#court lady shin

[iris-sistibly]

Throughout the years, King Cheoljong and Queen Cheorin ruled Joseon together. Peace reigned for many years, the country prospered, their people were happy, and so were the royal couple. The heavens blessed them with five healthy and handsome princes, and they have been happier than ever.

However, a couple of months before their 10th year of marriage, they found out that the queen has conceived once more, and on that very same day when her mother and father got married, the princess came into the world.

Of course, the kingdom rejoiced...

Lady Choi however, had mixed emotions, she dreaded the day that a tiny Kim So-yong would come into this world. The queen was already a handful, then the crown prince came. After that, a series of pregnancies and childbirths which brought the second, third, fourth and fifth princes, all born within the decade.

The queen didn't really expect to fall pregnant again, but Lady Choi did, especially when her majesty swore not to conceive again...a vow she makes every single damn time she gives birth. In all fairness, the queen loves all of her children more than life itself, perhaps she just hated the whole pregnancy process. The older lady couldn't blame her, no mother enjoys the nausea and vomiting, being sensitive to everything, weird food cravings, feeling tired all the time, back pains and so on. Not to mention the endless pre-natal education which she already memorized by now, and of course, labor pains and actual childbirth are always the worst.

The king had been supportive of course, always making sure to provide everything his wife needs, comforting her, being with her at the birthing bed while enduring her loud mouth (Lady Choi lost count on how many times the queen cussed her husband while pushing their child into the world). However, when the princess was finally born they were ecstatic, she inherited her mother's beauty. But Lady Choi swore she heard the king mumble a prayer for her daughter to NOT inherit her mother's...unusual personality, at least not all of it. For the record, each of his sons had gotten some of the queen's traits, but he has a feeling that the princess is going to inherit much more.

The royal couple always say that their children are the most wonderful gifts they've ever received, but for the nannies who look after the royal children, it's a nightmare. The chaos brought about by five young boys in the palace has become a normal thing, so it's no longer surprising for someone who sees or comes across a nanny running after or frantically looking for a royal child. They're at their wits end, and who understands them better than Lady Choi herself? That explains why she and the royal cook have been getting more company at the bamboo forest.

"I'll give her a year, when the princess learns how to walk, the new nanny will be joining us," said Man-bok.

Lady Choi scoffed, "Oh please, the moment the princess starts to crawl it will be hell for the nanny, I'd say it's about seven months," she said with confidence.

Placing a bet for how long a nanny would last until they snap had been the old couple's habit since the birth of the king's heir. So far, Lady Choi had a more precise prediction than the royal cook.

It wasn't long after they heard rustles, like someone was coming. To their surprise it was the new nanny, she looked like she hadn't slept for days and was clearly exhausted. "Oh my are you alright? You seemed so stressed out," the royal cook worriedly asked.

The new nanny looked like she was about to cry, "The princess is driving me insane! She really doesn't like me."

"How can you say that?" it was Lady Choi's turn to ask.

"She's the calmest baby when she's with her parents, but when she's with me she won't stop crying and squirming! And her brothers..."

"Why? What did the princes do?"

"They said their sister despises me," the nanny said miserably.

"Those little rascals," Man-bok muttered under his breath.

"Well...children do prefer to be with their parents than other people, the crown prince was like that when he was a baby," said the first prince's nanny, "Just give it some time, she'll get attached to you. I'm not saying it'll get easier after that, no way. In my case, I've been hearing complaints from some elders saying that the first prince is arrogant. But he's not, he's actually confident and assertive, kind, wise and just, he has all the qualities of a king this country needs."

The other nannies joined the conversation. The second child prefers being outdoors (meaning he escapes from the palace almost all the time which stresses the shit out of his guards and nannies), but his adventurous side has made him brave, bold, and street smart. The third born is a smooth talker, he knows how to get himself out of trouble with words, but he is the most level-headed and a true gentleman. The fourth son is usually quiet and prefers to read or practice calligraphy, but when he talks he is very direct and brutally honest. The fifth son, the youngest prince and a ball of energy can already identify almost all of the ingredients used to prepare their meals and likes to banter with the royal cook, however he is also the sweetest and most loving among the siblings.

They may differ in personalities but if there's one thing the boys have in common, it's their love for the king and queen. They have immense respect for their father and they take good care of their mother even at such a young age. Lady Choi commends how the king and queen are raising their children.

"The royal children aren't who you'd expect them to be, but when you really think of it, they're just...children," said the nanny to the second prince.

"They're not perfect, but seeing them grow into fine young princes, you'll realize that our job isn't so bad after all." said the fifth prince's nanny.

"Come to think of it, it's actually amusing how the queen birthed six charming yet mischievous babies, isn't it royal cook?" asked Lady Choi.

"Oh Lady Choi, we have the king to thank for their charms, and their mischievousness? We all know where they got it from."

They all laughed, the bamboo forest had been a safe space for Lady Choi since coming into the palace. It also brought her and Man-bok together, and now the nannies whom they have formed a close friendship with. At least now Lady Choi and the royal cook know that they aren't the only ones who are losing their minds yet still continue to serve the royal family as best as they could.

"But if it really bothers you dear child, you may let all of your feelings out, it will be our little secret," Lady Choi winked at her.

The new nanny nodded, took a deep breath and yelled as loud as she could. With her newfound friends and the bamboo trees as witnesses, "I can't wait until the princess gets older," Man-bok whispered to Lady Choi, they both snickered as they watched the poor young woman pour out her emotions.

She sure has a lot to rant about, and probably more in the future.

The Bamboo Forest (by: Iris)

*

This fanfic is solely based on the KDrama, Mr. Queen and has nothing to do with the real Cheoljong and Cheorin, as well as Korea's history.

Also, this has been sitting in my drafts for a couple of weeks. I've been imagining what Cheoljong and Cheorin's (from the show) kiddos would be like since I kinda feel sad that I didn't get to see their baby be born but...oh well.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

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.

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART V

Aemond leaned down then, looking at the man as if he were a pest—a stain beneath his boot. “My justice is not a lenient one, ser,” he murmured. A red glow pulsed on his left periphery, in the spot where he was blind: a phantom vision from his missing eye, the absence of which he felt everyday. “The next time you lay your hand on my lady, I shall cut it off myself.”

6k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for sexual harassment/misogyny. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

SERIES SUMMARY & MASTERLIST.

X. JUSTICE

Aemond had never liked the way men looked at you.

He noticed this from a young age, watching as his brother’s eyes roved over your body. Aegon looked at you as a man would view a decadent feast or wine rather than a human being. Something to be owned. Something to be devoured. Aemond did not know entirely what it meant until after that day in the tourney stands, listening to his brother explain what a whore was, and what his brother wished to do with you—to debase you as he would a woman on the Street of Silk.

As soon as he understood this about Aegon, he understood it about other men as well. You were aware of it too, had likely been aware of it your entire childhood. You never did explain to Aemond, growing up, why you were so often upset, but he pieced it together eventually. You always ran to the dragonpit after some lord eyed you too hungrily, after some squire or guard or knight tried to put his hands on you, after Aegon did put his hands on you to squeeze at whatever part of your body he could. And of course no one helped you. His mother could not stop Aegon’s impulses to dishonour you, his father was too neglectful to care, and Aemond—

Aemond had been too weak.

It incensed him beyond thinking. He had been a powerless child, unable to defend himself, so of course he could not defend you either. He would be patronised by the grown men he ordered to stop, who always smiled politely at him and claimed that they were only being friendly. Aegon was worse—Aegon did not feel the least bit ashamed of his desires and repeatedly told Aemond that he would do the same to you if he were a real man. (Never, Aemond always thought viciously, never would he touch you like that, never would he make you cry like that.) He felt a vicious anger in those moments that he could barely contain. It was nearly as terrible as it was after he lost his eye and he realised that he could not defend his mother from either Rhaenyra’s manipulations or his father’s wroth.

While Aemond was weak though, you eventually began to retaliate. First by kicking his brother in the shin, then by throwing things at him. It already shamed Aemond that you had to do this for yourself, but what made it worse was that his mother punished you for defending yourself, lecturing that your family should always show unity before others. It was not so different from how she advised Aemond to tolerate his brother’s mistreatment of him in both public and private.

Aemond was never upset with Alicent over his own misgivings, but your hardship was something else altogether. It was easy to for Aemond to swallow public humiliation for himself, for he loved his queen mother and considered himself a loyal son—but for you?

He could not swallow it for you. He could not bear to let you suffer the indignity of being treated like an expensive cut of meat by the entirety of the court.

Aemond resolved to put an end to it when he was older—just as he resolved to put an end to his own torment, and just as he resolved to put an end to his mother’s worry. She had a precarious position with a King who did not love her or her sons, and you had a precarious position with the men at court who felt entitled to touch and insult you as they pleased. It was natural that he wanted to protect you both, and he could only do so if he gained power.

So power he did obtain. Aemond honed himself into a weapon, and he did not hesitate from using his blade’s edge. His presence around you became constant, imposing. Whenever men demanded your presence, he made sure to smile sharply and make it known that you were under his protection: “Return her to me once you are done,” he always commanded. Return her to me whole and unharmed, or else face my wrath if she is hurt, he always left unsaid.

When he was only newly a man, having seen ten-and-six name days, there were occasionally those who chose to defy him anyway. The most egregious was a visiting lord of the Stormlands who made it known that he found you quite comely. “No wonder kings and lords often go to Lys to find their concubines,” the lord had said, his eyes greedy upon you. “The women of their pillowhouses appear to be quite beautiful.”

You could not afford to offend him, for you could not afford to offend Otto Hightower. You only smiled stiffly, taking the hand he'd offered you. “Thank you, my lord,” you replied. “You flatter me too much. I was born in the Red Keep, and I was raised among the noble houses of Westeros. I am, in truth, as Westerosi as you.”

It did not matter to the Stormlands lord, just as it never seemed to matter to any other man. He took you to dance, and Aemond saw what he did to you, what you could not defend yourself from in the middle of a banquet hall filled with oppressive, heavy gazes. Stinking of Arbor gold and perfume, the older man openly grabbed you, pressed his body against yours, manhandled you like the Great Hall was a pleasure house and you were his preferred whore.

You were going to strike him, Aemond saw. Your brow twitched and your arm wound with tension, the way that it always did before you slapped Aegon. You were going to hit this lord and the consequences would be dire, for it would be a disgrace to House Targaryen for one of its ladies to conduct herself with such violence and inhospitality.

But Aemond was a man—and men are not so easily punished for violence.

He moved quickly, serpentlike. Not even Ser Criston, who had begun to cut a path toward you, could match Aemond’s pace. He placed a hand on the offending lord's shoulders, and suddenly the oaf was thrown like a ragdoll, body sliding across the marble floor as the crowd parted around him. Aemond’s boot crushed the chest of the drunken fool, pinning him down. Screams teared from several throats; an angry yell from the lord.

“How dare you,” he snapped. “Is this how House Targaryen comports itself to other nobles?”

Aemond only smiled. Steel flashed like lightning under the chandelier, and the edge of his blade pressed neatly against the wrist of the lord, drawing a thin, red line across his skin.

“House Targaryen,” Aemond declared loudly, “does not tolerate dishonourable behaviour toward any of its princesses or ladies. I imagine that your liege lord would not either, nor any of the other nobles in the Stormlands.”

He leaned down then, looking at the man as if he were a pest—a stain beneath his boot. “My justice is not a lenient one, ser,” Aemond murmured. A red glow pulsed on his left periphery, in the spot where he was blind: a phantom vision from his missing eye, the absence of which he felt everyday. “The next time you lay your hand on my lady, I shall cut it off myself.”

Ser Criston escorted the man out, and the lord departed from court the next day. Suddenly every lecher who had ever pestered you kept a wide berth from you, and every man you encountered was nothing but polite. You moved with so much more ease after that: less tense, less small, less sombre. You were no longer afraid of existing in the presence of others, Aemond observed. You even seemed to laugh and smile more openly, the sight of which he would never tire.

“I am grateful for what you did,” you said after the fact, “but I still think it was very extreme. Your mother was quite unhappy with you, you know, and your grandsire was displeased as well.”

“Alicent was indeed startled,” he admitted, “and the Hand prefers to keep his relationships cordial for the sake of his own plans, but this was the only way to ensure your safety. If men do not fear, then they do not obey. Sometimes it is necessary to demonstrate one’s might for the sake of order.”

You gave him a long look. “Such is the way that our ancient house thinks, but I am unsure that it is always true. Sometimes it helps to exercise self-restraint.”

Aemond’s mouth curled. He wondered if you knew how gentle your disposition could be, how naive you could be.

“My lady,” he replied, “I was exercising self-restraint. I was even being merciful. He kept his hands when he should have lost both, did he not?”

XI. THE STAR, REVERSED

Alicent seemed apprehensive on the night before the tournament, just as Aemond thought she would be.

He sought her out in Maegor’s Holdfast: one of the few places in the castle free from eavesdroppers by way of servants and listeners within its walls. If any whispers came from the tower, it was due to the folly of the people residing there, and Alicent would not err in this matter. She would stay tight-lipped to everyone but him—for he was his mother’ son, and he knew how to appeal to her weaknesses.

“You intend to wed my cousin to Ser Arthur Tyrell,” he said. His voice was soft, a statement rather than an accusation.

She swallowed. “Yes. The Tyrells are a great house—a match nearly unimaginable. And you met Ser Arthur: the man is dignified, handsome, and cares not for the girl’s origins. She will be treated well.”

“It may seem that way outwardly,” Aemond said, “but I must inform you of some devastating news I heard from Ser Criston.”

“News?”

“Yes. It seems that Ser Arthur is a raper—Ser Criston saw it for himself during his time in the Dornish Marches. Acts that were an affront to the Seven. Crimes to the Mother, Maiden, and Crone alike.”

Alicent was almost certainly aware that he had deduced she'd already known this. The flicker of doubt in her eyes and tension in her body gave it away. Still, she quickly donned a mask of surprise and revulsion. “A raper?”

“Yes.” The corner of his mouth turned down. “You must know, Mother—I worry for my cousin. You know how dear she is to me.” Everyone in the Red Keep seemed to know it except for you, Aemond thought dryly. “I would not be able to live with myself if I did not plead for you to stop this match.”

She breathed in deeply, tried her best to look reluctant and fretful. “I know how much this must worry you, but the matter has already been settled, Aemond. We cannot offend the Tyrells by dissolving this betrothal. But your cousin is quite resourceful—I am sure she will find a way to stay safe. Doubly so, since the Tyrells will not want to offend us.”

“But my grandsire has a greater wish not to offend them,” he said softly. “He needs their support when we claim the throne, and he intends to trade her body to secure it. It leaves her without any leverage.”

It was difficult to keep his voice gentle when the thought drove him mad. Always, always—people wished to buy and sell you, to treat you like a bed slave to be used. He would cut off the hands of every man in the Red Keep if it meant that no one would ever try that with you again. Sometimes, he even believed that he would cut off even those hands belonging to his own brother.

Alicent would never consent to such violence just to protect you, but she sounded earnest when she replied, “It is not easy for me to do this to your cousin.”

“I know it is not.” Aemond kept his face solemn. “It is already difficult for you to turn a blind eye to all those maids that fall victim to my brother’s impulses”—except it was not difficult for her at all, he thought, for Alicent staunchly needed her family to maintain the appearance of unity—“but I imagine it is unbearable to watch it happen to a girl you raised and cared for as your own. You were practically a mother to her.”

A subtle frown. “I am hardly anything like her mother.”

Are you so blind as to think you are not? he thought. For Alicent tried to teach you the values that she taught to her children, and she struck you for your disgraces as hard as she struck Aegon, and she told you to swallow your humiliations as often as she did Aemond. And she resented you as much as she resented all of them—for giving birth to them when she was still yet a child, for being saddled with the responsibility of raising them, for doing it all alone because his father did not love her nor any of them.

Aemond considered himself a loyal son, but he had no delusions about any of this. It was so obvious that not even Aegon was fool enough to miss this fact: his mother did not love either of the sons she had raised.

And just as equally, she did not love you.

“But even if I am not a mother to her,” Alicent mused, “you are right in thinking I mislike this. I find it unbearable… but sometimes we must do unbearable things to protect the people important to us.”

“Yes—truer words than any. Sometimes we must do the worst to protect the ones we love.”

His mother knew him well. He watched as Alicent’s eyes flickered with understanding. She took a deep breath and regarded him as if he was something to fear: a threat or a monster, rather than her own son. The moment was brief, but Aemond noticed it just as he had noticed it all the times before. He could not help the sharp knife of disappointment in his heart.

“What are you planning, Aemond?” she asked.

His mouth curled, and he did not answer her question. She likely already knew.

“Do not resent me for this, Mother. You have said it yourself: this marriage isn't something you want, either. Allow me to do what you cannot.” And let me free you from the guilt that will burden you should you condemn your daughter to this match that Grandsire has orchestrated.

Alicent gave him a long look. “You ask for me to allow it, but I cannot stop you.”

He hummed, still smiling—guiltless. For Aemond considered himself a loyal son, and that meant that he must do all the things that his mother was too gentle to know she should do. It meant that he must make men fear their family when she was not capable of it. It meant that he must show might when she was weak.

It meant that he must maintain order when no one else would.

“No,” he agreed. “You cannot.”

XII. KNIGHT OF CUPS

You were not fond of tourneys when you were younger.

Social pariahs do not do well at social events. While tournaments and feasts were a source of joy for everyone else, they—like every other celebration—only served to highlight how friendless you were. At first you tried to enjoy them with Helaena, but her mother eventually forbade it, so worried she was about your influence on her daughter. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. You then tried spending the time with Aemond, but Aegon was always made to sit near him, meaning that he also sat near you. It quickly became intolerable: Aegon’s hands would always curiously end up on your body—your lower back, your thighs, your bottom, and so on.

Aegon’s behaviour used to make you cry from the discomfort (privately, for you would have rather died than showed weakness before him), but after a time you grew tired of the crying and you started to kick him in retaliation. While this effectively kept his hands off you, it also meant that Alicent eventually also forbade her two sons from sitting near you. She could not have Aegon making a fool of himself during every tourney, yelping as you defended yourself.

In the end, you were left to sit alone in every tourney, which was simply uncomfortable. You loved a good joust as much as anyone else, but it was not nearly so fun when you had no one to spectate with or speak with between rounds. You would only sit there alone, with a favour that the septa had forced you to make, for which no one would ask, acutely aware of the gazes of other people. You always squirmed in your seat, trying not to think of the judgements being passed upon you: how lonely you were, how pathetic you were, how few people of noble standing would ever want your company except to touch you as if you were a bed slave like your mother.

All of this changed when Aemond grew up.

As soon as he was old enough to have the freedom, he began to accompany you during any festivities, sitting next to you in the stands. And when he began to join the listings, you always looked forward to seeing him cut down his opponents, knocking them brutally off their horses or making them yield to his sword. Even though you sat alone, you were never lonely, for Aemond spent the idle time between rounds with you, smiling in genuine amusement as you leaned over the barrier to jest and speak with him, once so deeply that you nearly fell over.

Eventually, you got into the habit of sitting in the front row, not hoping to bless anyone with a favour, but simply so you could speak more easily with him. You sat now in the same spot as always—but for once, you were not alone. Jacaerys was next to you, and Lucerys next to him. It was their first tournament in King’s Landing, and their excitement for it was evident.

You could not have asked for a better day for a tourney: the sky was a rich blue and the wind tempered the heat of the sun. The banners and shields all seemed so vivid in the bright daylight, stags and bears and towers and wolves emblazoned across them all. Jace and Luke recognized every house sigil, of course, but it did not stop you from pointing out every knight in the tiltyard. You gave a particular pause to the knight that carried a green shield blooming with a golden flower. “My betrothed,” you said. “Ser Arthur is apparently quite the splendid knight.”

“Ah.” Jacaerys’ expression was unreadable, his tone neutral. “I'll need to keep an eye on him.” He glanced down at the favour on your lap: a ring of golden blossoms with a green silk ribbon woven through it, obviously inspired by the Tyrell coat-of-arms. “Did you prepare that for him?”

You nodded. “No one ever asks me for my favour, so I stopped making them long ago, but I made one this time in case he thinks to request it in courtship. It was the Queen’s recommendation.”

“A good one,” Jace admitted, though he looked neither happy nor approving. “What do you think are the chances that he’ll win the crown of love and beauty for you?”

“None at all, I hope. I’ve bet quite a bit of coin on Aemond,” you said neatly. “Tyland Lannister will lose a great deal of money today.”

Jace’s mouth was slanted with something that might have been amusement. “Are you always so confident in my uncle’s victories?”

“Well, he does always win,” you replied, grinning.

“So I've heard,” he said, sounding exasperated, and you had to stop yourself from feeling embarrassed. Over the years, you had mentioned occasionally in your letters about how much time Aemond put into training, and which tourneys he had won, and all the things you were learning about warfare from him. You did not think that Jacaerys would have minded it, but he currently looked distinctly sour.

“Sorry.”

“No, it's all right.” He studied the yard carefully. “I look forward to seeing what sort of fighter my uncle has become.”

His dark gaze landed upon Aemond then, a silhouette of night-black armour chased with gold. His helm was off, revealing his silver hair and sharply carved features. You did not often think about how handsome your cousin was, and typically you thought of him too frightening to be gallant, but you could not ignore it today: Aemond Targaryen was a very beautiful man. You had to remind yourself that he was Alicent Hightower’s son, which was a fact that never failed to stop you from admiring him. If ever you should lose your wits and find yourself besotted with Aemond, the Queen would instantly banish you from the capital. Though Aemond, himself, was far too ambitious to enter a marriage as politically useless as yours would be.

Rather than lingering on your undesirability, you instead turned your focus to the two knights about to joust, a Tarth and a Dondarrion. You'd seen both the year before, and you were unsurprised when the Dondarrion brutally unseated the former. Every house of the Dornish Marches had fierce warriors forged by true battle, and Dondarrion was no exception. The nobles around you clapped politely; the smallfolk in the commons cheered.

More rounds. Caron against Frey, then Tully against Stokeworth, then Dayne against Lannister. Then, finally—Aemond Targaryen.

As a prince, Aemond was allowed to choose his opponents. Never one to be craven, he stopped and pointed his lance at the knight carrying a brown shield with three stalks of wheat: the emblem of House Selmy of the Dornish Marches. Their knights were on par with the Daynes, and just as battle-hardened.

Though Aemond was skilled, he had never seen war unlike his opponent, and you could not help but feel anxious as you watched him guide his courser into the lane. He was starting out with Ser Selmy on his left. No matter how many times you watched Aemond joust, you always felt a sense of apprehension about his blind side. You did not know how he saw without his missing eye; you only knew how much he struggled after losing it, training with Ser Criston day and night, determined to regain his balance and aim, determined to take back what he'd lost…

Both warriors readied themselves. Selmy did not hold his reins, but Aemond did, so certain of his victory. Their lances were in hand, the ends rounded but no less dangerous.

The horses cried as they began.

Your heart pounded nearly as loud as the hooves beating against the ground. They race past one another and their weapons glanced against steel: Aemond’s lance on Selmy’s shield, splintering and bursting on contact; Selmy’s on Aemond’s arm. Neither faltered. As soon as your cousin was given a new lance, they resumed, with Selmy now charging on Aemond's right.

This time, Aemond’s lance crashed right into Selmy’s neck, just beneath his chin. The knight’s destrier screamed, nearly toppling over as Selmy was thrown off. The commons roared with delight, while all the nobles clapped politely—except for you. You could not help but stand on your feet and cheer in a distinctly undignified manner. When you looked down, Jace was studying you with amusement, and you could only grin.

Aemond, as always, rode over to where you sat. He looked up at you, mouth curled into a satisfied smile. You waved at him, practically hanging over the edge of the balcony.

“Well done, my Prince!” you exclaimed. “A splendid show as always! And against such a fearsome opponent, too!”

“Thank you, my lady, but you need not congratulate me yet. Other opponents equally fierce await me.”

“And you will best them as well,” you shouted, “for I have a great number of gold dragons staked on you! You are not allowed to lose!”

Aemond seemed amused. “If my lady wishes for my victory, then I would ask her for her help.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “My help?”

He held out a hand. “Your favour.”

You stared at him.

The nobles around you went quiet. You could feel the gazes of Queen Alicent and the Hand boring into you. Aemond One-Eye had never once asked a lady for her favour. To think that he was now asking for it—and asking it of you, a woman betrothed to another man—was pure scandal.

You glanced at Ser Arthur, whose gaze on Aemond was nearly piercing. This could only be part of Aemond’s play, you determined—an attempt at humiliation, and perhaps a feigned declaration of his intent to court you? The Tyrells could hardly ignore a Targaryen prince competing with their offer, even if he was doing it without the consent of his queen mother. If Aemond challenged Ser Arthur for your hand, it would complicate matters for them. You were unsure, though, if such a complication would deter them.

But Aemond told you to play along, so play along you did. You tossed at him your ring of blossoms and ribbon, and felt something in your chest twisting oddly as he caught them. No one had ever asked you for your favour before, and even though Aemond was doing it only as a ploy, it still made your heart pound to see someone wear your flowers.

“I don't imagine Ser Arthur will be happy about that,” Jace remarked after you sat down.

“Aemond is trying to slight the Tyrells.”

“I figured. Bold of him.”

“As is his disposition.” You settled back into your seat, trying to seem normal. “Well, now he has to win. I’ve bet a hundred gold dragons and my favour on him.”

“A hundred gold dragons?”

“I have inherited enough money to own half the city of Lys. A hundred gold dragons is nothing, especially when I will double it. A Lannister always pays his debts, you know.”

“You seem to have your father’s gift for making coin.”

“I only know when to hedge my bets.”

You both went quiet as several more rounds of jousting occurred. Ser Arthur was as fierce as the whispers told; he knocked a knight of Swann clean off his destrier, and even unhorsed the Dondarrion. Aemond eventually rode against Dayne and sent the great warrior crashing into the stands. They drew swords following the unhorsing, steel dancing and clashing violently. Aemond eventually forced the Marcher knight to yield.

The next time Aemond rode, he chose Ser Arthur for his opponent.

The commons cheered raucously, and every eye in the audience was heavy upon them. All throughout the stands, you heard people making their bets, and you sent Tyland Lannister a smile in reminder of your own. All the while, the two frontrunners for the tournament positioned themselves on opposite ends of the tiltyard. Ser Arthur was on Aemond’s left, you noticed, and your heart raced as the horses galloped.

Ser Arthur was formidable, and while Aemond was renowned for his skill, all the knights he'd chosen had still challenged him. He required two, three rounds to unseat most of them. Everyone expected a fight, an equal match of several rounds, perhaps even a swordfight—

But in a single, savage motion, Aemond’s lance speared right through Ser Arthur’s neck.

It took several moments for people to realise what had happened. Once they did, chaos gripped the crowd. Deaths happened occasionally during tourneys, but typically during melees, for the jousting lances were intentionally designed not to kill. And rarely was a death so stunning nor swift. Several women screamed at the sight of the bloodied lance, at the corpse that was falling from its horse; many of the men roared and cheered. Across the stands, you noticed Lady Tyrell sitting still and quiet.

You did not react yourself. You only sat there, numb with disbelief. You could think only of one thing:

“Did”—you swallowed thickly—“H-how did he do that? Was that on purpose?”

“I don't know,” Luke replied, voice trembling, but Jace sounded confident when he replied, “No. It was an accident.”

You turned to him. “How are you so certain?”

He seemed stoic when he replied—not cold or cruel, but solemn. Dignified in the face of death. “Aemond has a habit of aiming for the upper chest or neck when he jousts,” he explained. “You saw it for yourself, didn't you, with that knight of House Selmy? It is a brutal move, but not fatal. The gorget protects the opponent. But”—Jace frowned—“did you see the gorget on Ser Arthur? It wasn’t fastened correctly.”

You did not know what a gorget was or how one would see that it was loose, but you trusted Jace. “And Aemond would not have noticed?”

Jacaerys looked troubled. “I might have. But Ser Arthur was on his left…”

Aemond’s blind side, you realised.

“Then,” you asked, “who exactly is to blame?”

“I did not think the day would ever come that I would defend my uncle, but I don't believe that Aemond is at fault. It would be Ser Arthur’s squire, if anyone were to be held accountable—though such blunders are not unusual for an inexperienced squire. It was strange that Ser Arthur himself did not notice. He is—was—an experienced knight. He should know how his armour feels.”

“Aemond goaded Ser Arthur to anger,” you said, thinking not only of the favour, but their incensed conversation the night before, “so he was likely too distracted to notice. People are stupid when they're angered.”

The thought unsettled you, but Jace seemed unbothered. “You're speaking true. That is precisely why anyone would try to anger their foes before a battle—a stupid opponent is a weak one. It is not foul play that Aemond did so.” He gave you a pitying look. “Still, this is a tragedy. I am sorry for the loss of your betrothed.”

“You need not be,” you said, and you nearly added I had no desire to marry a raper anyway, until you remembered that you were in a crowd. “It is no one's fault, as you said,” you recovered. “I cannot blame anyone. I only mourn for Ser Arthur and his family.”

You tried not to wince as you remembered them. It was an accident, Jace had explained—but the death of a Tyrell son at the hands of a Targaryen prince would still be cause for strife and offence. You dreaded the consequences, and they loomed over you for the rest of the jousts.

The crowd, however, moved quickly past Ser Arthur’s tragedy. They cheered as the last several rounds finished, and by the time Aemond Targaryen unhorsed his final opponent, it was as if he had not just killed a knight. The commons cheered for him raucously, the nobles clapped and nodded in approval. It felt like you were alone in your discomfort—the only one suspicious of the incident.

You were so deep in your musings that you nearly did not realise it when Aemond was given his crown of winter roses to bequeath upon his chosen queen. The crowd murmured in curiosity as he drew toward them, though you watched almost with boredom. Aemond was utterly disinterested in the pageantry of tournaments, and nearly skipped the crowning the first time he won one. It was only at the urging of the crowd that he crowned his sister in his first year, then his mother in the next—with the least enthusiasm possible both times. Doubtlessly, he would crown one of them again.

You almost thought he made a mistake when he stopped in front of you.

“Who else should I crown as the queen of love and beauty,” he declared, a nearly roguish smile on his face, “other than my lady cousin?”

Although the crowd gasped in equal parts shock and delight, you only stared at him, aghast. “Me?”

He raised a brow. “Are you so surprised? You are the loveliest and most beautiful here to my eye, my lady. The title suits you well.”

You were stunned. Dumbstruck. You could not match this bold flattery to the Aemond you knew: a man who focused only on duty and politics, and who seemed utterly dispassionate about both marriage and women. Staring at the man before you, you wondered if he had been replaced by a changeling—or perhaps he had been possessed by some kind of demon?

But where you were confused, the younger girls around you seemed only excited. Cheers and giggles erupted around you. Ladies who had never in their life wanted to speak with you were now suddenly enamoured with you—or perhaps enamoured with Prince Aemond, who was known for his cold behaviour and complete disinterest in matters of courtly love. But right now Aemond was the very image of a gallant prince rather than a terrifying killer, and all the girls around you must have been excited by it.

Several of them urged you forward:

“Go on, my lady! Go on!”

“You can't turn down a prince!”

“Especially not Prince Aemond, of all people!”

“Who knew he was such a romantic!”

“Who knew! He must be serious in his intent to court you, my lady!”

“Yes, yes—he is always seen with you, is he not? Oh, I know the whispers were false, but he must truly wish to be your lover!”

“It is as they say, my lady. He wishes so badly to crown you, just see how he is looking at you! Do not keep him waiting!”

Never had you gotten so much approval from strangers. It was as foreign and unfamiliar as the experience of receiving attention from a man that was not absolutely repulsive and violating. You had never once imagined in your life that someone would ever want to crown you at a tournament or display such gallantry toward you, and it deeply affected you. Rather than feeling the butterflies of a newly discovered love, however, you were so overwhelmed that you only wanted to throw up.

Giving Jace a mildly terrified expression, you made your way down the stands. You tried not to look at Queen Alicent as you did, trying to avoid what you were sure was a gaze of complete wrath.

When you were finally on the tiltyard, facing Aemond, he dismounted from his courser. Even standing before him, you were convinced that he was confused, that this was some kind of error, that he was unwell or mad or had some other lady cousin you did not know of. Nevertheless, he laid the crown of roses upon your head, its blooms so blue and rare that the crowd exclaimed at their beauty.

Even though the masses were unrepentant in their delight, you could only give Aemond a blank look.

“What are you doing?” you asked in Valyrian, and he replied in kind.

“Courting you—was that not obvious?”

“Of course it is obvious. I am asking why.”

“It will be difficult for another house to request your hand if it means angering the Targaryen prince who rides the largest dragon in the world.” He looked self-satisfied. “Our family is known for madness, after all. People generally do not want to provoke it in us.”

You felt a headache coming on, disbelieving that this was his brilliant plan. And it still remained to be seen whether he had meant to kill Ser Arthur—for despite Jace’s staunch belief in his uncle’s innocence, the thorns upon your head led you to doubt him.

“You are mad for doing this, cousin,” you said.

“Perhaps. But have I not solved the problem of your betrothal?”

“For now. But we will be forced into this ruse of courtship, and once we stop, we will once again face the same problem.”

He smiled. He took your hand into his, and even though this was not his first time doing this, you were still startled when he pressed his lips to your knuckle. This time, your heart pounded in reaction and there was a mildly concerning flutter in your stomach.

Aemond replied only once he returned your hand to you, his expression as amused as it was cunning.

“Why need we ever stop?”

END PART V

hiii thank you for reading <3 i hope everyone enjoyed aemond's freak behaviour in this!

now that this chapter is out of the way, I would like to discuss a major shortcoming of this story. I did not have the foresight to write the earlier chapters in a way that expanded on the psychic damage that years of gendered microaggressions and sexual harassment has had on the reader. it was something I didn't want to focus on because I just wanted to have fun writing about some court politics and romance lol, but I've realised that it's going to play a very big role in the future of this fic (rip).

I've tried to introduce some of it here through aemond's pov, but I do want to emphasize how much of an influence it has had on the reader's mentality. it actually has even passively influenced the narrative even though I was actively trying to avoid writing about it - for instance, it's partly why she has zero expectations for ever having a romance, why she has no romantic/sexual experiences even though she gets a lot of attention, why she is very pragmatic about marriage, why she has no plans to have sex beyond a purely political marriage, etc... the trauma response does run even deeper than all of that though!

anyhow - thanks again for reading! please let me know if you enjoyed this. reblogs are greatly appreciated too! ^^

[starscabaret]

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. 

[green-typewriterz]

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.

[softsoundingsea]

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��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.

[itstimetojellyfish]

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

[deusvervewrites]

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)

[coreancitizen]

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.

[feederheart]

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.”

[supernovasilence]

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.

[hollowember]

Shadows and flame prt. 2// Azriel x female Vanserra OC

The follow on from the part 1 fluff/ come down.. etc etc.

This is probably poorly written and unproofed smut with a long lead up, some Vanserra family content and tension. Also muucchhh longer than prt 1.

---

The grand ball room was decorated in golds, reds, dark greens and browns, typical for the Autumn Court style. But the entire hall was lit by candle light and places were set for a grand court dinner. It was the lead up to Candlemas, a marker of hope in the winter months, from a time before the Courts were established and darkness ruled the winter. The hall was beautiful, despite being filled with Autumn Courtiers, lords and ladies who either adored her father or tolerated him out of fear him or love for their position.

She had never gotten used to being displayed on the dais, along with her brothers, father and mother, they all dined on the dais. The feast on their table was decorated far more extravagantly than the tables below, but eyes rested not on the food but the family of the Autumn Court. 

She was always positioned towards her fathers end of the table, not next to him, never, but always too close to hide. Her mother sat to Beron's left, also displayed but always under his grasp. The chair to her fathers right side was usually reserved for Eris, the Autumn Courts unofficial heir, but it seemed today a lesser lord had taken her father's interest, her brother sat seething between herself and their mother. 

To be honest she was grateful he'd taken the seat usually reserved for the second eldest of their siblings, an awful brute who was more interested in the court ladies and servants than keeping his food in his mouth.

Despite Eris' harshness, she got on better with him over any of her other siblings, besides, it was far more entertaining watching Eris try to regain their father's favour. Each time the lord spoke, Eris would interject with a snarky comment or a smooth counter argument, he was itching to have their fathers ear again. She studied her brothers tight jaw and barely narrowed eyes, hidden well with a relaxed posture and a delicate hand on his wine glass. Briar wondered what was riding on this for him, what the sneaky fox had planned or hidden. 

Only after Briar had counted the courtiers twice over, and had made note of who was there, did she realise her brother had taking to more quiet seething. 

She side glanced Eris, "Maybe he's a better conversationalist." Briar said around her food.

Eris was quite for a beat, inspecting her. "What?" he said flatly.

"Father's new best-friend, better conversationalist than you. More interesting, no doubt."

Eris narrowed his eyes, his wine glass hadn't left his hand most of the night. "Maybe he's got a nasty son that father can sell you off to. Finally get rid of you."

Briar scoffed, hiding how hard those words hit, "Have I wounded you little fox? Is that why you bite?"

Eris kept quiet, drinking deep. She hoped the booze would dull his senses to the new presence in the Forest House. A shadow that made her skin prickle. 

Eris's words were more true than she'd like to admit. Her father was holding out for the best offer, his only daughter wouldn't be given to anyone, they had to have money, influence, land, all of which Beron wasn't able to just take for himself anyway. She was likely to be sold to a neighbouring Court, or maybe even to some Lord on the continent. Briar looked out at the Courtiers, there were many in the hall who would like the power of a Vanserra alliance. Families ran strong in the Autumn Court, the patriarchal family system was all they'd known, and fathers had a nasty habit of surviving in their court.

A featherlight touch brushed against Briar's shin, if she hadn't of known better she would've said it was simply a shadow hound looking for someone to beg food from.

"How long before we're dismissed?" Briar grumbled, anxiety gnawed at her stomach, to her knowledge Azriel had never come this close, not himself anyway.

"We're here to entertain, sister, you know that." Eris grumbles, "Nothing more than painted whores."

Eris gestures to a cupbearer, she fills his cup but before she slinks away Eris catches the cupbearers arm. He chugs the wine cleanly before holding his cup for her to fill again, then gently releases her. The cupbearer disappears in a blink.

Poor female was terrified, the Vanserra name tarnished with underhanded brutality. Briar had learnt to be sharp but not yet cruel. Maybe that would come, maybe the affect their father had had on her brothers would soon engulf her too. Maybe she would become cruel, maybe that was the only way to survive, to shut out everything else. She'd somewhat mastered the mask, uncaring and cold. It was hard to keep it from seeping in to her actual emotions. To stay warm and caring. To say there were some things that she still cared about.

Briar held out her glass to the cupbearer then tipped it towards Eris. "If we're here to entertain, might as well enjoy it."

A smirk pulled at her brothers serpentine lips, his brows low on his ember warm eyes, and he clinked his glass with hers.

The lights and the music slowly came to life, finally the party was interesting. She still laughed at Eris' attempts to gain space in their father's conversation, only his approach became more brutal, dry, and clipped. Her laughter became louder and more open.

"What loud children you have Beron." Lord Farley rose his voice, making sure it wasn't only the head table that could hear but the tables below the dais probably could make out the noise he made.

He caught the attention of her siblings, all the way to the end of the table, some leaned in to listen, others sneered, eyes rolled but unrest settled over the table. She knew her siblings were all carefully aware of their father's gaze, movements, words when he said:

"Some more than others."

Eris with some great deal of arrogance stared right at their father, head titled back slightly to rest against the chair.

"I had hoped to make a proposal with your family soon," Briar's blood turned to ice, a shiver danced across her skin, she forced herself to remain still, to not swallow a gulp, "Now I'm not so sure."

"Oh good, we'll be spared from the Autumn troops leftovers." Eris scoffed. It didn't quite get a rise out of Farley, his jaw clenched but he kept his gaze on Beron, Eris bit down harder. "Poor girl has had more cock than there are leaves on Autumn's floor." The male went red, that didn't stop Eris who leaned it with a bite in his laugh, "Why do you think the training grounds are so close to your lands?"

"Enough, boy!" Farley had a fat finger pointed at Eris, his breath heaving through the holes in his plump face. "I'll not have you speak about my daughter in such away."

Briar's lip twitched, it was remarkable how someone could change colours in such a way. She felt the silence across the table. For once her awful brothers had fallen silent, watching.

Beron stayed quiet, waiting.

A test, it was always a test. Eris was unnamed heir to Autumn, perhaps he always would be; it didn't stop the need to prove himself anyway.

Eris hummed, "Maybe we'll move the base, the men are bored. Thimley has need of more troops in the south. Your daughter and niece will make good entertainment for them on the journey down there I suppose." Her brother shrugged and took another deep drink. "Or perhaps your brother is more capable of handling your lands, surely better at keeping his tongue."

Eris sat back in his seat, waiting for something more from the fat lord. Farley stared a Beron incredulously, Briar wished she'd heard what outlandish nonsense he would have spewed next had an awful sound not erupted from his mouth. A choked scream came from Farley, who opened his mouth to show a severely blistered tongued.

He whined some injured noises looking between Eris and Beron frantically.

Beron frowned at him, with a hint of confusion, "Clearly you've been dismissed." He sneered, looking at Farley dripping sweat.

The male left grumbling and whining, nearly falling off the dais. Beron's gaze remained on Eris, completely unreadable before he scoffed, "Was a chair really worth the drama, boy?"

Eris didn't look like a victor, his face stayed impassive, "Yes, father."

---

Briar's evening, after enough wine to fill a bath, was wonderful. She managed to slip off the dais for a moment to dance, remembering to put a show on for the Courtiers, but she had danced alone. Not gripped in the arms of some lords son.

She's sure her father would have some creative punishment for having embarrassed him waiting for her tomorrow, but right now she didn't care. No, Briar couldn't find an ounce of remorse as she stumbled down the halls, a guard following to make sure she didn't end up spending the night in a corridor instead of her rooms.

The guards were all spies for her father. She liked to think her charm had won over a few, but the threat of her fathers wrath was probably more convincing to them. Like Ronen, the guard walking her back now, he was often posted to her rooms or to shadow her movements on hunts. She had no doubt her father had his claws deep in him and he'd give up any information on her at his command. That was a fraction of the reason why, when they reached her rooms, she paused at the door, leaning back against it letting a deep silence rest between them.

She studied his face, sharp pointed features of a thoroughbred High Fae family, a typical choice of her father, the lesser fae stayed away from The House. She wondered what made him significant in her fathers eyes, why he was chosen, entrusted, to keep her from wandering the halls drunk as a clurichaun.

She had to fight for his eye contact, watching his face, his jaw tight, shoulders set and eyes firmly on the door behind her. A game of patience, Briar wasn't afraid to remain in silence, wait out her foes. It took more than a minute before his stare broke, and his eyes flicked to her then back to the door.

"Ronen." Just above a whisper but he tensed, her head tilted.

Ronen cleared his throat, "Lady Vanserra."

He was handsome in a conventional manner, strong jaw, sandy blond hair, solid shoulders, and a decent reputation, not yet blooded but he was young, a fresh recruit to replace those lost in the war. "Care for a drink?" She asked in a sweet, gentle voice.

The guard flushed, "I don't think you should drink anymore, my lady."

Briar raised an eyebrow, pushing off the door keeping her hands clasped behind her back. "Is that your opinion, Ronen?" She challenged moving closer to him, still untouching but his stance opened up to her ever so slightly. She went close enough that she had to tilt her chin slightly to meet his eyes, and watch blood seep into his cheeks.

Usually the guard would dip his head, apologise and keep his stare fixed on anything else. Her father wanted it that way, the guards to be afraid to even look at her or her mother, his looming presence always there.

That's what Briar expected, for the young male to get flustered, but much to her surprise Ronen looked at her openly, maybe for the first time in her life had a guard looked at her like that. A smirk danced on her lips as she backed against the wall next to her door, more to steady her swaying than to put distance between them. The alcohol in her blood put fuel to the fire, her skin burning.

Briar kept her eyes on her guard. Her dress was simple with its fastenings, she hated being dressed by servants so she had the seamstresses make gowns she could manage herself. She found the knot holding her skirts to her waist, and Ronen watched the movement but stayed cemented in place. Beron would kill him, if he found out. She pulled at the knot, Ronen's eyes snapping to hers when the skirts dropped. She was still covered, an under skirt, bodice, corset, some fabric, but this was more than any guard had seen. Especially one working for her father.

The bodice was buttoned up the back, but her magic wove in and out, unfastening each button until the bodice slipped down between them. She kept quiet, kept her eyes on him, not dropping their eye contact to see if he'd meet her challenge, play her game. 

Ronen moved then, slow calculated steps, kicking the fabric on the floor aside.

They'd never been so close, she could see the dimples in his skin, his leafy green eyes that reminded her of the Spring Courts flora, and his hard set brows that had finally relaxed as he looked her over.

He leaned in closer still untouching but finally looking her at her without apprehension. His gaze travelled over her as he leant to her side, chest brushing her arm, before he opened the door to her rooms.

"I'll take a drink." He said lowly. Briar cracked the door she kept her magic hidden behind, letting it seep out the cracks, exposing it like a nerve in a wound, feeling what he felt, seeing her through his eyes. Lust, anxiety, desire, fear. She leant in closer, brushing her nose up the column of his neck, just under his neck, up to his ear as he braced a hand above her head. She could hear the whispers of his thoughts, all of them eager to hide their actions in the confines of her rooms. 

Briar bit the lobe of his ear as she felt the male breathe in her scent, "Kiss me here." She challenged, pulling back to rest her head against the wall, watching the cogs turn in his mind, feeling his confusion wash over her skin. 

Ronen didn't move, his expression grew confused, he threw a look over his shoulder to the empty corridor beyond then flicked his gaze between her and the door. 

He made no move to kiss her, no move to touch her. Briar hummed, with a snap of her fingers the fabrics on the floor disappeared into a fold in reality. She dipped under his arm and disappeared into her rooms without him. 

Briar locked the door behind her, Ronen had disappeared the moment she had, almost running from her rooms like a frightened boy. 

She didn't have a heart beat to sigh before she drew her dagger and swung. The blow was blocked, her arm met with a sturdier one. She dropped her dagger catching it in her other hand and angling up towards the males chest. He dodged, then grabbed her arm, twisting the dagger from her grasp and slamming her hard against the wall, her other arm pinned to her side. 

The Shadowsinger's hazel eyes met hers, and in a beat of stillness, their breaths were the only sound. 

Briar sent flames skittering towards him. The Shadowsinger flinched, his shadows retreating, the grasp on Briar's arms dropped. 

He backed away one step, with shadows shrouded around him, Briar found his face impossible to read. But her powers remained loose, hearing the whisper of his shadows, feeling the heat of his desire and excitement, a bubble of anticipation ready to pop in his chest. 

She took a step forward and another until she was, almost, chest to chest with the Illyrian. She pushed him back further with another whisper of flame, again and again, until his thighs hit the bed, his wings flaring to steady himself. 

Briar pushed again, Azriel laid himself back on the mattress, hazel eyes still deathly focused on hers. 

She climbed the bed straddling his thighs, his wings splayed enough so her knees didn't crush the fragile skin, unfastening the laces of his pants. She could feel his arousal beneath the fabric, but she didn't waste time teasing, moving her fingers around him the way she knew he liked. Briar simply freed him enough to gain access, moved her remaining skirts out the way and sank down with a sigh. A deep groan came from the male beneath her and she shuddered at the sound closing her eyes to truly concentrate on feeling him deep within her. 

She started to move, riding back and forth in a way that felt best for her, leaning back to feel him right against that spot. Briar didn't worry about putting on a show, not what her face, hair or breasts looked like, or the sounds she made. Scarred hands gripped her hips, holding the fabric free of their movements, Azriel licked his lips in a way that made Briar think he was about to speak. 

Taking his hands from her hips, Briar pinned them to the bed, leaning in close enough to brush her lips to his. He chased her lips up, attempting to catch them in a kiss, instead she whispered, "Not a word." Softly holding his chin in place to keep his gaze fixed on her. Nodding, Azriel relaxed beneath her, running one hand down her calf, but not holding, not commanding. 

Briar bit back a smile, enjoying the way Azriel shook with restraint as she ran her hands down his neck and chest to his wings. Dancing her fingers over the smooth membrane and hard ridges of muscle and bone. Pleasure sparked through her blood as his body tightened beneath her, a tight growl ripping from his throat as he threw his head back against the sheets and curled his hands into fists, keeping himself from holding her to him and having his own way with her. 

She resumed a growingly relentless pace, leaning her weight against an arm braced on his solid thighs, she lost herself in that pleasure of having him under her, a male she knew and unfortunately trusted, a specimen of power, darkness and death embodied. She rode him like it was the last time she might ever get to have him, kept going until her legs began to tremble and pleasure built a fire in her stomach. 

Under hooded eyes Azriel watched the female above him slowly unravel, coming closer and closer to that pinnacle's edge. His hands moved then, finding that spot between her legs with precise expertise and working the nerves until her body trembled and she tightened suffocatingly around his cock. He rode her through it, pushing himself upright to attack her neck with hot, open mouthed kisses, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her riding him to his own high. Quickly found, once her hands moved from pulling the strands of his dark hair to teasing the skin of his wings, his whole body tensed keeping her firmly in his lap to release deep inside her, shuddering against her body until silence and stillness rested over them. 

Sex with Briar had never been so strange, he daren't move in case she pulled away. They'd never rested in such an intimate position afterward, she cradled his head to her chest with both arms, a hand carting through locks of hair, his own on her back holding her close as they both quietly caught their breaths. 

She pulled away first a slight frown caught on her brow. Azriel caught her lips before she could speak, savouring the way she tasted and moved her lips against his, gentle and explorative. He cupped her cheek as she pulled away, stroking her smooth, lightly freckled, skin. "Not a word." He whispered, looking into her deep green eyes. 

She nodded, and the pair fell silent as they helped each-other undress, before slipping beneath the covers like it was the norm. Briar didn't freeze as Azriel's shadows cloaked the room, his wing stretched out to cocoon them, she simply fell into a deep restful sleep tucked under his chin, nestled against his warm solid chest. 

[bonniebird]

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon​​

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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:

[mothraantics]

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.

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“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:

[apothecaryscript]

Maomao no Hitorigoto Episode 19 : Ox Bezoar / 猫猫のひとりごと　第19話　『牛黄(ごおう/Go-o)』

Please note that the English lines are just my translations.

猫猫「うーん…塩の過剰摂取(かじょうせっしゅ)による死…海藻の食中毒…爆発…。どれも仕組まれた出来事だとしたら…やはり、あの官女が？」

Maomao “Uuun… Shiono kajo-sesshuni-yoru shi… Kaisono shoku-chudoku… Bakuhatsu… Doremo shiku-mareta deki-goto-dato-shitara… yahari, ano kanjoga?”

Maomao “Hmm… The death from salt overdose… Seaweed food poisoning… The explosion… If all of them were staged events… As I thought, was that court lady the one?”

壬氏「薬屋。随分(ずいぶん)熱心だな」

Jinshi “Kusuriya. Zuibun nesshin-dana.”

Jinshi “Apothecary. You’re very enthusiastic, aren’t you?”

猫猫「はい！これから書庫で調べ物をして参ります！」

Maomao “Hai! Korekara shokode shirabe-mono’o shite-mairi-masu!”

Maomao “Yes! Now I’m going to the court library to do some research!”

壬氏「あ…そ、そうか。ところで、あの牛黄という品は、そんなに貴重な物なのか？」

Jinshi “A…So, Soka. Tokorode, ano Goo-to-iu shinawa, sonnani kichona mono nanoka?”

Jinshi “I-I see. By the way, is that item called ox bezoar really that valuable?”

猫猫「よくぞ聞いて下さいました！」

Maomao “Yokuzo kiite-kudasai-mashita!”

Maomao “That’s nice of you to ask!”

猫猫「猫猫の豆知識。牛黄は、牛の胆嚢(たんのう)にできた胆石(たんせき)。希少性(きしょうせい)が高いことや、効能(こうのう)あらたかな生薬(しょうやく)として、ひときわ価値のある特別な存在。金と同額で取引されることもある」

Maomao “Maomaono mame-chishiki. Goowa, ushino tannoni dekita tanseki. Kisho-seiga takai-kotoya, kono-aratakana shoyaku-to-shite, hitokiwa kachino aru tokubetsuna sonzai. Kinto dogakude torihiki-sareru-kotomo aru.”

Maomao “Here’s Maomao’s bits of knowledge. Ox bezoar is a gallstone that forms in the gallbladder of a cow. It is a very valuable and special entity as a very rare and highly effective herbal medicine. It’s sometimes traded for the same price as gold.”

猫猫「不老長寿(ふろうちょうじゅ)の薬、命を養う薬とも言われ、高熱や炎症を抑えるのはもちろん、心臓の働きを高めて、健忘予防(けんぼう・よぼう)にも使われるとか。おまけに死人の邪気を払う効果が…」

Maomao “Furo-Chozuno kusuri, inochi’o yashinau kusuri-tomo iware, konetsuya ensho’o osaeru-nowa mochiron, shinzono hataraki’o takamete, kenbo-yobo-nimo tsuka-wareru-toka. Omakeni shinin’no jaki’o harau kokaga…”

Maomao “It’s said to be a medicine for eternal youth and longevity, and a medicine that nourishes life. It not only suppresses high fevers and inflammation, but also enhances heart functions and prevents amnesia. In addition to that, it’s said to ward off evil spirits of the dead…

壬氏「おっ…おお、おおお。も、もう十分だ！」

Jinshi “O…Oo, ooo. Mo, Mo jubunda!”

Jinshi “Oh… Oh, oh. That’s enough!”

猫猫「そうですか」

Maomao “Sodesuka.”

Maomao “Is that so?”

壬氏「お前の牛黄に対する情熱は分かった」

Jinshi “Omaeno gooni taisuru jonetsuwa wakatta.”

Jinshi “I understood your passion for the ox bezoar.”

猫猫「私だけでなく、世界中の薬師にとって、垂涎(すいぜん)の一品(いっぴん)でございます」

Maomao “Watashi-dakede-naku, Sekai-juno kusushini totte, suizen’no ippinde gozai-masu.”

Maomao “This is a coveted item not only for me, but for pharmacists of all over the world.”

猫猫（きっとおやじも喜ぶはずだ…！もし牛黄が手に入ったら…ぐふ～！）

Maomao (Kitto oyajimo yorokobu-hazuda…! Moshi googa teni haittara… Gufuuu!)

Maomao (I’m sure my dad will be happy…! If I can get that ox bezoar…!)

壬氏「…はぁ…」

Jinshi “…Haa…”

Jinshi (sigh)

猫猫「次回、『曼荼羅華』。ついに、この騒動の真犯人が…。お楽しみに」

Maomao “Jikai, ‘Mandarage.’ Tsuini, kono sodono shin-hanninga… Otanoshimini.”

Maomao “Next episode, ‘Thornapple.’ Finally, the real culprit of this commotion will be… See you next time.”

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

「やはり(Yahari)」「やっぱり(Yappari)」: as I thought, I knew it.

「熱心な（ねっしんな/Nesshin-na）」: enthusiastic, eager

「よくぞ聞いて下さいました！」； That’s nice of you to ask! Thanks for asking that!

「ついに(遂に/Tsuini)」: finally, at last, eventually

「垂涎の一品/逸品(すいぜんのいっぴん)」: coveted item, a mouth-watering dish

「垂(すい/Sui)」「垂れる(たれる/Tareru)」: droop

「涎（ぜん/Zen, よだれ/Yodare)」: drool

[sharksscripting]

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.”