckled and glanced down before looking up at you again.

“No. You're waiting for him to offer me up.” Aemond was so sure of himself that you would never be able to convince him that this was the very first time you’d even considered him. A long silence passed between you and Aemond as you stared each other down. He grinned while you boiled furiously.

“Did she just call me a pig?” Aegon said quietly.

“Hush! They’re going to fight again and it never ends well for Aemond. It upsets mother so…” Helena hissed back at him.

“You?” Was all you managed to get you. “You think I would want you?” For a moment you were pleased with how the word hung in the air. How you’d managed to have it dripping with resentment, disgust and fury. The arrogance he had to think that you would want him. He had always been so… so… mean. Tormenting you the way that Luke and Jace had done when they were staying at the Keep years ago but Aemond had never grown out of it. Taking the books the Maester said you could read under his watch just as you were finishing them, words met to jab and prod constantly, spooking your horse with his giant beast just so he could catch you and have Sir Cole scold you for not being careful enough.

“They’re just staring at each other.” Aegon said in the same hushed tone.

“(Y/N)? Perhaps we should go inside?” Helena asked as you glared at Aemond.

“Yes. Let us go.” You snapped and let her take your hand. She hurried you through the corridors and into the hall where everyone was gathering.

“Ah! There they are!” Alicent said as she greeted you both. She leaned in closely and muttered to you. “You know if you insist on a Lannister, there are others more… tasteful that wish for the favour of the queen. Your mother is not happy with the pushing from those two.” She looked over to your fathers in the corner and you smiled.

“Thank you, your grace. I shall keep your offer of rescuing in mind.” You muttered. Alicent nodded and smiled, squeezing Helena’s arm before moving on to greet her boys who came in behind the two of you. Aemond muttered something to her and you saw out of the corner of your eye that they both looked over at you.

“You know he really does like you.” Helena said quietly.

“He has a funny way of showing it.” You muttered back as the two of you sat in a corner together.

“You have both been at each other for so many years. I do not think he knows how to do anything else. You know the flowers in your rooms, your favourites, he had them put in when the wrong ones were added. And your favourite fruits on your balcony, he took out all the ones you do not like!” She smiled hopefully as if she were talking him up to you.

“So he knows my favourite fruits and flowers. That is all. What else is there?” You said as you began to get irritated by all the talk about Aemond and she sighed.

“Your favourite books, the path you like to take when you go riding, the one off the beaten path, he rode out there himself to make sure it was clear for you because you do not slow down and get whipped with the spring branches. He knows which of the Targaryen ships you like and had it prepared for you because he knows how you like to go out on it all day if it is warm. He went to find the bard that you like and when he found out he had died in a bar brawl he found two of the bard’s apprentices and made them perform until he was certain he knew which one you would prefer! If you ask for a bard, that’s who will come for you. Aemond will not let him perform for anyone else.” Helena paused and watched you carefully.

“The bard passed? I did so enjoy his music.” You said and were surprised when Helena stood abruptly.

“Oh! (Y/N)! Ever stubborn!” Helena’s outburst was louder than she had meant it to be and drew the attention of everyone who had gathered in the room as you talked. She stalked over to her siblings and crossed her arms. For a moment you felt quite alone. A feeling that was smothered when you met Aemond’s gaze and pride spurred you on to join the group.

“Are we ready?” Your father asked everyone.

“Yes, father.” You answered. Helena groaned and Alicent, along with your mother looked quite surprised as if they had expected you to say no as you usually did. Even the Lannisters looked hopeful.

“Well… I… really? Well, that is good.” Your father smiled and for a moment you quite forgot that you were attempting to spite Aemond. Your father seemed quite relieved that he’d found a match for you. He spoke warmly to the Lannisters, the longer he did the more often Aemond would glance up at you from behind his sisters. Helena had her head clutched in her hands and even Aegon seemed surprised that you were going along with it. Normally by now you’d run off and he got to pretend he was watching over you while the two of you had a drink in Flea bottom until Cole was sent after you.

“Mother!” Aemond’s voice cut through the chatter around you. “Mother!” More insistent this time.

“My lords… May I?” Alicent asked. They gestured for her to go ahead and speak, she was queen after all. “I know that you have been requested to wait for two years, so that (Y/N) and your son may get to know each other. But perhaps instead of a betrothal, we should agree to an equal waiting period. (Y/N) you shall take no offence if, in these two years, this fine young lord should decide to set sail or find someone else?”

“No, your grace.” You muttered and glanced at Aemond. He looked up, avoiding looking at you for the first time all day. Guilt was clear on his face but a twist of satisfaction as well as a hard stare that was fixed on the Lannister lord you’d picked. “It would be unfair of Lord Lannister to agree to this for me and not to be able to do the same himself.”

There was a quiet acceptance and more discussions went on. Aemond hurried out of the room while you glared at him. It did not go unnoticed when you stormed after him, a few minutes separating the two of you. Helena excused herself as well, knowing Aemond tended to wind you up until you lashed out at him. He seemed to enjoy making spit like a fire.

"I had a feeling you couldn't stay out of this." You barked out as you caught up with Aemond. The prince turned and looked at you.

“Why would I? You would make a choice like this just to upset me.” He said and sounded more frustrated than you’d ever heard him.

“Upset you! As if my life is a dance around yours! I think you shall find I spend very little time thinking of you.” You shouted. Helena had stopped and turned back towards the hall she’d left, gesturing for the guards to quickly shut the door in case anyone else heard the two of you.

“Liar! I know!” He loomed closer as he spoke, closing in on you but he was cut off with a sharp snapping slap across his cheek. It stunned him for a moment.

“Fuck you!” Storming away and leaving him there you wished you had thought of something cleverer. But you opted to leave him in surprise while hurrying through the corridors. When you weren't too far from your rooms you heard footsteps hurrying up behind you. In your fury, you assumed that it was Helena until a firm grip took hold of your arm and yanked you towards a small hallway. Your back was slammed against the wall as Aemond breathed heavily, licking his lips nervously as he tried to curb his anger.

“You cannot leave me be?” You said and tried to keep your sharp tone but he’d taken you by surprise and it faltered, allowing him to take the upper hand.

“Leave you be? You live in my mind. It is you that will not leave me.” His tone was different now and his fast breathing stayed as he leaned closer and closer, his arms now trapping you between him and the wall. You stared at each other, intimately close as if you’d startled yourselves.

“Perhaps you spend too much time thinking of me.” You said quietly. Your body was beginning to feel hot and aching in a strange way that it never had when you’d gotten close to Aemond before.

“What else is there to think of but you?” He had calmed now. His voice was softer and gentle. As he spoke, the hand holding your arm let go and drifted towards your face as his thumb stroked over your lips. They parted as you let in a trembling breath and it seemed to crumble the last of his resolve. He crashed into you, arms winding around you to pull you up into him. His forehead pressed against your temple and you could hear that his breathing had picked up again as if it was a great effort to retrain himself. Your fingers dug into the leather covering his back while his hands twisted into the sot fabrics covering you, the only thing truly keeping you apart. You were certain that if you crushed yourself any closer to his body you would feel his heart pounding just as hard as yours.

One hand came up the back of your neck, gentle as his fingertip brushed up over the skin and moved your necklaces away from the base of your neck. You felt a warm brush of air as he moved to press a kiss to your heated skin, eyes fluttering shut as a second followed. The third kiss wasn’t soft like the others. It was a needy, messy affection made of hunger and fire that was consuming you both in the dark corridor.

“Aemond.” You said so softly that you hadn’t realised it had slipped out. Not until you felt him smile against your skin as your legs buckled.

He had won the game for today.

As your legs gave way he sank to his knees with you, lips still burning across your skin as he moved to mutter in your ear, lips brushing softly against your skin as he spoke, making you tingle. “Have your lion for today, my lady. He will not last long against a dragon.”

He pulled away from you, cementing his victory as he looked down at you, crumpled and melted to his will. Reaching out to stroke your face he smiles before leaning down and sweetly kissing you on the top of your head. He retreated, leaving you there in his wake. He had won. But if you whispered his name again with such tender need he would be nothing more than an obedient dog at the feet of his master. He wasn’t willing to throw down his arms just yet.

Aemond tags:

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #bonniebird #valentine2023

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mothraantics · 4 months ago

Text

Crimson Born

Chapter 2

Summary: Regulus only wants to not live in his brothers shadows anymore, so what does he do? Date the enemy, the opposing prince of the Crimson Court James Potter, also known as his brothers best friend to retort and for once be in the light instead of his older brother.

Notes: This took me a while to write and I apologise.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Master Regulus is alive and well ma’am” says the mediwitch as he starts to gain consciousness again, “good, get him up” he hears his mothers voice before the door to his room closes. He quietly opens his eyes, “Happy debutante master, the house elves and the maids will be here shortly to give you your clothes for the breakfast ceremony” regulus groans, of course there's the ceremony first thing after a blood moon, as the doctor leaves the room he sits up, blood was splattered around his bedroom, he smelt of blood, he can feel blood.

Ew. Was the only thought going through his head as he put his feet to the floor. His own bodily matter, blood, was soaking into his socks once more. The maids will not be pleased. Regulus shuffled to the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, it was luckily clean. He turned the water on. Put in some soap. Stripped and cleaned. The stone tiles were littered with bloody footsteps as he threw the clothes he had ruined into the bin.

The mirror above his sink was yet to be fixed. He broke it one time and they haven't changed it yet. “Lousy house elves” he scoffs, exiting the bathroom, the blood was cleaned up already, his clothes neatly placed on the bed. He will speak to his mother about it. He quickly put on his clothing before the dinner started. A man did never have a debutante, it was mostly for the ladies of the land. Alas young royals in Lissara were put up on the podium after the women to have good engagements, true many were just in it for the money or sirius, but now it would be for once, all about him.

+-+

Scratch that it wasn't, no engagements were discussed in breakfast, a word from Sirius was heard about his current boyfriend but it was shot down by his mothers icy glare. Many women asked for regulus’ hand but none were up to his mothers standards. He was dreading the outcome. Was he going to end up marrying some unknown cousin? All three of his female cousins were already wed to your betrothed, exclude out Andromeda who has been missing for almost a few years now, had run off with some muggle from the east. It was truly worrying, if the bloodline of sirius ended with him and his dreaded boyfriend, it would be upon regulus, and if not on his bloody cousins.

Having Bellatrix on the throne was as terrifying as if letting the malfoys take up the seat. He had to think of something. “Well we may always marry him off to that girl. What's her name? Pandora Rosier?” says his mother, “Isn't she studying at That school, Academe Inspire?” says Bellatrix twirling her fork in her hands ,” how will we get her to come back, on top of having the weight as an heir.”

Walburga waves the girl off, the other frowning, “We shall get her with the right ways, The rosiers are in a scandal such as ours, with their son running around with the Mindspire spawn, Crouch was it? It's a scandal really” she scoffs. Regulus perks up hearing his friends, “A scandal, well he deserves to be in that” sirius says under his breath, regulus held himself back from kicking his own brothers shin out of sheer hatred. The Rosiers and the crouches were rather close familiar friends of his, Sirius never bothered to speak with anyone from their Empire as they attended the Etiquette lessons and so it was up to regulus to bring forth the connections. “Mother” regulus pipes up as the whole table turns to him.

“I would like to correct slightly, Bartemius, is a full citizen of Lissara and one of my closest friends, him and the son of Rosier have not been, ‘running around’ as you may claim they are rather just…friends” he says as his mother gives him a cold glare. “Very well they are not being scandalous, but alas their reputation is not as bad and from the deepest depths of my heart I shall give them a visit today, see if they accept the proposition”

The table conversation ended on that, from the depths of his mothers icy heart, he was getting married off. She knew she had nothing to do against the rebel of a brother he had, sirius. One way or another the boy has evaded two marriages, one with Narcissia and one with another young lady from the Harmony dominion, and now dating a man, werewolf. Nonetheless there was nothing she could do, she would hate him for eternity. It was nothing to do with sexuality no. Many known nobles were known to be homosexual, or on the lines of, and many more from the middle class of Lissara, it was unknown to regulus how the non magical ones treated such things in different regions, it was the werewolf part that was rather iffy to his mother and that he is apart of the Crimson Court. And the fact that he was dating a man. Homosexuality was commonly frowned upon.

Breakfast was stale and gloomy after the conversation, the two princes were left to their own devices as the rest of the family scattered away. Some to their own parts of work, others to go meet old friends. “You dont think mother is angry with a man do you?” asks Sirius abruptly to Regulus. They were taking a passage in the gardens.

“she may be, you know her views on homosexuality, she almost passed a law to make it illegal brother” he says as they walk, more like he walks, Sirius was following him hoping for some honesty. “Why must you follow me?” Regulus asks, “if it's sympathy for what you are doing to the throne, it will never come.” He says turning to Sirius, “I am aware you love him, I can see it. I saw it, Remus means much to you, but mother will not allow a werewolf on the throne…no less a homosexual” Sirius sighs running his hand through his perfectly made hair messing it up, “i wish to remind you that if you do not succeed, i am for the throne. And if I do not succeed it is whom of our cousins first produces an heir. So Bellatrix or Malfoy. I wish not see mother repeated nor those malfoys crawling to the top” he Huff's.

“Fair enough…” Sirius sighs, “I'm a lost cause-” “yes you are. You're lost and for that I must be betheoded immediately. As much as I do not care for marriage, I must marry this…woman, one who's sisters with one of my closest friends to fix your mistakes. I am tired of being your cleaner, be careful Sirius, because one day I may not be there to fix what you fucked up” – Sirius audibly gasps at his language – “in this family, one day I will not be your shadow and you will have to pick up after yourself” Regulus' says before turning around and stalking off.

As much as he hated for getting angry at his stupid dumb brother, it was needed. Sirius was an airhead, he didn't think before he acted, Regulus was cunning, he thought he planned and he knew what to do.

+-+

The ball that evening was in full swing, girls were basically hanging off of his waist for the majority of the night as Sirius paraded his boyfriend around the whole ballroom, everyone knew who the werewolf lover was by now. His face was famous. Remus was a quiet guy, he was shy and reserved, nothing you'd expect Sirius would date but there he was in the flesh. Regulus can say he will like the boy as a brother in law, of course if his mother allows it…or maybe she never will and they'll marry after she passes.

The trumpets blew, four, five, three toots in a row, the crimson court. The door master called out, “Prince James Potter of the Crimson Court!” The girls around Regulus basically dissipated to crowd around the new coming prince. So much for attention. It was stolen once again by some stuck up friend of Sirius'.

“Regulus' darling come, Auntie wants you” Bellatrix says, grabbing him by the upper arm. In the few years between them, him being sixteen her turning twenty one, he reluctantly followed her, the rosier family stood around his own, evan was for once present standing next to a girl with long blonde hair. It was platinum just how the Evans came. Blondes.

“There he is the man of the hour” Mr.Rosier smiles as he and Regulus' shake hands, “Well it is lovely to hear that you have taken up our request to marry Pandora and Regulus your highness, we promise there will be no disappointment to you or the royal family. He says. The night was spent with Pandora and Evan, as Sirius once more stole the shine, as he and Remus danced in the ball, Regulus' did have a couple dances with the Rosier daughter and a few other ladies that asked him to dance.

By the end he was tipsy, his cousins were flat drunk and he could hear the activities that the couples ensued. Pandora went home.

It was sad and uneventful as the slow ball where mostly adults danced and chatted continued through the night. Most guests went to their inns, others stayed to leave last. Of course The Prince of the crimson court was still surrounded by lovely women. Muggles and magicals alike.

Or so Regulus thought, “Well isn't it a nice night tonight” he hears behind him, he almost spins around in shock as the prince of the Crimson Court leans on the railing near him, “James” he says with distaste, there weren't any adults around he does not need to respect him, “Regulus'” the prince combats back as they stare off over the forest, the lights of the village can be seen to the right of the palace.

“What do you want potter?” He asks, looking down, debating. If he pushed James Potter down from here, how long would it take for the guards to find his annoying dead body, “I want nothing, can't I hang around with a friend?” He asks coyly. “We are not friends” Regulus quickly retorts. James puts a hand on his chest, “You wound me Black” he says, how annoying. “I was just here to ask if you have found a courtship yet” Regulus rolls his eyes, as if he wished to find one, “My mother has” James frowns, “your mother? You are to say you haven't chosen your own courtee?”

“Unlike Sirius I listen to mother…so yes, I'm being betrothed to Rosier 's daughter.” He says as James nods understandingly, “you like her?” He asks out of the blue, “of course not, but i shall tolerate her for the sake of my empire” James stands quietly next to him, “I can always help you with-” Regulus cuts him off, “I wish not for one of your whores potter. As much as I appreciate you helping my brother I am not him, if it means cleaning up his mess and being forcibly married off to a woman i do not love then be it.”

He says turning and walking back to the ballroom, “You don't have to always be the fixer upper, Regulus..you can be yourself if you wish” Regulus' stops at that. “I am myself. I am the one that quietly in the shadows fixed my brother's wrong doings”

“you don't have to always be in the shadows-”

“I do as I wish”

+-+

Regulus stayed up all night thinking of what James said, he was right, he doesn't have to be always in the shadows. He stopped himself, Regulus almost wanted to puke, scream, possibly slap himself across the face. He was letting the Prince's words get to him, just like how they got to Sirius. His mother always said to never listen to the people of the Crimson Court, they aren't like Lissarians who twist their words with dual meaning or manipulate, but they get in your head. They make you feel brave to act out and not be who you are meant to be.

That's how Sirius came to become himself and there he was with a werewolf hanging off his hip like a lost dog begging for his attention. How could he let the words of James Potter get him to think other than his true destiny. He was second he could never become first, he could never find a woman to love and dote on him as one would on his brother…or a man for all he cared, Regulus' wanted attention he wanted love. Any form or kind didn't matter anymore. He felt the hunger, the need for any kind of attention. He wanted the public to look at him and call him by his name.

Not the Second Prince.

Not the Second Son.

Not the Younger one.

Or the shy one

Or the one to save them from his brother's rowdy ways.

He wanted to be known to the whole Empire of Lissara…no to the WORLD He was Regulus Atticius Black, the Prince of Lissara, and the one who can one up his brother. But this was impossible. He could marry a muggle woman, but then he would be a disgrace, he could always marry a man, but who can combat the attention his brother would get with that mutt. What was better than Remus John Lupin?

Regulus thought all night, and as the rays of the sun peaked from in between his curtains and the passing of maids and house elves arose in the halls, it hit him. It was as if the Cruciatus curse was shot at him, he hated himself for these thoughts for just a quick second, before he decided it was the best way to gain this attention he seeked. But would he agree? Would he join him? Would he help?

“I can always help you–

Regulus felt if those words had another meaning…a different meaning, one that between alcohol, the need for sleep and pure hatred he misjudged. Maybe he would be willing to help. Regulus had to be fast, the convoys did not leave until noon and it was yet to even hit the first hours of the morning, the prince did not wait for any house elf or maid to come before he threw a bath for himself and got clean. He dressed and rushed out the door as Dippy apparate within the walls of his room, looking rather stunned.

He followed his senses as he waves through the rushing maids of the morning and towards the west end of the palace where he knew the Convoys and the maidens rested. Some were already leaving, bidding them good morning as he passed, he quietly avoided the rosiers throughout all of this, lest they stop him to speak about the betrothal. At the far end as far away from his family as possible he made it to the last room. The one where he knew he was resting. He knocked on the door, and he heard shuffling from inside as the person quickly got themselves together and then opened the door. James Fleamont Potter, in all his morning glory, stood in front of him.

“Regulus? What? It's like seven am? Is everything alright?” he asks as regulus pushes past him and stands just inside the room, James closing the door. “Remember the offer you asked of me last night?” James looks at him confused, Regulus can tell the man was hung over even slightly, he looked at him as if he had three heads before it clicked in his brain and James nodded.

“I accept…But there will be my own terms”. James almost doubled over, he looked at him wearily. This was going to be one heck of a challenge.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter List here (including Ao3 Link)

Taglist:

#harry potter #james potter #jegulus #marauders #regulus black #sirius black #wolfstar #Crimson Born #Mothraantics

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thomasisaslut · 1 year ago

Note

Sorry to give you another ask so early, but would you mind making a one shot of Tamlin and Eris friendship? I love the idea of Eris having being Tamlin’s mentor of sorts when he was young and as they got older it turned into a friendship and they helped each other out. (Btw the Azris oneshot you made with my prompt is utterly amazing, love your works so much❤️)

I love early requests! No worries! This is more Tamcien centric (will have pt. 2!)

And thank you so much! It means a lot to me! 🤭❤️

—

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1406098101-𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑-𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬-𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫-𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52315039/chapters/132341749

—

Spring Supper

“Tamlin invited us for dinner.” Eris says as he walks into his now shared room with Azriel, his mate has moved in a while ago, moved away from his family and the Night Court.

“What?” Azriel replies, annoyance covering his features. Clearly, the Shadowsinger still holds a grudge over the High Lord of the Spring Court.

“You heard me, we’re going.” The Autumn Fae smirks.

“I am not.” The dark haired male crosses his arms. “I told you I dislike him.”

“I already accepted the invitation, plus, he has been working on renovating his court, fixing it from…” The smaller male shuts up when Azriel sends him a warning glance. “Oh stop! She’s not even your High Lady anymore.”

“Feyre is still my family, princess.” Azriel crosses his arms, spreading out his wings before lying down on their excessively large bed.

“Whatever.” Eris mumbles and walks over to his mate, grabbing his hand. “Can you please just go to dinner with me, it’ll just be Lucien, Tamlin, you and I.” He asks with puppy dog eyes, Azriel hesitates.

The Shadowsinger groans before nodding. “Fine.”

Eris instantly grins. “Good! Come on, we have to get you changed.” The High Lord of the Autumn Court grabs Azriel’s hand, leading him to his massive walk in closet.

“I don’t need to ‘look the part’ as you say, it’s not my style.” Azriel grumbles.

“I know, but you will for me, yes?” Eris smirks over his shoulder.

The Shadowsinger can only nod, completely willing to do whatever his lover wants or needs. “Do your worst, Vanserra.”

“Oh, I will.” Eris’ smirk grows.

—

By the time the couple leaves Eris dressed the two of them in traditional Spring Court clothes, but, with Azriel’s protests of wearing anything too bright it was half Autumn cloth.

The Shadowsinger was dressed in a dark green tunic with golden embroidery formed in leaves around the cuffs and lining, a low white dress shirt underneath. He wore black pants, unable to convince himself to wear anything lighter.

Eris wore more bright clothes, a light yellow shirt with flower details, green stitch marks with embroidered pink, blue, and white flowers, Tight tan pants and black boots that end at his shins, not to mention his usual jewelry has been replaced to more spring kinds. Branch-like rings, a long chain-like necklace with a hanging flower at the end.

“I prefer my clothes.” Azriel states as he follows Eris to the Spring Manor, unlike the other Courts, Tamlin didn’t have a palace.

“I know you do, but it’s only one dinner.” Eris knocks on the red doors, the manor has been tidied up since the last time anyone was here.

Azriel remains silent but sends a few extra shadows around Eris, they swarm around his wrists, their usual position.

The High Lord of the Spring Court soon opens the door, he himself was dressed magnificently. Tamlin wore a pale white shirt, tree-branch patterns covering the shirt in a golden color. A light green vest was over it, pink flowers on the fabric, brown pants were on his legs, a golden belt fastened with a dark green flower lock.

“Eris, Azriel.” Tamlin greets with a smile before open both of the doors, allowing them to enter.

“Tam.” Eris smiles back, Azriel crosses his arms and eyes the other High Lord. “Has Lucien arrived yet?” The Autumn Fae asks.

“Yes, he is waiting.” The blond replies and leads them to the massive dining hall.

Along the walk Eris looks to Azriel. “Behave.” His mate makes a confused face which only makes Eris smirk and walk faster.

The three of them soon reach the table to be met with Lucien at the right of the head, Tamlin quickly takes his seat there, Eris sits to the left, Azriel sitting down beside him. The table was covered by a variety of meats, fruits, and other food items.

“It looks delicious.” Eris smiles, grabbing some, the rest follow in suit. “Did you make it?” The High Lord of the Autumn Court asks.

“Yes, with most of my people… leaving, I’ve relearned how to cook, clean, and do other necessities.” Tamlin hums and begins to cut his steak. “I even got your favorite.” The blond smirks and motions to the honeydew on the table. “Summer Court provided.” He adds.

“Really?” Eris looks excited, Tamlin nods and the Autumn Fae instantly grabs some of the fruit.

“Since when was honeydew your favorite?” Lucien asks, his own plate was filled with barely anything, only a small pork chop, strawberries, and a small salad.

“I’ve always liked it.” Eris meets his brother’s eye, biting back an insult.

“What’s he doing here?” The Day Court’s heir motions to Azriel.

“I never told you?” The High Lord of the Autumn Court raises his eyebrow, I could’ve sworn I lettered you…”

“I don’t read them.” Lucien states plainly, a small frown takes over Eris’ features.

“I am his mate.” Azriel pipes in, a small glare on his face as Lucien makes his lover sad.

The Half-Autumn Fae’s eye widens for a slim second before returning to his resting face. “I see.” He hums and begins to eat his food, Tamlin looks at him, a longing look.

“So…” Tamlin begins awkwardly. “How are Jurian and Vassa, Lu?”

“Fine.” He says and continues to eat his meal.

“That’s good.” The blond replies, trying to come up with another thing to talk about, he looks over to Eris.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court nudges his mate, Azriel sighs.

“Has the curse with Vassa been broken yet?” The Shadowsinger asks.

“No, we’re still working on it.” Lucien proceeds to eat.

“Have you asked Helion to use his libraries?” Eris asks.

“No.”

“You should, Lu, I am sure he would allow it.” Tamlin adds, smiling at Lucien.

The fox only nods. “I’ll letter him.”

The meal soon concludes after another twenty minute of tense conversations.

“Thank you for having us, Tam.” Eris says, grabbing onto his lovers arm, Azriel wraps his wing around the High Lord, still wary of Tamlin.

“Of course, Eris. You and Azriel are always welcomed here.” He grins at the two.

Eris returns the expression before shadows wrap around the pair, shadow-walking the mates back to the Autumn Court.

The second they leave Tamlin turns around to meet Lucien’s gaze.

“We need to talk.” He states firmly, causing a small wave of panic to fill the High Lord of the Spring Court, the blond slowly nods and replies.

“Of course.”

#tamcien #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acotar #a court of silver flames #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acowar #azris #azris fanfiction #azris fanart #azris supremacy #azriel x eris

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lou-struck · 2 years ago

Text

Among The Violets: Part 3

Tamaki Amajiki x F Reader

Bridgerton! AU part 3

Warnings: The Patriarchy, corsets, talk of undergarments, large age gaps (mentioned), Physical abuse, mentions of Domestic abuse, forced marriages, manipulative bitches, Alcohol consumption, insecurity.Fake Dating AU!

~The Ton seems to be falling for your little ruse, but are they the only ones falling?

Word Count: 3.7k

My Dear Reader,

One of the most overlooked positions in high society is that of the chaperone.

A lady may be the embodiment of grace, beauty, and elegance, but without a respectable chaperone to lead the way, they could very well find themselves among the ranks of the spinsters.

When it comes to chaperones, Miss y/n has quite the advantage. The lively young Lord Togata easily could’ve been the man of the season, but he has chosen to help his fair cousin make quite the match of her own with his childhood friend.

The quiet Lord Amajiki accompanied the Lady at yesterday's picnic by the lake. While it is unclear what it is they discussed so secretly amongst eachother, but witnesses saw the Earl crack the most dashing of smiles in her presence. Before using his own tunic to shield his Lady once the sun was eaten away by the most untimely of storms.

Are there to be wedding bells in the future?

Always Yours

~ Lady Whistledown

Your place this morning's society paper on the side table with an almost giddy smile. Your little performance with the Earl is going over quite well. The Ton is starting to believe that the two of you are truly enamored with each other.

Your lips turn upwards into a smug smile. It’s almost as if you and the Earl are doing too good of a job. “Wedding Bells” you repeat, glancing down at the last line.

Just a month ago, the mention of any sort of nuptials would have had you rushing to the privy to empty the contents of your stomach.

“What does Whistledown have to say this morning?” Mirio chirps, placing his blonde head on your shoulder. You jolt upwards, hitting your head hard against his own.

“Owww,” you whine, rubbing the small bump already forming above your temple. “What the Bloody Hell do you think you’re doing Mirio?”

He chuckles deeply, ignoring the forming lump on his head. “Sorry about that y/n, you were just so enraptured with the gossip, I thought it’d be fun to tease you a bit.”

"When do you not tease me?" You sigh dramatically, sinking onto the velvet chaise.

"I would be a poor excuse for a cousin if I didn't," Mirio snickers and places his hand atop your head, ruffling your hair as you squeal and try to bat it away.

In all the excitement and squirming, you fall off the edge of the chaise and onto the floor with a soft thud. Mirio's laughter fills the room until the soft sound of knocking reaches your ears.

"Come in," you call, reaching out a foot and kicking your cousin hard in his left leg. It buckles slightly, and he grits his teeth in a wince, but he smooths out an invisible wrinkle on his dress vest, trying his best to look innocent.

"Mi-lord," Daisy says, poking her head into the drawing room, "Lord Amajiki is here to call on Miss Y/n. Shall I let him in?"

Mirio gives your maid a blindingly brilliant smile that has her knees wobbling beneath her long blue skirt. "There is no need, Daisy. I'll bring him in myself. Could you please put on some tea for our guest?"

"Of course, sir," she replies, dutifully bowing her head and leaving the room.

Mirio limps slightly out the door, no doubt still feeling the weight of your kick to his shin, before turning back to you with a smile. “The man of the hour has arrived, dear cousin. Do get off the floor.”

It’s unladylike but you stick your tongue out at him blowing a raspberry that echos throughout the now-empty drawing room.

Tamaki really is playing his part well, coming to call, buying you flowers, and going on strolls. You’d like to think that if he were courting you for real, you would be just elated to have such an attentive suitor.

Getting up from the floor, you pace about the room, wondering how exactly you should greet your gentleman caller. It’s then you glance at your slightly sullied reflection in the mirror.

How could you meet Tamaki looking like this?

You try to fix whatever hairs Mirio messed with earlier sighing when you think you look presentable enough to be worthy of semi-courting the Earl.

Your thoughts darken as they drift back to the day you received your first and only other caller.

It was no secret your parents were not a love match. Your mother pursued your father relentlessly, using his high regard for honor against him and trapping him into wedlock with a few tears and several rumors about an illicit affair.

You had been a product of their wedding night, the only night the two of them ever shared a bed. Once you were born, your mother chose to leave you with a wet nurse and move to a luxury townhouse far away from the both of you.

Instead of being heartbroken, your father celebrated the separation and chose to raise you as his sole heir, securing specialized documents from King All Might himself, and naming you, a woman, to be his successor.

It had been a week since your father's passing, and two days since his funeral. You swear you haven’t seen the sun since the day of his accident.

In your grief, you had hidden yourself away from the world. Confined to your room and weeping.

While you wept, however, your mother had already begun planning how she would spend the money left over from his estate. Parties, gowns, tours abroad.

The ideal life of a Wealthy Widow…

But there was still one problem, you.

People like your mother don’t back down from a challenge easily. As soon as the news of your father's will reached her ears, she made her way to you. Bringing along with her an ‘acquaintance’.

If your butler had not informed you who the woman downstairs was, you wouldn't have recognized your own Mother standing before you.

“Y/n,” she called with a sickenly sweet tone. “Come down here. I have someone who is very interested in meeting you.”

Leaving your room for the first time in days, you make your way to the staircase. Each creak of the steps seems to scream at you to turn back, to run away. But in your state of grief and confusion, you come face to face with none other than your first caller.

Lord Paget is a horrid man of three and seventy. But he looks much older than that, with sickly skin and beady dark eyes that look like portals into the very depths of despair. They narrow into slits as he looks you over with a sneer.

The man had been married eight times before, all beautiful young women, all from less than comfortable families, and all dead before their twenty-fifth nameday.

Staring into his eyes, your knees feel as if they are to give out at any moment.

“She’ll do.” he rasps as he hands your mother an envelope and leaves the two of you alone.

Your mother wraps her arms around you tightly. But her embrace feels nothing like the way your fathers did. It’s almost as if she is a snake coiling itself around its prey and squeezing. “isn’t this wonderful? I found you a husband. “

“A husband?” That can’t be right. You blink, confused at her meaning.

“yes, once you marry the Lord, you don’t have to worry about all those pesky finances. We can deal with them so you don’t have to. “she says, grabbing your chin harshly. “your father was out of his mind to give you all this. But I am here to fix it.”

You manage to free yourself from her grip, “That is ridiculous.” you object with a glare. “That man is old enough to be my grandfather. You have no right~,”

*Slap

Your cheek stings from the weight of your mother's hand against the skin and you stumble backward onto the cold floor.

“You ungrateful little brat.” she hisses, staring down at you. “Like it or not, I am your guardian. I may not have any power over the estate, but until you are married, I own you…”

The realization of her words cut you far deeper than any knife could. She’s right. As your guardian, she can manage all of your other affairs. If she wants to force you into a marriage, all she would need was a license from a clergyman.

If Paget became your husband. He and your mother would be able to take everything your father had left you. You knew you had to leave that house before they force you into anything.

With a self-assured smirk, she leaves you alone on the floor promising to be back tomorrow to help finalize wedding details

You wrote an expression to Mirio that day, telling him vaguely of your troubles. Before packing your bags and following just behind the letter, rushing towards safety like a racehorse on its track.

When Mirio took you in, you chose to tell him the reason you left was due to a pushy suitor and a mother who was uninterested in letting you come out into society.

At the time you justified it, he shouldn’t have to know the little details.

And now, as you fix the last out-of-place hair on your head, you turn away from your reflection and paste through the drawing room, trying to shake those bad memories from your thoughts.

Relaxing has never been your strong suit, especially now. Your hands fidget limply at your sides and your breaths come out in shaky exhales.

The Earl and Mirio will be joining you at any moment and you are not fit to be seen in this state of distress.

The crystal decanter on top of the bar cart catches your eye. The deep amber liquid inside sits innocently on its platter. Mirio drinks this kind of stuff all the time when he is stressed. Maybe you should try to drown your sorrows as well.

With a shrug, you grab it and take a deep gulp of the liquid. As it rests on your tongue, you try to figure out what exactly Mirio drinks.

Is it Brandy?

Is it Rum?

Whatever it is, the disgusting flavor sends you into a fit of deep coughing. Tears well in your eyes and you scan the room for something to cover the foul taste of old perfumy liquor that grows stale on your tongue.

With Daisy out fetching the refreshments for your caller, the tea table is spotless, with the exception of a few pale blue cloth napkins. You grab the one at your own table setting and try to wipe the taste from your lips and tongue.

“Not much of a drinker, are you cousin?” a chipper voice calls from behind you.

With the napkin in your mouth, you turn your head to see the two gentlemen standing in the doorway staring at your struggles and trying in vain to contain their laughter with tight lips.

It’s Mirio who cracks first, his booming laughter filling the room and rattling the windowpanes. Tamaki at least tries to excuse his chuckle as a tickle in his throat, but the mischievous look in his indigo orbs tells you that he had witnessed the whole scene.

“It appears that way,” you cough, feeling the embarrassment prick at your skin.

“A-are you alright?” the Earl asks kindly, pulling a violet handkerchief from his breast pocket and handing it to you. The kind smile he gives you puts you at ease but makes you aware of the strange way your stomach flutters in his presence.

“Yes, thank you, my Lord.” you breathe gently, dabbing the drop of liquor from the corner of your lip. “I apologize. You certainly were not meant to see that.”

“See what?” he teases, taking the handkerchief from your outstretched skin. Your fingers brush delicately as he pulls away, sending a little shock between the two of you. The chatter dies on your lips and you look shyly at the ground.

Thankfully, Mirio breaks the silence, clasping a hand on your shoulder, doing the same to Tamaki. “Well, thank you y/n for that little interruption. But I believe your caller has something they would like to ask of you.”

Tamaki shoots a little glare at his friend before looking up to meet your eyes. “Yes… My Lady. It’s about the ball tomorrow night. Would you allow me to fill your dance card for the evening?”

“The whole card?” you ask. Your eyes widen at the thought. Two dances would be more than enough to show the Ton that the two of you are courting, but over three can be considered improper in some circles.

“Yes, I know it seems a bit.. well.” He clears his throat. “risque, but I believe it would convince everyone that we are serious about eachother. I spoke with Mirio about it on the way in, but all he said was that it was ultimately up to you.”

“I see,” you say thoughtfully. While dancing the night away with Tamaki sounds alarmingly intoxicating, you have to think about next season…

When the two of you no longer have to spend time together.

“How about three dances?” you say “After that, you can find a way to excuse yourself from the Ball. It would take about an hour and a half of your time.”

“Sounds Perfect, he says with a relieved smile.

The damn fluttering feeling returns to your stomach, but you grin and bear it.

“Wonderful,” Mirio cheers, clapping his hands together, “Then if the two of you are in agreement, perhaps you should accompany y/n to the modiste to pick up her gown in my stead, Tamaki.”

“Would that really be alright?” Tamaki asks furrowing his brow.

“It’s broad daylight,” he laughs. “If anyone says anything, just say you are two lovebirds on a stroll.”

“And where will you be?” you ask Mirio.

“As Viscount, I have many affairs to manage,” he says, guesting to the thick stack of letters on the table.

“I suppose that’s normal,” you mumble, looking to the Earl for his approval. “It’s not too far of a walk.”

“Then we shall,” he gulps, “Let’s get going then. I’ll bring along a footman.”

With a nod, the two of you leave the estate and head off to town.

The Modiste pokes you with yet another needle as she adds a few alterations to the gown for tomorrow's Ball. muttering an unfocused apology in her thick french accent before she looks at you with bright eyes.

“Miss, how do the sleeves feel? Can you move your arms?”

Slowly you raise them, testing out the way the fabric pulls with your motions. If Tamaki was here, you are sure he would compare the movements to that of a bird. “I believe so. What do you think, Madam?”

She bites at her lip before tugging at the gown. “It could be a bit looser,” she says, looking up at you with a grin. “I suppose you shall be quite busy tomorrow night.”

Right away, you know she is inquiring about your budding romance with the Earl. Next to Lady Whistledown, there is no other way to spread gossip quite like a trip to the modiste. You put on your best-smitten smile and sigh longingly.

“Yes, the Earl came to call this morning with a large bouquet of flowers to secure a space on my dance card.” It's partially a lie, but the hungry look in her eyes lets you know she is eating this story out of the palm of your hand. “May I tell you a secret?”

“Of course you can My Lady, I won't tell a soul,” she replies quickly with the sewing needle still stuck between her teeth.

“Lord Amajiki filled three spaces on my card,” you chuckle, trying your best to sound like all the other fawning debutantes she sees. “Can you believe that?”

“Isn't that so romantic?" she sighs, finishing the stitching on your arms.,"When you need a wedding gown, come to me.”

You toss your head back with elegant laughter and try your best to sound coy. “Perhaps.”

“Well then, you’re all set.” she smiles, taking a final look at your finished gown. “When the earl sees you in this, he may just get down on one knee right away.”

“Do you think he would,” you say, taking a small glance at yourself in the mirror. The cut of the gown suits you rather well. Giving a gentle glow to your skin.

“Absolutely, My Lady, you look like a Diamond.” she squeals, helping you out of the garment.

As she boxes up your gown, you find yourself lost in thought.

Would this dress really get Tamaki’s attention?

Why do you want it so badly?

Stepping out of the Modiste you spot Tamaki sitting quietly on the bench where you left him. His nose deep in a book. His footman takes the parcel from you as they approach.

“Are you all set?” he asks placing his little booklet inside a small black satchel.

“Yes, I hope you weren't waiting too long,” you apologize, “there was an issue with my sleeves.”

“It’s not a problem, it was fairly quiet out today so I was able to get a bit of reading done,” he says walking alongside you.

“S-shall I see you home?” he stammers holding an arm out for you to take. He is nervous again, in an effort to make him feel more comfortable in your presence you elect to participate in some small talk.

“Do you like to read often my Lord?” you ask politely enjoying the fresh spring air.

“I love to read,” he says “Books were welcome companions on my travels.”

Conversing with the Earl is easy, the two of you talk about books and his adventures the whole walk home. By the time you approach the front door of the estate, you almost wish to turn around and start the excursion again.

“It appears this is it for today,” you say, “Thank you for accompanying me today My Lord.”

A pinkness appears on his cheeks that must be from the exercise. “It was my pleasure.” the words die on his lips. “Oh wait, I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?” you ask tilting your head slightly.

“This,” he declares He reaches into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulls out a long black velvet box. Opening it up carefully you are met with the sight of a sliver chain adorned with deep purple amethysts.

“It’s lovely,” you breathe looking at the necklace, “but why are you giving this to me?”

“It was my mothers,” he smiles fondly running his finger over one of the gems. “I want you to wear this to the ball in her Memory. Um, I’m not being too presumptuous, am I?”

“Not at all, Tamaki.” you smile, “I would love to wear this tomorrow.”

Gently he lifts the necklace out of the box and holds it out for you to try on. “May I?” he asks, a few strands of his dark hair falling elegantly in his face as he leans in.

Nodding dumbly you let him place the chain around your neck. He fumbles with the latch and you let your eyes flutter shut. No man has ever been this close to you, and he smells almost like a garden.

The sound of your heartbeat thumbs wildly in your chest and you hope that he can’t hear it. It’s not excitement you feel, nor is it fear. The feeling that you were feeling right now with the earl‘s arms wrapped around you it’s something you’ve never felt before.

And you want to know more.

“There you are,“ he mumbles into your ear as he pulls back to admire the necklace. “ you- it looks beautiful.” He says staring at you with lidded eyes.

Now is definitely not the moment to speak, all you do is stare back at the Earl too entranced to interrupt this moment. Whatever it is.

The door to the Manor bursts open and Daisy steps quickly between the two of you. “ My Lady, the Viscount wishes to see you in his study.“

Tamaki seems to blink awake and takes a few stunned steps back. “ I will take my leave then, I shall see you tomorrow.” He says with a curt little bow and walks down the steps to the awaiting carriage.

“It’s urgent,” she says taking your arm and leading you inside with wide eyes.

Walking briskly down the hallway, your mind is filled with the Earl and the feeling of his breath on your skin

Does he know? That at least as of now, that little ruse of yours is weaving a very tangled web of your emotions.

Trembling you push open the door to the study. Guilt pricks at your heart as you walk in.

He has his back to you but you can make out his blonde head behind his armchair.

He doesn't turn to face you at all, all he does is extend his hand toward the empty armchair across from him.

His voice has never been colder “Please sit down.”

Afraid he will turn you out to walk around and grip the armrest with your still gloved hand. “If it's all the same to you Cousin, I’d rather stand.”

Just a glance at his face makes you regret your utterance as his knuckles clench and turn an angry white color. “You will sit,” he says staring at you with his blue eyes full of hurt.

As you situate yourself tensely n the edge of the seat you give out a shaky exhale. Just as you are about to speak he silences you with a raise of his hand.

“How long have you been planning on lying to me?”

Thank you so much for your patience with chapter 3. let me know if you would like me to continue this series.

Tagging: @sparklytamaki @hermaeuswhora @aprilshiraeth @disaster-they @tired-raven @tokyometronetwork @tiroftiaw

@vatuuxa

#bnha #bnha fluff #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tamaki amajiki #bnha x you #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki x reader #tamaki amakiji #amajiki fluff #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #mha tamaki #bnha tamaki #tamaki fluff #bridgerton au #Among the Violets🌷

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