#(the president // visage)

[universestreasures]

KS Unmasked

When KS' helmet is removed, the auburn long wig attached to it retracts inside the helmet itself. His eyes are sharp and potent akin to his brother's, with a scar over his left eye that was gotten during one of his initial tests of the Time Duel System.

Sketch By: My Wonderful Boyfriend @throneofein <3

Coloring By: Me.

Note: Please do not reblog or repost this art! This art was posted with permission by the original artist!

[malboraslihan]

[frstwomn]

president tamsin amelia johnson // edits

[fortislumen-archive]

endless  edits  of:  pepper.

(  rp  mutuals  can  reblog/interact  )

[ataraxiaspainting]

Presentiment of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: Of all the people in your village, why were you the only one spared?

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, major spoilers for the start of JJK S2, some not SFW implications, and violence/slight gore.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

“You can see them, can’t you?”

The man is tall, so much taller, so much taller than you who is curled up into a ball in the corner of your home, to hide, an intention that was more or less popped like a balloon. He is so much taller than the corpses littering the floor with their blood, their vomit, their tears. Gazing at the disarray with a mix of revulsion and frustration, he found himself devoid of any trace of it on his person, his exasperation evident as he muttered the word monkeys repeatedly along with quick, muffled talks of cleaning and baths and stains.

“Miss. You can see them, can’t you? The beings around us.”

As he receives no response once more, he pivots. A terrifying grin adorns his face, an unsettling visage that seems to transcend the boundaries of humanity. It appears as if it is a mere appendage, capable of detachment at whim, akin to a magnet or a metallic fragment. This facade, a deceptive guise, conceals the malevolent demon lurking beneath its surface.

“...I… Please… Please just ge-”

“Answer my question.” Interrupting, he maintains a sickeningly warm smile and tone, though his words possess an entirely different temperature. They are demanding. Frigid. For nothing burns quite like the icy cold. “I know you can, from the way you are looking around the room and hiding. Stop pretending you can’t.”

Even when his gaze was averted, his vigilance never wavered, always deciphering the motives behind your awkward, apprehensive behavior. He possesses an uncanny ability to interrogate as if presiding over a courtroom, posing probing inquiries that unveil the heart of the matter. Every response you offer seems to hold the power to determine your verdict: a life of freedom, confinement, or even death.

Opting for honesty may prove beneficial. It could potentially strengthen your position, although there are no guarantees. Contemplating the act of praying, you ponder its efficacy, hoping for assistance from any divine entity that may exist. You certainly wouldn't want to become another disfigured body within the grasp of the beast behind the man's monstrous jaws.

So, after weighing all of this out, your lips part instinctively.

“Ah, I knew it. Unlike these monkeys, you are worthy.” As a reaction to those two sentences, about a million thoughts and questions sprout in your mind. “You will be spared if you join us. You do not want to be rotting on top of these filthy monkey corpses, do you?”

In an instant, you vigorously shake your head, causing a fleeting sense of dizziness, as you promptly respond to his inquiry this time.

“I’ll… I’ll… do it.” As anticipated, the act of surrendering proved to be a complex experience, simultaneously challenging and effortless. This situation resembles a collision of opposing forces, resulting in a powerful and explosive event. However, due to an innate instinct and the familiarity acquired from past encounters with your inebriated father, you find yourself succumbing once again. “Anything.” You don’t think of saying that word specifically, and you regret it later than sooner. “Just… Just please. I want to live.”

A gentle pull brings you to your feet as his hand reaches out to grasp yours.

“I am glad you accepted my conditions. Very glad.” The man brushes his side bang out of his face, his grip becoming slightly looser. “I am Suguru, Suguru Geto. Now, what is your name, my new recruit?”

“...[First].” You whisper your name so softly, questioning whether Geto caught it. “Do I… Do I have to use that too? Because…”

“No, you don’t. Though if you want you can be taught to wield something, something weaker than this.”

He responded to your question as if you were a young child inquiring about the purchasing of infants from a retail establishment. “...But do I have to?”

Geto shook his head and called the beast with two waving fingers. It is a dragon, you think, from how long it is and how it has large white scales, even whiter teeth, and long golden hair partially stained red, and how its large blue eyes stared into your soul.

“That depends on the future.” He says, his grip dwindling even further. The monster disappears with another wave of his hand. He chuckles. “Depends mainly on what you do, and why you do it.”

“…What do you think I would do?”

“You’re not good at hiding your emotions, you know.” Something creeps up your thigh, and before you have the chance to scream he puts his hand on your mouth and his other hand grabs one of your arms. “That gives way to not being able to hide your plans very well. You’re planning on running the first chance you get, aren’t you? Before you do such a silly little thing, I must tell you that I can give you protection, and luxuries beyond your imagination… everyone and everything will bow down to you.”

He looks down at the slimy red thing with at least six eyes, the build and size similar to that of a basketball. Its lips were sucking on your flesh with words like love leaving them in between moments. That was the answer to your unspoken question.

“All you have to do is follow me, okay? No matter where I go, follow me. Do that, and your life will be so much better.”

From the look in his eyes, you already know he had already made the decision for you.

[darlingofvalyria]

As the Princess of the Realm's most favoured maid, there are certain liberties you are privy to demand. Jealousy of the people surrounding your lady is not one of them. Amused, Rhaenyra wishes to show her jealous little darling that there is nothing to worry about.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ MIND MANIPULATION, BLOOD PLAY ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,763 ] [ masterlist ] | Vampire!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Maid!Reader

contains— smut, fluff - monsterfucking, hurt/comfort, jealousy, allusions to murders and kidnapping (not reader), mind manipulation, mentions of blood - this is a darkish fic - nsfw: monsterfucking, v and v sex, blood play(?), thigh riding, dubcon - no betas.

a/n— countess bathory rhae version. + Quick note: I don't actually remember/know if a crown princess is higher in stature to a queen consort. I know a queen at least is higher than a crown princess... but in this fic, i'm making it so that a king's direct/crowned heir is higher in status to that of a queen consort, as in what i want you to understand here that a king's chosen heir has bigger power than someone who is only married to royalty and title. this is of course different than the show but eh. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You understand why they salivate after her like starved dogs for a hunt. Prowling, on the verge of humping the very ground she walks on.

Your princess is every consonant and vowel of her royal visage and title, adorned in jewels and gold, Valyrian steel interlaced across her throat and waist. Fat rubies in her ears, weighted layers of gold gleam across her collarbone with a Valyrian steel necklace that strung an almost black amethyst drop nestled in her bosom.

Rings of all kind adorned her fingers as she held a goblet, amused by whatever topic the Riverland Lord was saying with gusto, fat stomach straining against a leather belt.

In any feast, she is the star, unable to be shadowed by her enemies now that her confidence had bloomed. She presided every conversation, lords and ladies following her red mouth as much as her words, dominating circles of power with ease that surpassed her gender.

The Heir to the Iron Throne. The Realm's Delight.

You had never been prouder to say you serve such a woman, body and soul.

And at the same time, you cannot help the feeling of jealousy to flash like a quick strike of a dagger. It is not your mistress' fault that people stave off the attention she gives them. It isn't their fault either as you understand the sentiment. Once you've played in her hand, you are evermore enraptured by her.

But you're different. In a way.

As soon as the lord— a Lord Erodd Mudd, a vassal of House Tully who had proudly proclaimed to be an eager follower of the future Black Queen, henceforth his vassals flooding gifts and compliments to your princess — had gotten too close for comfort and too red from the overflowing Arbor Red, that as soon as you see the quick flash of Princess Rhaenyra's comfort threatened, you spring into action.

You move about dancing bodies and beautifully crafted ladies to get to her, your eye meeting her sword shield, the Ser Strong, with a nod. You know your strengths and weaknesses; wrangling a drunken lord physically is not one of them. Neither is a violent drunk, and there had been enough unsavoury gossip of the Lord Mudd for you to be on edge the minute he approached the princess.

You take a low bow in front of them at your sudden interruption, your voice calm but firm. "My princess, the Prince Joffrey is ready to be put to bed."

Rhaenyra smiles, gladdened of your quick feet and quicker thinking. "Thank you—"

"Audacious!" Lord Mudd squeaks, the spittle and stench of alcohol almost makes you grimace. Almost. "The princess is talking to a lord, she does not want—"

"— the princess does not permit others to speak on her behalf, much less about what she wants or thinks," you can't help but snap. "Please refrain yourself from doing so, my lord."

He purples in offence, fist shaking that you sidle up to move in front of the princess. "Oh why, how dare—"

You let out a breathless exhale at the appearance of Breakbones and his meaty hand on the lord's shoulder. "My lord. I'm afraid you've enough to drink. The night grows long." As the lord opens his mouth to retort, Harwin's smile sharpens is enough of a warning that he swallows and jerkily nods.

He bows to Rhaenyra. "G-good night, your grace."

Rhaenyra smiles amusedly, as if she is letting you in on a joke. "And to you, my lord. I will have a maestre prepare a concoction my... little brother uses in a time of head aches. He so prefers the sweet Red such as you."

As he bows again gratefully, Lord Mudd manages to shoot you a final glare before being escorted by Ser Harwin. For a brief moment as the revelry continues on, most guests now well into their cups and dreams to kiss your princess' arse, she laughs quietly in the privacy of your closure.

You snort softly. "I am glad the night has amused you thus far, my princess."

She giggles again. "How can I not? You had been glaring at the poor fool for the better time of the night. He had thought that he had offended me in some way, and was trying to appease with all sorts of ridiculous promises."

"Hm. What can a small vassal house by the name that means 'wet dirt' could possibly offer the princess of the realm?" You can't help but be haughty. Though you do recognise you are being a bit unfair to the lord, for he isn't just the only one who had pried the attention of the princess all night.

"A pretty new maid," Rhaenyra muses, making your blood freeze. "He said he's got a pretty collection of wenches, all well trained by his mother, whom I do know has a heavy teeth with her servants. Lord Tully has endorsed them so. Lady Tully as well. Oh, and that he has daughters fit to be ladies in waiting, should I want for more... high browed ladies."

You inhale deeply. "It is indeed... a good idea to expand your ladies. You are the Heir, higher in stature to the Queen Consort who has an army of ladies both in Great Houses and Vassals." You nod jerkily. "It is a smart idea, my princess."

Rhaenyra smirks, enjoying far too much the inner turmoil of your little head. You don't notice it, as you had perfected serving her for such a time and she is sure onlookers would see only a lady conversing with her maid, but when you are upset and trying not to show it, you blink three times as if wrangling your thoughts in order. There is only a small dip in your serene mouth that always makes her want to press it. Move it around. Then maybe bite you.

But if she touched you now, she would not stop. She knows her hunger very well, and in preparation for the three-day celebrations as well as handling her duties between council meetings and audiences with the common folk— she had not drank in a while.

If she touches you now, there would be no care for titles or eyes.

When she shudders faintly at the image, your keen eye sees it immediately. You see the faint pallor, the inch of peakiness. She had been consuming more and more raw meat, but animals barely curb the thirst.

"Shall I prepare your feast, my princess?"

She blinks at you, surprised. "My feast? Surely this is enough."

You're unable to stop your sigh as you look away. "My princess, surely, you don't think such a feat should go unrewarded? Lords of Great Houses are swayed to your cause. Their vassals are following suit. Even if a Great Council is demanded once more in your reign, the tide will turn for your favour."

"You do not know that." Rhaenyra laughs lightly as you are already shaking your head. "We should not tempt fate."

"You had been doing your duty unto the realm as its heir and its delight. We are tempering any whisper of revolt. Your win is marked in stone," you insist. "A reward is only just."

You scoot closer, pinching your voice low. Rhaenyra holds her breath with a sharp intake of air, a coil, nothing but a whisper, of your scent finds her nostrils and her hunger tightens in her stomach that her fangs sharpen. She bites her bottom lip hard.

"My apologies," you whisper. "But I know your hearing turns mortal when you have not eaten in a while. You must eat. The bustle for the celebration has been a good excuse to hire more alongside what we needed."

Her eyes flash. "... Maidens?"

"At least four of them, my princess."

She gasps, inhaling quickly and your scent comes first, the sweet imprint of your blood hums her own, but her eyes widen at the thick stench of maidens right in her room. Your gift. For your beloved. You smile, despite the niggling, pinch of jealousy that has a thick hold on your neck and Rhaenyra can smell it.

"The revelries will continue on," you say with finality, bowing. "The Prince Jacaerys is doing well with the Northern delegates thus far, and the Young Prince Lucerys has charmed the pirate lords from the Free Cities, as well as the Dornish Prince and his... mistresses. We are well here. I will keep an eye on your heirs. Enjoy yourself, my princess."

The revelries go well into the Hour of Owl before you give nod to the last of the guards and servants tasked with ensuring the more raucous guests find their way to their beds, moving along the quiet flutter of candlelight and sharp, slanting shadows like a wraith. Or a ghost. No one pays you any mind, and they know better.

You sweep straight into the princess' apartments, locking the doors behind you. The iron stench of blood is already thick here, seeping through the corners and clinging to the tapestries. You're used to it, even if the first times had been shaky in your memories. But your actions are a routine, moving to the tub filled thick with blood, almost to the brim, moving a finger through it, beads of blood clinging to you when you raise your hand, falling in slops back to the tub.

You hum along your duties, the actions of a routine is familiar... if not surgically placed into your mind, though the uncomfortable reminder strikes your head in a low, dull thud. Worrisome thought is a blunt knife to the steel guard your princess has wrought in your head.

For your protection, my sweet, Rhaenyra had purred, feeling her nails scratch in the fragments of your malleable brain.

Candles are flickering by the time your princess strides into her room, the heavy door deadbolting with a heavy thud. The stench of blood and her scent— grapefruit and vanille, a touch of something more ancient, cloying and heavy — thickens as you bow, your fingers in unlacing and getting her off the bloodied dress. It’s relatively clean, and she throws you a smirk for it. She knows you hate having to share just as much as she, and knows even better you would never make much fuss, but your chest warms at her thoughtfulness regardless.

She sinks with ease, a low, satiated hum escapes her lips.

“I will assume this is another present?” she teases. “No maidens?”

“Not after the Lannisport incident, no.” You regard her weightily but she only laughs. Sunk in blood, her paleness almost makes her glow. A goddess if nothing else. But her cheeks are also fuller, vibrancy clinging to her gold spun hair and gaze. “These were just as much eager to serve the crown as the young women were eager to serve their princess.”

Rhaenyra’s laugh is spoilt as much as it is indulgent. “And I am assuming you never told them the length or width of their servitude?”

She really does feel much better if she is in such a teasing mood.

“No,” theres a petulant, almost offended notch in your tone that you dont hide as well, if youre ever truly trying to hide it. The day wanes and the moon waxes, and you have been obedient all day.

Rhaenyra bites her lip. You have been good. And deserving. She leans forward, pressing herself back. “Come.”

You still, holding onto her oils. “I still have to wash your hair, princess, it has been an arduous day."

“It has, and you have done so well in pleasing me that I require you here, with me.” Her voice pitches, irises molting to a startling black. Your spine straightens and your gaze glosses. She hums, delighted to see that the full force of her prowess is back. Though it isnt truly much. The strings from your mind and body is one that she has owned long before. “Take off your dress, sweet girl, thats it, faster— and here, right on top of me.”

You are awake and dreaming, its a state you know quite well, but you move where she wants you, your strings hers for the taking, and you are up to your navel in blood before your mind catches up with thought that you are bare, bare before your princess as she looks up, her hands, soft and cold and wet with blood, moulding against the divots of your soft flesh.

She pulls you down with ease, so careful with your skin. Her hunger though fulfilled, the remnants of the creature within her still breathes. Your heartbeat is a siren song and the urge to devour you, to sink her teeth right in that throbbing, fluttering pulse— four maidens down her belly and her hunger for you is still so strong.

Your mind is your own when you have settled righto n her thighs, bracketing her between your own. A shuddering gasp leaves your mouth as she draws her hands from thighs to your centre to your breast to your jaw, pulling you to meet her mouth in a soft exploration between tongue and teeth.

It is kissing for beasts, for creatures trying to find pleasure unknown to them but hungering for it; her tongue tangling with yours, licking at the roof your mouth, her teeth, sharpened, tugging and grating against your soft lips. It is gluttonous as it is guttural, and you feel debased. But you like it, you like the clouding of your mind from pleasure, chasing the hums from her throat and smiling from her little laughs.

It is no wonder that your body craves, hips moving in an insistent, errant sway against her thigh that she laughs once more, finish suckling a bruise on your arched neck.

"Sīr needy hae iā līve, So needy like a whore," she purrs against your skin. "Are you my," she grips your buttocks and pulls you to her, though you stumble, you are still relatively on your knees and your pearl that is craving for attention hits against her stomach and you gasp, "little whore?"

"Yes," you murmur, arms wounding against her neck as she adjusts you more comfortably on her lap, watching intensely at your pleasure as she sits you down and starts moving your hips in a rhythm. "Y-yes I am."

She snakes a hand between you to pinch at your clit. You jolt.

"Manners."

"Yes, my queen!" You sob, head falling on her shoulder as your hips go faster, the blood is spilling, the smell of iron is so strong it fills your lungs, but your first relief is near and Rhaenyra hates denying you pleasure.

Even her punishments have always been to over feed you your own pleasure, indulge in the staccato wails broken by whines as your last peak has barely finished before she is making you reach it again.

"There she is, my sweet girl."

She helps your thighs, moving you faster and faster as she drinks in your skewered brows and hanging mouth, taking a breast into her mouth and laving it with her tongue, groaning at the blood and suckling deep. You will be blooming with bruises come morn and she cannot wait to see the spring she has created on your skin. You are so delicate, so... human. Your fragility is a beauty she enjoys.

Like right now, when your pleasure catches up to you fast and she has made it a mission not to touch your cunt at all, maintaining your movement even as you whine deep in your chest, your forehead falling to her shoulder as you twitch and shudder. When you garble her name, falling your please, p-please, 'smuch, she stops, running her hands instead to your sides, cupping your breasts faintly before she's nudging against your nose until you give in with what she is silently asking: soft, tugging kisses.

"Deep breaths, sweet one," she whispers against your mouth when she pulls away, "I will take more of your pleasure. All the sweet maidens in these lands are nothing to the taste of you." For emphasis, her other hand is already between your thighs, brushing insistently against your pearl.

Teasing, always teasing. You shudder.

"Your pleasure is much your reward as it is mine. Now, once more. On my fingers." She bares her fangs, another light laugh that tugs at your core because it is full of promises. "Then against my cunt."

Because Rhaenyra gives as much as she takes.

And she wants everything you... 'willingly' give.

[gangplanksorenji]

A star illuminates brightly (and then, it collapsed)

Pairing: Kep1er Yujin x Male Reader

Word Count: 7,987

Part 1

A/N: Hello again, Orenjideul and I'm here for another fic featuring Yujin! Really thought of making the past fic with Yunjin a oneshot but a thought in me really wanted to bridge them together to see where it'll end up and here it is! Hope y'all enjoy this and thanks for reading!<3

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Your mind can’t let everything disappear like a bubble—every moment savored and imprinted onto your brain for a reason. That moment rotted you, damned to your entire existence until the end of time yet it made you feel a certain connection you’ve never felt before—more like an intimate one.

You’ve never felt so good after feeling her walls clenching around your shaft and the absolutely hot mess you’ve made between her legs—it clouded your mind, lightheaded by the thought of everything happening within just minutes.

Such impurities are pulchritude in nature—bound to break limits of defining beauty because you've been enlightened that there’s more than that.

Huh Yunjin and her capabilities… You fell under her spell, lured you into her trap and you absolutely dive into the ocean of lust that you’ve been longing for and now you’re fucked.

Sure, the both of you will be safe from anything since “no one” heard the profanities let out in the puny room yet consequences will be implemented… but not just yet, and you now face the spine-chilling sternness of her visage and the wrath of hers—your class president, the ace of the class and commonly known “The Rabbit Angel” because of her being so down-to-earth and insanely beautiful features.

Yes, as perfect as she looks and she sounds, you can’t deny, everything in you becomes enveloped in fright once she thuds her arms onto the desk and faces you with a serious face, her tone dead-deep and urging you to answer.

“So, both of you really did that? Inside the university’s premises?”

“I’m s-sorry, Yujin. Yunjin is to really b-blame here—”

“Shut up! I don’t wanna hear your excuses, nor what Yunjin’s about to say either. It doesn’t matter if Yunjin’s mother is the president of parent’s organization—I don’t fucking care, alright?”

You nod as you gulp nervously as you never saw this side of Yujin—a complete opposite of her usual sunshine and bright persona but now you can just see the beast taming you.

“Now answer me, what did the both of you think was a good idea to have some sex in a bathroom? Alone near the corridors and the hallway where everybody can hear! You guys—” Yujin punches the desk with a loud thud as she walks away meters from you. A frown becomes evident on your face as you feel the fear in you coursing up your veins because Yujin is infuriated with your own actions. Even if she’s turning back against you, you could tell how furious and serious she looked as you slowly felt the regret of your own sin.

“It was all just an accident, Yujin—I swear—”

“Oh please, will you shut the fuck up? I'm thinking of something…”

That earns a puzzling face from yours, anticipating and unsure on what trick she pulls up on her sleeve. A girl like her is far from readable—possibly, a book nigh-impossible to be deciphered yet possible to know what's in store.

“Also, why am I even here? I need to see my friends—”

She rushes towards you, grabbing your necktie as she faces you, striking daggers towards you as her eyes defy anger as the beast inside her is nearly being unshackled from its restraints. 

“You're here so I can discipline you, understand? I'm doing my job as the class president and I'm also protecting your reputation and I can also make it the opposite within just the snap of my fingers… So, will you bear with me and shut your annoying mouth or lose everything, here and here?”

God, those eyes—it's mesmerizing, captivating to say the least yet it's laced with rage. You can't help but gulp nervously yet you won't just sit here and make yourself powerless against her almost-violent approach of “disciplining” you, in which, of course, you didn't like.

Choi Yujin probably doesn't discipline and lead the class like this, or, is there just a beef between the both of you? Or Yunjin? Is she jealous that she didn't—well, those thoughts weren’t going to lead onto something or somewhere… Or is it?

You nod dumbly as an immediate response as she glares at you before squinting her eyes in dismay. You still need more answers on why she needed you here, even though it's obviously for the fact of doing such sinful things inside the university's premises but her invitation is vague, leaving you clueless and perplexed.

“But Yujin, why am I still here? You already taught me about dealing with this and how things may end—”

“What did I just say?”

“But there's no more of a great point of me being here, Yujin! Can't you just—”

Yujin pins you at the wall with her minuscule arm as she glares at you, fuming with anger. She's definitely not liking your immediate retaliation from her advances and proceeds to tame you down but you won't give up a fight like this, not unless you get a valid answer about why she's still making you stay in this empty classroom.

“Shut the fuck up you little prick! I will say when you're leaving and everything will be at my own accord, do you understand?”

Slightly smirking and hitching a breath as an indication of a possible giggle, you lousily approached the situation whimsically in which she didn't like.

“Sucks to hardly decipher a girl like you, Yujin. You're clearly just blinded with power and nothing else. Are you really the class president, Yujin?”

Her fists on her other hand curls like it's about to take up on a fight, getting really irritated with your mocking. You know how you can easily break her, like a fragile twig and there's more tricks up in your sleeve that you can use against her. 

“I don't really know why they would elect you as the president if you're just manipulating people under your own “management”. You're such a bad example—”

She tightens her grip onto your chest as she stares daggers towards you, her eyes threatening you and scaring you as she also has more tricks that she plays under your game.

“Say one more thing about me and I'll show the recording to the university dean. Don't try me, asshole.”

Your pupils dilated as you were utterly shocked once Yujin called you an “asshole”. Of course, you exaggerated it as Yujin berates you, swearing at you with a tiny voice that you rather find cute than threatening.

Even when she's fuming and boiling with anger, she's still cute and pretty—well, you can't blame yourself because it's really true.

“Ohoho, wow! Getting bolder are we, Yujin? Now you're just threatening me with your fake evidence and calling me an asshole? Is Yujinnie getting a little mad right now, hm—argh!”

“You're so annoying! Shut up!!! I'm really showing this to the dean and do you think you can stop me? One more mock or any stupid shit and you're reputation and Yunjin's will be fucked.”

“Like you have a true and convincing evidence—tch, you're just making things up, Yujin—come on now—”

While you're mocking her again, Yujin immediately plays the recording of the intense sex sounds uttered by you and Yunjin inside the restroom as you couldn't believe what you're hearing.

As much as you want to deny and claim that the recording is faulty and made just to destroy your ego and reputation, it's more than real and it's really the both of you groaning and screaming the most sinful things possible. From pet names, degradation up to the most intense flesh-clapping sounds of sex, it's really obvious that it's the both of you but a clever idea came into your mind knowing that it's not only Yujin who's playing the game strategically well, but also, you.

“What's wrong, hm? Can't talk cause' you thought the evidence I'm holding isn't real? Yeah, so fucking try me, asshole!”

Your demeanor immediately changed once she mocked you with your own medicine, making you taste it and it’s bitter—it corrupts your brain and it makes you bitter. You hated it but you can’t just give up your reputation like this, not without her being on the same boat as you.

“What’s t-that?”

“Huh, you think you’re the only smart one here, Yujin?”

“Give it to me you stupid bastard!”

Yujin tries to reach for your phone in your pocket as she was deemed unsuccessful, you being too swift with your reflexes. You laugh at her helpless despair, trying to reach for your phone but can't as she gets pissed off, her expression now laced with venom towards you.

“Do you honestly think you're the only one with the trick up on their sleeve?”

“Give it to me you crazy asshole! I swear to god I'll show this to the dean and you can't do anything about this!”

“Oh, it's just fair~ Yujinnie—you show this to her and I'll leak this to social media where everyone here on this campus will hear how you verbally bullied me. Isn't that a great deal, hm?”

Well, at this point, it's just another whole mind game that has been breaking out as they will try and benefit themselves while the other will be utterly ashamed, and their reputation destroyed within a matter of minutes. The both of you glared at each other with Yujin having the fiercer one, obviously as she whimpers and yells in anger, pissed off with your own game as she's the one to break down first.

“God, I hate you! Argh!”

She throws a crumpled paper ball onto you as she kicks the cabinet slightly, frustrated and irritated towards you. She then looks at the window, gazing at the horizon, over the mountains as she crosses her arms, feeling the urge of a deep reflection. You, who's puzzled, decided to not interfere long enough with her own doings as you wanted to leave, knowing that there's probably nothing more to talk about as you start to respect her boundaries, and herself too, not just because she's the class president but as a person.

“Then I shall leave then, Yujin, okay? It seems like our small meeting here is done and don't worry, as long as you keep or better, delete that recording to yourself and no one else, I'm deleting this recording of mine, too, okay?”

You waited for seconds, hoping for a response escaping her lips but there wasn't anything. So, without any time to waste, you reach for the doorknob only to be stopped with a faint, melodical voice that was no other than Yujin.

“No…”

“Uhm—what do you mean, no?

“I'm sorry…”

Yujin then faces you, her eyes glistening with her faint tears as she probably felt bad throwing slurs and swears at you, possibly provoking and hurting you. You know Yujin is so down-to-earth and soft-hearted, her persona of being selfless and caring and her being elected as a president is evident enough to know she's one defined like an angel but you could never be so sure—the other thought in your mind thinking that she's maybe just guilt-tripping you onto making you weak and fall under her spell with her being too pitiful and for you to be gaslit as being the “sorry” one, not her.

“I d-didn't mean to say all of those words to you. Please j-just delete the recording and I won't say anything…”

Still being skeptical, you don't want to be tricked into losing everything so you still wanted to play her game.

“I'll delete it when I get home, Yujin. Don't worry, I will—”

“No, delete it where I can see it. Right here, right now—please… I'm sorry…”

And yeah, your heart isn't stone-cold either to feel the sincerity of her apologies, let alone her pouty, cute face encouraging you to obey what she wants but you know that it's sincere, the saccharine tone of her voice is enough of an evidence

With the built-up guilt of remorse and the feeling of being disrespected by her, you feel hesitant and want to outsmart her but you feel that everything's going downhill because of what sin you've done and you felt the utter guilt that no one could've ever felt.

“Press it, Yujin.”

“Are you for real or are you just—”

“Do you really think I'm playing games with you? Just press it…”

Well, it appears to be that she's hesitant even though it's literally a glowing red button that says “delete” appears on the screen of your phone. Well, you can't blame her as she's in the same boat as you.

With enough persuasion and letting herself be convinced, she pressed the button as a smile slowly appeared curling on her face as she's satisfied that you don't have any evidence of her provocative and verbal behavior towards you. It later followed into a smirk as she faced you and thanked you but of course, you're not the only one leaving in defeat here—Yujin should taste her own wrath.

“Hey, it's just unfair that I deleted mine and not yours.”

Yujin's demeanor quickly changed as the sunshine turned into cloudy mist—a dark, nimbus-filled one. Of course, she's trying to outsmart you as you were to her but there's nothing to play anymore as you wanted to be fair with her. Left with no other choice, she pulled up her phone and went onto the files where she saved it and of course, for a fair and identical ending, she did the same on how you made your evidence get deleted by showing her phone to you and making you press the glowing red button.

“Happy? Now, are we all good?”

“Yeah, Yujin, definitely all good. Thanks for the time though, definitely didn't get wasted.” Your sarcasm was off the roof, making her frown as her lips pouted cutely from the frustration of lacking a big chunk of evidence that she would have shown to the dean to make your world in shambles. 

As you reached the doorknob, ready to pull it, Yujin's voice stopped you again as you irritatingly asked her why and what's the catch this time.

“Ugh, why, Yujin? Can you just let me go?”

Yujin smiles, her lips curling up into a smirk as she eyes your body and lastly, looking you dead in the eyes as if she's totally allured to you.

“There's one more thing on why I called you here…”

You're puzzled and confused, unsure of what's about to happen yet you won't let your defenses down in case she does or says something that'll provoke you and wake up your defensive side.

“What, Yujin?”

“Don't be so oblivious now, baby. Can't just leave a girl here with her needs unattended…”

Of course—of fucking course she'll say that and you're not really oblivious about it. For the record, you half-expected her to unleash her slutty side yet this never fails to perplex you in an utmost manner. Yujin, who's known for her caring, serious and selfless persona is now being the total opposite and you don't know if a demon possessed her or it's just the animalistic urges inside her that wants to give in to her carnal desires.

If this is a bait for another trap, you wouldn't fall for it but it doesn't help when Yujin strips off her uniform jacket slowly, teasing you and luring you into the point of no-return. 

“Please, baby—do I need to say more?”

Oh. My. Fucking. God. When she stripped the stupid jacket off, it tested your temptation on ruining her there and there yet you hold it in—it doesn't help that what lies underneath it is a white, long sleeve crop top with her necktie even longer than the top itself and her milky, slender midriff being the cherry on top—in which, you drooled all over the sight of it and thank god Yujin is oblivious about it otherwise you’re utterly done. As much as you want to turn it down as you don't have enough time to waste, this may even be the opposite of a waste as her invitingly hot figure turns you on.

“I see you looking at my waist, baby. Do you like it—”

Catching her off-guard, you went up and pinned her to the wall with your face inches close to hers as she gasped with your sudden aggression, her eyes encapsulating the emotion of fear and anticipation while yours ignited with anger and lust.

“Listen here you little shit—if you're playing with me right now and I absolutely know you are, I'm not the guy to fool with, okay, Yujin? Stop testing me because you don't want to see what's coming next.”

Your hot breath brushes on her lips which invites her to even convince you into her game. You know that you're definitely losing and once you give in, there's no turning back.

“Playing hard to get, hm?” Yujin doesn't give up as she pulls your necktie towards her and whispers seductively onto your ear, in which you don't retaliate as you involuntarily give in to your own lustful desires. “I know you want this so stop acting like a hypocrite, daddy.”

God, she knows how to turn you on—and it's not even a challenge for her right now. The pet name she used just sets your last string of defense into an absolute mess, breaking it. 

As much as you wanted to say about not wanting her now, you can't lie straight to your teeth about it and you're just proving yourself a hypocrite if you do—the dilation of your pupils and the flush on your cheeks is enough evidence to know that you're already feeling the heat onto your flaccid member.

“So, what is it going to be, daddy? Play the game until you last or admit it to yourself that you want to ruin me—”

“Okay, Yujin! You fucking got me…” You yelled as invisible fumes came out of your nostrils, exaggerating how irritated you are with this girl . “God, this girl…” Another backfire is directed to her as you were annoyed to her attempts of picking your locks, but this time, your voice is almost inaudible and glad to god that she didn’t even hear you saying it.

“Okay, okay—but it’ll just be quick, okay? Just five minutes.”

A pouty Yujin meets your eyes, almost if she begs for something she can’t resist about that she needs to allure you with her signature adorable expression but you won’t fall for that because you—

“I said what I said, Yujin. Five. Minutes. Only.”

“Ughhh—why can’t it be longer than that? Is it because you can’t last longer than five mi—”

She’s really testing you—testing your limits beyond your possible breaking point as you raise your arm, pinning her forcefully onto the wall as she smirks in anticipation and delight, delighted about provoking the hibernating beast inside you.

“Shut your slutty, little mouth, Yujin! I said what I said, okay? Hah, I even think you’re the one who can’t last that long and you’re probably dripping thinking about my dick destroying your insides, hm?”

 Once again, her demeanor changed as the neediness on her face became evident, slowly giving in to her carnal desires as she’s a few steps away from her desires being fulfilled.

“Hey, I was—gahh, oh my god—hah…”

“What was it, Yujin?”

A simple swipe onto her clothed crotch makes her weak, on her knees and it couldn’t be any better. You’re unfazed with her attempts to slow you down as you leisurely teased her until you felt the wetness of her core in which she whimpered as she wanted more but knows that there isn’t in any world you’re giving anything more than that.

Everything’s on your own accord now because you’re in control, not her, and you’ll let her know that.

“Sucks to be the one who isn’t in control, right, Yujin? Not the one with the higher authority?”

“Fuck—I want more! P-please, I want more…”

Of course, you didn’t fulfill her wants because you wanted to and it’s like she can do something about it—

“B-but, I’m the president—your president, so this is is unfair and—”

You snarl as the sound fazes Yujin, her eyes gleaming unbeknownst of what emotion it can underlie but all you know is that it encapsulates fear and anticipation, like right from the start. You know how stubborn she can get and how she’ll use her authority against your own accord yet you won’t give up just like that—you can outpower her and let her taste her own medicine.

“Well, do you want to get fucked or no? I can just leave here pretty easily, Yujin.”

“Wait!” Her tone is high-pitched and in full need as she doesn’t want this moment to be wasted, let alone with you as much as she despises you—in which, according to her and to you, is one-hundred percent hypocrisy.

You can feel her need, the need in her eyes—like how she wants it so bad to do it with you as those precious orbs tells you to ruin her to the fullest.

There goes the foreplay off and on is your desires, and hers, of course.

“Okay, daddy. Do whatever you want to me…”

And she let her defenses down, submerge into the abyss of submission.

There goes the heat of both bodies, slowly getting used to each other as both lips clashed of a sudden, with the message to convey to “fuck-like-you-meant-it” and the utmost urge of giving in to your animalistic urges until the miasmic smell of sex steams all over the classroom—and may the people using that classroom on their class may prepare their own noses.

Oh god, she's so ruinable—that thought lingers on your mind once you've saw her impeccably perfect figure: her tiny, little waist; her silken, porcelain skin; her luscious, succulent lips—in which, by the way, you're feasting upon right now_and lastly her beautiful face that's sculpted by the gods.

And as pure as she looks, it's such a great time to let her impurities out—such purities sullied by lust is the best way to break it.

Both of your tongues battle for dominance as if both are deprived for the taste of oneself and you love it as much as she loves it too. You ignored the sheen of saliva messing up your mouth as your deft hands course its way onto her waist and caresses the smooth skin.

“Love the way I kiss you, Yujin?”

“I do, but please—I need my pussy filled right now…”

The normal instinct is the utter dissatisfaction permeating all over her and letting her feel the sudden urge of not fulfilling her needs yet you can't help yourself right now because you want her.

“Well, that'll be just in a minute, Yujin…” You unbuckle your belt and give her a stern look which puts a chill down her spine. “For starters, you’ll be on your knees ready to obey daddy’s orders, okay?”

It’s partly rhetorical yet she nods and it doesn’t matter, she understands what’s going on and where this will go, as she should, the brilliant and clever Choi Yujin.

“And… help me out undress myself—the bottom one—and that’s two and lastly…” Even without being taught and with her swift movements, she already had your boxers down to your ankles as she was met with your already-erect rod that she instantly admired. “...you probably know where this is going since you’ve done this already, isn’t it right, Yujin?”

Another nod and there’s no breath escaping her beautiful lips knowing that it’s already all over your swollen head—

“Already thirsty for this, huh? Don’t worry, Yujin—they’ll be more than this later…”

Such an idyllic visage masks a sluttiness that can never be topped off, and with those eyes glistening with lust, you can't hold yourself from containing your profanities as a single touch from hers is enough to melt your heart yet someone stands tall and firm, and it's not anywhere beside you—

“There you go... Getting a little excited, hm?”

Such a sight to behold, her adorable façade contradicts the possible sins that'll unfold at any given moment and just herself on her knees, maintaining eye contact with you pushes you further at the edge—at the edge of no-return.

“Please, baby—I've been longing for this for a long while now.” Yujin's tone makes you hitch a breath and a shiver as she's way too submissive and you're loving it. Well, if nothing can bring her down as she's at the paramount authority, then maybe the hard rod between your legs can deem her powerless, against your own accord.

“I wa-want it, baby. P-please... I'll be your good girl and treat me like no one can…”

A kiss on the tip and a shudder is your response, her alluring action almost brings you down on your knees, breaking your dominant demeanor but you stand strong, letting her know who's in control and it's definitely not her—Anymore? For now? You'll see where this will go…

You caress her impeccable features that captivates your very eyes up to the silken strands of her hair to her pillowy cheeks as you feel those soft flesh hollow around your cockhead, the suction definitely making you think the most unimaginable things possible. 

Even with her caustic demeanor and her so-called bitchy attitude that made you almost boil you in anger, you can't help but adore it as it spices things up to the maximum extent, further arousing you. 

Maybe taming such brats will be your speciality, who would have known that?

“God—choke on it, you pathetic slut—you planned this all along, don't you? Fucking call me here to discipline me about having sex inside the campus' restroom when you yourself gives in to choke on some dick? What a hypocrite you are—”

Tug your hand onto that makeshift ponytail as she sinfully gags onto your whole length, forcing her immediately to take it whole just for you to fulfill your desires of making a mess on someone. A forceful gag makes a forceful cough in return as she ejects herself onto your throbbing length with strings of saliva still connected onto the mushroom tip.

“Wha—what t-the fuck? Aren't y-you supposed to—”

“Just shut up and take—this—cock like a good girl, Yujin. Your—ooh—throat is a toy after all…”

As much as her voice is soothing and angelic to your ears, you rather want your ears to be blessed with such an unholy sin: gagging, which it is called.

She eagerly reciprocates your aggression as her clever mind lets itself do the work by giving you the utmost pleasure with her frantic bobbing alongside your frenzied thrust onto her heavenly tight cavern.

The caldera must leak copious amounts of that saliva and you will do just that, making her a complete mess of a girl and this is only just the beginning of the numerous profanities you'd love to do with this girl.

As much as you love to last longer, the tightness in your loins is free to speak up, opposing your wants.

“G-gonna paint my f-face, daddy? Oh! Please, please, please paint my slutty, cute face, daddy! Don't y-you wanna add to the mess you did on my face?”

And god she talks so dirty and it puts you in a chokehold of madness and the paramount battle of temptation. She knows how to pick your locks but you won't let it out just for this moment as you wanted something hotter than what she expected.

“Nu-uh, Yujin. Girls like you need to be filled real fucking good.” You tilt her chin as her gleaming orbs ignite with lust, anticipating what's coming next and ready to embrace all of it. “My seed belongs inside your tight, little cunt, do you understand?”

She's silent and muted, way too allured to the musky scent of your cock as she continues stroking it leisurely—

“Answer my goddamn question and don't touch me, brat!”

“I d-do, daddy…”

“Elaborate it, you slut—come on!” You raise her up with her firm grip of both her wrists, leveling her face onto yours as you look at her laced with disappointment and venom deadlier than any snake. 

“I d-do understand e-ever—everything you've s-said, daddy. I w-won't touch you unless you want me too and—”

“Shh, I already heard everything I wanted to hear, Yujin.” 

Without any time to waste, you command her to stand beside the nearby desk and undress herself, curious about what she's packing.

Of course, she follows your orders now she's learnt her lesson but will it be enough?

“Actually, don't undress, Yujin. I will fuck you senseless with this so-called of yours “uniform” until you could only think about my cock only—hah, I can do it, Yujin. ”

Another disagreement on Yujin's side but before finishing her sentence, you glared at her as she instantly shutted her mouth, silencing herself from her possible disobedient advances. Sliding her white garment off with the help of her dainty fingers, it’s just hypnotizing to see the cloth go down to her ankles, letting gravity do the rest as she gets it from there, keeping it on her hands. It’s inviting to see her sexiest look yet but there’s probably another thing in mind that you wanted to do with her.

“Now turn around and rest your stomach on the desk—also, give me your panties, Yujin.”

“B-but, daddy—”

“Do you want to get fucked or no?” Your tone is straightforward, stern and hunted with a bit of fury, and again, it scares her, not wanting this opportunity to be wasted just because of her own, silly actions of selfishness. She scoffs, rolls her eyes as the inevitable permeates: Yujin giving her little souvenir to you.

“That’s what I thought, Yujin. Everybody’s gonna know how much of a slut you are after this—hah, gonna walk out with white dripping down your thighs… Hm, I see this as an absolute win—”

“Please, d-daddy—ahh—gahh!”

An earth-thudding spank reverberates around the classroom as your hand lets Yujin know its wrath. A familiar rosy hue appears onto that porcelain skin of hers as a needy moan is a response from your proactive actions.

“That’s what I want to hear, Yujin—your beautiful moans… Fuck, it’s music to my ears—hah.”

Another spank almost brings her to her knees. You can tell that she’s already loving it considering how her pussy’s already dripping wet and the quivering of her thighs in every spank you do says a lot. Her breaths are ragged and tremble as every strike of your palm invigorates the pleasure she's feeling and she's loving it. You didn't stop until that tickle in your head said “It's probably a minute now…” and it just ended the beginning of a spectacular show.

“Not a single word will come out of your mouth except your beautiful moans, alright?”

It’s obligatory to say that, knowing that in any second now, the disobedience of this girl may actually prevail, and an eager response of punishment will await her if she does misbehave.

“But daddy, at least—”

Another smack onto her pillowy buttcheeks earns the finest moans escaping her mouth. You’re near on the brink of distraught from multiple acts of misconduct by hers and you’re absolutely not having it. She knows it and you taught yourself that she’s just unlocking the absolute dominative trait you have and you’re going to give into it until…

“Trying to behave like this for what, Yujin?” Another smack and an audible whimper is her response. “For more punishment?” Another harsh spank and this time, her earlier smooth, milky skin is now printed with your handprints red (redder than a tomato). She can’t help but utter a moan that’s music in your ears—

“Don’t worry, Yujin. I’ll use you like no one can.”

And that’s the thought of the devil, the carnal desires within you being unleashed—its full potential. You can’t wait anymore and neither does she and you wanted to do the most lustful profanities imaginable and you’re absolutely going to give in—

And there lies the collapse of the wall of temptation: you can only grunt and wince in pain as you engulf your member into her. It’s a whole, different story when it comes to the tightness of her walls—it’s too tight and way too pleasurable, as expected. Even the subtle oscillation of your hips earns the guttural grunts and lewdest moans escaping your very lips.

Rearrange my insides please, daddy—probably the main thought you’re thinking that has been clouding Yujin’s head since the minute you filled her slutty cunt up. It feels like a linked connection between both parties, sharing and speculating such thoughts that have been lingering on one’s mind and that’s no other than the thought of sex itself. 

You’re surprised as she acts like the total opposite of her earlier bratty behavior but nonetheless, she cavorted with her primal desires with you. You could tell the delight on her countenance even though you can't really get a sight on it—it's not like she's hiding it inside as the rivulet of her nectar slowly flows within the ring of your cock.

“God, what a good girl you are, Yujin—look at you, a whimpering mess because of my cock. You're such a pathetic little slut that gives in whenever there's someone—fucking—willing—to—fuck—dominate her!”

And it also turns her on—degrading someone, oh, such a classic one. Regardless of it, you may speak the truth considering how her heavenly moans and silent whimpers denote her as such a slut but it isn't like that, really. In a wider perspective, you made her like this and it's not even the climax of the show you're putting in her. 

No other thought can avert your focus on solely fucking her mercilessly—not even the thought of someone eavesdropping and catching you can faze you to be hesitant and someone really did catch you, it won't end in a good note: Yujin will be besmirched and ashamed and so are you. 

The pace you're exerting is wild and you know she loves it. You keep hearing her moans blessing your ears and it never fails to fuel your hips in full-throttle, hammering her hole like you have something to prove. Grabbing her hips for a greater leverage onto pistoning her very cunt, you let out the most vigorous thrusts possible as you didn't care if the desk will give up due to your actions because you need to prove her something. A broken cry can be heard, a silent shout of her inner self because of pleasure, breaking her slowly and slowly and this is only just the beginning.

This almost feels like a fever dream, like a déjà vu right from the start of just your mushroom tip being hugged with her walls, then slowly, the inchmeal of your length as time tells writes the books of the better profanities—

It's just a repetitive process of actions of a mind-boggling intercourse as every leverage and positions from the both of you are evident as it acts as a retaliation from pleasure and that what makes this session such an unique act of sin.

You weren't far off on your own climax and you can feel it rushing down your veins, invigorating the libido inside you on more than a hundred-percent. On the way her pussy grips around your rod like there's no tomorrow and the pulsation of it tells you that she isn't far from her own high either. Wanting to make her cum with you, you took the initiative by informing her and of course, adding up the harshness and the pace of your already-ruthless actions inside her tight, velvety cunt.

“I'm near—so fucking close, Yujin. Are y-you gonna cum too?”

She's silent yet loud with her lustful moans. Her mind is probably so clouded with pleasure that she can't think straight or formulate such a single, coherent sentence.

“Use your fucking mouth, Yujin—answer me!”

You need to spank her in order to get that desired answer escaping from her beautiful lips and it won't be very long—

“Y-yes, daddy—I'm super close! I'm—go-nna cum all—ahh—fuck—your c-cock—ahh!”

With the green light, you won't let yourself be stopped as you let it all out and everything went euphoric: your whole length buried into her cunt, filling her up to the hilt and as the cherry on top, your semen painting every inch of her velvety walls white. It’s historic and monumental that everything happened all in just minutes, let alone cumming inside to one of the popular girls in the university—Choi Yujin, you’re a fucking goddess, an insatiable one, you say to yourself. The ecstasy didn’t last very long but enough to cloud your mind—twenty seconds of an orgasmic rhapsody is probably enough to determine the highest of highs yet you’re still not done because you deemed yourself to ruin her, totally.

You’re only getting started and she knows it all too well…

“Stand up, Yujin. Help yourself and go beside that wall.” Your tone is commanding and enough to send a chill down her spine. She struggles a little due to the exertive force your hips maintained for over five minutes earlier. She doesn’t need help because after all, she’s just a toy to be used—your cocksleeve that’s just a reminder of pleasure (she didn’t want any help either).

Instantly, you pin her, earning a small thud on her as you place your arms around her thighs and then catching her off-guard by your sudden lift on her small, slender figure. She is light and it’s not even close to discomfort on carrying her with her back rested against the wall. 

“Oh—daddy! Getting t-too rough, are we?”

“Shut up, Yujin—” You brush your tip against the waiting, dripping slick of her pussy as you can see small samples of your seed leaking out of her heat, and onto the swollen slit of your cockhead. “—I just wanna hear your moans, okay?”

She nods and eagerly moans (almost screams) as you plunge your whole length into her again. The visceral and almost ear-deafening moan of hers just fuels you to draw another onslaught of thrusts into her already-filled cunt and her lewd and ahegao countenance just puts gasoline on the fire of lust and it just arouses you so much. You didn’t bother to start slow as you hammer her hole like there’s no tomorrow, the sweat of her midriff and to her face that adds up the mess you’ve made earlier is the cherry on top. Still ensuing a relentless pace, you commanded her to unbutton her top and eagerly, she does it with her left hand slowly as the other holds your muscular arms for leverage as she struggles because of her body being ragdolled like never before.

Now with more of her exposed skin on your sight (with the long nectktie still on your way), you quickly latch your lips onto her neck and collarbones, suckling onto the soft, porcelain skin and almost leaving a mark. Even with your animalistic urges taking over, there’s still heart in you and you chose not to mark her but rather, just leave a small reddish hue due to the harsh lipwork you’ve done. 

“God, you taste so good—you feel s-so fucking good—aren’t you just the perfect sex toy, Yujin?”

Still with a relentless pursuit on her hole, you make her unable to respond too by latching your lips onto hers, tasting the sweet, sugary flavor of her lips as she eagerly reciprocated alongside her angelic moans. Enough of the another lustful act, you quickly smack her backside with you palm (thank god you’re strong that you’re still able to carryfuck her after that) and wanted an answer—

“Right, Yujin?”

She nodded and screamed a loud “Yes, d-daddy!” as every thrust you do makes her unable to be understood and even to formulate such articulate sentences. With on how much you’re giving everything to her, the stream of her juices leaking around your shaft and dripping down to your balls is inevitable and it prints a smile on your face as you know that she’s more than loving this—you swear to god she won’t forget this until her last breath; this steamy session also going to cloud her mind for a week like what you did with Yunjin.

Ignoring the sensitivity and the painfully tight clenches of her velvety walls, you continue what you’re best at as Yujin announces her near orgasmic eruption around your length as you glared onto her, the two of you making a straight eye contact at long last as the last time you did that with her was before this merciless fucking you’ve done on her hole—

“Don’t you fucking dare cum yet, Yujin!”

“B-but, I c-can’t hold it i-in, daddy—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, you cockhungry slut! I’ll tell you when you’re—fuck—going t-to fucking cum!”

It’s obvious that she’s near, and so are you. You wanted her to reach your high with her—making a puddle of mess down the classroom and you swear to god, the janitor won’t be a big fan to clean this up—and you’re definitely a mere seconds away to the promised land—

Another thrust, another scream, another moan reverberates all over the classroom—

“Inside please, daddy.”

And you erupt, and so did she.

Releasing every single drop inside her tight walls is peak ecstasy, let alone seeing her beautiful façade become a ruined mess and of course, her pussy, mixed in a concoction of indistinguishable liquids. You let out everything including the moans you’ve been holding in since from the start—you absolutely gave in and unshackled everything, causing for another euphoric high. You buried yourself up to the hilt while she cries in delight and overstimulation, her pussy creaming all over your raging, twitching length is the cherry on top. After of almost half a minute of a hot orgasm, you slowly pull out of her and sat down, fully exasperated and drained while Yujin did the same, leaning down the wall as she slowly sits down, her legs weak and wobbly and you're the one to blame here.

“That was—”

“Good. Yeah, Yujin, you took me so w-well, too…” A small compliment made her blush as she slightly smiled, her mind still clouded with lust but mostly, delight. 

“Y-you—hah, f-fucked me well, too… Hah, thanks for this.”

Yujin pointed to her freshly-creampied pussy, full of your semen as it leaks and she didn’t let her chances go to waste, her dainty, slender fingers drawing a small sample as she squirms is a hint of satisfaction, herself fulfilled with the taste of your semen.

“It’s very delicious, I must say that—fuck, I don’t think I can walk straight after this…”

And now she’s back to her sophisticated self—but the pool of mess between her thighs, the disheveled mess on her face and uniform contradicts the adjective—whereas she’s stern, cute and focused but there’s nothing to be near that you just gave her the time of her life.

“Need some help, Yujin—”

“I’m f-fine, thanks though. Also, give me my panties back! I can’t leave here without it on!”

As much as she’s stubborn and so are you, and it’s way worse than her. Knowing that her attempts are futile at the very end, she doesn't even bother to try and lets you keep it.

“Argh, you’re so annoying! Just keep it to yourself, you pervert!”

“Wow, like she isn’t one herself—”

“Shut up!” She lightly punched your shoulder, causing you to overreact by wincing in that so-called “pain”, earning that cute, grumpy look from Yujin.

“Well, we should clean this up…”

“Yeah, I think so…”

And that ends another dreamlike moment in your life—everything flashed and felt like a movie that you didn't want to end but it did…

—

A week has passed and yes, that moment with Yujin has been clouding your mind since day one…

“It flew like the wind—so dreamlike…” You whisper to yourself while writing something in your notebook—call it a diary, sort of. “It felt enchanting and weird, at first but… it was a different story once I’m—”

“You’re inside me, hm?”

You got slightly startled as Yujin caught you off-guard. You didn’t even know how she had time to get into your spot—your little sanctuary on the campus grounds—as you know how busy she is but you guess she’s not.

“W-what are you d-doing here, Yujin?”

“Nothing… just hanging around—you, what are you doing here?”

You hitch a breath, fidget your fingers onto the hem of your shirt and stutter until you finally come up on an answer. “I’m just chilling around here doing my own stuff.”

Yujin’s radiating smile meets you and it is contagious but your demeanor is still what it was earlier—confused, stern and uneasy. 

“Uhm, I just want to apologize, about myself a week ago… I—it, hah… It was really good but I’m sorry I lured you into my stupidity…”

Now you become fazed with her sincerity, your face changing into an expression of guilt and pity, blaming yourself to for succumbing onto your vile of need and lust yet you reassure her, telling her that it’s your fault—

“No, no, no, it’s definitely onto me…” Yujin sits down with you as she looks deep into your eyes full of sincerity, the look where it’s so endearing and alluring that you can’t help yourself to fall under her spell but you hold yourself back, getting serious and wanting to let her know your side.

“I think we both just—became so horny and yeah… Very sorry about probably hurting you—”

“No, it’s my own fault making you like this. I guess I was just full of anger and lust that day that everything felt eerie… So, I’m sorry…”

Within the duration of the conversation, you kept your eyes off of her attention but with a deft move, she placed her finger onto your chin, making you face her and avert your attention towards her only. Suddenly, an unanticipated move was made proactively by her and all you can feel is the lusciousness and the softness of her lips: she’s kissing you. It didn’t last very long and you’re not asking for more and any, yet you’re just grateful nonetheless. You’re also frozen because of her sudden affection and it took you almost four seconds to react as her eyes anticipated something.

“I guess that’s enough for an apology?”

You blush, cheeks rosy pink and ears redder than a tomato as she softly chuckled, finding it adorable rather than shameful.

“You d-don’t need t-to do that, Yujin…”

“But I did…” Yujin proposes her hand to you, and you instantly knew she wanted you to shake her hand but she utters a breath, wanting to say something. “Friends?”

You complete the handshake and then smile at her gleefully, accepting her proposal as she smiles back too, feeling the genuine feeling of bliss.

“I’ve always wanted to have male one…”

“Well, welcome, I guess.”

Another light punch to your chest due to your teasing as the day still ensues as normal. Everything feels like it’s straight up on a goddamn plot of a movie but you’re not complaining. You’re still in a state of doubt as you’re not sure why Yujin wanted to be suddenly friends with you but I guess she just wanted another. The president becomes friends with the class trampoline—that’s fuckign ironic, isn’t it.

“Well, wanna see you at my place tonight. Gotta get to know you more and probably help me with this assignment, too…”

Well, it can end in a lot of ways as you could imagine this ending all on a good note. You’re not the man to turn that down as you’re just completely falling into the pit of her charms and you’re absolutely into this.

Well, you don’t see why not—maybe just don’t let Yunjin know you’re sneaky plan—

[yandereunsolved]

✧ ☾ Yandere Ghirahim ☾ ✧

"Oh, look at my small, dear sky child just waking up from their fitful slumber."

"What the—mhm... hmm... hmpf...!"

"You must be so confused. I understand entirely. I am the Demon Lord who presides over this land you look down upon, this world you call the surface. You may call me Ghirahim, or Lord Ghirahim. In truth, I very much prefer to be indulged with any sweet pet name you choose for me. But I'm not fussy."

"Wha— hmm... mhm... hmpf... mhm... mhpf... hmph!!!"

"Hush now, while I recall the story of how our destiny's were intertwined by the red string of fate. Long ago, my master spoke of you. He told me that you would be my only weakness. He shared your visage with me in a vision of the future. He promised you to me. That news just filled my heart with rainbows!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Help someone, anyone! Mhm... hmpf... hmm... mhmpf...!"

"My love, as arousing as your screams of desperation may be, I have to tell you that no one is saving you. You belong to me now, my sweet summer skychild. As long as you behave, you shall be treated with the finest jewels and linens, and please help me in service to my master Demise. However, if you go against my master's wishes with our eternal union, I will have to punish you most deliciously."

[ozzgin]

Today, something wild and unexpected unfolded, and I can't help but share it! Growing up, I have been inundated with words that cut deep: "You look unpleasant to be around." "You seem super scary; if I didn’t know you from school, I would never approach you." “You have a lovely personality, but when you walk by, you look like you’re ready to attack—could you smile?” It’s as if the world has constantly painted me with the brush of an intimidating image, completely at odds with who I truly am.

I recognize that my appearance might give off a certain vibe, yet it baffles me! When I see someone who might seem unapproachable, I often think it’s simply a choice of aesthetic—like goths, rockers, or punks who wear their fierceness proudly. But me? I’m just a girl in the simplest of outfits: a plain T-shirt and jeans. I don't believe I have a frightening visage; in fact, I perceive my face as quite pleasant. Yet, I’ve been labeled with the dreaded "resting bitch face." This misunderstanding makes forging friendships a steep uphill battle.

So here I was, just trying to navigate the mundane task of grocery shopping, but fate had other plans. For nearly an hour, I felt the unsettling presence of some random guy following me, and it was so perplexing! I sensed that he was going to linger since, honestly, I take my sweet time shopping.

As time dragged on, a thought crossed my mind—maybe he just has a preference for big girls, considering their rarity in my small town. But every time I mustered the courage to approach him, he would abruptly retreat. Frustration bubbled inside me until I exploded, shouting at the top of my lungs, “Are you a chubby chaser, bitch boy?” My words echoed through the aisles, drawing the startled gazes of everyone at the checkouts.

To my astonishment, he bolted from the store like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe that moment encapsulates why my circle remains so small—why relationships seem just out of reach. I just wanted to share this wild experience from my day with you, Ozz!

Hah, I have a feeling we would’ve gotten along really well in real life!

In my second year of high school, I ended up sitting next to a transfer student out of sheer coincidence. She was a bigger girl, knew how to box, smoked like a chimney and had a terrible temper; most of my classmates were afraid to approach her. I was the shy, studious class president.

One day - she later told me the silence had become unbearably awkward - she asked me if I liked Naruto. That was it. From that moment we’ve been best friends. Went on multiple trips together, hung out every weekend, moved in together for the first year of college. We went our separate ways since, but every time we meet it’s like we just left off the day before.

I'm sure one day that special someone (whether romantic or platonic) will just show up out of nowhere, under the most ridiculous, coincidental circumstances. Think of yourself as a mysterious, difficult to unlock game character. Is it because you're unpleasant? Nah, it just means that only the special few can achieve that kind of prize. 😎

[universestreasures]

Mokuba Kaiba (Teenage / Young Adult)

Going into his teenage years and after a huge growth spurt (he is now 5'6 as opposed to him being 4'7), Mokuba decides to fully change up his style other than just a hair cut and wearing a suit at work. With the help of his fashion bestie Suzuha Amanosuzu, he is now embodying the look of a true gamer, the aspect of himself he hones following the events of DSOD / the end of the original anime's storyline. Not only does it feature his signature picture locket, he is also now sporting a purple shoulder cape, blue vest with a golden KC for a button, golden KC earings and light purple eyeshadow, a black and white collared shirt, black gloves, white and black sneakers, and a white belt with a hanging Level 5 capsule.

Art By: My Wonderful Boyfriend @throneofein <3

Coloring / Character Design By: Me.

Note: Please do not reblog or repost this art, or use this design! This design was made by me for my Mokuba specifically for my own use, and this art was posted with permission by the original artist!

[tom-hossain-minis]

Holy shit politics tumblr what the fuck. Are there no communists on this site? Or people with memory greater than that of dory from finding nemo ? Does nobody recall every promise Biden not only broke but actively did the opposite of what he said he was gonna do? And I also have to ask, and I’m sorry to do so, but I think it’s important, are you all white? Cause I seen yall saying “your pic friends will suffer” and the way it’s phrased makes me think perhaps yall are not yourselves poc, for the most part. Furthermore, all *my* poc friends are well fucking aware that Joe “I’m against desegregation” Biden is a fucking racist POS, as is his entire administration. Let’s not even get into increased climate destruction, his support for trans people being barred from sports, his general apathy towards lgbt people, his really fucking vile southern border behaviour and policy, his explicit fucking islamaphobia, anti black racism, and anti-Asian racism, his supreme belief in police barbarism, his total economic shitshow these last four years, and finally, something I suspect non Americans literally are unable to fathom, his vitriolic hatred of the rest of the world, and the danger he poses to humanity’s continued survival as a result. It’s true, your political system sucks fucking balls, I pity you for having only one party and not being able to remove your head of state, but don’t you dare tell me that you think Joe Biden is a “good president in most regards except Palestine”. And guess what, “trump is worse” is something I wholeheartedly agree with. But for some reason you Americans have no concept of “saying no”. You don’t have a permanent minimum standard. I can’t understand it, is there some weird part of American culture that says you can’t have a sense of personal dignity, or, dare I say it, a spine? It’s inconciliables to me that every person in the most well off, powerful, heavily defended nation on earth would not only allow themselves to be, in the most shakespearien sense, raped by their political system every four years, but that *some* would revel in it. I genuinely mean it when I say I cannot understand this behaviour. Aren’t you outraged at this treatment? Where is your fury against such degradation? Wouldn’t you fight and work and claw at everything against you until your bones were raw and white and broken rather than settle for this most violating and humiliating of lifestyles, in the hope of something better? Don’t get me wrong, I come from the cesspool that is Britain, and that’s its own thing, but I know why and how the British spirit was so thoroughly crushed so I know why people have given up there, and even then, we not only still have some resemblance of fight, but also a system that at least in theory can allow for some better representation than the American one. Britain has a proud history of rioting when things get too bad, we stole the idea from the French, just like everything in our history and culture, but America never seemed to have the same; is it just too vast a country? I just, really need someone to explain it. When and how were the American people politically lobotomised? And I’m sorry if this is rude or confusing but I really am at a loss. As a scientist I really am dedicated to and obsessed with making the world a better place for everyone, but America, the biggest problem by a landslide so massive it could be its own planet, completely and totally baffles me.

Tl;dr: fuck Joe Biden, I have a sneaking suspicion tumblr is mostly racist white people, America’s very existence can drive a man insane like the visage of Cthulhu

[frstwomn]

president tamsin amelia johnson // edits

[xoxo-seline-solier]

How it all begins,

My mother enfolds me with care, her chest aglow,

Hopeful eyes scanning my innocent face,

Promising to break the cycle of maternal strife.

But the cycle proves stronger than her kiss,

And that infant matures to resent

Her emotionally detached workaholic mother.

The matriarch whose professional duties superseded

Her daughter's choral performances,

Vacating chairs where a familial visage should preside.

"We work all night for you, to see you educated,"

The mother scolds, her broken English a constant reminder

Of every sacrifice made for her children’s welfare.

Relocating to a foreign land for better prospects,

Only to confront xenophobia and disapproving gazes

From elderly white individuals who regard her scarf and dialect

As terrorist markers, branding her as an undocumented alien.

Yet to her, the headscarf symbolizes a peaceful faith,

While her mother tongue tethers her to confidants who relate.

The Americanized daughter strides beside her,

Oblivious to the sacrifices made for her aspirations.

How it all begins,

With a vow to cease the vicious cycle,

But sometimes, even the mightiest of mothers,

Cannot bear the burden of the world.

- seline solier

[zeciex]

The Vow of Blood - 85

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 85: The Red Dress

AO3 - Masterlist

In the grandeur of the throne room, wine poured freely and indulgently. 

Aemond presided over the festivities from the high table, his steely gaze watching the commotion with cold indifference. Tables had been meticulously arranged between the towering columns, each laden with a sumptuous array of dishes. The offerings included succulent dire boar, whole roasted pigs, tender oxen, and an array of birds, each accompanied with its own sauce. Alongside these meats were platters of steamed and roasted vegetables, and a rich selection of fruits, nuts, and berries. The heavy scent of the meat permeated the air, rich and overpowering, almost overwhelming the senses. The kitchens would have toiled ceaselessly, preparing the banquet, and it seemed Aegon had spared no expense.  

Perched prominently on the dias before the throne, the King’s table was a spectacle of lavishness, set apart in both stature and decoration. From his elevated position, Aemond observed the revelry below with a detached air. His brother had already abandoned the formality of their royal seating, mingling among friends with a wine goblet casually in hand, his laughter echoing through the hall. 

Aemond, however, remained seated, solitary at the expansive table. He gazed out over the dancers and the diners with an expression of utter disinterest. While the ostensible purpose of the feast might have been to honor him, Aemond was all too aware of his brother’s motives–it was an excuse cloaked in celebration, a veneer of honor that  thinly masked an indulgence in excess. The joy and revelry that animated the faces of the other guests seemed to him a stark contrast to the cool, calculated thoughts that swirled silently in his own mind. 

Turning his attention from the boisterous crowd, Aemond’s gaze climbed the imposing columns where the stern faces of past kings seemed to pass judgment on the festivities below. His eye settled on the visage of Aenys Targaryen, the eldest son of Aegon the conqueror and his successor. Aenys I had been a king as fragile in rule as he was in constitution, his reign notably brief and tumultuous. 

From the contemplative face of Aenys, Aemond’s gaze drifted to his half-brother, Maegor, whose countenance were rendered enigmatic, almost condemning, as they were deliberately shrouded by a sculpted hood. Maegor had seized the throne through sheer force, his ascent marked by the brutal elimination of his nephews, Aegon and Viserys, in an act of kinslaying. 

History had condemned the former king for his merciless brutality, naming him Maegor the Cruel. Even the significant achievements of his reign, such as quelling the uprising of the Faith Militant, were overshadowed by the dark stains of the blood he had shed.

They say that in the act of killing his nephews, he had cursed himself in the eyes of the gods and man. And so, he had met his end by the very thing he had spilled so much blood to secure–found lifeless and impaled on the swords that protruded ominously from the ground around the Iron Throne. 

Aemond’s gaze drifted from the obscured visage of Maegor the Cruel, feeling the weight of judgment searing against his skin. It emanated not only from the stern, silent kings immortalized in the stone who stood sentinel over the throne room but also from the living occupants within its walls. Though none openly condemned him, Aemond sensed their censure all the same. He was marked as the Kinslayer. Beneath their superficial smiles and trivial conversations, he detected the revulsion they harbored for him. The dual judgment–from both the dead and the living–cast a chilling pall over his presence among the revelers. 

He had always yearned to be admired–to be respected and revered. He had wanted to carve out a place for himself in the annals of history, to be remembered. He wanted to command the same respect and power as his uncle, Daemon, had before him, to be esteemed with the same reverence as the Rogue Prince. 

He had wanted to be something more. 

Yet, despite all his desires and efforts, all he would ever be now was Aemond the Kinslayer. In the eyes of the realm, and in the judgment of history itself, he would be cursed–as all kinslayers are–doomed to be remembered not for any good he might achieve, but solely for the blood on his hands. He came to the realization: he would never be respected through admiration or love, but perhaps he could command respect through fear. If the world was determined to call him a kinslayer, then perhaps he should fully embrace the monstrousness they expected of him. This dark acceptance crept into his thoughts. He would earn their fear. 

As the dancers wove their patterns across the dance floor, moving rhythmically to the jubilant music that filled the hall, a sense of dread crept up Aemond’s spine as something caught his attention, standing still amidst the revelry. For a fleeting instance, Lucerys stood there, his skin deadly pale and marred with chunks of flesh missing. He appeared sodden, as if pulled from the depths of a dark, watery grave, and then, as the dancers closed ranks, his apparition dissolved just as swiftly as it had appeared. 

With a clench of his jaw, Aemond averted his eye, his gaze falling to his own hand as it tapped an uneven, restless rhythm on the polished surface of the table. Each tap was drowned out in the clamor of the feast, his fingers marked by scrapes and cuts. His gaze lifted once more as he noticed his brother approaching, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the table ceasing for a moment, as Aegon climbed the steps to the dias. 

“Must you always wear such a gloomy expression,” Aegon chided, stopping on the opposite side of the table. His voice carried a mischievous lilt–bordering on mocking, as it always did. “You look as though someone has died–,” he said, reaching for the flagon of wine, pausing for a moment, and then added with a half-hearted shrug, “Well, I suppose someone has–but someone we actually cared about, that is.” 

The jest, light as it might have been intended, hung briefly in the air, prickling against Aemond’s patience. It was not mocking, but it was close to it. His expression darkened as Aegon carelessly filled his cup with wine, nearly spilling it in his overzealous pour before setting the flagon back on the table with a clunk. He chose to remain silent, his glower deepening as he observed his brother. 

Aegon, willfully ignoring the tension, casually lifted the goblet to his lips, taking a deliberate sip. He paused, wetting his lips as if to prepare for further conversation, though the hall was rife with servers and wine at every turn–clearly, his approach to the king’s table was not for lack of refreshments but rather to needle Aemond. 

“This entire spectacle is in your honor, brother,” Aegon proclaimed with a sweep of his hand, indicating the lavish spread and raucous festivity surrounding them, His smile was amused and slightly inebriated. “You might at least pretend to enjoy the effort I’ve put into this.”

Aemond responded with a cool detachment that barely masked his irritation. “I believe it was the Hand who made the arrangements for this.”

While Aegon might have commanded the feast into being and outlined his desires to his Hand, he certainly hadn’t been the one to arrange the details. If it had been left to Aegon’s own devices, Aemond mused, they would likely have found themselves dining in Flea Bottom at some brothel rather than the grandeur of the throne room. 

“On my orders–that is what the hand is for, isn’t it? What the King dreams, the Hand builds,” Aegon retorted dismissively, with a nonchalant wave of his hand as if to brush aside Aemond’s point. “At least enjoy the fruits of the Hand’s labor; this celebration is in your honor, after all. It is you we’re celebrating.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Aemond declared flatly, his voice devoid of emotion and betraying little sign of any true pleasure. 

Aegon’s eyebrow arched, his expression dripping with skepticism. “Then perhaps try showing it. We’re celebrating your victory!”

Aemond only glowered in response.

“Don’t tell me you regret killing the little bastard–”

“I don’t regret it,” Aemond interjected sharply, his voice steady and dripping with disdain. He fixed his brother with a cold, unwavering gaze. “The bastard got what he deserved. I fed him to my dragon, and I will feed the rest of them to Vhagar as well–she’s developed quite a taste for bastards now.”

Aegon’s response was a wide grin, a chuckle escaping him as he glanced around at the assembled nobility. It seemed many had overheard Aemond’s dark declaration. Good, he thought, they crave my cruelty, and they shall have it. He felt no remorse for the killing of Lucerys, nor would he ever concede that it had been anything but deliberate. He had killed him, and they condemned him for it. So be it; what was a little more damnation?

“Then what’s with the sour mood?” Aegon teased, leaning in slightly, his voice lowering as though to probe a more personal sore. “Is it your lovely little betrothed that grieves you?”

Aemond’s gaze narrowed sharply at his brother, his hand resting on the table curling into a fist. Blunt nails scraped over the polished wood, drawing inward until they dug into the flesh of his palm. He felt the ache of healing wounds pulling tight across the skin, felt the ghost of a sting. 

“Oh, it is,” Aegon cooed, his voice laced with a jeering edge as he observed Aemond’s clenched fist. “Seems you’re a bit… on edge, brother? I’d wager your impending nuptials will prove rather frosty. I’m genuinely surprised she hasn’t taken your head for killing her brother–such devotion, she must truly love you.”

Aemond tore his gaze away, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he struggled to maintain his composure. He swallowed hard, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatened to shatter the stoic, steely facade he had so meticulously constructed. Yet, despite his efforts, the insinuations felt like a dagger twisting in his gut, each word a cruel reminder of the tangled web of his actions and their consequences. 

Aegon, unfazed by Aemond’s clear attempt to end the conversation, leaned forward on the table with a crude smirk on his lips. “Once the festivities grow stale, we should head to the Street of Silk. Let’s truly celebrate your victory–with wine and women! Perhaps we’ll even find a girl who bears a striking resemblance to your soon-to-be wife, though decidedly more eager. We might even find one that is a bastard if that’s your preference–”

The cutlery rattled noisily on the table as Aemond slammed his fist down onto the polished wood, standing abruptly from his seat, the feet of the chair scraping noisily over the dias. A crack had appeared in his carefully maintained facade; he could feel it, a crack through which his anger seeped. It surged within him, a hot, seething burn in his chest, and at his fingertips. He wanted to reach across the table and throttle his brother right there. The restraint he usually exhibited was thinning, strained by the provocation of his brother and aided by the constant tension hidden just beneath the surface.  

Aegon merely leaned back, blinking slowly at his brother, the trace of an amused smirk still playing on his lips. Before Aemond could retort, the sudden announcement of a new arrival pierced the sounds of the revelry, halting the music and drawing all attention to the doors of the throne room. 

“Princess Daenera Velaryon of House Velaryon.”

A profound silence quickly blanketed the room, almost tangible in its intensity as the festive noises abruptly ceased. The quiet seemed to echo throughout the grand hall, marking the significance of her entry. 

As Daenera entered, the searing anger within Aemond extinguished, like flames doused by a downpour. The heat that had just moments ago licked at his chest and fingertips was replaced by a cold, heart-rending sensation. It was as if her mere presence shifted the air around him, replacing fury with a piercing chill. 

There she stood at the threshold of the throne room, her appearance striking even amidst the grandeur.

The gown she wore was a deep, unforgiving red–as though a bleeding wound set against her pale skin. She paused momentarily at the entrance, allowing the assembled crowd to take in her appearance. Then, gracefully lifting her skirts just slightly, she began her descent down the steps to the floor of the throne room.

The crowd instinctively parted for her, much like flesh yields to the keen edge of a blade. They moved aside, not merely in deference but as if in fear that even the slightest brush against her might stain them with her blood red grief. 

With each step she took towards the king’s table, Aemond felt his heart wrench painfully at the sight of her. Daenera carried herself with the poised grace of a drawn blade, her elegance belying the steel hidden beneath the porcelain mask she wore–a cold, measured expression painting her soft features. Yet, despite her composure, he could discern the signs of her suffering–the haunted look in her eyes, the shadows that hollowed her cheeks, and her lips, frayed and painted a vivid red to match her gown, spoke of silent torment rather than concealment. 

As she drew nearer, the intricate details of her dress became more apparent. Adorning the bodice was a metallic golden dragon, masterfully crafted from beaten gold to resemble the creature’s scales, hammered in such a way that it seemed to move with the play of light. The dragon’s head rested on her lower abdomen, with wings that extended upwards to her shoulders, giving the impression of watching the beast from above. The fabric of the gown was rich and heavy, cascading around her and flowing to the floor like a waterfall. Her sleeves, long and sweeping, brushed the ground with her movements, and the deep neckline revealed the delicate pallor of her bosom and the gentle curve of her collarbone. Around her neck was a small ribbon, adorned with rubies shaped like droplets–pouring forth as though her throat had been cut. 

There existed a savage kind of beauty in the collective yearning to witness her sorrow laid bare–the sorrow she wore like an open wound. The crowd seemed to feed off her desolation, as if her grief were a spectacle to be devoured, a feast for their insatiable appetite. The cruelty in their hunger was almost poetic, a macabre dance between the observed and the observers, that left both of them with little semblance of humanity left in them. 

While many among them harbored a measure of pity for her, the court thrived on the spectacle of seeing someone else fall.

But she did not fall, and she did not cower beneath their gazes, instead she held them–held them until it hurt. 

Her presence cast a pall over the festivities, as if she were a mirror reflecting the darker undertones of the celebration. Many around her shifted uneasily, their discomfort evident as they met her gaze—like errant children suddenly aware they were to be held accountable for their misdeeds.

Aemond, perhaps, felt the weight of her silent accusation more acutely than anyone else.

His fingers prickled with an overwhelming urge to shield her from the prying eyes of the crowd–to cover and protect her from their relentless scrutiny. Yet, he remained motionless, acutely aware that she would never allow such protection–not from him. After all, she had chosen to be there–to make a spectacle of herself. 

He swallowed hard, his clenched fists easing as his fingers lightly brushed the surface of the table, seeking a momentary anchor in the solid wood. His gaze remained fixed on her with searing intensity, yearning for her to meet his eye, yet dreading the accusation he might find in her stare. She had come to haunt him, her dress a vivid reminder of the blood he had shed when he had killed her brother–the same blood she now wore as fabric, wearing his crimson guilt as a reminder and as a rebellion on the nobles' complicity. 

Aemond saw it for what it was; a careful presentation. There was a certain fragility to her–the visible scrapes and cuts on her hands spoke of her grief and turmoil, echoing the sorrow that had once reverberated through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, and the hollow absence of her screams that seemed to linger thereafter. 

She dressed her wounds in finery–but there was still a wound, and it was still bleeding. 

Her attire was an ostentatious display, masterfully crafted and worn beautifully–pity me, it seemed to whisper. Look at me and see what has been wrought upon me, see how they deny me my grief. Pity me, for I am a sister bereft of a brother. Pity me, for I am a broken bird trapped within a cage. Yet, beneath the facade, a warning lingered–still, I possess claws. 

Aegon moved along the edge of the table to position himself in front of his seat. As she approached, he towered over her from his position on the dias.

The tension in the air thickened as Aemond watched her approach the dias where Aegon stood, his body tensing instinctively. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, all eyes riveted on her–they had all heard her screams, were aware of the havoc she had wreaked upon her room, and knew of how she had collapsed before the hearth, remaining there for days. Aemond had caught the whispers snaking through the halls of the Red Keep, heard the rumors that she had lost her sanity, that she had been confined for fear of what harm she might do to herself or others. It was said she had been sedated with milk-of-the-poppy, confined to her bed, and he had felt each rumor pierce him like needles under the skin, each one embedding itself a little deeper. 

But Aemond knew the deeper truth–that she was not mad or weak, but vengeful, and she now stood before them as a ghost come to haunt him.

Daenera’s piercing blue eyes met Aegon’s, holding his gaze with an intensity that belied her calm demeanor. Her gaze remained fixed on his brother as she stood defiantly, refusing to bow. Her spine was straight, her head held high in spite. With a clear and controlled voice that carried across the silence of the room, she spoke, “Forgive me, Your Grace, for my late arrival and for not offering the courtesy of a bow. As you may be aware, I have been well for the last few days and I was aware that a celebration was being held in honor of your brother’s accomplishments. I fear that should I bow, I might find myself unable to rise again.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted sharply from Daenera to Aegon. He noted the slight curl at the corner’s of Aegon’s mouth, which twisted into a petty and mocking smirk that suggested he might deny her the leniency she sought and instead force her to bow–and to publicly submit to his will. 

“Of course,” Aegon responded smoothly, his voice laced with feigned warmth. “We’ve all been privy to your… resilience in the face of your brother’s fate.” His smile then broadened, a glint of cruelty flickering in his eyes. “It is indeed a pleasant surprise that you’ve decided to join our celebration of your betrothed’s victory in battle.”

Daenera’s demeanor was disquieting, her expression meticulously composed, betraying no emotion, yet Aemond could see the intense hatred smoldering in her eyes–burning like a cold flame. 

“What a fine dress for a celebration,” Aegon commented, his voice carrying across the room, loud and taunting. He grinned widely, seeming to cast his gaze out over the crowd. 

Aemond’s fist clenched tighter, the skin stretched and tender from healing beginning to strain under the pressure. His heart pounded with apprehension as she watched a flicker of icy fire pass through Daenera’s eyes. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Daenera replied, eyes burning. “I would have chosen a more suitable dress for mourning my brother, but, unfortunately, all my black dresses have been removed and I am not afforded such courtesy.” 

Her voice, though light, carried a sad, fragile quality that resonated throughout the room–and it became clearer, then, why she had chosen that dress, and what she meant by it. 

Aegon paused, letting the silence swell before he added his voice to it. “And yet you stand among us,” he began, descending a step on the dais, still towering over her. His voice grew louder as he surveyed the crowd, saying, “It is indeed curious, how one so stricken with grief finds the strength to join us, dressed so… strikingly.” 

The insinuation lingered in the air, a silent accusation that cast a shadow of doubt over her mourning. Daenera held her head high, her spine straight as a sword as she bore the scrutiny of court, and yet, Aemond could see the way Aegon’s words crept under her skin, the way she drew in her breath and held it.

With a smirk twisting into a sardonic half-smile, Aegon cocked his head in a dismissive half-shrug and took another step down. “But we welcome you nonetheless to the celebration of your betrothed. He has won a great victory after all.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his muscles clenching in visible tension.

Descending the final step, Aegon deliberately invaded her personal space, leaning towards her as she stood her ground. His voice then dropped to a low murmur, a tone intended only for Daenera–and Aemond–to hear. “One might question where the line is drawn between genuine sorrow and mere preformance… After all, how could a sister who truly loved her brother attend a celebration of his demise?”

Daenera’s eyes flared with a silent intensity, and Aemond could see the fissures forming in her stoic facade as her composure began to fracture under the strain. 

“Please, princess, take a seat and enjoy the revelry,” Aegon said, his voice smooth as he offered her a crude smile. He gestured towards Aemond and the empty seat beside him. 

Aemond’s gaze lingered on Daenera as she gave Aegon a nod of acknowledgement, her head bending slightly in feigned courtesy. 

As she started to move, Aegon called out with a flourish, “Music and more wine!” 

The musicians picked up their instruments, and the lively tunes filled the air once again, drawing out the brief silence. The room buzzed with renewed energy as conversations sparked up. 

Daenera made her way around the table, the heavy fabric of her gown rustling softly against the smooth stone floor as she ascended the dias. Throughout her approach, she avoided his gaze, denying him even the briefest connection. She moved with purpose, refusing him both the beauty of her eyes and the cruelty that might lurk within them.

Aemond clenched his jaw as Daenera settled into the seat beside him, willfully ignoring his presence. He drew in a sharp, agitated breath before himself sat down, the chair scraping loudly across the wood of the dias. Even though she was positioned on his blind side, her presence was felt, pressing into the edges of his perception like a shadow just out of sight. 

The closeness of her made his skin prickle, and he found himself casting a brief glance over the crowd. It was clear they had become the focal point of whispered discussions. 

“You should not be here,” Aemond murmured under his breath, his fingers beginning to tap restlessly on the table’s surface. It would have been better if she had stayed away. This was no place for her, nor was it a celebration he wanted her to witness. 

“Where else would I be,” Daenera responded, her voice cold as ice, slicing through the clamor of the feast. Aemonf felt the sharp sting of her focus on him, like the cold bite of a blade at his neck. He turned to face her, meeting her penetrating gaze. “But by your side,” she continued, her tone laced with bitterness, “as you are celebrated and honored for murdering my brother.”

Their gazes locked in a prolonged, tense silence, underscored by the lively melody that filled the hall. Around them, dancers moved rhythmically on the smooth stone floor, their steps resonating through the air, mingled with the constant hum of chatter. Aemond was the first to look away, swallowing hard as he felt her scorn burn against his skin. 

“I don’t want you here,” Aemond managed to say, his words forced through gritted teeth as he felt a constricting pressure in his chest, as if his ribs were digging into his lungs.

“Why?” Daenera questioned, her gaze sharp even if her voice wasn’t–it was almost soft. Almost. “Is it because I remind you of what you’ve done? Or is it because you fear what I might do, now that you’re being celebrated for murdering my brother?”

Aemond maintained his composure, tightly gripping the facade he presented to the world–cold as steel and just as biting. And yet, he yearned to keep her distant from the revelry–the curious glances darting her way, waiting and wanting to see her breath, the pervasive hum of celebration, and the mingled pity, mockery, and judgment that filled the air. More than anything, he wished to spare her the cruelty of witnessing her brother’s death being celebrated like this, with wine and food, with music and dancing, with laughter and happiness. He wanted to offer her the mercy of being removed from a scene where his sins were lauded. 

And, perhaps, it was as much for himself. 

“Mayhaps it is because you’ve come to realize the horror of what you’ve done, and are not ashamed–”

“I am not ashamed,” Aemond declared, his voice strained as he forced himself to meet her gaze once again. Why should he feel shame? Lucerys had gotten what he deserved. He did not have any regret for the act itself, only for the manner in which it had unfolded–a momentary loss of control. Yet as he faced her cold, accusing stare, he felt his heart tear itself open upon her eyes. 

“You should be, Kinslayer,” Daenera said–almost a sneer, but far too soft. She averted her gaze, and he noticed the slight shimmer of unshed tears, the way she blinked rapidly and the tightness around her mouth as she fought back her emotions–her mask cracked then, if only just a little, and through that crack tears seemed to pour. 

In that moment, despite everything, Aemond felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to her, to bridge the chasm of grief and guilt that lay between them. It itched beneath his skin, and he extended his hand across the smooth surface of the table before he clenched it shut again–finding a strange sort of comfort in the way the action pulled at his healing wounds. 

“How does it feel to get everything you’ve ever desired?” Daenera’s voice cut through the air, laden with resentment. Aemond turned to face her again, encountering the icy facade of that porcelain mask–deceptively soft yet harboring a beautifully sharp cruelty, like silk veiling a blade. “To finally achieve the revenge you’ve longed for. Does it bring you satisfaction? Has it made you whole?”

Aemond attempted to ease the tension in his jaw, but the effort was fleeting; almost immediately, he found himself clenching his teeth again, feeling the sting of her words like the kiss of steel. His fingers traced the table’s surface, blunt nails scraping across the wood grain, instinctively curling towards his palm where they fretfully picked at the scabbing wounds. 

No, it had not made him whole. It hadn’t restored his eye or reversed the injury inflicted by the injustice–it had not given him back that part of his soul that was taken when the maester had pulled out the remnants of his eye. Instead, his quest for vengeance–for regaining that part of him back–had exacted a heavier toll, allowing the festering darkness to bleed further into his soul. He acknowledged, without remorse or guilt, a grim satisfaction in Lucerys’ Velaryons death–it had been just. Yet, the tainted satisfaction was marred only by the manner of its execution: he regretted not the act itself but the loss of control that had defined it. 

And he regretted the pain it brought her. 

“You have your revenge now,” Daenera stated, her voice thick with bitterness as her fingers restlessly toyed with her fork. “You’ve got your war.” Her words were laden with disgust, scorn, and vitriol, trembling slightly as she spoke them, just loud enough for him to hear. “You’ve gained the power and renown you always desired–Aemond the Kinslayer. Now everyone will know your name. They all know what you’re capable of.” Then, she turned her gaze directly back to him, her eyes piercing. “Tell me, does it live up to your expectations?”

The monstrous darkness that had festered within Aemond since the day he lost his eye–that cruel beast that lurked beneath his skin–seemed to bare its teeth. He swallowed back the venomous words that threatened to spill from his lips, tainted with bitterness. 

“Even me, another piece of your conquest,” Daenera added with a scoff, her voice wrought with pain. Disbelief and bitterness twisted her features, furrowing her brow and pulling down the corners of her mouth–as though she was exasperated with herself for ever allowing herself to love him. 

The sight of her pain drove a blade deep into his gut, twisting agonizingly.

“Power, war, renown, and now me,” she said with an empty scoff. “Your prize. Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?”

Aemond’s posture remained as rigid and unforgiving as the blade of his sword, tension coiling between his shoulder blades. His muscles tightened beneath his skin as he turned to face her further, reaching out to cup the side of her face. His touch was possessive, fingers brushing against the small curls at the edge of her hair, her skin searing against his–he committed the sensation to memory, savoring it as solace for the long and lonely nights ahead. She stiffened under his grasp, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes wide with a tumult of emotions–anger, resentment, hatred–and she leaned back slightly, though unable to escape his touch. 

A heavy silence stretched between them, laden with the weight of the response he owed her–a response that hung in the air, unspoken and resounding with a silent no.

However, Daenera seemed oblivious to the silent response conveyed by his demeanor. Her brows furrowed into a pained expression, her eyes rimmed with red and gleaming with unshed tears–tears that seemed to cling to her, always at the edge of being shed. It appeared she perceived only the answer she expected. 

Aemond’s voice, chilling and sharp, sliced through the air like a finely honed blade. Yet, underneath the surface, there was a slight tremor in his tone that betrayed how deeply she had managed to poison him. “I do not possess all that I desire…”

“Remove your hand,” Daenera demanded through clenched teeth, her voice sharp and cold. It was then that Aemond noticed she was gripping the fork tightly in her hand, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light, her knuckles white with tension. “Or my dress won’t be the only thing that is red.”

Reluctantly, Aemond withdrew his hand. The touch of her skin lingered on his palm, sparking a mix of longing and regret, urging him to pull her closer once more. Yet, he restrained himself, curling his fingers into a fist and retreating to his own space. He redirected his attention to the dancers, watching them move rhythmically across the floor, their bodies synchronizing with the lively music. His gaze then drifted to his brother, Aegon, who stood at the end of a table, a wide grin on his face as he glanced over at Aemond and then returned to his conversation, his laughter shared by the friends gathered around him. 

Agitation smoldered within Aemond’s chest, a fire kindled by tension and conflict. 

Daenera loosened her grip on the fork and picked up a cup of water instead, lifting it to her lips. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over the crowd before settling on Aegon. 

“You’ve already been branded a kinslayer,” she said, her voice steady and piercing as she met Aemond’s gaze with a challenging intensity. “Why not remove the final hindrance and claim what you truly desire?”

A humorless smile tugged at Aemond’s lips, devoid of any genuine amusement as Daenera’s words pricked at his ambition and sense of duty. His gaze lingered on his brother, who cast his arms wide as he spoke with his friends, his face split by a wide grin. It would be dishonest to claim he hadn’t entertained the thought during the darkest hours of night, when his mind wasn’t consumed by the thoughts of her. Yet, removing Aegon wouldn’t be as straightforward as merely executing him; it would brand him not only a kinslayer twice over but also a kingslayer. Moreover, Aegon wouldn’t be the only challenge he’d face. 

Despite being a thorn in his side, Aegon was still his brother. 

“There’s not just one hindrance to consider, as you well know,” Aemond responded, his voice low and measured, his fingers resuming their restless tapping on the table. 

Daenera’s reply was laced with a chilling tone, almost ringing with the iciness of her accusation, “And here I was, thinking you weren’t above the act of killing children.” 

His gaze shifted back to her, studying the unyielding coldness of her facade. He watched her for a long moment, feeling the tumultuous twist in his gut, the beast within him recoiling at her words. What she was insinuating was monstrous, even for him, and he didn’t believe for a second that she genuinely wished for him to follow through–not even she could harbor cruelty of that magnitude. She would never bring such horror upon Helaena, nor upon Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Yet, her mere suggestion frayed his restraint.

“I am not above killing bastard children,” Aemond retorted, his voice almost a sneer, heavy with disdain. 

Their gazes locked in a long, tense moment– a moment where the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken words. Resentment and bitterness crackled silently, an almost tangible force, as they stared each other down. 

Their intense exchange was interrupted as Aegon sprang onto the dias with a flourish, snagging a knife from a nearby platter. He rapped it against his wine-filled challice, the sharp clink resonating above the din, commanding the silence from the gathered nobles. With a casual flick, he tossed the knife back onto the table, his movement exaggerated and theatrical. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he stood tall before the king’s table, his presence asserting dominance over the suddenly hushed room. His voice boomed, robust and clear, filling the expansive space. “As everyone here is undoubtedly aware, tonight we’ve come together to honor my brother’s triumph in the battle above Shipbreaker Bay!”

As Aemond reasserted his impassive demeanor, the cold detachment enveloped his face like a mask, seamless and impenetrable–he wore it like a second skin, natural and familiar from years of use. And he fixed a steely gaze on his brother’s back as Aegon held the court’s attention. 

“Much has been said in these past few days,” Aegon declared, mastering a steady, authoritative tone that resonated through the now silent hall. He briefly locked eyes with Aemond, giving him a knowing look before his gaze swept across the assembly. “But allow me to tell you the truth of what happened.”

Aemond caught the suppressed grins of Aegon’s closest friends–Ser Leron Estermont, Ser Martyn Reyne alongside his sister, Lady Cira Reyne, and Ser Wyllam Lefford. They seemed to relish in the theatrics of the moment. 

Agitation stirred beneath Aemond’s skin.

“My dear half-sister dispatched one of her bastards to remind Lord Borros Baratheon of a long-forgotten oath sworn when she was our father’s only child,” Aegon narrated with a calculated pause, allowing the weight of his words to permeate the room. “She sent a bastard boy to do a man’s job. The boy must have quivered in his boots at the mere sight of my brother.”

A ripple of amusement undulated through the crowd. Aemond clenched his jaw, and although Daenera was out of his sight, her presence was palpable, as if an extension of his own being. He sensed her anger emanating like heat from a blaze, tasted the bitterness that filled her mouth, and felt the sting of impending tears in her eyes. He couldn’t see her, but he could imagine it–could feel it. 

Aegon carried on, his voice resolute, carrying a sense of triumph and smug amusement, “The boy had been sent to persuade House Baratheon to usurp my crown, yet he arrived with nothing more than empty hands and stale words. Borros Baratheon would have sent the boy back to his mother the same as he had come had my brother not intervened.”

A breath slipped from Daenera’s lips–a fragile and pained exhale that seemed to tremble in the air, seeping beneath Aemond’s skin and hollowing him out from within. The hand that had previously tapped absently and restlessly against the table now curled into a tight fist, the wound’s on his palms threatening to split apart. He endured the heavy gazes of the court, feeling it prick along his skin with the same piercing iciness as the rain that had drenched him when he had pursued Lucerys through the storm–prickling against his skin as icy needles. 

“My brother, Aemond Targaryen, generously offered to spare the bastard’s life if he would forfeit an eye in payment for his own,” Aegon declared. As he spoke, Aemond felt a surge of memories pressing against the edges of his consciousness–the sharpness of the blade slicing through muscle and bone, the warmth of the blood cascading down his face and through his fingers, the piercing sting of the needle as it stitched the wound, and the persistent ache that lingered long after. The scar throbbed and itched, reminding him acutely of the sapphire that now filled the eye socket–feeling its etches within his skull, feeling its coldness against the tissue. His heart echoed the discordant rhythm it had pounded on the night he confronted Lucerys–when the boy had mocked him with a half-hearted apology, when the chase had driven them both through the tempest. 

Aegon’s voice carried on, laden with contempt, “A fair exchange for the agony my brother endured at his hand, I would think. Yet, the coward refused to settle his debt. He fled, tail between his legs, no doubt seeking the comforting folds of his whore of a mother’s skirts!”

Laughter swelled once more, filling the room as murmurs hummed among the guests. 

“Had the bastard merely settled his debt, my brother would have let him go,” Aegon proclaimed. Aemond wasn’t entirely convinced he would have done so, but the point was moot now–it didn’t matter, all that mattered was what had happened. “Instead, Aemond was compelled to exact justice on his own terms–he pursued the bastard and his dragon through the storm…” Aegon’s eyes flicked towards them, his expression sharpening, a growing smirk marring his face. “You killed the bastard, fed him to your dragon! What did you say, brother? You fed him to your dragon and you’ll feed the rest of them to Vhagar as well now that she has gotten a taste for bastards?”

Aemond heard the slide of her movement–could almost taste the steel she clutched–and as he turned his gaze towards her, his heart shuddered at the way her eyes were aflame, burning bright and cold, filled with sorrow and rage and a familiar desire for destruction. Despite the fire in her eyes, her expression remained nearly blank, her composure a finely crafted mask–slowly starting to crack under the strain of her emotions. His eye followed her movements down to her hand, which was clenched tightly around the knife on the table, her knuckles white from the grip, the tip of the blade quivering slightly. 

He moved subtly, placing a hand over hers to still it–knowing that she wanted to plunge the half-dull blade into his brother’s neck, or even his own. Her skin was cold beneath his touch, yet it burned against his skin all the same. Daenera neither flinched away from his touch, nor did her eyes move from his brother. As Aemond’s hand slid up to gently pry the knife from her grip, the moment the weapon slipped from her fingers, her own snapped down on his. He felt the sharp sting of her nails, felt the promise of bruising, and he welcomed it. 

Yet, despite the pain intended by her touch, it brought him an unexpected solace–her marks were a testament to her presence, and he found a twisted comfort in the pain, as long as she touched him. 

Aemond kept his face impassive–the usual sharp smirk on his lips, but his eye bore into his brother’s smirking visage with a glare sharp enough to cut.

Aegon, unfazed, turned back to the crowd, his voice carrying a cruel amusement. “With each passing tide, the rumors swell that our dear half-sister has lost her senses and is searching the coast of Shipbreaker Bay for her bastard’s remains… It appears she hasn’t realized that she ought to be searching a pile of shit just beyond the city walls if she wants to bury her son… but I suppose what Vhagar didn’t consume, the sea claimed. A bastard in life, a Velaryon in death…”

Laughter swelled around them, and Daenera's grip tightened on Aemond's hand, her nails digging in with such force that he was certain they would leave crescent-shaped indentations in his skin

“It’s a pity Vaemond Velaryon isn’t here to stake his claim on Driftmark. If only he had waited another week…” Aegon jeered. He then raised his chalice high, shifting the focus of the celebration. “To my brother, for his first victory in battle!” 

Aegon’s grin widened as he turned towards Aemond, lifting his chalice in a gesture of respect and honor. “You are the true blood of the dragon!”

Aemond responded to his brother’s toast, his fingers reluctantly uncurling to grasp his own chalice, lifting it in acknowledgement. 

With a wide grin, Aegon turned back to the assembled crowd, his brother booming with fervor, “Let this first blood of war serve as a warning to all who dare oppose us!”

As the hall erupted in cheers and chalices were hoisted high, Daenera’s fingers withdrew from Aemond’s hand, leaving behind a sharp sting from the emerging bruises and the residual heat of her touch. This sensation seeped into his veins, twisting in his gut, and he quickly gulped down his wine to wash away the bitter taste clinging to his tongue. The realization of how deeply he craved her touch–whether gentle or cruel–struck him as profoundly pathetic.

The music swelled once more, weaving through the renewed buzz of conversations as the celebration continued. Aegon swiftly drained his wine and placed his chalice aside, then strode along the table to position himself before Aemond and Daenera. With a slight tilt of his head and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he addressed them. “Princess, I’m delighted you could join us for this celebration. Your presence must be a great comfort to my brother, standing by his side as we honor his achievements. And again, brother, well done.”

Aegon flashed a quick wink at Aemond, then turned and strode confidently down the dias, rejoining his circle of friends. He was greeted with cheers and raucous laughter. Meanwhile, Aemond remained where he was, enveloped in a heavy, oppressive silence that lingered between him and Daenera. 

He felt a desperate urge to speak, to say anything–to apologize for his brother’s tactless words, to atone for his own harshness, to confess his love. Yet, when he opened his mouth, the only words that emerged were, “You shouldn’t have come.”

“No it is good that I came,” Daenera responded, her voice trembling yet icily calm, “I see things clearly now.”

Aemond’s gaze fixed on Daenera. Her composure had begun to fracture, the cracks in her facade widening, yet beneath the porcelain exterior, ice seemed to gleam. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, met his with burning intensity. She was devastatingly beautiful–like summer snow. 

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping noisily across the dias. Reacting instinctively, Aemond rose swiftly to his own feet, his chair skidding back, nearly toppling in his haste. 

“Will you excuse me,” Daenera said, her voice measured and cool, “I fear I have worn myself out.”

“Let me escort you to your chambers,” Aemond offered, his voice laden with a faint hope that she would accept, granting them a moment alone, away from prying eyes–where he might be honest and soft and pathetic. 

Daenera raised her hand, halting him with a gesture. “No, this feast is in your honor; you shouldn’t leave. I have Edelin, she will escort me back.”

With that, she turned and descended from the dias, her silhouette gliding behind the columns and melting into the shadows. She traced the periphery of the throne room, where she might be left in peace, making her way discreetly towards the doors. 

Aemond stood motionless, his gaze tracking Daenera until she vanished behind a column. He searched the shadows for her, eye darting between each pillar, catching only a fleeting glimpse of her as she slipped through the doors and into the hall beyond, disappearing from view. 

Aegon approached then, breaking Aemond’s reverie by clapping a hand firmly on his shoulder. “The feast is growing tedious. Let’s take our celebration to the Street of Silk, brother.”

[queerstake]

I wrote my own email to the First Presidency, at the email nerdygaymormon provided, and I wanted to share it here:

To the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints:

Your new policies on transgender adults and children run counter to the most fundamental principles of the Gospel and of God's teachings: to love God and to love thy neighbor. Christ's teachings were given not to religious leaders but to women, to publicans, to sinners, to the poor and the needy--in sum, to the marginalized, the outcasts, the forgotten and abused. Today Christ would teach and minister to the queer, the gay, the trans, the people of color, the poor, the sex workers, the ex- and post-Mormons. When Alma and Amulek go to teach the Zoramites, the ones who are ready to receive the word of God are those who have been cast out of the synagogues, much like how you tried to bully gay members away and how you are now trying to bully trans members away.

But I promise you this: you will not bully me away. You cannot bully me away. My very existence is a beacon to my fellow trans Mormons. My visage exposes your hypocrisy and callousness to everyone with eyes to see. You cannot hide the blood on your hands for much longer; in the face of God, your earthly power will not allow you to escape the consequences of your actions. For remember what Christ said: Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

- A Transgender Mormon.

And remember: God loves the outcast.

What a beautiful and passionate letter! Thank you so, so much for sharing. <33 You're right--we uplift each other. Regardless of the institutional church, queer Mormons have a community amongst ourselves and your presence in it edifies us all. <33 Thank you again for sharing.

[prismaticpichu]

Genesis, Sephiroth, and Zack, all sitting in Lazard’s office.

~

Lazard: Alright, men, here is the deal: the President has just issued an order for me to conduct a small intelligence evaluation on the three of you. I will be asking you all one question; each of your respective responses will dictate your score.

Genesis’s eyes seem to glitter.

Genesis: Oh, so you’re saying whoever scores the highest is the smartest of us all?

Lazard: …Essentially, yes. But that’s not—

Genesis: I’m smarter than Sephiroth.

Sephiroth scoffs.

Sephiroth: Oh really?

Genesis: Yes really. And I’m about to prove it.

Sephiroth: Oh yes. Please do.

Genesis. I will.

Lazard: ….So. The question.

Lazard adjusts his glasses, clearing his throat. Genesis and Sephiroth stare on in steadfast anticipation.

Lazard: How many months of the year have 28 days?

There’s a beat.

Genesis: …Are you serious?

Sephiroth: This is how you intend to test our intellect?

Genesis: Do you think I skipped the 3rd grade?

Sephiroth: Do you think I don’t own a calendar?

Genesis: Preposterous.

Sephiroth: Insulting.

Genesis: Shall we answer in harmony?

Sephiroth: Please.

Genesis: Alright.

Genesis: The answer is 1.

Sephiroth: 0

There’s another beat. Genesis turns to his companion, a look of sheer what? on the auburn’s visage. Sephiroth returns the same exact look.

Genesis: ….You’re kidding, right?

Sephiroth: No. I am not.

Genesis: Really. You really just answered 0.

Sephiroth: Yes. That is the correct answer. No month has 28 days.

Genesis: February, Sephiroth. February.

Sephiroth: Incorrect.

Genesis: Incorrect?

Sephiroth: February does not have a definite number of 28 days.

Genesis: What are you talking about?

Sephiroth: Oh, I’m sorry. Have you forgotten the existence of the leap year?

Genesis: The leap year?—

Sephiroth: Every four years February gains an additional day. It has both 28 and 29 days, and therefore no month has merely 28 days

Genesis: That’s ONE out of four years! It doesn’t count!

Sephiroth: It absolutely counts—

Genesis: No it f*cking DOESN’T.

Sephiroth: So you’re denying the existence of the leap year.

Genesis: it’s ONE out of FOUR years, Sephiroth!

Sephiroth: So?

Genesis: Do the MATH.

Sephiroth: February has a maximum of 29 days—

Genesis: DO THE MATH! 3 IS GREATER THAN 1!

Sephiroth: FEBRUARY HAS—

Genesis: THE QUESTION ACCOUNTS FOR THE MAJORITY OF FEBRUARY’S DAYS!

Sephiroth: THE ANSWER IS 0

Genesis: NO IT ISN’T.

Sephiroth: YOU ARE EMBARRASSING YOURSELF, GENESIS.

Genesis: ME, EMBARRASSING? DO YOU WANT LAZARD TO THINK YOU NEVER WENT TO SCHOOL?

Sephiroth: YOU KNOW I NEVER WENT TO SCHOOL—

Zack: Dudes. All the months have 28 days in them.

There’s another beat.

Sephiroth: ……

Genesis: ……

Sephiroth: No… no that is—

Genesis: No way was that the—

Lazard: Yes. Zackary is correct. There is no month that doesn’t at least have 28 days in its count.

Genesis: …..

Sephiroth: ….

Genesis: I’m still smarter than you.

Sephiroth tackles him out of the chair as Angeal walks into the office.