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wheneclipsefalls · 3 months

Text

Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds.

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will.

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally.

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk.

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face.

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood.

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves.

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly.

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs.

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder.

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement.

Always the Colonel’s bitch.

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction.

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats.

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees.

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known.

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice.

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty.

And you are pampered and primed for the taking.

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form.

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking.

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears.

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand.

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent.

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him.

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy.

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest.

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing?

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value.

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly.

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat.

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.”

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you?

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.”

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one.

Your own special gift before you leave this life.

“I tire of your presence, demon.”

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected.

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head.

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to.

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you.

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience?

Unless.

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up.

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.”

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him.

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet.

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke.

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People.

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck.

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.”

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically.

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips.

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.”

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet.

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs.

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength.

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent.

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet.

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.”

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention.

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.”

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death.

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze.

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching.

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.”

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

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erinfern0 · 9 months

Text

paint the sheets red

soft!dom!roman x afab!reader (smut ending with fluff)

- afab anatomy, gender neutral nicknames, only used pronouns are you etc.

summary: roman just craves to help you get through your period, he can't help burying his face between your legs.

warnings: period oral sex (r receiving), praise, somnophilia, blood kink, fingering, use of safe word, spit, edging, mention of aftercare, slight dom/sub dynamic, anxiety, etc

Usually, when you're on your period, you two try to stay away from each other, mostly for your own safety. Being sane, he would never risk so much by being close to you while you were bleeding, and you usually complied. Today was different. Today, you were desperate for his attention. You needed him close to you, to whisper that everything is going to be fine and that those feelings won't last. You were lost in your own head, trying to stay collected while running your hand over your stomach, imagining it was his.

The day was going awful. The cramps had been killing you since you woke up. Not a single pill helped to ease the pain you felt physically. You also suffered mentally from your boyfriend not responding to your texts.

Roman was busy like this usually, answering you only when he had enough time for you or when he just finished his job. You texted him in the morning, describing how bad you felt and how nice would it be if he came around in the evening. Walls of messages filled his phone but he couldn't leave the meeting as he wanted to. You were aware he had responsibilities other than you, which made you feel even worse - you felt like a burden for interrupting him like this. You closed the app and quickly threw your phone against the mattress of your shared bed with a sigh. You crawled up on top of the bed, bringing your knees to your chest as your side, pressing your hand over your warm stomach, trying to ease the pain, quiet curses mumbled under your breath.

Roman looked at his phone, biting his lower lip. You needed him. More than usual, and he wanted to be there for you. He could just leave, he had enough money to ignore the new client, but he knew it wasn't good for the company. He kept bouncing his leg under the desk as the men talked above him. They were asking him questions and he would just mindlessly nod his head, staring at the texts you sent him.

At first, he just thought about the pain you felt, about your loneliness and agony. How much he just wanted to be there with you, cuddling you while whispering how much he loves you. The thought of you flashing over and over in his mind, hand squeezing the phone to force himself not to message you back yet.

But then something else grabbed his attention. he looked over one of the texts and froze. Period. He had read it before and knew the reason behind your pain, but it hit him just now. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Blood. He ran his tongue over his top teeth, feeling how sharp his teeth were, mouth watering just by the idea of you. Sex and thighs covered in the red substance that tasted so damn good. He couldn't shake off the fantasy of bringing his lips to the soft flesh of your inner thighs, tasting you while his hands held your hips down to prevent you from moving too much. His eyes started getting hazy from craving you, scanning the people in front of him as he dug his fingernails deep into his palm.

The men didn't seem to notice how his eyes started slowly darkening in front of them. He had to have you. Now.

He lifted his body off the chair a little too quickly, overwhelmed by the sound and feeling of the blood running in his guests' veins. He felt dizzy, supporting his weight over the desk as he looked up at them. "Gentlemen... I believe I've heard enough" he says. The man who was taking care of the presentation froze mid-slide. "I'll think about your offer and let you know about my decision, give me some time. Thank you for being here" he said, almost politely before grabbing his phone off the desk and rushing to the elevator, loosening the tie just enough to help him breathe.

He texted you he'd be there soon but you were already asleep, trying to fight the pain. Despite how short the ride home was, it felt like hours to him, clenching his jaw, trying to discipline himself as he pulled up to the front yard. He quickly left his car, mind focused on whispering your name over and over like a spell in his head as he walked into the bedroom. He froze as soon as he saw you.

That perfect body curled up on top of the bed in your shots and a t-shirt, but not a regular t-shirt. One of his. He could smell you from the corridor, but now, when he stood in between the door frame the scent of your skin hit his head a little harder. He was obsessed with it. His urges only fueled inside of him as he saw you shift in your position, arms above your head that is slightly tilted, knees bent and shifted to your right just enough to slightly expose your butt from under the shorts, that's when he noticed it.

He could scent it before but he just thought it was because of your pad, now he knows the reason he could smell your blood so easily is because you were just utterly drenched with it. Your underwear, shorts, and the sheets covered with such a beautiful shade of red, he wouldn't even dare to look away.

Eyes focused on you, he starts slowly walking closer to the bed, his hands fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt just enough to expose his collarbones. Then he quickly takes off his tie and throws it somewhere behind him.

His eyes darken as he slowly spreads your legs, a gasp escaping his lips at the sight of the most incredible meal he's going to ever consume in his life. He cursed under his breath as he saw your face, scrunched with pain. 'poor thing', he thought and kissed one of your knees before slowly kneeling on the bed, brushing his fingertips over your thighs, trying to avoid the blood just yet.

He clenched his jaw, the thought of doing this to you in your sleep was getting him painfully hard in his jeans. He couldn't help but palm himself through them. You've done many things in the bedroom already, including somno, but never when you were covered in that beautiful blood of yours.

He bit his lip as he slowly moved your shorts and underwear down, a pitiful mewl leaving his mouth as he saw how red and slick you were. He rubbed his thumb over the red clots of blood on the material and smiled, throwing it somewhere on the bed. His hands were already covered in the substance as he gripped your thighs, leaving his bloody handprints over you. He just couldn't help himself.

He heard your tiny gasp in your sleep, causing his already throbbing cock to twitch. "Fuck", he cursed under his breath before slowly lowering his mouth to your heated skin, lips traveling over your inner thighs as he tried to remain as sane as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was to harm you, especially when you suffered much already.

He moaned at the taste of you, your sweet and perfect blood on display for him as he licked your inner thigh. His eyes were closed, hips slightly moving against the mattress as he got closer to your core, leaving trails of dark hickeys over your skin, barely visible because of the substance covering them. He gave your cunt a quick kiss before running his lips to your other thigh, doing the same thing over and over until he heard you whimper in your sleep.

"Oh, you like that?" he asked in a whisper, trying to talk to you while you were still unconscious "God, I want to see your eyes on me." he added, mostly to himself as he gave your swollen and sensitive bud a lick, just enough to make your legs twitch.

His fingers started spreading your folds to see the way blood slowly leaked from your hole, a smile appearing on his face as he gave it another lick.

And god, your taste. It was driving him crazy. The metallic, tingling feeling over his tongue sent shivers down his spine, causing him to jerk his hips. He growled against your core, sending pleasurable vibrations in your way. Under the blood, he also tasted something better. Your delicious wetness mixed with it almost drove him insane. He was fighting the urge to just give in, let go of his humanity, and just sink his teeth over your thighs or core, tasting you in a very different way. He regained his sanity as he saw your eyes slowly opening.

"Good morning, sunshine." he whispered right before slowly sliding his flattened tongue over your slit, causing your legs to tighten around his head. Your soft whimpers fill the room. His actions were lewd, almost animalistic, but the way he looked at you made you just spread your legs wider for him, letting him to take the pain away.

Your hands easily found his hair, tugging on it as you arched your back, craving the sweet feeling of him against you again but then you saw it. You froze immediately, seeing his face covered in red, hazed eyes watching your reactions. Then you looked to the side and bit your lip at the view of blood covering his sheets.

"I-I'm so sorry, Roman." you whispered as you tugged on the material. He just let out a grunt, shaking his head slightly. He wiped his face against your bare thigh, making you gasp as you saw the red staining his lips, teeth, and tongue. "I'll get new ones, I..."

"Don't you worry about it, angel." he mutters before kissing one of your hickeys. The way he caressed your skin with his nose made you shiver, embarrassment hitting your face with a blush. "Be good for me and relax, okay? It's all about you now." his voice was low and filled with lust as he left a gentle bite mark over your skin, just enough to let you see it, not to tear through the tissue.

You couldn't help but squirm as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping them close to his face as he looked at you. A silent plea to taste you again, and he didn't hesitate when you nodded your head.

He started running his flat tongue between your folds, collecting anything in his way just to swallow it right up, being careful not to push on your clit too hard. just very light and gentle licks all over you, cleaning you off from the cause of your previous suffering and embarrassment. He chuckled as he saw you reaching under your shirt just to add to the pleasure, but before you touched them you looked down at him. "Yes, you may." he said at your silent question, sucking on your clit slightly.

You gasped and tugged on his hair harder, your other hand quickly running under your shirt, wait, his shirt, teasing your hardened nipples with a hesitant moan.

"Louder, baby." he growled between your thighs and sucked a little harder, leaving your clit with a simple pop. "I want to hear how good you feel."

His words alone make you arch your back to roll your hips over his mouth. Romans eyes flutter with pleasure as he sinks one of his fingers into your drenched hole, spitting on it just to give it some more lube. He moves painfully slowly, just watching your red-covered hole grip his middle digit greedily.

"R-Roman" you gasp, begging for him to go faster. He just placed kisses over your thighs, his finger knuckle deep inside of your cunt as he nods his head.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." he mutters under his breath, leaving a single kiss on your swollen bud. "Just a little more f'me, yeah?" he looks up at you, his eyes filled with unspeakable desire and love towards you as he smiles lazily and picks up the speed, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. Now, the blood smeared over his face looks like proof of his obsession with you. "Color?"

"Green." you gasp and close your eyes shut in pleasure, feeling the slow licks of the tip of his tongue over your clit, only adding to the pure bliss you're experiencing.

The sweet and slow torture lasts a couple of minutes, him getting completely lost in your taste, your soft moans, and your begs as he gets you so close to the edge before he stops moving, leaving you aching for more, for that climax that's so painfully close.

He spat on your core again, pulling his finger out before massaging your hole with the new wetness, gasping as his fingers almost get sucked in by your cunt. But he meets resistance, and frustration hits him as he spits again, trying to work two of his fingers into you, but to no avail.

You squirm with desperation and anxiety as you see him try so hard. Your body cannot take more. Seeing him try like this makes you feel so bad. You have no idea if it's because of your period or just general anxiety, but you hold back, trying to relax for him until it's too much.

"Orange, Roman." you whisper, clenching your fingers over the sheets below you, back arching from the uncomfortable feeling, tears pooling under your eyelids. "Orange... I'm so sorry." you repeat with guilt in your shaky voice.

"Too much?" he asks calmly, despite your worries - he's not at all upset. He's so proud of you for using your safe word, he can't even express it with words. "It's okay, sweetheart, don't you apologize for that." he whispers and runs his fingers between your folds, trying to ease the feeling, and you thank him with a couple of nods of your head. "One's good?" he asks and presses his middle finger over your hole, waiting for your answer.

"It's perfect." you whisper and smile, playing with his hair as he slowly moves the digit inside, quickly finding that spot of yours.

"You wanna cum for me?" he asked before sucking on your clit again, this time a little softer. He chuckles when he sees you nod your head mindlessly. "words, sweetheart, use your words."

You can't help yourself from pulling his hair when he finally presses his mouth against you fully, chin adding slight pressure over his finger as he moves his tongue over your clit in various slow patterns. "Yes, fuck, yes I wanna come for you." you whine as you feel the vibration of his low, lustful hum against your core. He starts to move his hips against the mattress again, his neglected cock throbbing in his pants as he moves away from your cunt for a moment.

"Then be good for me and come, okay? You deserve it so much, angel." his words themselves make you shudder with arousal, mind getting dizzy as he presses his lips against you once more, licking and sucking while his finger abuses your g-spot. The hums only add to the sensation, making you tighten your grip on his hair, pulling him even closer as you begin to see stars.

You reach your climax soon enough, your legs tightly wrapped over his head, shivering mindlessly at the overstimulation, back arching as you moan his name like a mantra, turning into putty for him as you come undone. All you hear is his skilled mouth and finger doing wonders on your cunt as he pulls you even closer, fingers of his free hand so deep into the skin of your thigh that you're sure he'll leave bruises, but you don't mind at all.

Ae allows you to roll your hips over him through your orgasm, getting you down from your high with soft praises spoken against your core, lapping his tongue over you just enough to get those few last drops of your cum. You slowly unwrap your legs and lie down with your breath fastened, watching him swallow everything with a satisfied look on his face, eyes moving over your body with adoration as he stands up.

"Aou need anything?" he asks, caressing your thigh with one hand as the other wipes your cum and blood off of him. You get a little scared as you secretly admit to yourself - seeing him like this is a pure eighth wonder.

"Nothing..." you whisper and rest your head on the pillow, one hand in your hair as the other one finds his, playing with his bloody fingers. "Just some rest."

He nods his head and looks down at his clothes, smiling as he sees the mix of your blood, wetness, and his saliva all over the hem of the dress shirt he was wearing. "of course, sweetheart, you did so great f'me, you know?" he looks back at you and presses a single kiss to your hand. "I'll smoke and come back to you, gotta get you cleaned up, okay?" he smiles warmly as you nod your head and slowly leans over you, kneeling right between your spread legs as he presses his forehead against yours. "Feeling better?" he asks, and you smirk at the feeling if his hardness pressed against your bare thigh.

"Mhm, way better, thank you." you whisper and kiss the top of his head. He hums pleasingly at your affection. Exhaustion hits you right after, legs still shaking slowly as you reach for his belt. "What about you, tho?"

He chuckles and breathes in through his nose, taking in your scent as he nuzzles his nose over your neck. "Don't you worry about it." he whispers and gets off of you, wiping his face in his already stained shirt, then taking it off. He palms himself through his jeans and gasps, his eyes locked with yours. "You need some rest, then a shower. I'll get us some food, you want your regular?" he asks, reaching for the back pocket of his pants, getting his phone and cigarettes from it.

You nod your head and smile at him. He smiles at you back. Adoration in his gaze makes your heart flutter. You close your eyes as you cover your face with a pillow, second hand embarrassment hitting you again as you remind yourself of what you two just did.

"Hey, don't you hide that pretty face from me." he chuckles, feeling your eyes following him suit. You never thought that you could love this man any more than before, but there you are, smiling and throwing the pillow on the bed just to see his face for the last time before he leaves to smoke.

masterlist | request info

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #dom roman godfrey #gn reader #afab reader #smut #dark smut #bill skarsgård #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey smut #fluff #riri writes

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.�� His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

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buckyysdoll · 6 months

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— 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 —

જ⁀➴ — bucky still struggles to come to terms with deserving the life that you gave him; cw: being parents?, brief mentions of Winter Soldier past, killing etc, bucky’s poor self esteem/trauma :( pairing: post fatws! bucky x f!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky looked down at the bundle in his arms, swaddled up in a baby pink blanket. Sweet little eyes — his eyes — looked back up at him, and in his hands was a faint, running tremble.

His daughter had all her mom’s beauty, and to look down at her was to look at you, too. Both of his girls, he loved beyond life. The slight tremor spread to his left, phantom limb.

He had never imagined that parts honed for killing could’ve been so gentle as this: to cradle a child, his child, his sweet baby girl in the arms that had only been weapons.

Bucky didn’t think that he even deserved such a chance to prove it was false, either.

That was, until he met you. Until you gave him the life that he held.

Still, it had taken weeks for your husband to touch your pregnant belly — with both hands, with the limb that had only stopped feeling so foreign to his body when you’d shown him how to love it. Because you had — you did — you loved it just like any other part of him; his story was his, and you’d sooner live swathed in his darkness than anyone else’s light.

Bucky often thought back to the first night it had changed. You’d been two months along. And he had cried to feel the baby kick up through the mound of your belly, and to the vibranium.

Almost as if his little girl was saying that it was okay. He was worthy. That no matter what he had done, he was here with her now. Her daddy.

It was seven months later by now, and that sweet little bump was a newborn child. It was two in the morning, and you slept soundly in the bed that you shared and that Bucky had crept from.

At least that’s what he had thought.

A soft gurgle had sounded from the beside monitor, and though she was most likely still sound asleep, Bucky couldn’t resist just one little look. He’d just go and check in on her. For a moment. That was all.

So rubbing his eyes and cricking tension from his neck, he had padded barefoot and half dressed into the nursery.

The one he’d painted any colour but red.

God, he’d spent hours putting that room together by hand — both hands. Day after day, until his eyes had read through furniture manuals to bleed.

You, of course, had helped too; painting walls but getting most of it all on your clothes.

And already, back then it was beautiful: the thought of your future, and the life that you’d made. And she was with you for all of that time, growing soundly and strong in your stomach.

His daughter.

Even now, it still felt like a miracle. Felt like more than he deserved. There were nights when his past still rushed him, and he ran cold with sweat, chased from dreams in your bed.

What if he hurt you? What if he hadn’t truly lost him, and he hurt his own child?

The Winter Soldier may be gone, yes — but how much was left in the man who remained?

And so, that voice came back again and again, all the time. Every day. The one that said that he shouldn’t have this; and that someday, someday he’d see. He’d be washing the dishes, cooking dinner, or walking the aisles of some grocery store — it didn’t matter. There was nowhere in the world where he could escape those thoughts — you do not deserve this life.

Nowhere but for this room. The room where his little daughter slept every night.

Because it was true, after all that he’d done. The people he’d killed, when it should’ve been him. He was never meant for it, should’ve died in the Great War back when he was meant to.

But then he wouldn’t have met you.

Wouldn’t have fallen in love with the woman who’d shared his apartment building, and who’s smile had taken his breath so completely that looking away seemed a crime. And to think he had somehow earned the privilege of the life you’d given him — to spend every night sleeping beside you, and waking up to your face? — was too much.

You, who stood in the doorway to the nursery right then, looking in, your face soft. Of course, you’d noticed his absence like an absence of yourself, and you’d turned in bed, felt for him and reached only empty space.

All warmth, all comfort gone.

But you stood there, now, in his tshirt, arms gently folded over where she had grown; your child who, now sleeping soundly in her father’s arms, was a plain and clear daddy’s girl.

Your eyes met Bucky’s tired ones but his smile was true, and so loving it ached. Love for his wife, for the home that you’d built so far from the hell that he’d long left.

Love for the daughter who yes, had your husband’s devotion.

You wouldn’t change it for the world.

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suratan-zir · 2 months

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If you come to my blog and write in response to other Ukrainians in my notes about how wrong it is to paint with a broad brush, how russians also suffer, fearing for their lives and afraid to speak out, how not all of them are the same, etc. You will be blocked immediately. Not because you're factually wrong. Not because I disagree with you. But because you are emotionally dumb and ignorant. You have no idea whom you're telling your "um actually…" to. You don't know if this person has lost someone to this war or is waiting for a loved one to return from the front line, hopefully in one piece.

You don't know whether this person has become homeless because of russia. You don't know what they're going through every day. Do you know that statistically they most likely had friends and family in russia before the war? But not anymore. Because those russians turned out to be not like the ones you're talking about. Do you know how this Ukrainian person, whom you want to force to feel sorry for the russians, spent this night and contless nights before? It could be in a basement, or on the floor of their bathroom, between the two "safe" walls, listening to the explosions outside, clutching their children or pets tightly to their chest, waiting for it to be over.

I congratulate you, you are right. 140 million people can't all be exactly the same, no shit. I'm glad you were here to share your infinite wisdom with us. If you think you're being empathetic, considerate and kind, you're wrong. Now stop pouring the acid of your unsolicited impartiality on our bleeding open wound.

#i don't want this blog to be a place where you traumatize my countrymen even further #there's been a lot of it lately #ukraine #war in ukraine #russian invasion

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pien-art · 8 months

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-FAQ-

Hello! I've gained a whole bunch of followers lately and I've been getting a lot of questions about what my setup is, what brushes I use, what my process is like, etc, so I thought I'd make a post about it to answer everyone's questions at once !

Putting them under the cut <3

How long have I been doing digital art:

I've been drawing digitally for about 5 years now i think? But before that I've been drawing and painting traditionally literally since the moment I could pick up a pencil.

Set-up:

It's just me and my ipad and apple pencil laying on my bed. I wouldn't even know where to begin for those whole multi-monitor/screen setups ;-; I draw only with Procreate

Brushes:

I've put the ones I use most in the first image! I tend to play with different brushes from time to time to get different textures, but generally i use the same few for most of my drawings/styles. My favorite one is the Peppermint Brush, for sketching. I use it in every drawing i make! I always sketch with it, and often do the line-art with it as well! And it makes for a nice textured brush for rendering as well! (i used it for a lot of rendering of the armor in this drawing)

The brushes in the image above are:

medieval style: inking - Ink Bleed (for line-art) artistic - Quoll (for coloring)

general style: calligraphy - Chalk (coloring/rendering) sketching - Peppermint (line-art/sketching)

realism: calligraphy - Shale Brush (full rendering) Also using the shale brush for smudging and erasing when drawing realistic

How/why do you choose a base color:

I tend to look at a few different things when deciding on a base color/color palette.

the overall color of the reference pic

the color i associate with who or what i am drawing

the feeling/vibe i want to give off with that drawing

color has a BIG impact on the vibe of a drawing, so it is something i keep in mind when im drawing.

Using a color as a base to start, helps a lot with my drawing process. It helps me pick out other colors so they match better. It helps me get light/dark values right. And the chalk brush i use, has gaps between the strokes, so the base color will always come through a little. Having the same color come through in the entire drawing, helps pull all the colors together if that makes sense? I always start with a solid base color when i am painting traditionally as well!

Advice:

PRACTICE!!! just keep drawing and practice. I know this is such generic advice but truly practice is The Way. Learn from other artists but don't compare yourself to them. Everyone's artistic journey is different and there's no "good" or "bad". And most importantly make sure that you have fun when you're making stuff :3

#my art #FAQ #frequently asked questions #art process #art tips #drawing process #procreate #brushes

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overandundertarot · 9 months

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How Can You Enhance Your Beauty?

What can you do to acentuate you features and which style/aesthetic suits you best? Lets take a look!

Please pick a card; (1-4, left to right)

Pile One(Ace of Spades)

Cards; The Empress, The world, King of Cups, Ace of Pentacles.

Pile one you have that supple, vivacious feminine beauty. Think of ancient portrayals of feminine goddesses. The way women were portrayed in renaissance paintings. Fuller figured, softer around the edges. You may be a romantic in terms of kibbe body types. You may have a wide set body and thicker bones. You could be tall, and may appear larger than you actually are. That is to say, because of the rouded nature of your appearence people may expect you to be heavier than you are or weaker/lacking muscle. A good example is Marylin monroe who was actually quite petite and was said to diet often despite her voluptuous appearence. You could have big eyes and a vacant look about you, a natural poise and grace. Despite this overt feminity, you could have androginous features. That is to say, you may have a larger nose than others, a wider jaw, slighty bigger feet, some 'traditionally masculine features' bleed into your appearence. But these just add to your beauty in a subtle way. You have a welcoming, receptive energy at first glance, think of a cancer rising. You may have had issues with people underestimating you or looking down on you because of this initial soft and welcoming appearence. People may have even sexualised you in the past, placing strange expectations on you and im also hearing that some of them outright started telling you about their sexual fantasies involving your body? Pile one, you look best when you look abundant. When you look like you are well taken care of and happy with your life, determined. When you are at a place in your life where you feel fulfilled and balanced, there is a natural glow that comes over you and enhances your beauty. Jewelry also enhances your beauty, specifically jewelry that looks expensive and tasteful. You may look really good in business casual style outfits. When you combine feminine and masculine elements in your look, it really complements your features . You look really good when you give your soft features an 'edge' this can be with makeup, fashion, whatever way you want. It's good to let some of your personality shine through, to communicate that you look soft but have a backbone. You may favour more structured, masculine looks but have had poor experiences with styling these because they may not have fit the way you wanted/imagined them on your body. Find a way to work around that, incorporate things like shoulder pads, strategically loose clothing, boots etc. There're some pictures of jennifer lawrence walking dogs that went semi-viral, her outift in those pictures would suit you well. That kind of quiet luxury fashion look.

Pile Two(Ace of Hearts)

Cards; Queen of cups reversed, 3 of swords reversed, King of swords reversed, The Fool.

Pile 2 you have a melancholy sort of beauty. There is something haunting and sad about you. When people look at you, there is a depth that they can feel. Your emotions, your sadness, you wear them on your face. This is not to say that you are sad all the time, its just that it's easy for people to attach those qualities to you. People wonder what you could be thinking about when they look at you, how your life may be going and who your friends are. Sad girl aesthetic, you may like to wear muted colours, grunge/emo fashion. You could have saturnian features; strong bone structure, deep set eyes/an intense gaze. Prominent eyes. I'm seeing that some of you have undereye circles and forehead lines/crinkles. Freckles as well. Whatever you do, it seems picturesque; perfectly imperfect. If someone were to capture you in the moment, the picture would come out with a raw, dark academia feel. You have a certain vibe that transcends what you wear/look like. You can enhance your beauty by trying something new. A lot of you who chose this pile have a comfort zone that is enforced solely through force of habit. Don't be afraid to try things that pique your interest even if it may seem strange to the people around you. Some of you want to completely change your aesthetic but are worried that you will regret it and have to buy a whole new wardrobe/makeup collection etc afterwards. It seems that a lot of looks, aesthetics appeal to you but you're not sure which to focus on. Some of you used to have a more sexy/mature vibe but feel the need to cover up/dress more conservativly recently. You'd do well to slowly incorporate the new style and grow comfortable in it day to day. For others, you're perfectly fine the way you are but are feeling stagnant. Social media trends hold quite the sway on you and you are worried about how people perceive you because you don't have the newest clothes/jewelry/shoes and dress similarly each day. You may also like to thrift your clothes and have some well loved favourites that you wear constantly. It seems there's really no issue, if you feel the want to change, try it to see if the satisfaction is as great as you would have thought. Otherwise, its not really worth the hassle. It seems that you also need to change your perspective/the content you consume. Content that aligns with your interests and natural inclinations will help you feel more secure in your habits and the way you choose to present yourself. Some of you could be thinking about undegoing surgery and making a more permanent and drastic change to your features. You are being advised to think long and hard as to why you wish to do that, and if you will really be satisfied with the results. Beauty standards change, you may find that your 'flaw' will be the next beauty trend or that you never really hated the a way a certain feature looked after all.

Pile Three(Ace of Diamonds)

Cards; The Magician. Nine of wands reversed, Ace of pentacles, Three of pentacles.

Pile 3, you have the ability to present yourself however you desire. You have a very versatile look and many makeup and fashion styles suit you. Some of you are aware of this and take advantage of the fact. But others aren't and like to stay within a single fashion/makeup style. Either way it looks good on you and you are often complimented for your looks. You are quite creative too, and customise your clothes/hair makeup to fit your personality. Something about your hair stands out. It seems that your personality may come as a surprise to people who perceive only your looks as a first impression. You could also be quite spiritual/witchy and use glamours and charms to exert a specific appeal depending on your goal. You can enhance your beauty by going for an understated look. I'm seeing that you haven't really tried simplistic makeup before, or you don't wear it often. Consulting an external influence could also help you enhance your looks. Such as colour analysis, analysing your features(like the kibbe body types), or even asking a friend what they think you should do. I'm seeing that you are generally happy with where you are in terms of looks/beauty and could just be looking to spice things up/suggestions because you are an open minded and optimistic sort of person. A message for you is also to utilise beauty sevices like spas, make up studios, stylists etc. You are good at styling yourself but other factors in your life may be occupying your time/energy and taking care of yourself may start to feel like a burden. Take the opportunity to treat yourself and relax, you deserve it!

Pile Four(Ace of Flowers)

Cards; 7 of swords, Knight of cups,4 of swords reversed, 3 of swords.

Pile 4 you have a duaity about you. I'm seeing that you dress according to how you feel. You have moments where you don't want to talk to anyone and would rather stay at home. During those moments you wear athleisure, comfortable clothes and put little effort into your appearence. But when you feel more confident and extroverted you put on bold and colourful clothes to match your bright and energetic personality at the time. You could be tall/look tall, and have a preference for baggy silhouttes. Something about your lips is prominent. You could have long limbs and be slender, regardless of your weight/fitness. You are someone who's talkative, or very expressive. You have a lot of opinions, even though you may keep them to yourself. You're quite involved in your own inner world and even when you are not talking to anyone, your face is very expressive in reaction to your thoughts. You may be cheeky as well, and like to have something going on that nobody knows about. Your personality is really shining through here, despite it being a beauty reading lol. That's your appeal, you're a whirlwind and people can't help but notice you. Your looks just add to your character. You can enhace your beauty by increasing your activity level. Becoming fit, going to the gym or participating in an active hobby. It'll suit you well to have something that occupies your mind as well as your body. Also, to try a more somber look in regard to fashion and makeup, like a dark feminine siren type of makeup style/clothing. It seems that there is also something that you have been struggling to accept about yourself, this weighs on you and is cauising visible tiredness/strain. For some of you, it is a body part that you are insecure about, for others its a tendency to overthink and neglect yourself in the process. Learning to accept that part of yourself and developing healthy coping mechanisms to distract you in your times of mental strain will have you feeling and looking more confident.

******

That's it! Thank you for participating in this pick a card reading! If you would like to book a private reading with me, you can do so here. If you're interested in my other PAC's, you can check them out here!

#tarot #overandundertarot #divination #pick a card #pick a pile #intuitive reading #pac #pick a picture #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a card tarot #pick a photo #pick an image #tarotblr #tarot reading #free tarot #tarot community #free tarot reading #intuitive readings

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sammiesallow · 1 year

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Sebastian Sallow headcanons

summary- dating headcanons with Sebastian. a/n- all my personal opinion! cw's- mentions of violence/blood, use of crucio, angry Sebastian

the jealous type. we all know this.

he gets so jealous when you spend time with Garreth, but then you reassure him it's ok :)

"I could never replace you with anyone else seb, you're my pretty boy"

melts at that btw.

nicknames galore!! he wants to call you everything and he expects it back from you too

'angel, darling, honey, sweetheart, pretty boy.

"you think I'm pretty? really?" "of course I do, Seb."

he gives you the most blinding smile you have ever seen. absolutely adorable

y'all are so loving?? he is definitely a lover of pda, doesn't mind holding hands, a hand on the thigh(not in an intimate way, just for some physical touch :D), a kiss on the cheek, etc.

Sebastian is always touch-starved and craves attention from you. even a look in his direction or a "Hi Darling!" as you're passing him in the hallway will have him smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day

more intimate moments are shared in private, however, like in the undercroft.

Merlin knows those paintings, gargoyles, suits of armor, even the floo flames lady will eavesdrop on y'all and tattletale to a professor if you do anything more than share a kiss on the cheek.

Sebastian loves you with all his heart. he couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt or worse

every time you leave the castle, please send him an owl. it lets him know where you're going and it tells him you're safe.

he's worried sick if you come back with even the slightest scratch.

"Merlin's beard! darling, are you alright? are you hurt anywhere? do you want me to kiss it better???" he says as you come into the undercroft with one scratch on your face LOLL

it's all fun and games until someone hurts you. let's say you're on a quest together, somewhere in a cave and you two get ambushed. it would probably go like this:

"Diffindo!" an Ashwinder threw out the spell in your direction, hitting your abdomen and leaving a large gash in its wake. Sebastian yelped, not having noticed your state, and threw a quick "arresto momentum!" in the enemy's way to stall their time. "merlin! are you alright-" Sebastian stopped all movement when he saw you- you were hunched over in pain, groaning as you tried to stop the bleeding coming from the gash on your side. At that moment, he felt nothing but pure and unbridled rage. "you BASTARD!" Sebastian turned to the Ashwinder, (who was quite literally about to cast Avada kedavra on him) and cast crucio. nobody touches his girlfriend.

that's definitely one of his red flags.. he has anger issues, and won't hesitate to hurt someone if they hurt you. it's kinda endearing though

speaking of red flags- I'm not gonna ignore them? we all love him but he does have negative traits that will show through in y'alls relationship.

He's overly possessive and gets super upset when another boy tries to flirt with you. if you don't say something to the guy- sebastian will; and i dont think you want that.

he's not very in-touch with his emotions. he has a hard time expressing his feelings because of a) his insecurities and b) his ego.

but on a more positive note, you help him through these things!

meeting ominis and becoming friends with him gave you the opportunity to ask another person about sebastians troubles, and you can confide in him for advice when you need it!

you're sebastian's sunshine- quite literally. you help him through his tough times, and on a regular day, you brighten his mood imensely.

ON TO THE CUTER RELATIONSHIP STUFF!!!

HE WANTS TO CUDDLE YOU.

if he's tired he becomes 100% more affectionate- which means cuddles in the undercroft, his head on your shoulder in class, a hand on your under the table at dinner, etc.

Sebastian isn't the brightest, but if he has a class with you, he'll listen to anything you have to say.

he adores your smarts- whether or not you're actually smart is up to you, but it's not like he'll care. you could be the dumbest mf in the world and he'll still be proud of you!

he's your cheerleader! in crossed wands, the broom race against imelda, summoner's court, even an arm wrestling contest, he's there to cheer you on

it's because he never had someone to do that for him- losing his parents at such a young age, he didnt have cheerleaders to be proud of him through his achievments, so he does it for you!

in return, you take him on cute little dates!

little picnics in the vivarium are his favorite. he loves the feeling of laying of the grass and cloudgazing with you.

you know he needs to relax- so it becomes a regular thing for you two to sneak off to the room of requirement.

the undercroft is still a regular hang-out, usually used for absolute tomfoolery.

i mean, you sebastian and ominis will have stupid competitions all the time.

"let's see who can cast confringo the farthest!!" "Sebastian no!!" "Sebastian yes!"

chaos trio.

more importantly, chaos duo.

you enable his stupid ideas and make sure that he does them safely.

unless it's something stupidly unsafe- then you'll have to lure him back to the undercroft with cuddles and kisses. <3

A/N- MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!! pls send me ideas!! :)

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x you #sebastian sallow x mc

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seabirdtxt · 1 year

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man idk why but i just kinda want to make creator! reader's backstory SAD like they were tortured (?) just to keep the rest of humanity/teyvat safe.. like i am a SUCKER for sad/traumatic backstories!! just a little brainrot i need to get out!!

i'll keep this short and sweet i told myself. lmao. i forgot i'm a sucker for easy angst

Blood of God

Notes: Sagau cult au, cut-based injuries, blood sacrifice. bunch of fun stuff. Reader is the Creator, golden blood, etc. read at your own discretion

WC. 976

----- ⚘ -----

When you first descended into Teyvat, You were initially met with praise and celebration. Countless festivals were held in Your name. Your beloved characters, Your acolytes, were the first ones in line to beg for Your blessings.

That's when everything started to go downhill.

With the realization that Your physical presence in the world meant no more divine guidance, Your acolytes grew desperate for Your blessings. Blessings that You, as a mortal human being, could not grant. Not to the same degree that You used to, when You played the game and bestowed buffs and upgrades aplenty to all Your teams, and generously ascended even those You didn’t have plans for.

But now, even as You stand before them in flesh and blood, Your godlike abilities have been reduced to mere party tricks. You spoke to the animals, and twisted the breeze. You made flames dance with a single gesture, and grew pretty flowers in your footsteps. None of this helped the acolytes, though.

Interest in Your well-being, in You, dwindled. Your acolytes wished You well, the rare few even questioning Your divinity, and sent You on your merry way.

Abandoned and unarmed in a world full of hostile creatures, You took up jobs with the Adventurers Guild. First, it was fetching and delivering goods for the city citizens. Then, it was carrying messages across the countryside from town to town. Lastly, it was picking off monster camps that strayed too close to civilization.

This is where a few of your acolytes found You, injured and bleeding brass-coloured ichor into the dirt and swinging wildly with Your adventurer’s sword.

Deity or not, Your acolytes were not ones to stand idle while another was put in harm’s way. Into the fray they jumped, and fought by Your side despite their reservations about You.

In the heat of the battle, the acolytes noticed something strange. Those sprayed with Your blood were given increased strength and capability for a short while, until the stain dried and wore off.

Encouraged, they investigated further. Using some of Your blood as war paints extended the duration of the blessing by nearly double, coating their weapons with it would increase the effectiveness of their strikes, and a brave few discovered that ingesting it would boost them all-around for the entirety of the day.

Harken, and rejoice! For irrefutable proof of the Creator’s benevolent presence has been revealed! And You, desperate for their love and acceptance, gave it to them without question.

A beautiful, elaborate temple was built in Your honour, with ceremonial blades scattered throughout the decor and deep channels filled with ever-flowing ambrosia running across the floor. As Your holy blood continued to be spilled, the hue of it began to run a shimmering gold.

Those who sought Your blessings need only visit you in Your temple, bringing offerings of kill trophies and unearthed relics. Then, they would partake of Your divinity by their choice of method, dipping their reverent hands in the rivers of ichor that pulse across the temple grounds.

You haven’t stopped bleeding in months.

It was bearable at first, when the first time the channels were filled You were pleased to discover that they would not run dry for some time. When the acolytes came for lessings, you would only need to refill the trenches every few days.

You asked if they could bring You softer offerings, of sweet foods and thoughtful bouquets. Such shows of softness were dismissed with a laugh. What need did you have for plants, when the strength you gave them could afford you even the rarest and most difficult trophies to obtain?

But the Abyss came. Celestia’s wrathful gaze descended. Your acolytes were fighting a war on two fronts.

They came on their hands and knees, emptying your stores quicker than you could refill them. Eventually, you took to sitting in the golden throne with your preferred blade, sluggishly carving yourself open to ensure the continued survival of your beloved acolytes.

It wasn’t enough.

Please, they begged. Give us the strength You once were able to grant. Show us the stars in your eyes and in your blood once more, that we might fight and win in Your name.

Filled with fear, and hurt, and love, you gave them everything you had left.

Their lips and teeth stained with brilliant auric gore, they took to the fields once again. The Abyss fell before them, the cursed beasts of the land fell into disarray and fled into the winds. Celestia conceded victory.

The acolytes cheered and danced in the aftermath of their slaughter. Eager to show their renewed devotion, they returned home to You.

But Your temple had crumbled, and the deep wells that once held Your pulse have turned to dust. Your blessing was but glittering sand in their mouths as they sort through the rubble to find any traces of You.

There was no way to know who broke first. Your acolytes realized too late the price for Your continued generosity, and squandered Your love on chasing strength and war.

Your temple was rebuilt with petals replacing every blade. The grooves filled with the soil that was steeped with the blood of the fallen, and flowers of all shades of vibrant, terribly human red grew there.

Dendrobium and Mourning flowers. Even the azure Sea ganoderma bloomed in rare patches where water pooled deeper.

Had they loved You as a human and not as a seemingly bottomless resource, would You have stayed? The thought of such a question shamed them. You asked for their love and they’d given You their blades. You asked for sweets and they’d brought you the bones of their enemies.

And yet, You wanted to stay. Even as they literally bled You dry, You had only ever wanted their happiness, no matter the cost.

And heavy was the cost.

#genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin isekai #genshin self aware au #sagau cult au #sagau bloodletting au #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #seabird.inbox #seabird.txt #💜 anon

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ay0nha · 10 months

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Venus Rising | Thomas Shelby

SUMMARY: Three moments in which you run into Tommy, the final provoking a deal neither of you are prepared for.

“I am afraid of getting older. I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free…I want, I want to think, to be omniscient.” Sylvia Plath (1949)

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking (tobacco/weed), criticism of time-period misogyny/misogyny in general, canon-typical things, angst again, rich people being annoying, no proof reading, rushed ending, slow burn, etc.

A/N: Oop, another Tommy fic, apparently it’s not quite out of my system. Inspired by the film How to Steal a Million (title is inspired by the original title of the book!) and @huntingingoodwill‘s post (here), ESPECIALLY with the third part of this as it comes from Carmen’s beautiful brain. Inspo is taken from various feminist writing and particularly an Agnes Varda quote. MIGHT do a part two, idk yet.

Comments are VERY encouraged! Enjoy.

“Thanks for that…” Tommy was finally catching his breath but still searched for your name. He hadn’t seen you in the gathering below and questioned if the room he found himself in belonged to you.

“We’re better off strangers.” You weren’t defensive, nor was your guard up; you were just focused. Fixated. The painting was borderline mesmerizing, and you struggled to tell if it was from the art or how your joint dwindled steadily.

Your isolation was purposeful.

The reception provoked the start of a migraine; its noise bleeding through the thick walls of the stately home only grew more deafening as the evening furthered. To find relief, you wandered the empty halls, the stairs that led to darkness, and every door that seemed particularly off-limits.

It was a simple measure of self-preservation until your seclusion was fractured.

The door opened abruptly, a body sliding through the narrow space to hide in the most prominent shadow. You thought you were caught, but the man held a finger to his lips, expression prepared for the obvious chase.

You were the perfect accomplice.

Those who came looking for him were met with your theatrics, a role well-rehearsed; your eyes never glanced to where Tommy hid in the most prominent shadows; your upset alone secured you hadn’t seen the man with the razor-lined cap; you simply wanted to return to your silence.

“You stick out, you know…” You filtered smoke through your nose, half-lidded eyes remaining ahead. The thought was absentminded, your lips tingling with indifference.

“I have an invitation.” Tommy had it forged, making it nearly identical to the one you’d received in the post.

You hummed with amusement. “I mean—you don’t belong.”

Considering how you equated his presence with his class, Tommy considered taking offense. However, your humor exposed no ill intent. You were trying to relate to him. To offer some solace, you offered the joint to him between pinched fingers.

“Let me guess, neither do you.” Tommy accepted your olive branch with a drag.

“Oh, I never will.” Although your smile remained, your tone became distant. You didn’t glance at Tommy until he took another puff. His eyes were ahead, just as yours were, attempting to see what had enraptured you in the painting. “Just like her.”

The face of the young woman depicted was covered, but her body was exposed. You were sure the owner of the canvas only valued the misinterpreted eroticism. Yet, the scene’s voyeuristic purposes were to convey the end of a very long day. You were convinced if you reached out, you could soothe her aching muscles from her obviously laborious job.

The painting's size didn’t speak for its cost. You wanted to laugh at how something so precious was stored on a wall as a forgotten decoration. However, you would do the exact same if it were in your possession. It would hang on your ceiling that way; when you rested your head against your pillow, you could get one final look at it as if it were a mirror, a grounding reminder that there was company in such an empty space.

“You pity the poor.” The statement held a questioning tone. Tommy interpreted the painting and your thoughts literally; a woman relieved of farm work was being judged by you—someone worse than the bourgeois.

“Don’t you see it?” Bitter ecstasy carried your words. You wanted to be heard. “Her and I are the same…”

Tommy returned the joint, realizing its purpose was to aid and calm you from the turmoil you hoped to escape. He felt an odd sense to comfort you but wouldn’t.

Instead, he repaid his earlier debt with unaccustomed humor, “I doubt someone like you shovels shit for a living.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You let the smoke settle in your chest, its warmth comforting. “From inception, we’re indistinguishable, born with an innocence that is only nurtured to be stolen. Our very being is never our own. Once our bodies are pried from our minds, we starve because of it.”

“Ah, I see…” Tommy started, “You’re a modern woman.”

The joint was almost a roach, but you passed it back, ridding yourself of its responsibility. The man beside you was a stranger, and you were thankful for that position. Anything said didn’t matter. It would evaporate and leave no trace. Tommy understood this well, participating in a game he didn’t know the rules of.

“Modernity is irrelevant.” You corrected. Your words sunk into your stomach, weighing you down. “This is beyond time.”

—

“Gave a try shoveling shit, eh?” Tommy crossed his legs, leaning back with an ease you were envious of. A cigarette was rolled along his lips, a habit formed by comfort.

Once lit, the image was complete. It had clicked. “You.”

Thomas Shelby. Your memory of him held a haze, that night's intoxication cherry-picking how you retained the interaction. But your vague image of him was enough to understand his occupation. You were warned against his world, but you could only do so much when your worlds overlapped so bizarrely.

“Me.” He confessed with mitigation. There was a cadence even in his silence. Clearly, he was thinking of how to approach you, but you failed to recognize how he always remained ahead in his business. “You were found near the stables.”

“Apparently, I’m a witch.” You mused. Cheltenham was never dull.

Tommy hummed, entertaining your wit only slightly. “They think you’ve cursed the horses.”

Horses were efficient beasts that were often mistreated, that much you knew. However, they intimidated you into submission. Their role in your life was distant, typically involving a reflection of wealth and nothing more.

You hid behind the stables because you misunderstood the distance you created. It had a false bottom that showed those in your world never enter their stables, allowing others to do the hard work. Those around you wouldn’t dare stain their fine fabrics how you chose to.

Although the air was foul, the stables were the only place you could breathe without the hands of your arranged date finding home where they weren’t welcomed.

You knew the man who caught you was Tommy’s brother. Though they looked different, the air surrounding them was suffocating. They were driven by brutal confidence that manifested physically and for Tommy mentally. The mind game you were presented with was just as predetermined as the races.

“I want us to understand each other.” Ash fell from Tommy’s cigarette in thought. “We do not share the same fantasy.”

“And what fantasy is that?”

“Poor little rich girl—” His words were punctuated. “—thinks she can play gypsy until she hears the dinner bell.”

Your laughter made him flinch. “And what’s for dinner?”

Tommy had vetted you. No one knew anything worthy about you. So everyone simply fantasized about you, spinning tales. Yet, you were an extraordinary nobody—an amazing unknown. Suspicion wasn’t necessary, but there was no need for his growing intrigue.

“That man you came with…” Tommy knew who he was. He was another kid that thought one day he could rule the world. But all he was capable of was poorly executed white-collar crime. “Who is he?”

You shrugged. “To him, I am his girlfriend.”

“And to you?”

“Does that matter?”

Tommy quickly learned that your only form of retaliation was posed through questions. The more philosophical, the more your guard remained. “I've been thinking about what you've said…”

The admission alone was out of character and also misrepresented. Tommy's mind was riddled with your sentiments. It was a thoughtful comment on something broader, something Tommy knew of and was growing to understand. But that wasn’t what preoccupied him.

It was how your poise wasn’t carried through your posture. It was how you expressed yourself indifferently but spoke so sharply. You were a constant contrast that perplexed him, possessed him to look into you, into your life. He planned to search until he found a moment where you put your thoughts to use the way he had.

“You, a suffragette?” Your lip curled at the thought. “Now, that, Mr. Shelby, is a fantasy.”

—

Planning an escape was satisfying but little compared to the follow-through.

The feeling solidified when the silk hem of your dress billowed was the only trail of your escape. You could hear your name echo along the corridor wall, someone sent to find you and force you back into the festivities.

“Where are you going?” The voice was a mix of a whisper and shout, reflecting nothing but urgency. The guests weren’t privy to your behavior, but your absence was clear. You heard your name again.“You must come down! You’re upsetting the guests!”

Although your home, the walls felt like they were shifting, creating a maze to your safety. The click of your heels was like a countdown to being caught. That was until your hand frantically found an antique handle of the most inconspicuous door.

Sliding into the broom closet, darkness invaded your senses.

With its veil, you could make out the sliver of light that fought to illuminate the room from the other side. It tracked the shadow of who chased you, showing you how they inched closer, hoping to hear your rapid breathing. Once enough time was given to their search; the footsteps receded in the wrong direction, their voice calling after you growing faint.

Your relief was borderline euphoric; your body demonstrated success as the tension drained the further you calmed. You sunk toward the door, forehead against the smooth, cool wood.

The sound behind was as quick as the movement. Identifiable and surprising.

The match created friction that illuminated the small space with an orange glow. You moved fast, your breath pinned to the roof of your mouth.

“Cigarette?” Tobacco filled the cramped room, the burning end of the cigarette not quite exposing your companion. But you could feel the amusement at the situation radiate from the corner.

Your stupor made you move with shock. “Christ!”

Your hand shot up to feel around for the light switch above you, yanking on the cord. Awash in light, you took in the sight of the man who was casually nursing a cigarette.

“Mr. Shelby?” You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Tommy.”

“What are you—

“I’m a guest.” The cigarette bobbed with his chiding.

“A guest.” You repeated, your tone brimming with doubtful sarcasm. “And what is a guest doing, hiding here, so far away from the party?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He quipped, icy expression holding your own.

“Ah, but I’m not a guest.” You defended yourself, holding up a finger as you corrected him. “This is my family’s party. I am technically a host.”

“Well—” He began, taking a puff of his cigarette, silver smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. “—not a very good host if you’re hiding up here, eh?”

Your eyebrows cocked as you took him in. His presence meant business. “I don’t seem to remember my father mentioning gangsters would be on the guest list tonight.”

“Why not?” He replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “We’re good fun at parties.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” You mused. “But I doubt this is your kind of party.” You wished to witness him in action, for him to live up to all the stories you’ve heard about him firsthand. And you could tell he was itching for you to ask. “What have you got planned tonight?”

“If you must know—” Tommy remained externally stoic but revealed himself bluntly. “—I’m here to rob your family blind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your father has come into quite a bit of money recently,” Tommy said, words calculated and measured. “He’s been stepping on the Blinders’ business. So, I came here tonight to take back what’s ours.”

“How much?” You asked.

“A million dollars.” He sighed, highlighting his statement with a drag of his cigarette.

“That all?” You scoffed.

“You’d hardly miss it,” Tommy explained. “And, with your family’s yearly legendary holiday party going on tonight, I figured I could hide until all the…” He took a second to ponder, searching for the words, “...rich fucks down there were drunk enough. Then, I’d take what’s mine and leave. No one would be any the wiser.”

There was a pause. He wanted you to protest, but he knew you wouldn’t. You were reading him just as well. It quickly became a stalemate, but you had the advantage of toying with him.

“Well, I should fulfill my host duties.” You sighed, tone wrapping up the unorthodox interaction. “Find my father while I’m at it; tell him bookkeepers are infested in our walls.”

“You’re not going back down there.”

Another pause. Your skin crawled with jest. “And why’s that, Mr. Shelby?”

He shook his head casually, eyes boring through yours. “You’re not going back down there because you don’t want to.”

“What?” Your laugh was soft and unexpected. It was hard to determine, but some of you would have rathered a threat. This was almost as entertaining.

“I can tell you don’t want to go down there. So don’t.”

Behind your back, you reached for the doorknob, but as your fingers grazed it, you lost your nerve. You sighed, flexing your fingers.

“Move over.” You instructed, and Tommy listened. He slid closer to the wall as you squeezed beside him, arm against him in a one-sided comfort. “Poor little rich girl opening up to a gangster. Never saw that in the cards.” You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag, carefully considering your next words. “It’s never as simple as it seems, really.”

“Sure it is.”

“It really isn’t.” You chuckled, eyes trained on the glowing end of the cigarette.

“Enlighten me.” He replied, taking the cigarette back as you passed it to him.

The emotions you kept bottled up bubbled in your throat. Living in the gilded cage of high society had privilege but was equally emotionally destructive. It felt foreign, the thought of exposing yourself with such vulnerability; you grew nervous at the prospect of having to do so.

“Simplicity is a pipe dream when your life relies on codependency.” Just the thought of it made you dizzy. “It’s better to hide than risk being a blemish to the family.”

Tommy stayed quiet. Then against better judgment, he spoke. “Why not just leave? You’re a clever girl. Surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” You countered without edge; you knew his slight dig was only to lighten things. He said his part out of decency. “Why do you think I was at those stables? If it weren’t for your brother…”

The crackle of your drag filled the new-found silence. You weren’t sure how long you’d stay there nor how long you subject Tommy to your company. It was a moment of brevity you both seemed to need. You hadn’t meant to find him, and his plan had nothing to do with you, but that in itself sparked your idea.

“Hey, Tommy?”

He turned to meet your contact, eyebrows raised, air mixing from the proximity. “Hmm?”

“How’d you like some help with stealing that million?”

#q #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x f!reader #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x f!reader #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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hobiebrownbrowser · 11 months

Text

General Touches

Earth-42 miles x stubborn FEM!reader

Context: The relationship between you and Miles is rocky but suitable. Wanting to be by each other's side but not knowing how to say without sounding desperate.

"Mild fluff" kissing, cuddling etc, nothing too 18+

Summary: 2 prowlers were already enough to take out one person.

Context: purple means Miles, Red means the Red Prowler(AKA Y/N=You)

Bad Spanish = blame google translate 💀

"Eyes on the target mami. Not on me." The girl groaned. Not being able to look at something so delicious was frustrating she wouldn't admit it though. Mechanical claws digging into the apartment building below her before leaping to another.

There "it" stood. A filthy rich man with a bunch of hypocrites by his side. She wanted to just lunge forward. Wanting to cut the white men's head clean off. But she couldn't. Not with a certain Upper stage watching further above her.

"Tell me why you're here again?" The question left bare as the target's movement changes. This was a one time opportunity. The last one she had to prove herself with fucking up this time. Her suit pulling back to reveal a sparkling red dress.

"Te ves espectacular mami." (You look amazing mami.)

"Piss off." She didn't let the prowler speak longer than it should, Fixing up her makeup before effortlessly climbing down the tall building. He'd have to teach her how to appreciate company, but maybe on a different timeline.

It didn't take long for her to go through the back entrance, Acting as if she was invited to the blood stained met gala. It left a demeanor touch but she was definitely the best dressed. The other women wearing cheap dresses that look like they came from the local thrift store nearby.

It was a fresh insight on not having to do the dirty work, Watching the well-dressed woman make her way towards the target with a hidden camera attached to her. She was a professional, seducing the man to let her stay by his side.

The white male agreed, only wanting her for her body and nothing more. It was sickening. He could treat her better, way better if she'd just give him a chance. But she was a stubborn brode woman to say the least, Dismissing his presence like he wasn't there in the first place.

He watches for any signs of discomfort, Face frowning in disgust as he watches the dead beat put his hands on what he wanted. He wanted to cut off his fingers one by one until nun were left, Watching him slowly bleed for touching what he wanted.

Yet he was infatuated, Often staring at her curves or a tight dress that perfectly shaped her. She was perfect and he wanted one night to fulfill her needs, Knowing she has many she hasn't had the chance to explore yet, At least not with him.

The sounds of shuffling were clear, The male leading her somewhere. It was showtime for him. Thinking of what she might do to him for the time being. It was sickening to think about, but he wasn't alarmed. He wanted to watch his 'chica' do the unthinkable.

The screen had gone black. Not before hearing a blood-gurgling scream after. Music to his ears that the bastard was finally dead and Miles could get his money, And his' Chica' back to his side. He watched as she simply walked back out from where she entered. Her suit complying with her body as she climbs up the paint chipped wall towards him.

The two glanced at each other for a brief moment, The red prowler not saying anything and just walking away. She was a stubborn woman indeed, But Miles was just as stern, Following the lady back to her payment.

"Are you gonna keep followin me all day?

"It depends." Miles short answer seemed to aggravate her, finally turning around and facing him. Her eyes narrowing. The top of her lip curving upwards until she rolled her eyes.

"¿Qué diablos quieres de mí, Miles?" (What the hell do you want from me Miles?)

"You to open up." His flat answer made her chuckle a bit, her face back to a dead monotone stare, Arms crossed and chin up peering into the exact same eyes she had. He loved how straightforward she was, But her mind was thinking of something else, as the silence grows louder.

Miles knew she was scared of close relationships. What happened to her family was her business but he got her to tell some of it to him, he was grateful that his partner was finally opening up. The relationship was rocky, but somehow it worked. It just did.

The silence was interrupted by a close line, Her work done for today as they both head home. The silence getting thicker every step they both took. But it was a calming period. Finally being able to wind down for tonight.

Y/N had gotten lost in thought, wanting nothing more but to feel Miles arms around her as they sleep the rest of the night away. If she wasn't so afraid she could say it without hesitation. But her mind always betrayed her thinking. Often getting in the way of what she really wanted.

"Estas bien princesa?" (What's wrong princess?) Why was he so nice to her even know she treated him like crap? Asking her how her day has been just to get no answer. He was patient. She hates how he spoiled her, His compliments melting her heart everytime.

"I'm fine."

"dime qué te pasa mami." (Tell me what's wrong mommy) She sighed before contemplating if she should tell him how she really felt, Deciding to tell him once they got home. Miles expected no less. Telling her not to back out once they get through the door. She swatted him away, knowing damn well it's gonna be a rocky explanation.

//\\

She wasn't ready for this, Feeling her heart beating out of her chest as Miles unlocks their apartment door. His hand placed on her hip to stop her from running off somewhere. She felt as if something was stuck in her throat.

The sound of beeping erupted her thoughts from the door opening, Her throat becoming dry. She felt her chest heaving heavily more than normal. Watching Miles intertwine his fingers with hers. She wanted to shake him off and disappear. Being led inside and straight towards the couch.

She stood in front of Miles who was sitting on the couch. Waiting.

"Dime mi amor." (Tell me my love.) She groaned, practically begging Miles to not make her do this. But he only raised a brow, his face inches away from hers. She loved the way he was gentle with her. Often pulling her in for unexpected small kisses.

"Necesito una bebida." (I need a drink.) Miles stopped her, Pulling her onto his lap as he looks at Y/N dead in her eyes.

Wrapping his arms around her waist just to trap her. She'd fallen into the hands of a gentle cuddly predator. Closing her eyes and finally giving in to some of her desires. Miles listening to every word she has to say.

It felt like a long night, the two getting things off their chests as it hits 2AM. He could tell she was getting sleepy. Her eyelids having a hard time staying open as she lays her head down on his chest.

He kisses her forehead, Feeling her flinch before relaxing in his arms. Finally giving into the night.

"te amo mi hermosa princesa." (I love you my beautiful princess)

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #prowler miles fanfic #into the spider verse #the prowler #miles morales x you #earth 42 miles #miles morales 42 #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 #42 miles morales #miles 42 #miles morales prowler #miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles

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evenstar0600 · 2 years

Text

DECEPTION | t.riddle

IN WHICH: lucius malfoy never put tom riddle's diary in ginny weasley's cauldron. instead, history puts a twist on the events and the diary is put on a shelf in flourish and blott's, only to be picked up by an unsuspecting, muggleborn witch in hufflepuff; sixteen-year-old (Name) Tyler.

PAIRING: tom riddle x afab!hufflepuff reader

WARNINGS: dark/yandere(?), mind control, manipulation, animal death, murder, hypnotism, tom riddle is a warning on his own, mental breakdowns, insanity, lady macbeth arc(?), character death, etc

Your hands were shaking. They'd been doing that a lot lately. The skin around your fingernails was red raw and bleeding, due you picking them from stress. Your pupils were blown-wide yet had a distant look to them, as if you weren't in the moment itself at all.

Desparately, you tried to scrub the blood stains that wouldn't go away. They wouldn't wash off. You felt like you were going insane. Like you were losing your mind. How the fuck had it come to this? You knew exactly how it'd all come to this.

It was a dreary August day in the summer of 1992. And your parents decided to take you back-to-school shopping in Diagon Alley for your sixth year at Hogwarts. You recalled going into Flourish and Blott's, dodging through the ever-growing line to see the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart, whom you paid no mind.

You'd spied the even-more infamous Harry Potter in the line somewhere. You were more focused on obtaining your school books for this year when you'd caught sight of it in your peripheral vision. The diary. The vintage-looking, leather-bound diary with it's worn exterior and its off-white parchment pages. And the three-word name at the bottom in a gold-colour. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Something scorched the back of your mind as helpless fingers plucked the diary off the shelf and into your cauldron with a clatter. To others, it was an unnoticed background noise but in your delirium, it sounded like the rolling East Winds of the storm last week. Crashing and forcing itself to be heard. You didn't want to take it but something beyond your control forced you to take it.

For the first couple of days back at Hogwarts, you'd neglected to write in it. Then you did. On the 9th of September, you finally wrote in it. The classic sentence starter of Dear Diary. Then came the reply. Hello (Name) Tyler. You adored Tom and wrote to him as often as you could.

Between classes. During lessons. During meals. After your dorm mates had gone to sleep. Then you began to experience the black-outs. One minute you were walking between classes; the next you found yourself near Hagrid's hut, robes drenched in a strange, crimson substance.

Your mind tried to deny it, the very fact, trying to convince you it was red ink or paint. But in your heart you knew the truth. You were covered in blood. The blood of the school roosters. And the guilt began to slowly eat you up. Consuming your heart. Clouding your mind. Until you began to soothe your madness by writing to your sweet Tom and picking the skin around your fingernails until it bled.

The same sinful red as the roosters' blood. Then the attacks followed swiftly. First, Filch's cat, Mrs Norris was petrified by the Basilik that you set loose on the school. You warned them. Writing the message in blood on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.

The victims of the Basiliks' petrification began to pile up. Sir Nicholas. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Penelope Clearwater. Hermione Granger. And it was all your fault. You'd condemned them to their fates. And the more paranoid you got. You'd hallucinate the blood on your hands. Scrubbing your hands for hours on end until they were red raw, just to get the fucking stain out.

You had your Tom to comfort you all. To soothe your ever-growing madness and paranoia. He'd appear to you sometimes. The tall, dark and handsome boy with his dark brown locks and insatiable smile. Then you figured it out. It was him. It was all him.

You'd pointed an accusatory finger at him, shaking like a leaf. "You..." you'd muttered in horror before meeting his piercing gaze with blown-wide pupils, "It's you!".

In a fleeted attempt to save yourself and anyone else, you stormed to the Girls' Lavatory on the third floor and threw the diary into the toilet. Thinking yourself safe, you relaxed. But you shouldn't have let your guard down. Tom had basically imprinted himself on you.

You always recalled his beautiful brown eyes piercing your soul, the very image was burnt into your memory. And no matter how many times you tried to forget, he always. came. back. You'd broken into Gryffindor Tower and basically ransacked the one of the Boys' Dormitories until you retrieved it.

Your diary.

You weren't yourself anymore. People around you noticed too. What happened to (Name)? Was something that was whispered among peers. Your bestfriend, Lily Peterson, had noticed too. You brushed her off, pushing her away. Then, tired of waiting, Tom summoned you down to the Chamber of Secrets.

His initial plan was to drain your life force so he could live again. But things changed. As the product of a love potion, he couldn't properly feel true, honest love but rather a warped version of it. Dark love. Obsessive love. Unjust love. His love was cruel. His touch was cruel. And he was cruel.

And you were his. No matter how you tried to stop him, you were always going to be his. "Mine," he'd murmur, holding your weak form against his own, carressing your face, "All mine,".

You'd tried to fight him off. But to no avail. You'd lost. Now, the world was going to feel Voldemort's wrath. And he'd start with the figure of twelve-year-old Harry Potter marching into the Chamber of Secrets.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #christian coulson #tom riddle x reader #yandere #angst #romance #fanfic #first fic #voldemort #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle x reader #voldemort x reader #lord voldemort x reader #manipulation #harry potter fanfic

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luaveltarot · 1 year

Text

⚘◛·˚ ᑭᗩᑕ: ᒪET’ᔕ ᑌᑎᑕOᐯEᖇ ᔕOᗰE ᔕEᑕᖇETᔕ ᕼIᗪᗪEᑎ ᖴᖇOᗰ YOᑌ ⚘◛·˚

ᑭIᒪE 1

Energy check-

You could have been involved in an embarrassing/ humiliating situation recently.

You could have attended some kind of funeral or death ceremony.

Made an amazing art- painting, embroidery, crochet etc.

Increased concentration.

A library visit.

If you passed the energy check then the next words are for you-

The secret hidden from you is someone you think has mutual feelings for you but that’s far from the truth as they seem to devise a plan to trap you. It seems like a teamwork situation where something seems to be created from scratch which you think will be resourceful, you could have been in lack mentality or think from a state of fear that instead of working alone it’s better to take help or be in partnership with someone but this person is using you for your resources and for their advantage. Your guidance here is to stay wise, keep your eyes open and quietude. This person has some naughty motive, they could be from your friend circle, letter A,C,P or O, you could hear them say ‘I changed plan a bit’, they could smoke cigarette and last thing I got is they might have nose bleed problem or may be they bump somewhere.

ᑭIᒪE 2

Energy check-

Something related to teeth happened recently.

You’ve been thinking to create a label from your passion.

There’s definitely something related to publication, or you owe money to a second party for business related thing.

You could have been building up strength or got back into fitness lately.

Received public recognition for your creation or you started a blog/channel.

If you passed one of the energy checks then the next words are for you-

Someone really close and I mean as close as a best friend with whom you’ve shared laughter and have a lot of childhood memories have not been very honest with you it seems. They particularly don’t mean any harm but well they don’t seem to talk nice of you in your absence. They’ve done something which was unexpected and might come as a surprise to you that they can think this way or say stuff like this about you. Honestly, I feel they’ve shared a personal secret of yours with a third person and I think it might break you along with the trust you had in them. I don’t feel they have any bad intentions for you or mean any harm. They could be a leo, an aries Or a pisces. They could wear a lot of yellow colours or their favourite colour can be yellow or red or warm tone colours. For some of you, I sense that this best friend has made your fake profile online or used your pictures online in some way.

ᑭIᒪE 3

Energy check-

You are into dark stuff more than a usual person is.

You are someone who is practical and not swayed by emotion easily.

Someone in your friend group could relate to being a panda.

Went on a vacation close to a waterbody.

More into physics or mathematics kinds of subjects.

If you passed one of the energy checks then the next words are for you-

First off keeping the reading side, I need you to live in the present. To begin with, I feel you are hiding some secret within you or it’s a cycle of toxic pattern that you don’t seem to come out of. If it’s a secret within you then start with the declutter within yourself. If you feel you are alone then you are not alone, remember if you tell your secrets to the wind, don’t blame it for telling the trees so find comfort within yourself and educate yourself so you feel better. Take life less seriously and don’t overspend your money. I feel you are stuck in some work related to some organisation or government and the secret is that the help you need is on its way to you. For some, I head that it’s an award ceremony and you’ve been waiting for it for the longest time and it’s happening. You were waiting for a promotion or a raise and it will happen but for it to happen you need to calm down and distract yourself from all the bullshit your mind has been feeding you. You could have been suffering from constipation or some stomach issues and once you learn to let the shit go, this issue will get resolved automatically. Don’t try to anticipate and don’t try to control, let the things move with it’s speed and what you want will be right beside you.

ᑭIᒪE 4

Energy check-

You could look little or have a pixie hair cut. Like green colour or have a thing for hats.

You could have a hiding place or a treasure box which personal items or a special place for something.

183 or 318 could be significant digits for you or you’re born on March 18th or you’re life path 1,3&8.

You love red roses.

Do a lot of self love.

If you passed one of the energy checks then the next words are for you-

The secret is that a big change, a huge shift is happening soon in your life. Stuck feeling is being vanished from your life. Something that you didn’t accept or you thought is out of your league is being accomplished. One of your wish is being fulfilled, may be you wanted to buy something and you finally get all the resources to buy it. It’s also that you have survived the darkest of times which pulled you down. You will finally get to experience an amazing short phase of fame. It could be online or irl in your school, uni or work environment. This fame or prosperity is written in your destiny. Honestly this phase although short will be the best phase of your life, you’ll have attention, love, money and everything you desired. It could be that you already sensed this phase of your life but were skeptical. You will overcome any insecurity that you had. I see a major glow up and if you would be wise you’ll be able to sustain this phase for a longer period. This hidden phase has laughters, beauty, good food, stability and don’t care about others judgements. It would be alarming but enjoy till it lasts.

ᑭIᒪE 5

Energy check-

You feel timid and weak hearted.

Could have served a detention in a class or you feel powerless with no freedom.

You feel dead honestly and it could be due to the environment of a particular class or work place. You feel lost and pretend that nothing affects you.

Some kind of exam stress.

A science class didn’t go well, an experiment failed or having too many inner demons to deal with.

If you passed one of the energy checks then the next words are for you-

If you are in a group of three, I see you being the odd one out because the other two have been talking about you. They find you arrogant because of your belief system or that you need to have more of a flexible approach towards certain set of institutions to collaborate with them. They probably find you in victim mentality or 24/7 in pessimistic mood. They feel you are someone who dwells in the past. They probably want you to look beyond your darkness and get over the hurt or trauma you’ve been living in. For someone they could have told you and some haven’t because they are afraid you will respond in a negative tone. I get the feeling, for some of you that they’ve been planning to walk away from you because they find you too toxic to deal with. If this is not your scenario then your hidden msg is to see the lesson in this dark time or dark environment you seem to experience. Nothing is forever and no phase of life stays for too long. Dark times teach us a lot not only about the world but also about ourselves so your guidance is to feel this darkness and the light will find you once you’ve mastered this lesson or karma. It’s all happening for you not to you.

ᑭIᒪE 6

Energy check-

Had a painful ending with a friend. Friend turned stranger.

You are single and have been searching for dates/ friends but either you or them pull back and things don’t seem to work out.

You could be into deity worship.

You could be a pisces or love to swim in pool.

Gemini/ leo sun. Favourite colour can be pink.

If you passed one of the energy checks then the next words are for you-

You will gain success in something or gained success, it could be a material success but you will abandon this success or accomplishment in search of mental peace or spirituality. The thing is that what you wished for actually happened but then after achieving you will realise that it was not actually what you wanted. It could be you get an amazing opportunity in a different city but you don’t want to leave your family. You will try to strike a balance between what you want and what you need after a lot of soul searching.

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #pac #pick a pile #tarotblr #tarot community #luaveltarot #pick a card #tarot witch #witch #witchy

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