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studioghibelli · 3 months

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masterpiece - a joel miller x reader

summary: joel moseys on in to your art store, despite seeming distant and cold towards you. an annoyed artist and an aggressive man, now that seems like quite the match.

warnings: artist!reader, grumpy!joel (no shit lol), post-outbreak, jackson era, age gap (early 20s reader/ 56 year old peepaw joel), sort of enemies to lovers but the “they’re annoying to me” kind, no use of y/n, female reader, short but sweet smut (semi-public, f receiving oral, unprotected sex)

notes: this is for @iamasaddie’s moodboard writing challenge! thank you for the wonderful inspiration <3 also i know the photo is not joel, but i only write for him at the moment so everybody let’s just PRETEND OKAY!!!! enjoy my lovelies Xx

Memories from before the world collapsed were hazy for you.

Bucket hats sewn for toddlers, bright colored toy dinosaurs made from plastic, a red wagon your grandparents used to pull you around in through the neighborhood sidewalks- vaguely, their pictures sat within the confines of your mind. Vaguely you could remember the sound of your aunties laughing whilst cooking, the way your father would roar at the television during football season.

You could remember them, and yet they felt more like ideas than memories. As if they were something you read about in a book, not an experience you had once lived through.

When you were thirteen and your family had found their way to Jackson, you fell in love with all the art encyclopedias Maria had given you. On missions, your father would bring you every single book he could find that talked about art. All different types. From Giotto to Fragonard, Vélasquez to Monet, Van Gogh to Millais- all of them had enraptured you, they had taken you over, body and soul, and in a world that was chipping away around you, you found solace in their creations.

After you turned eighteen, you had enough courage to try your hand at portrait art. The first one you made of Tommy was unnerving. You made him look more like a neanderthal than a man, with mismatched ears and crossed eyes, thick and uneven facial hair and wild curls. Still, Tommy had it framed and hung above the mantle of his fire place.

It was a reminder of growth. Of where you once were.

Now you did portraits around town, traded them for some dried out herbs or freshly pressed paper. People liked having art around. It reminded them of what once was. They flocked to you happily, wanting to feel the same contentment they once fell, before the world had sunk to its knees and submitted.

You were a reminder to the townspeople that life didn’t have to be so gray, nor dreary. Everyone seemed to love you and your quirky, distant, eclectic personality. A true artist. A Van Gogh, as Maria had described you once. You saw the world in whatever color you so pleased, you saw things others didn’t, you picked up on pockets of beauty that many looked over. People admired you for that, they wanted to talk to you, wanted to pick at your brain.

Everyone except him.

The moment you watched Joel Miller trot in through those gates, you knew you had to have him. To paint him, that is. His thighs stretched taut across the saddle, his broad shoulders budging at the seams of his flannel, chocolate eyes distant and full of worry, anger, hunger- he was.... incredible. Your dream man. For painting purposes only, of course.

Well, that's what you continuously tried to remind yourself. You would reprimand your own mind, stating what you felt was the obvious: You were attracted to him the way an artist was attracted to the rising sun or the waves of the ocean. You wanted to paint him, study his features, color in his skin. There was no physical, emotional, or romantic attraction there.

No. No way. Not you. Not for a man as old as your own father, if not older. Not for a man who had only ever given you grunts and one worded answers in response to your questions. Not for a man who couldn't give you the time of day.

It was a normal Wednesday when it finally happened. Sitting in the little studio in the town's strip that Maria and Tommy had created for you, doodling away and sketching. You were working on a watercolor of the tree line in the distance, now focusing on the rise of the mountains behind them. Snowy, navy, serene. You weren't that good with scenic paintings, but Maria wanted a big canvas of your work to hang in the Tipsy Bison, for everyone to see.

And, as you so often did, you decided to indulge her.

The record player was scratching in the corner, some melodic crooning of Sinatra filling the room.

A deep huff escaped you. Things were not going your way today. "Not right. No, no." You muttered, looking at the wonky, twisted tree trunk you had just messed up on. "Not right at all." Amidst your personal berating, you hadn't heard the bell of the front door swing open and chime its familiar song.

"How hard is it to draw a fucking tree?" You grumbled, hissing in annoyance as you wiped away the dripping paint. Somehow, it only looked worse. You wiped your stained hands across your pants, groaning out in defeat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

The voice startled you. As your nerves dissipated, you recognized who that voice belonged too. Deep and baritone, the kind of voice that sunk through your chest like honey dripping from a spoon, swirling in to a cup of steaming tea.

He was honey, wasn't he? If honey was old and bitter, you thought to yourself.

You turned, finally meeting the face of Joel Miller.

"Hello." You stood up from your stool, wringing your messy hands out on your apron once again. "Why... are you in here?" You spoke slowly, as if you couldn't believe he were actually in front of you. Was it him? Or an apparition? Your eyes could be deceiving you. Perhaps you were Van Gogh after all.... slowly descending in to madness. You shook the thought away.

"You give that warm a' welcome to all your guests?" Joel narrowed his eyes at you, looking around the slightly messy studio. Hanged paintings for sale on the walls, splatters of paint dripping down wooden easels, tubes of oil and acrylics strewn around. Not many people visited you in here, lest to pick up their orders.

"I..." You trailed off in search of what to say next, narrowing your eyes at him in return. "No."

Joel hummed out between his teeth in response, fingers gently trailing down the sides of a few handmade journals you had for sale. "What do you want for one of these?" He asked, picking up the leather bound pages.

"I usually do a trade. Some vegetables, um... pretty much anything, really."

"You drive a hard bargain." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Did you come in here to annoy me, or do you actually want something?" You snapped, sitting back down in your chair with a huff. The current painting you were working on was doing your head in, and your artistic talent was definitely being challenged.

You felt shit at your craft today, to be honest.

"I don't really got none of that." He responded sheepishly. "I could do somethin' for you? Got a leaking sink? Broken cabinet?" He sat down on a stool adjacent from you, flipping through the blank pages. "I wanna get this, for my daughter. She's, uh... she's a bit like you. Real in to art and stuff."

You rolled his offer through your head, thinking on it.

Portraits! There was your answer.

"I know what you could do for me."

Joel looked up at you and shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Let me paint you. I-I need to work on my portraits, need to.... find my style." You explained softly. You watched his face spread over with confusion.

"That's just extra work for you, you ain't gettin' anything in return for painting me."

"Yes, I am! I'm honing in my skills."

Joel looked around at the art all around him. Paintings of the dogs he had seen wagging their tales through town, a portrait of Maria in the corner, a field of blooming flowers- he didn't think your skills needed any honing. You were remarkable, but Joel didn't really know that much about art, anyways.

"Fine."

"Free tonight? After dinner?"

Grudgingly, Joel agreed.

• • •

His ass was hurting. The cold, metal stool beneath his thighs was uncomfortable, digging in to his skin. He wondered how you could do this all day, how you could sit and stare and paint and move without complaining.

Because, god damn, was this seat uncomfortable.

When he had walked in for his portrait, you were changing the track on the old record player. The Goo Goo Dolls. He had rolled his eyes, unable to count all the times he had heard Iris on the radio.

Still, it brought a sense of nostalgia he had thought died out a long ago. It made him feel…. normal. And normalcy was the most beautiful thing in the world now.

“How d’you sit on this all day?” He snapped half way through your session. Your body was hidden behind the canvas, and every so often he saw splatters and drops of paints exploding. He was curious what you were doing back there.

“Just do.”

Joel snorted. “That ain’t a real answer.”

He heard your annoyed sigh. “It is. Once I get in the zone, I just go for it.”

That answer satisfied him enough.

“Why do you like art so much anyways?”

You peeked out from behind the canvas, eyebrows furrowing. “Because it makes me feel alive. Do you know that feeling? Inhibition? Freedom?” Your words dripped with sarcasm, hissing out with impatience. Why did he care, anyways?

Joel rolled his eyes, holding on to the edge of his seat as he winced. His back was strained, and he knew he was getting too old for this.

“I do, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re really damn annoyin’, you know that?”

You grumbled beneath your breath, tweaking a few strays of eyebrow hair on his portrait. “Been told.”

“Sure you have.”

A long bout of silence eased over the room, and for a long while, the only sound was the scratching of the vinyl and the thick breeze outside.

“What’s your deal, anyways?” You finally asked, working on the thick vein of his neck.

You stared at him for a long while, tracing over his face. He was undoubtedly handsome. The curve of his Aquiline nose reminded you of the Roman sculptures you had seen in your books, the softness of his perfectly curved lips, the shape of his moustache. He really was a true masterpiece.

The length of his neck bled into two sturdy collarbones and thick shoulders, biceps strong and deep beneath the sleeves of his dark green flannel. The color of his skin, tanned and slightly golden and perfect, had been your favorite to paint thus far, the depths of his cheeks and cheekbones perfect beneath the swinging light of the studio.

Joel stared at you, your question racketing through his brain like a pinball machine. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you so angry? Why don’t you like me?” You finally asked, disappearing behind the easel once again.

“Never said I didn’t like you.”

You laughed softly, the tip of your brush swiping down the side of his jaw. “It’s implied.”

“By you, maybe.”

“By me? You’re the one who avoids me. I don’t have the plague, y’know.”

Joel snorted. “Worse than that.” Hu grumbled beneath his breath.

“Heard that.”

He took in a deep breath, and although you couldn’t see his face at the moment, you knew without a doubt his brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The typical mask Joel Miller wore with such pride.

“Look.” Joel began speaking, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. “You….. I….. look.”

“I’m looking!” You exclaimed in annoyance. “Just spit it out already, man.”

In one swift move he had gotten up from his stool and had grabbed your wrist. His grasp wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mean. In fact it was gentle, sturdy with an unfamiliar sort of warmth. His brown eyes bore down in to yours earnestly, and you saw them flickering with something you couldn’t quite pin point, an emotion you had never seen him show you.

A thick lump was forming in your throat, and you felt your stomach churning with butterflies, aflame by the feeling of his calloused palm on your skin. He was warm, rough, masculine.

He was perfect. A masterpiece.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Joel crouched down, now level with your eye sight.

“Look.” He began once again with his new favorite word. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Okay?”

“What?!” That’s what he was trying to say?

“Yes. It’s embarrassing, I know.” He was seething through gritted teeth, jaw clenching with annoyance. His cheeks had grown a soft pink, no doubt out of embarrassment for the admittance of his secret.

“I-”

Joel wasted no time cutting you off. “I ain’t the poet type, alright? Lord knows I’m not. And when I see you…. fuck. This is so fucking stupid. When I see you, I feel shit. Okay?”

A laugh of amusement escaped you. “You feel shit?” You asked incredulously, and his grip on your wrist loosened.

Joel took a step back, sitting down on the floor. “It’s stupid. A fuckin’ crush, in the middle of the world ending.”

“It hasn’t ended yet.” You purred, setting down your brush as you sat in front of him. “So, maybe take the time to kiss me? Just in case it doesn’t end, tomorrow or something.”

Joel stared at you, a long moment blanketing your bodies. He was weighing his options in his mind, calculating what could happen if he did, if he didn’t. Damn the risks.

He had spent so long wondering what you tasted like, what you felt like. He said a silent prayer to whatever god may still be alive, and leaned in towards you.

His lips were softer than you thought, and his facial hair tickled and bristled against your cheeks. Joel was a good kisser, a passionate kisser. Your mouths melded together like two pieces of iron being hammered into a ring, thick and sweet and harmonious in their shared movements.

Joel couldn’t help his wandering hands. The rough tips of his fingers made you shiver, calloused thumbs drawing circles in the dips of your hips as he pulled you closer. You were straddling him now, arms thrown around his neck as you kissed him fervently, as though his spit was the last thing you would ever taste.

“You could’ve done this months ago, y’know.” You mumbled against his skin.

“Probably could’ve.”

Your fingers moved down to the buttons of his shirt, Joel’s mouth attaching to your neck.

“Probably would’ve saved you a lot of annoyance, you know.” You grinned down against him, a soft gasp escaping you as your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his curls. You grinded your hips down, feeling that bulge pressing into the crotch of your leggings. “If you woulda told me, I could’ve helped with all that pent up aggression.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the playfulness of your words, pulling you closer to him. “You’re trouble.” He muttered, lips attaching back to yours. A smile broke out across your face as you pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Joel pulled away, throwing off his shirt, before tugging yours off in turn. Your chests, bare and warm, pressed in to the other, and in one swift flick of his wrist your bra came off with ease.

He pushed you back on to the ground, grinding himself against you. You tugged your pants off, left with a pair of panties that were now soaked through. Your clit, swollen and throbbing beneath the cotton material, was ignited with each movement of his hips, his covered bulge tracing circles into your sensitive nub.

Joel moved downwards, until he was face to face with your covered pussy. He leaned forward, dragging his nose across your clit as he pressed his tongue flat into your folds, tasting your arousal that had settled into your underwear.

“Off.” He commanded, undoing his own belt. You flicked your panties away, and he was face to face with your cunt once more. “Pretty little thing.” He mumbled, leaning forward to taste you. When his lips wrapped around your clit, your back arched off the cold tiles of the floor, pleasure coursing through you in electric droves.

“Taste pretty, too.” Joel smirked against your pussy, his tongue pressing in to your hole, dragging out that sweet wetness that dripped from you like syrup.

He tasted you, breathed you in, swallowed you. You were the only thing that filled his senses at the moment, the only thing that he had his mind on. In that moment your pussy was the only thing he worshipped, the only thing he wanted to spend any time tending to.

Your hips were grinding against his face now, his tongue swirling and lapping at your swelling clit. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t even think. He was all you could pay any attention to. Damn your art, damn your painting- right now his mouth was the only thing you could wrap your head around.

Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your orgasms on brewing in the pit of your belly. Joel’s rough palms carved up and down your sides, his well worked hands scratching your skin in a delicious sort of way. He was moaning against your folds, nose brushing up and down your pussy as he lapped at the pink of your cunt.

“Joel, Joel-” You were drunk on him, on his movements, clit tingling against the tip of his tongue. He chuckled against you, knowing just what he was doing to you.

Joel knew how to make a woman feel good, and you were no exception.

“Gonna cum.” You breathed out excitedly, hips bucking one last time as your orgasm washed over you. Your moans and cries echoed across the wall, and you tugged him by his curls farther between your thighs. Joel licked you through the height of your orgasm, until you had no choice but to push him away.

You lay on the floor, breaths hard and shaky, blinking as you came back down to earth. Joel crawled over you, his thumb gently trailing down your cheek. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, which was now pushing past your lips and exploring the softness of your mouth. You moaned, legs opening to grant his throbbing cock access.

With your small hand, you guided the tip of his leaking cock to the folds of your pussy, pressing it gently against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck me.” You begged against his mouth.

Joel happily obliged you.

To say you had never been fucked quite like that was the understatement of the year.

Joel’s cock was thick and perfect, curved ever so slightly to the left. He hit every spot deep within you that made you shiver and moan, he knew just how to roll your hips to drag you towards your second orgasm.

And god, did he know how to last.

By the time your third orgasm had rushed over you, his fingers had tangled themselves in your hair and your teeth had sunk into the thickness of his pretty neck, his cock still hard and stern inside of you. He was panting like a dog, grinding and humping in to you as his twitching cock filled you to the brim.

Your thighs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as his fingers tweaked your nipples. He was breathing hard and heavy in to your hair, eyes shut tight as he took you all in.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered, eyes pricking with tears of pleasure.

“Fuckin’ love your cunt.” He grumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “Gonna paint these fuckin’ walls. Gonna fill you up, make you mine.” It wasn’t just dirty talk, it was a promise. His hips stuttered into you, your aching clit pressing into his pelvis with every deep thrust he gave you.

“Cum inside me then. Make me yours.” You whispered, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back. You had etched your sketches into the skin of his back, drawing lines of ravenous pleasure that only he would be able to see, when all was said and done.

Joel groaned at the sound of your sweet voice, and with a final grunt, you felt ropes of his cum filling you up, dripping and sliding out of you as he lazily thrust, riding out his own high.

By the time he had fallen beside you, your hand had grabbed his, and you both knew you were done for.

Months of built up pressure, stolen glances, curt conversations- you both knew what was there, beneath the surface. Two people who didn’t quite know how to approach the other, and yet still, two people who knew what was lurking beneath the surface.

God, you were so happy Joel had walked into your shop.

He had helped you get dressed, and you both walked outside to the street, sharing a cigarette you had bartered for a couple weeks ago. You took in a deep drag, gently holding it to his lips. As you exhaled, he inhaled the tobacco, and both of your eyes settled on to the bare street, the winter moon beating her sweet, silver light on to the pavement.

“If you keep doing that, I don’t think I’ll ever finish your panting.” You finally spoke, filling the comfortable silence with the sweet cadence of your words.

“I like it how it is.” He whispered.

You turned, looking at the canvas that was drying ever so slowly beneath the store light. It was a bit whacky, a bit unfinished, as though a part of its story had yet to be told. But Joel’s eyes though…. well, his eyes were what struck you the hardest out of it all, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the beauty and skill of your craftsmanship.

Those umber orbs, painted with that familiar distance his eyes so often held, swirling with mystery, regret, wonder, and a little bit of admiration that you hadn’t quite picked up on while painting. They were full of emotion that Joel so often showed, in his own quiet way.

You turned to him, taking another puff from the cigarette. A smile stretched across your face, and his arm gently hooked itself around you.

“Yeah, me too.” You admitted quietly.

After that night, the townspeople wondered why Joel was a little bit more approachable. They wondered what made him a little bit more softer, kinder, a bit more poetic.

And each time you would sneak away into his house underneath the cover of darkness, the reminder of that fateful night hung just above his sofa, Joel’s unfinished portrait staring at you with that familiar beauty of his.

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etherealinowrites · 9 months

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I saw there wasn't any for hyunjin so I'm just gonna add my 2 cents...

I just feel like hyun is such a sucker for big thighs. He loves it when he sees it jiggle or how the flesh just pudges out over the elastic of some thigh high socks. And if given the chance, idk he might fuck em ya know? (Yes, thigh fucker!hyun <3)

thank you for requesting hyunjin!!! and please, this ask is god-tier 🤲🏻

minors dni

—

hwang hyunjin was a man of great taste, and it was evident in the way he fell for you and treated you, like you were a piece of art. in his eyes, you were the greatest masterpiece ever made. every inch of you was perfection, and even if you didn’t feel that way, hyunjin certainly made sure to make you feel that way.

his touches against you were gentle, soft when you needed the comfort, and rough and hurtful when you needed to forget. he was the perfect addition to you, making you feel things you didn’t know you needed. he loves living with you, seeing you in all your natural states, shirtless, pantless, braless, makeup less, he just loved seeing you. and every part of your body was his shrine.

it didn’t help that for some reason, he found your soft thighs the main source of his obsession, the way they jiggled when you ran, the way they were soft enough for him to lay his head on, how he could dig into the flesh as he ate you out…oh he could go on and on about all the wonderful things those thighs could do.

and you best bet his eyes were always, always trained on them, especially if you wore skirts and shorts, oh boy his hands were always on you, pulling you closer and stroking them as he would leave kisses in your neck. “such a pretty girl” he hummed, “all mine” he would add and you would melt under his touch. oh he knew just what to say.

that particular day, you had worn a pair of thigh high socks, along with a mini skirt and a dress shirt, the entire fit looking delicious on you. you happily walked into the living room, mumbling a soft hi to hyunjin who’s smile faded when his eyes locked onto your thighs. oh sweet heavens, hyunjin gulped. staring at them shamelessly and checking you out, making you blush with how much he loved making you feel confident in your own skin and clothes.

“angel….you look gorgeous, like always” he breathed out, walking over to you. oh the way the skirt swished around your hips, the way the thigh socks pushed out some of the skin, making it puff out and jiggle, oh he was going insane. “shit baby, you drive me crazy” he groaned, pulling you by your waist, like he always did, your back against his chest and his hands snaked down to feel your thighs.

“but i didn’t even do anything hyun?” you cooed out as you felt his soft kisses on your neck and you let go, knowing you were taken care of.

“you don’t have to baby, you just make me crazy” he grinned, hands stroking the soft skin as he felt his cock grow harder in hai sweatpants, digging into your ass. “hm baby you’re so perfect, my pretty” he grunted, slipping his pants low and flipping your skirt up, stroking the mid of your thighs with the tip, making you whimper.

“hyun…” you whispered breathily, grabbing onto his hand. “yes baby?” he hissed into your ear, cock now slowly slipping between your lush thighs and you felt your wetness gush. “need- need you” you let out and he smiled, slowly starting to fuck your thighs. oh the feeling was too good, hyunjin could cum just imagining you getting turned on by him just fucking your thighs.

“you have me” was all he said because was fucking your thighs, half naked, worshipping you like the goddess you were.

—

[compiled list of hard thoughts]

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stardustgates · 5 months

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Author’s Notes: Possibly OOC behaviour? I’ve done my best to stick by Canon as much as I can, but given I’m a newer player, I don’t know the relationship between Kafka and Silver Wolf or the characters individually as well I’d like to. Though I did do my best, please be aware that I may have taken some creative liberties in their characterisation and inner thoughts regarding each other. Also I am aware that this may just be 5.5k words of nonsensical BS but I haven’t written proper fanfiction in a hot minute so take it with a grain of salt. Not so much of a reader/canon thing and more like a reader AND canon thing currently. Perhaps that will change in future works, who’s to say? Oh yeah this is a SAGAU.

Warnings: Canonical In-game violence, references and descriptions of dissociation via player-induced body possession, references to drug use (one sentence), yandere tones if you squint really hard (shes a slowburner ya’ll), and a single swear word :3

Beyond the mind, within your body.

Description: Unaware that your presence has been made apparent to the eccentric duo during your first run through of Honkai Star Rail, you happily indulge yourself in the immersive (tutorial) world before your eyes. Kafka and Silver Wolf attempt to adjust to the feeling it brings, which leaves their minds constantly switching between distrust and euphoria, and all the things in between.

Word Count: 5.5k

Hoyoverse’s newest game hadn’t seemed much to your liking when you’d first heard the announcement. For one thing, you weren’t particularly pleased with the constant stream of ‘HONKAI STAR RAIL - PLAY NOW’ interrupting your YouTube doom-scrolling every other ad; Not to mention, you weren’t very keen on the gacha aspect.

Within your small circle of friends, you’d been known to cave easily when attractive anime characters were involved and you weren’t planning on another hyperfiction to solidify your position as the group’s resident simp. That being said, with such a title swaying above your head like a shiny silver dagger, you’d held a metaphorical death grip on your wallet, solemnly swearing that you’d keep your distance from the game for as long you were able.

Ultimately that so-called iron will of yours didn’t last so much as a year, as just seven months after its release a simple character trailer was enough to break your steadfast resilience. Well, it wasn’t ‘simple’, if you were being honest with yourself- It was a brilliantly unique masterpiece, tailored to the exact essence and spirit of his character. You were sure Argenti wouldn’t be released for a good while, so you decided to pick up the game and grind what you could before his arrival.

That was your plan at least. Your friend had warned you a few months prior (Though admittedly, you hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.) that the download and installation would take an exhaustingly long time. Well, it was better than Genshin Impact had been- but still, you were getting bored and subsequently decided to fetch yourself something to drink in the meantime.

With your back turned to the loading screen, you waltzed out of your bedroom with little care in the world- oblivious to the ominous glowing cracks slowly sprawling across the screen of your device.

As you returned a few moments later, you found that it had finally finished installing! You’d certainly waited long enough. Sure, it wasn’t as soul-sucking as Genshin had been but your patience wasn't that of a saint’s either. With a renewed sense of anticipation, you hit start and breezed through the usual terms and conditions without reading anything and let out a sigh at the beautiful change in scenery.

It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea to skip it completely- but you had spent so long waiting already that you weren’t going to bother wasting time reading a document filled with dolled-up words you could barely pronounce.

✄————————————————

Herta’s Space Station’s defences hadn't been particularly difficult to slip past surprisingly, though Kafka didn’t recall any mention of difficulty regarding entry in Elio’s script, so she supposed the lack of security wasn’t of any particular importance.

Despite the calm confidence that usually accompanied her on these little operations, Kafka couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the usual sort of lingering gaze or sharpened stare, but a vague pulsating heartbeat that faded in and out, as though blinking through blurry vision.

Needless to say, she kept her guard up. Playing none the wiser and bowing mid-air to the tempo of a rather graceful tune. She forced her shoulders to relax and gently swayed her body, controlling her every little move with practised ease- even as that strange pulsating presence slowly sped up and stroked the fires of an oncoming headache- as the elevator descended to the station’s ‘ground’ floor.

(You remained none the wiser to her sudden awareness, the rapidly changing scenes flashing past your eyes far too quickly to pick up on a single, brief second of stillness in her body.)

A sudden explosion reverberates across the station's cold, metallic body and brings Kafka’s impromptu air-violin session to a screeching halt. Simultaneously, that presence settles over her body like a thick blanket of fog. That ‘gaze’ she had felt becoming so vivid she could feel its weight pressing down on her tongue.

She has little time to process the feeling before the usual blueish glow of Silver Wolf’s communications screen flickers into existence before her very eyes.

“... Seems I came at a bad time.”

“No, No – I think you couldn’t’ve timed it better. Twenty-three-fourty-seven-fifteen system time. Very punctual, Kafka.” Silver Wolf almost sounds impressed, though Kafka suspects she’s only trying to butter her up so she’ll let the girl go off task again. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have been kind enough to allow it, but with the nature of their current mission and this inexplicable presence, Kafka doesn't find herself in a very generous mood.

Kafka merely hums in response and ignores the empty praise.

“Elio always tells the exact future. So What’s with the explosion just now? Was that part of his script?” Silver Wolf picks up on her cue to focus without any fuss.

“Twenty-three-four-four-fifty-nine system time: The pulses from the explosion cause a massive breakdown from the master control system.”

Pulses. Perhaps it’s linked to the feeling curling itself around her senses?

“You did that?” Kafka doubts that Silver Wolf would waste effort on something so minor.

“No, the antimatter legion did it. They completely invaded the space station two system hours ago.” She whistles in response and glances down the glass panelling to the approaching ground floor. A small group… annoying, but manageable.

“Alright, so do we need to fight the legion?”

“Dunno, Elio didn’t say anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Hmm. Silver Wolf made a good point.

“Got it. So from now on, I'll be in charge of this operation.” She feels that tingle of a smirk reach the corner of her mouth, and smiles a little wider in anticipation.

“Copy. Can you let me have some fun this time? Our last few operations turned out to be pretty dull.” Kafka lets out a playful hum as she ponders over her colleague’s request with faux consideration. She can practically hear Silver Wolf’s stifled groan in the second of silence that passes.

“...Sorry~ I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you- our task this time is just to ‘place’ the target properly.”

Her choice of words is careful, though not enough to cause any alert in potential eavesdroppers. The feeling still hasn’t left.

“But if you wanna go look for some fun yourself, I won’t stop you.”

“I mean… after all…” she chuckles lightly as the blue hologram blips out of her vision, and reaches for the holsters tucked into her lower back. “After all…” Kafka readjusts her footing just in time to watch the elevator’s doors slide open, the sound of metal dragging against metal pinching at her ears.

“Elio didn’t put it in the script… Why would it matter?”

Just as the impact from her gunshots flitters across her skin, Kafka feels her mind being pulled back to the edge of her skull.

The group of voidrangers in front of her feel distant and smudged, the sockets of her eyes creating a blurred tunnel of vision that refuse adjust no matter how much she tries to blink it away. Their dark forms bleed into black speckles that crowd her already limited vision until she’s staring directly into the singed edges of the universe.

Kafka’s body… is no longer hers to command.

✄————————————————

She returns to her mind with startling swiftness. Her memories of the brief battle suddenly bubbling up as though pushing themselves through a thick soup of aether. She feels disconnected from the memory but can at least recall that she’d lost control of her body before blacking out.

She attempts to think back on that burnt, golden memory but is stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She opts to set that aside for another time and refocus on the operation. Elio had not mentioned this happening anywhere in the script- so either this had no significance or…

Still, those Voidrangers hadn’t proved to be much trouble- in fact, they’d been less of an annoyance than she had prepared for. Either she’d been far more ruthless than intended or the antimatter legion had lost its touch.

“When did the anti-matter legion become so weak?” She asks out loud.

“I could only attract this much. Did you really want the entire legion to come here?” Silver Wolf speaks in feigned annoyance, her usual behaviour.

She hadn’t even realised. Kafka chooses not to mention anything for the moment, instead opting to subtly gauge the extent of control this presence… or rather... Entity, seems to have over her.

“This lot won’t be able to slow down the Astral Express crew.” Silver Wolf sighs in response on the other end of the device.

“Relax, a doomsday beast is also here.”

As she approaches one of the station’s automatic doors, Kafka feels it slip back into her body as if wearing her like a coat. Its influence feels… less heavy than it previously had been a few moments ago. At the very least she remains conscious this time; A strange lightness in her feet as she feels herself stealth towards a lone voidranger lounging about the area.

Her movements come to her now like instinct, striking down enemies with admittedly far more efficiency than she was naturally capable of. If it weren’t for her body being strung along like a puppet against her will, she’d almost be grateful for the power and resiliency it granted her.

Kafka has barely had her fill before a euphoric sense of power seems to swell up all at once; Killer instinct pumping through her veins like a well-oiled machine.

Ahh. Now this… this particular feeling wasn’t so bad.

Truthfully she’d liked to have toyed with this one a bit longer, but she knew all too well that it wouldn't manage to survive her next attack. She chatters to no one in particular, the ecstasy in her mind clouding whatever decorum she would have usually displayed.

“Good times never last… time to say bye.”

“Ah- She’s so cool…”

Kafka tenses up at the stranger’s voice, just as the swirling dark mass in front of her collapses into itself.

She sheathes her sword and adjusts her gloves, ignoring the voidranger approaching her from behind. Just before its darkened claws reach her, Silver Wolf’s ability activates no more than a hands-width from her shoulder blades.

“Cleaning up other people’s mess isn’t in my job description… y’know Kafka?” Silver Wolf huffs out, but her voice has no real bite in it. Was it her? She wasn’t usually one to doubt herself, but that fog of exhilaration certainly could have played with her mind.

“Yeah, yeah. Where did you send it Silver Wolf?”

Kafka turns in time to hear the gooey pop of the silver-haired girl’s bubblegum as she hops to her feet. She isn’t sure if it's Strawberry or Grape, but the artificial sweetness and scent of no-fruit-in-particular is so strong it actually grounds her mind for a moment.

She sighs for no real reason, but it brings her relief regardless.

Oh.

She hadn’t realised how bad her headache was.

“Some random Co-ordinates, not important.” She avoids Kafka’s gaze for a reason she couldn’t care to name before taking on an adorably defiant stance, her hands placed at her hips as though it would help her short stature in any way.

“You care about where that voidranger ended up?” She doesn’t. But she’d rather think about that than, well… She didn’t know what to call it at this point. But it was distracting and she needed to focus on literally anything else for the sake of what sanity she had left.

Though some could argue that she wasn’t sane at all- which was only half true because most people’s definition of sanity varied greatly from her own.

Oh, Silver Wolf was still blinking up at her expectantly.

“Of course not- I’m just amazed at this fancy technique of yours, as usual.” she smiles down at her colleague, who only rolls her eyes in response. To the girl’s credit, she’d been dealing with Kafka’s empty flattery for quite a long time.

“Just a little trick of tampering with the data of reality, I wouldn't call it fancy.” Kafka smiles a little wider, following behind as Silver Wolf strolls down the hallway. Her tells were always so obvious.

“What were you looking at just now? Let me see.” Silver Wolf huffs a bit as she settles herself onto a desk and faces her.

“Herta’s toys,” she begins in an almost mocking tone

“A catalogue featuring the space station’s collection of rare items.” Her fingers briefly tug on the white fluff of her jacket as she speaks “They’ve got quite a looot of interesting gadgets~”

Kafka’s previous interest (however feigned it may have been) dies down a little at the prospect of these ‘gadgets’ but nonetheless she indulges Silver Wolf’s unspoken desire to share what information she’d dug up.

“Like what?”

“There’s this gun, it can rate any creature within its crosshair as a score from 0 to 100.”

“... Doesn't sound very interesting.” Her brows pinch together and her mouth stretches into a thin line of clear disappointment. Not one to be disheartened so easily, Silver Wolf continues on

“Aren’t you curious how much you would score? I kinda wanna know mine.”

So this is what she’d been hinting at since earlier. Kafka crosses her arms and takes on the tone of an exasperated mother having finally given up after being nagged at for far, far longer than the reality of it.

“Fine. I guess we can swing by and play with it, if it’s not too far. What’s our destination?” She redirects Silver Wolf’s distractable attention onto their current objective with practised ease.

Hmm.

She feels a little cold for some reason… and those watchful eyes haven't left during the entirety of their conversation. Kafka’s guard raises a little further than before.

Her colleague’s eyes flit down to a small blue hologram, her fingers swiping past various screens until arriving at what Kafka could only presume was a list of directions given to her by Elio.

“Go down the corridor, behind the door… ooon the left. There’s a room where some kind of rare item is stored.”

Kafka feels the entity strongly now, she stares just beyond Silver Wolf’s shoulders where it feels most concentrated. The feeling she is met with is a dense smouldering hotness. It’s like melting iron dripping down her throat and burning it in the process. It feels almost itchy.

She redirects her gaze back to Silver Wolf far quicker than she’d intended to and resists the urge to scratch at her throat.

“So that’s where the Stellaron is?” Kafka is somewhat relieved when the feeling seems to simmer down. She once again debates speaking on the sensation during the slightest lull in their conversation but when Silverwolf turns her head back to face her, she finds the girl’s gaze to be much sharper than before.

“That's where we can find out where the Stellaron is.”

Kafka immediately knows that Silverwolf has finally caught on to this feeling and says nothing as she readies herself for the next half of their mission. Almost instantly, she feels the presence shift and roll over her shoulders, like a cat stretching out its limbs.

It's languid and smooth and she feels her tense- She had been tense this whole time?- muscles slowly relax until she finally feels that usual calm focus she’s so intimately familiar with. She hadn’t realised the extent of how cold she’d felt when it had stepped- strange, it feels like a person?- away.

Kafka decides that her feelings towards this... Being- She isn’t totally sure if it feels sapient, but it certainly has some form of will… That much she can tell- are mixed, to say the least. She wonders one more why Elio hadn’t mentioned anything about something so foreign and strange but sets the thought aside and refocuses on the task at hand.

She locks eyes with Silverwolf briefly, and just as she thought, Silverwolf is most definitely aware of it at this point.

“The central area of the space station is up ahead. There’ll be loads of Legion Void rangers there.” Silver Wolf hops to her feet and saunters toward the door’s control panel. A bit too casual to be natural, but it doesn't cause the feeling to stir, so she says nothing.

“Okay.” Kafka breathes out.

Then that feeling of puppeteering seems to stitch itself into her mind once more, albeit in a much more faded sense- it feels more like muscle memory than it does being pulled from her own body. She allows it to pull her along and lead her toward whatever it wants. As her fingers glide over the room’s control panels and her heels click against the cold steel of the station, she feels that fog of exhilaration settle over her again- that almost euphoric surge of strength from earlier suddenly vivid and fresh in her mind.

Silverwolf seems to feel the building strength in her own body too, as she quickens her pace when they turn the corner to find themselves at the back of a particularly strong-looking voidranger. She huffs out in bemusement and half-heartedly mutters out some encouragement to her colleague.

“May as well kill them all.”

Not needing much more encouragement than that, Silverwolf leaps forward with as much grace as her short form can allow her and drags her digitally enhanced blade across the muscles and sinew of its chest. She leaps back beside Kafka as it staggers on its feet and tries to regain its footing. Kafka’s arm pulls itself up, gun in hand, and fires out a cascade of bullets that each burrow and pierce into its flesh.

“This… seems a lot easier than it should be.” Silverwolf comments under her breath quietly.

“Well, let’s count our blessings–” Kafka is cut off as her arm is singed by the blast of the voidranger’s fire canon.

“Tch. Didn’t hurt.”

Silverwolf pulls out her holographic system at such speed that Kafka feels the static waft across her skin.

“Hmph, still. This combat needs optimising.” Just as the creature aims its weapon once more, it’s hit with a blast pulled from the loosened strands of reality itself.

“At that speed? Too slow!”

Kafka almost feels sorry for it, as she watches its body disintegrate while collapsing into itself.

Unfortunately, the girls are not left with time to bask in their victory- Silver Wolf lets out a small yelp- the entity has left its place on Kafka’s shoulders and draped itself over her companion it would seem. Her short colleague adjusts to the sensation of its guiding hand far better than she had, if her losing conscious was anything to go by.

Kafka follows behind silently, eyes trained intently on the girl in front of her for any indication of danger.

“Hold it. Someone.. Or something is up ahead.” she warns quietly, arm extended out to her side like a makeshift barrier. They both come to a sudden halt as the entity violently rips itself from their bodies and settles just beyond their skin.

Goosebumps this time.

The cold seems to get worse and worse each time it separates from them… well, her. Silver Wolf grits her teeth. Kafka notes the tiny pearl of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Still a shock to the system then.

“Looks like we’re the ones getting ambushed.”

“...But they’re the ones getting besieged.”

✄————————————————

The game has felt pretty cool so far, and you quite like this Kafka woman. You don’t recall her being part of the main cast your friend had rambled about however many months ago it was, but you hoped you’d get to see a lot more of her.

Her design was really nice- though strangely familiar?- and her voice was pretty too! Silver Wolf was alright, but she hadn’t really caught your interest so far, so you werent sure what to make of her yet.

They did seem to be close though, but less like friends and more like tired workmates who’d been stuck in the same dead end job for a decade- that is to say, it definitely felt like they were used to dealing with each other’s nonsense.

Were they a ship? You could see it. Ah, another battle, sweet!

The combat system Star Rail used wasnt particularly innovative or anything, but it’s playstyle was strangely addictive- especially the Ult animations! Kafka’s especially had you nearly squealing with how badass it was. Did the MC have a cool one too? You could hardly wait to see.

✄————————————————

The mood is light despite the circumstances, they both feel a sense of safety and confidence while the presence pulls them along, as though leading them in a dance. The Voidranger’s movements stand out like a pindrop in an empty room. Predictable, and delectably so.

Silver Wolf barks out a short, quick laugh- a taunting thing that aggravates the musclehead stomping around in front of her- before decapitating the creature in a single, swift move.

“You took the bait, just like that?” Her jubilance is cut short by an attack from her blindspot, it isnt fatal- hell it barely counts as a battle wound- but its enough to flip her mood in the opposite direction. “Tch.”

Kafka laughs lightly at her, amused with her momentary lapse in spacial awareness. Silver Wolf scoffs and scowls lightly at her. Really, like she hadn’t gotten hit before?

Just as she opens her mouth to hurl a barely-an-insult-but-im-still-annoyed-with-you comment towards the magenta haired woman next to her, Kafka’s aura shifts somewhat. Time seems to slow down for a second as Silver Wolf watches the woman’s pupils dilate in slow motion.

Had she appeared like this? When that wave of energy had swelled within her?

She receives no answer to her unvoiced question, and instead hears Kafka’s voice ring through out her ears.

“That breathing sensation. Remember it.” Silver Wolf gulps in a breath of blood-scented air and breathes out a sickly, golden-sweet taste. As Kafka’s bullets rain down upon the bodies of their would-be-ambushers she can't help but feel pure ecstasy in the moment. Truly…if this was a drug she’d be hooked like a fish to water.

Even just being near it is enough to cloud her mind.

“Alright, now that that’s over with…” Silver Wolf’s body relaxes significantly as Kafka speaks, the strength of whatever had possessed them slowing dripping out from their bodies like tree sap. She feels like she just got a massage.

“I could get used to that.” She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, but it feels appropriate to voice. Kafka ignores her and spins her around to face the door, and Silver Wolf seems to go into auto pilot as she unlocks the control panel blocking their path, stepping lightly as her taller colleague gently pushes her forward without a word.

The monitoring room is completley empty. Nothing but the quiet beeping of a few monitors and the rustling of swaying leaves, courtesy of the air conditioning unit humming softly above them.

“Huh. not a single soul here. Impressive evacuation work. Did herta organise it herself?” Kafka seems mildly impressed- and entirely unaffected by the sensation Silver Wolf is still trying to shake from her skin.

“According to the access history, she hasnt logged in her for over six months. The evacuation was directed by the acting lead researcher - a girl named Asta.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh, right. Elio said we wouldn’t run into herta. It seems she really isnt here.” Though something else definitely was, but Silver Wolf supposed they weren’t going to be making any conversation on that topic.

She sighs, and scrolls through her holograms nonchalantly.

“Elio’s Script doesnt include any info about the location of the stellaron. Which means in the future he foresees…”

“... we would find the stellaron in a non-physical way?” Kafka crosses her arms, easily having picked up on her train of thought and already dipping her metaphorical toes into several different plans of action. She was always efficient like that. Silver Wolf strolls over to the water cooler and pours herself a cold cup. She gestures to Kafka who only shakes her head in response.

“This space station is packed with extraordinary objects, I wouldnt be surprised if theres one that can make it happen.” She takes a long sip, the cooling sensation bringing relief to her sweltering body. The combat efficiency was nice, but she was left feeling like an overheating graphics disk everytime it took control of her. She idles on a page in her hologram briefly before continuing on her scroll-fest.

“Hiding something extraordinary with something extraordinary… this is pretty Herta. I assume you know what to do? I mean, You’ve been reading that cataogue for a while?” Ah. Perseptive as ever, Kafka never changes. She ignores the heat building in her ears at the prospect of being caught slacking-off, and bins the styrofoam cup as she turns to the older woman.

“Hmph. I’ve got all the clues we need. The only piece missing is a simple trick- maybe this entity thats been stringing us along could lend a hand? After all, it doesnt have a physical form.”

(You didn’t expect them to involve the player like this! What an awesome storytelling device, and it would hopefully grant a lot more player agency too! Hoyoverse had truly out done themselves this time. Feeling a surge of excitement at being learning you’ll be able to lend a helping hand ‘directly’, you decide that Silver Wolf is also really cool.)

Kafka says nothing in response, only staring down at Silver Wolf in consideration.

“Why dont we have it help us investigate the terminals around here, that item we’re looking for may be inside.” The magenta haired woman only sighs, internally cursing the girl’s lack of caution. Though… she couldnt deny that it had only been helping them so far.

“Alright, lets give it the spotlight.”

“Oh god, I hope I don’t fuck this up…” Kafka stills. The same voice from before. So it can speak? She tucks the information away in her mind for later.

She watches it guide her along the messily arranged desks and flickering monitors. Stopping at a memory storage cart- which is, of course, missing its memory. Not useful for her current objective, but it at least told her that whatever it was could see the same things she could.

“...I cant see the memory storage for this terminal.” Her body shifts slightly.

“This is the monitoring room, the must have deleted the records and made a run for it. Classic.” Silver Wolf is still scrolling through the holographic catalogue, idling against a desk in the middle of the room. She doesn’t look up, even as Kafka is strung along past her towards a monitor on the other side of the room.

“You don’t seem to be very affected by it? Its control over you, I mean.”

“And you? You seemed a little weary earlier.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just new, thats all.”

Kafka’s hand reaches out to flick through various active surveillance cameras, interesting but ultimately fruitless.

“Hmmm… I can see the whole space station on the surveillance screen. But not the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf scoffs indignantly behind her, she almost sounds offended.

“Even if you could it’d be a trap. Herta doesn’t display her collections.” She turns to her hologram once more.

“This thing isnt very good with investigating, is it?”

Kafka expects some form of insulted rage to squeak in her mind’s ear, but she hears nothing. Though faintly she imagines a rather adorable ‘Hey! I’m trying my best!’ echoing in her skull.

Kafka staves off the sudden urge to get defensive in response and clamps her mouth shut.

Silver Wolf sighs at her lack of response and shifts onto her feet.

“Make your way over here then. There’s no point in trying to search like this.”

“So? Got a master plan? I’m all ears.”

Kafka’s tone takes on a slightly irritated edge, for a reason she herself doesn’t quite understand. If Silver Wolf picked up on it, she chooses not to say anything and instead gestures to the warping static of the holographic screens lining the walls of the office.

“Its a matter of hacking the surveillance system directly.” She says matter-of-factly, smirking playfully as her iconic vandalism plasters itself onto every screen in sight.

“Aha, I see. Herta’s collections aren’t in the system so anything unaffected should be our target.”

Their heads are guided to turn and face the back of a lone monitor by the main desk. Ah. that one then. As they both stroll over to investigate, Kafka feels a strange sense of pride bubble in the back of her mind. Not for Silver Wolf’s accomplishment- that much would be expected from the shorter girl- but for the entity curling along the edge of her mind. What exactly she was supposed to be proud of she couldnt tell, but the feeling was pleasant regardless.

Silver Wolf slips into a chair and slides forward to the desk, cracking her knuckles and wiggling her fingers as she readies herself for some data mining.

“Crude, simple, but effective. Look, found it.” The computer’s cursor circles a line of code tauntingly. Kafka doesn’t understand what any of the values mean.

“Item number two-eleven, ‘Blind Spot’ : a simple light-deflecting field. It allows an object in its field to pass unnoticed, but if a different item ceases to be obvious, the object gets revealed.”

She isn’t sure which set of numbers.. Or letters? That item is supposed be, but it does seem like a very… uncomplicated form of security for someone like Herta.

“So, Herta the genius… hides her collection with something as simple as this?”

“the simplest method is the hardest to spot, isnt that our motto?”

“Huh? How is that simple?” Kafka nearly chokes on her saliva while trying to hold back a bark of laughter and wonders why she’d kept her guard up for this thing. She follows Silver Wolf towards the glitching hole in the wall and sighs bemusedly.

“The data suggests its just an ordinary hologram. But it has an added layer… “ Silver Wolf eyes the frayed edges of the hologram cautiously, despite the confidence in her voice.

“Lets take a look. Dont worry, this place wont be our grave.” The girl only puffs her cheeks and steps forward, ignoring Kafka’s words of comfort completely. Well, she’d expected that much at least.

As she follows behind, her vision melts into a stark change of scenery.

The bright, ethereal glow of the Stellaron coating the walls of the closed off room in a golden-blue light. A strange combination, but one that was all too familiar; the everchanging strands of reality warping and stretching around itself, as the Stellaron sat patiently- sealed away- in the center of the room. Such an otherworldly treasure was exactly what all Stellaron hunters across the universe strove for. Though admittedly it was a mere front for their true purpose, a fact that Kafka was intimately aware of.

Their true goal would see this stellaron- sealed away, courtesy of Herta- to another use. Once said seal was removed by Silver Wolf, all Kafka would need to do was take hold of it and place it inside that vessel.

It had been laying in wait for this exact occasion…Kafka smiles fondly at the memory of it. Silver Wolf makes a small noise of surprise, catching her attention. She steps over towards the girl and the control panel, asking a question without speaking.

“It has its own security system… I guess even for herta, a Stellaron is no ordinary rarity.” Silver Wolf sounds genuinely surprised at this fact, though Kafka feels this was a rather likely outcome.

“Can you get it?”

“Of course, even the genius Herta cant compete with me when it comes to hacking.”

“Good. Then I’ll also count on you for the preparation of the receptacle.” Not to mention, she was quite sure this being wouldn’t be able to provide much help if Silver Wolf couldn’t figure it out herself. Speak of the devil, she feels the entity waft away like smoke in the wind and settle in the air around them as she lifts the Stellaron from its prison. She turns to her Silver haired companion and unspoken words flicker between their eyes.

This is Kafka’s decision.

Or perhaps it isn’t, she corrects herself over the distant sound of Silver Wolf’s voice.

When it enters her body, it no longer feels like being puppeteered or controlled.

She recalls that first feeling of possession, and the bleeding darkness making way for glowing golden edges of a burnt milky way. Her mind is dipped like an apple into the thick syruppy taste of synethesia. The amber eyes of the vessel- piercing into her soul and leaving her tongue sizzling in an almost addictive sort of pain- briefly flash open before collapsing to the floor in Kafka’s arms.

The Stellaron has found its place. And something else entirely has made its home there too.

(What an amazing tutorial and intro! You get the feeling you’ll be playing this game for a very long while!)

#not super happy with how this turned out honestly but I can’t be bothered looking at it anymore #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #(sort of?)#hsr kafka #kafka x reader #silver wolf x reader #hsr silver wolf #kafka honkai star rail #silver wolf honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #yandere hsr #my writing

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drconstellation · 6 months

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Once and Future Royalty

Just, stay with me on this one. I know its going to look crazy at the start, but trust me, I know where I'm going.

It all started with the 537AD scene in Wessex in the opening montage of "Hard Times," S1E3. Yeah, the one where Aziraphale is supposed to be a knight of the Round Table and Crowley is role-playing the Black Knight, and they are both so super-squeaky shiny clean - not a speck of dirt or mud on them. wtf! It looks out of place, unrealistic, and was bugging the crap out of me, like a stone in your shoe. It just didn't fit. I mean, why put a myth, a legend, into that sequence? Oh, OK, yeah, the preceding stories from the Bible, like the Garden of Eden and the Flood, aren't "myths" as well, you say? Hmm. In the context of the Good Omens AU, being a biblical based story, they belong there far more than the legend of King Arthur.

King Arthur, who supposedly united Britain under his rule during the late 5th century and early 6th century, was shown to have the divine right to rule by wielding the mighty sword Excalibur. Some stories tell of Arthur pulling Excalibur from a stone. Some tell of him receiving Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake. Either way, it was bestowed upon him by divine grace. Despite his triumph in battle, he left no heirs, as his queen, the fair Guinevere, was barren. She had a long-running love affair with the greatest knight of the court, Sir Lancelot, but despite this being an open secret in court Arthur would not put her aside. The knights of the Round Table in the court of Camelot were near-paragons of Christian virtue, and there are many tales of their search for the Holy Grail, the cup from the Last Supper of Jesus Christ.

In the end, mortally wounded in battle, Arthur was taken away for healing, and never seen again. It was said he would return when Britain was at it most direst hour to save the day once more. A "messianic" return.

The Once and Future King.

Now, I'm no Arthurian novice; I drank up all of T. H. White as a teenager, read the Dark is Rising multiple times, Marion Zimmer Bradley's interpretation and what ever else I could lay my hands on for a good couple of decades. And there is LOTS of King Arthur stuff around. You are not left wanting for anything new to read or consume. And I'll bet there are a fair few of you also out there who know a quite bit about the legend as well. Oh, and I can't tell you how many times I have watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I still walk around quoting it day-to-day, like the good little Gen-Xer I am, having grown up on that stuff. So I really should have listened to my intuition when bits of Monty Python kept popping up in my brain in response to other parts of GO I was thinking about. (Staaay, I said, stay with me here....)

I kept chewing away furiously on the Wessex problem, growling in feral frustration at it, but also kept reading and sorting out some other ideas and metas at the same time. Eventually I found the key in a tiny little post, about a small detail in the 1941 Blitz episode S2E4, of all places. I wanted to slap myself with how much was staring me in the face so obviously once the door opened. And the damn beauty of it is, that I already written about some it, out of context, without knowing the why.

OK. Where to start this journey...hmmm, back to Monty Python, because, guess what - the Wessex scene is actually riffing off one the more famous skits out the the Holy Grail. The scene is a masterpiece of political satire, from start to finish, but the relevant part here is this sequence:

In case you missed the salient points: Arthur claims he is king by divine providence, because he was given Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake. Dennis the peasant protests this waterlogged method of determination, mentioning ponds, watery tarts and a moistened... well, I hope you get the idea about where this is going.

Meanwhile, in 537AD, Wessex, as the mist swirls around them:

"It is a bit damp," complains a shiny silver Aziraphale.

Yes, Excalibur would be a bit damp after it emerged from the Lake. (vidavalor! Get your mind out of the gutter! I'm trying to have a serious discussion here! Please! And I wasn't even going to go anywhere near what the sword in the stone is really meant to be referring to...it's not even relevant to the discussion at hand, I swear! Well, there is going to be sexual relations mentioned but - oh, never mind...)

Right. Where were we. Lets leave those super-clean elite pretendy knights to swim off through the swirling mist back to their dry homes to write and file reports to head office, along with Patsy and the hired Igors, and Dennis can keep playing in his lovely muddy filth after he finishes protesting being repressed by the divinely-deluded Arthur. I've got a bit more to say about what Aziraphale and Crowley might represent here later but you need some more context first, so lets move on. I just needed to show you the first bit so you can see the Arthurian theme stretches across both S1 and S2, and will likely appear in S3 as well. More about that towards the end.

Ah, before I forget...another ref from the Holy Grail we need to cover:

This GIF, unfortunately, doesn't have the full exchange between the peasants, which is this:

P1: "Who's that then?" P2: "I don't know. Must be a king." P1: "How can you tell?" P2: "Because he doesn't have any shit on him."

Ah. Er. OH!

Have you made the connection?

Who have I been emphasizing as being unusually clean in their Arthurian setting? That's right, Aziraphale and Crowley.

What's this implying? That they are royalty. Celestial royalty. Maybe not kings, but how about princes? You know how we've been discussing whether Crowley was a once at least an Archangel, and there is even a hint that he was a fallen prince of Heaven given during the replay of Gabriel's trial? (Not the prince, but a prince - a seraphim) And that Aziraphale may have once been Raphael, and may be again in the future? Once and future royalty. To me it adds weight to the past discussion, and helps to explain the assumed authority expressed in these two scenes here: On the left, Aziraphale takes control inside the book shop as the angels and demons argue who is going to punish Gabriel and Beelzebub (finally found it after several months!) and on the right, Crowley is shouting at the assembling demons in the street that they are "out of order."

Onward, Patsy. (I hope you're still with me.)

1941, the Blitz part 2, minisode.

We've found Excalibur! On to Camelot!

[Edit note: I've added a few GIFs and screen shots into the sequence of parallels above because I was thinking over a few things since I posted and felt this actually sat better. To try and explain, as they don't exactly match as I would like, in the Holy Grail movie, King Arthur and the knights he has gathered rock up at the foot of Camelot and gaze up in awe at it. "Camelot!" Arthur declares to the party. "Camelot!" Galahad echoes in excitement. And a third "Camelot!" comes from Lancelot. What do we get in GO? Aziraphale leaps out of the Bentley (Crowley's black horse) and declares "The theater! Sophocles! Shakespeare!" I swear, if you put the two side by side, they would match. It's not just a reminder of how much time Aziraphale has seen pass by, or that we are seeing a tragedy play out. But damn it, I could so just see Aziraphale attending a Sophocles performance in Athens back in the day...]

Camelot was King Arthur's castle and home of his court. In S2 of GO the Windmill Theater is established as our court of Camelot where our 1941 Blitz-era Arthurian drama is to play out, involving Furfur and the zombies.

Yes, poor old Furfur. Two's company, three's a crowd, as they say. Now we know we're in Camelot, we need to be reminded of the central tragedy of the Arthurian story, that ultimately led to the golden kingdom's fall. Lady Guinevere, Arthur's queen, famously loved Sir Lancelot, and the two were passionate lovers. It was essentially a love-triangle at the top, with Arthur being jilted, but he wouldn't/couldn't discard his queen. Where do we see this playing out in 1941?

Furfur, pleased with himself for catching an angel and a demon in the act of consorting together (with the help of the zombies,) barges into the backstage dressing room, and confronts the lovers with their crime. But who is playing who in the Arthurian love triangle? I would say Furfur is clearly caught in the role of Arthur here. Consider the following exchange:

FURFUR: Hmm, well, well, well… What have we here? AZIRAPHALE: Sorry, have we met? FURFUR: Oh, no, you never had the pleasure, but… we have, haven't we? CROWLEY: Have we? FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember? CROWLEY: I remember going into battle, I don't remember being there with you. Sorry. FURFUR: I was right next to you. We did loads together. You use to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat. Anyway, whether you do or whether you don't, it doesn't matter. I'm here to inform you, as a representative of the Higher Powers of Hell, that you, Crowley, are in breach of the Infernal Code. Consulting and collaborating with an angel, Fell the Marvelous, aka… [opens book] Azirapalala. Azirapapap. Aziphapalala. AZIRAPHALE: [annoyed] Aziraphale

Furfur claims a past intimate relationship with Crowley, which Crowley spurns offhandedly. Crowley is playing Guinevere here, jilting Furfur/Arthur, which leaves the demon-smiting Aziraphale standing in for the handsome hero Lancelot (with his French connections, no less), and doesn't he make us weak at the knees when he drops his voice an octave in dominating disgust. (Is it suddenly getting hot in here...? Phew!)

Interestingly, looking back in S1 at 537AD Wessex, though, I would say that Crowley was Lancelot as the Black Knight, a role that Lancelot sometimes played in the legends, and Aziraphale would then be the fair maiden Guinevere. It certainly plays into Crowley's long term role of playing the knight who comes to the rescue of Aziraphale's princess in distress. Excalibur was no where in sight, perhaps still beneath the waters of the lake. Nor Arthur. Perhaps it was still too early in the story then...

I had originally suggested in my very first post that Furfur was given a stag as his demon avatar because he was wearing horns for being cuckolded by Crowley. But I wasn't quite thinking about it in context with the Arthurian legend! The stag is also often associated with royalty, plus while wandering around the medieval bestiary website that someone linked to, it interestingly notes that the enemy of the snake is the stag and the stork (Shax's avatar.) Ah ha!

So how can we extrapolate this knowledge into a possible appearance of the Arthurian theme in S3?

Will we see the love triangle of Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot come back into play and cause more chaos? I'm wondering if it might have something to do with the Fall.

Or will our lovers bring down a divinely-appointed ruler via their committed behind-the-back defiance of expected propriety?

Will Excalibur appear from beneath the waters, perhaps in another form, to declare a new king?

Could it even be a combination Jesus/Arthur, King of the World, returned? And they turn out to be a very naughty boy, disappearing into the night clubs of Times Square, New York, and that's how they lose him? (Social media viral sensation, anyone?)

I wouldn't be half-surprised if Greasy Johnson's name turns out to be Arthur, actually.

And no, I haven't forgotten that Adam's dad was named Arthur as well.

Bring on S3!

**Bonus**

If you've made it this far and you're thinking:

Let me leave you with this last connection.

In the back stage change room, remember Furfur delivers these lines:

FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember?

On the first level, he is referring the Great War in the Good Omens AU.

On the second level, Furfur is paraphrasing Milton's Paradise Lost.

On a third level, I can (and will in a future meta) connect this back to the training initiative paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1.

And even deeper on a fourth level, if you do know the Holy Grail movie well, you'll remember there is an odd little subplot in it, that infers that the whole King Arthur and his knights thing is merely a full-on violent cosplay that is murderously rampaging across the countryside in the present day with the police in hot pursuit. It's a strange juxtaposition between reality and dream, and you aren't quite sure what it is real or not. The ending is bizarrely and abruptly surreal as the two story lines collide in the heat of battle, as the police turn up and arrest the combatants. A bit like this:

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starlostseungmin · 2 years

Text

— sweet things they do, skz.

pairing: boyfriend!skz (idol!skz) x gn!reader

genre: domestic fluff, just loads of fluff okay?

warnings: mentions of food, kissing, not proofread.

word count: 1.5k +

notes: i literally missed writing something like this so please reblog, leave your feedbacks and put tags alright? thank you very much love ♡

𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡 — notice your new hairstyle

you were waiting for chan to get off from work just inside the jyp café, one that he would always recommend for you to wait for him every time when it gets late. it was almost past nine in the evening as you were just scrolling on your phone when he just arrived and saw your familiar figure from the entrance. a smile of comfort and relief surfaced on his lips as he took his way towards the table when he realized you’ve done something with your hair today. he stopped for a minute and examined how different they were from the moment he left your shared apartment this morning—he just fell in love with you even more.

“hey gorgeous!” he beamed as you turned to face him.

“you’re here!” you said as his lips met your forehead for a kiss.

“did you style your hair?” he asked, taking the seat across from you.

“yeah, i did,” you said, nervous about his reaction. “do you like it?”

“of course love, you look so beautiful with it,” he smiled, which left you to be a blushing mess.

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪 — let you sleep on his lap

minho was just scrolling through his phone while taking a rest from his dance practice—that’s the time you came inside the room after he texted you to come. he greeted you without taking his attention from the device lying on his hand, not until he felt a weight on the couch taking the space beside him. your boyfriend watched you execute some moves until your head fell on his lap to take a nap. he smirked at the sight of you, but given the response, he received from his texts, he knew you were tired too.

“sleepyhead,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“thank you,” you answered before kissing his thigh and proceeding to take a nap—leaving him smiling as he went back to his phone while trying to ease your tension with his fingers on your hair.

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗕𝗜𝗡 — sending sweet messages before you sleep

due to the boys’ hectic schedule and their ongoing tour, you knew changbin wouldn’t be available as much as when he was still in seoul with you. but despite his messy and abrupt sessions, he always takes his time to do something for you. timezones suck but changbin always has a clock that determines the time when he is in another country, which he knows you miss him so badly. one time when you were just reading a book on your bed, a beep sound escalated from your phone on the nightstand. being distracted as you are, you were already expecting his messages.

“hey baby, i won’t be able to call you right now because we’re having a tight schedule today. but i will come back later, okay?”

“make sure to drink water and take care of yourself while i’m gone,”

“it’s already morning in here, i hope you’ll have a good night sleep,”

“take care baby, i love you,”

“good night,”

“i love you too,” you said, rereading his messages all over again—you’d indeed tackle him with cuddles when he comes back.

𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡𝗝𝗜𝗡 — make you his lock screen & home screen

hyunjin is the type to make his paintings or sketches to be his phone display, but that changed until he met his muse, you. ever since the relationship started, you like accompanying him whenever he visited his studio where he paints and does all his masterpieces. you love his artworks as much as you love him and couldn’t help but take pictures of you whenever you are in awe of one of his works. other candid and formal shots were taken from your dates, others were made as his inspirations for his sketches. one time, he was trying to sketch something out of his imagination when you asked him if you could borrow his phone since yours went dead a few minutes ago. only a hum was given as a response so you made your way towards the couch to fetch it. that’s when you saw your picture being his lock screen—one that he captured when you were mesmerized by a painting in an art museum. a smile was formed on your face as you typed his password and only to be welcomed with a similar photo from before (the difference was only the angles)

“these are pretty,” you said when he already knew what you were talking about.

“can’t help it, you are just pretty as they are,” he smiled, not taking his attention from his sketch.

𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚 — kisses your neck at random times

your boyfriend is a sucker for kisses, especially when it is time for cuddles. it became a habit of his when he sees you standing with your back against his front. a pair of strong arms would wrap around your waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and leaves kisses on them, as well as on your nape. it goes around at random times, or whenever he feels like it. just like how he woke up after sleeping for an hour on the couch you shared a while ago—you were trying to cook food for dinner.

“baby, what are you doing?” he said, lazily making his way down towards the small kitchen.

“cooking,” you hummed in response. “you’re awake already?”

“yeah, you were gone by my side,” he responded with his arms hugging your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “that smells good,” he added, kissing your neck for the compliment.

“y-yeah,” you said, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks by chuckling.

𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗫 — makes candlelight dinner for you

you know felix is always true to his word, he can’t even lie to save his life and after countless times of postponing dates due to his busy schedule—the tour is already fast approaching—he promised himself to make it up to you. being the most understanding partner you are, he didn’t have to push himself into it and you have also a job to take care of. yet your boyfriend takes it as a no. it was that one night when you just got off from work and arrived home before 9 in the evening—the lights were off the moment you entered the apartment you’ve shared with him, one that made you curious and anxious at the same time. by the time you had your phone’s flashlight on, you saw him lighting up a candle on the table with your favorite foods on it.

“it was supposed to be a surprise,” he chuckled, blowing a matchstick.

“i am surprised,” you said, amused at the sight of them. “this is so wonderful lix,”

“y/n, i keep my promise okay?” he said, taking you for a hug. “let’s just keep it this way for privacy and, since we can’t take a reservation because we’re both busy,”

“it doesn’t matter, okay?” you smiled, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. “thank you,”

“anything for you,” felix smiled.

𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗠𝗜𝗡 — holds your hand and kisses them

you know seungmin isn’t the type to be clingy unless he needed to. but there are times that he is overly affectionate with you, especially behind closed doors. yet one thing that makes your heart flutter is when he holds your hand out of the blue or whenever you are in public places—one that he wanted to secure you by his side or maybe he just wanted to interlock his fingers with yours to tell the world you are his. when he gets bold, he’d lift your hands to kiss your knuckles and smile at you. sometimes he’d take your hands inside his hoodie’s pockets to keep them warm under a cold weather and play with your fingers.

“someone seems bored,” you smirked as he chuckled lightly.

“i just love holding them you know?” he said, kissing your knuckles.

“and i love the one who holds them,” you winked which only made him laugh in response after being flattered.

𝗝𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡 — share his ice cream with you

after acknowledging that you were having a bad day, your boyfriend immediately took you out on a date. being thankful as you are, you didn’t waste your time talking about how your classes went and that’s how he would just listen while eating his ice cream—letting you all rant about it. harsh sighs and disbelief, words came out like knives and rocks. you were stressed enough to do something related to school. whining at the fact that you have homework, jeongin pointed his ice cream at your face, it was already half-eaten but the melting cream was enough for you to devour. you didn’t hesitate to take some.

“thanks,” you said. “now the—”

“y/n, let’s just stop this okay? you need to rest and let me buy you ice cream,” he said, trying to calm you down. “you took a big bite, it’s the cone that is left now,”

“i hate you,” you retorted.

“i love you too,” he snickered. “but seriously, you want ice cream or not?”

“yes,” you smiled as placed a soft kiss on your lips before dragging you towards the ice cream parlor nearby.

[ 🌷 ] taglist : @wolfchanchan @inseonqt @soobin-chois @1-800-lixie @luvhyun3 @hanjiesgf @koovvie @lix-ables @starzzns @zoe8stay @gwynsapphire @cherryhanji @hwangsify @lixesque @seungly @sleepyleeji @h0neydewmoon @kim-seung-mo @ppiri-bahng @myjisung — lmk if you wanna be added or removed from my permanent taglist via ask ♡

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misguidedasgardian · 8 months

Text

I need to (5)

... Get warm

MASTERLIST

Summary: The last froze of the season takes you, a sweet summer child, by surprise

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: There are mentions of them being Minors! at some point in their relationship, cursing, cheating, angst, depression, mentions of a inappropriate picture, inappropriate relationship, reader gets a minor injury, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Notes: Uffff I really hope you like this chapter muahaha If you liked cregan by now, with this? will get you on your KNEES muahahaaaaaaaa

You woke up with a bit of headache, but gods you loved so much being eighteen, a cup of coffee and you were going to shake up the hangover

Sarah and Jace were already having breakfast, breakfast that Jace had cooked, you refrained from making jokes, as he was clearly trying to impress Sara and it was working considering you could hear her compliments and giggles from the hallway

Last night Jace has given you one of his track team shirts from the high school you went together and some cotton shorts, and you joined them in the bar next to the kitchen

“Mornin’ “, you giggled

“Morning”, chanted Sara

“Coffee?”, asked Jace, offering you a cup, “how you like it”

“I knew I chose you as my best friend for a reason”, you chuckled.

“Gods what a party last night uh?”, laughed Jace, “it was even cooler than homecoming”

“That it was”

“I haven’t been to a party that good like… ever”, you said with a smile, and then you felt a bit embarrassed when you remembered that you were dancing so unapologetically that someone grabbed you by the hand and made you dance in the middle of the huge group that had formed and you danced

“After last night, you earned the nickname the she wolf of old town”, Jace laughed

“Ahhh, very funny”, you mocked, taking a sip, “but that is a super cool nickname and I will take it”, you laughed

“Hey the forecast says it will snow today”, said Sara

“Uh, love that”, you said with a wide smile, “hey, do you both like action movies?”, you asked

“I know why you are asking… and NO!”, said Jace, pointing at you with a fork

“Please Jacey!”, you begged childishly, “please, please!”

“What?”, asked Sara

“The new Arthur Dyne Movie”, you said with a smile, “the fourth one!”

“Please don’t make me, I’ve seen it a thousand times!!”

“You can’t possibly get bored! the action sequences? the lights? the music? the scenery? They are a masterpiece!”

“You know what? Cregan likes that sort of thing, ask him”,

“I like what?”, he asked, genuinely interested, looking straight at you, coming from the bedroom

“(Y/N) Wants to see the new Arthur Deyne”

“I love those movies”, he said, taking a cup that Jace offered, he looked at you and smiled softly, “I will take you”, he said

“Great”, you smiled widely

. . .

In the middle of spirit week, you had been swarmed with work from your courses, and dived right into it, and that, and your new and big group of friends, and all the excitement of the competition, and the activities…

You didn’t even had the time to think about the unmentionable

Everytime you thought of him, the wound still felt fresh, you felt like someone squeezing your heart inside of your chest

But that was only when you remembered him

It wasn’t all bad, he was also your friend, and even though he was selfish and an narcissist, you missed having someone by your side, he was your boyfriend, before he went to school he was focused, he cheered you own, to his own agenda, but still, he was someone you could talk to, debate with, someone smart who always had something interesting to share with you

Yes he judged you once when you told him you wanted to watch “how to lose a knight in one moon”, he was a snob, but still.

At one point, you were good together, when you arrived at Dragonstone, you had taken the castle by storm, well, at least, he had, with you helping him a bit

But you had to learn that that happens, people separate, they grow out of each other.

For you, the moment you saw with another woman it was over, you were just sad because when you started dating, and were two sixteen year old horny kids, you had a good time, Aemond was you friend, you trusted him, you felt comfortable with him, he was quiet, mature, and somewhere along the line he became so full of himself

In highschool he was different, he was sweet and kind. He had changed so much.

Was the baby his?

That was certainly going to put a bump on his career

And his reputation

You felt your phone ringing, and you jumped, cursing yourself, you didn't even know why you always jumped when your phone rang, you believed that piece of technology to be some sort of portal through which the unmentionable could get to you, but he hadn’t you had blocked everything related to him, but still

When you picked it up, it showed you the strange number calling again, you hang up before you even picked it up

You tried to go back into sketching what you were seeing for your “representation” class, and then, your phone rang again

And again, it was the same number. You groaned, this time, you picked up

“Thank you for the enthusiasm, but i’m very happy with my current internet plan, thank you”, you snapped

“I’m glad to hear it”, you stopped in your tracks, as you recognized that voice immediately, “but that is not why I’m calling”

“Dean Rhaenys”, you whined, “I’m so very sorry”, she chuckled darkly over the phone

“It’s alright, how is Winterfell?”, she asked

“It’s everything I’ve dreamed off, but a bit chilly”, you admitted, you hear her chuckle

“I’m happy for you”, you could tell, you could almost see her smiling, “look, I reached out to you for something, quite important”, you looked around and walked until you could sit in a bench, away from all the passing students, the bench was cold and you shivered, even with a thick jacket, scarf and beanie, the cold clang to your body

“Did something happen?”, you asked, inviting her to continue

“Normally, we, as a school, wouldn’t meddle in student’s relationships”, she said strangely, “but,

we couldn’t help but notice that you entered our campus in a relationship with Aemond Targaryen”, she continued

“Yes I was”, you told her

“... Is that the reason you left our school so suddenly? you mentioned, in our last interview that you chose this school for love and you didn't have that love anymore”, geez she was smart and quick, nothing escaped her

“It was, we… broke up”, you choked out

Even though you were freezing, you felt your neck sweaty, you looked around with urgency, but the courtyard was mainly empty at this time of day

“Is the reason for your split, the inappropriate relationship he was maintaining with a member of our staff? Professor Alys Rivers?”

Breathe

You could lie, I mean, she wasn’t looking at you

But the thing is, that in the seconds you took in answering, she already knew the answer

“Yes”, you said back, it was of no use lying to her

“Like I said, this faculty does not care about relationships between students, but is much different, when it is brought to our attention that is a professor is in a relationship with student, even though they don’t belong in the same department”

You took a shaky breath

It was out

“I didn’t do anything”, you whispered, “I saw them with my own eyes and…”

“A picture started circulating”

“What picture?”, you whispered

“The picture consisted in both of them engaging in sexual activities, on school grounds”

No, no, no, could it be? no, impossible, you didn’t send it to anyone, nobody hacked you. A certain anxiety started to take a hold on you

What if?

What if it was an accident?

What if that night you drank too much margaritas with Jason and Cersei you actually shared it? like you whined you wanted to do…

What if you were so dumb you sent it to your insta stories just for a mistake??

You started to second guess every time you grabbed your phone

“Oh”, you whined, tears welled in your eyes

“Well, Alys Rivers had been terminated, she does not longer works at this educational establishment”, she said severely, “she threatened to sue, for her state of pregnancy, but we had no choice but to share the picture, she refrained from suing us, if we didn't include this on her record, but she mentioned, that you were the one that took it”

If I fall, I’m taking you with me

That how it goes

You paused

“If I was the one, would I be in trouble?”, you asked, and there was silence on the other line

“No, the source of the picture was untraceable, as the inter phone connection service leaves no trace”, she said calmly, she wasn’t even mad, but she sounded tired, “we just needed corroboration on the story”, she said sincerely

“Please, I know it doesn't sound believable, but I didn’t share it, i swear, I never meant for anyone to get fired, please you have to believe me, I just wanted to leave I never meant for this to happen, this isn’t some sort of revenge”

“Did you show the picture to anyone?”, she asked

Maris…

“No”, you said simply, you lied, you couldn’t tell her

“I appreciate your honesty miss”, she said softly, “but we cannot allow this kind of behavior in our school, teachers having relationships with students, even though they share no classes, is unacceptable”, you breathed a sigh of relief

“What is going to happen?”

“We fired Professor Rivers, but sadly, Aemond’s family threatened to sue us”, she said, “so he remains in our school, if we allow him to continue his studies, he won’t pursue a defamation claim, and your name as the author of that picture will remain hidden”

There was another silence

“I know you are not looking at me right now, i know you might not believe me, and I wish I could take a polygraph test, but please, I want you to know, that I did not send that picture to anyone, is the last thing I wanted”

“I believe you Miss (Y/N)”, she whispered, you took a long breath, “because we have other students coming forward, as witnesses of the affair, and they also might have taken pictures”, you sighed another breath of relief

You might not have been the one to blame

“I’m so sorry, for everything”

“This is no way your fault”, she said, “I wish you would have said something sooner, in fact”

“Like I said, I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble”

“So altruistic”, she said, “and kind, that is exactly why I send that letter to the Dean in Winterfell, telling them to accept you”, she said kindly

“You really did that for me?”, you asked

“They normally don’t take students half year, but they made a exception for you”

“Thank you, this school really is what I always dreamed of”, you confessed

“I’m happy I did then”, she said

“I’m sorry for what happened”

“You don’t have to be, things tend to fall for their own weight”, she said, “well, I just called to corroborate the story, thank you for being truthful and insightful”

“You are most welcomed”, you said

“I wish you the very best miss”

“You too”, and just like that he hang up

You took a shaky breath, looking around, you didn’t know what to think, what to believe, you checked your phone, the picture, all your socials and search history, your emails, all of it

There was no trace of you ever sending anything

To anyone

Nobody could… nobody had even got close to your phone

Aemond got bored of doing so, because you never talked to anyone, and it was actually kind of boring

You then looked up, like a bulb had turn on over your head

Holy shit

You ran back to the cafeteria, where you knew your friends were finishing eating their lunch

They all looked at you wide eyed

“What is it?”, asked Jace

“Do any of you know how to hack a phone?”, you asked quickly

“You are scaring me”, chuckled Jace, you looked at Cregan who was looking back at you

“I need to know, the history of the things I’ve send through airdrop”, you whispered, “or if a picture have been sent and trough what”

“That is very specific”, muttered Ben, “but I think I can help you out”

“Great”, you grabbed him and took him with you without saying another word

Until you were alone in the library

“You can’t show this picture to anyone”, you muttered, “not one person”

“Alright, you are starting to scare me”, and then you showed him

“This is your boyfriend with the teacher?”, he asked, and you nodded, “Geez”

“This photo got leaked, and I didn’t send it to anyone”, you insisted, “I don’t know what happened”

“Do you actually know this is the picture that got leaked?”

“No… but what are the chances? they said it was a sex picture taken in the school”

“Let’s check”, he whispered, connected your phone in his computer and started typing

“Hey what’s going on?”, asked Jace, as he came close with Cregan, you smiled nervously

“A picture from my phone got leaked and someone got fired”, you explained, Ben looked at you, “and I didn’t send it”, you explained, “I don’t know what happened”

“In the information from the picture, it says that it was send one time, through airdrop, to “Maris’ phone bitch”, he said, arching an eyebrow

“Fucking Maris?”, you whined, “I almost got sued because of her!”, you whined

“IS THAT “THE” PICTURE?”, asked Jace, you nodded

“What’s in the picture?”, Cregan asked

“NOTHING!”, said Ben, Jace and you at the same time

“Delete it”, said Jace, “deny it all, airdrop doesn’t leave a trace, not when you receive it”, you looked at Ben and nodded, and he deleted the picture

Jace looked at you

“Its over”

It was certainly not over yet…

. . .

One of the competitions of spirit week was “dressing” your faculty, or at least only the hall, in a certain way, with a certain theme

Your building was the newest one, it was in a major part concrete, glass and metal railings, so you and your classmates had said that you would place plants, wallflowers, and dressed the main hall with greenery and flowers, plants in pots, making it look like “nature” took over

It was going on beautifully, so much so, you as the whole class were going to ask the directors of the faculty of Architecture, design and arts to leave it like that once it was over

You had proposed the idea, so you were most looking forwards to the competition

You were standing over a chair, trying to place one of the bindweeds over the wall, in the tip of your toes, playing with your own stability, but you were so close

“That should go up”, you heard behind you, and when you did… you froze

That voice

You lost your balance, frightened out of your mind, and you fell off the chair

you managed to use your hands to tray to stop to smash your head on the concrete of the floor, but your ankle falled in a bad position, trying to catch you, and you ended on on your side on the floor, in a huff of pain

“Are you alright!?”, your classmate that was with you hanging the bindweed ran to your side, jumping off the chair graceful as a gazelle, and checked your ankle

But you only looked up, scared

There she was

Looking down her nose at you

Those haunting green eyes

“Alys”, you called, scared

“Does your ankle hurt?”, asked the sweet girl you looked at her apologetically

“A bit”

“Oh, that was a pretty nasty fall… I hope is not broken”

“Professor Alys”, called the secretary of the Arts department, “the director of the school of arts will see you now”, she said with smile, completely ignoring you, and Alys gave you one last nasty look before walking away from you

No no no no no

No please

“She is for the post of a new arts professor for the Art academy”, whispered the girl you were with, you looked at her in horror, “she looks kind of witchy doesn’t she?”, she asked innocently

She help you stand up, and you whined in pain

. . .

A sprained ankle

FUCK!

Sara gave you a pack of ice and you smiled softly at her as you placed it in your ankle, you called her and she came to the infirmary with you, and then she decided, as Jace offered her, to bring you to the boys apartment.

Outside was snowing, it was awfully chilly

“Do the girls live here now?”, mocked Ben as he entered the place with Cregan, the later one greeted you -who were pitifully seated in their sofa- and then kept going to his room, probably going to change after practice

He and Ben where in the football team

Jace was in trials, the season was about to start. You were looking forward to that.

But then you remembered…

You sniffed, remembering Alys… fucking Alys

Was going to teach in your faculty

Right next door

If you were truly unlucky you could ran into her every day

Every fucking day

Tears fell down your eyes, you wiped them instantly, but it was too late

“Does it hurt so much?”, asked Sara, truly concerned, you shook your head

“What’s going on?”, asked Jace

“I saw her today, Alys”, you whined

“Who is Alys?”, asked Sara

“My professor of plastic arts in Dragonstone”, you told her, “she slept with my boyfriend, he cheated on me with her and knocked her up”

Sara opened her mouth widely, surprised

“What?”

“It was horrible, but… my roommate stole a picture I took of them with my phone and she got fired”, you whined, “its my fault, and now, she is applying to the post here, at this school…”

“What the fuck?”, asked Jace

“She knows I took it, she hates me!”, you said, “she is going to make my life miserable”

“The witch from the picture?”, asked Ben

“The Dean told me they couldn’t put that on her record”, you said, “nobody knows about it”

“And she will join the department”, said Ben

“I never meant to get her fired, but I can’t see her here everyday!”, you whined, “she can make my life miserable, but I can’t do anything… she will know it, I could get in trouble… and… its my fault she got fired, I didn't mean to”

“It's her fault! you didn’t make her bang your boyfriend!”, said Sara

“I left the school, I didn’t tell a soul, I mean, only one person… I don’t know what to do”, you whined

"She is in arts, you are in design, she won't touch you", said Sara, "we will be your buffers..."

"Yeah, lets learn her schedule and avoid her, its called antistalking", said Jace

Unknown to you, Cregan was listening. But he came back to his room, grabbed his phone and dialed a number

“Uncle Bennard”, he greeted, “I’m good thanks… Do you have a meeting with the board of the school today?”, he asked, “Alys Rivers can’t teach in this school”, he nodded, “she does not share the morals and profile of this university… yes… I’m certain of my words… thank you”

And he hanged up the call

He got out of his room and you all looked at him, you wiped your tears and smiled at him, sincerely, not knowing of what just happened

“Anyone in for a marathon of the Arthur Dayne movies?”, he asked, “let’s order pizza”

“YES!”

“WUHUUU”

"I'm already on it!", offered Ben

“For fucks sake”, whined Jace

more notes : I’m running out of creating counterparts of movies and such… real ones might pop up

😂

“Sea Snake” = Titanic

Maegor with Cyrese and Tyanna = John F Kennedy, Jackie and Marilyn

How to lose a knight in a moon = “How to lose a man in ten days”

The she-wolf of old town = The wolf of wall street

THE ARTHUR DAYNE! hahaaa = John Wick

taglist! ❤️

@mxtokko @princesssterek @thefandomimagines @iamavailablesstuff @misspascalpunk @sweethoneyblossom1 @ipostwhtifeel @lunamoonbby @ahristata @watercolorskyy @yazzzmints @n4tforlife @littleshadow17 @alexa4040 @speedyballoonpainter @hc-geralt-23 @rayrayredpanda @eralen @yentroucnagol

#misguidedneed #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #cregan stark #cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan #jacaerys strong #sara snow

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thoughtspresso · 9 months

Text

Theory: 【Oshi No Ko】 will be the title of Shima's movie for Kana

The reason why 【Oshi No Ko】's title never drops the lenticular brackets 【】 is because it will likely be the title for the movie that Arima Kana will star in, the "masterpiece" promised to her by Director Shima.

Most of us know by now that Arima Kana's character was based off of Ashida Mana, a famed child actor in Japan that international fans may know from Pacific Rim.

Anyone think Kana's berets are a parallel to Mana's red shoe?

After getting famous from the TV Drama "Mother" in 2010 at age 6, they tried capitalizing on her fame by getting her into music, to little success. Mana-chan says in an interview that she, "sings the songs my mother wants me to sing". In the years that followed, her acting gigs started drying up.

Until year 2020, when award-winning Director Tatsushi Omori cast her at 16yo in the lead role of the film 【Hoshi No Ko】. Literally translated, Child of the Stars or Star Child, but with the Western release title Under the Stars.

A Child Star in a film called Star Child, hmmm.

This move in her career was paramount as a springboard for her comeback, until she had recently been awarded as Newcomer of the Year in the 47th Elan d'Or Awards.

Note: This image is not taken during the awards

I just feel like I wanna see Kana in this dress too

Coming back to its parallels in the show, Akasaka-sensei and Yokoyari-sensei had an interview with Tsutaya, where they were asked this very question: Why does the title keep the double quotations 【】 and what does it mean?

Many thanks to twitter @aldeberu for pointing this out

Just like how people have pointed out that Tokyo Blade had some parallelisms with the characters in Oshi no Ko, 【Oshi No Ko】 may actually become the title of the film that revives her career and regains her renown and respect in the industry.

I believe that this may be a hallmark event in the plot of the story. Or, at the very least, the reward in its resolution.

Either:

Kana's performance in 【Oshi no Ko】 causes Kamiki to pay attention to her, attempt to harm her, and Kana works together with Aqua and everyone else to thwart him. (In this case, instrumental to the plot's resolution.)

Or, 【Oshi no Ko】 will be the film where Arima Kana's acting is so honest and impactful that Aqua is so moved that he realizes he is allowed to enjoy acting and filmmaking in this life, that he is allowed to love Kana honestly, and that he has the right to move on and heal from his trauma. (That is to say, the emotional resolution of Aqua's arc as our main character.)

Option #1 continues to support the theory that Oshi No Ko the manga/anime is meant to be a story about Arima Kana.

But Option #2 supports Aka Akasaka's tweet "Kurokawa Akane is the child who will take me away. Arima Kana is the child who will bring me back."

A reminder that Oshi in the title is spelled as 推し, which literally means Favorite. Oshi No Ko's literal translation is Favorite Child. It is "Hoshi" that means Star, just like in Ashida's movie "Hoshi No Ko".

So why would a Japanese manga title literally named 【Favorite Child】 be given a Western release title as 【My Star】 if it wasn't about her?

#oshi no ko #oshi no ko spoilers #arima kana #oshi no ko fan theories

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gay-dorito-dust · 6 months

Note

Hellooo!<3 I

So I was hoping if maybe I could get some head cannons of Bi-Han having a s/o who has ADHD, his s/o has medicine for their ADHD they just don’t take it simply out of spite. His s/o could be found being bored by like almost everything, but the second you give his s/o for example paint in a bag they will be quiet for hours on end just messing and playing with it.

Is this accurate to the adhd experience? Probably not. Did I claim it would? Nope, I didn’t guarantee anything as i don’t know how adhd actually works. So take this with an EXTREME grain of salt cuz most of the info comes from the nhs website. 🦦

Ooc Bi-Han? None of this fitting his character? Probably so but I’m too tired to even care. 🦦

Bi-Han was made well aware that you hated taking your meds and would even straight up act coy when the topic on whether or not you had taken your meds came up. So much so that he’d probably see to it that you do take your medication on time but seeing as he was Grandmaster, he’s not granted the time to monitor your medication, seeing as how you often refuse to take it out of spite. (Not babying. Never babying, your a grown ass adult.)

So he’s grown use to seeing you lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in pure boredom, feeling every single second that painfully passed you by that even minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days to you with how fucking bored out of your mind you were. Nothing you did held your attention long enough to satisfy that part of your brain, not the games on your phone that you lost interest in second after downloading, not reading as you could barely get past the prologue never less the first chapter; not even the toys that you purposefully bought for this exact reason got couldn’t satiate your brain.

On a side note who reads prologues anyway? I know I don’t cuz I’d rather get straight into it.

You were so fucking bored that even saying that that you were bored was becoming boring in of itself. But Bi-Han knew of your one weakness; paint in a bag. An even bigger weakness of yours would be if the bag contained two or more different colours that make an entirely new colour when messed with enough.

Or even the kind where you get to choose how many colours you want to put in the bag and go fucking apeshit with it to your hearts content. For the physical changing of the colours were both equally fascinating and captivating that you could go at it for hours on end and not grown bored.

Bi-Han accommodates you however he can, changing up when needed and when you’ve grown tired of certain things that once held your interest. He knows he can be a dick sometimes but never when his beloved is in need to help them throughout the day. So when he had given the bag of paint, you were immediately zoned in moulding the colours together and spreading the paint as far into the corners as you possibly could, and all without an word passing from your lips as your brows furrowed in concentration like you were making a masterpiece.

Anyways, Bi-Han is well aware of your inability to finish a task, so naturally what you put down to pursue other tasks, he picks up and finishes for you. He’s your calm and he would never hold anything against you…unless it actively puts you in danger then that’s an entirely different thing entirely.

He’s also the person who seemingly knows where everything you put is and so whenever you ask for the whereabouts of your keys, your shoes, socks, whatever. Bi-Han would always direct you as to where they are or just keep ahold of them until you inevitably ask and you press a kiss to his cheek in gratitude.

During situations where you’re in deep stress or in need of an outlet, he’ll get you your paint in a bag to help you destress and let out any frustrations your had onto mushing the paint together forcefully. If it helps you during times of boredom then he believes that it will also help you in times of stress and discomfort.

You and Bi-Han were so different from one another that you just work well together, you honestly had no clue where you’d be without Bi-Han being the more levelheaded of the two of you in certain stimuli and being a massive help with your frequent bouts of boredom, your inability of prioritisation, and everything else your ADHD came along with.

He withheld an extreme amount of patience, probably from all the training he’s done his entire life and the lessons he’s learn from them about timing and all that. So when you interrupt him, he just lets you speak your entirety without making you feel like shit about it; but to Bi-Han if you wanted to speak, then he’ll let you speak and listen to you fully to everything you said.

Everyone wants to be listens to right?

Bi-Han would also probably act as your personal reminder, writing down or verbally telling you things that you had clearly forgotten that you were doing some days, whether that be appointments if, you have them, hangouts with friends, date plans, etc. you found it fascinating how he could remember so many dates, times, events and other things you’ve agreed to in the past as you’d naturally forget; or if ever on the off chance you do remember but just come extremely late or on the wrong day.

Bi-Han is use to lonesome and monochrome cold silences but when you entered his life, it was like he could see, taste and feel the colour of life warning his ice cold heart. He wasn’t use to it but overtime he found himself not wanting to go back to the life he lived before you, not realising how desperate for company he was until he was devoid of it.

Will he admit it to you though? No, he’s got a reputation to uphold after all but that don’t he won’t shows he cares in other ways.

Ignore if you don’t agree; Things that I’d like to think are in the same vein as paint in a bag or things that would defiantly hold me up for a good while:

Lava lamps

Liquid floor tiles

Water filled stress tube toys (especially the bigger ones that have like glitter and all sorts in them. I want one now. :( )

Pens that have the liquid stuff in them. (we all know your not buying them cuz they’re pens but for the entertainment value that the liquid gives. I should know cuz I use to have a lot of them as a kid. My go to pen for obvious reasons.)

#mk x you #mk imagine #mk imagines #mk x reader #mk x y/n #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat imagines #bi han imagines #bi han imagine #bi han x reader #sub zero x reader

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bhxrdy · 5 months

Text

starry night | aemond targaryen

author's note: my first aemond fic to officially write - though not the first one that came to me (👀). hopefully, this will be enjoyable. spotify has the playlist from the expo. you can listen to it while reading or not. all up to you :) lots of love & stay safe 💕

She was unbothered by the crowd, her ears soothed by the soft orchestra as its violin and cello strings swiftly danced through her headphones, the item covering the entirety of her cartilage.

Her focus was given to the timeless masterpiece, her gaze following the road of the paintbrush as it retraced the softness of the model’s curves; from afar, she had the sight to detect the faintest of details.

Even in-cased by thick glass where soft glare could be reflected at times, she could still depict the colors colliding with such ease from the forms of the background to the veil she wore, down to her right hand resting over her left wrist.

She was taken by the art until a presence quietly made itself known by her side; to her left stood a tall man. He bore a pronounced jawline, platinum hair and from the corner of her eyes, she could depict a hint of lavender decorating his right iris. He was slender and held himself with his arms behind his back as he gave his attention to the painting in front of him, ignoring the commotion of the cameras and the people surrounding them.

Removing her headset, it rested around her neck when she heard a soft grunt, a little ‘hm’. She smiled, biting the corner of her bottom lip as she dropped her head down, stifling a chortle. She then turned her head to the man as he spoke under his breath.

“She is overrated.” His gaze hadn’t moved, his words disappearing into the collective but not to her.

“Then why are you here?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory. Instead, she was indulging him almost, amused at the fact he still stood and stared at Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

He was taken aback by her comment, not having realized she had heard him. He turned his head to her and huffed - almost a chuckle - as the corner of his lips curved upwards. “Good point.”

She turned her eyes back to the painting, her head slightly tilting as she searched for her words. “I find her… intriguing.” The man remained put, his one good eye reverting to the piece of art that hung a few feet away from them. “She is hiding a secret, forever kept in the back books of history.”

He chuckled, not fully impressed by her remark. He thought it generic even though he knew, in the back of his mind, it was made to amuse him. “That is what everyone is saying.”

The lopsided grin won him over, her eyes meeting his. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She had quickly glanced to his injured eye, the color now a simple faded crystal blue. It didn’t bother her, and no reaction had come from her, which he silently appreciated.

He inspected her as she, once again, looked away. She wore a wool wrapped coat that covered her down passed her knees, the belt tightened around her waist. Her hair looked almost disheveled from the knitted beanie she had removed, though her locks covered her gracefully as they rested around her while highlighting the shades of her eyes.

He saw the headphones around her neck and smiled to himself; his own pair were held captive in his coat pocket.

They stood for a few more minutes in silence, looking ahead at the painting.

She was ready to move on but lingered, not wanting to part ways with the man standing next to her.

He had grown annoyed with the crowd, desperate to leave the herd, but refrained as he was not ready to separate from her just yet.

She picked her phone out of her pocket and looked at the time, the clock dangling above her paused playlist. She then pivoted to him, biting down her lip as she gathered courage to speak to him again.

He noticed her changed position and peered at her, entranced by her stature. She had placed her arms behind her back, close to rocking on her toes as she quickly scanned the people around her before setting her eyes on him again.

Inquisitive and hopeful, she held her breath.

“This might be a bit forward, but… how do you feel about Van Gogh?”

It was overwhelming to say the least.

Diving headfirst, they were transported into a new reality, surrounded by moving images, the projectors guiding them across the several rooms that inhabited Van Gogh’s life through his works of art.

Submerged under the rays of colors, bathing under their illuminating glow, they were consumed by the sensory experience; bodies were wrapped within the various masterpieces, from the elegant portraits to the hundreds of landscapes. The duo was entranced into captivation as the musical score resonated from wall to wall, catching the essence of the paintings into its staff where the clefs kept the notes afloat with the shifts and swirls of the artist’s hopes and dreams.

He was buried under the cascading lights, their intensity following the waves of the moving pictures. He was lost in his own amazement, in the thrill and sheer emotional rollercoaster he had embarked on; he enjoyed these works in passing, but only now could he truly understand the man’s pain.

He turned around, his sight taking in the floating petals washed away by the wind to the waves of the oceans, to the ogling stares of portraits and voiced-out letters, until he eventually saw his companion.

She stood a few feet away, intently staring at Van Gogh’s Self Portrait with a Pipe, when he was pulled in.

She had been staring at it for a while, her eyes never wavering away from the man’s stare as he would blink while the smoke of his pipe danced in the air. She couldn’t tell what it was that shook her, what made her tremble to her very core, when she broke down. Silently tearing up, the old man was looking down at her as melancholy soaked his eyes, the gaze — a feathered touch of poignancy.

Her guest was befuddled at his sight, to find her quietly crying in the dark was perplexing. He couldn’t have known the truth behind her tears, the reason her emotions strangled her through the music. The heartbreak she endured months ago, when she was forced to part ways with her fiancé due to his indiscretions — she had finally let the bourgeoning storm find her, drowning her in her impending ache.

“Are you alright?” He approached her, worried while she remained frozen in front of the portrait.

“Y-yes!” She had forgotten about her surroundings, his inquiry pushing her away from her trance. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what happened…” She let out a broken chuckle as she wiped the tears that strung across the corners of her eyes.

“Was it the painting?” He was still curious, wanting to understand the circumstances of her gentle unraveling.

She tilted her head to him, offering him a small smile. “I think the painting just brought it out of me.”

As she spoke, the old man went away, the projectors continuing their route as they rode the audience into other works, welcoming them with more notable pieces, such as Starry Night.

She took a deep breath, finding herself a seat on a bench and watched the stars move around them from across the four walls to the ground, right under their feet.

The instruments’ chords brought her back to her trance, leaving only the boy in their shared reality.

He could only stare at her, the echoes of her voice quieting down the static noise that lived in his head; all was now left unplugged, creating utter deafness.

It was peaceful, and he felt he could finally breathe.

He watched her in awe, the variation of blues etched across the sky where the golden stars warmed the hues; she was absorbed by the landscape as if she had been part of the picture itself.

He was enthralled by her presence, the feelings thrumming against his heart and rekindling the spark of a dying flame, the embers laying low within the desert of ash around them.

It had been way too long since he last felt this way.

The heat raised his skin, shivers covering his entire body as he stuck to her, unable to partake in the rest of the exposition any longer. He had lost himself in her, taking in the way she had been immersed in the moving brushstrokes as they danced and rippled to her every footstep, her ability to appreciate the works around her, her knowledge of these renderings, the connection she had built by the simple look just enough to bring her to tears.

All he could do was take her in, like fresh air, and admire the work of art that stood in front of him.

And then the lights went out, the room once again diving into the darkness until a voice was heard above their heads, reading out loud the written words that were shared between the painter and his brother.

The young man was pulled out of his reverie and looked away from her, taking in a slow breath to calm the bombardments in his chest.

His mind was still quiet, which he thanked.

It had been a while since he could last hear himself think.

But even now it seemed, his words strung nonsense.

The woman had taken his senses captive, luring him into complete ignorant bliss, and he loved it.

The expo, eventually over, the ending was presented with simple sentences that were etched across the walls.

They made their way towards the exit, both parties reluctant to walk away from one another.

She turned to look at him, catching a glimpse of his bi-colored gaze into her sight. She held her breath, enjoying the way the remaining lights captured the shades of his irises into perfect harmony.

Afraid to end the momentum, he took the lead and stepped forward, though not too close as to invade her personal space.

“I would like to see you again.” He spoke gently, carefully, patiently waiting for her response. His words were not a request, nor were they imposing.

She smiled, flattered. “I’ll make room in my schedule, then.”

Questions were not part of their relationship; they always held affirmative back-and-forth instead, knowing that inquiring was unnecessary.

“I’m honoured.” He spoke up, cheekiness underlaid in his tone as he indulged her with his infamous smirk, the one that always made her bite the inside of her cheek to hold herself back.

She grinned at him, dropping the playful charade they have been sharing this evening.

“It was nice to see you again, Aemond…” She sighed, content. “It’s been too long.”

He nodded, pensive. “It has.”

He had missed her terribly.

They lost touch in the last few years. She had moved away after getting engaged and started a new life on the other side of the world while he was left alone, their love for each other withering away before it had a chance to bloom, the dirt drying up without water.

Silence hung between them, like a friend wrapping its arms around the couple’s shoulders in a joint trio.

She then spoke again, biting her lip in thought. “I’m not really ready to go yet, and god knows I could use some air…” She let out a breath, her courage gathered on the tip of her tongue. “Do you want to go and get some coffee? We could catch up.”

He agreed to her proposition, marching towards the door as he opened it for her, inviting her into the cool air of the city’s night.

She smiled and graciously walked through before he followed her.

They stepped outside meeting the dim lit stars and their moon hovering above them; the golden colours were present whereas the blue had been transformed into its reality counterpart - pure darkness wearing an essence of sublimity instead of its usual malevolence.

Side by side, they took their time walking down the streets, his name tickling her lips into a softening smile. It was better than any orchestra, he thought, the composition of her voice alone making him feel like a spectator at his own opera show, his lost love becoming the conductor of their renewed symphony.

The past caught up to them, taking them left and right without a real destination anymore.

The roads were open, the warmth of their encounter illuminated under a starry night.

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

a/n: the exposition was based on something I attended. Loved it. If you need an outing and this happens in your city, go for it. You don't have to be an art advocate, or even really know Van Gogh in depth to appreciate his work and this immersive experience. It's overwhelmingly beautiful (does that make sense?) and worth the 1-2h :)

#hotd fanfic #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fic #aemond #mywriting

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blueiskewl · 3 months

Text

Gustav Klimt Portrait Found After Vanishing Nearly 100 Years Ago

It is one of the last works the artist painted before his death in 1918.

One of the last paintings by the renowned Austrian artist Gustav Klimt has miraculously been found after vanishing nearly 100 years ago.

The painting, titled Portrait of Fräulein Lieser, was found in Vienna after last being seen by the public in 1925. Until now, the only known photograph of the painting had been held in the archives of the Austrian National Library. The picture was likely taken in 1925 in connection with the Klimt exhibition by Otto Kallir-Nirenstein in the Neue Galerie, Vienna.

Since then, its location had been a mystery.

"The rediscovery of this portrait, one of the most beautiful of Klimt's last creative period, is a sensation," said the im Kinsky auction house in a statement announcing the discovery. "As a key figure of Viennese Art Nouveau, Gustav Klimt epitomizes fin de siècle Austrian Modernism more than any other artist. His work, particularly his portraits of successful women from the upper middle class at the turn of the century, enjoy the highest recognition worldwide."

The work of art will go up for auction at the im Kinsky auction house in Vienna on April 24 and is expected to fetch millions on the market.

"Klimt's paintings rank in the top echelons of the international art market. His portraits of women are seldom offered at auctions. A painting of such rarity, artistic significance, and value has not been available on the art market in Central Europe for decades," im Kinsky auction house said. "This also applies to Austria, where no work of art of even approximate importance has been available."

The painting will now travel worldwide on short exhibitions until it is auctioned and is set to be presented at various locations internationally, including stops in Switzerland, Germany, Great Britain and Hong Kong.

The model for the painting is labeled as Fräulein Lieser, also known as Margarethe Constance Lieser (1899-1965), daughter of the Austrian industrial magnate Adolf Lieser. But new research by the im Kinsky auction house into the history and provenance of the masterpiece has opened up the possibility that Klimt's model could have been another member of the Lieser family -- either Helene Lieser (1898-1962), the first-born of Henriette Amalie Lieser-Landau and Justus Lieser, or their younger daughter, Annie Lieser (1901-1972), according to officials.

"In April and May 1917, the sitter visited Klimt's studio in Hietzing nine times to pose for him," im Kinsky said. "Klimt probably began the painting in May 1917. The painter chose a three-quarter portrait for his depiction and shows the young woman in a strictly frontal pose, close to the foreground, against a red, undefined background. A cape richly decorated with flowers is draped around her shoulders."

The portrait is thought to be one of Klimt's last paintings and was done shortly before he died of a stroke on Feb. 6, 1918. The painting was left, with several small portions of it unfinished, in his studio and it is thought that the painting was given to the family who had commissioned it after his death.

The painting, however, would soon vanish and the exact fate of the painting after 1925 is unclear.

"What is known is that it was acquired by a legal predecessor of the consignor in the 1960s and went to the current owner through three successive inheritances," im Kinsky auction house said.

ByJon Haworth.

#Gustav Klimt #Gustav Klimt Portrait Found After Vanishing Nearly 100 Years Ago #Gustav Klimt Portrait of Fräulein Lieser #austrian artist #painter #painting #art #artist #art work #art world #art news #history #history news

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idolatrybarbie · 7 months

Text

odd couple

pairing: established francisco "frankie" morales x reader

word count: 2.5k

rating & summary: explicit, mdni! | frankie can't cook, to put it lightly.

tags: no trigger warnings needed for this one, porn with (little) plot, rated e like woah, frankie needs a win, very unedited as of initial posting, stubborn!frankie, premature ejaculation, handjobs, cumplay, overstimulation, sub!frankie moments, multiple orgasms, spit kink/drooling, #petnames4frankie, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, reader calls frankie "wet" in this idk that might not be your thing i guess. look man it's been a hard week.

notes: it's not wednesday and i am struggling a lil' bit (might make a personal life update soon idk ?) but i am being such a brave little toaster about it! writing this definitely made me feel better. when it comes to music, this weezer song is a little generic within their discography but whatever, i like it. hope you enjoy! also everyone go read @wannab-urs sub!max phillips fic because i say so and it's awesome.

You listen to Frankie move around the kitchen from your spot on the couch, trying your very best to ignore the occasional clang and clattering noise that flows out from the distant doorway. Tonight, he has taken on the task of making the two of you dinner. Or trying to, anyway. You don’t cook much either. Your job, like his, doesn’t lend much time to it. Takeout is more than often what’s on the menu—Burger King, of all things, is his favourite.

You know how to cook though. Every once in a while you have the spare time to whip together something truly delicious; slow-roasted pork belly, or maybe a nice pasta with garnish. Frankie doesn’t seem to know his ass from the oven.

The two of you have had this conversation hundreds of times. You stating that he can’t cook, and him pushing back, insisting that he can. Or he could, before the service stuck him with single meal MREs for a number of years and he lost most of the culinary knowledge given to him by various tías, his abuela, and of course Mrs. Morales herself.

His stubbornness spurs the occasional urge to throttle him. It’s fine you can’t cook, you always tell him. Not like he can’t still learn. Still, he insists, and insists on insisting on top of that.

Honestly, you couldn’t be more of opposites. Even excluding skills of domestic labour, he and you are a bit of an odd couple. Frankie’s an early mornings guy, always, while you enjoy a sleepy Sunday—or just about any day that ends in Y. He hates the horror movies you fawn over, while you can’t stand the nature documentaries and sappy celebrity biopics that he eats up year over year. Frankie is highly detail-oriented, the engineer instinct in him always angling towards rigid preparedness; you’re a bit more goal-focused, letting any plan morph and adjust according to the situation.

Another such cooking conversation had taken place on the drive home after declining Frankie’s offer of McDonald’s for the fourth night this week, and now here you are: listening to the man curse under his breath, muttering complaints from the kitchen as he tries his hand at homemade spaghetti.

The kitchen is silent for a moment. You go back to channel surfing, clicking past reruns of Golden Girls and M*A*S*H*. Stopping at a channel playing the cinematic masterpiece Grease 2, you focus your attention on the open doorway behind you again. It feels almost too quiet…

A string of hushed, panicked curses from Frankie confirms your suspicions. Getting off the couch, you use the soft overhead light to guide you through the dark apartment. Frankie is standing over the stove when you see him, quickly moving away and towards the sink. Water splashes into it, surely scalding as steam rises into the air. Or maybe that’s coming from his ears?

You clear your throat in the kitchen doorway, and Frankie turns to you. His face is slightly red, a silver pot held in his grip by the towel-covered handle.

“Is everything okay?” You already know the answer to that question—aggravation rolls off of him in waves, permeating the space between the two of you like a mirage in the Mojave Desert.

Frankie opens his mouth to respond, but the words never come. He does this a few times, wracking his brain for the proper way to put it as he parts and pleats his lips, living up to his call sign.

Eventually, he settles on, “No.”

He heaves a deep sigh, tossing the pot onto the counter. Getting a closer look at it, you see the charred spaghetti noodles stuck to the shiny bottom.

“Don’t, okay?” Frankie says before you look up again.

“What?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. I told you so, blah blah blah. I know. You’re right. I can’t fuckin’ cook.” The words are rushed, like he’s half-embarrassed to even say it.

You frown, reaching an open palm out to him as you shake your head. “That’s not what I was going to say.” You motion for him to come closer and he does, slipping into your arms as you hug at his tense shoulders. “It’s okay. You can take a class, or we can work on it together. I think that’d be kind of fun,” you say.

Picturing making something with Frankie—maybe bowties and broccoli, something simple—has you smiling into his shoulder. For his birthday last year you made red velvet cupcakes with sour cream frosting. The recipe is a little more complicated, but baking them with him this time is a pleasant idea. You already know he’s the type of person to lick the batter off the beater.

“I don’t want to do that to you,” he says.

You pull back from the hug to look at him, those big brown eyes of his crinkled at the far edges. “You’re not doing anything to me,” you say. “At least, not right now.”

A small smile comes to his face then, creeping and dopey before Frankie gives you a soft kiss at the tip of your nose.

“They should really give you a Netflix special or something,” he says.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” you muse.

Still in your arms, Frankie glances over at the pot of blackened, noodle-shaped mush. “What are we gonna do for dinner?”

Right now, he’s in the closest proximity to you that he’s been all week. At least, while you’ve both been conscious. Work has you staying later and later at the office these days, while his shifts handling flight operations have him drained, in bed and fast asleep well before you even get home. Tonight is special even if it hasn’t gone the way either of you planned.

You hum, dipping your head to nose at the patchy beard along his jaw. “I’m thinking we skip dinner.”

“Come on, seriously,” Frankie says.

“I am serious.” Leaving a wet kiss on his cheek, you whisper, “Don’t you want your dessert, Francisco?”

A hum rumbles low in his chest. “Of course, but—”

“But nothing.” You move your left hand to cradle the side of his face, his skin smooth under your touch. He leans into its warmth. “I’m hungry.”

You know that he is too. At your words, Frankie practically jumps you, a kiss pressed to your lips hard before your brain can catch up with what’s happening. He holds you in his arms tight, like if he loosens his grip even a bit, you’ll float away. The pair of you move out of the kitchen and back into the living room, the horrible 80’s movie still dancing across the pixels of the TV.

Frankie falls onto his back, bouncing against the couch cushions. The remote is underneath him, the mute button conveniently hit upon his landing. The cheesy show tunes cut out immediately. You move to straddle him as he lays horizontal. Frankie cranes his neck a bit to watch you as you settle over the crotch of his sweatpants. He’s half hard under the fabric already.

Frankie pulls you down into another bruising kiss. You hunch over to meet his lips, his hands circling around your waist. You’ve decided to take the Frankie approach to tonight’s activities; cool and calculated in your plans and decisions on how this is going to go. Grinding your hips down, you watch his face carefully. He huffs out a breath, soft and peppery like the cinnamon gum he keeps in his car.

You reach between your bodies to feel him in his pants. Frankie kisses at your face, quick and sporadic as you palm at him. He moves to lift your shirt off your body and you let him, raising your arms to help him. He tosses the thing to the floor and lets his hands rove over your skin. Continuing your ministrations, you slip your hand beneath the elastic waistband of the grey sweats. Frankie has no underwear on, a pleasant surprise.

“Fuck,” he groans, nosing at your neck.

“What’s wrong, honey bun? Doesn’t that feel good?” you ask, slowly pulling your hand away.

“Yes, please. Do it again?” His voice strains deliciously, the muscles in his arms held taut.

Frankie relaxes only slightly when you return your palm to where he’s hot and achy, cock wet at the tip. You run your thumb along the head of his dick as he pushes his hips up into your touch. You slide the pad of your finger along his shaft, spreading the dampness.

“Aw baby, you’re already a little wet. Isn’t that sweet?”

You start to stroke him in earnest, the tight circle of your hand moving up and down his cock. The movement is a little dry, your skin dragging against the sensitive velvet of him. You push his shirt up his belly, pulling his pants to his knees easily. Then you spit into your palm, jerking him off easier this time.

“Fuck baby. Just like that,” Frankie pants. He’s moving his hips with your hand now, fucking up into it on every down stroke. With your free hand, you prod at the small dip at his hip, feeling the muscle tense beneath the skin.

“Bet you feel so good, baby. Nice and easy for me,” you coo.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

You twist your hand at the end of every movement upwards, fingers rubbing over Frankie’s tip as he leaks steadily onto himself. The glide is easy now, lubed with your saliva and his precum. The squelch makes your mouth water as you watch his cock disappear and reappear in the shadow of your fingers.

He puts one of his hands over yours, urging you to go faster. Your hands move together over Frankie’s dick, picking up the pace as the sticky noise turns into a slap with every thrust of his hips.

Frankie breaks pace, stuttering on a caught breath before he spills over your hand and onto his belly. You pause to watch his chest tense and then loosen, his eyes shut tight as he comes down. Raising your hand to your lips, you lick a bit of his cum from the edge of your fingers. It’s the first thing Frankie sees when he opens his eyes again, making him groan. The noise sounds almost painful.

“That was—”

“Amazing?” you supply.

Frankie wheezes a laugh. “Something like that.”

“What about a second helping?”

He furrows his brow, then looks down at his dick. It lays limp and spent on his stomach. “I don’t—”

“Please,” you implore oh-so-sweetly. Frankie sees big eyes batting at him, a twinkle of adoration. The intent behind it is a little more Kubrick, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He can’t say no to you, doesn’t want to anyway. Frankie nods, mumbling a yes at you. His cock twitches with interest when you drag a finger through the pool of cum on his belly and pop it in your mouth. You smile at Frankie as you take him in your hand, strokes slow as he hardens again.

Leaning into his body, you flick your tongue against the shell of his ear. “So, so wet honey. This all for me?”

“Yeah, shit—I can’t,” he mumbles.

“But it feels so good,” you say. “Wish you could see your cute little face. I love seeing you like this.”

Frankie’s face waivers between tightly wound and relaxed in pleasure. You’re using his own cum as lube now, hand practically sloshing across his cock. He tries to keep his eyes open, watching your movements as you sit patiently in his lap, jerking him off.

Your underwear is ruined, the cotton soaked through as you discreetly rock yourself against the rough seam of your pants. You’ll take care of yourself later. Right now, all of your attention is on Frankie. This reward is his punishment. It’s the slightest bit petty, but you can’t let his stubborn behaviour go quite yet. You aren’t an I told you so type of person, but this? This is perfect.

You stroke at him on autopilot, watching the middle distance between the fine thatch of hair at Frankie’s pelvis and his skin coated milky white. He comes with a flinch before you even realize, still moving as he hisses. He’s still hard when he’s done, solid under your touch, so you continue.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you say softly.

“Oh god,” he whines, eyes rolling back.

“Does it hurt baby?”

Frankie doesn’t speak, can’t, nodding frantically up at you.

“You want me to stop? All you have to do is tell me.”

He doesn’t—not with words or the shake of his head. He likes this, and both of you know it. Frankie gets off on the pain, a pleasure so hot that it burns; water blazing to the point that the sensation runs cold, delicate skin held close over a candle flame.

Frankie starts to squirm. You hold him down by the shoulder with your free hand, fingers spread over his overheated skin with a firm press. His whole body is sweaty, soaking a runway down the front top half of his t-shirt.

“Please, please, please.”

He breathes your name, barely getting the syllables past his lips. You never find out what he’s begging for. He probably doesn’t quite know either.

His dick and his mind can’t seem to agree on what they want. You watch this war play out, a losing battle. Every few seconds he presses his hips to the couch, trying to stay out of your reach. Then he slots his hips forward again, seeking out your hand directly.

Finally, Frankie seems to find his words. “Fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t. I’ve got no more, baby, please.”

“One more, honey. You can do that, can’t you? Just one.”

“Mm, shit. It’s—it hurts. It hurts,” he says.

“I know, baby. You’re so sweet for me, so good. I know you can do it,” you assure him.

Leaning down, you position your mouth over him. You let the spit sitting in your mouth pour past your lips, drooling onto his throbbing cock. The saliva slides down his length slowly as Frankie moans at the sensation.

The added slick makes everything wetter, truly soaking as you jerk him off faster. Frankie starts to babble nonsense between short, tripping moans. A split-second decision, you breathe hot air over the head of his dick. The slightest change in contact pulls his third orgasm of the night from him. Frankie cries, groaning loud as fat, wet tears roll down his cheeks. You hunch over him to give his face a kitten lick, collecting them with your tongue.

You let him go when he finishes coming, letting his dick flop against the plush of his tummy. Dragging your own shirt off the floor, you wipe at his skin and clean up your hands before tossing it back down.

Frankie finds the strength to tuck himself back into his sweatpants. He pulls at your elbow, sending you crashing gently into his side on the couch. It isn’t really big enough for the both of you to lay down. You squish yourself against his chest and shoulder, feeling his arm rest over the length of your back.

“How was that?” you ask after a while.

“A five course meal and then some,” he says. Frankie scoffs at himself, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Jesus Christ.”

You kiss his chest through his shirt, his body warm and solid against your cheek. “Nope, just me.”

#frankie morales #pedrostories #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier #*ww

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