#Silver is a VERY layered character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fioiswriting · 6 months

Text

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

2K notes · View notes

minimallyminnie · 9 months

Text

Lipstick Stains

Gn Reader leaving tiny remnants of themselves on Diasomnia

Tw: None but if you don’t like reader wearing lipstick I suggest you read something else…

Characters: Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver Vanrouge (I will die by this.), Sebek Zigvolt

Malleus Draconia

Ok, ok, it wasn’t like you were the bigger person in the relationship but you two needed to get to class!

It was sweet that he spared a few minutes just to talk to you in the morning near the emptier area of the busy hallway

He could after all teleport away

But he needed to get back to class asap! You knew his class times by heart and currently, he had a minute left!

You told him to go to class five minutes ago…but he gave you those eyes and you couldn’t refuse

“Tsuntaro, you need to go!!”

Damn those pretty emerald eyes of his!

While he’s talking with you, you take some time to just put a layer of your favorite lipstick on, rolling it smoothly on your lips

When you finished putting it away, he’s still talking and you know he’s about to get in trouble with Trein soon!

“Silver was ecstatic when he saw the red dragon, almost fell back if not for Seb-“

You kissed him on the cheek, imprinting a kiss mark on his cheek

He blinks for a second speechless as he sees your smudged lips. His cheeks grow a soft pink. Connecting the dots, he warmly laughs

“It’s that time huh? My apologies dear, I’ll be getting going.”

Before he teleports, he wraps a hand around your waist and kisses you. When he pulls back, he whispers

“Could I have more of your kisses later my love?”

Lilia Vanrouge

Absolutely just adores your time with him

Doesn’t matter how, when, or why, just adores it and is willing to take as much as he can get

Both of you are just so lovey dovey

(Silver has complicated feelings with his friend possibly being his step parent…)

He always adorns you with compliments but…since he’s in light music club, course he’s going to get a lot of fans

“Awh, jelly of me my love~?”

“Hmph.”

One time you read a fan mail from one of the students from Nobel Bell and oh boy, that letter felt like it was from a classic romance movie with how sugary sweet it was

Lilia laughed when he saw your annoyed face at the letter

So, before one of his concerts you put on a layer of pigmented lipstick, pulled him to the side, and kissed his face all over

You then stood back panting a bit from how fast you kissed him before looking up and admiring the shocked expression on Lilia’s face

“Oh my great sevens…”

He chuckled before pulling you in a kiss again

“My, my…Had I known you were so jealous, I would’ve made it known you are my significant other….”

Silver Vanrouge (I will die for this.)

Head over heels, he’ll be your sleeping beauty however long you want him to be

Silver is the type to always try to protect his significant other, so he’ll always be by your side when he can if he’s not with Malleus

Because of his curse though…he feels bad that most of the time he spends with you, he’s sleeping

Makes him feel really upset, he brought it up once when you crossed paths one day

“I…I really do want to spend time with you. I hate this…I can’t keep my eyes open sometimes…”

“Sil…”

His upset face made your heart ache.

In the afternoon, during both your free times, you two went near the forest to have a picnic

Of course, he fell asleep again but you didn’t mind

You smiled as he slept in your lap and then you pulled a tube of lipstick out, layering it on your lips

Then, you pressed kiss after kiss on Silver’s face softly.

He wakes up when you kiss his lips, a smile gracing your face. You take your phone out and tapped on the camera app to show him

“I feel like an art piece. I guess so since you’re the artist behind this after all.”

He sits up and smiles at you, kissing you gently on your head

“Thank you for this…Would it be selfish if I asked for even more?”

Sebek Zigvolt

Ah. There we go. Loudest man on Earth in Wonderland.

He’s surprisingly a soft and gentle lover, very sweet but still having his usual loud and boisterous personality

Sebek doesn’t mind your soft touches or gentle kisses as long as it’s not in front of Master Malleus!

(Who really is more entertained by it than annoyed…)

He’s like those strict knights, following every rule by the book to please his master!

“Master Malleus Sama!!”

“Sebby, he’s ok. Don’t worry!”

You don’t mind, but you want to show at least a tiny bit of love for him.

So! One day, you’re invited to the Diasomnia dinner and you dress yourself up for the occasion like the students in the dorm

Before you meet at the entrance with Silver and Sebek though, you carefully line your lips with lipstick and walk nonchalantly to Sebek

He’s a bit blushy at your more elegant appearance but his face turns apple red when you kiss his cheek

“Wha-what?!”

You can hear a small muffle laugh from Silver but then Sebek whispers, stuttering

“…N-not here! But…c-could I have more later when..when we’re f-finished with dinner..?”

We love a blushy Sebek here and a sweetheart Silver here. I ran outta tags—

@ryker-writes

2K notes · View notes

earthtooz · 1 year

Note

OMG IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR FAKE PT.2 I LOVED PT 1 SM I LOVE YOU SM EHEHEH

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ─ when the reader receives hate ! pt 1

includes: reo mikage, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

warnings: gn!reader, they/them prns in kaiser + isagi, 2k+ wc for reo, 1.6k for kaiser and 1k for isagi, ooc!characters, borderline panic attack in reo's, hate and negative comments, happy endings for all, let me know if i'm missing any warnings, bad wriitng LOL

a/n: ask and u shall receive ! bro why is the cover image so low quality i can't be assed to fix it - ANYWAYS ENJOY ANON !!!

MIKAGE REO:

if there’s one thing reo is used to, it’s the amount of eyes constantly surveying his every move. there is not one aspect of his life that hasn’t been intruded by the amount of aristocratic families wondering how he’s doing. reo’s quite fed up with it himself.

but of course, if there’s one thing dating reo mikage entails, it’s having those same eyes scrutinising your every move even harder- a fact you accepted before he asked you to be his. a fact you were starting to get used to.

despite all the glamourised smiles and ambiguous compliments of your relationship, there will always be some who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions.

which, is how you got stuck talking to some ceo’s daughter at a gala you were attending as reo’s plus one.

“i’m not trying to be mean or anything, just honest,” she says with a particular slice of her hands, flaunting her expensive nails and jewellery. “but i don’t think you’re right for reo, and i know i am not the only one who thinks that! don’t you think it’s time you stop hogging him and y’know, return him to those who really deserve him?”

something disgusting churns within you at the way she talks of your boyfriend, as if he were some goal; a fish in a sea of hungry fishermen. the statement makes you feel violated, you can’t imagine how reo would feel being talked about like this for his entire life.

“and who might that be?” you counter, trying your best to remain calm and not give in to the storm within you.

she flares her nostrils, narrowing her perfectly painted eyes. “look around. take a good glance at the competition.”

“i won’t do that because there is no competition. reo chose me, whether you like it or not,” you firmly place your drink down on the table beside you before pointedly showing her the beautiful promise ring, encrusted with diamonds that reo himself placed on your finger. “besides, if there even was a competition in the first place, i’m afraid you’re all much too late.”

with a final sneer, she turns around with a pointed flick of her healthy, smooth hair before walking away, classy and expensive as ever.

just like everyone around you.

you, on the other hand, find it hard to breathe, and the luxurious fabric of your even more luxurious outfit is clinging to your body. before you even know it, you’re making a run for the exit, slipping past crowds of people and ignoring their looks of curiosity.

no one would bother to look too long anyways.

you should be proud of how you managed to remain level-headed during that interaction, but you can’t help but give in to her manipulative tactics. you did take a good look of the competition and they all looked like millions upon millions of dollars. they have had their life plan sorted from the very moment of their birth, their destiny handed to them of a silver platter, and although you know to look beyond the materialism and gold, it’s hard to ignore it when you’re surrounded by marble walls and crystal chandeliers.

suddenly feeling like an imposter, you just want to hop in a cab and go home.

bolting through expansive halls with decorative arches and doors to match, you’re almost at the parking lot where the chauffeurs awaited, just a flight of stairs await your descent.

it’s not until a hand catches your wrist that you stop.

turning around, you find no comfort in the familiarity of reo’s face which was laced with concern and worry. he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and his hair was all over his face. was he chasing after you?

“y/n! where are you going?” the purple-haired asks, eyebrows furrowing even more as he notices the distressed state you’re in. he grabs both your hands, manoeuvring you to look him square in the eyes. except, it’s so difficult, you’re looking everywhere but at him. “i was calling your name the entire time, did you not hear me?”

“reo, please, leave me alone,” you request with a shaky voice, trying to get out of his grip with no success.

“i can’t, not when you’re like this,” he protests, “deep breaths, y/n, come back to me.”

a few moments of silence pass by, allowing you to return to your senses as reo holds your hands against his heart, stroking your skin with his thumb. no longer overwhelmed and suffocated by your thoughts, it’s hard to look your boyfriend in the eye, cowering away from his gaze.

“what’s the matter?” he asks gently, pressing a hand against your cheek delicately. it’s warm. you want to melt into him.

“it’s- i, i had a really- you know what, nevermind,” you murmur, shaking your head, turning your back against reo as you pull your hands away from his.

you miss the expression of heartbreak that appears on his pretty face.

your cold actions don’t deter him. instead, it makes him more determined to stay by your side, chasing after you even as you descend down the stairs. since your shoes were a lot more complicated than his, the soccer player catches up to you quickly to guide you by the small of your back as he mirrors your pace.

“i want to go home,” you mutter to him once you’re on the ground, trying your best not to collapse under the gaze of so many, surrounded by butlers and chauffeurs.

he nods with a gentle gaze. “let’s go home then.”

his kindness is not enough to shield you from the scrutiny that bears into you. “no, reo, you should stay, i’ll just catch a taxi home or something.”

he looks at you in pure astonishment, slightly taken back by your weird attitude.

“but i don’t want to. why would i want to stay if you’re not?” asks the purple-haired.

opting to remain silent rather than answer, you try to walk towards the main road of the highway, only to be cut off by reo shoving himself in front of you.

“and why would i let you take a cab home?” your purple-haired lover questions, placing both of his hands on his cheeks so you can finally look him in the eye. “y/n, what’s going on? something happened, didn’t it?”

taking both of his hands away from your face, you take a step away; once again missing the look of astonishment and heartbreak that appears on reo’s face. “nothing happened,” you say stubbornly, rubbing your hands against your arms.

“i don’t want to go home if you’re like this, can we please just talk for a little?” he remains behind you, getting the hint that you don’t want to be provoked or touched in any way, even if it’s killing him. the soccer player’s fingers itch with the need to embrace and trace every part of you that you’ll allow, but, for the sake of your fragile state, he doesn’t.

with a small exhale, you agree. it would be unfair for you to leave reo in the dark, continually brushing off his genuine kindness due to some chick that got in your head.

he leads you towards the gardens nearby which were dimly lit, yet still very beautiful. spring was in full season, so you could only catch glimpses of the beautiful flora that aligned the path, but there was no denying that it was still breathtaking. reo walks beside you, synchronising his footsteps with yours.

eventually, you arrive at a fountain in the middle of the garden. where you take a seat on its marble ledge, reo whispers ‘one second’ to you before running off to the bushes where the red roses were. he returns quickly, jogging back to you with a singular flower in his hands.

“for you, my love,” he declares with a small smile, bowing with an extended hand, expecting you to take his gift.

you readily do, heart warming at his silliness whilst twirling the rose in your fingers. “thank you,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he places his hand next to you so he can lean against the fountain for support.

the promise ring you wear on your finger feels heavier than usual, especially when he smiles fondly at you, a lovesick expression on his face that is no doubt mirrored by you.

but looking at him, you can’t help but recall the stinging reality that he lived in a world of glamour, decadence, and allure; only doubled by the fame that came with his life as a pro-soccer player. you love reo with your whole being, really, sometimes you fear that your feelings might be a little too much, but loving him with a materialistic barrier in between is difficult.

the idea of letting him go than stealing him away from the world of mystique feels suddenly a lot kinder.

“reo,” you begin after a few minutes of simply being in each other’s presence. he looks at you with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, directing 100% of his attention towards you. with a deep inhale, you continue.

“do you ever think that… we’re not, meant to be?”

the silence is deafening.

“what do you mean?” he asks with a small stutter of disbelief, “of course we’re meant to be! you’re the one for me- you’re my soulmate!”

usually, when reo says that, it makes your insides gush and flutter, but now it riddles you with guilt and scepticism. “how can you be so sure?”

“y/n,” he sounds so very desperate. reo’s eyes have always been the window to his soul and seeing the way they shine with tears, your chest clenches with an unpleasant feeling. “why are you doubting my love for you?”

his hand goes to your ring finger, playing with the jewellery that you suddenly feel like you don’t deserve.

“you agreed, remember? you agreed to letting me love you forever and loving me in return. i put this ring on you because it’s always going to be you, no matter what circumstance, i’ll always choose you.”

“but is choosing me the right decision?”

“yes, a thousand times yes, there will never be. anyone. but. you.” reo increases the amount of emphasis he puts into each word, now changing his position so that he stood in front of you, caging you with his build. “can you tell me what happened, beautiful? because something clearly did and soured my gorgeous y/n’s mood.”

the sudden onslaught of compliments, mixed with how close reo was, broke down your resolve easily, crumbling at his feet as you gave in to his gentle demands.

“i met an unpleasant someone who told me i should give you up for people who deserve you more,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, a gesture of equal affection and possessiveness.

he hums, seemingly calm but you know better. the furrow of his eyebrows was one of scrutiny and distaste. you’re glad he’s trying to remain subtle, you’ve had enough of emotional responses for one night.

“and who might this unpleasant someone be?”

“i have no idea. she gave me a name but it went in one ear then out the other.”

pressing his face into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, the soccer player revels at this chance to be close to you.

“it was probably important though,” you reiterate, “and, well, might be able to benefit you a lot better than i ever can.”

he scoffs into your skin, causing you to shiver. “no one’s name is as important as mine, my love, and no one can boost it more than what it’s already worth. if anything, those who have me gets the boost, i’m already the best.”

his (rightfully deserved) cockiness makes you smile ever so slightly as you punch his shoulder. “are you implying i’m a gold digger?”

“well, you didn’t choose me, did you?” asks reo with a raise of his eyebrow. “i begged you to go on a date with me and you only agreed the fourth time i asked.”

the recollection makes a giggle slip past your lips- a sound reo dearly missed as he admires your beauty in the dim lighting of the gardens. he places a fleeting kiss on your neck before looking up at you.

“of course, everyone else won’t know that and assume,” you point out before leaning in towards his lips, unable to resist him much longer.

“who cares?” he mutters against you before melting against you in a gentle kiss filled with love, reassurance, and promises. “they’re all irrelevant anyways, just a bunch of talkers with nothing to back up their words.”

“then what am i?”

“you’re my future. you’re the one that actually cares about me, more than my money or my soccer skills. remember the first day we met and you told me to get out of the way? back in college?”

“well you were blocking my path. i was running late to my class as well.”

reo chuckles, pulling away from you so there was a little distance between your faces. “never thought i’d want someone so bad just because they didn’t know who i was.”

“then show me,” you say with a little challenge in your tone. “screw the gala, take me home, reo.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

MICHAEL KAISER:

“kaiser gets it in! a miracle shot, just what you’d expect from bastard münchen’s genius striker!” the announcer exclaims as the crowd shoots up in excitement, roaring and buzzing with excitement as the members of germany’s football team all swarm around the blond, cheering and celebrating.

kaiser participates in the hype, fist bumping his teammates before running back to position, but not without sparing a look at the screen that was displaying the match. no one misses the kiss he blows in the direction of the camera and although the stadium is filled with squeals (from boys, girls, grown ups and children alike), you know something they don’t.

right before the match, kaiser made you promise that each goal of his equated to ten kisses, a deal that you readily accepted and bumped up to twenty as a way of motivating him to take the game home.

that kiss he blew was just a way of solidifying that he was thinking of you and the wink he sent straight after was just making sure you’d keep your promise.

you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world with him.

as the match progresses, you can tell it’s going to be an easy victory, with all favours towards your lover’s team - kaiser earning another two himself.

it’s almost scary just how effortlessly he dominates, settling the score at 3-1 for bastard münchen, once again making feats you thought were difficult look effortless. as the whistle blew announcing the end of the game, roars fill the stadium once again and you too, jump up with the crowd to cheer as loudly as you can.

repping his jersey with his name on the back, it just feels too good, especially when you bask in the afterglow of a well deserved victory.

you don’t miss the amount of glances kaiser sends your way, antsy to be able to reach you and spend some time with you because he’d rather have you congratulate him than a bunch of old, white men that just want to sponsor him. they can get in line because you’re his top priority.

you hope he sees you and the heart you make with your arms over your head just for him.

dawdling out of the stadium always takes forever because of the amount of people that always come to see his game so when over half the people have cleared out, you make your way down to the front row, where your soccer genius boyfriend was waiting for you.

“you were incredible, my love,” you say as a greeting, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, one that he readily returns. you don’t really care that he was sweaty, too overwhelmed by how proud of him you were.

not that your opinions really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but kaiser considered it a great lucky charm, one he holds highly.

“as always,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against your cheek. you giggle at the sensation, smiling widely as he continues. “tell me more about how amazing i was.”

rolling your eyes at his arrogance, you decide to indulge him, just a little. “the best out there, greatest soccer player of all time, and you looked so handsome too, my main character,” you pinch his cheek. “done?”

“not at all,” keens kaiser, smiling at you like a cat.

“get your stuff first and then when we’re home, i’m all yours.”

“i’m holding you to your promise, pretty, that’s sixty kisses from you.”

with a final kiss on the forehead as farewell, you bid him goodbye and watch as he runs off to get changed, joining ness who was waiting for him by the exit. the magenta-haired soccer player waves at you from halfway across the field, a gesture you readily return before turning around to go outside.

passing by the security guards who give you a little nod of acknowledgement, you’re relieved to see that the audience that gathered tonight had gone off into their cars, ready to go home for the night.

you’re about to go around to where the players exit so kaiser wouldn’t swarmed by a flurry of fans and reporters, until you’re stopped by a hand on the shoulder. the grip wasn’t strong, but demanding enough for you to turn around and greet whoever wanted to talk to you.

it was a pair of teenage girls. they were well-dressed and pampered, but the look they were giving you was less than friendly. somehow, you already knew where this conversation was going.

“can i help you?” you ask, flashing them a smile.

one of them eyes you up and down, judgement very clear in her eyes. you cringe a little. “are you kaiser’s partner?” she asks.

you nod in affirmation. you hate the sleazy feeling developing in your gut, expanding due to the scrutiny of their gazes. one of the girls nudge the other one in an ‘i told you so’ manner, which is returned with a smirk that is mischievous in kind.

“do you need something from me?” you question, finally letting your astoundment show on your face. really, you just wanted to walk away from this conversation and find kaiser so you could go home.

“yeah, we’re just wondering why, y’know, that he’d choose you.”

“excuse me?”

“like don’t get us wrong, you’re pretty and all, but we just think that you’re kinda bland for him,” one of them states as the other hums in agreement.

the audacity. you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground.

“okay, cool. what do you suggest i do then since you seem to be experts in my relationship.”

“break up with him, duh?”

“and let one of you date him instead?” you scoff. “fat chance.”

“just give him up, okay? we could love kaiser more than you probably ever could, clout chaser.”

“gold digger!”

now amused more than frustrated, you bite back the laugh that bubbles in your chest. it was entertaining seeing some sixteen year old girls try to tell you that you and your boyfriend (of two years) shouldn’t be together.

being kaiser’s partner had its downsides sometimes, and it was mostly just the hate you receive for ‘stealing’ him off the market, especially since he was so young, some fans didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor. but, you’re used to it. so long as you get to watch him in the spotlight, you don’t really mind the darkness.

you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “right… are we done here? because this ‘gold digger’ wants to see their partner and congratulate him.”

“what part aren’t you understanding?” one of them asks before the other one completes the sentence. “you and kaiser just don’t look good together!”

before you could answer, a heavy arm drapes itself over your shoulders. “aww, why not?” a familiar voice asks. the two girls in front of you freeze, panic evident on their faces. “what disturbances held you up from seeing me?”

then you see and hear an overload of flashes and camera clicks. kaiser must’ve caught the paparazzi on his way out and you suddenly remember that you left him waiting, feeling slightly guilty when you turn your head to meet his gaze. you wrap your arms around his torso, happier than ever to feel his warmth against your own.

“what happened here?” kaiser asks, a question directed at you and you only.

“they were just telling me that they didn’t like that i was a main role in your theatre,” you say, earning an eyebrow raise from your genius boyfriend. “how should we fix that?”

he hums for a moment, meeting the widened eyes of his fans.

“kick them out,” he simply declares before turning around with you still in his arms. you two pass by paparazzi, paying them little mind except from the small smiles you send their way.

once you’re in a clearer, quieter area, your boyfriend turns to you and embraces you properly, a gesture you return eagerly as he breathes you in.

“what a way to sour such a good victory,” murmurs kaiser, voice muffled by his jersey that you were wearing. “can’t believe i had to play your knight in shining armour instead of the king that i am.”

you pinch his neck which causes him to flinch with a little shriek. always leave it to you to dumb down his narcissism.

“i was handling it myself pretty well, y’know,” you sigh, “being the michael kaiser’s partner, i’ve grown immune to the hate i receive.”

kaiser frowns, “i didn’t think it happened often,” he whispers. “i’m sorry. how many times have you had to defend yourself without me knowing?”

“it hardly matters-”

“-but it does. i don’t like when people slander you, less when it’s for no reason other than because you’re with me. you should be marvelled at and admired, just like the masterpiece you are.”

his words cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach, a feeling you mask with a playful eye roll.

“yes but,” you counter, reaching to cup his cheek, “being with you makes up for it.”

he smirks, contrasting the downhearted expression he wore moments earlier. kaiser’s skill of immediately recovering from whatever kicks him down truly is something to behold and at times, envy. “of course it does,” he boasts, dramatically flipping one of his bangs.

“besides, i’m willing to fight back if it means i get to be with you.”

before he can argue back, you grab his arm and pull him towards the entrance.

“now come on, let’s talk about it another day. i believe i owe you sixty kisses.”

“make it one hundred now for leaving me waiting for so long.”

“if you get too greedy i’ll leave you on the sidewalk.”

“you’d do that to your king? how dare you!”

ISAGI YOICHI:

“what does your mum like?” you ask a clueless isagi who simply stares at the range of perfumes that the department store had displayed.

“i have no idea,” he mutters. “i never really paid attention to what smells she used.”

“fragrances, yoichi, not smells.”

“oh. right,” the star soccer player rubs his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly at you after correcting his small mistake.

he was so adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks.

this was the first time that isagi was buying a gift for his mother with his own money, and the first person he turned to for help was his partner: you, explaining that this had to be the best gift she’s ever received. for how much she’s done for him, and how much she’s supported his soccer career, isagi doesn’t know if he can repay it through money, but gifts are hard to deny regardless.

readily agreeing to help, you have memories of isagi’s mother welcoming you into the family with warm arms. she would tell you how beautiful you are, how excited she was to meet you, and that her son better treat you well otherwise you could always turn to her for help; a statement that made the star striker gulp.

“i mean, you could never go wrong with a few classics like carolina herrera, dior, or chanel?” you suggest, walking over to the section filled with perfumes contained in shelves, their respective brands displayed on top. isagi follows you like a lost puppy, clinging close to your side by holding your hand, squeezing it ever so often.

everything you’re saying is going in one ear and through the other, and isagi lets it show on his face.

“don’t worry yoichi, any perfume you pick tends to be a good gift regardless, besides, we have the whole day to figure out what your mum likes,” you reason logically, just in case it might provide him with some relief in the midst of expensive, designer fragrances.

“right,” he huffs, reaching out to read the labels of some bottles.

after a long hunt of going through the shelves, he eventually settles on a fragrance from maison francis (with a pricetag that made you gawk yet isagi was very calm about, agreeing without even thinking about it), but since the packaged version was locked in a glass cabinet, you opted to call a store attendant.

“that’s a great idea, babe, need me to go with you?” he asks, readjusting the strap of his beat-up bag, the one he’s had since high school. funny how some things don’t change for isagi, you love that about him.

you shake your head in response, telling him to ‘wait here’ before strolling off.

however, during this brief time of being without you, isagi was approached by a trio who looked like they were a family, the eldest holding a phone between his hand.

“isagi yoichi?” he asks timidly, fiddling with the phone.

the soccer player flashes a friendly smile, hoping to reduce any of the anxiety they might feel from approaching him. he was just an average, friendly guy after all. “that’s me, need anything?”

“can we take a picture?” the middle daughter asks, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion.

“of course! come on.”

the set of siblings smile eagerly before ambling to isagi’s side, who squats down so he could fit in frame. after a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, the photo is taken and just as the dark-haired athlete was about to stand up, a store attendant approaches.

“would you like me to take the picture?” they ask politely, gesturing to the phone.

simultaneously, everyone agrees and soon enough, the photo is taken and done, allowing isagi to high-five them before waving them off, the three of them thanking him profusely for his time.

the store attendant lingers, turning to face him with wide eyes of admiration. “wow, i didn’t think i’d ever get to meet you!” they exclaim. “i watched your match against the under-20 team like so long ago! you were amazing!”

“oh, yeah,” isagi chuckles, flustered at all this recognition, even though he’s been getting more and more of it lately, “thank you for your support.”

although he inwardly cringes at the line that he’s reused over and over again, the store helper thinks nothing of it, beaming back at him. “you’re super cute too, do you think i could get your number?”

isagi lets his shock show on his face before blurting out: “no, i have a partner already.”

the attendant’s face drops into a look of disappointment and the striker wants to run off to find you. you never should have left him alone.

“what a shame. the person that you were just with right?” isagi nods. “don’t know what you think is so special about them, i personally think you’re too good for them and should find someone better, but, it’s not up to me.”

isagi feels his vision zero in, growing red with each word. him? too good for you? what irony.

“excuse me?” he vocalised lowly- practically a growl as he eyes the employee down. “i’m giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before i-.”

he’s too preoccupied with the fury he feels to notice the way the attendant squeaks, eyes laced with fear, before scurrying off mid-sentence, fully intimidated by the striker. isagi sighs, slumping his shoulders. he’s never used that tone to anyone outside of soccer in an attempt of pre-game slander and now he just misses you.

where did you run off to?

right on queue, you materialise beside him, huffing with a pout on your face. “i couldn’t find any store attendants, that’s so weird! where’d they go?”

deciding against telling you that he just scared one away for trashing you, he simply leans his body weight on you, sighing when you embrace him tightly so he wouldn’t knock the both of you over.

“whoa, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you ask, unable to hide the smile on your face from his sudden acts of affection. “everything okay, love?”

“i want to go home,” he whispers against your shoulder. “spend some time with you.”

“what about the gift?”

“i’ll order it online. it can arrive in time.”

relenting, you pluck him off you with great effort. “if you’re sure then, okay, let’s go home.”

“we can get takeout from your favourite on the way home.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“thought i needed to show you how much i appreciate you.”

#oh everyone is SO ooc but meh #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock drabble #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #kaiser x reader #isagi fluff #yoichi isagi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser michael x reader #reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo drabble #reo fluff #kaiser fluff #kaiser drabble #isagi drabble

4K notes · View notes

spenglernot · 6 months

Text

STORIES TELLING: NED LOWE AND THE DEATH OF POOR REPRESENTATION IN OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH

In history, Ned Lowe was one of the most sadistic and violent pirates in the early 18th century, so he’s an obvious choice for a villain for season 2, episode 6 – Calypso’s Birthday. What is interesting is what the OFMD writers chose to do with him.

Lowe announces himself to the crew of the Revenge with great fanfare (cannon ball attack) and gets right to the point.

Ed is thoroughly unimpressed.

Cut to Ed and Stede tied up while Ned attempts to set the mood so he can monologue about why he wants to kill Ed.

Ed knows what’s coming. He is going to suffer but he still can’t be arsed to meet Ned with anything but vaguely bored dismissiveness (and Stede is happy to play along).

Up on the deck, Ned prepares the crew for his big, dramatic moment of symphonic torture.

Note that the Revenge crew is tied down, braced by vices and generally unable to protect themselves from imminent torture and possible death, but their spirits are up. They don’t seem terribly fussed.

Then Stede uses his people positive management style to happily orchestrate a worker uprising in Ned’s crew.

Ned’s crew responds instantly; severing their allegiance to Lowe and telling him off.

The crew sails away and talks profit sharing while Ned dully threatens to hunt them down.

Ned is now a prisoner of the Revenge crew and seems entirely disinterested in his own survival.

And Ned sinks to the depths, without struggling at all.

There is a lot going on in this episode: pay and labor equity direct action, gay love engagement bliss, kink humor, Stede being a hero and saving his crew by playing to his strengths, then having to decide whether to kill in cold blood and feel the consequences of that choice. Ed having one more reason to be done with piracy (while being so impressed with and fond of Stede), and then watching his man make a fraught choice and having to deal with the fallout from that. (And, damn, I haven’t even mentioned the passionate sex bit.) Anyway, back to the point.

Now for the the meta part

The Ned Lowe sequences are perfectly in keeping with OFMD’s signature blend of madcap violence, humor, and big emotional gut punches. But something about Ned Lowe just strikes me as off for this show.

Ned is seriously threatening the crews’ lives, so why don’t they take him seriously?

Why does Ned have such a boring, throwaway backstory?

Why is Ned so nonchalant about his own death; like it’s a foregone conclusion?

Why does Ned have a silver violin and silver spurs on his slip-on dress shoes?

Why is Ned sartorially monochromatic?

And then I realized who Ned reminds me of.

This guy,

Earnst Stavro Blofeld in the James Bond film Diamonds are Forever (1971)

And this guy,

Scar in Disney's The Lion King (1994).

And this guy,

Xerxes, 300 (2006).

And it sure seems like Ned Lowe isn’t just an episodic villain. He is an archetype of the one-dimensional, stereotypical queer-coded villain that has been endemic in film and television throughout history. The OFMD writers have a lot to say about what to do with this kind of character:

Don’t respect him.

Feel free to openly mock him.

Don’t let him take your joy, even though he will hurt you.

He won’t disappear on his own. You have to throw something at him (take action) to make him go away.

Once he’s in the water, he’s content to drown. He’s not into what he’s doing any more than you are.

Oh and, just to be clear,

The LGBTQIA+ community has a very long history of turning shit media into better stories. So, hey, big media, prepare to have your crap characters wrecked (improved).

Now, back to our transformative pirate show with rich, complex queer characters and a multi-layered plot that surprises me every week and makes me feel big feelings - most of all, joy.

Final thought: I do wonder if Ned Lowe is monochromatically silver as a tribute to/poke at, Hollywood and the silver screen.

This meta was written before OFMD season 2 has fully aired. No idea what’s going to happen in the finale (and I’ve generally fled social media to avoid spoilers). I’ll be back, looking at everyone’s fascinating posts after episode 8 airs.

722 notes · View notes

wolfythewitch · 16 days

Text

Thoughts? (and prayers)

would like to preface this by saying the poll results are very subject to null and there is Every likelihood that i'll wake up at midnight in cold sweat and completely switch sides but. well.

So. For those unaware: In hadestown, hermes is the narrator, often breaking the fourth wall while also interacting with characters within the canon. In the original cast album he is played as more serious. There is an edge to him, like a seedy man you buy drinks for at a bar and then get a lore dump (He's also still very fun. He ribs at Hades constantly and sings and dances with Persephone). In the broadway he's a bit more whimsical in voice but performs the same roles throughout the musical. In this one, there's the added layer that he took Orpheus under his wing, while deny caring for the boy. At the end of the musical, he calls Orpheus a friend. So! His character is pretty flexible, but he's generally seen as a helping hand and sounds very remorseful every time the story ends in tragedy. (Because he is the narrator, it starts all over again)

So! notes.

Gertrude as Hermes:

Pros: Generally less sadistic and easier to see as a mentor figure. Has a connection to the Eye and was the former archivist, so it would make sense to have her be the narrator. Has at least interacted with Sasha once, and had also thought that Sasha would have been her successor, so there is a connection somewhere. Also. Gertrude in the silver suit.

Cons: She has no connections to Tim (who plays Orpheus in this)

Elias/Jonah as Hermes:

Pros: Unsure if this is a pro or con, but this would be a sort of play on hermes being a helping hand if he's more manipulative in this one? Less Hermes helping Orpheus by telling him the way down and more Hermes tricking Orpheus into going down into Hadestown. He is also under the Eye, so a narrator role would also work for him. Has a stronger connection to Tim and Sasha (though he's not really shown much interest in them in canon)

Con: Same with aforementioned, he would be different from how Hermes is normally portrayed. Gertrude would be a Hermes who wants the story to end well. Elias would be a Hermes who wants it to end in tragedy. Also no mentor figure.

#hadestown au

290 notes · View notes

spockandawe · 1 year

Text

Here we go! I have some smaller books to share as well, but I've been absolutely VIBRATING with excitement to share a BIG one, and I'm going to indulge myself and post that today, then figure out words for the rest. Because I bound a new cnovel. Check it out, guys, I bound jwqs/clear and muddy loss of love :D

Let me indulge myself and backtrack a little! First, these are quarto books, so they're short. But I think these average a little under 500 pages each, and jwqs is a LONG book (my beloved), and this adds up to a total eleven inches of lesbians. More like twelve once they're in their cases. It's over a million characters in Chinese and I think the English translation comes in somewhere around 890k, it's HUGE

Making these books was SO FUN, I hadn't read jwqs and still haven't, and will probably read on my phone when I do. I don't have any exciting photos of the typesetting, but I knew this was an imperial succession story, and that made me nervous, those stories don't always click for me. Well, the process of typesetting and adding footnotes for this beast definitely confirmed that I'm going to have a good time with this thing when I have the time to read it, but there was also so much going on that only the vaguest of spoilers sank in. I went into an absolute FRENZY of typesetting, and after I printed, cut and folded it, well. That was one afternoon of sewing. You're looking at the reason I'm scrambling to make up a few hours of missed work, hahaha

After that, I needed cases. At the very beginning of march, I received a shipment of some FASCINATING bookcloth. It's called Duo, and it's made by layering a thin gauzy fabric of one color over paper of a different color. Depending on the combos, you get a really cool range of color-shifting effects. And they've gone out of production! But I was part of a group order to get some of the goods, and hadn't yet finished a new project. Reader, I went for it.

That purple and green is bananas!!!! It's so hard to photograph, this midnight picture of a few cases is one of my most successful attempts to capture the full range up close. Originally I'd been thinking of trying to evoke imperial gold, but I figured this was still the kind of drama and luxury suited the book, and also something something the hidden colors suited Qi Yan's character. I tied it back a little to the imperial gold with the endpapers, then titled them in silver foil, since the endpapers had silver in them.

But once the books were made, I felt like it wanted something... more. Something like a BOX!

And me, I chase novelty. A set this large would be tricky for anything clamshell, but a slipcase for all seven would leave books tipping all over if it was wide open, but putting walls between slots would be demanding in terms of precision and would risk similarly-sized books getting stuck in the wrong slots. Then I remembered learning about slipcases where you could put in a little insert to support the weight of the text block, and the concept SNAPPED into place.

Colors aren't going to photograph well at midnight, but I made the supports using the scraps and off-cuts from my endpapers, to tie it back into the bindings. The back of the case is lined in more of the duo, and the walls are lined with a faux leather bookcloth I like a lot, it feels buttery smooth and seemed like a good neutral material to tie the papers and bookcloth together. I listened to some of the DEEPEST layers from the nine-hour conspiracy theory iceberg video while I was working on this, haha, it was a TRIP.

And in the end, each of the supports is sized to comfortably sit in the smallest of the volumes, and evenly spaced, so I believe it will take the books in any order with no problems. It's easy to grab the books without having to cut notches into the walls to grab them from. And even though weight is less of an issue for quarto sizing, the books in here have their weight supported no matter what angle the box is at! I'm so, so pleased with how this concept worked out and definitely plan to do more with it in the future.

So there we are! Jing Wei Qing Shang! I had such a fabulous time with this project, and I'm so excited to get to share it with all of you. The story was fun to work with, the bindings and box were fun to make, and everything here came together just as well as I could possibly have hoped. I'm so proud of this, and incredibly, incredibly excited to show it to you!

#crafts #bookbinding #box making #oh boy what is this story tagged #jwqs #jing wei qing shang #clear and muddy loss of love #I'll pick one to stick with later 😂#long post/#so proud of this one!

1K notes · View notes

blackopals-world · 7 months

Note

The thoughts about Jester!Yuu have just not stopped in the literal 7 days since you posted!

Can you IMAGINE the other dorms finding out that Yuu is a Jester, but only for Heartslaybul?

Vil would be envious as could be! He is practically the successor to the Beautiful Queen, but Yuu chose to be part of Riddle's court instead? Rook adored the beauty of performance regardless of the genre, but he would like to see Yuu in Pomefiore colors... Epel just thinks that the costume looks uncomfortable.

Leona doesn't give a damn beyond admiring the athleticism required, but Ruggie is eager to learn a few slight of hand tricks. Jack is just baffled by the costumes. Layers and colors and patterns all over, and the grease paint makeup? Not for him, thanks!

Kalim would love to have Yuu perform at a party or fifteen! Jamil just likes that Yuu can get away with mocking people to their faces, something he's almost envious of.

Azul, of course, sees profit! Every chance to customize costumes, ticket and food sales for a performance- he's already imagining ways to get a contract, but Jester Yuu is more clever than he thinks. The twins are fascinated, of course! You dress in a costume and get to do whatever you want, and even mock Riddle to his face without rebuke.

Idia thinks of Yuu like a video game character come to life! Always performing silly dances and making clever quips, often with some variation of their Jester gear and makeup, like extra costumes you can buy as DLC. Not to mention how Yuu can say and do practically anything in Heartslaybulwithout punishment. Ortho loves how colorful and cheerful Yuu is! He almost wants to ask big brother to make him a jester body so he can learn from them.

Diasomnia is a bit split. Sebek thinks Yuu's behavior is disgracefully inappropriate, and so disrespectful. Lilia considers Yuu a wonder! That Riddle child was too stiff, and Lilia remembers many court jesters with great fondness. Silver finds Yuu entertaining, but also tiring at times, and is almost wary of how perceptive they are... Malleus adores Yuu. Never afraid of him, always willing to speak your mind and treat him like any other. Fun and bright and endlessly energetic. Truly, if you grow bored of Rosehearts, then he would be more than happy to have you become the Jester of the Draconia family.

(Forgive me if this is too long, but I've been brain rotting about Jester Yuu for a week, lol)

Yes to all of this. I haven't finished my drafts due to lack of art (also I'm waiting for my new digital art pad to arrive)

Jester!Yuu is just a silly little fool. With bells and ribbons on their arms and legs.

Unfortunately due to the nature of being a court jester they can't just leave their court. It's in the name. Yuu can leave if they are sent to another court by the "Queen or King" though this is temporary.

Most of Yuu outfits are made to suit Riddle's court with hearts, clovers, diamonds, and spades decorating them. Most of their acts revolve around acts of tomfoolery and disregard for rules. Like pretending to be the queen of hearts and making silly demands and making things "disappear"

No matter what Riddle says getting him to give up his jester is more just difficult. You wouldn't either. If you had someone whose job is to make you smile and laugh you wouldn't let them go.

The only way to convince him would be to trick him or just kidnap Yuu.

Don't worry they don't mind. Do it. In fact, they like it. Don't ask them, just do it.

You don't have to force them to perform either.

Is it a bit twisted to want your very own jester to dance and sing for you? To be your little doll who dresses up in your image. To have them in your court where their smile and laughter is also yours.

Maybe, but look at what school this is. Seems fine and they don't care.

Wether its juggling, acrobatics, jokes, dancing, singing or even acting they can do it all.

There is also the weird underlying attractiveness of the jester. Maybe it was provocative and elaborate outfits. Maybe it was unique makeup that made their face like the most delicate porcelain.

It doesn't matter they like the attention and aren't above lounging on your lap just show how invincible they were.

You wouldn't hurt them. They are just a silly little clown. You wouldn't fight a silly willy little clown, would you? For shame.

#jester!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #riddle rosehearts x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #malleus draconia x reader #kalim x reader #idia shroud x reader

670 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 11 days

Text

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you

character: alastor warnings: 18+ for mature themes (no smut) minors do not interact, fem!reader, pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (possessiveness; reader is nothing more than a silly little doll for alastor to play dress up with), implied size difference, a hint of blood words: 1.1k

Alastor is a creature of habit, a man of routine. He has his daily rituals, his rigorous schedules, his lists of tasks, all performed to perfection each and every day.

And Alastor likes to begin his mornings in a very specific way.

You know the procedure by now inside out, upside down, could recite it backwards, if he so desired you to.

By the time he wakes you, he’s already laid out your outfit for the day; intimates, dress, socks, accessories, all spread in an immaculate flat lay on his seldom-used bedspread.

You are always expected to adorn yourself with the garments he’s selected, to pull on each and every piece all on your own, fabrics lovingly caressing your exposed flesh as his gaze slithers after the material, leaving burning smudges on your skin.

But, of course, you can never do it all completely right—not like Master can.

Because it always ends the same, this little morning sacrament: with Alastor fussing over you—straightening out a bow, smoothing out a wrinkle, tugging up a sock, readjusting a sleeve.

There is always something wrong he has to fix, to make perfect.

And the finishing touch, the finishing touch is always for Master to add.

A leather collar, as red as his eyes and adorned with a heart-shaped tag, his name in an elegant scrawl engraved in the platinum. He’s always so tender when he fastens it around your neck, after he has thoroughly approved of your dressing for the day, more tender than you’d ever thought him capable of; more tender than he ever is otherwise.

It’s all just another way he claims you, degrades you, announces that you are his—his to decorate, his to desecrate, his to do whatever the fuck he wants with you.

That pretty little silver heart that rests so daintily against your clavicle, that rises and falls and glitters with each of your gentle breaths, will never let you forget that.

Today, as it is with most days, he has chosen a white colour palette.

Sitting in his usual armchair with his legs crossed, folded hands resting in his lap, he watches as you undress in front of him, left vulnerable and raw to his gluttonous glare. It stings, his gaze razored and slitting into your skin, prickling as it rakes over your unprotected form, leaving you feeling hypersensitive, overexposed, like he’s stripped away some fundamental layer and left you barer than bare.

Yet to the untrained eye, he would appear only mildly interested, possibly even teetering on indifferent, but you know him better than that.

You are not the untrained eye—not anymore.

You know that the glowing in his gaze is brighter, bolder and more brilliant than normal as he sharply catalogues every action—pretty silk slipped off, dainty lace sliding on.

You know that his pupils are abnormally large, having gnawed away at his irises in their attempt to consume the scene in front of him—a scene he’s witnessed a hundred times before; a scene he never tires of nonetheless.

You know that his smile, usually sharp and stretched, is a little bit softer around the edges, a little bit sweeter as it seals hungry teeth behind curled lips.

His chest swells and deflates with calm, even breaths, his unblinking gaze holding yours for a moment—in, out, in, out—and you stand still as a statue, waiting.

Such a good little pet he’s got himself.

He lets the moment linger for a little, basks in the exquisiteness of your obedience, allows that sweet suffocation of your compliance to grow until it’s nearly unbearable, until you’re struggling to keep stationary under his unrelenting stare, until the weight of it is crushing, compressing your ribs, flattening your lungs as you anticipate his approval.

Finally, he nods, and then, you begin.

First, the intimates; pure snow-white lace encrusted with tiny crystals, dainty material skimming your flesh in a faint caress, clinging to your supple curves as you fasten hooks and adjust waistbands.

Next, an ivory milkmaid dress, complete with cinched puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the corset top outlining the natural lines and bends of your torso, skirt flaring slightly at the hips and flowing into loose pleats around your thighs. Little white flowers detail the garment, embroidered in silk across the linen, blooming with each of your graceful inhales.

Then, a pair of white thigh-high nylons to garnish the outfit, adorned with tiny white polkadots, sleek and sheer as they hug your legs.

He doesn’t miss the ripple of chills that follow after his eyes as they glide up your body, trailing the curled knuckles hooked in the band of your stockings. Nor does he miss the delicate shiver that dances up your spine, or the tensing of your muscles as you linger in limbo beneath his stare, anticipating his next order.

No, he witnesses it all.

And he smirks, huffing out an airy snort, your frame flinching with the sound.

“Does my gaze make you uncomfortable, dear?”

“No, Sir, of course not,” you respond immediately; well-trained, obedient.

“No? Then why has your body gone rigid beneath my eyes?”

“I just—” you begin, faltering a little, a small frown on your face.

Suddenly, he rises, stalking toward you calmly, both hands clasped behind his back. That infamous collar, held securely in his grasp, jingles with each of his steps, such a delicate sound for something so sinister.

Stopping an inch or two from your face, your head snaps up, the motion instinctual, eyes wide and subservient—searching for guidance, awaiting your orders like the good little girl you are.

A palm wreathes around your jaw, points of his claws pressing into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, revelling in the soft pained yelp that hitches in your throat, tangling on a gasp.

“Do you feel like a piece of meat, on display for your owner?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Crimson searches your face, slow and scrutinizing, lids narrowing slightly as his smile sharpens.

“Nothing more than a pretty little prize to be paraded around on my arm, proudly and in public?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Leaning down, he grinds his forehead into your own, inhibiting your gaze from fleeing his, neck bent at an unnatural angle as he looms over you. He stares at you for a moment, scarlet so bright it hurts to look directly into, so brilliant you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blotting your vision when you finally look away, but you don’t dare to blink.

Slim fingers flex around your jaw, tightening, and his claws pierce your cheeks—shallow little pricks that’ll be unnoticeable in a few minutes, dots of blood rushing to fill the tiny dents. His tongue laves over each in a single, slow drag, wide and wet as it cleans the wounds and streaks his tastebuds with copper, sealing them with a thick salve of saliva before pulling away.

“Good,” he finally murmurs, the word a puff of breath wafting across your face, warm and woodsy. “Because you are. And Master likes for his things to look presentable.”

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor smut #alastor headcanons #inky.alastor #inky.hazbin

358 notes · View notes

runnning-outof-time · 1 year

Text

The Silver Lining | Tommy Shelby & Daughter!Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby & daughter!reader

Summary: (Y/N) Shelby's always been the 'forgotten one' in her family, but there may just be a silver lining in all of her suffering.

Warnings: strained familial relationship (father/daughter), mentions of minor character death

Word Count: 1633

A/N: I’m a bit rusty with the daughter!reader stories, so I’m hoping that this is good and was wanted. It’s also a bit of a sad one, but ends happy (or so I think). Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

From when she was young, (Y/N) Shelby wished that she was part of a different family. Not even a different family name; she'd be fine with staying a Shelby...she just wished she would be going home to a different parent; a different father at night.

The only thing that (Y/N) did thank her father for was for taking her in. She'd heard terrible stories of orphanages and what happened within them. The fact that she had a place to call home, when she very easily could not have, made her grateful for that.

Her mother died after childbirth, and that side of the family wanted nothing to do with the baby after it was born, so Tommy Shelby decided to take his daughter into his home, accepting the help of his aunt in raising the child. (Y/N) was grateful for it because it was uncommon for the father to do something like that...most just sent the children away when the mother was out of the picture.

But as time went on it seemed like she was the furthest thing from Tommy's mind. Tommy and his brothers came from the war back differently. (Y/N) was left to be with Polly and Finn as he delved deeply into business, making that the highest importance in his life.

And then he met a woman. Grace Burgess quickly became the apple of Tommy Shelby's eye, putting yet another layer of separation between him and his daughter. (Y/N) was still a child herself when her half-brother, Charlie was born. A part of her felt jealous of the young boy; who seemed to get more attention from her father than she ever did.

At least she had the servants that had been hired on to talk to now, and that her father had thankfully listened and allowed her to have a piano teacher. Tommy never had a problem in monetarily giving (Y/N) what she desired...he just seemed to have no desire in actually bettering his actual relationship with her.

Things sort of plateaued for a bit when the family moved into Arrow House. (Y/N) joined the rest of her family for dinner - because she was expected to - and had free roam of the estate's expensive halls and grounds. Sure, it still hurt that at times she felt like she'd been ostracized from the family...that she didn't fit into the family that her father <wanted> to have. Being able to get lost on her own made up for it in a way.

Things took a sharp turn for the worse when Grace died. Tommy sequestered himself away from everyone in the family, only giving the bare minimum to everything that wasn't business. In a dark, twisted way, (Y/N) was kind of happy that Charlie was now getting a taste of what she'd been dealing with her entire life. But, of course, Tommy eventually began seeking his son out again and having meaningful moments with him, whereas with (Y/N) it just seemed like he was going through the motions; having the necessary conversations with her. The fact that she expected no less from her father scared her slightly...it meant that she was getting used to it.

As she got older, (Y/N) threw herself into her studies. She enjoyed reading and writing, and oftentimes would keep herself busy with either of the two. These two hobbies stuck as she made her way through the schooling system. Another thing that she was thankful for was her father's ever-rising status. He may have not been the most open and willing parent to her, but he did still make sure that she attended the best schools and had all of the proper help that was needed to excel in her studies. It was only what was fit for a Shelby.

As it was nearing the end of her secondary school career, (Y/N) found out that she was at the top of her class. She felt exhilarated by this news, and as soon as she got home, she just had to share it with Lizzie. Lizzie was Tommy's second wife, and the only person who seemed to really, truly care about what (Y/N) was doing. It was because of her that (Y/N) even chose to send out some letters to different universities with the hopes of being accepted into them. Her father was spending more and more time in his office due to his job in Parliament, so even if he had an inkling of interest in the things that his daughter was doing, she wouldn't know it. So she stuck to sharing the news with her step-mother.

One day towards the end of the school year, Frances stopped (Y/N) as she was walking through the front door. "Your father wants to see you in his office," she informed (Y/N), her expression not really giving much away.

Not saying anything, (Y/N) nodded and made her way to her father's office. She knocked on the mahogany door before opening it just enough so that she could peek her head through the door. "Frances told me that you wanted to see me," she announced her presence, hoping that her father would hear her and look up from what he was typing on his typewriter.

"Yes, come," Tommy answered her, waving her into the room with a flick of his wrist, his eyes just barely shifting from the work he was doing.

(Y/N) nodded before she opened the door further so that she could properly enter the room. She closed it behind her before silently moving over to the two armchairs that were sitting, facing his desk. "What is it that you want, dad?" she asked him once she was sitting in one of the chairs.

"It's, uh..." he started, pausing to slide the carriage of the machine back over to the start so that it'd ring out, before he looked over at his daughter. He cleared his throat before continuing, "it's been brought to my attention by this letter here that you have been in correspondence with Oxford." He clasped his hands together on top of what (Y/N) could only guess was said letter as he finished speaking.

The breath got caught in the young woman's throat as she nodded her head, hoping that her voice came out steady when she started to speak. There were no clues as to what her father was feeling or thinking at the moment, and she was preparing herself for the worst. "I applied for their writing program. It's been said that it's one of the best in the country, and I feel that I have what it takes to excel in it," she gave her reasoning behind what she had done. There was no use in denying it, he was the one who brought it up. What she did leave out, though, was that she also applied to this particular university because of the substantial distance that there was between its campus and Arrow House.

Tommy kept his eyes fixed on her as she spoke, listening intently to what she had to say. He didn't respond right away after she was finished. Instead he let silence hang in the air for a moment as he looked away, flipping through the papers that were sitting on his desk. The time felt like it was dragging as (Y/N) waited for what he'd say next.

"This letter was sent in response to what you sent them," he finally told her, holding a stark, white envelope out to her then.

(Y/N) looked at it for a moment before accepting it from him. She tried her best to steady her shaking hands as she went about opening it up and retrieving the letter from inside. She read it over slowly, not wanting to jump ahead of herself. But the first line was all she needed to read: Congratulations, Miss Shelby. It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted into our accelerated writing program... She stopped reading there even though there was still a good bit of the letter left. Her jaw went slack as she re-read it a few more times, checking to make sure that what was printed was true.

Tommy knew what the letter held from her reaction alone. "Congratulations, (Y/N)," he offered her his own congratulatory statement.

She looked up when she heard him speak, happy tears stinging the edges of her eyes as everything sunk in. Sure what he'd said wasn't deep or very thought-provoking, but the fact that he'd said something at all was more than enough for her at that moment. "

"I knew that you'd be able to achieve this. You'll do great things, love," he told her, the smallest smile teetering on his lips.

He knew that she didn't need it, but he put in an extra word for her at the registrar’s anyway. It was the least that he could do for her. This would be the silver lining in her bleak life...her opportunity to get so far away from him and the past that he'd given her. She could make a wonderful life for herself once she stepped out from the shadow that was currently hanging over her; that had been hanging over her from the moment she was born.

And so when (Y/N) stood from the chair she was sitting on and stepped around the desk so that she could hug Tommy, he held onto her as tight as she held onto him. They were hugging each other for different reasons, reasons that if you looked at them in such a way, would show that they're actually the same.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @sunsetbeachesandwriting @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x daughter!reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

1K notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 3: Crimson and Clover

Eddie x fem!Reader & Steve x older!OC

masterlist playlist

18+MDNI, not too many warnings for this part just mention of losing a parent, hint to an abusive relationship, alcohol consumption, tons of awkward flirting, eventual smut, but very much a slow burn. Steve is in his mid-late 20's, aunt Kim is mid 30's to early 40's, or whatever age you are, dear reader.

wc: 4.5k

Summary: Hello! We're getting to know a bit more about the character dynamics, listening to some of Eddie's thoughts, and catching a glimpse at a third possible romance on the horizon. Preparing us for the wild ride that starts in the next chapter.

Songs for this chapter: Under the Milky Way/The Church Edge of a Broken Heart/Vixen Seek and Destroy/Metallica

The shores of the resort were thick the next day with people who worshiped the sun, playfully kicking at the water in their bathing suits, stretched out in their lounge chairs, glistening in layers of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.

You, on the other hand, were still fully clothed, covered in SPF, under one of the big umbrella’s the resort offered with your headphones on to drown out the sound of the screaming children. Your dad was in the shade next to you, absorbed in a book, while aunt Kim caught some rays on her backside in a black one-piece that was high at the hip, flipping through an issue of People magazine. It was the Summer of Love issue celebrating the 1960’s with the Beatles on the front and the quote: “It’s 20 years later, do you know where your love beads are?”

“Don’t you want to get in the water, Bird?” Your aunt cooed politely, adjusting her big sunglasses on her face.

You shook your head, pulling your headphones down. “I think I’ve developed a phobia of public watering holes.”

“Suit yourself,” she sat up and brushed herself off. “I think I’ll take a quick dip.”

“Watch out for sharks,” you quipped, earning the weight of a magazine being thrown at your hip.

“This has been enough excitement for me,” your dad cleared his throat, placing a bookmark to save his spot, standing from his chair, knees popping. “I think I’ll head in, get some writing done before dinner.”

“Later dad,” you mumbled, wishing you had an excuse to hide in a room by yourself all day.

Once he was gone, Kim took a drink out of her water bottle and heaved a sigh. “I wish the two of you would give this place a chance. Look at that lake!” She stretched her arm out, pointing. “It’s breathtaking.”

You gazed out at the expanse of the cheery, vacation scene, bursting with melancholy. “Mom would’ve loved this place,” you choked on the last word, not sure where that fresh pang of emotion had come from.

Kim chewed the inside of her cheek, equally adrift in reverie, when a body stepped up to block the sun, putting her in its shadow. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

The body belonged to Steve, and he was shirtless, in a pair of navy-blue Staff swim trunks, short and slightly snug against his hairy thighs, and flip flops. His lips were glossy, and even though he wore sunglasses, he had to shield his face with his hand, squinting against the sun so hard that his top lip curled.

Kim tried to speak so fast she coughed, wondering if she looked too frumpy in the suit she had on. What was she thinking? He had to be a good 10 years younger than her, no way he was interested in—

“Kim, right?” He aimed a finger gun at her, but then he struggled a bit with your name, snapping his fingers to ignite recollection.

“And you’re Steve,” Kim's eyes couldn’t help but land on the silver chain nestled in his ample chest hair. “Did you, um, are you working on your tan?”

It took him a second to catch what she was referring to, and then he smirked, pulling a crumpled polo from his back pocket. “I jumped in to cover lifeguard duty for a buddy of mine,” and then he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and so did she. “If you ever need a swimming lesson, I’m your guy.”

“You’re a swim instructor too?” Kim asked, impressed. Steve put his hands on his hips, accentuating broad shoulder muscles.

“Nah,” he shrugged, tucking his chin. “But I’d do my best.”

You dropped your gaze to the sketchbook you’d been doodling in, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening. From the headphones around your neck, the song Under the Milky Way by The Church played and a handful of kids ran by you giggling, dusting sand onto your blanket.

Steve wished you a good afternoon just before he excused himself, seemingly headed back to the pool area. You thought he’d been on his way somewhere else, but you were mistaken.

“I think he likes you,” you swirled a few doodles, raising an eyebrow.

“Noooo,” Kim gave a long protest, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit. “He works here, it’s his job to be friendly.

“Yeah? Is it his job to keep checking over his shoulder at you as he walks away?”

Kim peeked just as the man in question tripped over his own feet. Regaining his balance, he waved and said, “I’m okay,” and then proceeded to put his shirt back on as he approached the lifeguard station.

It was your turn to stiffen and feel tingly all over when you spotted Eddie strolling down the sidewalk from the main house, wearing a tool belt loose at his hips to accompany his denim and staff shirt attire.

From the way he knocked that Lance guy out with one punch the other night, you wondered if his hand hurt. Adjusting yourself, you wet your lips, as if he’d spot you or something, which was impossible from that distance. He cut in front of the fenced pool area, heading for the outdoor bar that had a thatched roof like you’d see at a tropical beach. For the first time that day, you noticed that Chrissy was working the area, carting fancy drinks around to the guests at the pool. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she turned from what she was doing to talk to him.

She dipped her chin a few times in answer to whatever questions he was asking, and then he squeezed her arm affectionately before taking off again.

“Do you want anything from the bar?” You got to your feet, dropping your Walkman to the towel.

Kim cocked her head, considering the question. “Is it too early for alcohol?”

Eddie was back on the path, his back to you as he got further away, but your attention was on Chrissy mixing cocktails in a metal shaker.

“I can see if they have mimosas?” You weren’t thirsty, really, but you were curious.

Kim decided on a bloody mary and asked you to put it on her tab, slipping you a few bucks for a tip.

The smile Chrissy gave you as you approached was polite, but it did not reach her eyes. “What can I get for ya?”

You told her, fumbling over your words a bit, and then waited on one of the five stools for her to make your drinks. She scooped ice into a Styrofoam cup and tossed in a jigger of alcohol. You noticed a gold, heart shaped locket around her neck with something engraved on the front.

“Is it true you used to play with Vixen?” You asked, in awe.

Chrissy’s face fell and she paused to stare at you. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, Joyce, she, well—sounded like she was proud of you.”

Chrissy went back to work. “That was a long time ago, back when life was good.”

“It’s not good now?” You were intruding, and you knew it, but still, you couldn’t help yourself.

Chrissy scoffed. “You could say that. Lemon in your tea?”

You nodded, wondering if there was anything you could say or do to cheer her up.

“How long have you and Eddie been together?”

She frowned down at what she was doing. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He’s like a brother to me. Known him since I was a kid.”

“Oh I see,” you pressed your lips together, trying not to appear relieved at that news.

There was a lull of silence as she finished up and you felt compelled to fill it. “I saw you play with the house band last night. I think you’re really talented.”

You could hear the click of her molars gnashing together when she placed both drinks in front of you. “Playing lame cover songs for a no-name house band is the best I can do with my life right now. Music is the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

You used some of your own cash to give her an even bigger tip and scooped up your drinks.

“Hey, wait,” Chrissy called after you. She rubbed her forehead and tried to smile. “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m, that I’m being such a bitch,” she shrugged. “It’s been a shit couple days.”

You shook your head, cold drinks sweating in your hands, about to tell her that you understood, but the two of you were interrupted.

“Bird, there you are,” you froze at the sound of Troy’s voice. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the amenities.”

Troy had a green and white tennis outfit on with a racket in his hand, and you caught the way Chrissy tensed and quickly turned away at his entrance. She folded the tip you’d left and put it in the front pocket of her apron. He came up close to you—too close, invading your bubble—and so you shuffled back, bumping into one of the stools.

“The staff is treating you well, I hope?” He leaned against the tiki bar, and it was not lost on you that Chrissy pretended to be so busy she didn’t notice him.

“Just about to bring this to my aunt,” you lifted the red drink with the celery stick sticking out of it. You glanced at Chrissy, but she went to the other side of the bar to help someone else. “The service here is impeccable,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

You headed out and he kept up, sticking by your side. “I’ll walk with you,” he winked.

“Great,” your smile was a tight, thin line.

—-------

Eddie bent at the waist to sip from the stone drinking fountain near one of the utility sheds and splashed water on his face a few times, combing wet fingers through his hair so that his bangs were off his forehead. He worked the cool water around the back of his neck, wondering if he had a sunburn. He loved Indiana for the fall colors and the long winters, but the summer? The summer heat could go fuck itself.

Water was still dripping from his chin and nose when Steve walked up, sunlight through the leaves making patterns on his face.

“Did Robin mention we need to borrow your van tomorrow night?” Steve bent down to take a sip from the fountain after he asked it.

Eddie pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. “As long as you don’t bring it back on empty. What’s wrong with your car?”

“We need to pick up a bunch of Robin’s stuff from her ex’s house,” Steve raised his brows high, locking them in place. “Girl is a bit of a psycho, I don’t want Robbie to go alone.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he caught sight of you making your way back to the umbrella with Troy by your side and he hoped that you were smart enough to know that guy was a piece of shit.

“I work late tomorrow, but I’ll help you unload when you get back,” the tip of Eddie’s tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, eyes darting to you again. You weren’t some goddess from the cover of a hotrod magazine, or one of the metal babes who always tried to go down on him when he used to play shows with his old band, but yet, without knowing anything about you, the sight of you made his heart jump into his throat.

“Nah, we got it,” Steve talked as the two started walking. “It’s just a mattress and a chair and some clothes I think. I told her just to let them go, but it's the principle I suppose.”

“I get it man, believe me,” Eddie once drove three states just to get a rare Scorpions concert tee back from an ex who stomped his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie caught Steve before he headed off in the other direction. “Jam at the Hideout tonight?”

They bumped fists. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—-------

The movie Casablanca was the offering at the outdoor theater that night, and respective families cuddled on the lawn on their various blankets and camp chairs under cover of generous tree branches. Halfway through, you excused yourself from your aunt’s company to find the restroom, and that was when you spotted Chrissy and Troy having what appeared to be a heated conversion at the curve of the sidewalk near the rose garden. You ducked behind a tree just as Humphrey Bogart said one of his infamous lines on the screen.

Since everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, no one but you saw the way Chrissy pointed in Troy’s face, only for him to snatch her wrist in a way that made you gasp. She yanked her arm away and turned on her heel, but then he caught up and lunged in front of her. Whatever he said to her then calmed things down for a moment, she stopped trying to break free, and then he cupped her face as if he were about to kiss her, but she shoved away again. That time, he let her go. Hands balled into fists in his pockets, head down, he stormed off in the opposite direction, toward you.

You stood very still, hoping to be mistaken for the thick trunk of the tree, and thankfully, it worked. You came around to glare at his backside, but then trotted after Chrissy. She was long gone, walking as fast as her feet could carry her along the treeline, and you didn’t think she’d appreciate you screaming her name at the top of your lungs in front of the other guests.

It was pure luck that made you take notice of something shiny on the ground, a pile of glistening gold on the sidewalk.

It was a necklace, a heart locket to be exact, much like the one you’d noticed around Chrissy’s neck earlier that day. You ran your thumb over the engraving on the front and let the delicate chain drag along the back of your hand.

You were sure that it belonged to Chrissy, the clasp must’ve broken during the struggle with Troy. You had to get it back to her somehow.

—-------

“Where are you going?” Your dad asked as you sailed through the living room on your way to the door later that evening. He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost 11.”

You’d planned on him being in bed already. “I, well, I ahh—” you scrambled for an excuse, something that wasn’t “I’m going off the property to where people fight and get drunk and listen to metal”. You were 21 and technically, by the law of the land, could do anything you wanted, but anyone who has ever traveled with family is familiar with the tendency to be treated like a child infinitely. He loved you, he worried about you, and you didn’t want him to stay up all night pacing, so, you lied.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, and a bunch of the guests are watching from the boat docks,” god, you hoped he wouldn’t fact check you on that.

He shuffled some saltines absently out of a tin. “You’re still coming on the boat with us tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you beamed, clenching the front of your jean jacket closed to hide the revealing shirt you wore underneath.

You raced down the porch steps once you were able, dashing into the night with Chrissy’s necklace safe in your pocket.

—-----

A guy in a Black Sabbath shirt and a drastic mullet with hair down his shoulders moved out of the way for you as you crossed the bridge, and then you had to stand there and take a breath. Robin wasn’t with you and you hadn’t been invited to the Hideout this time, maybe they wouldn’t want you? Surely you could find Chrissy at work the next day and give her the necklace then? Fuck it, you were almost there.

You could hear the shrill feedback from a guitar and then someone speaking into a microphone. Was that Eddie’s voice? Your heart raced. People cheered at whatever was said, and then the drum beat kicked in a few times, followed by guitar riffs, and a woman’s voice singing the Vixen intro to Edge of a Broken Heart.

“I can't believe I could have been so blind

But love is strange

I thought about it for a long long time

But the truth remains”

You could feel the music in your chest. Was that Chrissy? Perhaps it was the “band practice” Robin told you about, but the music didn’t sound at all like what you’d expect to hear from the conservative house band. The sliding door was open once you were in view, with people mingling outside, and you dodged around them, sucking in a plume of secondhand smoke from a passerby.

Slithering through a few more bodies, you stepped right over the spot where Lance had gone down the night before, and then you had the perfect view of Chrissy exercising her impressive pipes on the microphone under a few ropes of tiny, pale string lights.

Steve was on bass, hair flopping in his face, his mouth holding an “O” shape as he played. He had on a thin white tee that was soaked through with sweat on the front atop belted blue jeans. Eddie arched back, exposing his throat, his fingers deftly working the strings on his smoke black Warlock guitar. He had a Bark at the Moon shirt on with wide, ripped out arm holes exposing the tattoo work on his ribs. His hair hung in his face when he bent over to play, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together.

Chrissy jabbed her fist in the air for the chorus and the crowd screamed it:

“I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

I don't wanna fall, I don't wanna crawl

I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

Don't you wonder why I gotta say goodbye”

She commanded the stage, playing guitar as she sang. You were too absorbed to realize that you had made your way forward and were right there front and center when Eddie glanced up.

He wasn’t expecting to see you, so he did a dramatic double take, nostrils flaring the moment your eyes connected. Why couldn’t you just stay away?

A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, but faded to an unsure lip bite when he averted his gaze, scowl deepening. He ignored you for the rest of the song.

When it was over, there were cheers and whistles all around. The drummer with the mop of tawny hair twirled one of their drumsticks in the air with a flourish and caught it, clapping the high hat. Voices murmured around you as people fell back into conversation while they had a break from the volume of the amps, and you shuffled to the side, following Chrissy as she took her guitar off and held it by the fretboard. She had on a cropped shirt with her shorts, golden hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her short fingernails painted black. There were a few old, wooden apple box crates stacked on top of each other to act as a makeshift table, and she grabbed the neck of the beer that was waiting there to take a sip.

Eddie continued to play, wailing on the guitar with precision, while Steve and the drummer followed his lead to the tune of Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

You tapped Chrissy on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Oh shit, you scared me,” she said, spinning around. She checked around as if she were expecting to see someone else there. “Where’s Robin? Is she with you?”

“No, I, just a sec—” you dug around in the front pocket of your jacket, panicking for a moment that you forgot to bring the locket with you. “I found this on the sidewalk, and I thought maybe you dropped it?”

Chrissy gasped at the sight of it and her eyes began to water. “How did you–?” A sob caught in her throat, and she reached out to gently take it from you. She shook her head in disbelief. “I looked everywhere, I thought it was gone forever, I—”

“I thought that was you!” It was Robin, bobbing on the balls of her feet as she came up to nudge your shoulder. But then, her attention turned to Chrissy and her face tensed with concern. “What happened, why are you crying?”

“No, no,” Chrissy sniffed and opened her fist to show Robin the piece of jewelry. “It’s my grandmother’s locket I told you about. Bird found it.”

Robin bent to get a closer look and the two women knocked their heads together, sharing a laugh. “The clasp is broken though,” Chrissy mused. “It must’ve come off when—” she swallowed, deciding not to finish that sentence. “I’ll take it into town to get it fixed this weekend.”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it for you,” Robin volunteered. “Not only can I unclog a toilet, but I’m also pretty crafty.”

“Y-you’d do that for me?” She asked as she was passing it over.

“Of course,” Robin chuckled. “I’d do anything for y—I mean, what are friends for right?”

Chrissy turned her attention back to thank you properly when Steve pushed in between the other two girls and slung his arms around their shoulders. “What's going on?”

Robin cringed. “Gross, Dingus, you’re all sweaty,” to which he shook his head and droplets from his hair flew everywhere, making the girls scream and push him off.

The three of them got into conversation about something and you sank back against the corrugated metal wall to observe. You hadn’t noticed the music stopped but the drummer was in the crowd having a beer and just as you were on your toes trying to find Eddie, a warm body sank in next to you.

“Hey,” Eddie said.

You looked just in time to catch his gaze traveling down your body, but then he was quick to lift his beer to his mouth and pretended to be watching the crowd.

“Hey,” you returned, suddenly full sentences and conversation felt so foreign. You were acutely aware that there was plenty of space along the wall, but he was pressed close, bare arm touching yours.

“They let you stay out this late on a school night?” He grinned against the aluminum rim, amusing himself. He had a second beer in his other hand, and he passed it to you.

“Ha. Ha.”

He had one knee bent with his foot on the wall while the other leg stretched long to show the heavily scuffed toe of his black boot.

You shuddered despite the heat. “So, how long have you and Chrissy been playing music together?”

He hummed, shifting so that his bicep rubbed against you, squinting one eye shut in thought, tilting his head back. “Been something like a decade now, I think? Feels longer. Feels like I’m 60 years old some days.”

“How old are you though?” You swallowed so hard your throat clicked. “45? 50?”

He leaned into you, hard enough to push you over if your feet weren’t planted, his hair skimming your shoulder. “Close enough,” he paused to say something else, but then puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

He wanted to ask how long you’d been playing the cello, but how would he even know you did without admitting he’d watched you that night from the street like a stalker? “Do you think you’re gonna stick around, watch us play some more?”

“I could,” you were about to add something super cheesy like, “if you want me to,” but opted for nonchalant. “I love watching Chrissy play.”

He nodded a few times, and pushed off the wall, handing you his beer. “Hold this for me?” His silky brown eyes locked onto yours, the tip of his tongue resting between parted lips. “Please?”

There you were, holding Eddie Munson’s beer. He got behind the mic and took his shirt all the way off to wipe his face with it before strapping his guitar on. The next song they did was an original, something that Eddie and Chrissy wrote, and Chrissy came in on backup vocals, while Eddie growled out the lyrics, banging his head every so often. He swiped his bangs from his forehead, wet with perspiration, and his fingers worked like magic along the strings. At one point, he and Chrissy shared the same mic, belting out the words.

He made eye contact with you three times, not that you were counting. Each time longer than the last. When it was over, he came out and took his beer from you, fingers touching as he did so.

“Eddie, I think I—” you were about to let him know you should probably get going, but he’d already turned, chugging the rest of the beer as he went, and then they were right into the next song.

Eddie wasn’t sure why you made him so curious, but the voices in his head were screaming at him to shake it off. Somehow, he’d gone four years without getting involved with a summer person, he’d never even been tempted really. Nothing good could come of it, especially since he’d probably end up being nothing but a vacation fuck for you to brag to your friends about.

He glanced around but couldn’t find you during the song. When he went to check for you at the wall, you were gone.

---

thank you again for the love on this and for reading!

---

taglist: @micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch @ohmeg@marrowfrog00

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson fic #Dirty Metal Summer #dms updates #Steve Harrington #Eddie munson x fem!reader #dirty dancing au

178 notes · View notes

ghostieyanyan · 4 months

Text

~Yandere Regrets~

Yan!Ruggie x mc

Yan!Silver x mc

Yan!Cater x mc

Yan!Vil x mc

i thought of this a while ago so hehe.. what does a yandere regret? where's the line for yanderes? hurting their darling? punishment? threats??

Warnings: death, hinted of child birth (its still gender neutral but if you feel uncomfortable with it, you can just say its yandere delusions ^^), sleep spell, manipulation, self-loathing, death threats, hate mail(?), mind break, kinda creeping

~~~~~

Ruggie

you were supposed to be fine.. this wasn't how it suppose to be... you and him were supposed to grow old and die together. but no. Life always had to spit in his face.

He was stupid.. you were so different from him and he didn't even think about what your body was strong or weak against. the cold in the slums was easy for him to handle, duh, he grew up there... but you were different...

he should have given you vaccines or something to protect you from the slums sicknesses. he should have slowly eased you into the slums with his family... to build up your immune system.

he couldn't get mad at anyone... only himself..

Ruggie wanted you to be part of his life so badly, he took you to the slums in the dead of night and never looked bad at NRC.

Crowley found the way to your world and you just had a week to say your goodbyes... he didn't want you to leave! he didn't want to say goodbye!

the timing was awful... if it was around the end of the year, he could have graduated and then he'll get a good job to support his family, you, and the family he'd like to make with you..

but he was impassion and scared he'll lose you forever.. and he ultimately lost you in the most cruelest ways.

in the slums, everyone knows that you have to be very careful to not get sick. cuts are even worst. sickness means you need medicine, medicine cost money, which they don't have...

it was supposed to just be a common cold...

it was winter time, the snow was starting to fall and covered the slums in a thin layer of snow. it'll likely go away in the morning but it was still cold out. even in sunset savanna.

Most of the kids stayed inside because of the cold. some, who can handle the cold, were playing outside.

Ruggie was with his grandma making you soup. you had a pretty nasty cough and they insisted on something warm in you system would help.

how did his grandma take him bringing you home..? he promised her some great grandkids and she was down for it.. and to say she scared you more than ruggie's threats on if you were to ran away was an understatement. she was living proof on how scary female hyenas could be..

you were supposed to be fine.. the soup was supposed to make you feel better.. he always got better after the soup. but you were different, unique, one of a kind... that's why he fell in love with you..

he knew you didn't love him. he wasn't a good man. he took you away from your home, not just from the mirror, but NRC. he knew you loved being a part of NRC. helping out, even when Crowley forced you, you still enjoyed it...

he thought you could learn to love him and you two would work hard to provide for your family in the slums... and one day work hard enough to better the slums, or everyone.

instead... you died that winter.. because of that stupid cough. and he's now alone... the one thing he didn't want...

he had to say goodbye..

~~~~~

Silver

When silver was a kid, his father would tell him all the stories he knows, which were a lot. his favorites, as a kid, were the stories where the prince or knight characters protects their home and loved ones.

he told his father that when he grows up, he wants to be strong enough to protect everyone he loves. his father told him at he should train and eat a lot to grow strong and maybe he'll find his "royal stuck in their tower~" or "royal stuck in a death like sleep~"

Silver felt that his father always had his head in the clouds for these, "cheesy" scenarios. he personal didn't mind it though. he, himself, didn't know if he'll find his other half but he's not the type that will roll around in his sleep about it...

he thought..

when silver first heard about you, it came from the news of "a newcomer with no magic and a wild monster came to the school ceremony and caused mayhem." but how Lilia described it was "an excited turn of events." silver didn't mind it too much.

he only hear more about you when malleus was telling him, sebek, and Lilia about the child of man staying in the abandoned dorm and how you invited him to this event, not knowing who he is. with how malleus spoke so highly of you, made him curious of this perfect.

he also over heard how you always finding yourself into a bunch of overblot situations. he hasn't even met you and you already sound amazing. kinda like the princes or knights of those old stories...

to say he was charmed by the mysteriousness of you was an understatement. he wanted to go out and just meet you to understand you better but he was always busy. school, clubs, protect malleus, naps, theres a lot on his plate but what can you do.

when he finally met you, from school events or school trips, each time you were with him it felt so warm and comforting. you were so calm and gentle with him, not like he need that but it was a nice feeling. whenever he fell asleep, he'll either wake up to you stering him or with his head resting in your lap. he never want this feeling to end. Silver wants to keep waking up besides you, for the rest of his life.

when he told Lilia about it, how he should confess to you and all. Lilia told him that he over heard you and your first year friends talking about making a break through about you going home, so this confess better be big...

he grew silent, which is normal for him but this was a different silent and lilia could tell..

"how about you show them how much you love them? that your love has no bounds. from twisted wonderland to other realms out there~"

even with lilia cheesy rometic preaching, he had a point. but how..? he wants to show you that you were important to him and that he'll protect you. he'll be your prince to... wake you...

silver stopped by your dorm late, you were just about to go to bed but he asked for time and how it was really important. you agreed and you both decided to talk outside. he started to tell you about his childhood and his love your fairy tale stories his father use to tell him. he told you how he loved you and wanted to show you that both of you were meant to be. he held your hand and pulled out a needle from his pocket.

you started to get scared and tried to pull away but it was untimely useless. silver just over powered you so easily. with one prike from the needle, you stared to feel dizzy and felt like your head ached. you fell into silver's chest which is arms snaked around you.

"it'll be okay.. ill wake you up.. and you'll understand that we were meant to be~"

he picked you up and gave you a sweet soft kiss on your lips.

he waited... and waited... and gave you a kiss again... and waited..

you didnt open your eyes.

~~~~~

Cater

Cater hated being with his family... his dad wasn't there when he needed him, his sisters treated him like an object or play thing, and his mom enables his sisters... if his friends invites him to any family related events, he'll take it in a heartbeat just to be away from his family. he'd rather die than admit that his sisters didn't have an influence on his behavior as a kid and even now that he's older.

when he first saw you, he thought you were the cutest thing in all of twisted wonderland. Cute little perfect, lost in an unknown world and at the mercy of everyone here. like a little animal that lost their way and that doesn't know better, but he'll help this cute lost animal.

it definitely helped his case, with how much ace and deuce brings you around. plus they often leave you to your lonesome because they cause some trouble and drag grim along too. what his luck~

At first he didn't mind sharing you with Trey, you all often spent time together watching trey bake and talking about any drama or rumors from school, trey didn't really mind the drama but he enjoyed the company.

the more Cater spent time with you, the more he fell for you. and when you come to him for anything, his heart skips a beat. you're just too precious in his eyes.

You both made it a thing that he'll come to you to online shop, mainly browsing because you couldn't effort anything. but every time you pointed something you liked, he always had something to say about it.

"i don't know about that... i think this one will match you better~! you'll look so cute in it~"

you didn't really mind, it wasn't like you took it personal... you shouldn't.. right?

sometimes Cater will stop by the Ramshackle dorm and bring you a "goodie bag." it was either the stuff he said you would look good in or some other cute stuff. pins, hair clips, hair ties, accessories, plushies, etc. some of the things weren't in your wheel house of interests but telling Cater you didn't like them when he looks so happy didn't feel right...

so you just allowed him to do whatever he liked.. it wasn't hurting anyone right..?

it wasn't-... it didn't hurt anymore. his teases that felt like hard jabs into your looks and insecurities, didn't hurt as badly anymore. without you realizing it, Cater was the one to dress you up and tell you what to do, eat, and how to think. you thought about it, why didn't you say anything..? well.. cater will be upset. every time you tell him you had a problem with how he treats you, he gets really sad and you just didn't like it one bit... it was too much to keep fighting it.. you were tired... you were drained..

cater and his "helpful inputs" just made you feel insecure of yourself. maybe you really need cater's help. you don't want to be a sore thumb to the people you care for, right?

"hey, what do you think about this? pref-?"

cater looked at you and he froze... he knows that look in your eyes. the pain.. the hurt.. the empty look.. the helplessness..

he's being the monster of his sisters.. to you...

~~~~~

Vil

Vil is a highly respected figure in twisted wonderland. his looks and his voice, his mere presences is a blessing for some people (his fans-). he has to be perfect, he only expects himself to be perfect. with the people around him, he tries his best to not being so strict about them being perfect but as long as they work for that goal, he cant complain too much.

when he met you, he cant say much or you might get crunched under all his critiques. but he admires how hard working you are, whether you like to be or not. to say vil enjoyed your clumsy potato charm was an understatement. the more he watched you, the more he was charmed~

he tired not to be too harsh on you, you are doing your best with the hand you have been delt, but still do you always have to slouch like that?

Whenever you see Vil, he always gives you "advice" whether if they are convention advice, with vil statures and position, you couldn't really say no...

without you realizing it, you find vil appearing more into your life. when you pass your classes, when your getting any paper work for Crowley, even when you are heading back to your dorm..! Vil requested Rook to get your weekly scheule...

at this rate, you'll see vil more than your friends, the only time you see your friends were in class and lunch.

you confronted vil, asking him if something was wrong.

oh boy~ he loves how you could stand up to him~

likely for him, being a great actor comes into his favor when he has to convince you that he's not creeping on you.

"i just like to check up on you. even if your aren't part of the main dorms. i cant let you make a joke out of NRC just because you are magicless"

he lend into you, reaching his hands to your face-!!

"your uniform is also messed up, potato. do i have to do everything for you!"

"o-oh..."

he starts to fix up your uniform and takes his leave. leaving you to process what happened..?

meanwhile someone with a certain hat took a picture and shared it on magicam. news broke out and rumors like "Vil isn't single anymore?!?!" and "who is this mysterious person?!" broke out like wild fire. you only hear about it from Cater who was upset that you didn't say you were in a relationship, much less, to vil!

but with rumors and a big following of vil's fans, comes lots of hate. you don't even have Magicam but you hear all the hate from your friends, classmates, and even classmates that weren't in your class or grade!! they were all getting concerned..

you're address got leaked and you were sent hate mail and death threats everyday! one person even sent pictures of you when you were out on a school event. it wasn't safe for you anymore. this took such a mental tole on you that Crowley had to asked a favor from Ambrose LXIII and have you transfer to RSA...

you didn't want to leave.. but you didn't have a chose anymore..

the picture was suppose to lead you to him... you were suppose to run to him, crying in his arms to protect you. Vil was suppose to be your knight in shining armor...

~~~~~

266 notes · View notes

uneeorchidee · 2 months

Text

personal style inspired by Lucy Westenra

Bram Stoker’s classic brought many iconic characters that continue to inspire fashion and art to this day, one of them being Lucy Westenra. Set in 1890’s, her look was based on late Victorian fashion. Described as soft and sweet, her style is very feminine and modest at first, but as her character changes into a deadly vampire, so does her style evolve into a more dark romantic look. To translate that into a personal style, it’s a perfect inspiration to bring both contrasting sides into one single creative and ethereal aesthetic.

I would keep the classic and feminine pieces and softness of colours as base, and mix it with modern, more relaxed cuts and details, as well as accessories and jewelry that add a little bit of edge and pop of colour for that gothic and vampiric element. Waist is usually emphasised/cinched while silhouette is rich on top or bottom. It can be achieved by combining pieces such as long ruffled skirts of sleeves, or lace and lightweight sheer fabrics like organza/chiffon, with lined and harsher pieces like corsets and bodices. Layering over with items that resemble lingerie, slip dresses and nigh gowns also incorporates well into this style. Some of the go-to pieces – lace turtlenecks, corsets, ruffled skirts/dresses, drop jewelry, laced boots, puff sleeve blouses, off shoulder dresses and tops, stockings, floral details, choker necklaces

colours – off white, silver, peach, muted shades of orange and pink, red

hairstyle – romantic waves or relaxed bun, any type of feminine head piece/accessory

makeup – minimalistic makeup with blurred/stained red lips

Lucy Westenra outfit inspiration

ethereal, dark romantic, lace pieces, muted colours, ruffles, stained lips, red details, feminine

#lucy westenra #style analysis #s #m

98 notes · View notes

kingconia · 8 months

Text

ROOK HUNT & MALLEUS DRACONIA WITH S/O, WHO IS YANDERE FOR THEM

Content warnings: obsessive & possessive behaviour, stalking, a very (very) strange romance.

A/N: Feel a need to warn you, that I am by no means romanticising the yandere concept. This work was written merely as a fiction, and due to me, wondering, what could happen if for once in these writing concept a ”yandere one” would be not a Twisted character, but MC.

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— Malleus is very far from the idea of romance in the mortal world, and therefore, his actions might or might not appear quite unusual or creepy. For example, how would he know that sitting by someone's bed, when they are sleeping, is not a common thing? Lilia did it all the time, to him and Silver, both...

— And, even worse, Malleus is possessive in the way all fae are. It only multiples on his natural fear of being abandoned;

— So, when he realises, with help of other students, that some of his courting methods sound problematic, he tries to change it for you. He truly doesn't want his precious child of men to be threatened by him!

— Malleus minimises his own views on the romantic relationship, and, instead, goes for usual relationship goals that he learns from people;

— In the meantime, Malleus is also begin to feel someone's eyes on himself all the time. It reminds him much of a few days, when vice from Pomefiore tried to hunt him down, but failed, since Malleus saw and heard everything;

— But a certain someone is absolutely spotless in his watching. It is worrying, but Malleus decides to find out the culprit himself, without dragging others in a mess;

— Malleus is not ready, when he finds out that it had been you all alone...

•

”I am struggling with understanding the meaning of this, the child of men,” Malleus murmurs softly, eyes tracing on the wall of your room.

This wall—the one that used to be covered with another layer of the wallpaper before—is full of his photos. Of photos of people, who he spoke with. Some others blurry shots of events in school. And messy writings filling it too, all in the same questions.

Where? When? Who? WHO?

”I am, too, my love,” you smile as you sit down on the edge of your bed. ”Perhaps, you could answer me, Malleus. Who?”

What you did, do—or will do—doesn't sound right to his ears. It is reminding him of what Cater accused him a few months ago. Stalking. And Malleus knows, it is not healthy—doesn't seem like—but he can't help but a tremble in this sheer excitement.

You care for him so much.

”Who is this person who took your attention from me, Malleus?”

He blinks, turning to you in a poor confusion.

”What are you talking about?”

Your eyes, suddenly chilly, glaring at him with so much fierceness, that Malleus feels he is suffocating. You are suffocating, and he wants to choke on you.

”You used to love me, Malleus,” you start quietly. ”You used to love me so much. I remember you coming to my bedroom in the night, watching me as I slept or tried to. I left window open for you, hadn't you noticed? I remember how you walked me down time to time—me, on the ground, leaving the classrooms, with you, hiding on the roofs—always watching. And then, it stopped.”

Suddenly, you yank him by his tie. As Malleus gasps for air, almost instinctively, you make him lean forward, hands balking in the mattress of the bed automatically.

”So, Malleus, tell me. Who caught your attention now?”

There is a madness twirling in the pit of your eyes, and Malleus desperately needs to see more of it. He can't help but ravel in your love, to smile with the corners of his lips turning upwards.

You love him, you love him, you love him!

You are just as afraid of being left as he is.

”I checked all school, Malleus,” you laugh tauntingly. ”Every single student. And teacher, too. I roamed through your room, through Lilia's room. I casted spells, I made potions and poisons. And I am this close to marge in the Briar Valley, if you are not answering me right now, because I swear—”

Malleus captures your lips in his. He feels your grip on the necktie becoming stronger, pulling him even closer, and he melts, defeated. You squeeze him between your thigs, caging, allowing him only to sink down, on his knees, and he laughs right in your wet mouth.

”You,” he whispers, fangs scratching your lips fleetingly. ”I only ever loved you. And I am so sorry for neglecting you for so long, I am so sorry for not understanding that I am just as much yours, as you are mine.”

You don't look convinced, but Malleus is not surprised. You spent a month, going through all researches. He would go insane on your place.

”Take me, my dear. Take me.”

Or maybe, you are insane. But, oh, how nice it feels... To spiral into madness together.

”I am going to consume every part of you, Malleus. Mark my words,” you hiss, licking in his open mouth. ”And then, I will mark you.”

Malleus wouldn't dream of the better lover to himself.

Rook Hunt. 💜

— Recently, Rook feels like he suddenly became the main character in one of his pretty housewarden's movies. And it all because... Someone is watching him;

— He is surprised, naturally. It is his job. He is the one that sees everything and everyone, that hunts down people. So why he feels someone's eyes on his back now?

— Oh, he is excited. Rook can't figure out who is challenging him! He can't find a scent, he doesn't hear sounds, he has nothing! Absolutely nothing! How absolutely alluring!

— The most entertaining part is that his hunter doesn't even try to hide from him that much? At least, this person always offers him some hints that he follows him around;

— Rook knows that someone had been in his room. He knows, that his things had been looked at—even though, all of them hadn't moved even for an inch, he can say—and that is because... Someone leaves him gifts;

— It is the most curious things. Things he needed the most, things he mentioned in some conversations with his classmates earlier. Rook mentions about wanting to buy a new camera in the conversation with Cater, and he already has one, when he returns. He murmurs something about needing a new arrow set on his hunt? Well. He has it now;

— Despite searching all the school for his hunter, Rook is completely surprised when you reveal yourself. How could you, a quiet first-year, pull something like this? He would never guess that you had it in yourself! What a beautiful gift you are...

•

”My, my,” Rook murmurs, lips slightly partied as he is looking at you in awe. ”I had never thought that someone's shadow can suppress its owner, mon petit chasseur!”

You offer him a crooked smirk. As you straddling him to the ground, a knife that was stolen from him a few weeks ago, pressed to his neck, you look wild.

Everything about you is wild, and Rook feels as if he finally found what he was searching all these years. Not a perfection, but a perfect storm.

”Oh no,” you rasp, your breath tickling the line of his jaw. ”No, no, dear. There is nothing and no one that could be better than you, Rook. If anyone tries to take your place, they would be dead.”

Rook was wrong, then. It is not just about the hunter becoming a pray. Oh no. It is about praiser becoming a subject of praise.

Rook's cheeks grow hot with his realisation.

He had never considered himself worth of being hunted down. Of being adored. He is nothing but a mere human with limited powers, and he could offer nothing to inspire people on creating art. What he hunts, he lacks to see in himself.

Yet...

You find him worth of all this? You see him as someone genuinely important?

”Do you really think so?” Rook finds himself asking quietly.

The way your eyes light up as he says that, the way your smile widens—Rook had never seen such a pure excitement directed at him. He can say it easily, even now: he is at your mercy.

You can do whatever you want with him—he volunteers. Because no one had ever looked at him like that. Because no one had ever seen him.

”Oh, Rook, my the most perfect Rook,” you whisper, using your free hand to smooth his hair gently. ”All my love, all adore I have—it is all for you, can't you see? I bring the best things for you, and I do the best thing to your sake. I put Kingscholar under this sleeping spell, so he wouldn't hear or feel anything that day. Just for you. And I would do so much more! Just because you... You make me feel emotions. And you make me want to create. But most importantly... You make me want to destroy. How it is not something that only someone unique as you can do?”

He can see his own reflection in your eyes. In a way Rook sees himself in you—this love, this obsession, this hunger—and in a way he realises how absolutely beautiful he is from your perspective.

He loves it, he loves it.

”You are absolutely charmingly insatiable, mon fidèle compagnon!” Rook bubbles, a high laughter escaping his lips as he raises his body slightly up, ignoring how the steel touches his skin more firmly. ”I implore you to plunge this knife in my heart, crave your initials on it—it is yours. All of it.”

Beautiful. You are beautiful. Outside and inside.

He wants to have you on the leash, just for himself, but even more, he wishes to curl in your legs as a loyal dog.

Yours, yours, yours.

”Rook,” you sigh with containment, hiding the weapon away. ”How can I do that, if my own bleeds just for you?”

You kiss him with the same passion you followed him for months. You kiss him, and his world collapses in a way he can't hold himself any longer.

He takes. And as you slide your tongue in his mouth, you take, too.

”Then let it bleed, ma folie. And let our blood bleed for each other.”

He wants yours arrows pierced all over his heart, and you know, you has his own stuck inside your heart, roo.

And what it is, if not the love?

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt

376 notes · View notes

jester-lover · 1 year

Text

She's in Parties

Twisted wonderland characters with a goth girlfriend feat. Trey, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Rook, Silver, and Lilia cw- fem! reader, confident! reader, fluff, goth author freaks out about goth music, very long post

I notice how often the fanfic community focuses in on the clothing/makeup relating to the goth subculture, and while there will be a lot of that in this post, I want more people to experience the music. I left a goth song recommendation I think fits each character, from gothic metal to softer new wave. No gatekeeping here.

Trey

Trey is definitely not knowledgeable about the goth scene, he listened to a few songs here and there, and probably had a minor emo phase in middle school

He does however enjoy the slower more melancholic goth songs you play for him, or more sweet/romantic songs

Trey is usually the one keeping law and order in his dorm, so sometimes he likes having calming activities like baking and picnics to get away from it all

Having a goth girlfriend, someone who can really understand his perceivable struggle of mundanity, and bring a spark of excitement to his life is a gift he will always appreciate

He would love body mods, like tattoos, piercings etc

Tattoos especially if they have meanings behind them, he thinks they’re like stories on your skin

This man has no clothing comprehension (fedora), he straight up doesn't care what you're wearing

He does however, really like when you wear funky jewelry, and leather jackets

Something is just so sweet about your caring attitude towards him, contrasting with your look that tends to terrify people

We would make you bat shaped cookies 100%

A song that you and Trey listen to together would be Ecstasy by Strawberry Switchblade

“Maybe if you pair the red leather pants with the fishnet top, it’ll match your makeup.”

Jade

You might look like the dark, mysterious part of your relationship, but we all know that title goes to Jade

This boy is, unnerving to say the least, but you’ve always been a fan of strange things

He absolutely adores your aesthetic, even if you tone it down for school, or wear trad goth makeup every day, he’s obsessed

I feel like jade would enjoy gothic films, like The Crow, or Nosferatu, along with a long list of horror movies

“The movie itself is a bit overwhelming, but the plot is so delightfully dark, I think you would really like it dear.”

He probably does listen to goth music, more post punk and new wave type stuff, like The Cure, so a part of your music is not new to him

But he’d love to be introduced to more vibrant gothic music (it makes for a good hiking playlist)

He loves all types of gothic makeup on you, but especially enjoys 90s’ goth makeup, with tight black eyeliner, and burgundy red lipstick

Something about the simplicity of the style, along with the somber tone of the music you listen to makes Jade’s heart flutter (if he has one)

A song that would remind you of Jade is Heaven or Las Vegas by the Cocteau Twins

Floyd

He’s a lil creepy guy himself! You guys are two peas in a pod!

Floyd loves having a goth girlfriend, the fashion, makeup, music and general aesthetic are right up his alley

We know our boy loves shoes, so he would absolutely adore it if you had a funky shoe collection, from tall and heavy platforms, to cute yet sharp winklepickers

He would love loud gothic rock, extreme music hypes him up before a big game

I read in floyd’s wiki that he dislikes restraint, so the loudness and brashness of gothic rock would be something he really enjoys

In terms of fashion, Floyd is one of the few boys who would definitely allow you to give him a makeover

Tease and gel his hair, layers of silk over fishnet and leather, you can really go all out

Be careful though, because he’s also the type to come running for hugs and kisses right when you've finished getting ready

Floyd thinks that the best looks on you are the ones that require layering, he loves seeing you look like a shapeless bat creature

His most favorite part about having you as a girlfriend is how easy it is to find you in the stands during a basketball game

Floyd definitely gives you some freaky fish nickname, like ‘anglerfish’ just because he’s a meanie like that

"Anglerfish! I found a sweater you'll love, Its got bats all over it!"

A song that Floyd would like is Head like a Hole by Nine Inch Nails

Jamil

Jamil caught your eye due partially to his dancing skills, and his hair

I mean look at it, the boy is a walking shampoo commercial

He really is clueless about goth music, you really have to keep him on the shallow side before throwing him off the deep end

“So, you like music about coffins and funerals then?”

He really does enjoy your aesthetic quite a bit, every time you come home from a day of shopping (at a thrift store most likely) he encourages you to give him a little fashion show

Kalim might have been mildly terrified the first time he saw you, but then he realized how happy you made Jamil, and accepted you!

Pre-overblot, he enjoys more angry, loud gothic rock, but after, he asks you to introduce him to some softer goth music

Jamil has always dreamed of giving his significant other a life full of joy, so sometimes he likes fantasizing about a future with you, and dancing to romantic goth songs

A song you and Jamil dance to is Heaven by The Cure

Rook

Ooolala a mysterious figure shrouded in darkness? He is intrigued

You definitely notice him, and you definitely ask him out first

(he swoons)

Rook is a perplexing character, he never really shows any interest towards your music, before suddenly turning up with a full playlist

Turns out, he’s been keeping track of the songs you mention in passing conversation and blast in your room

He loves you in long flowy black skirts, with full trad makeup, he thinks you look so beautiful

“Mon petit ange, you look absolutely breathtaking, villainous beauty like yours is dangerous!”

Rook is most definitely the of boy who goes out in the middle of the night with you for an impromptu photoshoot, or walk through a graveyard

You two have a very ‘Morticia and Gomez’ type relationship, considering just how obsessed this man is with you

He writes poems about you

Rook probably also adores romantic goth songs, especially the weirder ones

A song you two would listen to together is Temple of Love by the Sisters of Mercy

Lilia

Scene bf x goth gf

Look at him and tell me he doesn’t avidly listen to My Chem? You can’t.

You two are two birds of a feather! (a crow’s most likely)

He absolutely adores your sense of fashion, and how it aligns with his own, just be aware that if you have any cool hoodies/jackets, he will steal them from you

Speaking of clothes, he loves any of them on you, especially bat-like clothes, like black shirts/dresses with long flowy sleeves and flared pants

“Hehehe we match in both clothing and personality!”

He also listens to goth music, and considering he’s ancient, he’s probably experienced some classic bands in concert

Would love to share his most macabre stories with you, if you want to hear him ramble

Lilia is a fan of all genres of gothic music, especially the funky kinds of music often blasted in goth clubs

You two are very like minded individuals and that keeps you both very happy

A song you and Lilia would dance to is What’s Inside a Girl? By The Cramps

Silver

He’s so soft for you

You just cause fear wherever you go, and Silver’s just there, softly smiling

He doesn't listen to loud music unless he’s trying his best to stay awake, but when he is trying to sleep, he prefers the more mellow stuff

“Do you have any really calming music I can listen to?”

He cares so very little about what you wear, but he likes you in velvet so you're soft to cuddle with

Silver cares a lot about you, so if he sees people making bad remarks about you, he’ll confront them, he’s scary when he’s mad

He enjoys watching gothic movies with you too, but might fall asleep mid movie

Since the Diasomnia uniform is all black, he gets a little kick out of matching with you

A song Silver and you listen to as you lounge about is Lorelai by the Cocteau Twins

Bonus! More alternative songs that remind me of the boys :)

Trey- Linger by The Cranberries

Jade- Nocturnal Me by Echo and the Bunnymen

Floyd- Nasty by The Damned

Jamil- Kiss me, Son of God by They might be Giants

Rook- Gentlemen take Polaroids by Japan

Lilia- Time by David Bowie

Silver- Sacrifice by London after Midnight

354 notes · View notes

punkpandapatrixk · 2 years

Text

🏮Who’s that Girl I See?—Timeless Tarot Pick A Card

Title says ‘girl’ for aesthetic purposes, but as always, this PAC is universally gender-neutral a.k.a. unisex~☯Though I guess, it may indeed speak more to the Yin (feminine) aspect within all of us~👑

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

Looking at all the Priestess cards (for the bonus content) and the over-abundance of Wands—followed by Cups—energy… Y’all are such passionate peeps and you feel deeply. This world being a world such as this may not always be friendly towards individuals like you, and for that, you may have suffered a great deal emotionally and spiritually. But look! Every card at the bottom of each deck looks like this!🔻

II The High Priestess Rx, Priestess of Shine & Silver Geographer (Francis Drake)

The High Priestess in reverse… and to think the name Drake means dragon!! Holy Bad Bitch🎻🐉🩰Take up space and fuckin' SHINE, motherdragon~🧸💛💛💛🎀

Pile 1 - Emerald Ocean of Feelings

what you’re holding inside – King of Wands Rx

You’re a generous person with an exquisite kind of kindness. Your heart is genuinely very, very good but this world has brought you so much darkness. You often feel like crying in public, but you know nobody would appreciate your vulnerability anyway, so you keep an ocean of feelings all to yourself. There’s an inner battle you’re fighting: as much as you try to hide your fragile heart, you endeavour to appear tough. As much as there are obligations to fulfil, there’s just as much image to maintain. So…

You created a lot of limitations for yourself. You’re holding yourself to a very high standard of conduct. Can’t appear weak, lacking, lesser than anybody else. You can’t stand the idea of being disrespected—but this isn’t petty ego; this is your protecting your heart from getting damaged by other people’s careless conduct. And thus, these restrictions—and mostly fears—are keeping you from showing the full spectrum of your heart’s generosity.

But the truth is, you’re a Kingly character—a person with leaderlike qualities— who has a lot of compassion for what other people are going through. If only the world hadn’t made you feel so powerless, you’d be more than glad to carry forward those who are suffering. I sense you may be small, cute, or just unrealistically gentle and soft that this has given people the wrong impression about your strong spirit and rich inner world.

VIBE: Dorothy by SULLI

what little you’re showing outside – 2 of Cups Rx

Putting up barbed wire around your heart, you’re stopping everyone to touch the deepest layers of your being. You’re protecting your emotional world by putting up this sparkly show in your physical world. Perhaps you toughened up the way you talk, you changed your aesthetics, you buy big houses or own several jet planes; you have a lot of wonderful things in your material world so people don’t see how vulnerable your Soul is. You want to be invincible, so you make your Heart invisible.

Your biggest goal is to be seen as a Queen of Swords whilst in reality you’re a Queen of Cups. But you think the Queen of Cups is weak, so you killed her. You killed your softness and now people see you, from time to time, that you’re unnecessarily harsh, mean, or cruel. Because you’re trying too hard to become the logical, stern, unfuckwithable Queen of Swords, so you took only the harsher qualities of this Queen. It’s like a weird coping mechanism or survival tactic because you find this world too much to bear with just softness.

By becoming this persona, you often find yourself feeling trapped. But you also know that this golden cage is a prison of your own making, and damn, it feels safer this way. Because up until now, you haven’t really met anybody who can see your flaws and still wholly accept you for who you are. And it’s painful to feel envious of the love others take for granted—that thing that seems to come ever so naturally to them. And it’s tragic because you’re the one viewed by everyone else as having it all.

VIBE: INVU by Taeyeon

wearing your CROWN unapologetically – 5 of Wands Rx

Obviously, the first thing to do is make peace with yourself. You battle a lot with a sense of self-loathing because of the way the world outside of you has made you feel. Even the fact that you’ve needed to harden just for survival makes you hate yourself, because you’re rejecting what’s inherently kind about you and that makes you sad. You’re not a bad person, honey. Other people form shit opinions about you after you changed your game and you mistakenly took those assumptions as truth.

Uh-uh-uh. Stop that. Remember yourself from the inside. Realise yourself from the inside out. Bring back the Light and have the courage to say ‘no’ to other people’s ideas, opinions, or rules about what you can be. The world is yours and that Life is yours. You don’t need other people’s approval on your fucking existence. OK? You are your own ideal type and role model!

Prioritising yourself for the sake of the development of your healthy self-esteem won’t turn you into a selfish bastard. Originally, you’re already someone with a kind heart and that sets you apart from those who are already a selfish bastard. Weak, poor-souled fuckards are selfish (and destructive) because they don’t believe in being generous with others. That’s why their character is rotten. You’re not like that. You’re an Emerald ocean of compassion. Now go shine and act like the Queen of Cups you’re meant to be✨👸🌹

VIBE: Better by BoA

Amplifying your natural attraction🔻💜

your very own unique identity – Red Astrologer (William Lilly)

synthesising: AS WITHIN SO WITHOUT – Priestess of Good Fortune

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – A Monster Held Captive

what you’re holding inside – 3 of Cups

You’re honestly a bit crazy. You’re strange, unique, unorthodox; you’re just different. Frankly, one in a billion of absolutely common personalities. Your inner world is so rich, so vast, so cosmic; but out here in the real world, you’re underappreciated. And you became afraid of showing yourself fully, and because of that there is unspeakable chaos inside of you and you’re trying your best to manage it. The term tortured artist may apply to you.

Rather than ‘hiding’, you’re actually controlling the monster within; which you think is crucial for survival. If you want to be at least accepted, even if only on a surface level. After all, we can’t live a totally solitary life lest we cease to exist. Half of you reading this are hard at work taming this monster within, but the other half of you may have tried multiple times to change yourself—to become like everyone else. Either way this kills you from the inside, because in a way, you’re rejecting yourself.

Because of this, you often don’t even know your true personality. Other people say you’re hard to figure out or that you seem to have a lot of hobbies or everchanging interests, aesthetics, like you can’t stick with just one that you like. They make it sound like it’s a bad thing what you’re doing, whilst not grasping you’re just constantly running away from yourself. You scour for different aesthetics as a form of escapism from the real things that you like; because the things that you do like seem like rubbish to society.

VIBE: Heart Burn by SUNMI; I’m good at goodbyes by BIBI for some

what little you’re showing outside – Knight of Cups Rx

Because people haven’t been exceedingly kind towards your unique expression, you hold back from showing fully the true colours of your personality. If anything, you’ve tried so hard to act like a normal person, but the more you try, the weirder you appear in the eye of others. There’s always something special, a different aura surrounding you. You can’t hide this, babe, so why bother trying?

But anyway, forever feeling like you don’t belong has caused you a greater deal of chaos and suffering within. And because you’re constantly battling yourself, your external behaviours aren’t always in SYNK either. There’s the part that wants to be seen as just the same as others, and god knows how hard you try to hide your brilliance, but when you’re careless for one second, all sparkles break loose cuz you’re too fucking original. Meanwhile, there’s the other part that gets people the idea that you’re unreliable, a liar, or fake, simply because you keep changing your styles or opinions. They don’t get it that you’re just SO complex. You’re not 1D like 97% of the Human race; you’re not even 4D like those funny people; you’re a 5D dragon, honey.

Boring people with a lacklustre personality talk big about wanting to be unique. But when they’re as different—as weird and wonderful—as you are and finally taste discrimination, they’ll understand why you’ve wanted, and tried, to be ordinary your whole Life. Somehow, somehow, you hold back even your breath because you fear breathing comfortably might accidentally burn those small insects to nothingness🌬🔥🐲💨tch

VIBE: Lucid Dream by aespa

wearing your CROWN unapologetically – Ace of Pentacles Rx

TAKE UP SPACE, honey baby dragon!! So what if others can’t be comfortable with themselves when they see you BURN like that? It’s not your fault the Universe blesses you with so much ORIGINALITY! As if God hand-picked you out of billions of stars and decided you’re too precious to be made in the likeness of fucking peasants! What can you do? You’re too singular like that. There’s only so much you can do to betray your Light, honey.

In a world where everyone is expected to look and behave like everyone else, you hold close to your heart the original blueprint of your own personality. Sparkly shit like that is hated by Earthlings who don’t possess a backbone to be themselves. Your sheer presence irritates them because you make them realise what they’ve allowed to die inside of them. But shine anyway! Because—

There are so many people in this world and there’s bound to be those who are on the same wavelength as you. Such people need a role model! To remind them their own POTENTIALS. Such people are also struggling to keep their originality intact because this world has a hobby of murdering authenticity! For such a long time, you’ve wished for a Soul Tribe of people who can understand you. But your kind is far and between. So at least one individual has to Light Up. You have to let the Fire of your Soul burn so brightly so that others see you—so you can find each other.

‘Look at Me, I’m your QUEEN! aju manjokseureopge’ ‘You know what I deserve? DESSERT!’

VIBE: DEEP & DESSERT by HYO

Amplifying your natural attraction🔻💛

your very own unique identity – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

synthesising: AS WITHIN SO WITHOUT – Priestess of Prosperity

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Cursed with Staggering Beauty

what you’re holding inside – 10 of Wands Rx

There’s something really tragic about this Pile. You’re someone who has mega talents and you’ve worked so hard your entire Life. But you’re not even sure what you’ve been working hard at. It only feels like you’re trying to survive a world that doesn’t welcome you. You make me think of Arachne a lot. Cursed by a jelly bitch who was 100x more powerful than you.

If not in this lifetime, maybe in a past incarnation, you slighted someone powerful who was also petty (or you were accused of doing something bad or maybe you did do something bad) and now you’re living the consequences of that. You feel as if you had to atone for a past sin. Although other people can see your worth, you struggle a lot with feeling like you’re any good. Do you maybe have Chiron in your 1st or 12th House?

At any rate, I know you’ve been struggling a lot and I think you often find breathing itself is already hard work. But I want to convince you that the moment you find this reading, something mega important is rolling out in your Life. Maybe most of it is happening behind the scenes so you can’t see it yet. But this reading found you! And so, this Light that’s contained within… these talents that are supposed to assist you in co-creating an abundant Life… they’re coming online fast and they’re gonna serve you BIG TIME🌞🍄

VIBE: Arachne by Kaya; TAIL by SUNMI for some

what little you’re showing outside – 3 of Wands Rx

On a spirit level, you’re powerful and blessed with many creative talents. YOU KNOW THIS. But you’re always unsure of yourself. You have this keen ability to notice other people who are more talented than you and that reduces your confidence in what you can deliver. But to complicate matters, you also notice those who are lesser than you and that makes you hold back so that you don’t accidentally be seen as a show-off. You don’t want people to hate you for being better than them.

I feel you have what’s called a siren beauty. You attract unnecessary envy and hate because people can’t understand who you are. They’re fascinated, but not always in the greatest sense. They say all kinds of things behind your back because they’re trying to make sense out of you. All gossip though; barely any truth. Meanwhile, you also hold, probably, a past life trauma in which you were persecuted for being different/beautiful/talented/good—whatever, the world is crazy when it’s jelly.

As a result, you’ve learnt to be a chameleon. Changing your attitude, personality, vibe, even the tone of your voice, depending on the situation at hand. This is survival; and this drains the heck out of you. At the end of the day, you’re exhausted after trying so hard to fit yourself into different characters other people hopefully would accept.

VIBE: CAMO by BoA

wearing your CROWN unapologetically – 6 of Wands

Honey, you’re a natural-born celebrity, OK? Maybe you have South/North Node in Leo or 5th House? Maybe you have a fuckton of Pluto or Neptune placements? Whatever the case, without even trying you fascinate the public. Might as well flaunt all that you are. The right people are gonna be drawn to your natural magnetism for the right reasons. You could even have a following or fanbase. Why not? Seems to me you were born for fame~🤩Whatever the scale may be.

Embrace this idea: fuck everybody’s opinions about who you are or what you’re doing in Life; those things don’t pay the bills, OK? As long as you have a clear vision about what you’re meant to do in this lifetime, no matter how hard it may be to actualise that because other people are viewing you unkindly, you’ll get there eventually. In fact, you’re so destined for great success and wealth in this lifetime. Nothing can stop you at this point!

The key is just loving yourself fully and accepting your fate. From that pool of empowered consciousness you’re constantly creating a destiny meant for your highest good. You were born with staggering beauty and this is not a curse; this is your blessing if you know how to play your cards right😏You were dealt bad cards, but you’re so smart you won anyway! BAM!🧐

VIBE: The Greatest by BoA

Amplifying your natural attraction🔻🧡

your very own unique identity – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

synthesising: AS WITHIN SO WITHOUT – Priestess of Fertility

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Feel free to support me on Patreon if you love this kind of content🍑I create stories and tarot readings that calm the mind & heal from within🍒

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

1K notes · View notes