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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

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Napoleonville [Chapter 7: The House Of Cards]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, bodily injury, ANGST!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.8k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Under blue light like the gleam of sapphires, Aemond is standing shirtless at his bathroom sink and cleaning blood and grime from his face with a wet washcloth that has turned from white to a muddy maroon. His missing left eye is angled towards you; his scar looks black beneath the cobalt glow. He’s gingerly manipulating his eyelids so he can wipe away the filth, leaning in close to the mirror. Then his hands begin to shake and he throws the washcloth to the dark tile floor. The walls are painted like Van Gogh’s Starry Night; you remember learning about it in your 8th grade art class. The bathtub is deep, spacious. You think of Aemond filling it and sinking into the water with you, misty with soap and steam. You wonder how long it will be until Christabel is lolling in this tub, clean before she ever touched the water: no scars, no history, blue blood and pure fantasies.

He hears when the floorboards creak under your bare feet. He turns his face so he can see you, an intruder lurking in the doorway of his bedroom, soaked clothes beneath the warm, dry, smoke-smelling Marlboro jacket he gave you. “Get out.”

“Aemond, let me help—”

“Get the fuck out.”

But he hasn’t said the right word, and you both know it. He hasn’t told you to stop. You go to him and ignore it when he tries to push you away, when he tries to yank his hands away from yours.

“Don’t touch me—!”

But you aren’t trying to grab him. You’re trying to give yourself to him. You force your wrists into his grasp and then he understands, then he feels the desperate hunger flare up in him like a lighter flicked to life.

His fingers tighten; he drags you closer. Then he says, low and husky: “I’m in charge now.”

“I know, I know. I want you to be.”

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.”

“Yes,” you whisper, perfect obedience, helpless need. You gaze up into his glinting, savage right eye. You do not allow yourself to glance at the empty socket of the left. That would be disastrous, ruinous, an irredeemable betrayal.

Aemond takes you to his bed: thick wooden bedposts and a navy blue velvet canopy swimming with koi fish built of silver stars, celestial fins and constellation tails. He tears off the Marlboro jacket, your drenched Pepsi t-shirt, your simple cotton bra. “Don’t move,” he growls, and momentarily leaves you. Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of fractured, kaleidoscopic blue. Goosebumps rise on your bare skin. You can hear the friction of a drawer opening and then closing again. Aemond returns. Every move of his hands is rough, insistent. You don’t care if he hurts you, if he scrapes or bruises you. You wish he could bruise you down to the bone, stay trapped there in an indigo pool too deep for anyone to cut out, remind you of his closeness with every ache, never leave you.

Aemond clicks a handcuff around your right wrist; not a silk scarf, not the weight of his own hands, but cold metal that he tightens until it bites into your flesh. You should tell him to loosen it, but you don’t. You want to help Aemond. You want him to keep going; you want him to touch you until you forget about Jade Dragon Energy, Lake Verret, The Last Desire, Christabel.

He loops the short chain around one of the posts at the foot of the canopy bed and then fastens your left wrist as well. The handcuffs are secured in an indentation between ornate carvings of the sun and the moon; you cannot slide them up or down more than a few inches. Your arms are trapped above your head. You are facing the bed—the one he’ll soon be sharing with Christabel—and cannot turn around. Behind you, you can hear Aemond unzipping his jeans that are still dripping with brackish lake water. Now he’s yanking off your shorts and panties, so hurriedly you almost trip when he wrenches them past your ankles. Aemond kicks your feet apart—farther, farther—and then pushes you down until your back is bent as low as possible. You moan, just as much in pain as ravenous anticipation: your wrists burn, your shoulders stretch until you can imagine them splitting open and spilling blood like a river, knots of ivory bone peeking through the gore.

He’s touching you, but it doesn’t feel like much. He’s saying things, but you can’t hear him over the hurricane raging in your skull, thrashing waves of fear, dread, agony, heartache.

Has he brought other women here? Who will distract him when he’s done with me?

Aemond’s hips are braced against yours, his fingers are between your legs. He’s making you wet, but you know you aren’t ready. Inside, you are tense, uneasy, unable to surrender yourself to him. You close your eyes and try to remember what it was like the first time you were together, or the second, or the third time in the back of his Audi Quattro. Those memories feel so far away now, like they happened a hundred years ago or in a different galaxy or at the bottom of the ocean. Aemond’s teeth nip territorially at your throat. He’s tearing open a condom wrapper.

He’s not mine, he’s not mine, he’ll never be mine.

Now he’s forcing his way into you, and he has no way of knowing that it feels like gasoline on a fire, like scissors and knives, like the first time Willis convinced you to sleep with him again after Cadi was born. And Aemond is so big that the discomfort doesn’t fade into a vaguely unpleasant numbness but swells like gales as a storm rolls in. You’re facing away from him, so Aemond can’t see when you wince or squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t try to slow his rhythm, you don’t ask him to be more gentle, you don’t tell him to stop. You want to help him and he needs this, even if he doesn’t need you.

Aemond twists your hair in his fist and tugs your head back, and when you whimper he mistakes it for kindling passion, for something approaching euphoria. His thrusts are hammering, merciless. He’s panting as he battles against his own climax. And he’s beginning to get impatient, too; his fingers stroke you relentlessly, when you glance back at him his brow is creased with thinly-veiled frustration, confusion, disappointment.

I have to finish, you realize, horrified. If I don’t, he’s going to think it’s because of him, his face, his eye, his weakness, his unworthiness.

You’re nowhere close to finishing. You know you won’t be able to; there’s too much pain in your body, too much torment in your mind.

I’ve faked it plenty of times before, on other nights with other men. I can fake it again.

You breathe in gasps, you moan, you beg, you arch your back, and then—

Aemond strikes the bedpost with an open palm, hard and loud enough to make you yelp. He hisses through your hair, fever-red, hateful: “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Aemond, it’s not you, it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m so sorry, I’m just—”

“I want you out.” He disentangles himself from you, snaps off the condom, snatches a set of tiny keys off the floor where he must have left them.

“Don’t do this,” you plead as he unlocks the handcuffs, cold rattling metal. “Don’t make this about something it isn’t. Aemond? Aemond, please, it’s my fault—”

“Get out,” he says, stepping away from you. “Right now. Go.”

You reach for him, your fingertips settling on his bare chest, damp with sweat and still tarnished with the ancient silt of Lake Verret, with streaks of his own blood. “Aemond, listen to me—”

“Stop!” he roars, and your hands fall away. He points to the door that leads to the hallway. “Get out. Get the fuck out. Find someone else. I’m done.”

“What? No!”

He picks up your denim shorts and hurls them at you, then your Pepsi t-shirt and bra and panties. You fumble to catch them, and as your hands are occupied Aemond leans in close, grabs your face roughly by the jaw, forces you to look at him. The gory void of his left eye socket is close enough that you can see the flecks of dark grit from the lake that he will have to wash out of it. And you flinch—not at the wound itself, but for the child who was once maimed—and now you’ve proved him right.

Something flashes across Aemond’s scarred face, so animalistic in its mindless fury that for a sliver of a second you actually think he might hit you. Then he turns away without a word, walks into the bathroom, slams the door shut. As you pull on your clothes, you can hear his knuckles striking the mirror with sick thumps until it shatters. You bolt from the bedroom, through the hallway, down the staircase, surrounded by portraits of blonde strangers with foreign names, and whatever world they lived in wasn’t yours. Their world was made of gold and marble, contracts and lineage, chandeliers and champagne and coins sticky with some anonymous worker’s blood, and it was beautiful but it was cold, hollow, lonely, everything that would have made them human peeled away like a snake’s skin. You don’t belong here. You will never belong here. Your world is sloping floors and cracked paint and sun and salt and struggle, but it is real.

In the grand foyer, Vhagar is guarding the front door. The blue merle Great Dane bares her teeth as you approach. There is a rumble from low in her chest, a ferocity in her reptilian green-gold eyes.

“I really can’t deal with you right now,” you say, voice breaking as tears spill down your cheeks.

Vhagar trots towards you and you look around for a rescuer, Alicent or Criston or Daeron; but the house is hushed and still. You recall how Alicent once shoved Vhagar’s face away to fend her off. You don’t feel brave enough to attempt that.

“No!” you try instead. “Bad dog! Go terrorize someone else!”

The Great Dane snarls, ropy strands of drool dribbling from her jowls, and you fall silent. Vhagar sniffs at your ankles and then your fingers as you stand frozen. She seems to discover something that intrigues her. I smell like Aemond, you think, and almost start crying again. For the second time, your eyes search for a champion and find none. The dog nudges your right hand with her muzzle, licks at your palm, and then—bizarrely, shockingly—pushes her head under it and blinks up at you expectantly.

“What?” you say, confounded. Vhagar waits, suddenly cordial. Her long tail swishes; her floppy ears hang limp and relaxed. She doesn’t leave until you pet the top of her colossal head—once, twice, three times—and then she stalks off into the shadows of the kitchen. You hurry to the front door before Vhagar can return to second-guess your newfound alliance.

You step out onto the front porch, white paint and towering columns, lightning bugs and screeching cicadas. It is only when you survey the flock of Audis, Porsches, Alfa Romeos, and Lexuses in the cobblestone driveway that you remember you didn’t drive yourself here.

“Goddammit.” Then you catch a whiff of marijuana.

You turn to your left. Aegon is slumped in a rocking chair and smoking a joint. He has just showered. His long hair is wet and messy; he wears a tie-dye tank top, purple gym shorts, and neon yellow flip flops. Sunfyre is curled up in his lap. “You need a ride, cake lady?”

“Not from you.”

“It’s just weed. Weed isn’t a drug.”

“The Reagan administration would disagree.”

He rolls his eyes. “Those miserable fascists. They’d outlaw orgasms and ice cream if they could.” He slips his car keys out of his shorts pocket and spins them around with his index finger. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”

Aegon’s Porsche 911 has a custom paint job, glittering gold with pale pink accents. It’s even smaller than Aemond’s Audi; the back seats are impossibly tiny, and in any case they are filled to the windows with empty McDonald’s cups, Taco Bell bags, and Popeyes boxes.

“Here, hold him,” Aegon says, and tosses the ferret to where you sit in the passenger seat. The weasel-like creature scrabbles over your thighs, circling, burrowing, making some deranged gleeful sound halfway between a clicking and a chuckle.

“Um…?!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, he’ll settle down.” Aegon starts the car and pitches the remains of his joint out the open window. “Where do you live?”

The directions are simple, a straight shot east on Route 401. But it’s going to be a long ride. Aegon is only driving 15 miles per hour.

“So,” he says, noting your bloodshot eyes and dazed preoccupation. “It didn’t go well. With Aemond, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Sure you do.”

You stare out your window, night wind in your hair and your lungs, stinging in your watery eyes. The southern live oaks—vague, monstrous shapes with branches like prehistoric claws—block out much of the moon, the stars. Distractedly, you rest a hand on Sunfyre’s small, furry back. “What happened to his face?” And then, remembering what Aegon told Viserys in the foyer: “What’s the North Sea?”

“It’s on the east coast of the U.K. It starts down by France and the Netherlands and goes all the way up to Norway. Jade Dragon has a bunch of North Sea rigs. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen offshore oil rigs, maybe on the news or something?”

“I haven’t.” When you look down at your wrists, beneath the dim silvery moonlight you can still see the indentations that the handcuffs left in your flesh.

“Well they’re fucking terrifying. You’re on a metal platform in the middle of the goddamn ocean, and the waves are smacking into it, and the whole rig is lurching back and forth. You’re standing maybe 200 feet above sea level. From that height, the water’s like concrete. If a man falls off, they never find the body. The sharks eat him, or the waves rip him apart, or if his gear is heavy enough he just sinks to the bottom and implodes like a crushed can when the pressure gets too strong. I hate those things. I hate them. And of course Viserys was always trying to drag me along when he’d fly up there to inspect the company property. Gotta parade the heir around. Gotta turn me into a real man somehow. I’d be doing lines in the helicopter the whole way there, trying to work up the nerve to step out onto the deck when we landed.” Aegon gives you a wry smirk, shadowy beneath the obstructed moonlight. “This was before Viserys gave up on me.”

“Aemond lost his eye on an oil rig?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says. “He was young, eight or nine, something like that. And he begged our father to take him with us. Can you believe that? I’m hiding under the dining room table and Aemond is clawing at Viserys’ feet, promising he can handle it. So Viserys says okay, fine, Aemond can come too. Mum and Criston didn’t want Aemond to go, Helaena didn’t like it, hell, even Otto thought it was too dangerous. But Viserys is God in the Targaryen family religion, so Aemond got to go to the North Sea.”

You’re watching Aegon, eyes wide, heart pounding, appalled. He was a little kid. He wasn’t even Cadi’s age. “Viserys didn’t protect him?”

“Oh yeah, at first he did. He was showing Aemond off to everyone—Look at my son! So brave, so clever!—and meanwhile I’m lying on the floor of the helicopter having a panic attack, I can’t stop thinking I’m about to go plummeting into the ocean, and Criston is kneeling beside me trying to strap an oxygen mask onto my face.” Aegon sighs, gazing at the yellow lines of Route 401. “And then Viserys got to chatting with some of the engineers and forgot all about Aemond. Aemond who? The middle son, the forgotten son, the runt, the backup plan. And Aemond started exploring, poking around in the wrong places, and he ended up watching some of the workers spinning chain, which is how they connect drill pipes together. A chain snapped. It hit Aemond in the face, fractured his skull, and basically liquified his eye upon impact. He was in a coma for two weeks. We all thought he was going to die. But he lived, and Viserys…that bastard was nowhere to be found while Aemond was lying half-dead in Moorfields Hospital. But the day Aemond woke up, you better believe our father waltzed into the room with balloons and Cadbury bars, gushing about how happy he was that Aemond was alright, how proud he was, how relieved. Within a month he was indifferent again. But Aemond’s been chasing that feeling ever since. Being wanted. Being seen.”

“Why do any of you do it?” you ask, nauseous with despair. “Why do you destroy yourselves for Viserys? Why do you listen to him, why don’t you leave?”

“I can’t leave,” Aegon says, stunned. “Do I look employable to you? I’d end up living in the woods with the paranoid schizophrenics.”

“But you’d be free.”

“I don’t want to be free,” Aegon replies. “Freedom? That scares the hell out of me. I don’t know who I am without my family. I don’t have the first fucking clue. I don’t want to be a Targaryen, but I am a Targaryen, you know? And there’s no going back. That’s my gravity. That’s everything I am. Trying to imagine a life without Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Criston, Alicent, even Otto, even Viserys? I wouldn’t exist. I would blink out of existence like the Big Bang in reverse. They’re my bones, I’m just what grows around them. I’m a jellyfish, I’m a tangle of guts and arteries.”

You stare at Aegon as faint ribbons of moonlight stream in through the open windows, voice choked, tears falling onto Sunfyre’s sand-colored fur. “I don’t know how to help Aemond.”

“Yes you do.” Aegon smiles. “Give him what he wants.”

“I think he’s done with me now.”

“No, no way,” Aegon says. “What did he do, freak out and yell at you? Break things, tell you to fuck off? That happens sometimes. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll be back on your doorstep in a week.”

“He always has to have a girl. But that girl doesn’t have to be me.”

Aegon laughs, his blonde hair flying in the wind. “New girl, new rules. You ruined him.”

“What?”

Aegon grins. “He’s in love with you.”

You pet Sunfyre with one hand while you swipe tears from your cheeks with the other, sniffling, shaking your head. “I can’t be his mistress. It will kill me.” I want more than that. I want all of him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aegon says encouragingly. “Criston did. Camilla did.”

“Please shut up about Camilla Parker Bowles.” You point as the mouth of your short gravel driveway comes into view. “That’s it. We’re here.”

Inside, the house is dark and quiet and cold; you were in such a rush to meet Willis and help Aemond find his ever-errant brother that you accidentally left the air conditioner on all day. You shut off the whirring machine in the kitchen window—Aemond put that there, he did it for me—and then turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox so it feels like someone else is here. Roxette’s Listen To Your Heart plucks mournfully from the speakers.

You draw yourself a bath, descend into the hot water, scrub Aemond off of you. The walls are adorned with no Van Gogh’s Starry Night, no stately portraits, no grandeur or glitter or marble or gold. They are only a pale, listless blue lined with thin cracks through the paint like the sinking house’s veins.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven sunsets, six dusks, and then it is Friday all over again. You help Amir close up the bakery and then crawl into bed: head pounding, room spinning, that endless late-afternoon light of the summer flooding in through the window blinds. You unplug the phone on the nightstand and nestle into the pillows, hiding your face from the world. Cadi is fine, she’s blissfully playing her Nintendo and she knows there’s some of Amir’s leftover ribs and rice in the refrigerator. She doesn’t need you, and this will only become more true with each passing year. There was a time when you yearned for Cadi to become more independent. Now you’re beginning to see the horror in it, that bittersweetness that parents always talk about.

One day she’ll be gone. And she’ll get to choose whether she ever comes back.

No one has ever chosen you. It seems unwise to assume there will be exceptions to the rule.

You doze off for a while. There are distant noises you try to ignore: the kitchen phone ringing, the humming of the air conditioner, the drone of the microwave, the Super Mario Bros. theme. When you wake, it is because you hear the bedroom door creaking open. Through blinking, bleary eyes, you see Aemond’s silhouette in the doorway. You know it’s him; you would know even if he wasn’t wearing his familiar Marlboro jacket and red Converses and teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder. You would know him anywhere.

You say, unsure if you’re more angry or depressed: “I thought you were done.”

He ignores this. He has two eyes again, one real and one a lie, and this seems to be becoming a recurring theme in his life. “I called. Cadi said you were sick.”

“It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Yeah.” When I’m stressed. When I’m sad.

There’s a palm on your forehead, cool and gentle, feeling for fever. “Have you taken anything for it?”

“Nothing ever works.”

You recoil from the thud of the duffle bag against the sloping wooden floor; every sound is too loud. You have your eyes pinched shut, but you can hear Aemond unzipping the bag and then opening some sort of container. “Try this,” he says, pushing a pill between your lips. “They knock out my nerve pain when it flares up.” Then he passes you the glass of sweet tea you left on your nightstand. You sit up to swallow the pill and collapse back onto the bed. The wildflower-patterned duvet covers you up to your chest. You moan softly, touching your fingertips to your temple.

There are small thumps as Aemond quietly kicks off his Converses, and then his weight settles onto the mattress. He waits to see if you’ll tell him to stop. You don’t. He folds around you, blood and bones and muscle and warmth. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. One of his hands interlaces with yours and settles on your waist. You inhale his smoke, his cologne, his strange intermittent tenderness. He murmurs: “I’m sorry I’m doing this to you.”

“I wish I could stop,” you answer through a thick fog.

“Stop what?”

“Wishing it was possible. Wishing we were different people.”

Aemond doesn’t reply. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say. Within minutes, you are unconscious again.

When your eyes flutter open—painless, glass-clear—the room is dark and you are alone. The flashing red numbers on your alarm clock read 10:14 p.m.

“What?!” you gasp, scrambling out of bed. You rarely nap, and never for that long.

You hurry to Cadi’s room, expecting to find her bored or irritated or prepared to launch a formal complaint. Instead, she and Aemond are sitting on the floor and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Ferris is currently singing Twist And Shout on top of a parade float. There are several Pizza Hut boxes scattered around them; Cadi is eating a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. She and Aemond are mid-conversation. She is asking him as you walk in: “Wow, so Bobbi was on the news and everything?”

“He sure was. But they made him sit in this glass box because the CBS Evening News staff were so scared of AIDS they wouldn’t go anywhere near him, not even to wire him up with a microphone.”

“That’s totally bogus.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“How old was he when he died?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” Cadi says, alarmed. “Grownups can die that young?”

“Sure. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Cadi looks to where you stand in the doorway. “Mom, aren’t you like thirty?”

“Almost. I’m a few years away from it.”

“Still,” Cadi says; and you witness something unfold on her face that you can’t remember seeing since she was a toddler. She is shocked, she is afraid. Her eyes shimmer; she’s forgotten all about her pizza. Aemond is watching her, realizing he’s made her aware of something that didn’t exist in her mind before.

“Oh no, love, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aemond tells Cadi, resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. “Bobbi Campbell had a very serious disease, he wasn’t your average person. Most grownups live a long time. Your mum is going to live to be a hundred, okay? Maybe even a hundred and ten. Maybe even a hundred and twenty. It depends on how many cupcakes she eats.”

“Okay,” Cadi says, somewhat pacified but still shaken up.

“Do you want any pizza?” Aemond asks you. “We got cheese, pepperoni and mushroom, and supreme.”

“No, I’m not really hungry, thanks though.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. What did you give me?”

Aemond smiles. “Percocet.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder it worked so well.”

“I left a bottle with about ten pills in your bathroom cabinet. But don’t start liking it too much. You’ll end up like Aegon.” He staggers to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” Cadi asks, openly disappointed.

“It had to happen sooner or later. It’s long past your bedtime. And I don’t live here. You couldn’t pay me to either, not with that dinosaur that lives in your front yard. I’m in fear for my life every time I visit.”

“The gator wouldn’t hurt you,” Cadi objects. “She’s too small. She’s just a baby. Next time, can you bring Gremlins?”

“Sure. I think I’ve got that VHS. Daeron might have borrowed it.” Aemond gives Cadi’s hair an affectionate ruffle and she tolerates this, something you would not have believed was possible. “I’m going to go talk to your mum for a few minutes and then head out, alright?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Cheers, love.” Then Aemond follows you to the kitchen.

You pour yourself a fresh glass of sweet tea as Aemond helps himself to a snickerdoodle cupcake from one of the cake plates on the kitchen table. He licks off the frosting as he gazes at you, and you try not to feel anything. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know. I wanted to.” His right eye flicks down to the copy of the Bayou Journal that lies on the counter. The headline proclaims: Early tests reveal increased salinity of Lake Verret; breach of underground salt dome is suspected. “I’m sorry about that,” Aemond says awkwardly.

“Sorry about what? Ruining our lake?”

“Well, it’s not ruined, technically. It’s just…salty.”

“Aemond, almost all of the fish are going to die.”

“Will the alligators die too?” he asks hopefully.

“No. They won’t.”

“Oh.” He takes an evasive bite of his cupcake then changes the subject. “Come to my house tomorrow. After Willis picks up Cadi.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and now we’re having it again.”

“I don’t think this situation is good for either of us,” you say, but with pitifully little conviction.

Aemond places his snickerdoodle cupcake on the counter and steps towards you. And for a moment you think he’s going to order you, to command you, and you know if he does you’ll obey. But that’s not what Aemond is doing. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, unexpectedly, without any roughness to it. Then he touches his forehead to yours as he whispers: “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong, I was wrong. I was fucked up. But I’m better now.”

“Why did you jump into the water for me?”

“Come over tomorrow,” he pleads again without answering you.

“Aemond…I don’t think I can.” I think this is destroying me. I think it’s flaying me alive, carving me away piece by piece.

“I don’t have to fuck you. I don’t even have to touch you. I just want you to be there.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

This catches Aemond off-guard. “Amir?”

“Have you not yet memorized my long, long, long list of friends?”

“Of course you can bring Amir,” Aemond says. “He’s always welcome. The only reason I haven’t invited Cadi is because Aegon leaves coke all over the house and I don’t think a kid should be exposed to that.”

“Yeah, I mean obviously I agree.”

Aemond kisses you again, a swift parting token, kind and weightless. “Bye, Cupcake. See you tomorrow.” He wolfs down the last of the snickerdoodle cupcake, grabs his teal duffle bag from the living room couch and is gone, the off-kilter front porch steps groaning under his Converses. You stand in the kitchen sipping your sweet tea for a while, listening to the air conditioner purring and the cicadas shrieking and the long-eared owl hooting as it swoops for prey. Then you begin pulling bowls and baking pans out of the cabinets.

Cadi appears, helps herself to a beignet, and turns on the little pink boombox on the kitchen counter. “Hey Mom, listen, it’s your favorite song!” She cranks up the volume: Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

You force a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

And you wait until Cadi dashes off to the bathroom to take her shower before you change the station.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What the…?” Amir squints at Sunfyre, who is floating by himself on a neon green inflatable raft in the middle of the swimming pool. “What the fuck is that? A Chernobyl hamster?”

You laugh. You’re wearing denim shorts and an unceremonious white t-shirt over your swimsuit, Kmart sneakers, hair assailed by wind and humidity, a tiny bouquet of wildflowers that Amir picked for you tucked into your back pocket. “It’s a ferret.”

“It’s a freak of nature. This is how you know the Bible isn’t real, why would Noah have let that mutant on the Ark?”

“Oh, my very favorite Napoleonville residents!” Alicent calls, beckoning you and Amir over to where she, Criston, and Daeron are gathered around a dark green beach towel littered with playing cards, gambling chips, strawberry daiquiris, and Marlboro cigarettes. Apparently, they run in the family. Alicent puffs anxiously on one, rings gleaming on her elegant fingers. “Come play with us. Do you have good poker faces?”

“I certainly hope so,” Amir replies as he pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing swim trunks patterned with bright, multicolored geometric shapes. “I suspect we can’t afford to lose.”

“Can’t afford to lose,” Daeron’s blue macaw squawks from where she is perched on a nearby lounge chair, and Amir gapes at it, startled.

“Quiet, Tessarion,” Daeron soothes the bird.

“If you incur any debts, Aemond can pay them.” Alicent smiles warmly, then takes notice of the two white bakery boxes you’re carrying. “Have you brought us more of your scrumptiously authentic Southern desserts? I’ve been raving about them to all my friends back home in London. I ring them and they’re mesmerized by the notion of hummingbird cake and sweet tea. They’re even having their own kitchen staff try to replicate them.”

How antebellum. “It’s nothing too special. Just a blueberry custard pie. And some Cap’n Crunch Treats for Aegon.”

“Wonderful!” Alicent chimes. “Criston? You must get us plates and silverware immediately. We must sample this new delicacy straight away.”

Criston dutifully rises and disappears into the house they call The Last Desire. Helaena—with her chameleon Dreamfyre clinging to her shoulder—is absorbed in a conversation with Otto as they wade in the shallow end of the pool. Aegon has fallen asleep on a lounge chair and is snoring loudly; the boombox beside him is playing She Blinded Me With Science. Aegon is turning lobster red beneath the sun, but no one has bothered to wake him up. Before you can do it, Aemond walks through the French doors of the living room and out onto the cobblestones, wearing his black swim trunks. He beams when he sees you, then kicks Aegon’s chair as hard as he can.

“What?!” Aegon shouts as he jolts awake. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You fell asleep and you look like a Twizzler.”

“A chunky Twizzler,” Daeron adds.

“You want a palm reading?” Aegon asks. He grabs Aemond’s hand and flips it over. “It says you’re a bitch.”

“Aemond, phone for you,” Criston says as he breezes out of the house holding a stack of plates, forks, and knives. “I left it off the hook in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Got it.” Then Aemond tells you: “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

When he vanishes, you and Amir join the poker game. Aegon splashes into the pool to grab Sunfyre, collects his bakery box of Cap’n Crunch Treats, and then pads into the house to presumably slather himself in Noxzema. Criston cuts everyone a slice of blueberry custard pie, which Alicent raves about. You can’t bear to have Criston inconvenienced once again to prepare daiquiris for you and Amir; before Alicent can think of it, you jog to the kitchen to grab two cans of Pepsi from the fridge. But just as you reach the doorway, Aemond’s voice stops you. It isn’t a phone call about the rigs or the stock market. It isn’t family, it isn’t friends.

“Yes, dearest,” Aemond is saying, and you peek into the kitchen to get a better look. He’s got the handset of a blue phone to his ear and is turned away from you. His back is straight and rigid; his voice is steady but dispassionate. “Right. I understand. Yes, completely. Don’t be ridiculous, of course I miss you. All the time. Yes, and we’ll discuss it then. I can’t wait either. I’ll see you soon. Yes, yes. And you as well. Cheers, darling.” There is a pause. “I love you too.”

Aemond hangs up the phone, sighs deeply, rubs his scarred forehead. You slip away before he knows you’re there.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you

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dreaminginsteadofsleeping42 · 10 months

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What I love about the eras tour is how Taylor embraces the little tiniest things that made that era. The hand hearts, sparkly guitar, and spinning during Fearless. The giant ball gown and koi fish guitar for Speak Now. Giving a fan the black hat and wearing the not a lot going on at the moment t shirt for Red. The strutting for Style and the golf club for Blank Space during 1989. The snake patterns in the crowd and the recreation of the LWYMMD music video for rep. The Lover guitar. It really is a tour that carefully takes the time to celebrate each micro emotion of each era and it would have been easy and understandable if she had just sang the songs, but she put so much work into bringing these eras back to life for ten or fifteen minutes and I really appreciate that.

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 2 months

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RoR x Replacement Fighter Part 2

When the reader has healed, the gods/humans and the reader decide to get to know each other better. This can take place underneath a gazebo in the Valhalla Gardens, at a festival, in a gaming room, etc. As the reader was now wearing an all-black outfit that included a short-sleeve T shirt, pants, a chain necklace, and a stylish belt, their tattoos became pretty noticeable. Some of them blushed by the way the reader looked now. Others kept fidgeting because of it.

The reader's appearance :

They were amazed to find out that the reader was pretty young (around 20) and completed their education quite early. The reader also have the ability to speak in multiple languages (English, Burmese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, Laotian, etc.), which the gods/humans noticed as the reader was talking on their phone with their friends. Probably cussing out loud too.

The reader then invites the god/human to their apartment. The entire apartment was freezing cold and had dark neon green LED lights that were all stuck neatly on the walls. There were also traditional Burmese and Thai statues that were set up as decorations. Some of them noted the masks and puppets in a glass wardrobe near the furniture. There was also a large fish tank or aquarium in their apartment filled with Koi and Arapaima fish, which a few gods and humans went straight to observe.

The details of the apartment :

Some gods/humans did get a light hearted smack on the back of their head though. Either for trying to go inside the tank, for fooling around with the masks & puppets, for accusing the reader of being affiliated with the mafia, or because someone tried to smash up the serpent sculptures due to getting flashbacks from their previous battles. (Thor 💀)

Gods: Odin, Thor, Anubis, Susanoo, Loki, Apollo and Poseidon

Humans: Sasaki, Lubu, Tesla and Leonidas

-Today was the day that (Love) and several others were going to your place for the first time, after he and other fighters in Ragnarok had been begging to get to know you more, curious about you- they wanted to know as much as possible.

-Your house was in a quiet part of Valhalla and surprisingly looked relatively normal, nothing really out of the ordinary, at least on the outside of your house.

-When you answered the door, you looked a little disheveled, as if you had only just gotten up, your hair sticking up in random angles, baggy sweatpants, and a tight black tee-shirt on top, showing off the tattoos on your arms, which seemed a bit more vibrant today.

-Several, including (Love) flushed, you looked so alluring as you yawned, “Oh- was that today?” your sleepy voice was so alluring as you opened the door, welcoming them all in, as none of them made any mention that it was past noon and you had only just gotten up.

-As soon as they stepped inside, their jaws all dropped open, seeing that the vibe of your house didn’t fit the vibe of the outside of your house.

-It was dark, with bright neon lights and light strips everywhere, giving it a strange but ethereal vibe as Loki and Anubis gasped, running over to your massive fish tank that took up a whole wall in your living room, filled with koi fish and arowana fish, complete with more lights shining from the bottom.

-You scratched the back of your head, going towards your kitchen to start the coffee maker as many of the others were exploring the rest of your home, seeing the multitude of weapons, puppets, statues, and masks, all with labels next to them, hailing from Thailand and Burma.

-Apollo was fine, but others were quickly shivering as the sun god came over to you as you leaned against your kitchen counter, “Do you always keep your apartment so cold?”

-You looked over at him, an eyebrow lifting, “It’s cold in here?” several heads snapped over to you, how could you not tell that it was freezing in your own apartment?! You didn’t seem bothered, so you were obviously used to it.

-Poseidon and Nikola were looking at several diplomas on another wall, showing them the various institutes that you had gone to when you visited earth, showing them both, as well as the others, when Nikola came over to gush at you, that you were extremely smart.

-Nikola was like a hyperactive dog, not that you minded, as he asked what kind of languages that you spoke, as he had seen diplomas from all around the world!

-You counted on your finger, like you didn’t know exactly how many yourself, “English, Burmese…uhh Japanese and Korean- what else, oh Laotian, Thai, French… I think there’s more but…” you trailed off, not able to bring the names to mind at the moment but they were stunned to see you so well rounded!

-You were like a warrior scholar- they all knew you were a fierce warrior, and Lu Bu and Thor couldn’t help but feel a little antsy, seeing the variety of weapons you had in your place- you should know how to use all of these right? They wanted to fight you!!

-With the dark lighting, strange decorations and overall intimidating feel your place had, a few had to wonder if you were actually a dangerous person, as Loki popped up in front of you, “Are you part of the mafia?!”

-Instantly you were pinching his cheek, a slight scowl on your face as you sipped your coffee as he was begging you for mercy, much to the amusement of others.

-You didn’t mind them taking the masks off the wall, or picking up the weapons, as long as they didn’t break anything- you didn’t feel like you were in the mood for breaking any of them, and as long as they put things back, you didn’t mind them exploring your place.

-Had no idea you were such a well-rounded individual, you had it all, brains, strength, and good looks- you were the perfect package!! With each new thing that he discovered, he wanted to know more and more about you, as well as get closer to you- wanting you all to himself. However, he never did get an answer from you- are you part of the mafia?! He was determined to find out, but he didn’t want to risk you pinching his cheeks.

-Apollo, Loki, and Anubis

-His eyes were full of delight, a smile on his lips as he turned towards you, fire burning within his very soul as you finished your coffee, putting the mug down, “Fight me Y/N!!” you blinked, turning back to him, a confused look on your face, “Why?” he faltered only for a moment, “Because that’s the best way for us to get to know each other!” You motioned over your shoulder with a thumb, “I don’t feel like it- want to play a board game instead?” Why were you so difficult sometimes?!

-Thor, Susanoo, Lu Bu, and Leonidas

-Couldn’t help but admire your home, it was so unique, he found something new each time he looked, but unlike others who were taking things off the wall, he minded himself, just looking with his eyes. As he wandered, he kept finding more and more oddball things and he couldn’t help himself going over to you, “Why is your house filled with so many odd things?” you looked confused, as you didn’t see anything wrong with the way your house was decorated, “Odd? There’s nothing odd here- except you guys.” (Love’s) eyelid twitched lightly, you were such a thickheaded ding dong sometimes, but that was part of what made you cute.

-Odin, Poseidon, Kojiro, Nikola

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror apollo #ror loki #ror anubis #ror thor #ror susanoo #ror lu bu #ror leonidas #ror odin #ror poseidon #ror kojiro sasaki #ror nikola tesla

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johnconstantinesdick · 6 months

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It's been a week since @lost-words-exchange creator reveals, so here's my contribution! I think I'm the funniest person alive for this.

AO3 link

[ID: 1; A drawing of Dean Lorden, Simon Lorden, and October Daye. Simon is in the middle with his arms around Dean on the left and Toby on the right. Dean is dark-haired with brown skin. He's wearing a flannel and a t-shirt that reads "my step-dad turned me into a tree and all I got was this stupid shirt". Simon is red-haired, pale, and freckled, and is wearing a t-shirt that reads "I'm not the step-dad, I'm the dad who can't stop magically transforming his kids oh god oh fu". Toby has brown hair and pale skin and is wearing a leather jacket and a t-shirt that reads, "My step-dad turned me into a fish and all I got was this stupid shirt". They are all grinning, and their names are signed at the bottom as if it were a photograph.

2; A black t-shirt with the white text "My step-dad turned me into a tree and all I got was this stupid shirt". There are two tridents pointing to "My" and two trees on either side of "a tree".

3; A black t-shirt with the white text "I'm not the step-dad, I'm the dad who can't stop magically transforming his kids. oh god oh fu". There are sparkles on either side of "magically".

4; A black t-shirt with the white text "My step-dad turned me into a fish and all I got was this stupid shirt". There are two daggers pointing to "my", and two koi fish on either side of "a fish".

5; A black t-shirt with the white text "Starting to feel left out of the magically transformed my my dad club TBH". There are sparkles on either side of "magically". End ID]

#october daye #toby daye #simon lorden #simon torquill #dean lorden #art #fanart #image description #eli rambles

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amelee23 · 1 year

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Things Stray Kids members remind me of <3

Pairing: none

Genre: poetic prose

Warnings: uh? fish? and lots of metaphors and read about koi fish pls, you might get in your feels reading this, i was a 2000's kid, i mentioned a needle like once, food

Word count: 1300

A/N: an idea i started a few months ago. I actually poured my heart into this and got tears in my eyes multiple times while writing. I feel this is actually super personal and more like a love confession to the members lmao

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

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ Contents:

┈┈┈► Chan - sheep

┈┈┈► Lee know - surprising acts of kindness

┈┈┈► Changbin - gold

┈┈┈► Hyunjin - band t-shirts

┈┈┈► Han - koi fish

┈┈┈► Felix - pearls

┈┈┈► Seungmin - teddy bears

┈┈┈► Jeongin - the color green

Chan reminds me of sheep.

Have you ever heard the saying of a sheep in a wolf's clothing? Well, he's the complete opposite. He wears the skin of a wolf, he carries out the actions of a leader, keeping a close eye on all his pups and making sure to lick away every wound they would get, playing around in the tricky maze of roses. He bares sharp teeth and fangs at opposers and would not stop - even at his own expense - to make sure his family is looked after. But on the inside, he's merely a sheep, maybe even a lamb. He's sociable, friendly, gentle and affectionate, and would love you wrapping your arms around his fluffy wool, petting his head and telling him how cute he is. There's a skip to his step, as he runs over to greet you over the fence, and he wouldn't mind donating his wool to you, so that in the cold harsh winters, he could aid you in staying warm and protected from the snow.

I love you, Chan.

Lee know reminds me of surprising acts of kindness.

Like that time my childhood best friend lied he needed a shopping buddy at the mall just so he can trick me into buying me a plushie for Christmas; like that time my friend sent me a surprise package all the way from another county and I had no clue about it until it arrived; like the time you receive a birthday present that is so flabbergasting that you wonder if you can force the person to take it back, for it's too good, too expensive, too unworthy of your possession. Lee know is all of those things - he's a gift that comes at no anniversary whatsoever, he's like a kiss that isn't saying anything like good-bye, hello or good morning. He's that moment when someone reads your mind and knows exactly what you need without you saying a thing, he's the tub of ice cream your friend buys to cheer you up, he's the cupcakes your mom makes because you're sad. He's like when someone offers to do your share of the workload because you're tired, he's like the person who gives you their last sandwich just because they want you to eat. Lee know is the most unexpected and yet the kindest gift one could ever receive.

I love you, Minho.

Changbin reminds me of gold.

Like the golden chandelier above a manor ceiling, he illuminates even the grandest of rooms. Like the soft golden pattern on marble, he can make any room feels like a castle. There's something royal about him, so medieval about how he keeps his morals like shield and sword. He's mighty like a gold clad king, confident and ready for battle like a knight in golden armour mounted on a white horse. He marches forward, knowing the weight of his responsibility, his decisions affect an entire kingdom. But he's not above anyone else, no. His status does not matter for he aims to be the most fair and loving king of history.

I love you, Changbin.

Hyunjin reminds me of old band t-shirts.

He's that t-shirt you bought as a kid in the 2000's, that you could barely afford and promised you'd protect with your life. It had a print catered to your favorite band, and you wore it oh so proudly to showcase to everyone how much you loved their music. It wasn't just a fashion statement though, it wasn't just to look cool (although it made you feel like a badass). You were wearing your heart on your sleeve, and if someone made fun of you and your interests, the band you expressed your personality through, you'd get upset. But it would be worth it, because one day you'd meet someone who wore that same shirt and think, oh you're just like me. You understand me. But even though you took so much care of it, the shirt, now sitting in the back of your wardrobe, has some tiny paint stains on it only you can notice. It reminds you of the courage of expression you once had, in a world where everyone is terrified to show who they really are. You would never want to erase that part of your past, it is still a part of you.

I love you, Hyunjin.

Han reminds me of koi fish.

They're cold water fish, but cannot live in freezing waters. So then why is he, a different color, a different species, struggling to breathe in the freezing waters of other fish, which are not of his kind? He's often felt out of place, uncomfortable and hurt in this world he's been put in, like an alien of sorts. But someone so special and vibrant should be adored, should be the subject of art and poetry, should be kept in a warm mystery of fantasy. He belongs with those who will appreciate every color he wears in his soul, those who accept the beauty of someone so complex and unique - so that he too, can become a dragon.

I love you, Jisung.

Felix reminds me of pearls.

He's the white shiny beads you put on a friendship bracelet. Next to the round imitations of pearls there are other beads, with mismatching colors, and then - there's an initial of the friend you love the most. But the thing is, you, with an untrained eye in jewelry, you wouldn't be able to tell if the bead you carry is made out of mere plastic or picked out from the seabed by a mermaid of folktale, who has blessed your pearl with eternal love; perhaps what you carry around your wrist is something humanity has never seen before, something humanity cannot even put a price tag upon! But how can you accept such gift, so rare and mystical...? The sea deities have whispered that they want you to have it, they wish you to know how precious it is to love.

I love you, Felix.

Seungmin remind me of teddy bears.

The type you've loved way too much, and tried to take care of like your own child even though you were a kid yourself and knew nothing about parenting. When the teddy got a stain, you'd cry, you couldn't bear to see it in a washing machine; your parents would have to hand wash it and you'd stay close to make sure he doesn't get harmed; and if the teddy needed a stitch, it would be the end of the world - it's like the needle pierced your own skin, you could feel its pain. And when you grow older, you promised the teddy to never forget about him; but in the end, you still did. And years and years later, when you see him again, dusty and ruffled by age, with stitches and stains, you love him all the same, even though he's flawed, even though you couldn't keep him perfect, even though you hurt him, even though the world changed him. He's still your perfect childhood love in your eyes.

I love you, Seungmin.

Jeongin reminds me of the color green.

Like a fantastical eternal summer, the grass is always green. The leaves are always young, never to grow rusted, for autumn does not exist. Leaves don't fall, flowers don't wilt, the world is forever young, beautiful and warm. You can't understand it, the magic of this world - it's a mystery he keeps close to his heart. Maybe there's a large price he must pay to keep this up, but he'll never tell. For to him, all that ever matters is that everyone can smile. We can have picnics on the flower fields, we can take shade under the willow trees, we can sip on mint flavoured ice tea and weave baskets full of memories blessed by the sun and its eternal flame. And around our necks, there's an emerald necklace, said to protect us from all evil in the world.

I love you, Jeongin.

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

oop i confessed my love

What do the Stray Kids members remind YOU of? Let me know!

If you like my work, consider donating to me so I can continue writing!

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novamilano1 · 4 months

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The koi fish, of courage and love, the beautiful lover boy, Simon

Every time, I read TVMs (TV microscop) analysis on the substack blog, my mind is always on overdrive. Go check the last article on the fish metaphor in Young royals. The essential part of the article on this metaphor is free. It completes the water metaphor (this article is also free) that represents love. To go further, I would like to add a mention of the koi fish that represents Simon, the courageous resilient and beautiful lover boy.

In episode 1 of season 1, when Simon is first introduced home, (19mn30 et sq) with his family eating the infamous pasta with ketchup, he's wearing a T-shirt with a big koi fish in a japanese style. This fish is linked with home, family, love etc. And in episode 2 of season 1, just after the scene when Wille taps Simon's shoulder on the boat when rowing on the lake, at 10mn 54 et sq, we see Simon in the second scene home of the whole series. He wears the same t-shirt with the big koi fish. But we can have a better look at it. There is this big majestic koi fish in a circle but with a part that breaks the circle on the top near a wave. And outside the circle where the big fish is, in the wave at its left, on the bottom of the t-shirt, there is a hint of a second fish, he is almost entirely underwater, we only see the tail emerging from the water (or it is perhaps just a part of the tail's fish dipping in the waves, out of the bubble ? ).

This t-shirt can perhaps really embody part of who Simon is, in introductory scenes. The japanese "koi" that is depicted symbolizes, courage, bravery, perseverance, dedication, good luck, love and beauty. "Koi" in japanese apparently (thanks google) means "carp" but also "love". This fish linked with many legends swimms against strong currents and never gives up when facing adversities, beating the odds. Kois are compared to "samurais" as warriors, fighters. (A possible link with the song "Samurai Swords" by Highasakite when Simon and Wille comfort each other when facing a struggle, a bump on the road on Santa Lucia night ? ) Really beautiful and inspiring symbol. What's your take on it ?

#edvin ryding #young royals #omar rudberg #wilmon #omar and edvin #wilhelm young royals #young royals netflix #yr analysis #yr archive #young royals archive #yr metaphors #young royals metaphor #young royals archives #YR archives #youngroyalarchive #simon eriksson #wille x simon

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cottoncandy-cult · 8 months

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True Art

Tattoo Artist!Buddha x Fem! Reader

This is just based in my own little modern artist au, in which the RoR characters work in various shops together!

Light TW: Mentions of blood maybe once twice, other than that it's pretty tame. Just basic SFW

"You're doing great gorgeous… just a little longer." Buddha had been straddling her thighs for a while, hunched over her body as he held the tattoo gun in his glove covered his hands. The other held a wet wipe, allowing him to clean up the extra ink and blood. When (Y/n) had first started dating him she was tattooless, having only a couple piercings and dyed hair to show where she leaned style wise. They had met at a bar, the tall male worked at a shop nearby but would also work as a bouncer as a friend of his owned the club anyways. They had hit it off after he caught and took care of a creep trying to spike her drink, it had been 3 years now and like a canvas Buddha had painted his mark across her skin. The back piece he was working on for her was one that they had spent months doing between their schedules, it was a large koi pond with what was a partial view of a shrine up near her shoulders. Though the main focal point had been a koi fish amongst the lotus, the edges of the tattoo looking like that of a mirror. Many of her tattoos looked like images taken from beyond the looking glass, vibrant and detailed they would spend the hours together talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes they'd sit silently and enjoy the others presence as music softly hummed through the background. Tonight was the last night, so Buddha claimed, that he would finish this newest Masterpiece that night. He took a moment to grab a new wet wipe, his thumb rubbing her side as he knew she was still sore from the session before. But they were near the bottom of the tattoo and the last of the shading, so soon she'd be able to take a break and heal for a while. The koi fish had been white with (F/c) spots splattered across it, while the lotus had blue and white petals. A detail Buddha had included in the colored drawing the two had come up with together. He knew it sounded bad but he somewhat enjoyed when she was still sore from a fresh session, it gave him an excuse to spoil her and take care of her as given the current ones position, he had to help her clean and care for it.

"You wanna take a snack break before we get back into it?" He hopped off the padded table that she rested on, stretching his back as he sat in a computer chair and rolled around so that he was infront of her. He couldn't help but chuckle at the drowsy look on her face, she had gotten so used to the feeling that now sometimes during a long session she would doze off. He couldn't count how many times he was in the middle of a long story and heard her start softly snoring, of course he'd act pouty about it but he honestly thought it was cute. "Yeah, snacks sound great Bu~" That was all it took for Buddha to wipe up her lower back before throwing away the dirty wipes and his gloves. He watched her sit up some on her elbows so she could sip on her orange slushy, meanwhile he was opening up a bag of chips which he'd hold between the two. "You want me to help you sit up? Or are you gonna just chill there?" He was worried she'd make herself even more sore from the position, but he also knew she was probably dreading having to get off the table with her fresh tattoo. "Nah I'm comfy, plus it's just a snack break. We can order a pizza or something when we get home." She had stretched her topless form some before popping a chip in her mouth, given the size of the project she had foregone her bra and wore a loose cotton t-shirt which she would take off during the tattoos. There were ink and blood stains on it from the numerous tattoos but she always cleaned it and it served as just being one of her tattoo safety shirts. They had decided to go to the shop he worked at after he got done with his job at the bar to work on her newest addition, they had been there for a few hours, but it wasn't quite midnight yet. Even if it had been (Y/n) worked from home as an animator, something Buddha supported her in along with her 5M subscribers. It had been something she was building on for years even before she met him, art and creation was her passion and so she would animate her stories. She was still an independent creator, but things were looking up and she was grateful. Because of that she did have some flexibility in her schedule so she could afford to sleep in a little later the following day.

They had spent a few minutes chatting and flipping through TikTok's together, enjoying their snack before Buddha got up to get a fresh pair of gloves and some more wet wipes. "I can't wait til we get home, wanna eat something and watch that crime show you like." He chuckled as he moved back into his position over her, he took a moment to press a kiss the base of her neck just above where the tattoo sits. His hands stroking her sides as he helped her get comfortable again, a lazy grin on his face as he started back on the tattoo with new determination to see it finished that night. "Yeah I can't wait, especially since that creep just kidnapped the detective." She giggled some but did her best to hold still, closing her eyes to relax into the padding once more. She could be a bit of a nerd sometimes and while she found it embarrassing sometimes Buddha had never once shamed her, infect he took interest into many of her hobbies and likes. He said he was doing it because it was only fair, that she indulges him and his desires all the time so it wouldn't hurt him to watch some of her favorite shows with her. Even still it made her happy, sure she had dated guys who had shown some interest in her likes but nothing like how Buddha does it. Just the other day they finished an anime that was almost 300 episodes long, and afterwards they were even able to discuss some of his favorite archs and characters. Where most of her Exes would have just been ready to move on to the next thing, Buddha was willing to talk about certain details, missed opportunities and theories. "I love you Bu~" Her words were soft and sweet, she wanted to tell him just how much. To spend the rest of their time together thanking him and telling him all she loved about him, but she figured there was a time and place and she'd rather do so when she could look at him. Though given her current position she missed his toothy smile, instead she simply felt the needle lift from her skin as he rested his forehead against the back of her head. "Love you too (N/n)…" His voice was smooth and sweet, like warm honey in tone, he didn't need to hear hours' worth of praise to feel her love. Though he certainly wouldn't mind hearing it, he could feel her love through the things she did in return for him. He knew he could be a little difficult sometimes, even a little bratty or joke a little more than most people would like. Yet she took every second of it, she was willing to keep dialog open and talk about things even if she felt embarrassed. And that kind of trust is how he knew the depths of her love, because she was willing to set aside pride and swallow embarrassment so that they could fix or confront any problems they had to. It took effort and he respected that, he loved himself a strong woman. And in his eyes, no one was as strong as his personal goddess.

#record of ragnarok #ROR #Buddha X Reader #Fem reader #Buddha x fem reader #Reader insert #sfw #tattoo artist au #candy cult vault

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koifishart · 1 month

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I want to be Your Koi Fish

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>8<

True, he drank a little. True, he might look slightly wasted ... but he could see her angry face very clearly. It didn't cross his throat in their company that he was just ashamed to tell her, just as he stubbornly escaped from showing Kizaki's school report. He figured she wouldn't be pleased. As soon as she broke into his deputy's office, he finished his bourbon in a glass of ice and sat more comfortably on the couch, listening to the conversation. At the same time he wondered how to reward her concealment.

- Hanabi-sama is totally different than our Boss! - Ueda laughed. - Pushes on everyone and everything.

- The exams are coming up, it's normal for her. She always reacted that way. - Haga replied with a shrug. - She gets mad, throws "fuck", "crap", "bitch" or the like, right and left ... Such a type.

- How do you know each other? - Tanaka demanded.

- We went to the same school. She is a year younger, but the teachers forced her to teach me anyway. - He explained, running a hand through his jet-black hair. - Otherwise, I would not have passed lower high school! Thanks to this, I found out that she is terribly tidy and knowledgeable, especially in science. Honestly, until then I thought she was a nerd, won every math Olympiad she appeared at... but it turned out that the truth was different.

- What?- they heard a resonant voice.

He looked up above their heads. Was it so fast? She was talking about five hours! He looked sluggishly at the clock on the wall. No way! It's been 4.5. He watched her. He noticed black leather shorts tightening around her massive buttock, and a loose T-shirt with a knot near the zipper. She settled in surprisingly quickly, which shouldn't be weird. They allowed her to browse one of the most secret areas of the building. Only the contents of his fundoshi were more secret, which she already knew. She walked over to the bar counter, and it crossed his mind that he had never seen her drink alcohol. However, she needed to know something about it, because she quickly took out two specific bottles that he didn't know existed in his house.

- I mentioned the times when you helped me with my studies. - Haga replied.

- Well ... let's see if you remember anything. - she murmured, setting the glass on the table. - Pour 1.5 scoops of 40% vodka and 3/4 scoops of 40% coffee liqueur into a glass with ice.

- Ok.

- Focus, two-part question. How many percent is the resulting drink? After how many of these glasses will I drink dead, assuming I'm a statistical Asian with statistical tolerance to alcohol? - she asked, gently stirring the resulting liquid.

He wondered involuntarily. He must have drunk too much to know the answer. It took the friend a moment too, but finally he spoke with surprising enthusiasm.

- For 100ml it is 40%, so this glass is also 40%. And you would have to drink ten ...?

- Bingo! Bonus question for which you can drink. What is it?

- Black Russian... and thank you, I don't mix alcohol.

- Your loss ... - she laughed, hopping on the counter and sitting on it. - ... But I admit, quite the right approach.

She took a sip. No reaction, as if she mixed water with cola. Apparently even she hadn't digest it soberly.

- Hanabi-sama, this is your learning method? - Kizaki asked.

- Yes. I don't see the point in learning something that won't come in handy in life. I prefer to translate theories in a practical way. - she replied, taking the glass in both hands. - I'll do my best, just give us as much free time as possible, Kizaki-san.

- I have a bad feeling about this. - Hanayama muttered, sipping his bourbon.

In one gulp, she emptied the glass, put it on the table top, then jumped off it briskly and before he realized it, she sat on his lap. Perhaps for the first time he felt the warm perfume rising from her neck.

- More faith, Kaoru. - She smiled and kissed the scarred cheek. - When I'm done with you, you'll belch with the multiplication table, puke arithmetic, and shit trigonometry.

It sounded scary, and she kept her expression soft. He wondered for a long time what attracted him. He didn't have to anymore.

He woke up as if he hadn't slept at all, strangely enough, in his own bed. Expected that he fell asleep as sat on the leather couch in the living room. He rubbed face with his hand as sat on the mattress. Found his glasses and put them on the nose. Had just noticed her. She was sitting at his desk, in his chair, facing him, braiding her legs tucked in high-heeled shoes, translucent stockings fastened with buckles to strips of shiny material disappearing under a tight skirt, into which she pressed a bright shirt buttoned up to the neck. Looking at him, she slightly slipped the frames of her nerds - glasses. He knew with certainty that she had no vision defect.

- Did you sleep well? - she asked sweetly.

- So so... - he muttered.

- No more drinking for a while. It's time to catch up on a few topics. - she ordered, rising from chair, and he could have sworn he saw a piece of juicy red lingerie under her skirt. - Meanwhile, I invite you to breakfast.

She outdid herself. There was a mountain of plump pancakes on the table with a variety of toppings, from fruit to peanut butter, bean paste to maple syrup. He sat down next to her speechless, then began to eat. It's hard to talk about biting into a dish. It was so light and fluffy that it melted in your mouth instantly. He admitted it with difficulty, but even his mother couldn't do THIS. He sipped the green tea standing near his plate.

- No need, really... - he muttered, not looking at her. - That's what I got Kizaki for.

- Kizaki-san won't stand by you forever. We live in a world like this and not another, Kaoru. Death is the only certainty, the question remains how fast. - she announced firmly. - If he runs out, you WILL HAVE to fend for yourself.

- There will always be a way.

- Specially for you, I organized a three-week off from school. - she added, and he felt a note of impatience in her voice.

- It won't be wasted... - he said, placing his hand on her side and pressing lightly.

- You're making me use an argument I didn't want to make. - she grunted, turning to face him. - If you do not have enough courage to accept the offered help, my leg never set more here.

She surprised him. He looked at her wide-eyed, trying to figure out if it was true or a dirty trick. She kept a poker face. He decided to play a trick.

- Won't you miss me?

- Very. - she whispered at once. - More than you think.

He thought. She hit the nail on the head. This time he lacked the courage. He preferred to get things done on his own, and in this case, he would have liked to leave everything as it was. But she was right. Death was the surest thing in life, and the environment in which they rotated made it look closer to them than to others.

- Let it be ... I agree. - he sighed heavily.

Hanabi's methods seemed to work, though he wasn't sure how she did it. She immediately rejected the typical method for schools, as she puts it, "patting knowledge memory". For her, understanding was much more important, and whether he recited a formula from a textbook or said otherwise did not matter completely. What mattered was the sense of speech and the ability to apply. It turned out that he was quite teachable, and the alluring teacher did not spare him praise, especially at the end of the day. This was the part he liked best. She sat on the edge of the desk, wearing a different outfit every day, and after a few attempts he learned that there was something interesting underneath as well. It excited him. His brain had never been working at such dizzying speeds, not even on that night, when he decided from midnight to sit on a mountain of homework for the next day, and Kizaki cheered and supported him with all his might. Adrenaline was buzzing through his veins. Enough to gave the correct answer, or solve a number of tasks in mathematics, and took off one item of clothing. She did it with such solemnity that when he saw her in only underwear, this time in a delightfully blue one, composed of lace and several stripes, and a silver chain falling from neck to hips, he was almost sure he will not stand, and cums in his pants. She was left in spider-thin panties and fancy trinkets when she turned his chair over, beckoning him with her index finger, taking off her nerds-glasses. He tore off his shirt and pants with one stroke and put his glasses on the desk. Pulled her close and threw on the bed, covering her with his body. She surrendered to his kisses, he could feel goose bumps growing under his fingers, she did not resist the eagerly groping hands, but when he pulled the last piece of clothing off her, finally wanting to fulfill his desires, she stopped him by placing a shapely bare foot on his torso. He stopped in one second.

- Additional question, subject: biology. - she announced, assuming a professional face. - Is there a risk of conception ONLY during ejaculation?

- No. - he replied soberly.

- Then please respect my reluctance to get pregnant at this point. - she muttered like a kitten, puffing her lips and holding out a small bundle in his direction.

He respected not to wait any longer and out of the respect he had for her. Just overwhelmed by emotions, he didn't think. Somewhere deep down he said that if they had fallen in, he wouldn't have taken offense at all. He loved the inside of her body. It was warm, soft, pleasant, as if prepared especially for him. Not for a man at all. FOR HIM. He felt every unevenness, every twitch as he waited for this wonderfully entwining string of pleasure. The first time she showed up in his hotel room to kill him, he knew her pleasure might be his pleasure. The better it got, the more, consciously or not, she tightened her grip on the tense nature. Each time he discovered new spheres of ecstasy. This time they didn't last long. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt an astonishingly strong crush combined with a spasmodic, very melodic groan and incredibly exciting expression on her lovely face, which made him come swiftly and very intensely. He snuggled into her, trying to catch breath. She wrapped her arms gently around him, wet with exertion. He could think ahead and open the window.

- Tutoring with Haga looked similar? - he muttered in her ear.

- Of course not! - she laughed, throwing a pillow at him. - I had other methods for him ... my bear.

>>><<<

As they say, the right way is enough, and the way is for everyone. What pained her in education was that everything was based on brainless repetition and test-forging. She wanted to know something and saw that this approach works. Kaoru seemed to be edified as well, getting up in the morning clearly more joyful, not in the gallows mood as on the first day. Then it might have been a hangover, if not Hanayama didn't have a hangover. They were doing exceptionally well that day. Kaoru dug out a different one from the crowd of purple shirts, navy blue with bright patterns resembling embroidered flowers. He surprised her with more than that when the deputy boss entered the room.

- Sorry to bother you. I promised to give you the maximum amount of free time, but there are things I won't skip. - Kizaki announced. - You must show up at the club tonight, boss. Yajima stands up again.

- He's so confident this time he demands a show fight? - Hanayama muttered.

- Apparently, he has a business, he wants to push it through very strongly. I do not exclude duel. - the adviser explained. - As far as I know, he convened a slightly larger group.

Something told her that surname, was not exactly sure what. She must have heard this man was holding some of the biggest banks by the balls. Maybe that's why the Yakuza's income was the way it was. Someone was turning the tap on. It wasn't... it wasn't why she knew it. She thought. Pacification of the problem element could have a twofold effect. She wasn't going to interfere, especially if he didn't approve, but she liked having a plan up her sleeve. But it was hard to plan with such rudimentary information. On the one hand, he could get scared and withdraw, on the other hand, he could blackmail him with a worsening of the situation. And this "larger group" ...

- They will try to maneuver. - Hanayama assessed soberly, then looked at her seriously. - Hanabi, come with us.

- I fully support it. - added the deputy. - Experience Hanabi-sama might be useful to us.

- Are you sure? - she was surprised.

- Absolutely! - Kizaki ruled. - I think we'll even find something suitable ...

- Don't worry, Kizaki-san. - she answered quickly, holding him back with her hand.

She used a bit of spare time to find a suitable outfit for the occasion, still wondering why the name seemed so familiar to her. In the depths of her emergency bag, she found two more items that could be useful. As a precaution, she preferred to take them, even if they were only for a moment. In the evening, she slung a small backpack over her shoulder. The practicality of the garment above all else - it was elegant, surprisingly roomy, while keeping both hands free. She left Kaoru's room while Kaoru was ready, sitting on the leather couch in his usual white suit and purple shirt. Kizaki was standing next to him. He turned towards her, straightening the dark tie on the maroon shirt. She could see the muscles around his jaw twitch to keep it from falling. She chose a black, tight, mid-thigh dress, shoulderless, but with a low turtleneck, and long boots with rather high heels. She let her hair loose to fall elegantly on her back. There was a slight ruby smile on her fair face.

- Kizaki-san, please don't forget that I'm a professional. - Muttered coming up to them.

On the way to the club, she learned that she had to carefully observe everyone and select liars. It wasn't going to be easy, she guessed, but she was still bothered by the subject of the name Hanayama had mentioned in his right hand. Eventually, she searched for anything about him on the Blacknet* and froze at the sight of the photo she found. She knew this face. She had seen her several times in her life.

- Hanabi-sama?

- Is that him? - she asked, showing them the photo, and when they nodded, she switched off the page and put the phone away. - I made a few orders for him...

- Yajima knows you?! - Kizaki scared, then dumbfounded. - Wait ... what?

- Er ... sort of. True, I always got assignments from him in person, but he never saw my face. - she muttered, pulling a white fox mask with decorative red brushes on the sides from her backpack. - He knows my capabilities, or at least part of them. So maybe it would be good if he found out that Shiro Kitsune** is working with Hanayama?

- Who ...? - said the deputy in dismay.

- You think he's gonna get scared? - Kaoru asked.

- Well... as far as I know, I have quite a good reputation in the area and Yajima has a lot of contacts. If he let the rumor that I am with you, a few things could correct themselves. - she replied with a shrug. - Of course not said it would be ... but I think it's worth a try.

She looked at Kizaki. He nodded, though he didn't really know what for. She took a tiny box from her backpack in which she hid her lenses. She put them on carefully, and her eyes turned from light green to vivid yellow, cat. Putting on the mask, she caught the boss's surprised look. The car stopped in front of the club.

- Don't look at me like that! You didn't expect me to work as a ... ME? - she laughed a pearly, then lowered her fox snout over her nose. - I wouldn't have had a life in school.

- I don't remember you having yellow eyes at the hotel back then.

- In the hotel...? - Kizaki interjected confusedly. - About what...

- Because I didn't. - she replied completely honestly. - Feel honored.

She hid all her fears deep in her pocket. She had a plan frame, but if nothing came out, she had to improvise. As usual. She felt a pleasant thrill of excitement. They arrived perfectly on time, but the condition of the people in the box meant that they must have been a little late after all. They were only waiting for them. She was going to stand behind his back like everyone else except Kizaki sitting to his right, but he had a different plan. He took advantage of the fact that he had her hands near him, took one of them and pulled it towards him so that she sat sideways in his lap. How lucky it was that the mask partially covered the cheeks. Nobody saw the luscious blush on the face. Especially since a moment later she felt warm, heavy hands on her thighs. She thought they would introduce her as a mercenary, if only for a trick, and he had confessed to her openly. Amazing, he could be sweet and mysterious at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his people kept their stone faces. Even Tanaka didn't blink, and from him she could expect the most idiotic face of this century. Well, what came out of the set was the improvisation. She caught Yajima's gaze in front of her.

- Shiro Kitsune-san... I didn't expect that we will meet again.- the man muttered.

- Each other. - she replied dryly.

- Since when do some of the best paid murderers of recent years join the yakuza? - he sneered ironically. - How much will they pay you to kill? I will give more.

- I get the impression that my career was not the subject of the meeting, is it? - she said firmly, without glare at him. - Besides, you don't have that kind of money.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Kizaki. He didn't express it in facial expressions, but she could almost hear her heart racing. He did not know. The case was closed, to her great secret approval. She listened carefully to everyone, trying to find out who was lying. It was not easy, they played their roles very well. She listened, pondered, compared ... It came to a point that she herself began to wonder if she was cheating someone, even though she did not say a word. Or maybe ... earlier? She had to figure it out. She twisted to go out for a moment and think things over in turn. How many were there? Five? Of course more, but in fact, apart from Kaoru, there were only five of them in charge. Anyone could lie, and anyone could tell the truth. She almost forgot what the topic of conversation was. As the entire triad hasn't spun the best lately, voices have arisen to restore prostitution and the sale of pornography to their territories. She remembered her father starting with that. Japan remained very conservative, treating erotic films as an additional pillar of art, and the demand was for extremely sharp and confusingly similar to the real, bed scenes. This is exactly what America delivered, so her father, sniffing around for business and willing people on the black market, did not hesitate to start contacts. As soon as he had made money, he put this part of the smuggling aside, claiming that he did not want to get his hands dirty, he had enough of it. In fact, she was also drying his head about whether he would like someone to take her to a film like this - after all, since her father trades ... In fact, she never asked what Kaoru thought about prostitution, but she hadn't noticed anything happening in his area. He might as well have dumped the case deep underground so that the police wouldn't scent him. She looked into the bathroom mirror, taking off her fox mask. She pulled out a red face marker hidden in her bra. There were a few details that Kitsune needed to minimize the risk of recognizing her in the future. She drew triangular elements by the eyes and two thicker lines on the zygomatic bones to look a bit like the animal. Was she cheating on someone? Was there such a possibility at all? She was honest with everyone, especially with her father and Kaoru. Or maybe... to herself, not? Why did it seem so real to her? She pushed the fox's face down on her nose, adjusted her clothes, tucked the marker pen deeply and left the bathroom. She still wondered who was lying. She had not managed to poke her nose out of

#hanayama kaoru #fanfic #oc x canon #baki the grappler #anime #kaoru hanayama #baki hanayama #hanayama x reader #yakuza #+18 or +adult only #+18 content #+18 only #baki son of ogre #baki dou #baki headcanons #baki hanma

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jesuis-melodrama · 1 year

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The Aesthetics of Miraculous' Main Cast Pt. 2

Due to popular request, a second instalment based on the series' deuteragonists and tritagonists.

5. Tsurugi Kagami // Indie

Hear me out.

First of all, like with all aesthetics, there's no concrete definition for what constitutes as 'indie', although most people have a pretty definite idea of what shouldn't be. Indie is one of the widest aesthetics out there, bordering on multiple other sub-genres connected to a mish-mash of specific architectural, cultural, and musical styles.

But for Kagami, what I constitute as "indie" for her is simply a strong attraction to independence and individuality.

I don't think there's two better words to describe Kagami, out of all Miraculous characters, even the main deuteragonist cast, Kagami stands out because she has always been a girl who gets what she wants when she wants it, at times breaking the signature Miraculous limits of being reset back to default at the end of each episode. She remembered her disdain of Adrien, and although still cares deeply for him, never forgot the wound she obtained from him either.

Unlike all the other rich kids of Miraculous, Adrien, Chloé, Félix, and even Lila to a debatable degree, Kagami has always been far stricter and more formal in manner. This is does not, however, means that she is content to conform with her situation and blend into her mother's desires for her. No, Kagami has demonstrated capabilities to be far more rebellious than even our resident rogue superhero, surprising him at instances, and her adamant dedication to her drawing hobby, despite her mother's clear verbal disapproval, cements the strength of her indie personality. Moody independent loyalty, above all else.

We've never seen Kagami wear any other outfit apart from her fencing gear, kimono, and blazer-ed school uniform, and the audience certainly isn't aware of what her room or house looks like, but I imagine Kagami would be rather casual and grunge in sartorial terms. Preferring a good pair of comfortable, worn-in sneakers which are prime for running and other physical activities, rather than heeled shoes. Soft denim, fitted t-shirts, and relaxed bomber jackets with patterns of bright orange tigers and candy-red koi fish are also on the menu.

In terms of decorating her room – perhaps something like the image I provided above, granted with a lot more red and a couple prints of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec's scattered around.

6. Luka Couffaine // Grunge

Grunge is defined by music. Having started off in the hard rock scene of Seattle, Washington, the popular grunge fashion sense – worn denim with holes at the knees, flannel, Converses, and oversized jackets – was once the uniform of preceding alternative rock bands to the likes of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, and 7 Year Bitch.

There's a general idea of hopelessness infested within grunge circles. Usually young teens with little faith in their futures or the adults/world around them, left to partake in aimless activities such as attempting to start off their band from their garage-offices, or smoking marijuana in the basement of their parents' house.

But a larger, more significant portion of grunge is about counterculture, rejecting the expensive and the mainstream, the manufactured and the perfected, for what is authentically human. In musical terms, this means hand-played instruments over recorded pieces and studio voices versus autotune.

I don't think there's a better way to describe Luka other than authentic. His grunge-style outfit and characteristic dyed hair aside, his rather angsty backstory as being the secret son of a rock icon, Luka is a genuine and honest person, who has seldom lied on screen (rather difficult to do when the series circles around hiding superhero identities from romantic interests), and never shied away from saying what would be tormenting and embarrassing to another person.

Congratulations to Luka for making the first, full love confession to his love interest in Season 3. It may have been blatantly disregarded since, but Luka did it, clear words right in Marinette's face, he did not conform to his peers' habits of sneaking around and attempting to find shortcuts.

7. Félix Fathom // Preppy

Since I've found out Félix is part-American, this aesthetic suits him far more.

There is an aspect to Félix that is Old Money, much like Adrien, semi-canon or not, apparently both boys have blue blood within them, as Emilie and Amélie are both alluded to being some form of English aristocracy. But what differentiates Preppy from Old Money, and indeed what separates Félix from Adrien, is sociability.

Félix does not suffer the serious curfews and heavily regimented household dynamic Adrien does, he's free to do what he wants, when he wants, and according to this show, that includes committing cross-country felonies with the aid of his loving mother.

Much like Old Money, Preppy is characterised by wealth, and a penchant for materialistic objects. Félix lives in a London penthouse, BTW, if anyone doubts his ability to showcase his upper-class background. Plus: his outfit. Apart from Kagami, and that appears to be a school uniform that she pairs off with sneakers, Félix shows up to nearly each scene he's in with a waist-coat, black tie, and dress shoes. Not even Papillon/Papillombre/Monarch can beat that level of suave.

What also defines Preppy, a rather negative aspect which shines it out from other luxury aesthetics, is that partakers in this particular kind of sub-culture are known for elitism, looking down on those who are financially not on their level, or destitute in etiquette.

From the moment he arrived on-screen, Félix had been plentiful with his disdain, letting it be very well know who he despises or think little of.

8. Zoé Lee // Art Hoe

Zoé wants to be an actress. You can't get more artistic than that, and considering family dynamics, having a career goal alone places Zoé as far from the Chloé alignment as possible.

Art Hoe is an aesthetic based around nature, a love for art, and (usually) women. While the specific art form in particular is usually paintings related to the pop-art, graphic, and modern and post-modern genre, there are plenty of indie and alternative films such as the works of Andy Warhol, David Lynch, and Wong Kar-wai's, surreal, dream-like pieces which fits into the spacey, high culture requirements.

Not to mention, Zoé's outfit. From her bright turquoise beanie to sunshine-yellow jeans. Zoé's dabbles between tough masculinity with her leather jacket and quirky femininity with her blocky flower shirt. Her shoes are perhaps the most vibrant aspect of her ensemble, with quite a sombre backstory – "Yeah, I've written every nice thing that anyone's ever said to me, to keep them with me all the time." "But there's only one message!" "I only had one friend." – speaking of both her colourful personal style, but subdued persona.

I can see Zoé wearing mom jeans and painted overalls, slugging Kånken backpacks over her shoulder and donning striped Van Gogh socks.

To cap-off her Art Hoe requirements, the aesthetic focuses heavily on DIY, which Zoé proves by painting her own daily shoes.

#miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #tsurugi kagami #luka couffaine #félix fathom #zoé lee #aesthetics #analysis

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