#reigns-over-peasants

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[homunculus-argument]

Random character dynamic: A ruler of a massive, mighty empire, and his pet wizard who foretells the future for him. The emperor has absolute, unwavering trust in the wizard's abilities, and never makes a desicion before consulting the wizard first. The emperor's wizard is of no noble birth nor formally educated, and the way they'll casually break courtly etiquette and speak like a peasant instead of a scholar is used to highlight their power - this is a true wizard, with powers natural born, not someone raised and trained to act like one.

Everyone knows the story of how the emperor encountered his wizard. The emperor's party was on a hunting trip in a distant region, and while going out to pursue some unusual game, they encountered a shepherd who warned them to not go this way, a storm will rise and kill the whole party. The emperor and his party ignored this warning and went after the beast they were hunting. A horrible storm came down on them and killed the whole party, save for the emperor.

As the sole survivor of this calamity that appeared out of nowhere, that nobody could have seen coming, the emperor suddenly remembered the shepherd, and realised that hold on, that strange hermit had foreseen this. Had we heeded their warning and not pursued the game, there would have been no storm. So he goes back to the village, finds the shepherd and goes holy shit are you a fucking wizard. And since only a true wizard would deny being a wizard, the emperor takes them with him.

Most of the things the emperor consults the wizard for are matters of common sense, that the wizard learns to weave into flattery - saying that the emperor's utterly idiotic idea would be a masterful move in any other time and place, but there is wisdom in knowing when to bide his time. Other members of the court and clergy start slipping the wizard requests of things that they should herd the emperor into doing, or not doing.

When the wizard admits to the other advisors that they don't actually have any kind of power of divination, they're told that the court already knows. This is how it has always been. The line of the emperors knows that the rulers who heed the warnings of their royal wizards tend to prosper, and the ones who ignore their sages or neglect to have one at all will fail.

This has been the case ever since the one emperor whose wizard had warned him to not let his wife drink so much while pregnant, or his heir's reign would be fated to be disastrous. The emperor ignored the warning and 30 years later, the aforementioned heir struggled to rule before being assasinated by his cousin, who took over the throne and whose line has ruled ever since, adamantly drilling it into every new generation to not ignore their wizards.

One might not be able to convince an emperor about things like "local peasants know how to predict the weather patterns of where they live" or "fetal alcohol syndrome is bad for your child", but they sure can believe in fate, and those with the power of divination.

[luvindrr]

Osamu feeds you when you don't eat

osamu miya x gn!reader | fluff | i'm going back to 505 words cw: reader doesn't have an apetite/doesn't eat much, samu is a lil insistent you eat a/n: this started as haji and godzilla turned samu and shrek. does shrek even bully peasants in the sequel

It’s kind of corny how much Osamu likes Shrek. He stores DVD copies of the entire franchise in the TV stand even though he hasn’t owned a DVD player since 2012. Once, Netflix removed the Shrek holiday special from their service- the one he never even watched- and his comedic fit of outrage had left him huddled on the ground, heartbroken. So it’s only natural that once again, you sit in front of the TV as the opening to, in his words, the unchallenged supreme reigning cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek 2 plays its soundtrack.

“Pause it!” yells Osamu from the kitchen.

“You know it by heart!”

“I know,” Osamu appears beside you, holding two bowls. “But I need the full experience.”

You take a moment to see what he’s made. Oyakodon- a warm, soupy broth of chicken and eggs served over white rice. It looks good, it really does, but you don’t have much of an appetite and you know you probably won’t eat it. Osamu places it in your hands anyway and you don’t have the heart to tell him no, not after he spent an hour in the kitchen for you. “Thank you, 'Samu.”

You’re halfway through the movie when Osamu lifts the bowl from your hands and shifts you into his lap. You don’t notice, not really, because Shrek is in the middle of abusing another peasant and it’s just so perfectly ridiculous you can’t help but be entranced. So you don’t think twice when Osamu whispers a soft open by your ear and you hardly process it when you swallow something down. He does it again and again and again, until you look up and Osamu’s smug, triumphant, holding up another spoonful.

“‘Samu!” You push against his chest and he falls back a little. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

��I wasn’t hungry!”

“Ya ate half th’ bowl!”

“You tricked me! Those bites don’t count.”

Osamu laughs. It’s loud and happy and rings in the air- rings over even Shrek’s roars. He grins at you again. “Bite?”

You purse your lips. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re being annoying!”

He swirls the spoon in the air. “Here comes th’ airplane!”

“No, 'Samu!” You beat at him and bury your face into his chest. He laughs, and you hear the clink of porcelain on the coffee table before his arms wrap around you too.

“Ya just hadn’t eaten all day.” Softer this time.

“I know.”

“Need the protein to get big an’ strong!”

“Mhm.”

“So you’ll take another bite?”

You nuzzle further into him, hiding your face. “No.” Silence for a moment. “Maybe.”

Osamu smirks. “It’s really good, ya know.”

You sigh, releasing yourself from his chest. You reach for the spoon and let the rice fall onto your tongue. The chicken is tender, the eggs delicate, and the subtlety of scallions paired with the salty broth create a comforting taste in your mouth. “It is good, ‘Samu.” You mean it.

“I am an amazing chef.” It’s true.

“... Bite?”

masterlist

[lushxboba]

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

[foone]

So here's how the story goes. Four young adults are teleported away from 1940s earth, where it turns out they're the last descendants of the great sages who defeated evil all those years ago, but with his last breath banished the sages to earth. Now, 200 years later, evil has risen again: a vile sorcerer has raised an army and is threatening the peaceful kingdoms of a fantasy world, and only the Divine Bloodline can weild the Weapons of Light and defeat the rampaging hordes. The heroes take up their weapons and fight the good fight, leading the armies of man and elf and dwarf and beast against the evil orcs, who are vaporized by their touch. They cut a path through the horde and defeat evil's greatest champions, who were guarding the Gem of Control, an ancient artifact that gave the terrible wizard control over the orcish population. Just as one of them swings their hammer to shatter it, the wizard intervenes, and uses the last bit of his control to destroy his army, lest they join you in their freed state. As the pieces of the gem hit the floor, already losing their sickly green glow, they see the attacking orcs fade into mist. They'd killed hundreds in your crusade, sure, but he just killed all of them. They later learn, against all fervent hopes, that this extended to the orcish homelands. Men, women, and children, cooking in their homes, planting the crops, raising brutecows and hunting in the dark forests... All gone in an instant. The scouts report a silent land with tools lying in workshops, food left uneaten at dining tables, and bursting into tears at entering a house to find it was a schoolhouse: Quills lying in all the seats, with rough parchment next to it showing the first few letters of the orcish alphabet.

They redouble their efforts, now fueled with genuine hatred for the evil sorcerer. He shifts his tactics, relying on darker magics to summon undead minions, which don't need the Gem of Control. They don't go poof when a holy weapon touches them, but are still no match for the divine warriors. With a skeleton the size of a zeppelin smashing down towers around them, the warriors reach the wizard and drive a broadsword of light through his chest. The skeletons collapse back into their eternal slumber in little piles on the floor.

The warriors put aside their weapons as they're received with great cheer. They're invited to join the royal families of the four kingdoms, marrying into the human, elf, dwarf, and beast royalty. They spend the rest of their long reign ensuring peace returns, monuments are made for the fallen orc nation, and the remaining undead who fled are not allowed to prey on the peasants, only taking up arms again to fight a den of vampires left behind.

In their old age, the wizard who brought them here reappears. It's taken him decades to develop the right magics, but he can finally send them home. They abdicate, letting their hybrid offspring take control, certain in their ability to run a kingdom with wisdom and justice. They leave behind their holy weapons, in case evil rises again. The wizard warns them that much may have changed in the world they left, as 80 years has passed there while it was only 40 for them, but they still want to see if London still stands and if their families or their descendants are alive.

They appear in the modern day, 2024. They're amazed at the technological progress, of course, but then there's a bigger shock. This isn't just an isekai story: this is a reverse-isekai story.

The holy weapons were forged using the same magics that brought them to the fantasy world in the first place. When they vaporized orcs, they didn't die, they were teleported. Teleported here. Every mind-controlled orc warrior that tasted their blade woke up uninjured... in Portsmouth.

And when the sorcerer tried to wipe them all out as the Gem of Control shattered, all he did was transfer that magic to every one of them. None of them died, except for a few elderly orcs who dropped dead from shock at ending up in England, Earth, 1943.

It's now 2024. The Orc population of London is 3 million. There's twelve orcs in parliament, and another in the house of lords. The world has changed a lot since they left, for the better, the weirder, and the greener.

[bitchiswild]

You’re Mine

G!P Huh Yunjin x F!Reader

Words Count: 3.5k

Warnings: rough, mean girl yunjin, slapping, choking, creampie, hair pulling, etc.

A/n: im yours yunjin 🧎‍♀️

Requested

"Move, you slut," the voice hissed before a forceful shove pinned you against the locker. Anger surged through you as you turned to confront your attacker, only to find yourself face-to-face with your long-time tormentor, Huh Yunjin.

You were no stranger to the elite atmosphere of your private college, where only the offspring of the privileged elite could gain entry. In this exclusive world, Yunjin reigned as the undisputed "Queen Bee," her status bolstered by the influential positions held by her parents among the upper echelons of society.

Despite the luxurious facade of the institution, its halls harbored the harsh realities of social hierarchy and power plays. For you, navigating these treacherous waters meant enduring relentless bullying from Yunjin and her clique, who wielded their influence with impunity.

As you squared your shoulders and met Yunjin's gaze with defiance, you steeled yourself for yet another confrontation in this battleground of prestige and entitlement.

With a defiant smirk, you pushed yourself off the locker, refusing to let Yunjin's intimidation tactics hold sway over you any longer. "You're the one who needs to move, Yunjin," you retorted, your voice laced with equal parts irritation and disdain. "Last time I checked, this hallway wasn't your personal runway."

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and fury at your boldness, but you held your ground, reveling in the taste of rebellion. "Oh, look who's finally grown a spine," she sneered, her tone dripping with condescension. "But don't get too ahead of yourself, darling. You're still just a peasant in our kingdom."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to let her barbs penetrate your armor. "Please, spare me the melodrama," you shot back, your words laden with sarcasm. "I may not have your pedigree, but at least I have the decency not to treat people like trash."

Yunjin bristled at your insolence, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she seethed, her voice tinged with venom. "Well, let's see how long that mouth of yours lasts when I'm through with you."

But you merely smirked in response, relishing the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. "Bring it on, Jen," you taunted, your bravado masking the flutter of nerves beneath the surface. "I've dealt with worse than you."

With that, you sauntered away, leaving Yunjin seething in your wake, a small but satisfying victory in the ongoing battle for dominance in the cutthroat world of elite academia.

As you defiantly turned to walk away, determined to leave Yunjin's petty antics behind you, a sudden vice-like grip seized your arm. Startled, you stumbled backward as Yunjin yanked you forcefully into an empty classroom, the door slamming shut behind you with an ominous thud.

Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, you found yourself face-to-face with your tormentor, her features contorted with rage and something darker lurking beneath the surface. "You think you can just walk away from me, like you're better than everyone else?" Yunjin spat, her voice low and dangerous.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness. "Let go of me, Yunjin," you demanded, your tone firm and unwavering. "You're not worth my time."

But Yunjin's grip only tightened, her nails digging into your skin with painful insistence. "You're going to regret crossing me, you little brat," she seethed, her words dripping with venom. "I'll make sure you pay for every insolent word that's ever come out of your mouth."

Your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and anger as Yunjin's threats hung heavy in the air. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you refused to show any sign of weakness.

"Now get on your knees," Yunjin commanded, her voice a sharp whip of authority slicing through the tense silence.

Your defiance blazed hotter within you, fueled by indignation at her audacity. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'll bow down to you," you shot back, your voice trembling with suppressed fury. "I'm not some pawn for you to manipulate at your whim."

Yunjin's smirk twisted into something cruel as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Who says you're bowing to me?" she taunted, her tone dripping with contempt. "No, princess, you're sucking my cock."

Your eyes rolled instinctively at her words, a mixture of annoyance and disbelief simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, please," you scoffed, your voice laced with sarcasm. "As if I'd stoop that low for someone as pathetic as you."

Ignoring her, Yunjin roughly pulled down her skirt, her movements fueled by a potent mix of anger and arrogance. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again at the dramatic display, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips despite yourself.

But as her cock sprang into view, hard and angry, a different sensation washed over you. Despite your bravado, an undeniable thrill coursed through your veins at the sight of it, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. You squeezed your thighs together instinctively, a futile attempt to suppress the traitorous desire that threatened to consume you.

Yunjin's smirk widened at the sight of your reaction, a smug satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "What's the matter, princess?" she teased, her voice dripping with derision. "Cat got your tongue?"

You fought to maintain your composure, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. With a defiant toss of your hair, you shot her a disdainful look, determined to play the brat to the bitter end.

But deep down, beneath the layers of bravado and defiance, you couldn't shake the unsettling realization that Yunjin's cruel games had stirred something within you, something dark and forbidden that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wore like amor.

With an exaggerated eye roll and a scoff that bordered on theatrical, you watched as Yunjin brought her cock closer to your mouth, her movements slow and deliberate. Despite the tension crackling in the air, you refused to let her see any hint of weakness, maintaining your bratty demeanor with unwavering determination.

"Oh, please," you drawled, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you leaned back against the nearest desk, crossing your arms defiantly. "Is this supposed to impress me? Because let me tell you, it's doing the exact opposite."

Yunjin's lips curled into a sneer at your defiance, her grip tightening on her cock as she hovered tantalizingly close to your lips. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Well, let's see how long that smart mouth of yours lasts when it's wrapped around my cock."

You fought to suppress the shiver of anticipation that threatened to betray you, maintaining a facade of nonchalance even as Yunjin's cock loomed closer, the heat radiating from it palpable against your skin.

Rolling your eyes yet again, you tilted your head to the side with a dismissive huff. "Is that the best you've got?" you taunted, your voice laced with false bravado. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to impress me, sweetheart."

But beneath the surface, a tempest of conflicting emotions raged within you, a heady mixture of defiance and desire warring for dominance. In this twisted game of power and manipulation, you knew that maintaining your bratty facade was the only defense you had against Yunjin's relentless cruelty.

Yunjin's patience wore thin as she grew tired of your defiance. With a swift movement, she grabbed your head, forcing her cock through your lips, her grip firm and unyielding. The sudden invasion left you momentarily stunned, your breath catching in your throat as she began to fuck your mouth with a forceful rhythm.

Despite the initial shock, you refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing you submit so easily. With a muffled grunt of protest, you struggled against her hold, your bratty attitude flaring to life even in the face of this humiliating act.

"Mmmph!" you managed to protest around her cock, the sound muffled and garbled as she continued to thrust into your mouth with increasing intensity. Each movement was met with resistance, your jaw clenched tight as you fought against her, determined not to let her break you.

Yunjin's laughter echoed through the empty classroom, a cruel symphony of dominance as she relished in your futile struggles. "That's it, princess," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "You're going to learn your place one way or another."

But even as Yunjin exerted her control over you, a flicker of defiance burned bright within your chest. With every fiber of your being, you vowed to endure this humiliation with your pride intact, refusing to let her cruel games crush your spirit.

As Yunjin's thrusts grew more forceful, your resolve hardened, a silent promise to yourself echoing in the recesses of your mind. No matter what she threw your way, you would never bow down to her, not now, not ever

Despite your best efforts to resist, a wave of conflicting sensations washed over you as Yunjin's relentless thrusts persisted. With each forceful movement, an involuntary moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the cock that filled your mouth.

The sensation of her cock sliding in and out, coupled with the tight grip of her hand on your head, sent sparks of arousal coursing through your veins. Despite the humiliation of the situation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, betraying your body's undeniable response to her touch.

As Yunjin's pace quickened, driving her cock deeper into your mouth, you found yourself succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment. The friction between you, fueled by a potent mix of desire and defiance, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy.

Yunjin's laughter mingled with your moans, a twisted symphony of dominance and submission that filled the air around you. With each thrust, she exerted her control over you, relishing in the power she held over your body and mind.

Despite the shame that threatened to consume you, a part of you reveled in the raw intensity of the moment, surrendering to the pleasure that coursed through your veins. In this twisted dance of dominance and desire, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body betraying you even as your mind fought to maintain a semblance of control.

Tears streamed down your face, a mixture of humiliation, frustration, and a strange undercurrent of arousal. Despite your attempts to suppress them, they flowed freely, betraying the complex emotions swirling within you.

Yunjin's hand moved from your head to gently wipe away the tears, her touch oddly tender against the backdrop of the dominating act she was performing. "There, there, princess," she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're so much better with my cock in your mouth."

Her words struck a nerve, a mixture of shame and defiance bubbling up within you. Part of you recoiled at the degradation of being reduced to this, while another part burned with an unspoken desire that refused to be extinguished.

Despite the conflicting emotions warring within you, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Yunjin's piercing eyes. In that moment, as she held you captive with her gaze, you realized that this twisted dynamic between you was far more complicated than you had ever imagined.

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you met her gaze head-on, a silent challenge burning bright in your eyes. Beneath the layers of humiliation and submission, a spark of rebellion flickered to life, a silent vow to reclaim your power in this twisted game of dominance and desire.

As Yunjin's thrusts intensified, her grip tightening on your head, a primal urgency infused her voice as she gasped, "God, I'm gonna cum in your mouth. You better swallow it all."

With a surge of desperation, she released into your mouth, her essence flooding your senses. The bitter taste of her release filled your mouth as she emptied herself, each pulse a reminder of your submission to her will.

As she withdrew, a surge of defiance surged within you. With a defiant flick of your tongue, you spat out her cum, the act a rebellious assertion of your autonomy in the face of her dominance.

Yunjin's eyes flashed with a mixture of surprise and anger at your defiance. "You insolent little brat," she hissed, her voice laced with venom. "You'll regret that."

But even as she glared at you, a spark of triumph flared within you. In this moment of rebellion, you reclaimed a fragment of your dignity, a silent declaration that you would not be reduced to a mere pawn in her twisted games of power and control.

Yunjin's grip tightened on your hair as she dragged you up from your knees, a cruel smirk twisting her lips. With a rough shove, she pushed you over the desk, the cold surface biting into your skin as you landed with a thud.

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation as Yunjin wasted no time in yanking down your skirt and underwear, exposing you to her ruthless gaze. A shiver of vulnerability coursed through you as her fingers teased your entrance, tracing agonizing circles around your slick folds.

Before you could gather your wits, she thrust her fingers inside you with a brutal force, eliciting a whimper of both pain and pleasure from your lips. The sudden intrusion left you reeling, your body straining against the onslaught of sensations crashing over you.

Yunjin's hand came down hard on your exposed ass, the sharp slap sending shockwaves of pain rippling through your body. The sting lingered, your skin flaming red under her punishing touch as she asserted her dominance over you.

"Take my cock like a good girl," she commanded, her voice dripping with cruel authority as she positioned herself behind you. With a brutal thrust, she buried her entire length inside you, the sensation overwhelming as she claimed you as her own.

Your breath hitched in your throat as she filled you completely, every inch of her cock stretching you to your limits. Despite the pain and humiliation, a shameful heat pooled low in your belly, your body betraying you with every desperate gasp and whimper that escaped your lips.

In this twisted dance of dominance and submission, you found yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, your body yielding to the relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain inflicted upon you by Yunjin's cruel desires

Yunjin's grip on your hair tightened, her fingers tangling in the strands as she thrust into you with a relentless force. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain coursing through your body, the rhythm rough and unyielding.

With a savage intensity, she pulled your hair back, arching your spine and exposing your neck to her hungry gaze. The sensation of her fingers digging into your scalp ignited a primal need within you, a desperate craving for more of her dominating touch.

Your skin burned under her punishing grip, each slap leaving a fiery imprint on your flesh as she marked you as her own. The sting of her hand against your skin mingled with the throbbing ache between your legs, the sensations blurring the lines between pleasure and pain.

Through gritted teeth, Yunjin's voice reverberated with a raw hunger as she growled, "You like it rough, don't you, you filthy little slut?"

A shiver of arousal coursed through you at her words, your body responding to the raw dominance in her tone. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate whimper. "Harder, please."

With a primal grunt, Yunjin obliged, her thrusts becoming even more forceful as she claimed you with a relentless ferocity. Each collision sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the moment.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, a symphony of dirty talk filled the air, a primal exchange of desire and dominance that fueled the flames of passion burning between you. In this raw, unbridled moment of carnal ecstasy, you surrendered to the primal urges consuming you, lost in the savage rhythm of pleasure and pain orchestrated by Yunjin's command.

"Take it," she commanded, her voice a husky whisper laced with authority. "Spread your legs wider for me."

Your body responded instinctively to her commands, yielding to her dominance as you obeyed without hesitation. With each directive, she exerted her control over you, guiding your movements with a commanding presence that left you powerless to resist.

"Look at me," she demanded, her voice a sharp command cutting through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. "I want to see your eyes as I take you."

Yunjin's grip tightened around your throat, her fingers exerting pressure as she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear. "Feel good princess?" she growled, her voice a husky whisper laced with dominance.

A whimper escaped your lips as her words sent a shiver of excitement coursing through you. "Yes," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Yes it feels so good.”

With a primal hunger, Yunjin complied, her lips trailing down your neck with bruising force, leaving a trail of fiery marks in her wake. Each bite and suck of her lips against your skin elicited a whimper of pleasure from your throat, the sensation of her teeth sinking into your flesh sending shivers of ecstasy down your spine.

As she marked you as her own, the sound of her hand meeting your skin echoed through the room, punctuated by the symphony of moans and gasps that filled the air. "You're mine," she growled, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she claimed you with each punishing strike.

With each thrust, the desk beneath you creaked and groaned under the force of your shared passion, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room with a primal rhythm that echoed through the empty space.

Amidst the chaos of your entwined bodies, your moans mingled with hers in a symphony of ecstasy, the raw intensity of your shared pleasure reverberating through the room. In this raw and uninhibited moment of carnal desire, you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations consuming you, lost in the intoxicating dance of dominance and desire orchestrated by Yunjin's commanding touch.

"God, Yunjin, I'm gonna cum!" you cried out, your voice filled with a mixture of desperation and ecstasy. Despite the intensity of your impending release, Yunjin's thrusts never faltered, driving you closer to the edge with each relentless movement.

The table beneath you began to scrape against the floor, the sound of wood against tile adding to the cacophony of pleasure filling the room. With each collision, the friction between your bodies intensified, fueling the flames of desire burning within you.

Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers digging into your skin with a possessive force as she growled in response to your cries. "That's it, princess," she snarled, her voice dripping with dominance. "Cum for me, fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good," Yunjin groaned, her voice thick with desire as she thrust into you with renewed fervor. Each powerful thrust drove you to the brink of ecstasy, the promise of her impending release sending tremors of anticipation coursing through your body.

With each collision, the table scraped against the floor, the sound a symphony of pleasure and desire echoing through the room. Yunjin's grip on your throat tightened, her fingers leaving bruising imprints on your skin as she claimed you with a possessive intensity.

You moaned in response, the sensation of her cock filling you completely pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. "Yes, please," you gasped, your voice barely more than a desperate plea. "Fill me up, Yunjin, I need it."

With a primal roar, Yunjin surrendered to the intoxicating pull of pleasure, her body tensing as she reached the brink of release. With one final, powerful thrust, she buried herself deep inside you, her seed flooding your senses as she emptied herself completely.

Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake. As the echoes of your shared climax faded into the air, you lay spent and sated beneath Yunjin's commanding touch, your senses ablaze with the raw intensity of your shared passion.

In the aftermath of your passionate encounter, a heavy silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the faint creaking of the table beneath you. You lay spent and tangled together, bodies slick with sweat, as the remnants of your shared pleasure lingered in the air like a hazy mist.

Yunjin's grip on your throat loosened, her fingers trailing lightly over the marks she had left behind, a silent testament to the intensity of your connection. Her eyes met yours, a rare vulnerability shining in their depths amidst the fading fire of desire.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your shared experience hanging heavy between you like a tangible presence. In this moment of quiet intimacy, you found yourself caught in the delicate balance between desire and vulnerability, the boundaries of power and submission blurring into a tangled web of raw emotion.

With a soft sigh, Yunjin pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her touch surprisingly tender against the backdrop of your heated encounter. "You're mine," she whispered.

[merwgue]

Why Feyre as High Lady Could Lead to the Night Court's Downfall (Or, How to Ruin a Court in 10 Easy Steps) comming from someone who is planning to study international relations and whos whole family is quite familiar with it:

Look, we all love Feyre. She's fierce, she's brave, and she can paint a mean flower. But let's be real: as High Lady of the Night Court, she's a Fucking diplomatic nightmare. If there were an award for "How to Piss Off Every High Lord and Their Neighboring Courts," she'd win it. Twice. Here's why Feyre's reign might just bring the Night Court crashing down faster than rhys can growl or cum to the image of his child

1. Explosive Temper and Poor Diplomacy Let’s talk about the High Lords meeting in A Court of Wings and Ruin. Remember that? Feyre’s blow-up at Beron wasn’t just a passionate defense—it was a major diplomatic fuck-up. Yes, Beron was being a total asshole, but diplomacy often means biting your tongue and playing the long game. Feyre's outburst could have easily cost them an alliance with the Autumn Court, potentially turning Beron into an outright enemy. With Hybern on the horizon, losing any potential allies could have been catastrophic. Instead of keeping things cool and trying to find common ground, she let her temper flare, risking everything Rhysand had worked for to keep the courts united. Feyre basically threw a damn match onto a pile of political dynamite.

2. Alienating Potential Allies Ah, the Summer Court fiasco. Remember when Feyre decided it was a good idea to steal from Tarquin? Not just any theft, but a "Hey, let's be friends—JK, I’m taking your most powerful magical artifact" kind of theft. Brilliant move. And then she had the nerve to act all shocked when Tarquin was pissed about it. "What do you mean you're mad I stole from you? We're supposed to be allies!" Gee, I wonder why Tarquin wasn’t thrilled about that little betrayal. It's like borrowing your friend's car and returning it on empty, with a dent in the side. And by "borrow," I mean grand theft auto. Feyre, maybe try not to screw over potential allies next time? Just a thought.

3. Emotional Decision-Making Feyre often lets her emotions drive her decisions. While being passionate isn't inherently bad, it becomes a problem when it overrides logic and strategy, especially in the high-stakes world of Prythian politics. The High Lords meeting is one instance, but it happens repeatedly. Her open hostility toward Tamlin, even if understandable on a personal level, didn't help the broader cause. By pushing him further away instead of seeking some form of truce, she risked driving him into Hybern's arms. A High Lady needs to think beyond personal grudges to what’s best for her people and her court, and Feyre struggles with that balance. You can't just say "screw it" and go off on people when the fate of your entire court is on the line.

4. Ignoring the Complexity of the Night Court And let's not forget the Night Court's lovely little secret: Hewn City. You know, that underground hellhole they basically keep under lock and key. Rhysand and Feyre are all "Oh, look at Velaris, it's so pretty and free!" Meanwhile, half their court is rotting in a glorified dungeon. And what's Feyre's big idea for dealing with Hewn City? Oh, right, pretend it doesn't exist. Smart. Because ignoring a potential uprising within your own court is definitely the way to keep things stable. It's like the French Revolution all over again—if the Night Court were France, then Feyre's approach is like Louis XVI ignoring the starving peasants while hosting extravagant parties. Eventually, ignoring the discontent and keeping people oppressed leads to revolution. Treating Hewn City like an inconvenient problem rather than addressing it is a recipe for disaster.

5. Undermining Rhysand’s Diplomacy Rhysand spent centuries mastering diplomacy—playing the long game, keeping everyone in check. And then comes Feyre, storming in like, "Oh, you spent centuries building these delicate alliances? Well, watch me fuck it up in five minutes." She's like that one friend who always says, "Hold my beer," right before doing something incredibly stupid. Rhys is trying to keep the court from crumbling, and Feyre's out there acting like diplomacy means "scream at the enemy until they go away." Newsflash: That’s not how this works. This isn't some street brawl where whoever yells the loudest wins. It's politics. You know, the art of not making enemies out of every living soul around you?

Conclusion Feyre's got the passion, the guts, and the fighting spirit of a warrior. But when it comes to actually leading a court? She’s like a bull in a china shop, if that bull also happened to have a grudge against every piece of porcelain in the room. Being High Lady isn’t about who's right in the heat of the moment; it's about playing the long game, keeping your people safe, and not, you know, burning bridges with every other court. If she keeps going down this path—alienating allies, ignoring the needs of half her own court, and letting emotions drive her decisions—the Night Court is in serious trouble. Feyre needs to understand that diplomacy isn’t about who can throw the best tantrum. It’s about avoiding a revolution and ensuring the stability of your people. Otherwise, the Night Court might fall not because of an external threat, but because its own leader is too busy screwing things up from the inside.

[shhhhimwatchingthis]

Cinderella's Castle Lore:

Some interesting world building/character lore dropped in Cinderella's Castle that may be further explored in The Lands That Are:

There was a time when the sun was blotted out and Trolls controlled/had free reign over the lands that are. What happened to sun? how did humans bring it back?

The Fairy Queen of Sweet Dreams, The Goddess of All That is Green and Good:

So much to chew on from her scene:

She was 'caged' in the land of death, so who caged her there (killed her)?

There are Nine Good Gods worshipped in the Lands That Are, but when Ella names the goddess of love the Fairy Queen has never heard of her, implying these gods are false/don't exist. If they are a real power in this world, they aren't as old/powerful as the fairy queen.

The Lady Ashmore: was the stillborn she placed at the roots of the old oak her still born child (a sibling of Ella's?) if not where did she get the body? how did the Lady Asmore know of the goddess of all that is green and good? how long had she worshipped her? Finally if her version of the ritual had succeeded what was the sweet dream she wanted the fairy queen to grant her?

The Grizzwald Bastard: part of why Justine and Lucy believe Ella about her step mother is they know about Trolls because 'their bastard brother hunts them' this is just such a specific detail I feel like this brother has gotta come back in some way

especially interesting to note he slays trolls, when there's a whole scene with our Narrator and Master Dwarf spelling out that trolls are fucking hard to kill, so how powerful is this guy?

The Narrator: this one is super small, the type of detail that drives me insane but I don't know if anyone cares. At the very end of the play, when the peasants bow for Queen Ella Ashmore, the Narrator clearly bows to her as well. As the Narrator. What i mean by this is unlike say Kim, who is in that scene costumed as a peasant, the Narrator is in the same outfit he has always been,he is not a background peasant, he is still clearly the Narrator. But he interacts with the story. He bows to Ella. This is the only time he does this. What does this mean, if anything? That he met Queen Ella Ashmore? That he was there? Are you thinking about the implications?

Some Miscellaneous points, not from the show itself, but from cast/creator comments:

The Fairy Queen of Sweet Dreams wanting revenge against the King and Prince, and that being part of why she pushes Ella to her own revenge. This is a hint dropped i believe from Kim Whalen about the Fairy Queen's motivation in one of the promo vids about her character. Brings up the implication that the royal family was behind the Fairy Queen's imprisonment in the realm of Death. (or at least did something that infuriated her)

Jon Mattheson in a cameo to a fan mentioned the possibility of Sir Hop-A Lot...or his descendants returning in a future show. Ella wishes for Sir Hop A Lot to 'sire many tadpoles' and grants him the lands of the swamps (land that would pass to his heris). Interesting to think of the other Castle shows taking place in the Lands that are but centuries apart. (either centuries before or after Ella) some interesting themes about the nature of stories and myth could come from this. What are the stories of Queen Ella Ashmore in the Lands That Are hundreds of years after her reign? Could be cool to hear stories of the events of Cinderella's Castle and see how they differ from the version the narrator told us.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Coronation

Coronations are the ceremony in which your monarch is confirmed by church or state or the people by the bestowing of a crown and regalia and the taking of oaths. So how do we write them?

When does Coronation takes place?

A Coronation usually takes place some time after death of the previous monarch. Past coronations would take place mere weeks after the death of a monarch as it was essential that the monarch be crowned to confirm their legitimacy. Modern coronations would take place months after the death of a monarch. In this time period, the new monarch IS the monarch - just uncrowned. This does not effect their powers in any way.

What’s in a Coronation?

Coronations are usually very lavish affairs. These are not only just ceremonies, these are statements a sort of opening show to the monarch's reign. A Coronation will usually be accompanied by numerous parades, balls, pageants, military displays and concerts. It's usually framed as a celebration of the Royal family of the monarch or the nation as a whole. The population is expected to celebrate.

Who attends a Coronation?

Coronations were big affairs. Many invitations would be sent out, inviting representatives from other nations, friends and allies, even uncertain friends and unfriendly nations. Other monarchs are generally not invited out of tradition but they will send heirs and relatives to represent them. Coronations were a display of wealth and power and it was in the monarch's best interest to get as many people there as possible. Coronations were also essential to monarchy for one very good reason: not only were you recognised by the state but it was a chance to accept fealty - promises of loyalty - from nobles. Many nobles from across the land would be invited to witness and then profess their loyalty to the Monarch.

What to Wear to a Coronation?

Coronations were meant to be pageants so everybody wore their very best clothes, jewels and put their best foot forward. Peers or nobles would wear red velvet robes (see above) over their clothes along with coronets (also see above) denoting rank. Traditional clothing would also be encouraged, the Japanese Imperial family often don traditional garments for their enthronements. The Royal family would wear military uniform or royal robes usually purple velvet rather than red trimmed with ermine. They would also wear coronets. The monarch would usually be the most expensive dressed, yet however this can also backfire. The monarch has to be modest yet also outdone everybody. George IV made the grave faux pas of spending a shit ton of money on his outfit for the coronation which he only wore the once. Most monarchs tend to have their Robes and clothes embroidered with emblems of the nation and to wear significant relics during the ceremony.

The Ceremony

After a procession through the streets the monarch and/or their Consort arrive on the scene. They will be wrapped in red velvet Robes on their arrival and accompanied by pages or maids of honour who help carry the train of their Robes.

Before the monarch, selected peers will carry the regalia. These are the relics that are bestowed on the monarch throughout the ceremony. These usually include the crown itself, the sceptres, the coronation ring, the coronation Robes and an orb.

In some instances, the monarch would be presented to the assembled crowd at each Cardinal point - North, south, east, west and proclaimed the undoubted king/queen/sovereign. It is then the crowd issue an acceptance.

Monarchs would then be asked to take oaths by the figure ordaining them before the assembled crowd. These oaths would be one of service, something along the lines of promising to uphold law and tradition, being merciful, trying not to murder the peasants too much, keep their deity on side and try not to be too much of a failure.

Then monarch will sit on the throne and be anointed. During this part, they usually put a linen smock over their clothes to protect their finery. The anointing in Western culture is usually linked to Christianity, with the application of holy oil. However, the annointing can be replaced with a blessing in any other setting. During this part of the ceremony, the monarch and/or the Consort is shielded by a canopy of cloth of gold held aloft by high ranking nobles. This part of the ceremony is not to be witnessed by the crowd. It is sacred.

Then the monarch is wrapped in their new Robes. They are presented the regalia. The orb represents the monarch's power. The ring is symbolic of wedding oneself to duty. The sceptre is symbolic of power over governance. Once the monarch has been wrapped up and given these items, the Crown is then lowered onto their head. The crown is usually a jewel stubbed coronet fitted over a velvet cap and trimmed with ermine. There would be the monarch's crown and the Consort's crown (which is usually that much smaller). Around them, the nobility will place their coronets on simultaneously while the military give a gun salute.

After this, the Royal family and the peers would then come and kneel before the monarch, removing their coronets and making their oath of "I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God." Once the path is made, they can step back and put their coronet back on.

Once homage is paid, the Consort would then be crowned if this is a married couple having their coronation. Consorts do not have to take an oath but they are given a coronation ring, a crown and sceptres.

Once everybody has made their oaths and the monarch can barely move under their Robes and regalia, it is time for the monarch to make a procession back through the streets - now a crowned monarch.

When Coronations go Wrong

Like most ceremonies, things can go wrong at coronations. Most coronations go off without a hitch yet there are always downsides to a large, expensive ceremony of an unelected figurehead. Surprisingly.

Coronations are often long affairs. There are numerous historical accounts of peers and guests fainting from the exertion of standing in such heavy Robes. These Robes were not only deadly because of heat exhaustion but also their length. The elderly Lord Rolle actually fell down a flight of steps at Queen Victoria's coronation.

Many past coronations have failed due to poor planning. Nicholas II and his Consort Alexandra's coronation was a very lavish affair however due to terrible planning, a stampede occurred where thousands of Russian people where injured and killed. Despite the tragedy, the Couple did not visit the site or the injured, instead going to the French ambassador's ball on bad advice. History would remember him as Bloody Nicholas, made all the more bloody by the Revolution years after.

George IV, as per usual, caused consternation at his own coronation by constantly walking out from under his canopy which caused the nobles holding it to speed up making it all look rather silly.

Guestlists are often contentious points. It is very important not to jar international relations by snubbing foreign powers. While some of the nobles are invited, it is usually expected that the crown will invite representatives from all nations. If invitations are not issued, it can lead to issues. The Royal family is nearly always invited in its entirety even despite criminal activity (fuck you Andrew) but sometimes snubs are issued. Caroline of Brunswick, the rightful Queen Consort, was actually barred from being crowned by her husband. Its rumoured that her hammering on the door could be heard throughout George IV's coronation. Edward VIII, the King who abdicated over his love for Wallis Simpson, was not invited to either his brother's subsequent coronation or his niece's due to the optics of him being a former king and his rumoured ties to Britain's enemies.

Queen Victoria's coronation got off to a very bad start since the coronation ring had been made too small and then shoved onto the wrong ring. Victoria wrote in her diary that she had to rest her hand in ice for the rest of the day.

Coronations are framed as ceremonies of celebrations and national might and while that may be their intention, they are very often, rightly, subject to criticism. Coronations are widely expensive and very often are a display out outdated or unpopular ideals especially modern coronations. In a post WWI world the time of difference is now over and the media rightly critises such an expensive and outdated ceremony. Many monarchies have hastened to modernise to keep up with the new world, cutting down the budgets and revamping the ceremonies. The Swedish monarchs are no longer crowned but instead invested through an oath and sitting on their famous Silver Throne. However, many feel that coronations are becoming a thing of the past and may not be seen in the future.

[arcanarix]

Come What May (Suguru Geto/F! Non Sorcerer Reader)

AO3

Word Count: 6.7K

CW // cunnilingus, penis in vagina sex, geto being a pining mess, mc being oblivious

Dark, sinister storm clouds rolled over the sky; the distant sound of thunder rattling your bones as you approached Star Religious Group’s temple. Its reign as high and mighty as the local legend foretold.

For the past few months, you encountered a strange phenomenon. Millions of eyes staring at you wherever you went. Invisible hands roaming all over your body. Moments where you couldn’t breathe—almost like you didn’t know how to anymore.

A local suggested a visit at this temple. Suguru Geto, the organization’s leader, successfully exorcised clients in the past. Many considered his gift to be one from God.

Somehow, you weren’t so sure. It seemed more like a curse to see things others couldn’t. A curse to carry a burden like that alone. To see demons. To see the worst in humanity…

You exhaled slowly. This could either be the smartest or stupidest decision ever. That would only be determined when you met the man in question.

You decided to take a leap of faith, entering the exorcism room when someone allowed you inside. You waited, bouncing your leg as the anticipation began to kill you inside a little bit.

Finally, Geto entered the room, slipping past you as if you didn’t even exist in the same area as him, stepping onto the raised platform before taking a seat.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Guess all of those rumors were true: he was the handsome devil. With a charming smile and long, luscious locks of thick black hair cascading down his back. And so tall. You noticed some areas of his hair had been braided, likely by his adopted twins you heard rumors about from locals as well. He clearly took pride in his appearance, using it to gain more followers to his absurd cause.

With a face card like that? You couldn’t blame the guy.

A part of yourself imagined nasty scenarios already.

“So what brings you here today?” That charming smile of his, while inviting at first, began to feel more strained and plastic under your gaze. You ignored the uncertainty pricking at your insides like pins and needles. “Haunted, are we?”

“Y-yes,” you began, twiddling your fingers in a vain attempt to soothe your nerves. “I haven’t been able to shake it off. Whatever it is���!”

He raised a hand, signaling you to silence your babbling. You obeyed, a bead of sweat dripping down your brow, no questions asked. He studied you, his smile melding into a frown.

“Try not to move,” he instructed in a bored tone as his hand struck out.

Within milliseconds, the weight on your shoulders lifted, and you gawked at him. He looked like he grasped something in his hand.

“Wow,” you breathed, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

The sky split with a deadening crack, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

He chuckled as you jumped in your spot.

“Feel free to stay until the storm goes away,” he stated, “The temple is off the clock now.”

You quirked an eyebrow. From what you’ve heard, he rarely allowed clients to overstay their welcome. Once his business with you was done, he didn’t have much need for your presence. Yet he allowed you to remain.

“Thank you,” you replied, allowing yourself to get comfortable on that pile of red cushions. Your hands took note of how smooth and soft the fabric was.

“Ah, forgive my lack of manners. I didn’t get your name.”

You peered at him with curious eyes.

You told him.

“A pleasure,” he responded, his eyes prying open and revealing stunning pools of violet, gazing upon you like he was king, and you were a mere peasant. But something else flickered in his stunning gaze—intrigue. Why, pray tell? You hadn’t the slightest idea until he went on: “Those were some powerful spirits attached to you. I’m surprised you survived as long as you did with those aforementioned symptoms.”

Eh? But you didn’t mention anything to him. Not a single word of your symptoms.

How would he know? (Then again, he likely saw this millions of times before. It might not be so shocking of a revelation.)

Not soon into the proper introduction, a lady with bouncy pink wavy hair interrupted you, entering the room and alerting Geto of a matter of, to him, minimal importance. He excused himself for a few moments, brushing past you with an unreadable expression on his face.

With your own curiosity getting the best of you, you zeroed in on as much on the matter as you could.

Your eyebrows scrunched together as you could make out a bit of the hushed conversation between the secretary and Geto. His voice had an edge to it as he spoke, like a blade, muttering some monologue to her about how he’d been exorcising “monkeys” for the entire day but this particular one—of course he meant you—decided to stay behind until the storm outside died down. Surprise etched across the secretary’s face from his sudden hospitality, but Geto dismissed her, and slid the door shut behind him before turning his attention back on you.

That look in his eyes came back. Not of disdain necessarily, but of curiosity. Like he sensed something unique about you and wished to covet it for himself.

Should you whack the wasp’s nest?

You cleared your throat, twisting around as he returned to his raised platform to settle back down.

“What inspired you to do what you do?” you inquired. You bit your lip as he only stared at you, perhaps annoyed.

“It’s a natural talent of mine, to purify that which is impure,” came his simple answer. “If you are referring to my otherworldly beliefs, that is a matter personal to me, and nothing someone like you could understand.”

“That’s a bold claim,” you quipped, offended. “But you do have a point, I guess. Not everyone is so open to such…ideals.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, only hummed in contempt.

“Of course I have a point,” he replied, “There is always a purpose in everything I ever do, say, or think. Other humans…such monkeys, they’re just running a circus out there.”

Well, you thought. Not like he’s wrong about that.

You shared some of his disdain for society (definitely not for the same reasons). Part of why you moved far away from home and came to Japan. You hoped to leave it behind, and maybe lead a more fulfilling role. You didn’t have much to go on other than pure ambition. You wanted to channel it somewhere.

And somehow, something compelled you to explore your potential in this realm. Something bigger than yourself.

Suguru Geto didn’t seem to mind the temporary babysitting of some ‘lowly monkey’. Was he lonely? Got fed up with his mindless legion of followers? Perhaps he missed challenging conversations? Or if not challenging, at least engaging ones?

Perhaps he just needed a friend. Though you doubted he’d see you as anything other than a speck of dirt.

You ended the silence that fell around you both for a minute too long. Never mind the storm brewing outside.

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

CRACK!

“You seem to hold quite a bit of contempt for humanity,” you observed, tilting your head while locking your eyes with his steely violet gaze, assessing him. Reading him with an open mind, and like an open scroll, and not at all fazed by him equating humanity to monkeys, which given the theories of evolution, you couldn’t even call his belief entirely false. “I can’t say I blame you. Humanity has been responsible for all of society’s shortcomings.”

Geto raised an eyebrow at that statement, as he hummed in amusement. Your lips pursed. Perhaps he believed you, like him, became disillusioned to society.

“Do you now?” he sighed, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you dare to insinuate that we share the same belief? That humanity cannot be saved?”

And better eradicated? Wiped out? Not necessarily, you mused to yourself, but dared not utter those musings out loud. You didn’t want to risk death.

Yet here you still were… whacking the wasp’s nest for the sheer fun of it. Because you wanted to see how far this could go.

Because you desired a bit of brain stimulation.

Because maybe you sought some kind of companionship, too—in whatever form that may come. You were lonely too. That was part of why you came here.

A fresh, new start. A fulfilling purpose. Something to keep you on your toes. A reason to keep going.

“On some levels,” you conceded, remaining seated on those plush red cushions while picking at the dirt between your nails. Suguru Geto—the notorious leader of the Star Religious Cult—whose reputation preceded him. You showed indifference, which got under his skin. Maybe because you wanted to see what he would do in a position where someone beneath him further enabled his cause, but not in the way his mouth-breather followers had.

Your gaze never left his, cold, scrutinizing. “Perhaps your grand scheme could use some refinement, though. I’ve heard much of what you preach. Through your sermons. Through the locals here. The mass extinction of humanity is ultimately futile.”

“Then what do you propose?” he countered, irritation laden in his tone. You were impressed he didn’t slaughter you on the spot for questioning his grand scheme; instead, he seemed fascinated, intrigued—a little spark in those stunning pools of amethyst.

“Rather than extinction,” you began, shifting in your seat. “Which will ultimately fail due to the population of weak humans to the strong, by the way. Revolution. That is more effective. Advocate to cleanse the filth in a way where the chosen ones you claim to wish to protect can co-exist with their lesser human counterparts. After all, who is to say you even need to acknowledge them?”

His expression didn’t budge, driven by a hunger to dissect your thoughts further.

You humored him. He humored you, after all.

Why not even the playing field?

“Is it really so simple?” he scoffed at the absurdity of your suggestion. “How do you propose we do that?”

Now you were getting somewhere! All you had to do was lay a few more of your cards on the table.

But not so soon!

A smirk played at your lips. “Are you suggesting a partnership, Geto? My…suggestions don’t come for free.”

Geto rose from his spot on the raised platform. He stepped down, approaching you in a few long strides. He gazed down at you, still not with the same contempt which he possessed for the rest of humanity, but with fascination.

Every nerve in your body sparked to life, pulsing with anticipation and the heady rush from it all. Challenging a powerful, ‘magical’ being? You might have had a death wish.

No, you definitely had a death wish.

You just didn’t find yourself minding that about yourself anymore.

“What do you want?”

“Some cash is nice, since I’ll need a stream of income, but not just that,” you replied, tone wavering. “Make me strong. Make me your partner. And in return, I guarantee your success in making the world the way you want, Geto.”

Silence hung over the two of you once more. He tilted his head, resting it against his long, slender fingers, his lips pressed into a thin line. Was he genuinely considering a new recruit to his cause? Did he sense something in you that you didn’t even see?

After what felt like a lifetime, he finalized the deal.

“Suguru,” he corrected quickly. “Partner.”

Your smirk widened, impressed with his willingness to cooperate and to humor you; your eyes twinkling, and he matched yours.

Ah. He played right into your grimy, scheming hands, just as you hoped. It spared you on the spot slaughter. Or maybe you fell face first into his trap, caught by the leg, and now you would pay the price for trusting his word so openly.

Aw, what the hell? You needed a little spice in your life, and you held little regard for your past way of life some time ago. Maybe you wanted to seek salvation. Maybe you just wanted to live a little—see if you could breathe some life into your dying heart.

Suguru Geto hired you as a strategist in his family—a decision which drew contempt from everyone in this temple. Unsurprising, given Geto’s infamous reputation and the nature of his ambitions. But the disapproval didn’t faze or deter you. You saw the opportunity for what it was: lucrative, and with handsome payment. For as long as the arrangement was mutually beneficial, you had no issue working alongside the notorious leader of the Star Religious Group.

Though others bristled at your presence, Geto seemed unbothered. He remained immeasurably close at your side, neither ahead of you nor trailing behind. Always there, like a damn leech. You ignored the glares or whispers which followed the two of you, because frankly, you didn’t care.

At first, you chalked it up to formality or perhaps an attempt to display some kind of begrudging respect toward you. But that conclusion didn’t sit quite right in your gut. You knew his kind—his worldviews didn’t leave room for genuine equality, especially between someone like him, and someone like you. You doubted he would ever truly view someone like you as an equal.

Yet none of his actions got past you. Always watching, always waiting. It wasn’t always obvious of course, and anyone else might have missed it, but you definitely noticed. His gaze lingered on you, often longer than it did on others. He didn’t seem as appalled by touching you like he did his other followers who were human. He observed your every move, fascinated by how you remained untouched by the animosity aimed at you. Not only did your indifference intrigue him, but it was also likely the cold calculation behind your eyes, how you seemed to operate purely on logic and reason—a trait he found lacking in other humans. Which, truthfully, he wasn’t wrong. You, too, found most people infuriatingly devoid of reason.

Whatever. You had better things to do than to ponder on something like what else Suguru Geto could possibly want from you. You focused on the task at hand, and you weren’t about to allow idle conjecture to distract you from it. If he threw challenges your way, you would strategize your way through them alongside him.

Yet, you still caught moments where his lingering stares felt like they had no place. You couldn’t pinpoint why and dismissed it as nothing more than curiosity.

He saw value in your insights; that was all it was. Nothing more, nothing less.

During your one-on-one meetings, Geto gave you a high-level overview of his world—the world of jujutsu, cursed spirits and how they came into existence. From negative human emotions. If you had to be honest with yourself, it all sounded like total bullshit. Well, until Geto handed you a tool imbued with cursed energy for you to see spirits yourself. The moment you wore those glasses, the sight of those spirits roaming around him left you speechless. He casually explained his cursed technique to you; he had the ability to manipulate the spirits he exorcised to his advantage.

It took about a month or so into your new way of life before he began to drop a few more bombs about himself and his past. To your surprise, you felt indifferent toward the countless unforgivable crimes he’d committed for his cause. In a strange way, you even found his devotion… admirable.

Most people were afraid of going after what they wanted. You weren’t one of them. Perhaps that was why he found comfort in your presence.

More months passed. You learned more about jujutsu sorcery and curses—and more about Geto. Often, against your will, but he seemed oddly open with you. You didn’t care one way or another. As long as he found use in your insights and your ‘refreshingly’ open mind, you would remain.

Over time, you found yourself becoming more loyal to him.

He definitely seemed pleased by the development.

During one of your debriefs, Geto shifted from his usual ramblings to engage you in a philosophical debate. You humored him, of course. You weren’t in a position to dismiss the chance to learn more about his grand plan. He spoke of creating more conflict between sorcerers and non-sorcerers, of going directly to the source of the problem.

“Humanity as a collective is perplexing,” Geto began, meeting your eyes. “Humans try so hard to be as boring as everyone else yet also condemn those who want to remain the same. They also punish those who succeed and crush those who dare to be different, who dare to challenge society. Whether they show a speck of talent or something extraordinary like us sorcerers…well, like me, not you. Humans would rather cram everyone and everything into that same miserable, broken little box. Why do you believe this is the case?”

You nodded, sharing his disdain. Even if to him, in spite of your intellect, you were just another one of those monkeys.

“It’s simple yet complex. Humans cling to what’s familiar. Whatever threatens that familiarity becomes a target.”

What was that old concept? The Uncanny Valley—where people got creeped out by something that appeared human, but somehow wasn’t. In a way, Geto definitely embodied this concept—human by birth, perhaps, but gifted with abilities far beyond the average mind’s comprehension.

However, you weren’t an average human mind, either. He had come to accept someone on his level—your non-sorcerer status aside.

“Exactly,” he replied in a whisper, as a lazy smirk graced his features. “So why bother playing their little game? Utterly asinine, is it not? We sorcerers in jujutsu society were sworn to protect humanity, yet they show no gratitude for the blood, sweat, and tears we shed, or the lives we lost. In fact, often, we were shunned for it. Ostracized. My twin girls were about to be killed for actions they were not responsible for simply because they possessed a gift, not a curse. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

“It’s completely understandable you feel that way,” you replied, keeping an even tone. Had you been in a similar position, you would probably arrive to the same conclusions Geto had—should you blame the man? Honestly, you still found him admirable in spite of the havoc he wreaked upon both jujutsu society and humanity. “However, your methods in changing the status quo are obviously questionable. Ultimately fruitless. But the longer I’m with you, the more I wonder if you are aware of this.”

“I am,” he answered without skipping a beat. You quirked an eyebrow at that; you didn’t miss how much more open he became with you, and this was one of those moments where that became more apparent. Not only in how he engaged with you in these discussions, but with how much touchier he became around you. You weren’t sure if you could call it endearing given the kind of person he was, but it was close enough. “Let me let you in on a little secret.”

He leaned in, so close that your breaths mingled. You held your breath.

“I never intended on this plan to succeed.”

Huh? That came out of left field. Your pulse accelerated, struggling to steady your gaze with his, unwilling to let him see the ripple of shock his confession rushed through you.

You averted your eyes, hand over your racing heart.

“So you know you’re going to accomplish nothing.”

So then why hire you in the first place?

“Indeed,” he responded, pulling back, his intense violet gaze never leaving yours. Not only did you find Geto a bit insane, you also found him fascinating. He drew you in like a moth to a flame. “The Night Parade of 100 Demons is merely my stage exit.”

“So,” you cleared your throat, prepared to face certain death at your next line. You were surprised you lasted as long as you had here. “All of this time, all of these acts of extremism were a cry for help?”

Geto’s chuckle came soft, almost…sullen. The vibrant purple in his eyes dulled.

“You could put it in that way,” he sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair. “But no. I don’t wish to be saved. Not in the way you think.”

For the moment, you saw past his sharp words—the exhaustion, soullessness evident in his eyes, the flicker of something buried deep inside of him. Years of torment and confusion simmering just beneath the surface. You hadn’t realized how vulnerable he allowed himself to be around you.

He didn’t see you as a threat, after all, did he?

“I see.” Something about this tugged at your heartstrings in a way you didn’t fully fathom, but…your fascination for Geto seemed to have evolved into something beyond it. You became loyal to him over the course of your ‘partnership.’ He showed you sides to him he never showed even to his most devout followers or to his ‘family.’ Not even his twin girls, who you met on several occasions.

Your face went bleak. Had he been searching for a way out of here all of this time—out with a bang, perhaps? Much like you have if you couldn’t find a real purpose to your life anymore? Had that been…all along, had that been why he went to such extremes? Did he want to see reform? Much of his past had been slowly revealed to you these past few months working under his organization as his strategist.

“Something troubling you, my dear?” His question snagged you back to reality, and when you met his eyes, shining with concern, your heart fluttered. His hand brushed against your cheek, warm, sizzling. Your eyes widened as you pulled back. The action caught you off-guard. Even the term of endearment. But to top it all off, it was the look in his eyes that knocked your soul out of your body.

Unshielded, raw.

You’d never seen him like this before. Or maybe you had and blocked it from memory, deeming it as nothing more than curiosity, intrigue.

This relationship was professional. Nothing more, nothing less.

“You’re conflicted,” you realized, voice hoarse, a lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you?”

The silence that followed your question was deafening. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Geto hummed in response, his gaze softening as he twirled a strand of his hair around his finger. You stiffened at his touch, but didn’t pull away this time.

The bags under his eyes peeked through. His lips curled into that trademark dangerous smile of his. By now you would have thought you had been desensitized to his dramatic antics, but this proved otherwise.

“Perhaps,” he mused, his voice a lower octave, “not all of you monkeys are ignorant fools.”

You blinked, not in surprise by the insult—he openly called humans that countless times before—but by the warmth in his words. Your gaze flitted to the long, slender finger of his twirling your hair, tugging gently as if testing the waters.

You hadn’t even noticed how close he had gotten.

“Suguru?” you inquired, your voice softer than intended, eyes half-lidded as you fixated on the way his fingers fiddled with your hair. His touch gentle, light, delicate.

“Yes, my dear?” he purred, voice like velvet—smooth, dangerous.

That term of endearment again, laden with something heavier.

That finger traced a slow path down your arm, grazing your skin, making you tingle. His hand shifted when he reached your elbow, fingers wrapped around it with a gentleness that bordered on tenderness. Your heart skipped a beat; your mind grappled with trying to understand this sudden shift.

This felt too intimate in business between colleagues, if you dared to even call yourself that.

The softness in his touch was undeniable.

Lonely. He was lonely. The word slipped into your thoughts. You wondered if this was all it was about. Loneliness. Isolation. An emptiness he refused to admit to, seeking solace in someone who was—and this was mere conjecture on your part—much like his unrealized self.

“Is this appropriate?” you questioned, your voice a little strained.

The corner of his mouth curled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he leaned in closer. So close that his minty breath ghosted over your lips, warm and dangerously inviting.

“Do you wish for it to be?” he countered, his voice barely above a whisper—an invitation if anything else. His thumb began to draw slow, idle patterns on your arm.

You swallowed on a thick wad of nothing. A loaded question, indeed.

But did you actually want this? You hadn’t considered the possibility before.

“Do I have a say on the matter, sir?”

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing into slits as he tightened his grip on your arm.

“Suguru,” he corrected you. He never did want you to call him anything else.

Now you have found out why. Now you have found out why he let you in so easily. It had been right in front of you all along. You just elected to ignore the signs in favor of a decent living.

“Suguru,” you affirmed, his name sounding more intimate for some reason. You continued to ignore his still thumb tracing idle patterns on your arm. “Do I?”

His violet eyes bore into yours, observing, assessing, waiting, like always. His lips hovered dangerously close to yours, almost brushing against each other, a fleeting kiss. More of one if you dared to close the distance.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered with a non-committal hum. His hand moved from your elbow to your wrist, gripping tight. “But do you know what you want?”

Your breath hitched.

His grip tightened on your wrist, pulling you closer to his orbit. It wasn’t just about what you had to say. It was about control too. His control.

You could push him away, reassert your own agency, reminding him that what you had was nothing more than a professional relationship.

But then his free hand cupped your face, his touch gentle, tender, making you hesitate.

“Suguru…” you breathed, his name feeling more intimate on your lips than before. The distance between you closed even further, and you found yourself unable to resist the magnetic pull.

“Tell me what you want, my dear.”

That wasn’t fair! That absolutely wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t. It didn’t stop the tidal wave of emotions washing over you. The walls you worked so hard to build around your heart and mind began to tumble down.

You should know better.

“I—!” The words caught in your throat as you caught the weight of his gaze. Before you could properly answer, the final sliver of distance between you closed as Geto leaned further in.

His lips met yours in a frantic rhythm. Desperate, yet measured—a push and pull of fervor and restraint. His tongue slid past your parted lips, coaxing a soft sigh from deep within your throat. You allowed yourself to melt into the moment, not caring to resist the magnetic pull between you.

The transition from the temple’s meeting room to his bedroom went by in a blur. You weren’t sure how or when you’d been led here, but the warmth of his arms around your waist kept you grounded in the present. His room at the temple’s top floor seemed worlds away, that faint scent of sandalwood and smoke lingering in the air. You allowed yourself to indulge in this. You never allowed yourself such luxuries before, believing you to be above them, but truthfully, they weren’t. You desired connection just as much as anyone else—you just threw yourself into work to ignore the fact that you did.

Was that yet another reason he found comfort in you?

Soon, you found yourself lying on his bed, the cool silk sheets beneath you a start contrast to the heat building up in your core. He trailed open-mouth kisses down your jawline and along the curve of your neck. Each kiss awakened something in you—eliciting a sharp breath out of your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

Your lips met his again, slower this time, more languid as his hands freely explored your body. The pads of his fingers traced the outline of your hips, feathery light and teasing, before they settled at the waistband of your skirt. He tugged it down in a smooth motion, the fabric sliding easily down your legs.

His calloused hands felt rough yet reverent against your bare skin. They rested on your thighs, spreading them apart with effortless authority. Your breath hitched, the anticipation coiling tightly in your body. You squeezed your eyes shut as his breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

His lips followed the same path as his hands, brushing feathery light kisses up your thighs—closer and closer. Another breathy gasp escaped you when his teeth caught the delicate fabric of your panties, ripping it through the middle.

“Suguru!” you shrieked, your voice breaking, more from shock. Instinctively your hands flew to your mouth, muffling the embarrassed cry as heat rushed to your cheeks.

He glanced up at you with a smirk, dark violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

“What is it?” he purred, feigning ignorance but he knew exactly the effect that had on you, as his tongue licked a line between your slick folds.

Another broken whimper escaped your throat, the sensation so intense it had you squirming beneath him. Your hips instinctively shifting closer to his face, chasing the friction. Every inch of your body awakened—hyper-aware of each flick of his tongue, each graze of his teeth or lips.

“Mean,” you chided between gasping breaths, but it was all you could muster.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through your core.

“I haven’t been close to mean yet, my dear.”

Without another warning, his tongue returned to lapping at your folds, twirling around your little nub full of nerves. Every flick and swirl against your swollen nub made you keen. You gripped the sheets tighter, knuckles whitening as you arched into him, back bowing. It was unbearable. Now you were completely at his mercy—helpless yet utterly complacent.

Instinctively, your hips pressed against him, chasing after that friction you craved; every nerve ending singing like a choir with need. You lost yourself in him, in the moment, chasing your release until finally, you found it. The crescendo hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the wind out of your body as your orgasm washed over you. You were left trembling and panting, catching your breath as you came down from the high.

“You look beautiful when you let go,” Suguru murmured, his voice reverent, as he lifted his head to watch you.

Something caught in your throat at that statement. He said it like it was the truth. Could you allow yourself to believe it? Could you believe anything he ever said, when you never knew what his motives were even now? Months working for him? A part of you to believe it, craved the affirmation, yet those shadows of doubt lingered. Could someone like you let yourself fall for his sweet nothings? You weren’t immune to the lies people told in moments like this, when you desired intimacy and connectedness as much as anyone else.

Fulfilling intimacy.

The sound of him rummaging around ripped you out of your thoughts, yanking you back to the present. His words were no longer tender, but matter-of-fact, as if what came next was inevitable.

“However,” he began, his voice a little more stern now. “you need a bit more preparation before you could take my size.”

Your mouth dried at the prospect. He said it so casually.

“S-Suguru?” your voice quivered, barely a whisper.

More fumbling, the distinct sound of him searching through the drawer beside the bed. Your heart pounded erratically. Then he pulled out the bottle of lube, setting it aside for a moment.

Ah. Proper lubricant. How considerate.

“Before that,” he went on, his voice a low purr, as if reading your thoughts. “How about one more before the main event?”

You barely had the time to process his words before his tongue was on you again, finding your clit. The tip of it circled around, teasing, making you gasp sharply as your hips bucked into his tongue involuntarily. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his mouth, seeking that release once more.

“That’s it,” Suguru whispered between flicks of his tongue. “Get your release.”

And you did, your body trembling as another orgasm washed over your body. Everything almost too much to bear as your walls clenched around nothing, aching for more. You were panting now, legs quivering, but he was far from finished wth you.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he squirted a liberal amount of lube onto his hand, the lewd squelching of its slick overwhelming you. His hands moved with purpose, massaging the cool liquid into your already sensitive cunt. The tip of his finger teased your entrance, allowing it to catch inside for a moment before retreating.

“Don’t be mean,” you pouted.

“I’ve been nothing of the sort,” he teased bac, his tone smug as he inserted a lubed finger into you. More lewd squelching making you flush. “Far from it.”

He moved inside you, at first slow, delicate, stretching you in the best ways possible with just that single digit. Another finger soon joined the first, the stretch almost too much, with that satisfying burn, but not quite. He was careful, gentle, but there was a hunger in his eyes. His pace gradually increased overtime, his fingers working to coax yet another orgasm from you for the sake of it.

The sensation was both too much and not enough. The heat pooling in your legs, your body responding to his every moment as though you were made for him. Before you knew it, you were coming again, your body trembling quietly as you cried out.

Suguru reluctantly withdrew his fingers, as if savoring the way your body clenched around them one last time. He wiped his hand on the sheets before standing, reaching for his belt and in one motion, disrobed.

When he revealed himself to you, your eyes widened and you gulped. He truly hadn’t exaggerated.

His cock stood erect, thick and heavy. Beads of pre already leaked out of his tip. Your breath hitched in your throat. He prepared you for this, made sure you were stretched and ready to take him, and yet, the prospect of it still made your gut twist.

“Is that thing going to fit?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them, your voice wavering. Suguru’s response was a deep, rich laugh that seemed to echo through the room, full of amusement.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured you, his tone teasing. As if to prove his point, he dipped the tip of his cock between your slick folds, rubbing it lightly against your entrance. The contact elicited a breathy whine from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

“You aren’t going to wrap it?” you inquired, the incredulity in your tone impossible to miss. Despite the heat pooling in your lower abdomen, a surprising sliver of logic remained, true to your nature.

“Like a present?” Suguru chuckled again with a quirked eyebrow, shaking his head. “Do you know the pleasant thing about utilizing cursed energy?”

He clearly enjoyed your confusion. His eyes twinkled with mischief, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Not necessarily,” you admitted, “I’m no sorcerer. Even the basics are lost on me.”

He hummed in thought, his hand gliding over your thigh, fingers grazing over your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything else but the heat pooling between your legs.

“Let’s just say there are certain…perks to it.”

Huh? Perks? Did he mean…preventing pregnancy? Even with unprotected sex? At this point, you were willing to believe just about anything if it meant trusting him. And naively, a part of you did. You became fully lost in him.

Still, Suguru must have sensed your doubts. With a sigh that bordered on indulgent, he reached into the side drawer again and pulled out a condom.

“But if it’ll give you some peace of mind,” he went on with a smile as he tore the package open with his teeth and began to slide the condom onto his impressive length. “Then I will.”

He cared about making sure you felt safe…as long as it heighted the pleasure.

Once he wrapped himself, he guided the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your breath hitched again. He pushed himself in, and you gasped, your hands clutching the sheets tighter. Hist hick cock stretching you overwhelmed you—making your head spin.

“Relax,” he murmured. He inched more of his size into, inch by inch a gradual stretch that rubbed your walls in a delicious way. The friction of it unbearable. His dark eyes drank in every gasp and moan that slipped from your lips as he filled you up.

Soon, he was buried completely inside of you, his body flush against yours. His fullness inside of you was a sweet ache. He stilled for a moment, allowing you time to adjust, his hand trailing up your body until his fingers found the crook of your neck, brushing against your pulse point.

Pressing a soft kiss to your neck, he whispered, “You feel amazing.”

He moved. Slow at first, deliberate. He wanted you to feel every inch as he pulled out almost entirely only to piston himself back inside. He set a steady rhythm, the intensity of it gradual. Each thrust of his became deeper, purposeful, rubbing against your walls just right.

He groaned, whispering an endless slew of sweet nothings. Each word punctuated by the deep, rolling thrust of his hips. He angled himself a bit; the shift of his position just right.

The heat began to build inside of you again, coiling tight in your core, threatening to snap at any given moment. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, knocking his nose between your breasts as you lost yourself in him, all of him. Inside of you, around you, filling you completely.

“Suguru…” His name fell from your lips in a broken moan, and that sent him over a dangerous edge. He thrust into you harder, sharper, deeper, his rhythm in perfect sync with your needs. Both of you were close, teetering on the edge together.

Finally, it crashed over the two of you.

Your orgasm washed over you, body trembling violently as you clenched around him. He followed close behind you, his thrusts growing erratic as he plunged himself inside you one last time, groaning your name as he found his own release.

For a moment, neither of you spoke nor moved. Both of you still breathing hard, still tangled in each other. The heady scent of sweat and sex filled the room. Slowly, Suguru pulled out with a satisfied sigh, his body still tented over yours as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I told you you’d be fine” he murmured, tip of his finger brushing along your cheek.

As the heat and passion of the moment faded, Suguru shifted to lay next to you and pulled you into a warm embrace.

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes. For a few more moments, neither of you said anything. The usual dullness in his eyes from exhaustion became a softer expression.

Here, he could just be Suguru Geto. Not a sorcerer, not a criminal. Just Suguru Geto.

A tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice a quiet murmur.

You nodded, your own lips curving up in response.

“More than okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

With a hum, Suguru snuggled you closer and pressed kisses into the nape of your neck.

For now, the raging world outside could wait, just for a bit longer. You allowed yourself to embrace the silence, your breaths and heartbeats syncing together, closing your eyes and drifting to blissful sleep.

[secretmellowblog]

My favorite bit of dialogue from Les Mis 1.1.10 is from the exchange where the Bishop and the revolutionary are discussing the death of one of the Royal children during the revolution:

“I will weep with you over the children of kings, provided that you will weep with me over the children of the people.”

“I weep for all,” said the Bishop.

“Equally!” exclaimed conventionary G——; “and if the balance must incline, let it be on the side of the people. They have been suffering longer.”

I don't know, I think it's a perfect encapsulation of why the bishop's "All lives matter, we should feel sorry for Everyone equally" philosophy was incomplete. The bishop's privileged aristocratic background means he doesn't necessarily understand how to take this systemic inequality into account when choosing who to grieve and who to forget. The death of a king's child is a horrible tragedy beyond words and proof that the rebels are heartless monsters.....but the deaths of thousands of non-royal children under the reign of tyrannical kings, as a direct result of those kings' policies, are quietly forgotten by him. Until the Conventionary pointed it out, the Bishop couldn't see that "weeping for all" isn't enough when some lives are treated as if they're inherently far more expendable. It also makes me think of the fact that there are, for example, so many pieces of media about the suffering of Poor Girlboss Marie Antoinette to the point where its almost its own subgenre. And there's that entire subgenre like A Tale of Two Cities/The Scarlet Pimpernel that's about how Hard it was to be an aristocrat around dirty deranged French Revolution peasants. And period/fantasy media as a whole loves to focus on the struggles of royalty and the upper class. Like yeah, everyone can experience pain/trauma regardless of their social class- and yeah theoretically we should weep for everyone's pain equally. But as the Conventionary points out.... it's interesting how the pain of one small group of privileged people is treated with far much more importance, and is focused on so much more often, while the pain of a much larger group of people is utterly forgotten. "Weeping for all" often only means, weeping for the powerful and important people who were considered worthy of being remembered. And in that vein I think it's relevant that multiple main characters in Les Mis end up being buried in nameless or unmarked graves.

[legomonkiefics]

🍜💛 MK and Red Son x Masc Reader — Two Troubling Bozos (Drabble) ❤️🔥

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Comedy, Poly MLM || he/they/she pronouns for Red Son, he/they pronouns for MK, he/him pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🍜🔥୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹

Explosions rang about the city, various miles of road being torn up by the car rapidly speeding down the streets. The crimson red vehicle had a cackling villain inside of it, their fanged grin wide and malicious as the Monkey Kid followed behind via pole vaulting. "Try and stop me now, peasant!" Red Son called back "My father, the Demon Bull King, will be glad to know of my victory! Glory will be restored to the Demon Bull Family name!" he yelled with boundless evil cackles following it as they zipped around effortlessly

MK, on the other hand, wasn't having as easy a time. Though they were more used to the Monkey King's staff by now, he was still having some trouble getting used to the way it stretched so widely under his will. They flailed a little as they regained their balance, a better aimed hit to the pavement sending them rocketing forwards. Too far, actually- he was quickly finding his way ahead of Red Son's car. Seeing a familiar guy walking past made them dig their staff into the ground to send them to a screeching halt

You looked up in surprise at the long red staff currently buried several feet into the pavement. The hero atop it shrank the item down to a manageable size before looking to you with an almost sheepish grin. "Oh! Hey there" They said, balancing the staff to try and casually lean on it with his arm. You gave a small chuckle "More hero stuff already, MK?". MK gave a chuckle as he kept up his cool act "You know how it is, my guy! Gotta keep Megapolis safe! And this," they began, lifting up the staff and spinning it before just barely escaping hitting themself in the head with it "is the key to that heroic stuff". You didn't have much time before the sound of halting tires and a big red car pulled up, the villain inside it stepping out and pulling the helmet off of her flaming red hair. "NYOODLE BOY! Thought you could get away from-" They stopped when they saw you

MK hopped in front of you, pulling off his spinning staff trick with better luck this time to pose it in front of them. "Careful, Red Boy! This guy's got nothin' with you. This is between you and me" he said. Despite the hero's words, Red Son kept his eyes on you. You looked much too smart to be hanging around someone like MK. In fact, she was almost sure she'd seen you around town before. You never seemed completely bothered when they began their reigns of terror across the town, though seeing as you were with the Noodle Boy, that made more sense now. That moron had a habit of bringing trouble wherever they went— and apparently dragging you in, too. Red Son wondered faintly if you ever had considered working on the other side of things. Someone as detached from the fights as you could probably see both sides. Maybe if he could just-

"Uhh, Red? Redsy? Demon Bull Prince?" MK began, now much closer and waving his hand in front of Red Son's face. Red Son growled, swatting MK's hand away, which made you chuckle. Surprisingly, unlike with the meddling delivery boy, Red Son didn't find that noise quite as grating as he usually did. "Oh, there we go!" The Monkey Kid said with that annoyingly bright smile "Thought you got lost for a second". Red Son kept her deep glare, looking to you over MK's shoulder. You looked back, confusion filling the back of your mind, as well as a little trepidation now that this firey villain was looking right at you. Red Son turned away with a florish of their cloak

"Seems your little friend has helped you today, nyoodle boy! I'll spare him the embarrassment of seeing you defeated by my hands" they said loudly as they hopped back into their car. "Until then, remember the name of the great Red Son!" He added dramatically before quickly spinning his car around, driving down the street. MK scratched the back of his head in confusion before looking to you. "You wanna head back to Pigsy's?" they asked as they shrank down the staff small enough to stash away. You gave a smile, bounding up to walk next to him "Always". MK gave a warm grin, happily chatting to you about his hero work for the day with an arm around your shoulders as you began your walk

Red Son wasn't having as nice of a time on her drive home. They were thinking the whole time about the two of you. The irritating hero that always thwarted their plans, and the hero's friend that managed to capture her attention. There was something to you that wouldn't leave his mind. That stare of awe and bewilderment when you saw her... she was used to being glared or scowled at, even earning an eyeroll or three. But you seemed different. Maybe there was more to you. Or maybe you were just another hurdle in his plans to bring his family back to full power. What they knew for sure was you were as stuck in their mind as that delivery boy. Another bothersome distraction from progress. Another problem to mull over. He groaned internally at the thought

'Oh, great. There's two of them'

[sentinelq]

Her highness, humiliated by a commoner.

Ruling over a kingdom via tyranny isn't the most efficient way to try and guarantee a long reign. The false queen learned this when she was captured by a horde of peasants, under the command of a hero (?).

Of course, the only thing tyrants love more than ruling is acquiring more power. Which is exactly what this new leader did. He sat on her throne, in the queen's hall.

It was time for her lords and servants to swear fealty to him now. And he established the new status quo in a very dominant manner.

Her arms chained to the ceiling, she was made to sit on him, her back to him. He put her legs over his, then spread them wide open so she couldn't lift them an inch to get off. He stripped her almost naked, a sole piece of cloth over her breasts and hips.

This savage new tyrant waited until they bowed, one after the other and prepared to make their pledge. He entered inside of her, yet didn't move. While his vassal was announcing his self righteous and excessively long title, he began fondling her breasts, playing with her nipples and... tickling her clit though the cloth.

The moment she squirmed, she slid deeper inside of him. She realized at once what he was going to do. There were many vows taken that day, and they all saw the same image. Her, spread open and sitting on top of him. Her nipples, hard and poking through the cloth. Her clit, peeking also, being played with, held between 2 fingers and tickled by the tiniest of his fingers' motions as she howled with laughter and begged for mercy, squirming and sliding on top of his cock and ultimately... silencing her own protests via desperate orgasms.

He had laid her all over her new "throne" of pleasure. He played her like a harp, making her bounce and submit all over his cock, her juices running down his shaft and dripping down the golden seat. Everytime a noble announced his name, he jabbed at her by intensely tickling her pussy lips, drowning the former queen's hall first in laughter, then in moans, occasionally making her cum just by tickling her armpits instead.

It is said that even her own mistreated maids rebelled. Anytime the new king relaxed and let her rest, they would pluck the stiff feathers of their cleaning equipment, spread her labia that was resting on his cock, ignoring her pleading, and feather her up and down, until they saw the fruit of their effort slowly dripping down his shaft.

He turned her head to his and kissed her, deeply. Kissing her also throughout this whole ordeal, whispering "my poooor queen, you sound so good when you cum" and embarassing her further by making her squirt via fingering everytime she turned beet red. She begged and begged, but all she got in return were his thrusts and "sshhhh, sshhhh, you're so beautiful".

By the next morning, both their thighs, the throne, the carpet had all been soaked in her submission. The kingdom was his, and he had spent all night long "claiming" it.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 17

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But the new order of things, rational enough as compared with earlier conditions, turned out to be by no means absolutely rational. The state based upon reason completely collapsed. Rousseau’s Contrat Social had found its realization in the Reign of Terror, from which the bourgeoisie, who had lost confidence in their own political capacity, had taken refuge first in the corruption of the Directorate, and, finally, under the wing of the Napoleonic despotism. The promised eternal peace was turned into an endless war of conquest. 

The society based upon reason had fared no better. The antagonism between rich and poor, instead of dissolving into general prosperity, had become intensified by the removal of the guild and other privileges, which had to some extent bridged it over, and by the removal of the charitable institutions of the Church. The “freedom of property” from feudal fetters, now veritably accomplished, turned out to be, for the small capitalists and small proprietors, the freedom to sell their small property, crushed under the overmastering competition of the large capitalists and landlords, to these great lords, and thus, as far as the small capitalists and peasant proprietors were concerned, became “freedom from property”. The development of industry upon a capitalistic basis made poverty and misery of the working masses conditions of existence of society. Cash payment became more and more, in Carlyle’s phrase [See Thomas Carlyle, Past and Present, London 1843], the sole nexus between man and man. The number of crimes increased from year to year. Formerly, the feudal vices had openly stalked about in broad daylight; though not eradicated, they were now at any rate thrust into the background. In their stead, the bourgeois vices, hitherto practiced in secret, began to blossom all the more luxuriantly. Trade became to a greater and greater extent cheating. The “fraternity” of the revolutionary motto was realized in the chicanery and rivalries of the battle of competition. Oppression by force was replaced by corruption; the sword, as the first social lever, by gold. The right of the first night was transferred from the feudal lords to the bourgeois manufacturers. Prostitution increased to an extent never heard of. Marriage itself remained, as before, the legally recognized form, the official cloak of prostitution, and, moreover, was supplemented by rich crops of adultery.

In a word, compared with the splendid promises of the philosophers, the social and political institutions born of the “triumph of reason” were bitterly disappointing caricatures. All that was wanting was the men to formulate this disappointment, and they came with the turn of the century. In 1802, Saint-Simon’s Geneva letters appeared; in 1808 appeared Fourier’s first work, although the groundwork of his theory dated from 1799; on January 1, 1800, Robert Owen undertook the direction of New Lanark.

At this time, however, the capitalist mode of production, and with it the antagonism between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, was still very incompletely developed. Modern Industry, which had just arisen in England, was still unknown in France. But Modern Industry develops, on the one hand, the conflicts which make absolutely necessary a revolution in the mode of production, and the doing away with its capitalistic character – conflicts not only between the classes begotten of it, but also between the very productive forces and the forms of exchange created by it. And, on the other hand, it develops, in these very gigantic productive forces, the means of ending these conflicts. If, therefore, about the year 1800, the conflicts arising from the new social order were only just beginning to take shape, this holds still more fully as to the means of ending them. The “have-nothing” masses of Paris, during the Reign of Terror, were able for a moment to gain the mastery, and thus to lead the bourgeois revolution to victory in spite of the bourgeoisie themselves. But, in doing so, they only proved how impossible it was for their domination to last under the conditions then obtaining. The proletariat, which then for the first time evolved itself from these “have-nothing” masses as the nucleus of a new class, as yet quite incapable of independent political action, appeared as an oppressed, suffering order, to whom, in its incapacity to help itself, help could, at best, be brought in from without or down from above.

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[romcomeon]

「 ꨄ︎ 」 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘

⁀➴ a dirty, dirty chastity.

⋮ NOTE DETAILS — asmodeus. heavy on religious themes. an allegory for what happened during the celestial war. wc ≈ 1K .ᐟ

⋮ SINCERELY, ME — this is not like anything that i've shared before, and i won't deny that i was debating whether or not i'll post it here or let it forever rot in my drafts. there shall be a part two to this.

And there he stood.

Dashing. Renowned. Utterly Beautiful.

Once upon a time, the realms knew his face by heart. In a fairytale story where the harmonic melodies of his voice bewitch faithful ears, falling to their knees while their spirits are shaken by an overwhelming symphony. Trailing along the outer lip of a large delicate shell, tiny droplets of ambrosia sliver and trace a pathway of gold. Rising from salty waters was a figure as marvelous as a precious pearl.

Atop the bejeweled pedestal, crowned in the finest material melded into the shape of a fragile tiara. Bearing the weight of the finest celestial silk, ivory feathers puff themselves to the tune of poetics jousted by cupids. Covering only the gateways of temptation, the angel raised his chin high.

Hair sharing the colors of a warm sunset, carefully curled in reflecting a carefree nature of ravishing ideals. A face adorned by a charming smile. His poise wass rather sultry yet modest. In many accounts, he was a virtue.

For centuries ago, everyone had him memorized.

Asmodeus lived in bliss. Acknowledged by the Lucifer Morningstar as the beloved Jewel of Heavens, ever the celestial sweetheart, the spotlight had always followed where he walked. Peasants merely worship the ground he lands his feet on, seeking prayers and guidance from a pure, benevolent savior; a beautiful soul. He, the angel who can turn away from the light. Whose radiance emits brighter rays than the sun. He, the muse of arias, the subject for painters, the perfect altar for a desperate devotee. Asmodeus, the angels hark, their precious star.

The fairest of the land—and Asmodeus enjoyed the attention.

While not as much to prevent dragging by the chains of hubris, he sees outward validation as a testament to his being. How praise became synchronized with his actions, carrying himself in an air of gracious allure. Does one think when Asmodeus raised their own chins up with the raise of a finger, cooing a gentle dalliance that they are well-deserved of such? 

Nonsense. They aren’t.

It then became common for one to not speak of these desires. In fear that simple acknowledgement turns into banishment, worried to have a gem grow bored of their show-pretend antics. Slowly, praises were silenced by fear. Or worse, by one’s clouded sense of authority, urging to demand the other’s love when all attention goes to others.

Constant surveillance turned to be tiring. If one never appreciated his art then they lack an incentive to be chastised. Thoughts like these should never plague a virtue's mind, however in ever instance where there was the misuses of what he stood for—better times. There will be better times.

It's fine. He was a treasure among a sea of fool's gold. This shouldn't affect him. Afterall, it wasn't what he stood for.

The sadness of the world locked in amber pools swirling around golden irises. Shards of pink pierce through the dark realities, raining glass on an open wound. "Oh, but the glass was beautiful," one may argue.

"To be struck by Venus is worth any trace of blood." 

The rain of glass turned to be an army of spears. Pouring the reigns of heaven's wrath, unleashing judgment to those that went astray. In the scale's eyes there was no value for beauty, as even questioning one's actions spirals down the path of sin. Light clouds of hope darken with thunderous strikes. Temples of stone and marble are reduced to rubble, materials falling off the highlands and plunge towards the oceans. For their hands that promised to not kill in vain were left tainted over one’s incompetence. 

Sharpen weapons scratch mounds of unwounded porcelain, sinking deeper until somber weeps bleed from a golden husk. Prayers for guidance hung themselves above the angels, and seeking enlightenment for one's wrongdoing strides itself on higher accord. The bright morning pulls the sun to a redder sky. Hope sinking until darkness covers the lands, silently burying his brothers and sisters who may find themselves lost in their second life. 

Asmodeus nearly drops the weapon, his eyes wavering around the chaos. God’s grand kingdom became the front of a massacre. A slip of his hand and it would alert the other angels; ones that have abandoned all morale upon the light’s orders. The angel couldn’t bear the thought of death by his own hands. A hand that swore to never hurt a fly clings to the shaft of a great weapon. A hand that kept itself away from impurities hurriedly washes the stains with remnants sprouting from the holy fountains, muttering curses with each burning sting.

He was a virtue. A virtue of chastity, protected from the forbidden acts of lustful pleasures. But above all, a virtue of abstinence. In all his life until now, he embodied the spirit free of sin. He was what pious worshippers aspired to be: clean of any dirt marked by the devil. To be clean. To be pure.

"God gave us all," another soul remarked. "Demanding more is heresy."

That day of judgment, As he sinks while gasping for air, even when it surrounds him. Or was it gasping? It felt suffocating. The same ivory feathers wither away from its frames, as these twist and churn into smaller, duller set of bat-like wings. Like metamorphosis, bet the butterfly never escaped its cocoon.

Never like the humble journey of a whimsy butterfly, whose body enlarges to one more akin of a spider. Instead of its precious, glass-like wings instead were turned into large, crab-like claws. And instead of a presence that evokes serenity, replaced by a horrific recoil at the sight of a hideous, venomous stinger. God’s precious butterfly, a shining pearl emerged from the sea, a jewel outshining the brightest stars morphed into an unrecognizable creature. Purity became a symbol of vain. The butterfly forcefully transformed into a flock of scorching terror.

Asmodeus was an idol. Loved by all. Cherished. 

Pinkish strings guiding his sanity to pursue a trait stripped away from him were now chipped away. In one snip by life's cruel scissors. From everybody's beloved, he was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Fucking ass bullshit stupid hoe of nothing.

Too much? Of course it's too much. It's always too much here too much there to much shit to deal with and when someone's being bitchy about it they go leave you alone because every. body. has. to. do. everything.

To cling his now blood-ridden hands through silken hair, screaming as loud as he could watching himself sinking along with the sun.

From the safe yellows turned to a dangerous red. That said, more demonic edge welcoming them to the world where he was welcome with sin.

It became a wonder how the fall felt. Although, perhaps, it made sense for rising stars to then fall as meteors.

And it made sense for them to lose nearly all before hitting the earth.

masterlist | dividers by fairytopea

[serenaisavillain]

The Veiled Serenade - III

Summary: Prince Aemond and his brother Aegon traverse amidst the murky depths of Flea Bottom, where darkness reigns supreme. A web of intrigue is woven, fraught with forbidden desires and veiled intentions. As alliances shift and secrets unravel, the stage is set for an ardent tale of power, betrayal, and illicit love affairs in the heart of King's Landing.

Warnings: Contains sensitive themes, including imagery of graphic violence, as well as depictions of sexual assault and harassment. The story contains explicit language and mature themes, including substance abuse and addiction. Authors Note: Aemond in a towel… enough said. Comment your thoughts :) Word Count: 1.2k Series: I, II

Y/N LET OUT a guttural groan as the scorching sun of King's Landing beamed through the sheer curtains of her abode and into her bloodshot eyes. It was nearly midday, yet she tossed and turned in her misshapen bed before returning to her wine-induced slumber. The sound of Flea Bottom's blowsy children, boozehounds, and shrieking vendors lulled her into deep respite as they always had.

The past three eves had been her most fruitful, though toilsome. Fin and Y/N galumphed down the unpaved alleys and cross-streets of Flea Bottom, one gallant performance after another. As audience grew, so did their coin. It seemed as though all was well, after all Y/N was making a name for herself and so was Fin, to a far lesser degree, but, nonetheless.

When the girl finally arose, garbed in her tattered small clothes, head a mess of unkempt locks, her drooping eyes gawped Fin's hunched-over form, asleep on his venerable chair, his agape mouth overflowed with drool. This was quite a sight as Y/N so seldomly saw her companion at rest, rather, he rose hours before her ensuring that their small place was tidy and there was food to fill their stomachs.

Y/N's bare feet padded across the rotting oak floors into their kitchenette, fingers prying open the rickety and barren cabinet in search of something to break her fast. She exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed at the stale piece of bread in her grasp. Her fingers reached up to the top shelf, unearthing the box that held their coin; a few copper pennies and a golden dragon, reserved for The Crimson Lotus, remained, and she shut her eyes in disbelief. The coin that they amassed had so quickly been wasted on their lodging, a new ensemble, and two replacement strings for Fin's mandolin.

She could hear his gruff voice in her ear now.

Y/N you must spend coin to make it.

The curly-headed girl shook her head before attiring herself in her usual raw wool tunic, taking on the all too familiar mission of the smallfolk in the Crownlands, trying not to starve.

Y/N mounted the hill to the Street of Flour appearing at the window of Hearth and Harvest, the bakery where her father had needed dough before succumbing to burst belly.

"Tobin!" She perked up, spotting a familiar face, the baker's son.

The red-haired boy offered a polite smile to her, his cherubic freckled cheeks dusted with flour.

"Y/N..." he hummed leaning against the window.

She slid him the change, "What'll this get me?".

He laughed, "a mushroom pie."

The girl's stomach rumbled loudly before she could retort.

"Fine two. But this is the last time or I will get in troub-"

"Many thanks." She fluttered her eyelashes, watching the boy's pale skin flush.

Off she went again, scaling down the steep hill, escaping the aroma of freshly baked loaves and welcoming the putrid scent of pigsties and rat pits. Slinking through the sweat-slicked bodies of peasants, she returned to her dwelling where Fin was emptying their chamberpot out the window.

"Finally awake I see..." She laughed.

"I was wondering where you got off to," he eyed the mushroom pies in her grasp, "is one of those for me?" she nodded, handing the still steaming baked good to him.

THE SUN NOW SAT in the west, stretching the shadows of buildings through the pair's window. Y/N sat on the bed, quill and parchment in hand, humming to the rhythm of Fin's sweeping, the straw bristles of the broom scrapping the floor in such a cadence that her wrist was now scribbling furiously.

By the time Fin wiped down the windows, the ballad was completed, and the sun had sunk further into Blackwater Bay.

"Y/N."

The girl's head snapped up from the sheet.

"You'd best make haste to the bathhouse..." his calloused fingers pointed to the orange sky.

She hummed, setting the paper aside.

The day’s honest dealings gave way to the night’s debauchery as brothels and gambling dens flung open their doors. Y/N watched as the streets became more bacchanalian as the hour grew late, insatiable patrons pushing their way through the unpaved alleyways.

She had become a regular at the Dornish bathhouse, and the women now knew her by name. Y/N stripped, submerging herself in the familiar pool of steaming water before a chalice of dornish red was placed in her grasp.

"I shall return in a short while," a bathmaid named Sarella hummed.

Y/N nodded, allowing her shoulders to fall from her ears. Her eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the occasional drips of water that accompanied the hiss of steam; she did not, however, enjoy the sound of footsteps padding toward her.

"Enjoying yourself?" A familiar voice quipped.

The girl's eyes shot open, taking in a pale and unashamedly naked prince. She scoffed, eyes lowering to the dainty cloth that hung low on his hips.

"I was..." She exhaled, now sitting up, resting the goblet on the edge of the pool.

Prince Aemond laughed, discarding his modesty before submerging himself in the hot water.

"By all means continue. I am not here to disturb you..." he hummed, voice echoing, "rather I have a proposition..."

Y/N's eyebrows knit themselves together. She wondered if the hot steam was prompting a hallucination.

"And what could that possibly be?" she drawled.

The prince hummed again leaning back against the coping, his waxy chest on full display.

"Her Grace wishes to praise your efforts as a budding songstress..." Y/N rolled her eyes, "She is quite a patron of the arts..." he divulged.

The girl remained silent.

"She wishes to... amend, your bastard status and reward you handsomely for your efforts in... entertainment," he smirked eyeing her.

She tore her gaze from his, "In exchange for?" he chuckled, "In exchange for a ballad- or two, detailing King Aegon II's triumphs," he said lowly.

The girl laughed, "His what? I was not aware he had any triumphs cept for fucking whores and inhaling wine by the barrel..." she mused.

The prince rolled his eyes.

“And if I refuse?” she arched a brow.

The prince laughed, “I would be concerned for your safety Lady Waters.”

The bathing chamber was silent except for the sound of dripping water.

“You mean to threaten me?” She laughed, “Had I known I was such a formidable foe to the crown… I would have written many more ballads…”

Prince Aemond hummed, “You have until the next moon to decide.”

He emerged backside facing her.

The girl groaned before fully sinking her head under the water, the warm liquid filling every pore. His words cold and unfeeling on a constant loop in her mind, she exhaled bubbles of air from her mouth until she felt hands on her shoulders dragging her to the surface.

"Madam?!" Sarella, the bath maid, cried, her full brows knitted together.

Y/N coughed.

"How much?" she spat.

The woman flinched.

"How... much did he pay you?" Her jaw ticked.

The dark-haired woman tore her gaze from the girl, finding the stone slabbed floor most interesting.

"Three golden dragons madam but-" she began.

Y/N raised her hand, "I have heard enough..." the girl emerged from pool, the squelch of her wet footsteps the only sound echoing through the bath chamber.

The walk home was anything but tranquil. The girl found herself shrinking at every drunken shout or hungry bark of a stray dog. As her shadow stretched along the cracked and crumbling walls of Flea Bottom, Y/N wondered to herself if she too would bend to the will of her overlords just as the rank and file.

Arriving at her stoop she bit her lip. Was her defiance worth a hungry belly and tattered clothes?