#*iphigenia

when you show up to the oral fixation competition but your opponents r these 2 :/

meanwhile tamlin is sweating because obviously the magic is going to make him act on his clamant and undeniable want for iphigenia, much the same as it tried to with feyre. obviously she knows this of him because like lucien she is incredibly perceptive and when he’s around her his every muscle and every tendon strains with the effort it takes not to touch her and know her and have her. obviously this is why she’s been acting so weird around him since she found out and not really meeting his eye and being snippy with him in that airy autumn fae way where they think they’re being so subtle and so clever and so double-spoken but their meaning is completely plain to him. the magic of the land is going to choose, and he knows it is going to choose iphigenia, and she is uncomfortable with it.

tamlin who is right. tamlin who is out of his mind with the power of spring flooding his psyche and alights on her the moment he enters the cave. tamlin who cannot think of anything other than her, than her touch on his neck and her legs around his waist and her thighs in his palms, than her skin beneath the dress he’s tearing to shreds, than the heat of her pressed against his navel and the scent of her in his nose, hope and renewal, the clouds parting over the horizon. tamlin who sees her eyes shining and stops dead in his tracks even though it hurts, even though his muscles scream, even though the land howls and he cannot form words beyond its noise.

i am no maiden, she whispers, tearful, shaken.

and tamlin could split the land in two and cast all of autumn between to hear her say it. he clutches her tightly to him, his claws out but unpiercing, his fangs long, his pupils blown. he has never been good with his words, never known the right thing to say or the right way to say it, and it is even worse now, now that the magic knows there is nothing to stop him, no reason for him not to take what is—

mine, he growls at her.

Is it too much to ask for Iphigenia x Azriel? If you don't feel like it, Iphigenia x whoever you're most comfortable with

Search unrealized, shadow drifts from chamber to chamber. The wards of some eclipse in total, while others yield with such ease as to be fruitless within. Yet these wards around these chambers—their snarled warning carries the resonance of treasure kept like secret.

A rustle beneath Azriel's ear confirms it.

Here.

As he steps through the in-between of the world, the sense of having slunk past a beast too great to mind all of its body strikes him. His pulse quickens, that anticipatory thrum beating at his veins. He settles it with a breath.

Weapon, he expects to find. Tool. Undeniable proof of double-dealing.

But before the hearth sits only a female, knees tucked tight to her chest, toes delved appreciatively into the fur of a rug. She gazes into the flickersnap fire like it might soon reveal something to her. Its glow sets her alight.

She waits, the shadows sigh. She waits always for him.

Made aware in the saying, the wood of the keep groans out warning to her: Intruder.

The tune of this court must meet her ear wrongly. She glances to the flooring and wrinkles up her nose. Then, as though disgusted by her proximity to it, she rises to her feet and turns to settle instead on a nearby chaise.

Azriel stares, transfixed.

Her resemblance to the lady of this court is a disorienting thing—the soft angles of her jaw, the delicate set of her nose, the loving arrangement of her brow. It is her hair which sets her apart, her eyes, both rich in earthen depth and gleaming like dew; it is the revelation made of her body, draped in gold-wrought chain and plum gossamer so thin as to afford the imagination no opportunity; it is the bounty laid out beneath.

Those things, and the collar around her throat.

Shadow deepens beneath the drape of her hair. So close, the gems bleed red as aestival rubies. No seam at the back, no catch. The metal has been welded that she cannot remove it.

Indignation frosts his chest.

A shiver overtakes her. That is when he notices the steam drifting from her eyelashes—tears turned mist turned nothing. Were it not for this, he never would have realized she had been weeping, so adept is she at concealing her sorrow.

Out now through to his fingers, twitching them towards Truth-Teller.

She waits. For whom?

Footsteps approach.

The knob rattles.

Open swings the door.

"High Lord," she rejoices. A sweep of her gaze over Beron in her approach, and her bearing attunes itself at once to him. No longer the eager enthusiasm of a lover returned but the tender haven afforded a beleaguered warrior. "Did not you enjoy the banquet?"

"Precious little to enjoy of dining alongside a half-breed whelp," he sneers.

Her round eyes sparkle up at him. As her fingers alight idly on the band of his trousers, his glint dark and hungry.

A dip of his mouth beside the arch of her ear. "But you, petal," he murmurs, reaching between to part the scant fabric of her garment and paw at her sex, "you, I intend to enjoy in full."

She waits, the shadows hiss. For her savior.

And so Azriel descends.

indulgence

characters: beron vanserra, iphigenia belrose (female oc)

pairing: vanrose

rating: explicit

word count: 3.5k

warnings: dubcon, sex slavery, drugged sex, rough handling, age difference, beron being a freak

summary: beron gets his favored bed slave high.

a/n: good for fans of breeding kink, daddy kink, and slight monsterfucking vibes. big kisses to @buffy-vanserra and @jon-snows-man-bun for beta reading this<3 also belatedly tagging @acotar-kinktober :•) just a snippet for tunglr, but you can find the full one shot on ao3 if☝🏻ur nasty. enjoy!

tag list: @nocasdatsgay @hybernian @olenvasynyt (if u want on / off pls lmk!)

"Fireglow," Beron murmurs. Already, he knows the answer, but still he asks: "Have you ever partaken?"

Iphigenia shakes her head against the heel of his hand. "No, High Lord." Like a melody—sweet and lilting and pleasing to the ear, those words off her tongue. "Though I have seen it used before."

A chuckle rumbles distantly, though its resonance settles in his breastbone. "Other pleasure herbs, perhaps," he says, amused. "This blooms only when the Mother blots the sun from the sky and casts the world in darkness." He holds the smoldering pipe aloft. "The efforts of my court to provide light by which to see."

Thoughtfully, "I had not known such a thing possible, High Lord."

The marvel seems only ever to split a millennia. One occurred near to his birth, then again around his fifth century. It will be a time before the next—and it has been long enough since the last that this floruit youth cradled in his palm would not have heard firsthand tell by her sires, themselves not of age enough to bear witness.

Beron hoards her to him, her legs crooking bestride his hips. Nestled at the apex of her thighs is an ambrosial heat that narrows his thoughts in the baring of itself against him, wet with his seed spilling from her, with her own arousal at his handling. He slides his hand down the nape of her neck and settles it atop his claim to her.

The collar purrs in recognition.

"No?"

"No," Iphigenia hums, slender arms winding about his neck. Pressed tight against his chest as they are, her breasts burgeon before him. The sight blackens his eyes and sets his mouth awater—round and full, her fair skin without flaw, save for here the impression of his teeth, there the roses and plums left behind by his tongue. "If its emergence is that precious, High Lord, why would they use it so?"

Beron answers not.

He draws again from his pipe, the bit eager between his teeth—but he does not inhale; rather, he holds the fireglow captive on his tongue, then slants his lips over hers and bestows it upon her. In the kiss, he tastes what it is to have power: an unhallowing of the sacred, a debasement of the exalted, a profanity of the immaculate.

The deflowering of a miracle.

iiiii would literally never. short answer is that i think they have delicious potential for a much more fraught vannozza/giulia farnese dynamic. all the weird feelings surrounding them looking like each other. this giving amalia a further sense of superiority, knowing beron really only enjoys iphigenia because she looks like her. the well-established matron who knows the intricacies of her husband and will always hold an immovable place in his heart but has fallen out of favor x the young start up on the scene trying to maintain the favor of her extraordinarily powerful (and fickle (and capable of killing her if she displeases him)) lover. in the borgias, giulia goes to vannozza for advice on keeping the pope’s interest—and i could see something of a like happening between iphigenia and amalia.

amalia comes across iphigenia fretting somewhere in the forest house. airy and scathing, she demands to know what a whore could be so preoccupied with. iphigenia apologizes—tries to leave. amalia doubles down. bold thing, iphigenia offers up a half-truth. but amalia knows beron. allow me a guess, she says. his eye has wandered to someone bright and new. iphigenia blushes and amalia knows she’s right. maybe a little hera/semele action at this point where amalia suggests a threesome, knowing that beron will come to expect it of iphigenia now that she’s introduced it, that it will undoubtedly shatter his warped conception of iphigenia as his pure little maiden. i’ve never lain with a female, iphigenia says. amalia replies, no? then let me show you what he will prefer to see.

i wish i could properly express the synaptic event which occurred after receiving this ask my god!!!!! there are a few fixed factors at play to make this bond just absolutely diabolical for both of them: beron having had sex with (and having uhhh enslaved) iphigenia, beron having abused eris (while simultaneously molding eris into his image), iphigenia looking a lot like loa, eris looking enough like beron. because of these there are many many avenues to pursue with this bond but i think there are two overarching onsets to them: eris is young and so he leaves iphigenia to beron for a while before liberating her because he 1) doesn’t have the means to intervene 2) thinks it’s better/safer to have her close by than somewhere he can’t monitor her 3) knows he’s his mate and his match and so must be as resilient and hearty as he is; or eris is older/post-utm timeline and intervenes as soon as he is realistically able, but even that isn’t enough to spare iphigenia of beron completely.

How would Genia react to this though is a bit hard to conceptualize. Would you tell me about your beloved?

every time i’m reminded she Exists for other people i literally turn into this emoji 🥺 i’m not even kidding that’s a real life actual picture taken of me after reading this ask

let me seeee—i think ultimately a very big part of her character once she’s a mother is ensuring her children grow up with the agency and autonomy that was taken from her. (her son doesn’t want to hug you right now. no you may not hug him anyway, nor make him feel bad for not wanting to hug you. no she will not encourage him to hug you to spare your feelings.) i think she’s very much the type of parent who explains things in full to her children and does her best to teach them how to make good choices for themselves, then allows them to use those tools to make their own choices as adolescents -> adults.

i’m imagining this almost like ana and elsa in frozen lfmfksndfj older son is coming into his powers and is wanting to play or show off to younger child. tamlin has warned him not to but not really explained why, maybe too busy—but as a crunchier alternative, maybe his son’s powers involve shifting into a beast or smth that he fosters some deep shame about (beast lord, anger issues, etc.) which activates that wound in him like it hasn’t been in a long long time (s/o genia<333) so he’s pretty terse about just being like: don’t practice without me. but younger sibling is so excited! so interested! he shifts too close and— blood blood there’s so much blood mama papa help

probably i’d say genia is the one to say it to tamlin: he didn’t understand. he didn’t understand. tamlin is blaming himself, but genia is blaming nobody. (not even herself. she doesn’t really have that brand of trauma.) she knows why tamlin was putting off training this magic in their son; she knows their son was only excited and new to his magic; she knows their younger child was only excited, too. i think for her the crashout is more the unfairness of it all. she has worked so hard to be unlike her parents—to keep her children informed—to make sure they know how to make good and smart choices. it isn’t fair; it isn’t fair that her child with the male she loves might be lost anyway; it isn’t fair that their son will have to suffer the burden of it. she has lost so much of herself and rebuilt herself anew from that—must she lose her baby now, too?