#the return of the ladyship

[valentinairism]

Hey to the bitch I had a beef about Regal coming back to the WWE to work with his son.

BITCH I FUCKING TOLD YOU AND DON’T DISRESPECT WILLIAM REGAL EVER AGAIN!

[rabbitindisguise]

one thing I really miss about having my foster cat was how she always got in the way of everything I was doing and had strong opinions on what blanket I was allowed to put on my lap for her to sit on it ;-; which sounds deranged btw

[oddyseye]

I want to know your opinion on people who think Odysseus' and Calypso's relationship was consensual, especially when they go by the lines of "the nymph no longer pleased him." in the Odyssey.

The idea that Odysseus and Calypso’s relationship was consensual is one of the most frustrating misinterpretations of The Odyssey, and it usually stems from either a complete lack of engagement with the text or an unwillingness to acknowledge that sexual coercion existed in antiquity (which is absurd).

I love when people bring up “for long ago the nymph had ceased to please” like it somehow overrides the entire rest of the passage spelling out that Odysseus was, in fact, being held captive and repeatedly assaulted. I have zero patience for the “it was consensual” crowd.

First off, if the argument hinges on “ceased to please,” let’s look at what that actually means in context. That phrase isn’t implying Odysseus once enjoyed being with Calypso and just got bored of her, it’s a statement of his ongoing, relentless misery. His time with her has long since stopped bringing him any form of comfort (if it ever did, which is dubious to begin with), and he is wasting away from grief. He is literally sitting on the shore, day after day, weeping, groaning, tearing his heart apart in longing for home. That’s not a man reminiscing about his once-enjoyable island fling; that’s a man drowning in despair because he is trapped in a situation he cannot escape.

And now, let’s get to the part that really kills any argument for “consent”:

The strong god glittering left her as he spoke, and now her ladyship, having given heed to Zeus’s mandate, went to find Odysseus in his stone seat to seaward—tear on tear brimming his eyes. The sweet days of his life time were running out in anguish over his exile, for long ago the nymph had ceased to please. Though he fought shy of her and her desire, he lay with her each night, for she compelled him. But when day came he sat on the rocky shore and broke his own heart groaning, with eyes wet scanning the bare horizon of the sea. (Robert Fitzgerald)

For. She. Compelled. Him. Let’s say that again: FOR. SHE. COMPELLED. HIM.

How much clearer could it be? The text explicitly states that Odysseus avoided Calypso’s advances, that he did not desire her, that he actively resisted, but she forced him. That is coercion. That is not an equal relationship. That is a man who had no say in whether he had to share a bed with her. If we take this passage seriously (and we should), then what happened to Odysseus on Ogygia was not some steamy romance, it was imprisonment and violation.

Here are more of these passages:

The queenly nymph sought out the great Odysseus— the commands of Zeus still ringing in her ears— and found him there on the headland, sitting, still, weeping, his eyes never dry, his sweet life flowing away with the tears he wept for his foiled journey home, since the nymph no longer pleased. In the nights, true, he’d sleep with her in the arching cave—he had no choice— unwilling lover alongside lover all too willing… (Robert Fagles)

And since the reverend nymph these awful things Receiv'd from Jove, she to Ulysses went; Whom ashore she found, drown'd in discontent, His eyes never kept dry he did so mourn, And waste his dear age for his wish'd return; Which still without the cave he us'd to do, Because he could not please the goddess so. At night yet, forc'd, together took their rest The willing goddess and th' unwilling guest; But he all day in rocks, and on the shore, The vex'd sea view'd, and did his fate deplore. (George Chapman)

Because he could not please the goddess so.

BECAUSE HE COULD NOT PLEASE THE GODDESS SO.

This line makes it brutally clear that Odysseus was never in control of this relationship. He could not please her in the way she wanted. He was not satisfying her in the way she expected. And why? Because his heart was never in it.

He was there, physically, but emotionally? Absent. Disconnected. Miserable. People love to talk about how Odysseus was a “great liar,” how he could charm his way out of anything, but he could not fake his way through this. He could not even pretend to be happy. He could not please her because his entire being was devoted to escaping her. That’s not a lover. That’s a hostage.

Tell me, in what world is someone being forced to sleep with someone else not an indication of a complete lack of consent? The contrast here is explicit: Calypso wants him, Odysseus does not. Calypso has the power, Odysseus does not. This isn’t a mutual situation; it’s an oppressive one.

And this same dynamic exists with Circe, too. There’s this ridiculous modern perception that Odysseus was just out there sleeping around by choice, like he was thrilled to have a little vacation from Penelope, when in reality, the text never frames his encounters with either Circe or Calypso as things he sought out. Circe explicitly turns his men into pigs and threatens him before Hermes intervenes, giving Odysseus the means to protect himself, but without that divine aid, he would’ve had no say in the matter. The idea that these situations are somehow consensual because they resulted in sex is completely ignoring the power imbalance and the outright coercion that the Odyssey itself makes clear.

At this point, anyone still trying to argue Odysseus wanted this is either being deliberately obtuse or has a personal investment in making light of what was, objectively, an act of forced captivity. People love to frame it as if Odysseus was just getting lucky with two beautiful women instead of being a man held hostage, denied his home, and forced into a relationship he did not want.

And let’s not forget the double standard here. If the roles were reversed — if a woman were trapped on an island by a god who forced her to sleep with him every night, no one would be out here arguing, “Well, she probably enjoyed it at some point.” No one would be twisting one vague line into an excuse to justify the whole situation. But because it’s a man, suddenly people want to pretend it’s different? No. Absolutely not.

"The nymph no longer pleased him."

People who latch onto this line completely miss the context. They interpret it as "he used to enjoy her, but now he’s bored," which is just flat-out wrong. The phrase in Greek goes as follows:

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσας ἀπέβη κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης: ἡ δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ Ὀδυσσῆα μεγαλήτορα πότνια νύμφη ἤι᾽, ἐπεὶ δὴ Ζηνὸς ἐπέκλυεν ἀγγελιάων. τὸν δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀκτῆς εὗρε καθήμενον: οὐδέ ποτ᾽ ὄσσε δακρυόφιν τέρσοντο, κατείβετο δὲ γλυκὺς αἰὼν νόστον ὀδυρομένῳ, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη. ἀλλ᾽ ἦ τοι νύκτας μὲν ἰαύεσκεν καὶ ἀνάγκῃ ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι παρ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ: ἤματα δ᾽ ἂμ πέτρῃσι καὶ ἠιόνεσσι καθίζων δάκρυσι καὶ στοναχῇσι καὶ ἄλγεσι θυμὸν ἐρέχθων πόντον ἐπ᾽ ἀτρύγετον δερκέσκετο δάκρυα λείβων. Thus, having spoken, the strong Argus-Slayer departed. And the revered nymph went to great-hearted Odysseus, since she had indeed heard the messages of Zeus. She found him sitting upon the shore; never did his eyes dry from tears, but his sweet life was ebbing away as he wept for his return, for the nymph pleased him no longer. Yet at night, he slept with her by necessity in the hollow caves — unwilling with one willing. But for sure, at night he slept in the cave, forced, though unwilling, by the nymph, who had her way; and during the day, sitting on the rocks and shores, he tore at his heart with weeping and groaning, gazing at the endless sea, shedding tears.

Let’s go through the key points.

1. “The nymph pleased him no longer” is a misleading translation. The Greek says: ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη. This is not “he used to love her, but now he’s tired of her.” That’s a complete misreading.

οὐκέτι (ouketi) – no longer, no more, not anymore. This means that at some prior point, something was different. But what was different?

ἥνδανε (hēndane) – This verb means “to be pleasing” or “to be acceptable,” but in a very passive sense. It does not imply active enjoyment. It’s often used for things that are tolerated or bearable rather than truly loved.

What’s happening here is not that Odysseus used to enjoy Calypso but got bored of her. It’s that, at some point in his captivity, he reached a threshold where even tolerating her presence became unbearable. There’s a difference between “putting up with something because you have no choice” and “actively liking it.” That’s why a more honest translation would be:

“…since the nymph was no longer tolerable.”

It’s not about desire fading, it’s about a breaking point in suffering.

Need more proof? Here are more usages of the same word:

Homer, Iliad:

ἀλλ’ οὐκ Ἀτρεΐδῃ Ἀγαμέμνονι ἥνδανε θυμῷ, ἀλλὰ κακῶς ἀφίει ... "But it didn't please Agamemnon son of Atreus in his heart, and he sent him away harshly …"

Here, ἥνδανε is used to describe Agamemnon’s reaction to the priest’s offer. The meaning is clear: he did not find the offer acceptable. It is not about personal delight; it is about whether or not something is tolerated or agreeable.

Now imagine the opposite: if Homer had written ἥνδανε without negation, it would only mean that Agamemnon allowed or tolerated the priest’s offer, not that he was enthusiastic about it.

This is exactly how it functions in The Odyssey. At one point, Odysseus could bear Calypso’s presence. But eventually, even that tolerance shattered.

Herodotus, Histories 7:

ὅτι οὔ σφι ἥνδανε τὰ οἱ Ἀλευάδαι ἐμηχανῶντο. "Because they did not approve of what the Aleuadae were planning."

This line describes the Thessalians siding with the Persians out of necessity, despite not agreeing with the Aleuadae’s schemes. Once again, ἥνδανε does not mean desire or enjoyment. It means whether or not something is accepted, even grudgingly.

If this sentence had simply said "σφι ἥνδανε," it would not mean the Thessalians loved the Aleuadae’s plans. It would only mean they could tolerate or accept them.

Back to Odysseus in The Odyssey.

ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη. "For the nymph was no longer tolerable to him."

Now that we’ve seen the pattern, it should be crystal clear why this does not mean Odysseus ever loved Calypso. The verb here does not indicate passion, attraction, or enjoyment. It means that, for a time, he could bear her presence—but eventually, even that was impossible.

The shift is not from pleasure to displeasure. The shift is from forced tolerance to complete suffering.

2. "By necessity, unwilling with one willing." The Greek phrase: ἀλλ᾽ ἦ τοι νύκτας μὲν ἰαύεσκεν καὶ ἀνάγκῃ ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι παρ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ.

ἀνάγκῃ (anankēi) – This is force, necessity, compulsion. He did not go to her willingly.

οὐκ ἐθέλων (ouk ethelōn) – Not willing, unwilling.

ἐθελούσῃ (ethelousēi) – Willing. This is Calypso.

So, let’s be absolutely clear here: the text is explicitly stating that Odysseus was unwilling, and Calypso was willing. If one person is forced into sex while the other is fully willing, what is that called? Assault.

It does not get more explicit than this. The Greek does not leave room for ambiguity. He did not want to sleep with her. He was forced to.

Odysseus was not a cheater. He did not betray Penelope. He was a prisoner on Ogygia, kept there by force, and sexually coerced by a goddess who had absolute power over him. The idea that Odysseus used to love Calypso but then grew tired of her is linguistically false. The Greek never says he enjoyed her, only that, at some point, she was at least tolerable. That tolerance is now gone.

This fits perfectly with the rest of the passage, where Odysseus:

Is forced to sleep with her (οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ).

Weeps every single day.

Wastes away from grief.

Longs for home.

The Greek is painfully clear. The only question is whether people are willing to read it.

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry over Spilled Lemonade pt.2

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: A little bit of dread on the reader's part but mostly it's fluff and yearning, just the way I like it.

A/N: hahaha I finally finished it!!!! Thanks for all the love on part one it really made me so happy to see so many people liking the little story that I wrote half asleep <3

Anthony wrestled with his thoughts for the rest of the evening. He hated himself deeply for hurting you and even more for not remembering it. Knowing himself though, he knew that his actions were probably fueled by a desire to leave the gathering and visit Siena, she had been his refuge in the years before and during Daphne’s debut. 

He would never forgive himself if the reason you would not ever stand to be in the same room with him was his naive infatuation with the opera singer. Especially given the fact that as soon as he met you all thoughts of her flew from his head and he never thought of her in that way again. Deep down he knew that his heart now belonged to you although that thought was much too terrifying to dwell on for more than a minute.

You on the other hand were reeling with the new information. You had vowed to hate Anthony Bridgerton until your dying day but his pleas for forgiveness had shaken your will. You still held a deep anger towards him, one that you didn’t think would go away any time soon. But it was becoming harder and harder for you to find the detestation in yourself that had once been bubbling at the surface.

You didn't know what to expect from the Viscount anymore, you had always had a pretty clear picture of the man in your mind, and in one fell swoop he had shattered it like glass. Seeing him playing with his younger siblings in the park the day after your conversation in the hallway certainly didn’t help settle your mind.

If there was one thing you knew about Anthony Bridgerton it was that he loved his family. Sometimes he goes about it in the wrong way but you could tell that he does everything he does for them, even getting grass stains on his trousers because Hyacinth and Gregory are insistent that he plays tag with them in the great park.

It is their laughter that draws your attention first followed shortly by a sharp shout and even more giggles. You are fortunate enough to catch sight of the Viscount tripping and landing on his backside, his hands falling to the side of him and right into what looks to be some freshly planted flower beds. His head hangs and he takes a heaving sigh before pushing himself back up. You can’t help but laugh at the sight.

Anthony would be able to recognize your laugh anywhere, he hears it flowing through the halls of his home enough that it’s become ingrained in his mind. His head turns to where you are and your eyes meet. He is taken aback by the warmth he finds in them. How long has it been since you’ve looked at home with anything but detached coldness?

It is Hyacinth who bridges the gap between the two of you, with a shout of your name she comes bounding across the green and practically leaps into your open arms. 

“Hello sweet girl, having fun are we?” Your hand runs down the back of her head and you smile down at her.

“We were playing a game of tag, would you like to join us?” Sometimes you forget how innocent the young girl is. Her smile is contagious as it spreads across your own face.

“On any other day my darling but I’ve only cut through the park on my way to visit with Lady Danbury and you know how she is about punctuality.”

“Oh.” Her face falls and your heart follows.

“How about this? Once I am done calling upon her Ladyship I shall stop by and you can finally show me the new dresses you got for Dolly Molly okay?”

Her smile returns full force and she squeezes you a little tighter before conjuring up a mask of faux indifference.

“I suppose I can accept that.” 

“You’re starting to sound like Viscount grumpypants over there.” You tickle at her side.

“I heard that,” Anthony calls from a ways away, Greg held under his arm.

“I was not trying to keep quiet my Lord.” Your eyes meet his once again and Anthony cannot help the little bubbling of hope that builds inside his chest when he sees the lightheartedness contained in your gaze.

“That’s Lord Grumpypants to you.” He shoots back and delights in the way your smile widens. 

“Very well Lord Grumpypants, I must be off but I’ll see you all later.” You say the last words down at the young lady still wrapped up in your arms. You give her one final squeeze before releasing her and bowing your head slightly at her older brother. You try not to dwell too much on how much you enjoy the Viscount’s smile.

Anthony takes the day in the park as a sign, one that shows him all hope is not lost. All he needs to do is fix his mistake. He craved you, that much he knew. He craved your smile and your laugh, he yearned for your kind eyes and the way you seemed to float when you walked. He has never considered himself a particularly creative man but the images his mind conjures of the two of you make him second-guess himself.

He did not have time to imagine for very long, however, as Colin was due to return today for the start of the season and Eloise seemed to need constant supervision lest she run away the first chance she got. The Danbury ball could not come soon enough.

The Danbury ball was one of legend, the older woman’s opening ball was not one to be missed as it set the tone for the rest of the season. Young women not lucky enough to gain the Queen’s favor had a second chance at the Danbury ball, a chance to show themselves off to the ton once more in the hopes of catching the eye of an eligible young man. 

You were no different than those young ladies, primping and preening all day long with the hopes that you would be able to secure a match this season before you become too old to do so. Your mother was adamant that this season had to be spectacular, you had to look and act your best always. She was weary and weeping, moaning about how you’d be letting down the family if you were unable to secure a match.

It was interesting you thought, how quickly she changed her tune. During your debut season, she had spoken dreamingly about a love match and finding happiness and now you were sure that she would shove you off to whoever if it meant that you would be married. It seemed your Mama’s greatest fear was you becoming a spinster. 

You obliged her whims, after all, you did wish to find a match. You had always dreamed of a love match. With every year that passed by the candle of hope held within your heart flickered, it was small now, but you had to admit that it still burned. You still soothed your restless nights with dreams of a husband and children, a loving home full of laughter and joy. That is the future you want, that is the future you will fight for.

Tonight you aim to make an entrance, any attention at this point is better than being snubbed. You wore a gown of deep red, with golden lace around the bodice and black and gold beading around the waistline and down the back. Your maid pulled and twisted your hair, piling it upon your head and creating a bold and dramatic look. You were going to pull attention, you had to.

And pull attention you did, from the moment you entered the ballroom all eyes were on you. Ladies whispered and hid behind their fans. Men stood in circles with their peers but you caught the glance of more than one bachelor. And yet, nobody had approached you. You were beginning to feel the flush in your cheeks. Perhaps this was too much, such boldness was off-putting and you should have stuck to the known. Dressed in soft pinks and whites, proclaiming purity and softness. 

Anthony was beside himself. You were the most ethereal creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his gaze on and he wished to spend the whole night by your side; catching up on all the lost time. He knew though, that you would never allow that, and he would rather die than hurt you again. 

So he watched and watched and watched. As time ticked on those cowards kept you waiting. Dances began and ended, people arrived and left and all the while you were stood, bathed in candlelight and alone. 

The sun had long since set and you were done. No longer would you endure this embarrassment. You had followed your gut and put yourself out there and it had failed. You were destined to be alone you supposed.

Just as you were getting ready to turn away and retreat back to the safety of your family home a hand entered your sight. Palm up and inviting, your eyes traced slowly up the arm and towards the face of the gentleman who had finally put you out of your misery.

Anthony Bridgerton stood before you, arm outstretched and a small smile on his face. “A lady as beautiful as yourself does not deserve to spend the whole night without a single dance.” 

“Are you offering?” You looked him in the eye and raised a brow. This was the first time since your conversation in the hallways that Anthony had approached you without one of his siblings present to be a buffer.

“I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“And what might that be?” You tilted your head to the side and watched as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

“You have a choice, right here and right now. Either grasp my hand and we dance the rest of the night away, opinions be damned. Or you snub me, snub me like I snubbed you that night, and get your revenge.”

You exhale a laugh and look at him. His face held a smile but also a certain seriousness that belayed his intention. This was him making it up to you. He would accept rejection if that is what you wanted. 

Here he was, the man who had hurt you and who you still held a flame for offering himself up to like a lamb to slaughter. 

You must’ve been taking a long time to answer because the Viscount began shifting on his feet. He looked around the room at the other couples who began to take to the dancefloor.

“I do not mean to rush you my lady, but the dance will be starting soon.”

“Anthony you must promise me.”

“Anything, name it and it’s yours.” 

“Promise me that you will never hurt me again, I don’t think my heart could take it.” You took his hand. And let your lips curve into a gentle smile.

He pulled your hand wrapped within his own close to his heart, and vowed, “I will do everything in my power to protect you for the rest of my days, even if the one I am protecting you from is myself.”

“I don’t need protection Anthony,” you looked deeply into his eyes, “I just need your love, honest and true.”

“Then you shall have it.” 

Anthony pulled you to the dancefloor and led you in far too many dances to be appropriate that night. And every night for the rest of the season. And neither of you cared about what the rest of the ton had to say. You had each other, finally, and neither of you was letting go anytime soon. 

taglist: @ilikestuffs-stuff @cat-lockwood @wolf-phoenix-lover

@tenshis-cake @bridkesby @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @lillysfrogsandbogs @unholyhuntress

[asvtrials]

Hate that I want you

Hate that i want you      masterlist

part one      next part idea: @floydsfae tags: @ilovejeansosomuch. @spikedfearn (inspired by) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. This is my first Tumblr post and I'm not used to writing in the second-person narrative so sadly this is not my best work but I still hope you like it. English is not my first language so please be nice. word count: 2394

“Fuck no.” That was your only answer before you covered yourself with your blanket and sank even deeper into your messy bed.

“Come on, Y/n!.” The muffled voice of your friend, Kay reached your ears under the blanket before she started to pull it away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined while trying to hold onto the covers until eventually Kay gave up

She sighed and sat next to you on the bed. “This is gonna be good for us.” She tried to reason. “You think that idiot was your way out? This is the way out.! She shook you a bit under the covers to make sure you were actually listening.

You rolled over, unsure if she actually believed in this nonsense or was that desperate to leave Jackson’s Star. You wouldn’t blame her if she was.

You stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who had this idea in the first place?” You asked, surprised that anyone would think this would work.

“Tyler and Navarro. They said they pick-”

“Tyler and Navarro? Damn, they are really getting desperate.” You cut her off with a scoff.

“So, are you,” Kay added.

You couldn’t deny it.

You were tired. Tired of living the same day over and over again. Wake up at 6 am to the same darkness that followed you the entire day, get ready by 6:30 am, and begin your walk to the bus station to take the overcrowded bus that drove all of the workers to the mines.

Thankfully you were able to be transferred to the kitchen, away from the cramped caves. And as sad as it sounded, that was the only good thing that happened to you in a while.

You didn’t know if it was that or the resentful feeling of your fresh breakup but you let Kay pull you out of your bed and push you into the shower. You just knew you wanted to change this overwhelming routine of the past two months.

As soon as you got dressed, the girl led you through the busy, dimply-lit streets and toward an alleyway where the rest of the crew would wait for you.

You didn't know how to feel about this reunion. You haven't really seen them in a while, spending most of your time with your now ex-boyfriend. You were surprised they even included you in this ‘mission’. You figured it was probably Kay and Tyler, possibly Navarro too.

You turned around and were greeted by the figures of your old friends, Tyler and Bjorn.

When they met your nervous stare, you noticed Tyler’s expression mirrored yours even if it was for a split second. He quickly concealed his uncertainty with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Hey, Y/n. How have you been?” Tyler chuckled and pulled you into a hug, startling you a bit but soon enough you returned the affection

“Fine, I guess—” You began but before you could continue a different voice echoed in the empty alleyway, accent thick and tone dripping with accusation.

“We weren’t sure if you'd bless us with your ladyship.”

Of course, it was no other than Bjorn who would make a comment like this. He earned a glare from Tyler but he just shrugged s as if he was just making conversation.

An annoyed smile tugged at your lips as you spoke “Seems like you didn't change. Like at all.”

Bjorn ignored your comment and turned to Kay. “If she's all caught up, we should go.”

You raised your eyebrow at the way he brushed you off but you decided to let it go. “What about Navarro, Rain, and Andy?” You asked.

“Navarro’s fixing some other parts of the ship and Rain is—” Tyler paused for a moment, sending a glance at his half-sister. You followed his eyes but Kay just smiled at you “Busy with her job,” Tyler ended up saying.

“Is Rain all right?” You asked, chuckling a bit at their failed attempt to cover the truth.

“You’d know if you weren’t too busy snogging your boyfriend every chance you got,” Bjorn remarked with a smug smirk. You could feel your blood boiling at the mention of your ex.

“Bjorn! We talked about this.” Tyler warned the boy but he just scoffed.

“What? She was gone for two months and now acts all worried! That’s a load of bollocks!” He argued, gesturing towards you with a huff.

“Oh, fuck off, Bjorn!” You raised your voice over Tyler who was about to cuss his cousin out. This was already hard enough but having Bjorn act like a massive asshole wasn’t something you were going to sit through.

You did abandon them. You were a bitch, and a bad friend, and whatever this asshat wanted to call you but you didn’t need to hear it, especially from Bjorn out of all people.

You just wanted to have a better life, at least as good as it could get in this shitty colony. A future to look forward to and Noa made it look possible. He had ambition and connections and could easily get a better job than most of the Jackson Star residents. At the time you were stupid enough to believe that he wouldn’t drop you. Yet, as soon as he bagged a job in the ‘Office of Colony Affairs’ he dumped you because, in his words, you had ‘different life goals.’

Fuck. And fuck him, and Bjorn and whoever dared to call you a whore or an opportunist. All of you had the same life goals, get the fuck out of here. That’s why you were here. As crazy as this plan sounded, at least you would be doing something to get away from this place.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself!” You snapped.

Bjorn ran his tongue over his teeth, letting out a low chuckle to hide his irritation “So you dropped everyone to get that.” He stated before he met your eyes once more. You didn’t know what you saw in his gaze but it wasn’t simply anger.

“I didn’t drop any of you!” You began, throwing your hands in frustration. “I kept in touch with Kay and Navarro. I asked about all of you! If you weren’t such a dick you’d realize that you made it difficult to talk to you!”

Bjorn remained quiet as if he was trying to come up with a comeback. He tore his gaze away from you when he turned around and mumbled “Whatever.”

“We should really get going now,” Kay spoke nervously, more to Tyler than anyone else.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tyler agreed noticeably glad that the fight would come to an end, for now at least.

You sent Bjorn one last glare before following Kay and Tyler, but he didn't look all that affected.

The walk to the abandoned warehouse was rather long. A couple of years ago it was busy with workers and clients, mostly to buy components for mining haulers and gear. But right now it was collecting dust and vines so it was the perfect place to get some forgotten parts and tools.

Tyler helped Kay jump over the tall fence while you and Bjorn were already on the other side. You smiled at the sweet moment between the siblings trying to ignore the panging feeling in your chest.

You tried to ignore the intense need you had to glance at the boy next to you but you couldn’t help it. His gaze was fixated on the tall building, holding the cigarette between his fingers. You tried to push away the bitter feeling that cursed through you.

It wasn’t that long ago that he helped you the same way, finding any excuse to feel your skin under his fingertips.

But that was just a childish game you two developed. Flirting jokingly, touching a bit more than necessary to see the other’s cheeks redden and hear your friends groan in disgust. Both of you comfortably balanced on the rope between friendly banter and romantic curiosity.

When both Kay and Tyler landed on the other side of the fence, you began walking toward the building.

You stepped inside and an aerie breeze hit you, from the way Kay started to rub her shoulders you guessed the rest felt the same.

“Bloody hell…” Bjorn mumbled as he walked to the front desk which was covered in dust and some dead bugs.

“Yeah, that’s nasty.” Kay agreed, keeping close to you and Tyler.

“I’ll go check the first floor, someone should check the second,” Tyler announced the plan, staring at the sketch of the parts Novarro drew him.

The group was surrounded by silence, the four of you looking at each other awkwardly until Kay decided to make it easier for all of you. “I can go with Bjorn.” She said cheerily trying to ignore the tension.

“Good, Y/n we’ll go together” Tyler nodded toward you and started walking up the stairs.

Bjorn's loud voice stopped both of you in your tracks. Bjorn tried to sound uninterested even amused as he spoke “I see, you act all tough yet can’t even spend five minutes alone with me. Scared I’ll hurt your feelings, innit?” The way those last words fell out of his lips in such a pitying manner really struck a nerve.

You knew what he was doing. He was baiting you. You saw him do it to everyone, although you weren’t sure if Andy even could understand that he did it just to annoy him.

Still, you weren’t one to give him the satisfaction. You let out a dry chuckle as you rolled your eyes. “Bjorn and I are going to check the second floor” You declared, not bothering to turn around.

“I can go with Y/n?” Kay tried to intervene but neither you nor Bjorn listened as you walked up the stairs.

“Remember, in and out! Be quick.” You heard Tyler’s voice bounce off the walls as you continue your path to the second floor, Bjorn hot in your trail.

You entered a room as soon as you reached the second floor. By the numerous boxes and shelves filled with dirty items, this was clearly one of the storage rooms

“You search the right side, I'll search the left side,” You said when you noticed Bjorn still walking behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do” He quickly retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh and walked to the right side instead, ignoring his snarkiness.

Neither of you talked for a long while, putting equipment that seemed useful in your bags or simply looking through the dusty machinery.

Bjorn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence “So how are things with your boyfriend.” You didn’t miss the way his tone changed to a mocking one at the word ‘boyfriend’ but you chose to ignore it.

You stayed quiet for a moment, not sure if you wanted to answer. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Come on, I’m trying to be nice.” He spoke over the loud noise of his hand rummaging through some drawers and you could practically hear his smirk.

A groan managed to slip past your lips before you said “We broke up.”

You heard Bjorn’s movements come to a halt momentarily followed by a breathy laugh. “Can’t say I'm surprised you dumped that twat.”

You remained silent once again only saying a drawn-out “Yeah”

“Wait a fucking minute.” Bjorn laughed, walking closer to you, a smug smirk spreading on his face “He dumped you!”

The amusement in his voice made your anger flare up once again causing your face to contort in irritation but you tried to ignore it and just get the job done, practically slamming the drawer shut.

“Why did he dump you? Did he find someone that matched his status? He did get promoted to a whole-ass desk job” He snorted.

You tried to be calm, you really did but all of it was so recent “Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?” You exploded, making his eyes leave the shelves and focus on you. “Is it really so funny that I was dumped?”

Bjorn stared at you for a long moment, before turning to continue searching. Obviously not without a sarcastic comment. “It’s funny that he dumped you but sorry, didn’t know you were so in love.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose to try and keep your cool. “As if you know what love is?” You tried to keep your voice from shaking with anger.

Bjorn met your scowl once again but to your surprise, his expression didn’t match yours. Unlike yours, his eyes didn’t hold any rage but something that made you unable to look away as he moved closer to you, looming above you.

“I know you two weren’t.” The low tone in his voice had you breathless for a moment.

Does it even matter if you loved Noa? Falling in love was never the point.

“You don’t know anything” You spat out, your voice as intense.

He raised his eyebrow at your words, staring down into your eyes “Really?” He dragged out the word. “You were in love with that asshat? You really want me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, that’s none of your fucking business.” You bit back, taking a step closer. You wanted to remain unbothered by how the corner plush lips tugged up but the warmth that spread through your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“You’re not answering my question.” The almost gentleness in his voice quickly disappeared as he laughed, his breath hitting your face. His fingers slowly reached up to flick a strand of your hair mockingly.

You were about to slap away his hand when you heard Kay’s voice from the corridor.

“Guys, where are you?” She shouted.

“Uh—we’re here Kay” You yelled back, stepping back from Bjorn. You really didn’t notice how close you two were standing.

Soon enough Kay’s figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill each other” She joked. “We found the thing Navarro needed, we can go.” She announced.

You hated how your eyes met Bjorn’s even if it was for a second, and you hated the feeling that erupted in your stomach even more.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Admiring from afar

Geta, Caracalla, Marcus x fem!reader

warning : fluff, kissing, holding hands, no use of Y/n

summary : The Colosseum fights after the victory for Great Rome were a true spectacle. But three men had their eyes set on something quite different from the bloody fights, something much more interesting that they had long hoped to see again and to make a first move before the others.

info: The second trailer is beautiful as always and the scenes of the three of us are just omg so good. So have fun with it and see you next time :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus

The sounds of battle could be heard, the screaming and shouting of the crowd who enjoyed the games, the fighters who were better than the others would end in bloody victories.

He had heard all of this himself all his life, he had thought he had only a battlefield around him, nothing but fighting… until he had seen her.

His eyes had fallen on her when she had shown him his armour, pure gold, the finest craftsmanship, a woman with such talent, an indescribable beauty.

She had simply not let go of him and he had prayed to the gods to be able to return to her in Rome. Now he was here with her. Sitting in the tribune with the two emperors, senators and her among the guests of honour.

A few coins and his influence had earned her a place. While he followed the brothers' speech only half-heartedly, his brown eyes wandered to her, seeing the stole that fell down her, the golden bracelets that nestled on her arm.

Marcus felt the desire to finally hear her voice, to be with her, and his gaze reached hers. She suddenly looked at him, and he saw how she gave him a smile, a small mischievous wink with her fingers.

He felt a surge of excitement when he saw her gaze wander over him, lingering a little longer on his muscular arms and firm hands before she turned her attention to the gladiators.

But there was something between them - the looks, the conversations in his tent away from the battlefield, her fascination with his actions and his admiration for her art - it seemed to be a confusion in a world that saw her only as a warrior and a woman.

After the first fighters had begun, not yet the most popular of the newcomers who would show what they could do, the tribune slowly began to move and the gentlemen began to enjoy themselves as Marcus rose from his chair and made his way to the tables of food and drink.

Two gilded plates laden with fruit and sweet sugars for them to eat together I hope you still like sugared berries he thought, remembering the foggy evening when she had given him his armor and he had served her berries from the region with sugar and honey. Her look as she sat next to him and her delighted laughter at the sweet taste as she had fed him the berries had warmed his heart.

As he went to her with the plates, he saw her trying to get up too, apparently to follow him, when Caracalla stood in her way and engaged her in conversation.

The leader didn't have much use for the two brothers, but this childish behavior could quickly end in irrational actions, ,,Emperor Caracalla a pleasure that you seem to enjoy yourselves so much with the fights, a real amusement,” Marcus began and saw how the blond seemed surprised at first and then smiled at him.

The shorter one obviously admired him but the balance of power was completely different, ,,I wanted to take the lady to the front the fights with the trident are particularly exciting” he chuckled and put his hand over hers as she gave him an apologetic look and Marcus read her tense body language, pressing a plate into her hand Marcus put his hand on the younger one's shoulder with a certain pressure.

,,I won't deny you that…nevertheless, my necklace of the cloak would need an enhancement, I'll bring the ladyship back to you at once" he said more calmly to the blond and even if he seemed to be snapped for a moment, the respect for such a war was greater and with a dismissive wave of his hand Carcalla went back to his brother in defeat.

He could just hear her exhale and the ,,Thank you Acacius” before she walked next to him to the back where it was a little quieter and you could rest for a few minutes without being disturbed, the two of them sat down on one of the couches and he heard her giggle.

,,What amuses you? “ he asked and took a bite of the grapes as he looked at her her beauty had not faded for a moment ,,My warrior has not changed still strong and willing” she returned and took one of the berries before bringing it to his lips the same sweetness the same beautiful moment as he tasted the berry and sighed.

She took from the berry herself a pleasant sigh also came from her before he let his hand wander over hers, rough hands over gentle strokes, up her arm and he stopped at her golden bangle when he saw the engraved swords and stroked it, feeling the handiwork.

,,I made it last summer when you were away, a reminder of you” she said more quietly suddenly almost sentimental and he put his hand to her cheek gently stroking it seeing her lean against it ,,I'm not leaving you again I'm staying with you" he told her before they came closer and she finally felt his lips on hers again, the kiss she had been longing for and could finally have again.

He heard her voice again, felt her softness and finally could have her love with him again, even if they could only admire each other from a distance, it was the most lovely thing they could finally have here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geta

The palace was his home, the sun illuminating him through the corridors and windows seemed to give him the power of gods as his servants dressed him in his new toga, the golden rings on his fingers new creations just for the festivities held.

Festivities he had organized with his brother who was already running around again, looking for amusement, but Geta, even if the younger one, was looking for something completely different at this party, looking for someone he had once met.

In his position he was constantly surrounded by people from men, women, whores, merchants and others but none of them he paid attention to as much as her, this pretty estall who had appeared in the palace as a painter for the royal royal chambers and shrines.

It was a craft that could have been done by anyone else, but when he looked at her there was this expression of confidence and strength… Geta had quickly realized that he wanted this expression for himself, this strength at his side.

Which is why he had sent her a personal message that she should come to the Colloseum presentation, even if she was not a noblewoman, she was his honored guest and this was something no one could refuse the Emperor.

He was all the more excited when he stepped out onto the stage with Caracalla and cheers awaited her, his dark eyes searching darkly for her in the shadows of the stage and the flower almost trying to hide.

She had no golden toga, no dark red one it was a simple white with a few yellowish accents and you could almost have mistaken her for a servant if it wasn't for a pair of golden rings on her fingers with precious stones sticking out I knew you would wear them it went through his mind as his gaze met hers and she gave a brief smile of praise before he stood next to his brother and let his voice introduce the spectacle.

But even though the first few fights still piqued some of his interest, he soon found himself turning around to look at her as she seemed rather bored by the spectacle and didn't care for the brutality, but she hid it in an interested hold of her hands playing with the rings and he smirked as she looked to him, probably feeling caught in the reassurance.

Geta took advantage of this as he rose from his chair, ignoring the questioning look from his brother who seemed to want to continue enjoying himself, ,,It's a pleasure that you accepted my invitation and that you're wearing such a pretty ring,” he said to her as he stood in front of her, looking down at her and she rose hastily.

They had hardly exchanged words in the last few days, it had been mostly sarcastic and short answers but underneath that façade there seemed to be more between them as if he was fighting his own battle over a lone flower, ,,Pretty gems they are thank you my Emperor” she replied and awkwardly took his hand feeling her warmth as he led her beside him away from the guests.

To the back where he hoped to find some peace and quiet or at least where he could look at her for himself, just have her to himself, ,,I ask that such an artist may simply call me Geta but only you” he insisted and took one of the sweet lemon tarts and held it in front of her as she held one she had never really eaten such deliciousness before she took a bite and he laughed contentedly looking at her as she tasted it and she smiled and looked at him happily.

His hand was just about to touch her when the tent flaps were torn open and he heard a familiar voice, ,,Brother! The rhinoceros should be here any minute!” Caracalla shouted and reached for his brother, whose nerves were almost at the end again, as much as he appreciated Caracalla as a brother, he hated him at the same time. Turning to him, he pulled him towards the entrance of the tent-

,,I'll take care of my lady a personal matter go see the damn rhino alone Caracalla" he snarled calmly his gaze full of annoyance and even though he knew they could have watched it together he wanted to have her to himself.

He knew his brother well enough that the older one had also looked at the painter several times and it wasn't looks of admiration, it was looks of the same hidden kindness, ,,Go now,” he said the last words and closed the tent to turn back to her seeing how she didn't quite know whether to laugh or be confused.

Grabbing a lemon tartlet himself and taking a bite, he was still feeling angry with himself and his brother when he suddenly felt her hand on his and looked at her and saw the strength in her eyes, ,,Such a strong leader for Rome the pictures and mosaics in your chamber let your actions speak,” she admitted and grabbed his tartlet from his hand to take a bite.

His surprise quickly turned to excitement as his hand went to hers, he brought the rings to his lips and blew a few kisses on them before taking her side and pulling her into a surprise kiss.

Feeling her tense up a little overwhelmed at first, but not letting go of the strength she finally had, she relaxed against him and returned the kiss as the muffled fighting and screaming didn't reach the couple as they finally had a moment alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caracalla

There was no greater amusement for the older of the two emperors than amusement; a life without pleasure and amusement is something he did not want, which is why the bigger the celebration, the bigger the victory and the bigger the fights in the Colosseum would be, which were held for everyone so that everyone could finally enjoy themselves.

Caracalla, however bored he sometimes was, was so grateful to his brother for always seemingly planning something new, a plan that was better than the last and a worship that was only surpassed by Marcus Acacius, a man the blond hoped to see today to show him his admiration and hope to hear about the war stories.

But most of all she would be with Marcus, his personal servant, not a whore or even a wife. Caracalla had put too much trust in his own palace spies. It seemed to be a purely friendly relationship, and yet he was the emperor. Whatever he wanted for his pleasure should and would not be denied him.

Nobody would take what he wanted from him, not even a war hero and military leader like Acacius. Which is why he was all the more nervous and excited when the fighting almost started, standing next to his younger, better brother, who just gave him a sidelong glance, ,,It's going to be fun,” Caracall heard himself giggle to himself.

He was too excited to the armbands clicking and felt the brief pressure on his shoulder as Geta tried to calm his brother for the appearance of the two deities.

It helped a little before they finally stepped out onto the stage, dressed in golden robes that distinguished them both. But as he walked down the aisle, he saw her standing in a corner behind her 'master's' seat.

She was carrying a gold tray with a pair of drinks on it, but at the moment Caracalla had no choice but to give her only a fleeting glance and hope that she had seen him, which she surely had, he hoped.

Delivering his own speech, imitating his brother's gestures before they both sat down on their thrones and let the games begin, he forgot his worries for a moment as he got involved in what was happening in front of him.

His grin and laughter could be heard and seen. The amusement finally returned when he cheered with him, clung to his armrest and cheered at victories and defeats until he saw the gold flashing again in the corner of his eye, took his gaze away from the spectacle in front of him for a moment and looked behind him.

She was standing there, dressed in simple clothes, without gold and without the amusement. And yet he felt the need to talk to her, knew that she had something that did him good, that she could calm him down and take him away from all the thinking.

Even if it was only once when they were invited to a ceremony at Marcus' house, a simple meal, he had seen her and his hasty manner had once again caused him more trouble than he wanted, but she was the only one who hadn't laughed at him when Geta took over the conversation again to spare his brother further shame… she was the only one who took him seriously.

Rising and ignoring the questioning look of Geta, Caracalla went over to her, who was about to refill the goblets, and was startled when he appeared next to her. ,,Don't be, it's me, my dear,” he said, chuckling as he held the almost-tipped-over carafe and put it back in place, took the took the tray from her and took over her task.

,,Concentrating is good…even if you scared me, my Emperor,” she spoke softly and seemed to relax a little, at least when she was with him, when they could both just relax without someone always wanting something from her.

Focusing on pouring, he saw out of the corner of his eye how she smiled at him, let her fingers glide over his skin, warmth meeting warmth, and she said calmly, ,,You may address me by my name,” and gave her a wink before he put the last cup back on the table, saw how flattered she was by this and how the two of them were just about to in a discussion when he saw Marcus get up and come over to them.

,,If you don't mind, my Emperor Caracalla, I would like my servant back" caracalla saw how her gaze took hold of the tray and she returned to Acacius' place with a slight bow. This time, however, the blonde would not admit defeat. He would demonstrate his own power in front of the greatest general and his brother.

,,I do mind, Acacius, very much, I am the emperor and I can do whatever I want and not even you can deny me her!,” he said loudly and tapped the gilded armor of the older man with his fingers, which at first seemed to confuse him, then annoyed him, and then puzzled him.

Before he pushed past Marcus and gave him a warning look, and went to her, ,,Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. His tone, however, was gentle.

His anger and She picked herself up from the floor and went over to Marcus, who probably gave her a look that made Caracalla follow her before she put down the tray and hastily took his hand, squeezing it, and he gave her a brief hug. He suddenly kissed her on the cheek and giggled nervously before pulling her with him to his seat.

The small throne was large enough for two and he sat down next to her.

,,My guest of honor!” he announced and held out his hand to her. He tried to make her as comfortable as possible when he finally heard her laugh and enjoy herself and she wrapped her arms around him.

,,Thank you… Caracalla,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she leaned lightly against him and the blonde put his arm around her and at his side the two of them could finally enjoy themselves together without anyone ruining it and the Colosseum was the amusement they would finally enjoy together for all time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@sweetpascal , @parvanovel , @mystickittytaco , @potatoesenpaii

[notablenotions]

The Masks of Nobility- Chapter 4

Jitka scribbled in her notebook as she studied the chamomile in the herb garden. The regional variations were subtle but noticeable to a discerning eye. When there were fewer eyes on her, she would have to return for a more detailed analysis. She made a mental note to do so.

Behind her, George yawned, clearly exhausted from the previous night's festivities. He followed her, grateful for the brew she had given him that dulled the worst of his hangover. She wondered if, after experiencing the true aftermath of merriment without her remedies, her family would regret marrying her off to the first person—well, persons—her uncle could find who would take her.

George leaned over her shoulder, watching as she jotted down her notes.

"Are you not sore? I heard for women it hurts," he asked bluntly.

Jitka continued writing. "I'm fine, George. Honestly."

George frowned. "Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand? Did he treat you kindly?"

Before he could continue, Henry of Skalitz stormed into the garden, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel path. Behind him, Hans trailed closely, clinging to Henry’s presence like a child hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

George raised a quizzical eyebrow at the ridiculous display.

Jitka sighed. So much for finishing her study of regional herb variations.

Henry bowed, his formality at odds with the obvious irritation in his stance.

"Milady, I apologize for the intrusion, and I mean no offense by my words."

George straightened, stepping protectively in front of Jitka, his back straight and shoulders squared to rival Henry’s stance. The entire situation became even more farcical.

Jitka shoved George aside. "George, you’re being ridiculous. Go fetch the brew for after-merriment."

George hesitated but begrudgingly obeyed, muttering under his breath as he stalked off.

Now alone with her husband and his ever-loyal bodyguard, Jikta glanced at Henry, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Then, at Hans, peering over Henry’s shoulder as if using him as a shield.

Honestly. Her husband was a fool.

Henry exhaled. "Ladyship, as Sir Hans’s bodyguard, his safety is my priority."

Jitka nodded along. "As it should be. That’s reasonable."

Henry blinked, clearly not expecting such a cordial response.

"You see... Sir Hans believes you may have poisoned him on, erm… your wedding night. Sir Hans can be—" Henry hesitated, searching for the right word. "Suspicious."

George, who had just returned with the brew, choked.

"Sakra, Jikta! What did you do?!" He grabbed her arm as if to shake a confession out of her.

Unnecessary. As far as Jitka was concerned, she had done both of them a favor.

"Yes, I did."

Silence.

Hans gasped, the sound scandalized.

"See, Henry! I told you!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

More silence. As if they all expected her to elaborate.

George pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ, Jitka. Why? …Wait. Did he hurt you?"

Hans gasped again, this time in what Jikta could only assume was utter indignation.

"I would never hurt a maid!"

Henry raised a hand, signaling for the conversation to slow before Hans could launch into another melodramatic outburst.

"Jikta, please explain."Henry retorted rubbing his temples in frustration.

She tilted her head. Oh, that’s what they wanted?

"Perhaps we should go somewhere private, my lord. Wherever my lord feels safest?" Jitka said calmly, her tone collected despite the chaos surrounding them.

----

Apparently, her husband lacked the cognitive ability to pick up on subtlety, because now they were all crammed into Henry’s humble lodgings.

Silence fell. They all looked at her.

George cleared his throat. "Jitka, I think they—"

"You were going to explain," he reminded.

Jitka nodded, fidgeting with her hands. She couldn’t exactly say, I saw my husband and his bodyguard in an intimate embrace, especially not in front of George. She had no idea how Hans or Henry would react, and any misstep could reflect poorly on her—and that she couldn’t afford.

"What you described as poison," she began slowly, "was what I would call a... sleeping draught."

She glanced down at her hands again, trying to avoid the intensity of their focus. This entire situation required tact, diplomacy—things she was utterly ill-equipped for.

"My lord," she looked briefly at Hans, "you seemed tired... the bags under your eyes, the distress… perhaps from drink? I felt you needed rest."

Hans leaned forward, clearly not buying it, his brows furrowed in doubt.

She panicked, her words tumbling out in a rush.

She had to fix this.

A husband bedding his guard meant a husband who left her be. An arrangement she found agreeable. A husband who hated her or thought her a witch could bring far worse hardship.

She cleared her throat; her mouth felt dry as sand.

"You see, my lord, I... might be described—politely—as odd. Ill-fitting for my noble blood."

George tried to interject. "Jikta, that’s not—"

But she pressed on, ignoring him.

"I struggle to be touched. By anyone. I have no romantic inclinations."

Hans interrupted, eyes wide. "What—none? Not even after seeing me?!" His voice was full of bewilderment, as if her very existence challenged the natural order.

Henry choked on his breath, unable to suppress a laugh. The irony of Hans's inflated ego never failed to amuse.

Jitka remained serious. "None at all. And you may have noticed I’m utterly hopeless in social situations. The noise, the fabric of the dress, the entire day was... unbearable. And bedding, with a jeering crowd outside... it was too much." Her voice faltered into a whisper, eyes fixed on her hands, burning with shame.

She risked a glance at Hans.

To her surprise, there was sympathy—almost empathy—in his eyes. And... relief? Perhaps to him, her issues were far easier to stomach than the alternative—a demon summoning witch.

She pressed on. "When I saw what I perceived as similar grief in you, and unwillingness, I—"

Henry stepped in, voice steady.

"Decided to take it upon yourself to protect both of you."

Hans looked at Henry thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. He’d gone still—no longer the panicked, petulant prince, but the lord he’d been raised to be: measured, guarded.

Hans pressed a finger to his lips in thought. "I appreciate the intention..." he murmured, clearly lost in deeper considerations.

Henry added, "You didn’t know how milord would react, so you spiked his wine."

Jikta nodded, staring at her knees, feeling like a child being scolded by her old nursemaid, Nan.

"Despite being wed, my lord... I do not know you. A husband can treat his wife as he sees fit."

Hans nodded, acknowledging the imbalance. Then, suddenly, he laughed—a bright, incredulous sound.

"Christ, woman," he wiped a tear from his eye, chuckling. "I can see the sound logic behind such a ridiculous plan that even I, Hans Capon, am left without words."

He sprang up, still chuckling, his tone laced with amusement—and something else: warmth.

"Fear not, wife. We will talk later. Henry, come."

His voice was light, but not unkind.

At the door, he paused, voice softening into a tone Jitka had heard her father use to comfort her as a child. Reassuring. Gentle.

"I’ll come to your chambers this evening. Just to discuss how we might wear out the nose of this marriage."

With a flourish, he strode out, Henry following after.

George sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Fucksake, Jitka."

[frost-queen]

Travel fevers (Reader x Colin Bridgerton)

Requested by anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m, @erikasurfer

Summary: Colin and reader meet on his travels to Spain. Your father having brought you along to his travels so many times when you were young. Colin and you started to bond more, falling deeply in love. When you return to Mayfair, he introduces you to his family with the intention to make you his.

“Those barrels go in the back.” – you said pointing with your pencil in the direction. Scribbling down on the paper you were holding as the man pushed the barrel further up the ship. Another man came up the plank from the port with a barrel. – “Spices Senorita.” – he said tipping his head at you. You nodded writing down on your paper, redirecting him to a corner of the ship.

Turning slightly around to the deck of the ship, you started counting to make sure your calculations were correct. – “That’s three barrels of salt.” – you said out loud to one of the workmen by your side. – “Four barrels of pickled fish. Two with peppers and twelve boxes of oranges.” – you finished looking at him if you were correct.

“Ay senorita.” – he answered taking his hat off to you. – “Wonderful. Go take a bottle of rum, Miguel.”  - you patted him on the bac. Miguel bowed at you before taking his leave. Another one of the worker approached you, needing a signature from you. You happily signed it, gaze falling down on a man standing to stare below on the port.

“Seeing anything you like?” – you called out, catching him off guard. – “I’m… I’m sorry but did you just…” – he began running up the plank, grabbing onto the railing to get closer to you. – “Is this your ship?” – he questioned making sure he didn’t violate your property by remaining on the plank. – “Yes.” – you replied seeing him gape with curiosity at you. – “Never seen a woman own anything?” – you asked moving your hands to your hip.

The man quickly shook his head. – “No, no I didn’t mean it like that.” – he corrected himself. – “It is just admiring.” – he spoke. – “A woman doing business?” – you teased, quirking your eyebrow up. The man chuckled amusingly. – “A woman traveling the world.” – he answered making you laugh loud.

He dropped to a bow, introducing himself. – “Lord Colin Bridgerton.” – he addressed himself. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Countess Y/n Y/l/n.” – you introduced yourself. – “Would my lord be interested in the invitation of welcoming on my ship?” – you asked, gesturing behind you. – “I will gladly accept, your ladyship.”

You moved aside for Colin to step on the deck. Guiding him to a spot on the deck near the masts. Using barrels as seating. Miguel approached, placing two glasses down. – “Apologies that it is not as comfortable as you are used to, my lord.” – you said while Miguel poured the drinks. Colin smiled politely. – “Part of the experience.” – he answered making you smile. Colin and you rose your glass before drinking.

You set your glass down, admiring the man for a moment. – “What brings you to Spain?” – you asked curious what an English lord was doing so far from home. – “The culture.” – he answered, setting his glass down as well. – “I needed to spread my wings a bit before returning home.” – he added. – “I see. The women must be interesting then.” – you responded making him nearly choke on his drink.

“I…I…” – he started, trying to hide his laugh, waving his hand across. – “Oh goodness did I make you blush?” – you teased looking mischievous at him. Colin set his glass back down, clearing his throat. Throwing you flirtatious glance back. – “Is there a lord Y/l/n?” – he wanted to know, being very curious.

You shook your head. Colin looked all smug, gleaming with your response. Placing his hand on the barrel in front of him, he was intrigued to know more about you. – “What makes a countess like yourself travel so far from England as well?” – he said. You leaned your elbows on the barrel, chin resting on your hands. – “My father used to bring me along to his travels ever since I was a young child.” – you told him. – “Travelling is in my blood.” – you finished.

“My father cared so much to be present with the imports. My mother died when I was very young, so he had no other choice than to take me along. He’d rather travel the world with me around then return after so long and having missed seeing me grow up.” – you explained, leaning back to gaze at the horizon for a moment.

“Your father sounds like a remarkable man.” – Colin answered. – “He is.” – you sighed out. – “Is he…?” – Colin was curious. – “Gods no.” – you called out half in shock. – “He is simply enjoying retirement. The longs trips take a toll on his body. He is back at home managing from afar.”

Colin hummed loud. He rose his glass once more. – “To your father.” – he said to toast. You brought your glass up as well, letting it touch with his. – “To travelling.” – you replied before taking a sip. – “What is your next destination?” – Colin asked pointing at the last barrels that were loaded on deck. – “Portugal.” – you told him. –“Then it is a trip back home.” – finishing. Colin glanced teasingly your way.

You leaned closer to him. – “Care to join or does my lord have other obligations?” – you flashed your gaze down to his lips before locking them on his eyes once more. Colin came leaning in as well, arm resting on the barrel. – “I have no other obligations my ladyship than to come with you.” – he answered, eyeing your lips as well.

If he were still in England, he didn’t know if he would be so bold. But something about being away from the ton and restrictions made him act more freely. Perhaps it was also the culture not being so stiff as England that he adored.

You poured him another glass, chatting a bit more till it was time to leave the port. Taking the long journey to Portugal. Colin has been on a ship before, yet this one felt special. You had invited him that night to dine with him. Something instantly clicking. Colin and you kept throwing glances at each other from across the table. His head spinning as he felt himself go feral for you. The way you were teasing him by just being present.

The ladies in Spain were pleasant, but you were on a different level. Perhaps it was the wine or the rockiness of the waves that made him act so out of control. Colin got up going round the table to you. You blinked surprised when he pressed his hands against your cheeks. Guiding you upwards as you rose from your seat. Eyes locked on each other with the most lovable expression.

“Forgive me your ladyship.” – he breathed against your skin before smacking his lips to yours. You felt the deepness of his kiss, holding him. Retrieving your lips, you turned round, swiping your hands over the table to clear the way. Colin smirked as you hopped onto the table. Grabbing him by his shirt, you pulled him close, wanting his lips on yours once more.

It took around a month to arrive at the harbour of Portugal. Colin and you deeply falling in love with each other. You were arranging the supplies as Colin was watching you from afar. Smiling admirable at you. Feeling himself lucky that he found you on his travels. Your gaze locked briefly on him, smiling. Colin walked over, feeling as if it was his cue to come closer to you. He approached you, taking your hand to kiss it.

It made you chuckle, giving him a playful shove. – “It is nice to see husband and wife travelling together.” – a worker said with a thick accent as he helped some crates board the ship. – “Oh we aren’t…” – You told him, waving your hand across. – “Not yet.” – Colin interrupted, making you gape at him. He took your hand once more, smiling.

“For I intend to make you mine once we return home, Y/n.” – he said leaving another kiss on your hand. It made you bashful. – “I’ll be holding you onto that dearest Colin.” – you replied giving him a playful shove. Colin assisted you in the business, recounting the supplies to be extra certain. You finished up the paperwork, paying the dockworkers from Portugal.

They were preparing the ship to sail out as you stood by the railing. Colin came over, moving his arms around your waist. – “Now another month of sailing before we are on English soil.” – you informed him as he left a kiss on your shoulder. – “The only reason I am looking forward to getting back home is to make you my wife.” – he breathed out leaving another kiss on your shoulder.

It tickled making you move your shoulder up. – “What will your family say?” – you turned around in his embrace to face him. – “Leaving to travel Europe and return with a girl whom you wish to marry.” – you said teasingly. Colin smiled keeping his hands against your cheeks. – “Not just any girl. My beautiful, beautiful Y/n.” – he responded before kissing you. A month passed as the ship was on English ground. The shipment send out to other businesses as you received payment for them.

Colin and you got into a carriage, riding for him home. You were very nervous as you wondered what his family might think. Colin holding your hand gave you some comfort. The trip was long with several stops, but you were glad to make it to the mainland. Mayfair. The hometown of Colin Bridgerton. The carriage came to a stop before the house. Colin getting out, holding his hand out to you. You accepted it, getting out as well.

The doorman opened the door. Colin held his finger up to you, wanting you to wait just a moment. He entered the drawing room as you heard lots of loud voices and screams of happiness. Stroking any last wrinkles out of your dress, you prepared yourself to meet his family. Colin reappeared, holding his hand out to you. You took it as he lead you into the drawing room. – “Mother, brothers, sisters I want you to meet my betrothed Countess Y/n Y/l/n.” – Colin introduced you as you curtsied deep for them.

Violet looked with surprise at her son. – “Countess?” – Anthony said to Benedict, surprised that his brother had aimed so high. – “It is a pleasure meeting you, Viscountess Bridgerton.” – you said, curtsying once more. – “She’s pretty.” – Hyacinth said to Francesca.

Violet smiled delightful, coming over to give you a hug. – “Oh look at you.” – she said holding her hand under your chin. Smiling, she held her hand, looking back at her own children. That was their cue as Hyacinth rushed over to you. She wrapped her arms around you, hugging you tight.

“I have a new sister.” – she said squeezing you in her embrace. Colin tapped her on the shoulder, to let go. – “I have brought gifts for you all from my travels.” – you told them. You handed Hyacinth her gift as she gasped loud. You then gave everyone else their gift as they were obsessed with how wonderful it was. Colin smiled back at you, kissing your hand.

Proud that his family had accepted you and seen just how wonderful you are. Colin and you waited till the appropriate time after the social season to get married. Forever binding to each other. Travelling Europe together for business whenever it was needed. A life Colin couldn’t say goodbye to anymore.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[passacalia]

"Our Rogue Trader has returned victorious once again! Glory to Tessera von Valancius!! This salute is for you, your ladyship!!!" Ladyship on her balcony, still processing the battle with C'tan shard:

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

Oh, Brave and Loyal Knight

○ fandom: fantasy high

○ main pairing: fabriz (fabian x riz)

○ characters: fabian | riz | penelope | dayne

○ genre/warnings: king + knight au

○ tags: King Arthur Vibes | But also The Goblin Emperor Motifs | King Fabian | Knight Riz | Court Politics | Mostly Fluff

○ word count: 2,654

→ summary: It's a lovely morning in Fallinel, and Riz is a horrible (yet loyal) knight.

○ note: based on a post by @/plumerii.

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Dude, your brave and loyal knight fucking bit me.”

King Fabian Seacaster pursed his lips as his gaze lazily drifted from Mr. Blayde’s bloodied hand to where the aforementioned loyal knight, Sir Riz, stood, licking the last of the young man's blood from his lips. Doing his best to hide a smirk, particularly at how the brief bout of pain had made Mr. Dayne Blayde's Solsian use of “Dude” slip through his halfway decent Elvish.

Fabian’s sure that in any other situation, his fianceé, Lady Everpetal, would admonish him for it. However, she was too busy glaring daggers at Fabian and his knight as she shielded Mr. Blayde’s thoroughly punctured hand with her own. Haughtily huffing so hard that they managed to echo in the vastness of the throne room as she did so.

By the third huff, Fabian decided that he’d made them squirm long enough to finally deign Mr. Blayde with a response. Especially with the way some of his other guards were eyeing him. Sighing, he sat back on his towering, ornate throne, caught the young merchant’s eye, and asked, “Well? Did you do something to provoke him?”

Indignation erupted on both Mr. Blayde's and Lady Everpetal’s faces. Blayde could only gape at Fabian, momentarily struck speechless, while Lady Everpetal’s pale complexion reddened as she cried out, “Did he—you can’t be—that little—”

“Oh, stop with the sputtering, your Ladyship. It’s beneath you. Here, look,” Fabian said, holding up a bejewelled hand. Tilting his head toward his knight, who caught his blasé look and returned it with one filled with mischief. “Sir Riz, why did you bite the good merchant’s hand?”

Making a point to deliberately lick the blood off his teeth before speaking, Sir Riz cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Blayde took a tone with his majesty that I didn’t like. Alluding to threats to your rightful reign that he is too cowardly to say plainly.” He turned his head toward an aghast Lady Everpetal with his ears pinned back and a sneer on his lips, hissing out, “Be happy that I chose his hand and not his eye.”

Sir Riz had wanted to say worse; Fabian could tell. Worse about the merchant punching above his status and far worse about the Lady with monarchal ambitions. Yet, he held his tongue, not wanting to show those cards lest the Everpetals wise up to their ruler knowing of their unabashed treachery and become more challenging to hinder.

Fabian’s quick ascension to the throne of Fallinel after the Elven Oracle (and best friend) had gifted him Fandrangour had left him in a position in want of allies and with a plethora of enemies. Yet, thankfully, his inner circle of confidantes had formed swiftly in the days preceding his coronation. And no one was more loyal to him than Riz Gukgak of Solace. A former detective Fabian had met during one of his many adventures across Spyre. Over the years of knowing each other, both had saved the other countless times and had grown closer than either of them had originally planned to. So, when the Court of Stars had backed him into a corner, demanding the ancient position of the King’s Nohecharei (a knight sworn to die than allow harm to befall the King) be filled, Fabian knew of the only person in the multiverse that he trusted enough to take up the mantle.

“I see. Sir Riz, refrain from biting next time. Use a dagger, far more sanitary.” Fabian said to his knight with a firmness that tried to mask the amusement at the situation underneath. In return, Riz bowed deeply and gave a quiet affirmative. Satisfied, Fabian turned back to the couple before him. Paying no mind to the steam coming out of Lady Everpetal’s ears, he told the dumbfounded Mr. Blayde, “One of the healers in the palace infirmary will see to your hand. I’d hurry before it gets infected. Now—”

“Your Majesty!” Leaving her fiancé behind, Lady Everpetal lifted the skirt of her flowy, green gown to rush closer to Fabian. Stopped only by a warning hiss from Sir Riz. She only spared Riz a single glare before softening her countenance to something sickeningly sweet as she turned to the King and said, “The Everpetals have been loyal to the Crown and the Court of Stars for eons.”

Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t roll your eyes. Kings don’t roll their eyes, Fabian!

“Yes, you’ve made that notion quite clear, my Lady,” Fabian said, arching one of his well-kept brows at her. “How that fact seems relevant enough to remind me every time we meet astounds me.”

“I only mean that, as my fiancé, Mr. Blayde should receive the same dignities as any else of my esteemed and ancient House,” Lady Everpetal said. Her expression strained to keep pleasant. Making it hard to tell whether her narrowed eyes were because of the raised cheeks of her smile or the fury burning within. Nevertheless, she let out a tittering laugh as she went on to spit out with barely concealed rage, “The fact that you're about to let that little—”

Fabian shot up on his throne. His hands gripped the armrests, threatening to scratch the golden embellishments, as he hissed, “Watch your tongue, Everpetal.”

“—knight—” She **quickly pivoted like the expert courtier she was, yet was still picking up steam.*“—*Of yours get away with injuring a soon-to-be member of your court i-is unconscionable!”

“Lady Everpetal—”

“Don't **you understand that you are throwing out centuries of noble tradition for a Goblin who was a peasant not a year ago?”

“Penelo—”

“Why must the Court of Stars have their way of life thrown to the wind all because of the arcane technicality that was your royal inheir—”

Fabian hadn’t realized how close Lady Everpetal was getting to him until Sir Riz swiftly imposed himself between them and slammed the tip of his Sword of Shadows into the marble of the dias.

CLANG!

The sound of sleek, sharp metal against stone echoed out into the great hall and drew everyone's eyes onto him—something his wasn’t want to do. Yet still, Sir Riz stood solidly, back straight, shoulders squared, and a tight grip on his blade. From behind, Fabian couldn’t tell what expression was on his beloved knight's face, but by the way, even Lady Everpetal had gone ashen and stumbled back toward Mr. Blayde; it was chilling.

“Yes or no?” Sir Riz began, his tone firm and fierce as the bright lights of the throne room dimmed at the sound of his voice ringing out. The newfound shadows clung to the knight’s blade, swirling around his hands and feet. “Does his Majesty not wield Fandrangour, The Sword of Elven Kings, Lady Everpetal?” He asked with a snarl. Mr. Blayde flinched. “Does the crown, enchanted only to let the true ruler of Fallinel wear it, not sit happily upon his head?” Lady Everpetal winced. “Did the Elven Oracle herself not foree his reign?” The shadows grew darker, grew in number, and grew in size as Sir Riz, despite his tiny form, also seemed to grow. His commanding presence filled the chamber as his voice, vexed and indignant, raised to almost a shout. “Does the Court of Stars move against him? Do you dare commit high treason?”

Sir Riz’s final question hung in the air for a few long moments.

No one dared even to breathe as perhaps the tentative peace Fallinel had might unravel before their eyes in the following moments. Fabian could feel every guard that lined the hall tense. None more pulled taut than Sir Riz, his tail still and his hackles still raised.

Mr. Blayde looked at a loss for words (then again, what else was new), while Lady Everpetal looked like she knew exactly what she wanted to say but kept her tongue still so as to respond to an accusation of high treason thoughtlessly.

Neither party dared to make another move, whether on the offence or defence. A moment so fragile a wrong single word might break it. Luckily, Fabian always considered himself a deft touch.

Fabian’s soft chuckles broke the silence of the throne room as he pushed himself to stand, gaining the hall’s attention in one easy movement. With a gentle hand on Sir Riz’s shoulder, the shadows receded, and the room's brightness returned as Fabian said, “Settle yourself, Sir Riz.” After a couple of extra moments, Sir Riz did what he was told and turned to acknowledge Fabian with a bow. Giving him a tiny, reassuring smile, Fabian looked out at the pair in front of him, his smile turning intimidating as he continued, “I’m certain that Lady Everpetal did not come here to list her grievances with my rightful reign before contesting me for the throne in an official capacity.”

Fabian certainly wasn’t in the mood for the trials and duels that come with the arduous process that was the Court of Stars’ official channels for contesting the ruling monarch for the Fallinese throne. And he’s sure Lady Everpetal wasn’t either.

Yes, yes, he was granting her a way to slither out of treason.

A way that would, he had no doubt, allow her to go back to plotting to overthrow him in secret. But it also got her to leave him alone for the next couple of days, or maybe, Gods willing, weeks. And that prospect of peace and quiet allured him deeply.

For her credit, Lady Everpetal took it immediately. Her too-sweet smile was back on her fair face as she bowed and said, “Of course not. Apologies, your majesty, for my outburst.”

“We all have our bad days, my Lady,” Fabian said back, ignoring the scoff that fell from Sir Riz’s lips. “Now, I do believe I’m quite finished taking audiences for the rest of the morning. Lady Everpetal, take your fianceé to the palace infirmary and see yourselves back to your fiefdom. Sir Durden, make sure they find their way there swiftly. Good day.”

And with that, Fabian swept out of the throne room, his silvery Elven robes fluttering behind him as he went. His steps were quick and filled with purpose, even if that purpose was to get back to the King’s—to his tower and collapse in a heap of rich, silky fabric and heavy opal and sapphire jewellery. He didn’t hear Sir Riz’s footfalls behind him in the same way he heard the clicks the heels of his own boots made, but then again, Fabian never did.

Riz was a damn good Rogue; moving silently through the halls of the palace was so second nature to him that he often unintentionally startled other members of the Court of Stars—even other spies. Fabian had heard many complaints about the phenomenon and fielded even more demands that Riz wear a bell. He waved them all off, noting that his nohecharei had never managed to frighten him. Leaving out the many times Riz had scared him at the beginning of their friendship and the years it took to hone his ability to notice Riz’s faint tells.

So, Fabian walked, head forward and held high, not needing footsteps to know that Riz was only a couple of steps behind. The way his claws tapped the hilt of his blade and the faint swish of his tail was enough.

It wasn’t until Fabian had reached his chambers within his tower—the Alcethmeret—and fell onto one of his couches that he got a good look at Sir Riz again. Turning to see him standing by the grand double doors, a soft smile on his face, he took a moment to enjoy the view.

Standing as tall as he could, a few inches shy of four feet, Riz’s slim frame was wrapped in only the finest dark leather armour over tawny brown robes. Far from the starched shirts and vests he wore in Solace. Sword of Shadows on his back. Arquebus at his hip. Fabian’s personal sigil embroidered onto his armour right over his heart. Same as the one he used to seal his letters and appeared on banners throughout the country. He’d never admit it, but the possessive part of him always preened at the sight of it. Physical proof of Riz’s connection to him. One that would protect him from all harm that might’ve befallen him as a lone Goblin in this den of High Elves.

His seal.

His knight.

His Goblin.

“You just had to bite him, didn’t you?” Fabian asked with a drawl and a wide smile.

Riz shrugged, his grin growing to match. “You told me I could bite whoever I wanted if you or the throne were in jeopardy.”

Fabian couldn’t help but roll his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the antique couch’s pillow. And apparently, he was the drama queen. “I wasn't in danger, The Ball.”

“If you allowed a foreign merchant to be so brazenly disrespectful—which Blayde was, threatening to stifle Solsian imports if you did not bend to his fianceé’s wishes—then the rest of the Court would start acting up.” “Besides, I thought you didn't mind my bites.”

Fabian’s head shot back up. Locking gazes with Riz, whose canny, amber eyes held a spark of defiant teasing. Narrowing his eye, Fabian crooked a finger at him and said, “Come hither, oh, Brave and Loyal Knight.”

Riz obeyed, striding from the door to bend a knee and kneel before him. Fabian immediately took advantage of their closeness to cup Riz’s cheek, running his thumb across a field of deep evergreen freckles. Riz's slitted pupils dilated at his touch, a catlike pur emanating from the ferocious knight as he leaned into it.

They stayed like this for a few long and peaceful minutes. There were no words between them, only sighs and grunts as Riz guided Fabian’s fingers to run through his greenblack curls. All was well until the palace clock tower rang, shattering their little personal bubble and bringing Fabian back to reality.

Still playing with the soft hairs at the back of Riz’s neck, Fabian pouted and quietly said, “Blayde and Everpetal are going to continue to be a problem.”

In a flash, Riz’s pupils go razor-thin once more. “I’ll handle them.”

Fabian's sure he would, but—“Word of her outburst will reach the ears of the other Houses and the rest of the country soon enough.”

“No other House will publically align with House Everpetal so soon after Penelope's stunt today,” Riz said with absolute certainty. “Neither will the rest of your subjects.”

“The Court of Stars could be moving against me,” Fabian shot back, feeling anything but certain about what their future held. “A coup could be on the way sooner than we think.”

“It’s not.”

“How are you sure?”

“Because,” Riz said slowly as he pulled away from Fabian’s hand so that he could take it in both of his. “I’ll squash its embers before it can catch,” he continued, staring into Fabian’s eye with the same conviction he had on the day he took his oath as a nohecharei. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ve got your back, Fabes.”

“What would I do without you?” Fabian asked, his voice cracking and his chest full of warm, soft feelings as a sense of breathlessness overtook him. He knew the answer was collapse under all the weight and pressure of the life he never thought he’d have to live, though Riz would never say that.

Instead, Riz feigned thinking for a moment before he answered, “Die in a ditch thanks to a sabotaged carriage.” Fabian gasped in fake outrage. How so very dare he! Yet before he could complain, Riz pressed a kiss to Fabian’s ringed knuckles as he let out a laugh. “Not on my watch, though, my King.”

No, Fabian thought to himself, never on his Brave and Loyal knight’s watch.

[valentinairism]

HEAR ME OUT.

I need Charlie Dempsey to leave WWE

Go to NJPW

AND HAVE A FEUD WITH DAVID FINLAY.

[yatagarasuhonyaku]

Chapter of the Fireflies: Thoughts of the Barren Tree

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation japanese-english of the original novel. This is a short story originally written for a japanese magazine and later compiled in one of the Ravens' Hundred Flowers books.

Blog version

For other translations, you can find them HERE

Timeline: Before the start of the series, during Yukiya's childhood

Characters (in order of relevance): Azusa, Fuyuki, Yukimasa, Yukiya, Yukichi, Yukima, Nazukihiko.

Synopsis: Yukiya and Yukichi go missing. As she waits for news on the children, Azusa reminisces about Yukiya's mother, Fuyuki, and the time they spent together.

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It's recommended to read before the excerpts of Golden Raven I just published here, going over some details about Yukiya's childhood, before reading this short story.

Thoughts of the Barren Tree(1)

Taruhi Township Lord's second and third sons had disappeared.

It happened during the early spring, and the crepuscular breeze was still cold. The custom at the Township Lord's Residence was for everyone, from family members to its working officials, to gather to eat together, and Azusa, as the Lord's wife, was in charge of the kitchen. At that moment, she had been in the process of turning a mountain of vegetables into a tofu and white miso salad for dinner.

That is, until her eldest dashed in. He had been out playing until a moment ago.

“Chii(2) and Yukiya are gone!”

Her eldest Yukima, soon to be eleven at the time, was six years older than his youngest brother Yukichi—affectionately nicknamed Chii. Yukichi had been growing more and more independent as of late, which had translated into common fights with his caring eldest brother. He would end up running out of the house and every time, and as if following a script, their reliable middle brother would dutifully go bring him back. 

Yukima, however, was desperate. He explained that, this time, they had actually left way before midday. “It's taking them way too long! They didn't even come back for lunch. I've been searching for them, but I can't find them and…… Mother, what should we do?”

A squashed sheath of bamboo peeked out from the edge of her panicking eldest’s kimono—most likely containing rice balls for his brothers.

“It'll be fine. Now, calm down.”

“But!”

“They probably took a nap somewhere and slept through lunch, that’s all. They’ll be hungry, so I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

“Your Ladyship,” a woman meekly called out from the back. She must have been listening in on the conversation.

Azusa nodded to her. “But, that said, it is taking them way too long. So, let's get a snack and, if they aren't back by the time we're done, let's all go and search together. Don’t forget to patch things up properly with your brother when he's back, got it?”

She looked her son in the eyes.

“Yes,” Yukima nodded, his uncertainty apparent for everyone to see.

——Yet no matter how long they waited, the two never returned.

“Chii, where are you?”

“Chii, respond if you hear us!”

Azusa and the other women left the Residence first for the search, followed right after by the Township's officials, who joined the efforts as soon as they finished their dinners. Yet no matter how many places they searched, nobody answered their calls.

The Township Lord's Residence was high up in the mountains. There was a village and farms at its base, inhabited by the Township residents, with inns speckled throughout for any travelers traversing the area. Yet, when asked, the residents, who had been working the fields throughout the entire day, all had the same thing to say—they hadn't seen the Lord's sons during the entire day.

Night fell. It was pitch dark.

While it was comfortably warm when the sun was still out, the wind was still as harsh as winter. The cold would sneak down their necks and up their ankles, and the boys had left lightly dressed. Concern for their safety fully settled on everyone’s hearts.

“You should go back home for a bit and eat something,” Azusa’s husband and the Township’s Lord, Yukimasa, called out to her. She had been running around, shouting herself hoarse.

“But, my dear—”

“You know we all ate, but you didn’t have anything at all before leaving, right?”

“I'm fine. In these circumstances? I can go without eating for a while with no problem.”

“You may be alright, sure, but Yukima? Look, he's at his limit.” Yukimasa glanced in Yukima's direction. The boy, too tired to even speak, was following some officials around on the verge of tears. “With how things are looking, it may take a long time to find them. I've sent the other women back already to prepare a midnight snack, so take Yukima and go.”

Once her husband mentioned it, Azusa finally noticed the absence of the household's women. They had been searching with them up until just a moment ago. “...... Fine, I'll take Yukima back. For now.”

She may have backed down, but Azusa was sure that food wouldn’t go past her throat even if she tried. Meanwhile, her eldest, who had insisted on helping until his brothers were found, was unsurprisingly exhausted after an entire day of running around. Using the short break as an excuse, Azusa brought him to the Residence with her. Once there, he curled up instantly, falling asleep right at the entrance.

Azusa left for the kitchen to get someone to watch over him, fully planning to head back out herself afterwards. The moment her hand touched the sliding door to open it, however, she was interrupted by someone's voice on the other side.

“Not Chii, but the middle kid? I'm not surprised he has gotten himself lost like that. What’s the point in searching for him so desperately, anyway? I bet that brat is intentionally hiding away.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he’s probably having the time of his life, watching us run ourselves ragged searching for them. He's one twisted brat, after all,” the voice said. Her distaste for Azusa's son, obvious for anyone who listened in.

“Oh, stop,” another voice reprimanded across the door. 

“But it's the truth! He may put on that good boy facade of his in front of His Lordship and the others, but you know what he did the other day? He punched my son.”

“And wasn't that because your son disrespected the Young Lord? He reaped what he sowed,” the other voice retorted back, clearly fed up.

Azusa's heartbeat, however, remained on the rise. She had no idea that her second son—not Yukima or Yukichi, but her second—had been getting into those kinds of fights. It was news to her. He, who was always so calm and gentle, ever mediating his brothers’ squabbles without fail.

The woman, however, had no way of knowing that Azusa was actually listening in on their conversation, and so she kept on babbling and airing out her grudges. “Still! Her Ladyship's children are both such sweet kids, yet that kid is twisted to the core. It must be his mother’s influence, after all. He never apologized after the fight.”

“Shouldn’t you stop already? I mean, let me guess—you talk just like that at home too. No wonder your son ends up getting in trouble with the Lord’s children if that’s what he hears from you.”

“Exactly! It’s just payback at that point. No helping with that.”

Despite the others’ following airy laugh, the irritated voice remained unrelenting. “Still, why are Her Ladyship and His Lordship even willing to raise that brat themselves? I truly can't understand them. They should just send him to the Center and be done with the whole thing, everyone would come out winning. Lady Fuyuki must resent this too, I’m sure.”

——Azusa couldn't take it any longer.

She used all her strength to suddenly open the door. The startled women, who indeed hadn't realized her presence until then, fell silent immediately. “Your Ladyship.”

Panic was written all over the face of the woman who had been badmouthing her son just a moment ago. She knew the gravity of her mistake, and while Azusa knew she had to say something—both for her and her children's sake—she couldn’t. This indescribable feeling, this mix of anger and sadness, filled her and, by the time she finally spoke, it was about a different matter altogether.

“...... Yukima is sleeping out there. I'll be going out, so keep an eye on him,” Azusa quickly ordered them. She turned on her heels.

“Lady Azusa,” she heard a flustered voice call her from behind, but she didn’t have it in her to answer. To give them her attention any longer.

The Lord's second son—Yukiya. Azusa had raised him fully intending to give him equal treatment to Yukima and Yukichi. His now-deceased mother had been a princess of the High Nobility. One Azusa had personally served once upon a time.

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They met about twenty years ago, back when Azusa was seven and Fuyuki thirteen. Fuyuki was the second princess of one of the Four Houses that formed the High Nobility, the one governing over the Northern territories. Her body had been weak from birth, however, and she was rumored to not have a long life to live.

Azusa’s father belonged to a family that had long served the Northern House. Her mother, on the other hand, came from a mid-ranking noble family affiliated not with the North, but the East. Azusa had grown up at her mother’s Residence in the Center, so she hadn’t had any chances to meet Fuyuki, who remained ever cloistered in the North’s Main Residence, face to face until then.

The chance to meet came during the New Year’s Greetings, as Azusa had been brought there by her family and Fuyuki had just so happened to be in good health that day.

“So, you're Azusa,” Fuyuki said as she sat on her bed and leaned on an armrest.

Her features themselves were unremarkable, hard to commit to memory. Her looks came from her father, but she lacked the confident aura granted by the man's strong body and magnanimity—her limbs and neck were abnormally thin, and her expression gloomy. The sound of labored, painful breaths came incessantly from her slightly opened lips and her soft-looking locks remained in a permanent bedhead, plastered to her pale cheeks.

Once the exchange of formalities was over, Fuyuki immediately took her chance to question Azusa. “Hey, tell me, do you think my elder sister will succeed in becoming His Highness Wakamiya’s wife?”

At the time, Mutsu no Hana, Fuyuki's older sister and the first princess of the North, was rumored as a candidate for the Crown Prince's legal wife. Apparently, it wasn't the first time Fuyuki had asked others this question, but everyone else had just answered with an ‘of course, your elder sister will undoubtedly be chosen’.

After some deep consideration, Azusa, on the other hand, said the following, “At my residence in the Center, everyone from the East is certain that the Eastern princess will be chosen. And I’m sure the Western people must think the same for their princess, that she'll be the one. So, to tell the truth, I can't tell how it’ll turn out.”

The second Fuyuki heard her words, she gave her a satisfied smile. One followed right after by an order. “I like you. Be my servant from now on.”

It completely came out of the blue for Azusa and her family, but the prestige of the offer was beyond question. The Northern Lord and Lady were keen on the idea as well, which led to the final decision to make Azusa Fuyuki's handmaiden surprisingly easy.

Still, Fuyuki's reputation, according to hearsay, wasn't what one would call good. The rumors talked about how inconsiderate and mean-spirited she was towards those under her. When people heard Azusa was going to become her handmaiden, they would tell her stories about ‘how she kicked out anyone the very second they offended her’. Half as a warning, half to scare her off. 

However, Fuyuki proved to be startlingly kind and friendly to Azusa once she got the chance to actually spend time with her. Still, even Azusa couldn't deny the fact that her reputation was, in part, well-deserved. Azusa once asked Fuyuki why she chose her of all people, when so many would love to serve a Northern princess like her.

“I hate idiots, you see,” Fuyuki proceeded to insult them all with no hesitation. The look in her eyes was unlike anything she usually showed to Azusa—cold, as if her eyes had frozen over, covered by winter’s ice. “The person those girls want to serve is the Main House's frail, pitiable little princess, not me. They won't ever act against my will, yes, but they won't ever sincerely speak their minds to me either. They’re all the kind of people that would gladly call a deer a horse(3) if you tell them so. There’s no worthwhile conversation to be had with them.”

Not even a hint of warmth could be felt in her voice. “I’m not going to live that long, so I'd rather spend my short time here with people I actually like and enjoy myself while it lasts. I flat out refuse to waste my precious life with a bunch of thoughtless idiots.”

——Azusa could feel the characteristic arrogance of the High Nobility dripping from every one of Fuyuki’s nonchalant words.

Fuyuki enjoyed reading to a degree that far surpassed what was expected of a princess of the nobility, and was particularly adept at board games. She would remember the contents of any book word for word after merely reading it once and stayed undefeated in all kinds of games—from Shogi, Go and dice games(4) to the Board Drills employed by warriors to learn war strategy. Azusa hadn't seen anyone beat Fuyuki even once in any of them.

Active military officials and Imperial Court officers would come over to visit from time to time and would challenge her while they were at it—they all came to share the same unanimous opinion about the princess’ strength.

While most believed that they intentionally lost against her in an attempt to curry favor with the Northern House without ever questioning that idea, Azusa had actually seen most of these men—who would go around bragging behind Fuyuki's back about how they ‘went easy on her’—drenched in cold sweat as they faced her on the board.

On the other hand, many other visitors would bring stories from the Center with them. Fuyuki was a woman of relatively few words but, thanks to that, they often carried a level of insight that completely escaped Azusa.

“The North is bad at politics, you know. They believe that getting a marriage with the Imperial Family will be enough by itself to bring the house prosperity—truly a hopeless bunch. The way our military excels, it would be easy for us to take over the Imperial Family’s position if we ever wanted to. But no, they would rather go and take a woman from the Red-Light District as the legal wife.”

The topic was her own parents, yet Fuyuki spoke as if it were somebody else's business altogether. “Did you know? Our accursed relatives wouldn't shut up, insisting that if we produced a princess beautiful enough, we could manage to marry her to the Imperial Family, so my father took my mother, the best prostitute at the Center's Red-Light District, as his legal wife. But it’s not like the ones in power out there are going to care about a princess’ face or personality…… Yet father, mother, my older brother and sister all pity me for being unable to join their silly games of playing house with our idiotic relatives. It's so stupid,” Fuyuki spat out.

It was true that Fuyuki's parents and siblings failed to genuinely understand her and her feelings. They would shower her in hina dolls and hairpins she wouldn't ever use, so it was obvious they didn't even have a basic grasp on her preferences and tastes. On the other hand, they would secretly call Azusa often, all to ask her just what kind of present Fuyuki would actually like.

Azusa didn't truly believe Fuyuki's parents were as indifferent to her as she herself thought, but Fuyuki had given up on all hope regarding her family.

“If only I had been a man—or at least had a body strong enough to give up my status as a woman, live as a man and become an official, I would have been capable of raising this Northern House to the very top of Yamauchi.”

By chance, some maidservants heard her lament and grimaced. Their thoughts—that she was dreaming about something beyond her—all over their faces. But Azusa believed that it wasn't necessarily some pipe dream. That, for Fuyuki, dominating the entire Imperial Court could have actually been possible in the right circumstances.

Fuyuki was a woman overflowing with talent, so having a body that wouldn't let her make use of it had to be vexing indeed. She was terribly intelligent, regardless of her environment's refusal to admit it, and, precisely because of that, also very lonely.

“...... It’s not like this body of mine can be expected to carry a child to term anyway. I’m sure I'll spend my entire life stuck here, achieving nothing, just to then die alone.” A whisper full of resignation. A few guests had left right before that—they had been gushing about how her older sister would surely marry into the Imperial Family.

How did the world look from that tiny window of hers? Surrounded by beautiful kimonos and rare souvenirs from the Center, with her mountains of books at odds with everything else in the room.

Azusa was one of the precious few who ever understood the gloomy Fuyuki and, over time, that gave her a sense of pride. To know this woman who was cold like ice even towards her own parents and siblings, yet proved to be incredibly thoughtful and caring for the innocent and those she came to trust even once.

She would laugh ever so quietly whenever a cat got lost inside or a baby was carried there for a visit. It reminded Azusa of the breeze in early spring, and she loved the gesture above anything else.

Fuyuki was, unquestionably, a twisted woman and hard to deal with—but there was more to her than that. At the time, Azusa had been desperate to be the first to break through the many barriers Fuyuki put around herself to keep everyone at bay. Her efforts didn’t go unnoticed by Fuyuki either, who would watch over her attempts as she would watch a kitten trying to climb up her lap, claws latching onto the train of her kimono.

Their days were always the same, yet warm and peaceful—or so Azusa thought.

——An opportunity for change arrived. Fuyuki was eighteen, and Azusa twelve.

Fuyuki's older brother, Genki, had gone on a visit to the Center and brought back some friends he had met there to the Northern Region. Soon, they proved to be a hopelessly irritating bunch. 

“Oh, poor princess! To only be capable of remaining cloistered here.”

“The Center is such a good place! We’ll tell you all about it.”

And so, these men forced them both to listen to their incessant rambles about how their families had made a fortune in the Center and how luxurious and glorious their life was. All while paying no mind to Fuyuki and Azusa's actual reactions in the slightest. 

While Fuyuki kept a sour silence, Azusa tried to, in a long-winded manner, redirect the conversation towards the Center's politics in Fuyuki’s place, but it was to no avail. One of them immediately redirected the conversation back to a summer design made by a clothes shop he patronized.

“...… What's the point of flashy clothes if the person wearing them is of no substance?” Fuyuki finally offered them a backhanded question from across the bamboo curtains, but it didn't stop them even for a second. It was admirable. In a way. 

“Truly so, truly so, it's just as you say! But appearances are very important in order to be recognized as a noble in the Center, you see.” They even further added, “The girls in the Center apply themselves to matters of fashion too and have quite the discerning eye for it. To be fashionable is a struggle. But, of course, these matters of mundane life have nothing to do with someone like you, Lady Fuyuki. I envy the purity of heart you possess.”

They somehow managed to put an end to the conversation afterwards and chase them away, but the mere thought of their stay at the Residence made Azusa miserable.

“Don't ever approach them again.”

“No worries, I don't want to deal with them either.”

Although they all had connections to the Northern House, their base of operations was in the Center. It was everyone’s first time coming to the North itself, so Azusa had thought that maybe they would go on a trip far away and, hopefully, they wouldn't come over again. Alas, she was too naive. 

From the following day onwards, instead of visiting the region and despite coming all the way to the countryside, they got a ball and chose to spend their time playing kemari(5), arguing it was a ‘popular pastime among Center Nobles’.

“They're truly stupid!”

“Very much so.”

Carefree, incessant laughter could be heard from the garden facing Fuyuki's room.

“They should just return home already if this is how they’re going to spend their time,” Azusa argued but, just as she did so, someone's alarmed voice interrupted them.

“Careful!” 

Wondering what was going on, they turned to its direction. That very second, something big flew through the bamboo curtains, ripping them off, and into the room. They both screamed as it bounced off the wall, knocked a mirror sitting on the nearby cupboard to the floor and bounced away. Not knowing what had happened just yet, Azusa stood there, frozen. Before even realizing it, she and Fuyuki had come to cling to each other.

——A white kemari ball noisily rolled on the floor, still covered in traces of being kicked around. 

Still stunned, they saw a panicking face peek through the now curtainless handrails. “Are you alright!?”

A young, tanned man with sharp features appeared among the light. He wasn’t wearing any makeup, yet his eyebrows were so well-shaped they looked as if drawn on along with a bright gaze that denoted honesty. He was strongly built, the well-defined muscles of his upper arms visible thanks to the rolled up sleeves.

The moment Azusa came back to herself, she stood in front of Fuyuki to protect her. That done, she yelled, “Who do you think you are in front of!? Stand back!”

The young man's eyes widened for a second and, having perhaps realized who he was in front of, his face lost all color and he prostrated right in place. “Forgive the discourtesy, my lady.”

That matter solved, Azusa, worried about Fuyuki, turned around in a fluster to check on her.

“Lady Fuyuki, Lady Fuyuki! Are you alright?” Azusa's master was stuck in place, looking as if her soul had left its mortal coil. She watched the young man kneeling on the ground intently. “Lady Fuyuki?”

Azusa, concerned, called out her name, and Fuyuki seemed to return to her senses. “Ah, yes, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine.”

“That's a relief,” Azusa let out a sigh and only then faced the young man with a fierce look in her eyes. “May I know what happened there?”

“I have no excuse to give, my most sincere apologies. I, well, kicked the ball and then…”

Azusa took a better look behind him. The Center noblemen were there, cowering further away in the garden as they watched. With the matter of the previous day's discourtesy added to it, Azusa couldn't take it any longer. “I'll be informing His Lordship of this. You'll get—”

“Wait, Azusa,” Fuyuki intervened before Azusa could finish speaking. “It's true that they made a mess of the curtains, but nobody got hurt and the mirror didn't break. Let's end this amicably.” Her voice was feeble, completely unlike her usual self. Still disconcerted by Fuyuki's behavior, who was completely shrunken in on herself, Azusa begrudgingly backed off.

“If you say so, Lady Fuyuki……” She could hear the young man breathe a sigh of relief. “Lady Fuyuki may have forgiven you, but that doesn't change the fact that you committed a terrible discourtesy. We'll consider the matter settled, but better make sure that there won’t be a second time.”

“Yes, of course,” the young man nodded earnestly.

Then, Azusa suddenly noticed something. Now that she was looking at his face, there was something different about him compared to the pale-faced bunch she had met just the other day. “You aren't from the Center, right? Who are you and from where?”

“Sorry for the late introduction. I'm Yukimasa of Taruhi, the eldest son of the Taruhi Township Lord. I came here today accompanying my father. I then received an invitation to play with them and—”

“Lord Yukimasa……” An absentminded voice muttered, much to Azusa's astonishment once she ascertained the source. It was Fuyuki, her cheeks flushed red as she wore an expression Azusa hadn't seen on her ever before.

That very evening, when the sun had set and it was already dark outside:

“Lady Azusa.”

She had been taking away Fuyuki’s tea set, walking through the hallway, when, much to her surprise, someone called her from the garden. “You're the one from today.”

“Yes, I'm sorry for what happened. I'm Yukimasa of Taruhi.”

“So, what brings you here this time?”

“I came to apologize all over again. Uhm, I'm not sure if this would qualify as a fitting gift, but here.” He bashfully offered her the present in question, which troubled Azusa as she tried to figure out how to respond.

——What should she say in this situation?

While Azusa was tempted to lean into her own irritation and tell him she never wanted to see him again, she ultimately restrained herself out of consideration for Fuyuki. “...... Aren't you the eldest son of Taruhi Township? What are you doing, coming here secretly from the garden?”

“Oh, true! My apologies. What a blunder.”

“Come over again, properly this time. I'll let you pass to meet Lady Fuyuki.”

Fuyuki hadn't spoken a word since the day's events, but once Azusa told her Yukimasa was going to come over, she let out a tiny gasp. She looked like a young girl all over again as she clung to Azusa. “What shall I do, Azusa? There’s nothing weird with what I’m wearing, right?”

Fuyuki’s hair was soft-looking, but prone to frizzing and curling. Azusa smiled wryly as she saw Fuyuki smoothing her hair down in a panic, and took a comb to slightly fix it.

“It'll be fine. Besides, he's coming over to apologize, just act with confidence and it'll all work out, Lady Fuyuki.” Azusa had thought the news would make Fuyuki happy, but she never expected her to get so flustered.

A while later, Yukimasa came for a visit. He knelt at the other side of the bamboo curtains, bowing his head. “Allow me to apologize again for what happened today. It was my mistake and I’m terribly sorry for it.”

“That’s enough,” Fuyuki replied with a voice so soft it was barely audible.

It looked like her lady would be incapable of speaking any further herself, so Azusa casually intervened to help. “Still, why was there a need to hit the ball with such strength? Was that your first time playing kemari, Lord Yukimasa?”

“No, that's not what happened. They were treating me like some ignorant country bumpkin, saying they would teach me some techniques from the Center and it really annoyed me, so…….”

He seemed too deeply ashamed of himself to go on, but it was still enough to get the gist of what had happened between them. Azusa could understand well how he had felt, so her attitude softened a little. “You have my condolences for that.”

“I'm deeply sorry for causing you princesses such inconvenience. It may not be enough of an apology, but please take this offering.” As he finished speaking, Yukimasa retrieved something from behind him. Fuyuki gasped at the sight.

A light flickered within the soft darkness of the room, as if it was slowly breathing. It was fainter than your usual fatuous fire lamp(6), and its color was more vivid. Yukimasa’s apology gift took the form of a stick-shaped something, shining with a beautiful green light.

“What's that?”

“A firefly.”

“I'm aware there's a firefly inside, but…… what's it trapped inside of? A plant?”

“You may not be familiar with it, princess, but it's a green onion head.”

“A green onion head!” Fuyuki opened her eyes in surprise. Such a silly, inappropriate name for something so beautiful. “I have seen people use bellflowers(7) before, but to use green onions……” Incapable of restraining herself any longer, Fuyuki started to laugh. “I've seen something good today. It's truly charming and wonderful, but I've already enjoyed myself enough. Please, let the firefly go.”

“As you wish.” Yukimasa took off the plug that kept the firefly from escaping. It wriggled for a moment before taking off, fluttering out of the room as if swept up by a breeze.

Fuyuki's expression as she watched Yukimasa depart left an impression on Azusa. She had never seen that on her before. To think she could make a face like that—It was refreshing. Azusa may have felt slightly left behind and lonely, but that didn’t worry her in the slightest. Not when her chest felt so unbearably tight.

——What a lovely person Fuyuki actually was.

Taken by a genuine desire to do something to help, Azusa went to visit the Northern Lord and his wife to inform them herself: ‘Lady Fuyuki has someone she likes’.

The marriage arrangement itself proceeded very smoothly.

The Northern Lord had been quite enthusiastic about the idea once he learned his daughter had fallen in love with the man at first sight, and Taruhi's Township Lord, who had been wanting to retire, was quite enthused too with the support they could gain from the Northern House if his son married Fuyuki.

“Thank you, Azusa. I got this because of you.”

Fuyuki had been the very picture of happiness and beauty before departing for Taruhi, and Azusa's eyes suddenly welled up with tears. “Please, be happy, Lady Fuyuki.”

Azusa couldn’t follow Fuyuki to Taruhi as one of her maids due to the terms set for the marriage. As a result, while Fuyuki became Yukimasa's legal wife and moved to Taruhi, Azusa went on to work in the Center.

‘It’s you, I’m sure you’ll find a marriage partner soon enough.’ Those had been Fuyuki’s words before departing, but reality proved to be the opposite—Azusa wasn't blessed with many proposals, if any at all. 

Time passed. Much like Fuyuki once predicted, in the end, her older sister didn't get to marry into the Imperial Family and instead joined a noble family affiliated with the North. Genki’s son was born as well, and so it became Azusa’s job to take care of the children at the North's Center Residence.

Then, all of a sudden, the Northern Lady came to her with an unbelievable proposal.

“——You want me to become a concubine for Taruhi's Lord?”

Five long years had passed since Fuyuki married and left for Taruhi. Fuyuki and she had stayed in contact, sending letters back and forth from time to time ever since, but she had stopped answering a short while ago. At the time, Azusa had been fearing that Fuyuki's condition had worsened significantly.

Oryou no Kata, Fuyuki’s birth mother and the Northern Lord's legal wife, pressed Azusa with a solemn look in her eyes. “Fuyuki is faced with a great dilemma back in Taruhi. Taruhi's Township Lord remains childless even now and it fills her with shame to know it is her fault.”

The Northern Lord himself spoke right after, “Please, can't you consider accepting? As those who made the arrangement in the first place, we feel just as responsible for the situation as her. Besides, Fuyuki herself has said that if a concubine is necessary, she would at least want her to be you.”

“Has Lady Fuyuki truly said that?”

“Yes, that she did.”

To tell the truth, it was a request from the Northern Lord. It wasn't like Azusa had a choice to begin with.

——However, something felt off about it.

Fuyuki had been deeply, wholeheartedly in love with Yukimasa. Would she ever truly suggest her husband take a concubine? And yet, Fuyuki was also a terribly intelligent woman. For her to worry about Taruhi Township and consider the problems a lack of heirs could bring—no matter how painful it could be to do so—and choose Azusa as the concubine wasn't an absurd idea either.

Azusa sent her yet another letter, but no reply ever came back.

She was then summoned to the Northern House’s Main Residence, and so left the Center. There, Yukimasa finally came to visit her personally. The young Lord of Taruhi was completely earnest with her.

“Fuyuki's position in Taruhi is a difficult one because of the lack of heirs. I've been somehow protecting her up to now, but the anxiety of it all seems to be affecting her health as of late. To be honest, Fuyuki isn't even in a condition to take care of the house's affairs. Couldn't you become my concubine just to help her? Even if you’re to be a mere concubine, I'll treasure you as much as Fuyuki.”

“Could I first meet Fuyuki at least?”

“That may be difficult, sadly her condition is bad right now. But I'm sure that, if you were to agree, her depression will soon fade away and you'll be able to meet in the near future.”

And so, partly moved by Yukimasa's plea, Azusa became his wife. They had to build new chambers for her in Taruhi Township, so Azusa was told to stay at the Northern House's Main Residence but, just as he had first promised, Yukimasa visited her with fervor. Soon after, Azusa became pregnant with astonishing ease.

The Northern Lord and his wife were as overjoyed as if she were their own daughter.

“Fuyuki is overjoyed with the news too!” Oryou no Kata said to her.

“Is that truly so……?” Azusa was worried. She hadn't gotten even one single chance to talk with Fuyuki since she had arrived back in the North. She patted her own belly, the swelling still imperceptible.

Oryou no Kata, however, dismissed her concerns with a merry laugh. “Of course she's happy! Her health may not be good at the moment, but how about visiting her after the child's birth?”

To give a boy a name that included an animal’s kanji was said to help them grow up healthy, so once her son was born several months later, they named him after the temples’ sacred horses—Yukima(8). Azusa still remained at the Northern House's Main Residence at that point and that’s where she began to raise her first child. Yukimasa would fervently visit them both and the Northern House had even prepared broodmaids(9) for her, so it was very much a manageable effort.

The biggest source of trouble came after Yukima finally first took human form—he would cry constantly during the night. Azusa was left seeking whatever rest she could get whenever he stopped. She had been napping one day, lying down by Yukima's side, when a noise woke her up. It wasn’t the usual bawling—there was quite a ruckus outside. “What’s going on?”

“Lady Azusa, you must stay here!” A maid with a stern look stopped her, but Azusa could still hear a woman's high-pitched voice and the sounds intertwined with it—painful-sounding coughs.

“It can't be! Is Lady Fuyuki here?”

Just as Azusa took to the hallway with her son in her arms, however, Oryou no Kata appeared on her way to Azusa's room. Once again, she was stopped from going any further. “Azusa, please, leave this to us.”

“But!”

“It's fine. This is an order, go back to your room,” Oryou no Kata declared with the same resolute attitude. The woman left her behind and went outside as the maids pressed Azusa to return, but Azusa remained stuck in place.

“You traitor! I won't ever, ever forgive you!”

——Her legs wouldn't move. She was shaken by the other's incredible anger.

There was no doubt about it. That was Fuyuki's voice.

“What's the problem? Why the ruckus?” Oryou no Kata said all fed up, as if she were persevering through a chat with an unreasonable, irrational child. “Calm down and listen to me well. Don't you see, Fuyuki? This all happened because of your negligence. It should have been you who suggested your husband get a concubine in the first place. If you can't fulfill the bare minimum of your job as a Township Lord's wife, what option do you have left but to make someone else do it in your place?”

Faced by her apparently troubled mother, Fuyuki let out a cry so pained she may as well have puked blood, “Don't you screw with me! Then you shouldn't have given me away in freaking marriage to begin with!”

“That and this are different matters altogether. We did it because we care about you. We wanted you to get the chance to become a good wife in Taruhi, and you wasted our well intentioned efforts. On top of that, doing something as irrational as not accepting any concubines is absolutely inadmissible.”

“What do you mean by irrational? What do you mean you did it because you cared about me? It’s because of my reputation, isn’t it? Everyone, everyone just treats me like an idiot…… I'm not your freaking doll!”

Azusa's arms trembled, Yukima still cradled within them. She wanted to explain herself, to talk with her; but Fuyuki's thus far unheard screams of anger terrified her. She was incapable of moving, no matter how much she tried.

“I won't forgive you. I won't, not even after my death. No matter what!” Fuyuki yelled again. Then, Azusa heard as her coughing fits got significantly worse and the sound of her voice was unwillingly cut short. Her anger had been so great that, from the sound of it, the blood had rushed to her head and made her lose consciousness. 

Oryou no Kata ordered the maidservants to carry Fuyuki to a separate building. Only then, she noticed the paralyzed Azusa. A wry smile appeared on her lips. “She's such a troubled woman. To be so selfish, only thinking about herself after all this time…… though I guess it's also my fault for indulging and coddling her…… That's why I, as her mother, said what was her duty to say in her place.”

Oryou no Kata sighed to herself.

“—It was all a lie, wasn't it? That Lady Fuyuki wanted me to become a concubine.”

Oryou no Kata didn't answer that. “You may think me cruel, but there was no alternative. Not considering her position.”

Azusa had once heard that Oryou no Kata, being an ex-prostitute, had struggled immensely back when she first came to the North. People had recognized her as part of the nobility—as a person—only after she finally gave birth to two daughters and a male heir.

Fuyuki already had a bad reputation among the maids as things stood. In order to be recognized as a nobleman's wife, there were two requisites—to act as the leader and head of the women under her service and in doing so manage the household, and to give birth to an heir. It wasn't odd for Oryou no Kata to believe that her daughter couldn’t afford to be selfish when she was failing at both.

But—was it truly parental love? Was it sympathy born of the similarity of her daughter's circumstances with her own struggles during the early days of her marriage? 

No, it couldn't be either of those. Azusa was sure of that much.

“She already got the biggest fortune of them all—to share a life with the man she loves. What else could she possibly even want?” Oryou no Kata quietly wondered. Perhaps that’s it, Azusa, her mind still numb, thought to herself. Perhaps she had deeply loved once, the target someone different from the Northern Lord. “Azusa, you don't have to worry about any of this. Just focus on raising Yukima into a good man. Understood?”

Oryou no Kata’s words were full of fondness, yet Azusa couldn't bring herself to answer. Her arms just tightened around the now crying Yukima.

“Why did you lie to me?” Azusa pressed Yukimasa for answers, finally pushing him to the point where he blurted out his true feelings.

“I haven’t ever once wished to have that as my wife.”

“What……?”

“I already had a marriage proposal going before the Northern Lord approached me—with you. You were my desired wife from the very beginning,” Yukimasa explained with a strained voice. “But then Fuyuki interfered. I rejected her at first, told them I wanted you again and again. Did you think I found it all a timely offer because I was in the middle of the Township inheritance problems? I wanted to be recognized out of my own effort. I had no interest in using my wife's status to do so. I refused, but how could I stick with that when the Northern Lord himself went as far as to bow his head to me?”

‘My daughter doesn't have long to live, so please, at least give her this’. Those were, apparently, the Northern Lord's words back then. “In exchange, he promised that, when the time came, he would recommend you as my wife without fail.”

Azusa trembled. She remembered how her marriage proposals had abruptly died down. “You——Did you truly, genuinely think I would be glad to hear that?”

Yukimasa recoiled for a second, but it wasn't enough for him to take back his words. “...... You should have been my wife from the start. Besides, deep in her heart, Fuyuki looks down on me as well. She went as far as to berate me, saying I used her to prosper in life. Just how much does that princess have to ridicule me before it's enough!?”

“That's wrong, that's not what's happening!” Awkward and tactless as it may be, Azusa had no doubt Fuyuki had acted out in devotion.

“Whatever. The one I loved from the very beginning was you, not Fuyuki.”

——Fuyuki was an intelligent woman.

She must have noticed Yukimasa's actual feelings, Azusa was sure. Just how vexing it must have been for her, how much she must have resented everything. Everyone, every single one of them, talked on and on, insisting they acted for Fuyuki's sake, yet, in the end, none of them ever understood how Fuyuki felt, not even once—less so felt any shame for that.

Azusa almost asked, ‘then what about Fuyuki's feelings?’, but she couldn't do it. Aghast, she was faced with the fact that the main culprit of it all—the one who stomped all over Fuyuki’s heart—was none other than herself.

Afterwards, Azusa heard that Fuyuki flew into a rage once she was brought back to Taruhi. ‘I don't mind if I die, I want a son of my own even if that takes my life.’

Nobody could stop her.

Even her parents’ attempts to restrain her and Yukimasa persuading her proved completely meaningless. The rumors went as far as to say that, in the end, she had put a knife to her own neck and virtually threatened Yukimasa into sharing a bed with her. The only one to know the truth of the matter, however, was Yukimasa, who would only grimace whenever her name came up.

Time passed and, with one single egg, Fuyuki’s body reached its limit. Nobody blamed Yukimasa for it, not even the Northern Lord. A broodmaid incubated the egg, from which a boy hatched out—and so the second son of Taruhi’s Township Lord, Yukiya, was born.

⊛　　　　　⊛　　　　　 ⊛

“Don't worry so much, Azusa. Everyone is searching for them. We'll find both Yukichi and Yukiya soon enough.” Yukimasa said in a light tone. He must have decided to attempt to calm down his wife, who had just returned to their Residence with tottering steps. “Still, given the situation, it may well truly be Yukiya running away from home. It does sound like something he would do, doesn’t it?”

It was said in jest but, given the circumstances, it proved to have the polar opposite effect.

“Why are you so cold to Yukiya!? Don't you care about him?” Azusa asked as she was about to cry. Yukimasa opened his eyes wide in surprise.

“Don't say that! Yukiya is my son too, of course, isn't it a given that I care about him? But, well, from time to time, he has this look in his eyes—he may be my own son, but I can't figure out what he's thinking……” As her husband stuttered, Azusa was struck by a realization.

——What had Yukimasa so scared was Fuyuki.

Yukiya greatly resembled her, both in appearance and intelligence. He could surely feel how his father and the women thought about him. After all, Yukima and Yukichi didn't ever have that look Yukiya sometimes had in his eyes—as if he was testing people out.

Back when Yukiya was still barely two years old, they had been faced with a choice—whether they should adopt him out to the Northern House, or raise him themselves. Everyone loudly insisted to them—’don’t you feel sorry about Fuyuki's death? He’ll be left in such an awkward position if he stays with his stepmother. Wouldn't it be better for everyone involved to give him up as soon as possible?’ Sweet, sweet temptation.

Yet, in the end, Azusa rejected the offer accompanying their honeyed words. Those who wished to adopt Yukiya were, ultimately, all just interested in his status and his status alone. Azusa couldn't let Yukiya go, not once she heard Yukiya call her ‘mother’ and less so once she remembered those people's past behavior, which she witnessed when she was still serving Fuyuki.

Back then, she chose to raise Yukiya as her own son. She believed she had so far kept to that resolution, and didn't ever regret her choice. 

But, had that truly been the best for Yukiya?

——Was she actually fit for the role of his mother?

“Lady Azusa.”

Azusa had walked away from Yukimasa, incapable of handling it anymore, when one of the women from before called out to her. She was the wife of one of the Township officials and had once been one of Fuyuki's maids, sent over to Taruhi from the Northern House’s Main Residence.

“Uhm, well, you see, there's something I've never been able to share with you, Lady Azusa. It's, well, about Lady Fuyuki……”

“About Lady Fuyuki?”

After a short moment of hesitation, the woman gathered her resolve and nodded.

She had wanted to talk about that time when, after hearing the rumors about Azusa giving birth to a child, Fuyuki had forced her way to the Northern House's Main Residence. The woman confessed that, before Fuyuki’s meeting with Oryou no Kata, she had first visited Azusa's chambers.

“But you were asleep, Lazy Azusa…… and the Young Lord—Yukima was there, resting by your side as well.”

The woman had been fretting at the time, worrying whether Fuyuki would hurt Yukima. However, that couldn't be further from the truth of what happened. “The Lady, she held Yukima in her arms—and she smiled.”

“......What did you just say?”

“She smiled. Lady Fuyuki smiled,” the woman repeated, her own disbelief all over her face. “It was such a gentle, soft smile too. I hadn't ever seen her make such a face before.”

Apparently, Fuyuki didn't say anything after that. She remained deep in thought for quite a while and then went through the trouble of exiting the Main Residence and returning through the main door. That’s when she started that commotion. “I don't know what she was thinking when she did that. She was so mean to us, so I do believe she may have actually intended to give you a piece of her mind. But, at the very least, I don't think she was genuinely angry……”

Fuyuki, who flew into a rage after giving Yukima such a sweet smile. Having been a witness to such a radical change, the woman had never really been quite convinced by Fuyuki's apparent rage.

“Whenever someone bad-mouths her, I can't help but to remember that one smile…… I can't understand it.” The woman looked up at Azusa. “I wonder, Lady Azusa—why did she smile like that back then?”

The trees on the slope found at the back of the Residence had just begun to sprout leaves and still remained a grim spectacle. The pale moon peeked through their naked branches, spread out like arms through the sky. It was through them that Azusa walked alone, deep in thought.

Was Fuyuki truly the kind of woman who would waste her own life out of anger and jealousy? The kind to do something that would bring happiness to nobody?

She had been a twisted person—to say she had a good personality would be quite the lie. That said, no matter what situation she found herself in, she had proven herself to be cool-headed. She wasn't the kind of woman to act over something she felt in the heat of the moment, to let herself be thrown into despair just like that. It all must have all been, in her own way, calculated. 

Maybe——she simply wanted a child of her own?

Perhaps she had indeed been seething with anger at first, but it vanished the moment she saw Yukima. Fuyuki had been the kind to glare coldly whenever the maids were noisy, yet show not even the slightest disgust towards a bawling, inconsolable infant. She liked children—or so Azusa believed. In fact, thinking back, Azusa being six years younger had perhaps played a part in why Fuyuki had been so terribly kind to her.

However, it was clear that if she had asked for a child of her own in a normal manner, everyone would have opposed the idea. Fuyuki had surely long accepted the fact that Yukimasa didn't like her and figured out that he would listen to the Northern House's opinion on the matter. In short, he would never put Fuyuki's health at risk.

Hence, she pretended to be furious.

She flew into a fake rage, claiming that she would kill herself if they didn't let her do it. In doing so, she forced those around her to give in—left them with no alternative. She had to be fully aware that it would murder her reputation and would cause no small amount of trouble afterwards.

She must have wanted that child terribly.

It may be conceited of Azusa to think so, but maybe, just maybe, Fuyuki did so because it was Azusa who took the position of concubine. After all, Fuyuki hated her noble relatives. She would never willingly entrust her precious son to them and it had been on Azusa as Yukimasa’s wife to choose if she wanted to raise Yukiya herself or not.

That there was an element of payback to it was clear. Azusa didn't doubt for a second that Fuyuki had been furious but, if her own predictions were accurate and she wanted a child more than anything, Fuyuki wouldn't ever do anything as stupid as letting such petty feelings get in her way. To ruin everything.

Fuyuki was cool-headed, twisted and mean-spirited, yet she was—more than anything else—a deeply, deeply loving woman. She must have loved her son and trusted Azusa.

——‘If it's Azusa, she'll surely treat my child right, right?’

It had taken her quite a long time, but Azusa felt like she had finally gotten to hear Fuyuki’s true feelings.

‘Please, take good care of my child.’

“Yes, that's true, Lady Fuyuki. He's our son,” Azusa said out loud as she walked on. “That's why, please, Lady Fuyuki, please protect Yukiya and Yukichi. Bring them back home safe and sound.”

Just after she said that, Azusa felt the trees sway. There was, however, no wind anywhere. The hazy moon among the treetops softly twisted as if in response to the strangeness. A second later, its pale, blurred edges became sharper and its light brighter. A dark shadow was floating right there, its back against the massive full moon.

Azusa focused her sight on it for a while. She gulped.

——The shadow was, in truth, an unbelievably large bird.

She had never seen one as gigantic before—not even at the Northern House's Main Residence, where the most renowned horses of the country all gathered. She was busy trying to determine whether it could even be considered the same race as her, when she noticed it was coming in her direction, slowly approaching the Residence.

It landed with ease in front of the petrified Azusa. The wind raised by its flapping winds made her hair dance in the air. After watching it up close, Azusa could confirm that it actually was an incredibly large crow, easily about three times larger than your average Yatagarasu. Its beak was the color of black steel and very sharp.

She should have been terrified at the sight, yet, strangely enough, she wasn’t.

It looked at Azusa with sparkly crystal-like eyes, its feathers so glossy they shone in purples and lapis lazuli blue even under the faint moonlight. Even putting its size aside, there was something different about it—the atmosphere enveloping it was just different from your average Yatagarasu.

Azusa was looking up in astonishment when, moments later, she noticed the crow was holding something in its beak. What could it be?

——It looked like a basket.

Just as she realized that much, the giant crow gently placed the item on the ground.

“Are they your sons?” a surprisingly high voice asked her. He sounded like a mere boy.

Azusa took a better look when asked. Within the basket, made of flowering wisteria vines, were her sleeping sons. “Yukiya—! Yukichi!”

She ran to them, hanging onto the basket. There was Yukiya, covered in mud from head to toe, hugging his little brother tight. Yukichi’s eyes were bright red and puffy but, as far as Azusa could see, he was completely unharmed.

“Don't worry. I made them sleep for a bit but they should wake up soon. I'm sorry for everything,” the massive crow spoke in clear Words of Within(10). He then bowed his head. “I did such a sloppy job with mending the Barrier that the children tripped into the Tear.”

His explanation, on the other hand, made no sense to Azusa. She looked at him with her mouth left open as the crow tried again, “What I’m trying to say is that these children got caught in a place they couldn’t escape by themselves. It was my fault so, please, don’t scold them for it.”

Azusa, having fully forgotten herself by that point, nodded. “Are you—a messenger from Lord Yamagami?”

“...… Ah, well, something like that.”

“Thank you for saving my sons.”

“It was my fault in the first place. There may be a chance these children and I meet again in the future, they’re good kids. Please, raise them well.” With those words, the crow flapped his wings again and took off. Once more, the moon twisted ever so softly and, in a matter of seconds, the massive crow vanished, melting away into the sky as if it were all an illusion.

Azusa remained frozen for a short while. However, just moments after the crow disappeared, she saw Yukiya starting to stir. “Yukiya, Yukiya! Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Mother……?”

Azusa knew it wasn’t right to scold him, yet she couldn’t quite help herself. “You idiot! Where did you even go? Do you have any injuries? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—”

“Ah, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Azusa tightly hugged the still dazed Yukiya.

But their hug didn’t last long, as Yukiya came to himself and screamed, “And Yukichi?!”

Yukichi awoke right then and there, perhaps prompted by his brother yelling out his name. He seemed just as utterly confused, but the moment he recognized Azusa’s face, his daze was replaced by bawling. “Mother!”

“Yukichi!”

“I’m sorry!” As his little brother latched onto Azusa, Yukiya naturally moved back a little. “I tried to come back after a bit, but I couldn’t find the path I had used for the way out.”

“I see.”

“But why? I mean, this is the back of the Township Lord’s Residence, isn’t it?” Yukiya, who had figured out where they were after taking in their surroundings, looked utterly baffled at the situation. “Why did we get lost……?”

“You must have snuck into Lord Yamagami’s garden. Still, you were a good older brother and took care of Yukichi, didn’t you?” Pointedly ignoring the fact that Yukiya had moved back in some form of restraint, Azusa squeezed the boy close. “Thank you.”

Yukiya’s furrowed brow relaxed completely. His expression at the moment was no different from the one he once wore as an infant. “...... It actually was… scary.”

“It was, wasn’t it? It had to be so, so scary.”

“I wanted to return but I couldn’t! Yukichi was crying and I was so hungry—”

“And yet you still protected your brother, didn’t you? You were such a strong boy. I’m proud of you, very well done.”

The second Azusa said so, Yukiya unexpectedly burst into tears. He wept just as loudly as Yukichi had.

“I’m hungry! I want to go back home! I’m going home!” Yukiya yelled between sobs, his face completely red. It was such a shock, Yukichi’s own tears stopped. It had been such a long time since Yukiya had last cried like that, now that Azusa thought about it—so unlike the eldest and the youngest, who would fight and cry over any little thing.

“I’m sorry, Yukiya. Let’s go back.” Yukiya had to endure so much over the years, Azusa realized. She felt so apologetic but, at least, if he was still capable of crying out like that, there was still something to be done about it. 

Having heard Yukiya’s cries, people rushed from the Residence in a panic. At the head of the group was Yukimasa, sprinting towards them as fast as he could.

“Yukiya, Yukichi! Where did you go!? We were worried sick,” her husband yelled with obvious relief. Her eldest too was right behind him, running and tumbling down towards them.

There was still time. It may never be smooth sailing, but Yukiya was still her son and they were all a family. Azusa, more than anything, was glad for realizing that much before it was too late.

Legends said that Yatagarasu went on to serve under Yamagami after death. Perhaps Fuyuki now worked for Yamagami and, having realized things couldn’t remain like that, had given her a chance to realize her mistake.

——The wind blew between the trees. It sounded like Fuyuki’s gentle laugh.

—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---—---

1: The original title (ふゆきにおもう, or Fuyuki Ni Omou) is an interesting one. Fuyuki's name is translated in the title because I find the imagery of the barren tree extremely important to Fuyuki's story. Fuyuki is also a Karina, or alias, not her birth name. Much like Asebi at the start of the story, this is a name that was given to her later in her life. It’s very purposely selected and so this choice is made with the intention of highlighting it. As for the “Thoughts of”, おもう is very interesting. おもう can be 思う and also 想う, as in, ‘to feel (emotions)’, which used in this kind of context mostly means ‘to care’ or ‘to love’. 

2: Yukichi’s nickname among the family is チー坊, Chiibou, with the bou or 坊 being a kanji for a young boy and used in words like 坊や or 坊主, both meaning “boy” with different connotations, or 坊っちゃん, which is a relatively affectionate way to talk about the young son of a good family.

3: This is a wordplay used by Fuyuki. The word idiot, baka (馬鹿), in japanese is an ateji: essentially, it was given kanji that fit it pronunciation-wise but not meaning-wise. The two kanji? “Horse” (Ba) and “deer” (Ka). She’s layering the insults.

4: The narration is referring specifically to the gambling game that Wakamiya played in the Ravine back in The Raven Doesn’t Choose His Master.

5: Kemari refers to a ball game practiced in Japan since ancient times, a form of primitive football. It was indeed historically popular among courtiers and people of the nobility at the time.

6: Fatuous Fire Lamps refer to the type of lamp Yukiya uses when going into the cave during Golden Raven. In short, they use 鬼火 (Fatuous Fire), which within the story’s lore consume sugar to light up instead and don’t risk burning your house if left unchecked or broken. This makes lamps using Fatuous Fires desirable and expensive—they’re a common sight in nobles’ houses and in places where the risk of a fire would be too great like libraries and archives.

7: Bellflowers have been actually used in Japan as temporal ‘cages’ for fireflies, to the point their japanese name is 蛍袋 (hotarubukuro), meaning ‘firefly bag.’ Green onion heads aren’t nearly as popular an option as far as I know, but being empty inside makes them suitable for the purpose too.

8: Yukima (雪馬) and Yukichi (雪雉) both use, as said here, the kanji of animals. The Ma in Yukima means horse and the Chi in Yukichi green pheasant. Yukiya is the exception, as the kanji of his name isn’t that of an animal and is instead inherited from his grandfather (Gen’ya or 玄哉). One could argue that 哉 being part of the word for a japanese male sparrowhawk (悦哉) kind of keeps the theming, but the animal is the meaning itself of the kanji for both the Ma and the Chi, but not the Ya.

9: The original term for Broodmaid is a pun. The word for nursemaid is 乳母, or ‘uba’, and uses the kanji for milk and for mother respectively. In this context, 乳, or milk, is read ‘u.’ There’s another kanji that can also be read ‘u’—羽, feather. And so, the women who help incubate and take care of a noblewoman’s child in this setting are also ‘uba’ but written 羽母. Hence I went with ‘broodmaid’ as an adaptation of ‘nursemaid’.

10: As alluded to here, the language spoken in Yamauchi is referred to as 御内詞 (Miuchikotoba) by the Yatagarasu. The “Mi” is essentially a prefix showing respect to the “uchi” which is the uchi from Yamauchi and means “inside”, and finally the “kotoba” isn’t using the usual kanji (言葉) but 詞, which also means words but it’s used more in the context of poetry or music lyrics. Words of Within is my take on the idea, as it mostly respects the spirit of the original while being understandable.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Herbal Tea

|| Countess Nadia x genderfluid!reader

|| Warnings; sick reader, fluff/comfort, short drabble

|| Summary; when Nadia finds reader feeling sick, she does everything she can to help her beloved.

Requests open! (especially for the Arcana!! don't be shy)

Started; october 29th

Finished; october 29th

~~~

Was that a groan? Nadia's eyes slowly opened, turning herself so she faced you. You who was curled up against her, shivering with a pale tint to your skin. A frown formed on the Countess's lips as she realized what might be the cause. The back of her hand lifted to your forehead where she was met with a burning feeling. You were feverish. Her frown deepened as her hand trailed down from your forehead to your cheek. Nadia's fingers brushed your skin and your eyes slowly fluttered open. You'd been awake, having hardly gotten much sleep the night before.

"Don't feel well.." You murmured, instinctively trying to snuggle closer for any kind of warmth. Nadia's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as her lips brushed against your forehead. Giving you a little kiss.

"No, you don't look well, either. Perhaps some tea? I could fetch Portia." Nadia offered, her finger now resting under your chin to help you look at her. You gave a gentle nod and she smiled at that. "Good. Will you be alright on your own for a moment, darling?"

You gave her a gentle nod and she kissed your forehead again; delicately removing herself from the bed. Making sure you were still well covered in blankets. She wanted you comfortable, after all.

Nadia made her way through the palace until she found Portia, who she then informed of your condition. Portia was of course concerned, having grown fond of you during your time at the palace. You've helped her on a number of occasions and she greatly appreciated you. Nadia asked if Portia could bring you a herbal tea, Portia quickly agreed and hurried off to the kitchen while Nadia returned to you. Crawling back into bed and holding you against her. The Countess kept you in her arms, her hands trailing your body and fingers dancing in light patterns along your skin. You leaned into her touch, your head resting on her chest as she smiled down at you. Whispering soft praises and comforting sentences.

A knock came to the door before Portia entered with your tea," here you are, um-" She paused. Noticing that she wasn't sure what your pronouns were for today. You mumbled they/them and Portia smiled," -your palship!" She finished her sentence. Referring to you as palship as opposed to Lord or Ladyship. That got a small laugh out of you, one that got little wrinkles around the corner of your eye. Nadia gave you a fond smile and quietly thanked Portia; recognizing that you probably needed a bit of humour right now. Portia gave a little bow and handed your tea to the Countess. figuring you probably wouldn't be able to hold it yourself. She then excused herself from the room and left you and Nadia to each other. Nadia would help you drink your tea, holding the cup for you as you took careful sips of the hot liquid.

By the evening you would start to feel better, thanks to Nadia and Portia's care.

[mamayan]

OK BUT what about sub Muzans daughter , Dom Genya..

Since I have so many requests for this…

Genya Shinazugawa x Muzan’s Daughter Reader!

cw: NSFW • Clichè Aphrodisiac Troupe • Consenting Blood Drinking • PIV Sex • Slightly Dom! Genya (more switch) • Dacryphilia (M) • Fem! Reader • Praise/Fluff • Oral (F) • Sugary Sweetness • Breeding Kink

“I expect nothing less than perfection. You’ve done well, child.”

“Thank you, my Lord, it is my honor and duty to uphold your expectations.”

Low.

You’re bowed low to the ground. Forehead nearly touching, so close it’s nearly indistinguishable from pressing your skin to the ground.

You don’t. Can’t. Even if death is threatened.

The aura surrounding him would make any lesser demon fawn and fall to their knees, but it only drove you wild. A call to your soul to destroy him and take his place. You hated him. The man who should’ve peacefully allowed you to marry off into a pristine family and be given a true chance as a human with happiness and children ruined when he turned you. Had you attacked and nearly slaughtered before acting as if he was bestowing a mercy and not a curse.

Your face betrays nothing. Sweet and serene as always because of your true emotions showed all your hard work would be for naught. You thought of your loyal servant Tamayo, her breakthrough and discovery which could change the tide of this cursed war. Then without your permission his face appeared.

You can’t think of him.

Despite not having a heart which worked as one should in a human, it still pained your chest to remember his face and the distance between you both.

Patience.

You must be patient and stay low, no matter how it irritated your pride like a nail in your soul.

You left, moving through the infinity castle with confidence none else beside yourself and Kokushibo possessed in this space. You kept Nakime in your peripheral, the disturbed demon not to your taste despite her blood art providing much assistance in your plans.

That woman cared little for loyalty. She just liked havoc.

“Ah~♡ The lovely lady is here? Akaza-dono, you didn’t tell me we’d be graced with her ladyships presence!” Your cool gaze slid over the upper rank two demon, Doma, who now stood before you and blocked your path. His dazzling rainbow eyes trained on you with a worship similar to how he looked at your father. You shared the same addicting blood after all.

“Lady,” Akaza was as formal as ever as he leapt from a high shifting platform, landing smoothly before you to bow slightly. You returned the polite gesture before looking back at Doma with a small smile.

“Doma-san,”

“Yes! My lady?”

“Do you like being beheaded? You must be a masochist I presume, since you continue to block my path.”

“Ah… right.” He swiftly moved, created a hole for you to move through, kimono dragging lightly on the ground as you passed with your smile in tact. The blonde male irritated you as well, his loyalty questionable a from all angles.

You left, being taken out to your previous location, a spacious estate given as a gift some thirty or so years ago.

Tomoya was present, her gentle smile and irritable little assistant all in tact which made you breathe an inner sigh of relief. Your father wants her dead, and you’re harboring her in secret. Your carefully placed house of leaves can be blown apart any moment, one wrong step could destroy you and all your plans.

It could destroy him.

“Ubuyashiki contacted me… mentioned a young slayer you’ve had… correspondence with is assigned a mission near the base of the mountains.” Tomoya was always soft spoken, gentle atmosphere a layer plastered to hide the true nature she kept swaddled. Her rage. She glance over as she works, a multitude more of glass beakers filled with liquids you didn’t question.

“Hn.”

“Not going?”

“No.”

“…May I ask why?”

“You may not.”

“I see.”

Your mouth twitched before you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t give up so easily. It was obvious how you doted on him, so there was little use pretending he meant nothing.

“I’ll check, nothing more.”

“Hn.” Her smile grew but you didn’t point it out, scoffing as you left in more of a hurry than you cared to think on.

He’s going to die.

This demon isn’t dying no matter how he blows its head off or slices it to pieces.

He’s been fighting for nearly two days straight, exhausted and fatigued to a point he may not survive if it continues any longer. He’s requested backup, but it may not come, and this demon’s blood is only making him more sluggish and it comes back for another swing at his jugular.

“Fucker—! Die!” He doesn’t stop though, because if he’s going to die then he’s taking this piece of shit out with him.

“Genya?!”

“Huh?” He turns at the wrong moment, and that’s his mistake.

He watches in amazement as you move swiftly, the demon he struggled to defeat lit to flames as if the sun was out and on it directly. His eyes look up, the sky covered by a thick blanket of clouds preventing even a tiny fraction of light through.

“Genya no!” He’s bleeding. Badly.

“Oh no, no it’s my fault, no sweet boy, look at me. Genya!” You look different. Less confident yet still beautiful. Are you crying? Can demons cry? He wonders briefly, eyes looking down but unable to move his body as you cradle him to your chest, blood is everywhere.

He’s going to die.

“No my love, look at me. Stay with me, okay?” He wants to speak, but his mouth feels wet and cemented shut.

You’re trembling. Or is it him?

“Okay. Let me think… okay, we’ll fix this, just stay with me alright?”

He wants to reassure you, tell you in all honesty he doesn’t regret dying in your arms, but his vision is getting fuzzy.

“I won’t let you die.”

He’s glad he gets to hear your voice in the end.

He’s burning.

Genya’s eyes shoot open, breathing picking up as he feels a building fire in his core, specifically his cock.

“Fuck—ah,” he groans, muscles twitching as he rolls to his side and looks around. He’s in an inn it appears, the silence thick as he surveys his body to check to for injuries.

None.

He’s still himself though, which means you must’ve fed him your flesh.

He’s never felt this before though, after consuming a demon.

“Good, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?” A cool hand on his forehead jolts him from his thoughts, dark purple eyes looking up to your face as you smile so sweetly down at him, and the disgusting thoughts swirling inside him begin to bubble over.

“You see feverish still.” You murmur, forehead wrinkling as you lean in closer and Genya has to breathe through his mouth when he catches a whiff of something floral and sweet on you.

“Master…” he’s dying in a different way now, mind fogging over as he looks up and sees you.

It’s been months. How could you be here? Why do you smell so good? He’s itching to run out of his own skin, teeth aching because he wants to sink them into you, eyes watering as he realizes he’s going out of control.

“Genya? Sweetheart you don’t seem alright, what’s going on—oh?” He knows you allow it, your strength and power nothing to dismiss for even the strongest demon or slayer, but still you allow him to grip your shoulders and pull you into a tight hug. He’s nearly sobbing when you hug him back, arms wrapping around him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Ma-Master I need—please, I need—,” you’re nodding with understanding as you lean back, smile still so sweet and caring as you look him over with complete adoration. He’s melting for it, gritting his teeth because the moment feels ruined but his straining cock isn’t listening to anything right now.

“I knew there’d be some kind of side effect, I just didn’t imagine it’d affect you like this.” He’s not listening, head hazy and eyes clouding over as he leans forward and kisses you, soft lips desperate for entrance into your mouth which he’s gratefully granted.

His hands are everywhere now, shaky and jerky as he yanks awkwardly at your kimono and his own clothing, trying to tear it from you both as his hips hump the air at nothing.

He needs to taste you. Needs you on his tongue with desperation he’s never felt. He might truly perish this time if he’s denied.

You’re soft in his arms, and for the first time he realizes you’re smaller than he thought. Sweet and caring despite how you’ve fucked him senseless, and remembering only drives him more crazy.

“Please—fuck, let me taste you.” Tears are already welling up in his eyes, features languid as his reddened face struggles to stay still, even as he shakes and clutches onto your robes.

“Okay, sweet boy, whatever you want.”

Whatever you want—

He gives up on his disheveled clothing in favor of pushing up your kimono only halfway opened, burying his face in your crotch much like the dog you enjoy calling him, lips immediately seeking out your warm heat. He moans at your taste, hands gripping your hips and pulling you closer with the intention of suffocating himself as he dry humps the futon, pre-cum wetting and staining his yukata placed on him. His hot mouth open and tongue flicking at the hidden pearl which has you moaning.

Your noises drive him more wild, eating you like a man starved. His nails digging into the fat of your hips, only leaving marks for a second before you heal.

“So good, fuck—,” he’s delirious and gone to the heat and haze of your blood and slick. He’d happily die only consuming the two for the rest of his life. He’s chanting your name as he slurps and messily swallows your slick, and he groans low in his throat when you tangle your fingers into the soft tuft of hair atop his head and yank him closer to grind on his face.

“Such a good boy, yes—you’re going to make me cum.” Your words only push him to work harder, tongue lapping and lavishing your clit while your orgasm washes over you.

He only stops when you force his head up, slick covered red face almost offended it’d been stopped.

“Enough. Don’t you want to feel better? Come here Genya.”

“Y-yes—,” he’s nearly falling over himself as he sits up and crawls over you, clothes tangled awkwardly around his legs but it hardly mattered since his cock was free and ready.

He came the moment he felt his tip glide through your soaked folds, body nearly seizing up as he struggled to breathe through such an intense release.

“It’s alright, you’re doing so good.” He whines as you brush the sweat soaked hair off his forehead, blurry eyes only briefly focusing on you before dropping down to his still hard cock.

It hurt. He wanted to cry because it hurt to physically not be inside you. You seemed to know though, encouraging him with soft words and gentle hands guiding him forward as he finally pressed forward and felt the tip of his cock breach the tight ring of muscle to your pussy. “C-cuming—ah, fuck, please let me cum, please—,”

“Cum for me sweet boy,” you kiss him.

He comes again, but you gasp in pleasure and delight when he merely surges forward to completely fill you, Genya’s fucked out expression lewdly on display as he ruts into you with an unset rhythm. His libido won’t tire it appeared.

He moans loudly when you clamp down around him, tightening up to watch his eyes roll back and drool slide down his chin. He cries though when you try to slow him, shush him quiet as he pumps his poor meat rod into your gummy walls with a more coordinated roll of his hips. Pretty tears glistening in his eyes despite the animalistic way he’s pounding into your body, trying to mold your inner walls into the shape of him.

“I l-love you—,” he’s not even in his right mind but he’s confessing. It amuses and warms you, only making you draw him in closer as he pants and whines losing himself inside you.

“You feel so good, Master, Y/N, I’m going crazy,” he’s slurring his speech, mindlessly fucking you until he’s begging to fill you again and again.

If you were human it might’ve been too much.

You aren’t though, and he’s still hard despite it all, only making a frothy mess of cum continuously being pumped into your pussy and spilling out over the sides when he stretches you out again.

“Go crazy then, fuck me harder.” He does, pressing forward and folding you up into a mating press where he pounds straight against your womb which he babbles about filling, panting and moaning like a dog in heat as he makes you cum before painting your insides once again.

He wakes the next morning with something akin to a headache, but alive nonetheless.

His eyes widen though when they catch you, naked beside him and gazing at him fondly.

“Did you have fun, pet?”

He feels something ominous in your words but he can’t quite pick it out.

“Y-yes…?”

“That’s good, because I’m very curious of the biological response you had to my blood. I’d like to run some more tests.”

Despite the almost polite way you spoke, he knew you weren’t really asking.

Dividers/@cafekitsune

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024