#keeping this ask in my inbox cherishing it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 24 days

Note

hmmmm, chosuki both "marking their territory" after one of reader's friends gets a little too touchy?

Love your work <3333333

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: when i tell you i was grinning once i saw this in my inbox, lol, finally chosuki yessss!! ty for loving my stuff ☆

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso + Yuki x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - threesome - oral (m! + f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - anal (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - cowgirl 69 + missionary positions - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - biting/marking - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, honey, sweetie, sweet pea) - mild possessive behavior.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

“Damn, Y/n, you’re so lucky to have such eye-catchers fawning over you!”

“Pfffthaha, oh, stop it! You’re drunk; stop swinging around!”

There’s one thing in this world that both Yuki and Choso don’t play about — you.

You are the sweetest and most prized treasure they cherish with their very hands. Being in a poly relationship tends to be a hard thing to manage for Yuki and Choso. The two lovers were never in luck to find the right person who didn’t match their vibe or wanted to change the dynamic they were going for. But with every dark tunnel, there’s a light on the other side. And thanks to the blonde and dark brunette’s stars, you were their saving grace.

God, they adored you very much — the best partner they could ever have. The way you’d wake up to them and give them a kiss with a soft ‘good morning,’ how you make lunch for Choso before he goes on his way to work, or texting sweet messages to Yuki to check how she’s doing or telling her about this new place that opened around the area for all three of you to explore. Blind by your smile and caring charm, Yuki and Choso live in eternal bliss and happiness, knowing you have blessed them with your presence to return home to.

Their love for you is mutual and genuine, authentic in that they wish to spend their days — no, their entire lives! — being with you. They see you as their muse, as theirs. So, it’s predictable that they’d be secretly jealous when they’d have to share their piece of heaven with others.

Especially now when all three of you had been dragged by some of your old college buddies for a night out at the pub. Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to introduce your friends to your lovers, Yuki and Choso were invited over to enjoy the merits of this occasion. What the two partners hadn’t expected was how close you all were — albeit a little too close for their liking.

You all sat at one big round booth table, Yuki and Choso being separated from you as your friends wanted to have you by them for just the night. Again, it made the two lovers feel uneasy. Even when a girl friend grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers enthusiastically, the blonde can’t fight the twitch of her ruby eyes. The friend goes on to say, “Nah, are you kidding? I think those two are the ones who are lucky to have Y/n! They’re such an angel; anyone would feel like they’ve won a million dollars if they got with someone like them.”

Then, a guy who was visibly buzzed joined the praise fest. “You’re so right! I’d do backflips every day if I scored someone so gracious and sweet as Y/n,” the drunk man brings a hand on your shoulder and nestles his cheek to your shoulder. Choso attempts to keep a neutral expression, but caramel eyes carry a tiny hostile aura. “I’d make sure to love on them every single day, kiss their feet when they walk, wash their hair when they ask—“

“Okay, lover boy,” you stop him before your drunken friend digs his foolish grave even further, and it’s hard to hide your giggles. “I think that’s enough Crowne and tequila for one night.”

You and your friends laugh and continue to strike up a conversation to catch up on material. However, you’re so engrossed in the others’ talk that you can’t sense the tension that’s brewing from the other side where your lovers sit. The two survey the scene with silent eyes, with Choso hitting his leg to stop the bounce of his knee and Yuki tapping her fingernails on the table surface.

All they could do was watch you, their treasured partner, share your attention with those who cherish you. Although, internally, they wanted you all to themselves. Yes, it was selfish; however, you can’t blame your lovers for being a little protective of you. Specifically when it seems your friends don’t appear to respect your boundaries when in their company.

So for that, it’s no surprise they instantly pull you into the bedroom once you three return home. Hungry kisses are exchanged between three pairs of lips, lustful hands stripping you of your clothes and throwing you onto the bed, where they meet in seconds to feast upon you.

“Hahhh, fuck…Hmmm, yeah, lick right there, honey.”

“Mmmm…Mmahh!! Choso, your tongue—Ohh! Feels so good…”

The brunette man is lying down on his back with you straddling above him, his face and mouth buried into our folds, licking around your labia and sucking your essence that seeps out from the pleasurable motions. His hands knead the flesh of your inner thighs as you hum along to the touch. Simultaneously, you use your tongue and mouth to give pleasure to Yuki’s slit, the blonde releasing shaky moans as she rides on Choso’s length with her ass.

The tall woman peers down to watch you orally please her. She strokes your head with a pleasant hand and sends praises. “There you go, cutie,” she bites her lip. “Lick it real good.”

Her commands egg you on to keep going, using the motion of her hips to your advantage to predict how far in you can keep lapping her chasm. Your hands crawl to her waist to massage, using the leverage to keep your lips on her at all times. And to your effort, she is sighing happily at the gratification you give her. It has her rock her hips ever harder, taking in Choso’s long shaft with hunger.

The man below you grunts at the motion, stuffing his face more into your cunt to suck harshly. And you can’t help but jolt, muffled squeals vibrating to Yuki’s core — and she relishes the feeling.

“Look at you, baby,” Choso slowly licks your chasm, sending shivers up to your shoulders. “You’re all wet and ready for us, huh? So good for us,” He kisses your clit and places lazy licks, and you fight to lose your balance.

“Hmmm, yeah, so good for us…Although—mmahh,” Yuki throws her head back at Choso’s dick scraping her insides at the right places. “Can’t say you were good when we were…Hohhh..at the pub.” You bat your eyes towards her in confusion, yet your tongue and lips remain busy. “Letting those people touch you in front of us; what were you thinking?”

You remove your mouth from Yuki to explain, her slick connected to your bottom lip. But before you could utter a word, your body jerked to the sharp instance of pain on your inner thigh. Choso had bit you, licking the place his teeth sank in before throwing in another nibble. You shriek, turning to plead to the man to be easy; however, the woman grabs your head and brings it back to where it’s supposed to be. “Don’t forget about me, sweet pea,” she chuckles at your feverish laps on her wet folds. “Give me my attention…”

She moans to your work, satisfying her with the flick of your tongue on her delicate clit. She rocks her hips even faster, prompting Choso to groan and buck his pelvis to her puckered hole, and his mouth remains glued to your chasm. He then sneaks a finger to toy around your asshole, and a sharp gasp erupts from your figure when he inserts the digit inside.

“—Khhaaa, oooohmy fuckin’—Gaaahh!” Flicks to your clitoris tag along with the push of his finger inside your ass, playing with the texture by scraping the walls. And when his tongue goes inside your vagina, you clamp onto him with vigor. Fuck, I’m so close…! “Yukiiii, pleaseee, can I cumm?”

“Aww, why should I let you,” her sweet tone distracted you from the sneaking bit of the man’s teeth on your thigh once more. “Do you deserve to cum? After letting other people touch you like you forgot you had your lovers present?”

“Hahhhnn, I’m sorry; I—shit… didn’t mean to upset you both…Ooof!” Choso switches his finger with his thumb, pushing it to and fro inside your tight entrance. Your eyes screw shut, “Please forgive me, you two are the only ones I love…”

“You swear on that, honey?” A glint shines in her magenta orbs.

You nod hurriedly before placing kisses on Yuki’s thighs and trailing them back to her vagina, “Yessss, I love you both so much, no one knows how to love me as you do…” Your hips sway involuntarily — not a problem for Choso, who sticks to you no matter what. “Mmmm, only you two know my mind and body, and I wouldn’t want it any other way…”

Blonde brows eyebrows screw together; fuck, you knew what to say to make Yuki fall for you all over again. Her cunt clenching on nothing but the love your words carry. Jesus, you were too much. Without a word, she gently withdraws your body from her body so she can lift her body off of Choso. She then flips you over; now you’re the one lying on your back, with the tall woman stationed behind to snake her hands to your breasts.

Choso’s pigtails have long been drawn down for his hair to fall to his nape, and strands of his walnut-colored hair stick to his forehead. Maneuvering to his knees, he examines your anticipated expression, shaky wails coming out your puffy lips as Yuki places soft kisses on your neck. She also places bites wherever her mouth can reach, her hands busy cupping your mounds, groping the mounds, and tweezing your nipples. With how hard she was sucking your skin, you’re sure there’d be hickeys when you wake up in the morning. The man strokes his dick at the sight before him, inching closer to be between your legs.

“Choso…” The way you said his name made him feel warm; the mark across his nose exuded streaks of his blood that threatened to fall. His ears and shoulders get pinker, and your breath hitches when he slaps the tip onto your saliva-coated slit.

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He says it low to your ear, and you chew on your lip when he licks your lobe. His mouth travels down, leaving harsh sucks on your neck and clavicle along with Yuki. Two mouths on your body have you whimpering like a fool, so sensitive to their touch that you could wither away. “Hmm? Who loves you most, sweetie?” He comes down to your chest that’s occupied by Yuki’s worshipping hands, popping a nipple into his mouth to suck with care.

“Hahhh, you, Choso, my darling…” you sigh into the sense of his mouth licking diligently around your bud. Your face turns in Yuki’s direction, smiling at the golden-haired woman before claiming her lips. “And Yuki, my love…”

The two of you kiss slowly yet maintain the same passion you have for each other, noses brushing against each other and tongues swirling before smacking lips together. The brunette lifts his head from your chest, straightening his posture to insert his cockhead inside your vagina. You mewl into Yuki at the insertion, and it doesn’t stop as the woman slithers a hand to your clit to swipe. You break the kiss in a huff, making the blonde snicker.

“Mmmph…Jesus Christ,” Choso trembles at the warm snug of your cunt as it accepts his length, pushing in for every inch of him to be swallowed in. When his base meets your southern lips, you hiss at how full you feel from his size. “You know how much we love you, right, baby?”

You nod to him, Yuki placing another hickey-worth kiss on your shoulder. “Your love makes me full, honey…Ohooo…!”

“And don’t forget that…” Choso snaps his hips, drilling his long dick into you and making precise hits to the walls of your chasm. You squeak beneath him, the tip of his cock poking your sweet spots with ease, and you’re gripping the sheets to keep you steady along with Yuki’s hold on you.

The blonde woman flickers her ruby eyes to Choso and beams, “You know you’re hot as hell when you’re all possessive, right?”

“Shut up,” he shushes her with a kiss, humming to her lips that reciprocate his feelings as lovers. The only noise that fills the room is your whines and wails from the hands fondling your body and the shaft plunging so far inside you that you can’t contain the ecstatic screams originating from your inner being. Good God, this felt so fucking good; being wanted and loved by these two is a sensation incomparable to anything. You want to drown in it, be immersed within it, have your senses be robbed of their very being until you fall deep into sleep in their embrace. This feels so worth it, so satisfying…

…Until you look at yourself in the mirror and find so many fucking hickeys all over your body, all the way from your neck to the grave of your thighs. This was not a sight to see after waking up, especially on the morning your friends from last night invited you over for brunch.

Needless to say, you pulled your lovers aside and gave them an earful. The two nodded to your words, saying “Sorry…” throughout your rant as you tried to find an adequate outfit to conceal their markings, feeling a little bad that they got carried away with you last night.

All is good, in any case. Because now they know that you are theirs both in mind and body.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

626 notes · View notes

eluxcastar · 2 months

Note

Hello Riri! :]

I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!

Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.

And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.

(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)

Fatui harbingers with a child god

── ୨୧：fatui harbingers & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER

I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh

There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.

Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.

It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.

You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.

She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.

It is as you are.

Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.

His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.

"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"

"May I?"

And with that, you take his offering.

Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.

Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat.

"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."

"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"

Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.

Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.

Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.

"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."

"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."

Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.

She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.

"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"

"Isn't that what was offered to you?"

"Well...yes, thank you."

Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.

He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.

"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."

"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."

Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.

Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.

"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."

"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."

"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."

Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.

Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.

Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.

Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.

"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."

"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."

Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.

Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.

"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"

"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."

Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it.

You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.

Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.

It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.

You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.

633 notes · View notes

thesensteawitch · 5 months

Text

What's Your Beauty?🥀

Pick A Pile Reading

💚(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)💚

Hello, Senstea Souls!

I am back with another collective reading that will tell you what's beautiful about you. Take this reading as it resonates. For any personal readings feel free to DM me or email me at [email protected].

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 2 of Swords, 8 of Pentacles, 4 of Wands, 5 of Wands, 2 of Wands, Ace of Cups, 3 of Cups, 7 of Swords

My dear pile 1, you are as beautiful as it gets. It's only you who cannot see it. Just like a deer doesn't know that the fragrance is coming from its naval and searches for it in the whole forest same is the case with you. You see beauty in everything and everyone except yourself. Have you forgotten that the beauty that we see in others is in ourselves? Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. God, I feel so sorry for you that I have to remind you this because something happened to you your own thoughts make you believe that you're not beautiful. I will tell you what's your beauty. Your beauty is that you are hardcore loyal when it comes to relationships in your life. You make sure that every friendship and relationship is based on strong foundations. You provide stability and protection to your loved ones. You don't see people as competitors and this quality of you is such emanant that others envy you. Even those who are close to you. It's those who you cherish the most. They secretly want to cut your wings and they even do. Someone is fishy around you. Some of you may be great planners, adventurers, and artists. I sense strong Sagittarius and Capricorn placements. The thread that you bind with others is your beauty. How you intricate relationships with calm and how you give others space to pour their heart out is your beauty, pile 1. Your only weak point is you give others words more value than yours. And that's where you lose your beauty. New voices emerge in your head and keep feeding you with information about someone that you are not. Your beauty grows on people. It's slow but refreshing. You nurture others to the extent that you sometimes end up parenting them. You're so beautiful pile 1 save yourself from predators. Sending so much love your way. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

Rate Card

Booking Form

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 9 of swords, 6 of wands, 3 of cups, 6 of swords, the hanged man, 7 of cups, 2 of wands, king of pentacles

Hello, my dear pile 2. I see something strange here. You stick to extremes. If you shift your perception and choose to see the situation upside down you'll notice what you've achieved till now. If you just keep aside the sleepless nights you'll see what those sleepless nights have given to you. They made you shine like a star in front of a crowd. You've been praised by many people in your lifetime. There may be many who broke your heart but there was always that one person who acted as the silver lining to your dark clouds. You're a great performer pile 2. You are a great friend. You are an overachiever despite facing so many challenges in your life. And you doubt your beauty? Come on!!!!! You have the quality of Jesus, self-sacrifice. You've sacrificed a lot to be where you are today. You are very good at balancing things, pile 2. Somewhere your career might be suffering nowadays but believe me you can manage. I hear, “We have come so far my dear look how we have grown.” Free yourself from all the wrong narratives of beauty you have got stuck in your brain. Beauty comes from within. Focus on grooming your soul and pull it out of the mud. You need emotional healing. You are too concerned about your relationships. You are everything a person can ask for. You don't need assurance from anybody. You don't even need it from me. You know that deep down ARE A BEAUTIFUL SOUL. Your dreams are waiting for you to achieve them. You think things through is your beauty. For some of you, I am getting that your sibling may be your strength. Those who stayed are the ones who know what you have. Those who force you to stay now don't know how to stop themselves from taking from you. You can sometimes be that addictive for people. Ask yourself what's there that you need to heal within. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

Rate Card

Booking Form

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: Temperance, The Fool, 5 of Pentacles, The Empress, Knight of Wands, The Star, 3 of Cups, 8 of Cups

Hello, my beautiful pile 3. I see that your beauty is that you stay with people through thick and thin. Even if you suffer you stay. You only walk away when you are not cherished or valued for what you are giving to another person. You have passion for life. You know your limits but you still carry yourself as if you are limitless. You stretch your dreams as far as you can. You are not afraid to demand. You don't think you deserve less but life at times throws difficulties your way. When the choice is needed to be made you realise that you're only human and you can only do so much. You have many wishes and there's no way that you feel you can't have them. Some of you may have life path 5. You are dreamers. Your beauty lies in your never-ending optimism. You work hard and smart. Your ideas are unmatchable. You not only think but show the world what we can dream we can achieve. I am amazed! So beautiful, pile 3. No one can stop you from achieving what you want and people around you know that. You have the strength to walk away from relationships that come in the way of your big goals. The world you want to create is just not about money. It's also about the community. As you have so many desires and things to do your life asks you to organize well so that you can perform tasks well and on time. It's important for you to not let yourself get involved in work that doesn't fit well with you. Your enthusiasm can sometimes take the best of you. Make sure you plan things through by not letting your passion go out of your hand. Last but not least you carry the faith of a child. If you once prayed for something you believe it's going to happen. It's a quality that adults struggle with but I am happy to see that you still carry faith in your heart. It is the only thing that is going to bring your dreams into reality. It's the most important ingredient, my friend. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

Rate Card

Booking Form

#your beauty never ever scared me #pick a pile reading #pick a pile tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a pile #beauty #you are beautiful #tarot reader #tarotblr #free tarot reading #message for the collective #tarot readings #tarot witch #tarot #tarotcommunity #pac reading #pick a picture

206 notes · View notes

thesupreme316 · 3 months

Note

I have had this stuck with me for a time now, wording this sucked.

So most/all AEW and WWE stars have taunts, iconic finishers, and submissions so I was thinking what if the reader used one of them ( Kenny’s V-trigger, HOOK’s redrum. Things like these) and their reaction to the move/taunt.

You can pick anyone and the number of people

AEW STARS REACT TO: You Doing Their Signature Move/Taunt

Pairings: Samoa Joe x Reader, Kenny Omega x Reader, Hook x Reader, Daniel Garcia x Reader, Dante Martin x Reader

Word Count: 728

Supreme Speaks: hey yall, sorry ive been MIA. School started and I've been student teaching, but also I'm starting to kind of lose motivation for this. but imma keep pushing through because damn it yall deserve it. but my inbox and messages are always open. please remember that you are loved, appreciated, and cherished.

Warnings: none i think. barely proofread this tbh

Taglist: @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @sheinthatfandom @triscillal @wwenhlimagines @kat04ie @batzy-watzy @cassie0sstuff

Backstory:

You are a very private person

You rarely discuss or even reference your friendships (or relationships)

But today?

You were feeling cocky and wanted to put it out on display

So during your match, while you looked at the crowd

And without another second going by….

You did the number one thing that your best friend (or significant other) was famous for

Something that was instantly recognizable

Making the crowd go wild

And the person you’re referencing grin from ear to ear

Kenny Omega

Get better king

Proud is an understatement

MOTHAFUCKA IS PRIDEFUL

Especially with how he’s out of action rn

He’s happy that that someone is keeping his memory present in the wrestling world

As soon as you hit the V-Trigger

A smile is on his face and his jumping up and down in his seat

Will not have any critiques for you

I think you would be the only person he gives blessing to full on adopt it

Especially after he see how’s the audience reacts to you doing it

Puts up instagram and twitter posts stating how proud and amazed he is of you

Will not hesitant to put those marks and trolls in their place

Hook

The smirk on his face would widened at what he was watching

He was so proud of you doing his submission the Redrum

Wouldn’t run wild or anything but anyone can see that he is so happy that you used his move

He would tease you as you come backstage

“Personally, you could have squeezed harder”

Will post about it with no captions

I find him wanting to do a tag match where both of you can do it at the same time

Get ready for Hook to do your move and or taunt in the next singles match he’s in

Just as a little nod or hint of acknowledgement

But be careful cause he’s competitive and wants to see who can do it better

Dante Martin

REMEMBER THAT SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULT HE USED TO DO ALL THE TIME

Yeah you do it

People were even amazed that you can move like that

Cause you don’t like flying

When he sees it, he immediately geeks out

“DID YOU SEE IT? HUH? THEY’RE AMAZING!”

I think he would spam on his instagram stories with videos of you doing and people’s reactions

The same night he would do your finisher to end the match

Would def tease you about it as if he was not running around screaming OMG

“Tbh, I had more height to my moonsault”

Daniel Garcia

THE DANCE

OMG THE DANCE

He is grinning ear to ear as he hears the crowd grow in cheers and excitement

Cause tbh you saw it as an idiotic move

But it makes him happy to know that he has your blessing

Would make you film a Tik Tok or reel with him while doing it

Tbh I can see him with a t-shirt of you doing it

Will now brag to his friends and ask you to “do the thing” like a proud person

Tbh will get jealous when fans say that you do it better than him

Then he forbids you from doing it

“I can’t have the student surpassing the teacher”

Samoa Joe

Once he sees you do the Muscle Buster once, he smirks but he acts like’s not proud

“Well, that was great for an amateur…”

Gives you tips about how to make it more impactful

Makes you join forces with him (almost think Athena and Billie Starks)

“Now you are ready to be a cold blooded killer…*looks at you skipping down the hall*…after some more sessions”

After you master the Muscle Buster, he makes you practice the Coquina Clutch

Once you master both, he’ll say that you are now ready for the dark side

Hates how you seem to do his finishers more seamlessly

OOOO

DON’T LET HIM SEE YOU DO THE WALK AWAY SPOT

THAT IS STRICTLY OFF LIMITS

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #daniel garcia #daniel garcia x reader #aew hook #aew hook imagine #aew hook x reader #kenny omega imagine #kenny omega x reader #kenny omega #samoa joe #samoa joe imagine #samoa joe x reader #aew dante martin #dante martin imagine #dante martin x reader

179 notes · View notes

spiteless-xo · 10 months

Note

since we're being semi soft today.... do u have any fluffy thoughts on any of the marley boys ?

🙊 i'm answering this out of order from the requests in my inbox because i was HOPING someone would ask this after i posted the fluffy thoughts on the other boys -- so thank you for this 🥰

╰┈➤ fluffy headcanons pt. 2 - aot.

ft. colt, reiner, porco, zeke. cw. gender neutral reader

⋙ colt grice.

colt coaches falco's soccer team. he gets up early in the morning, dressed in a fleece half-zip with some gloves to set up pylons on the field for the kids' drills. he knows every kid by name and doesn't give any special attention to falco just because he's his brother -- parents love him. doesn't notice that some of the younger moms are hitting on him until you point it out, and then he gets awkward and flustered every time he sees them.

please just picture this man with little pink-flushed cheeks from the early september chill, blowing steam into his hands to keep them warm. he's calling out encouragements to all the kids as they run back and forth on the field -- always praise, because they're just kids and this is only for fun. he looks back at stands and just beams at you, excited that you were willing to get up so early just to watch him coach a bunch of little kids

idk why, but in my head, colt is not funny 💀 like he just doesn't understand comedic timing and isn't quite a quick or sharp as some of the other boys, but he appreciates every single one of your jokes!! he absolutely kills himself laughing every time you make a joke and he gets so excited about them that he'll tell other people your jokes (poorly ��) but be laughing so hard they don't even understand him

ALWAYS kisses you and tells you that he loves you when he says goodbye. it's something that he does with falco already (that falco hates, btw), and one day it just slipped with you like "mwah! love you, bye!" and he goes beet red in embarrassment when he realizes, but you quickly kiss him back and now you do it every day 🥺

⋙ reiner braun.

this man only knows angst i think reiner really cherishes quiet moments of intimacy with you. like driving in the car with your hand laced in his, or having a nice meal at home that the two of you cooked together. it means a lot more to him if you show him that you love him through small gestures, instead of telling him.

he looooooooves head massages. he'll sit on the floor between your legs on the couch while the two of you watch tv so you can run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp. guy is vocal about it too, groaning and moaning when you rub his temples. 💀 and his knees go absolutely weak whenever you scratch his head

he has a really hard time falling asleep when he's alone 🥺 he gets really anxious at night sometimes, so if the two of you are apart he hardly gets any sleep at all -- but when you're in bed with him, this guy falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. he feels so safe and comfortable with you that it helps ease some of his worries just knowing that you're beside him.

if you roll away from him in bed when the two of you are sleeping together, guaranteed in a sleepy haze, this man is grabbing at the bed trying to find you again. the second his hand rests on your body, he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest -- sighing into your shoulder and sleepily kissing your neck. when you tell him about it the next day, he says he doesn't even remember doing it 😭

⋙ porco galliard.

porco is perpetually grumpy and bratty, except for when it comes to you. this man literally will talk to you in a baby voice when the two of you are alone together 💀 if you've ever seen those tiktoks where the girl calls her bf and makes him do the baby voice when he's with their friends -- that's porco.

like "babyyyy, i'm weawy hungee, can you make me a snack?" and he's looking up at you with big dumb eyes and a little pout while he rubs his belly. lowkey kinda cringe but the shift between his baby voice when he's alone with you and his normal voice when he's with the boys is just too funny 💀

also -- loves snacks. has a stash of chips and cookies and treats in the cupboard because he's always munching on something. if you're cooking dinner for him, he'll take a snack tax and munch on one of the foods you're prepping for dinner. you always tell him he's going to spoil his appetite, but he hasn't yet!

LOVES GOSSIP!! when the two of you are out with your friends and one of them says some out-of-pocket shit, you see porco in the corner of your eye looking at you like 👀 and you just KNOW he's going to talk about it on the car on the way home. in fact -- when the two of you go on road trips together, you don't even listen to any music. you just spend the entire time filling each other in with drama at work/school/etc. and gossiping about how other people's relationships aren't as good as yours 💀

⋙ zeke jaeger.

zeke is in his early thirties but he acts like an old man. whenever he gets up from sitting down he's pushing himself up with his hands and groaning. cracking his back with a loud moan. sighing heavily and collapsing into the couch like 💀

really into grilling? like spent a bunch of money on a fancy grill and now will take any excuse to have people over for a barbeque. he's got an apron that says something dumb like "women love me, fish fear me". you guys will be having a bbq and he's standing by the grill, watching the meat, with a pair of dark rayban sunglasses and a beer in his hand.

loves feeding you. like physically feeding you. like, if he wants you to try something that he cooked, he'll hold it in his fingers and get you to open his mouth for him 💀 he sets a little piece of cookie down on your tongue or between your teeth, and watch you expectantly as you chew it and tell him your opinion

loves building things, too. like you'll mention offhand that you think it'd be nice to have a garden and the next weekend he's coming home with planks of wood and building you raised garden beds 🥺 you don't even have to ask, he's just like "she wants a garden? ok, i'm on it!" and he immediately gets to work.

500 notes · View notes

vendetta-if · 8 months

Note

I sent this aske awhile ago, but I guess it got lost, so I'll send it again.

Considering the MC keeps and even still wears the matching rings, they gave Victor as a kid.

I'm curious how the LIs react if the MC used one of those rings to propose to them?

Although the Ash and Rin poly MC would probably offer both their dad's and their own ring, I'm not sure if MC would propose to them both at once or do a more personal one for each of them?

Sorry, asks usually get buried and I occasionally try my best to sometimes dig through my inbox and answer some of the older ones 😣😔

Ash

They would say no at first because they know how much it means to MC. After all, they helped MC get it and was there when MC gave it to Viktor for Father’s Day.

They would try to convince MC that they don’t need to do this and that MC can just get them another simple band/ring for them. It doesn’t have to be the one with such profound sentiment for MC.

If MC insists, then they’ll accept it gingerly and they’ll wear it everyday; they promise to take care of it with their life.

Rin

Similar to Ash, they’d be very hesitant. They are also aware of the importance of the ring to MC. They promise, they’d be satisfied with any other “normal” rings MC get them. Just stick with the classic gold or diamond ring.

But if MC insists, they’ll accept it hesitantly but deep inside, they are actually really touched. Sure, physically, the ring might be cheap and made out of simple stainless steel, but what matters of course is the meaning it holds for MC, and that itself makes it more valuable than any other rings on earth. There’s nothing like it.

For MC to entrust it to them, is a symbol of pure and utmost trust and loyalty MC has for them and they will repay it tenfold.

Santana

Honestly, as sweet as the gesture may be, it might not be the best for Santana. Viktor’s ring, being the only thing that Viktor really cherished that he had access to near the end of his life… It’s safe to assume that it’s imbued with the strong memory and emotions of what Viktor felt and went through that fateful night that just won’t go away even after years.

Their biggest concern is they can accidentally trigger it, especially when they are just tired or down, and they would feel like it would be such a violation of privacy somehow. Not to mention the intense feeling and trauma as well.

So, they’d probably try to say no and decline, and ask MC for just a simple ring or any other ring. But if MC still insists, they’ll take it, especially because they don’t want to hurt MC’s feelings and they love MC and if they accidentally triggered the memory in the future, they’ll just have to endure it like always.

Skylar

Whoa, are you sure MC? It’s rare for them to feel unsure, but they definitely are right now, and it’s all because of this simple band of ring that MC presents to them.

This is one of a kind ring, MC, and nothing in this world will be able to replace it and all the memories that clings to it. This is a big responsibility and not something to trifle with, but at the same time, this is also a symbol of trust and devotion MC has for them and they are just overwhelmed with joy.

They’ll accept it and they swear they won’t ever take it off. Not long after that, suddenly, a simple black ring is in fashion in the city, especially when worn in a chain around the neck 😭

#asks #ro reactions #ro: ash #ro: rin #ro: santana #ro: skylar #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #dashingdon #choicescript #if game #if wip

250 notes · View notes

zabiume · 1 month

Note

LOVED your response to the ichihime ask about ichigo's feelings, and i guess i wanted to add to it by asking how you would envision ichigo's crush on her, what kind of thoughts he would think, because he's very hard to read in the romance department lol

i got another ask similar to this one about ichigo's feelings, but my inbox seems to have eaten it up because i don't see it here anymore (even though the number of unread asks it says i have still hasn't changed...), so i guess i'll answer them both here

i mean, we know their first meeting had a big impact on ichigo, even if orihime herself doesn't remember the encounter, and we also know based on what he says to rukia that he'd kind of been keeping an eye on her ever since their paths crossed in high school, so i'd say it began as a kindred soul thing: she lost someone close to her, he lost someone close to him, he knows what it's like, so he can't help but keep an eye out for her, worry about her, etc. he notes that she gets hurt every day, so i'm guessing it was a kind of situation where he'd be minding his own business or going his own way and then out of the corner of his eye, he hears/catches sight of her getting into something clumsy as usual. a dropped book here, a loud crash there.

i'd say his feelings at this time are pretty similar to orihime's feelings in the 'one way sympathies' chapter. he begins to understand her or feel closer to her because of this loss, but they're not necessarily close friends so he can't explain why he feels close to her. he mostly just ignores it all as background noise unless she's directly in front of him. we also know that she told him about her brother and her hairpins some time pre-canon, so maybe she brought it up in casual conversation once ("i never go anywhere without them" etc etc) and ichigo remembered it because he remembers seeing her and sora at the clinic and he knows how much sora meant to her. it's not unreasonable to guess that, having sisters of his own, he could kind of put himself in that situation and feel vehement about that happening to his own sisters. who would take care of them if he died? little sisters need big brothers, and having lost hers, ichigo probably couldn't help but really feel for her.

i think it's important to remember that ichigo ends up caring about people deeply very easily. after orihime encourages him to save rukia, and after she accompanies him with his other friends to help him fight a battle that has nothing to do with her, i think it's safe to say he's touched and he considers her a friend–and a cherished one at that, since she ends the arc by telling him she's sorry she couldn't protect him. ichigo doesn't get to hear people say things like that to him often, because he's....usually the one saying them. so his face in that moment speaks of fondness, tenderness, maybe even a little gratitude as orihime cries about his well-being.

ichihime really gets its push in the HM arc, though, i mean it's no surprise that the amount of ichihime fanfics probably tripled in number after the arc began. and for good reason! it's kind of incredible how many times orihime gets singled out this arc even before she gets kidnapped, like the time ichigo promised to protect her, even though chad and tatsuki were also there and also injured. it's clear that he feels like he's got something to prove in front of her, and i think, at the time, he justifies it to himself as needing to make it up to her because he let his own insecurities about his hollow get in the way of protecting her from yammy. and i don't think he's even lying to himself about it. ichigo was very, very occupied with his own trauma and the plot constantly happening all the time so i think he was satisfied with surface-level reasons of, "she's a pacifist, she has trauma with her brother and THAT'S why i've got to personally make it up to her."

but i do think, deep down, he has this tendency to only ever want to look good and strong and kind in orihime's eyes, because he likes the way she looks at him when she lets some of that love and admiration shine through. he's seen it before and i think he's a little addicted to it, because when he later remembers moments where he was proud to be a shinigami, orihime shows up there twice, both times crying about how much she cares about him lol. he clearly loves it whenever she expresses her feelings for him, though i don't think he's examining it as anything deeper than the simple joy of making his friends happy.

the repeated hand motif is another thing that i think is an important indicator of how ichigo feels at the time. here's a post i made about it a while ago that never came out of the drafts:

all this to say, i think ichigo has a feeling all throughout the HM arc that orihime left her heart with him when she said goodbye. he doesn't know how to justify this feeling, just that it exists and it's strong and he needs to prove to her that he won't be letting her down. the anime surprisingly rounds this out nicely by having ichigo hold her hand after the grimmjow fight, but so much of ichigo's behavior this arc feels like the narrative's response to orihime's insecurities about their bond in chapter 199. ichigo does some pretty balls-to-the-walls crazy things this arc for orihime, so it's kind of like he's responding to her confession with magnanimous action of his own (though he doesn't know that's what he's doing; it's subconscious behavior, coming from the part of him that heard her even when he himself was asleep—his heart. this repeats for a second time when he dies at the tower but his heart hears her again. not the physical, beating thing of course, but the metaphysical thing that transcends physical form). what does orihime mean to him at this point in the story? he would say she's his friend, of course, but to us it's clear that their bond continually reminds him of what he's fighting for. he sealed his promise to her with the kanji that makes up his name. his life's purpose lies in protecting people, and as long as there's someone to protect, someone he promised to protect, he'll never die.

fullbring arc shakes things up by a) having them get closer as friends who share mundane interests, like reading the same manga or sharing mutual friends (esp tatsuki, who he seems to have made up with) or just chilling and hanging out in his room and b) having him actually acknowledge that orihime wants to protect him, too, and is now actually capable of doing that. before, ichigo could easily brush her under the wing of his protection, but it's here that he's got to contend with the fact that he might have an equal soon—a potential battle partner, which is something he's never had before going into horn of salvation.

which brings us to the 10-year-timeskip. i've said it before, but once the surface-level reason of wanting to protect her, just like he wants to protect everyone, is swept away, i do think he's got time and space to consider the fact that he might actually have a crush on her. AKA, this, to me, is the first time he realizes it for what it is and says it out loud to himself. he's always been able to distract himself or justify his feelings to himself using plot events before, but they're in a period of peace now and that's when i think he realizes that he wants to be with her. i don't think he could have ever had that realization if he was still paranoid about her safety, because duty comes first to him, but now that he's not, i think he realizes that he just likes spending time with her and spending hours in his room, with or without their friends, just talking and relaxing. they grew up together and she's seen every side of him—pre-powers, shinigami, hollow, quincy, powerless, what have you—so i think it moves him, knowing that she's been by his side through it all, seeing him up close in all his forms and versions, and maybe he's ready now for her to see what he's like as a lover too. if she'd love that version of him, just like she did with everything else! he's sensitive and protective of his own feelings, so he'd only make that move once he had a guarantee that it would be accepted. that he would be accepted. and orihime has obviously always tried to accept him for who he is, even when he was at his worst, so he feels safe in giving this side to her too!

#sorry this is so long; i just have very specific opinions about ichigo's feelings that i can't summarize with a shorter post😅#ichihime #asks #to the other older asks in my inbox....i'm sorry but i literally can't see them anymore😭 idk why this is happening #i think most of ichigo having a crush is just him going: i wonder what inoue is doing...i wonder if inoue got home safe...#i wonder if inoue would come over today if i found the right reason to invite her...👉👈#inoue looks so nice..let me not look at her at all and then scream if uryu or chad make a comment about it #he's very smart but he's also very dumb <3

59 notes · View notes

wordbreaker · 3 months

Text

The Taming of the Dragon, 3 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

-ˋˏ previous chapter ✶ following chapter ✶ ao3 ✶ my inbox ˎˊ-

How ironic for the House of Fire and Blood to concern itself with Water.

Driftmark and its succession haunted everyone's thoughts. A blue thorn in the back of those who held the kingdom together.

Aemond’s last vision of Driftmark had been one of blood and pain. Crimson waves had washed away his admiration for the endless sea and the sunny horizon. The only cherished memory he held close to his heart was Vhagar. The rest, he preferred to forget. His eye, hidden under his leather patch, seemed to burst into flame. The pain, petty and merciless, reminded him that he would never be able to get rid of this evening.

Lucerys Strong deserved neither Water nor Fire, and certainly not Driftmark.

The blood fever that kept Corlys Valeryon bedridden cured Aemond’s eternal suffering. Boiling water calmed the dragon's fire which, for ten years, had never stopped dancing and burning those who got too close. He was already looking forward to seeing his nephew's shoulders slumping, his chin drooping and his brown eyes glistening. The only sea he would rule would be that of his tears. Aemond had no regard for the succession of the island—the affairs of the Valeryons had long ceased to interest him—but the prospect of seeing the sadness and disappointment painted on his bastard nephew’s childish face would bring him more joy than any present.

For Lucerys Valeryon would not win, not when Otto Hightower sat on the Iron Throne in his father’s stead.

His half-sister, armed with her usual gall, would parade her bastards around shamelessly, proclaiming loud and clear that Driftmark was rightfully theirs. He laughed, alone in his quarters.

Lucerys Valeryon was not a leader and certainly not a lord. He remembered the little boy who always hid behind his older brother, always involved in Aegon's tasteless pranks. Lucerys Valeryon—no, Strong—was just a rag doll with no backbone, given life and the desire to rule by the stupid words his whore of a mother had insisted on pounding into his head.

“Your Highness, your mother the Queen asks that you join her at the gates.”

Aemond dismissed the servant with a nod and took one last look at his mirror. His violet eye lingered on the piece of leather that crossed half his face—the continuation of the scar on his cheek. No. Lucerys Strong didn't deserve Driftmark.

He turned and stomped off towards the entrance, leaving behind him the glimmering shadow of a blade which, that evening ten years ago, had blinded him as much as the blow.

The prince left his chambers. He could already see himself in the throne room, tired of listening to the pleas of people whose blood was supposedly as pure as his own. Vaemond and Rhaenyra would strut into the Red Keep and then into the throne room, chins up, shoulders straight—the very image of pride—to fight for a bloodline that was doomed. The dynasty of Old Valyria, tainted by the vices of a woman and the obsession of a man. The blood in their veins did not bleed red; their wrongs had blackened it.

Like many other houses, the Valeryon dynasty would kill itself, leaving behind only bastards and stagnant water. Aemond would feast on their demise in silence but with a certain jubilation.

“Do you know why I have been summoned?” he asked his sworn protector.

“Your sister the princess has arrived, Your Highness.”

His only eye twitched with anger. Of course she had. He took a deep breath but continued walking. The corridors of the Red Keep flashed by with his hurried steps.

The sooner he greeted them, the sooner he could leave.

Aemond soon reached the great doors. They alone separated him from his past. The swollen skin of his eye throbbed. It seemed to boil. Water had defeated fire once. He clenched his fist. Sometimes he felt like ripping off half his face. The pain had never subsided. It lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to leap up and paralyse him.

The sapphire in his eye socket had done nothing to appease his sorrow nor his pain. It was just a way for his mother to forget her son was now just a crippled. Its colour would always remind him of Driftmark. He carried the sea in his eye and, when he dared to face his reflection in the mirror, was reminded of it daily.

At the sight of him, the soldiers posted on either side of the doors opened them. He held his breath and rushed outside. The cool wind whipped across his face, calming for a few seconds the storm that was growing inside him. A few soldiers were training here and there. Others were making their rounds.

Aemond looked around but didn't see his mother, his grandfather and certainly not his father, confined to bed by illness and old age. This impotence had brought them this far. Vaemond Valeryon would never have dared contradict the King if he could still defend his beloved child.

Viserys was the cause of many things.

A roar made him raise his head. The long body of Caraxes twisted to land in the courtyard. Its red scales reminded Aemond of the flags his mother had had removed and replaced with the symbols of the Seven. His uncle, Daemon Targaryen, as proud as ever, dismounted nonchalantly, Black Sister swinging from his belt. Aemond dreamed of touching, even brushing his fingertips against, the legendary sword.

A relic of the Conquest.

Aemond did not feel the same visceral hatred for his uncle that sometimes paralysed him. Admiration and respect for Daemon mixed with rage to create an intoxicating concoction.

He only felt that way with another person, whom he preferred to leave to the beach and the night.

Syrax's yellow scales sparkled in his field of vision and tore the thin smile that had so far tugged at Aemond's lips. Vermax and Arrax, small as they were, enraged him to no end. One by one, the dragons landed and shook the ground. A dust storm whirled around and reached Aemond at the top of the steps. He rubbed his black tunic with his hand and gloated when he saw that none of their mounts compared to Vhagar, not even the Blood Wyrm. The prince felt a deep sense of satisfaction at this. It ran through his veins and soothed him.

Aemond, in a rare childish whim, refused to pay the slightest attention to Luke. The pain in his eye seemed to intensify at the mere proximity of the boy. He resisted the urge to cup the left side of his face and straightened his shoulders. The rustle of a cloth drew him from his thoughts. His mother stopped beside him and gave him a thin smile. Worry deepened the wrinkles that, over the years, had multiplied around her eyes and her lips, which were always pursed.

Jacaerys dismounted his dragon. His nephew, though still plain-looking, had grown. His build had thickened and reminded him of a certain Harwin Strong. He chuckled. His mother placed a hand on his forearm. A warning. He didn't care. No one could deny that his sister's first three children were bastards. Even a blind man wasn't naive enough to believe the sweet lies that his whore sister's angelic face spouted.

“Embrot.”

“Inkot!”

“Jātās! Jātās I said!”

Orders in High Valyrian rang out.

A horde of dragonkeepers, covered head to toe in their black armour, surrounded the newcomers and busied themselves around the restless beasts.

Dragonstone, carved out of cold stone, was warmed only by the fire of the wild dragons that populated the island. There were no keepers in this fortress. The dragons knew only their riders and would kill anyone who dared approach them. Arrax tried to char one of the guards, completely ignoring Luke's panicked cries.

If he couldn't control his dragon, how could he hope to rule Driftmark? The Blacks’ nerve could not erase reality—they were undeserving.

Aemond's eyes feasted on this spectacle of incompetence, but his smile soon faded when he spotted a female figure, a whirl of pale skin and brown hair, among the guards.

Snow.

He frowned and watched her walk towards Vermax. She raised her arms towards the dragon, palms outstretched, to calm it down. Beside her, Jace, instead of following his family as they gradually drew closer to Aemond and his mother, began to talk to her. Their heads came closer together. Aemond watched Lucella throw her head back and laugh, all under his nephew's satisfied gaze.

The prince clenched his fists. Why was she there? Wasn't she his dragon's appointed keeper? Vhagar needed her more than that miserable Vermax.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lucella suddenly met his gaze. She frowned and turned back to Jace, who noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow. An unpleasant sensation lodged in Aemond's chest and made him itch.

Two bastards together. He laughed at the thought, but his hilarity painfully hit his throat. A lump had got stuck there and was choking him. Why did he feel the need to come between them, to pull Lucella away from his nephew? His hands tingled. Thousands of small needles were screaming at him to do something, not to let the snow be contaminated by water.

The dragon's fire blazed in his chest, burning away any sense of sanity.

He wanted Jacaerys to perish in the flames of his rage.

Aemond hadn't seen her for a week. Yet her face and the contours of her lips had never left him. She haunted him. In the evenings, her accentuated voice echoed in his thoughts.

Since their eventful meeting, Lucella and Aemond had crossed paths several times on the beach. Their shared love for Vhagar prevented them from killing each other, although he often felt like doing so, for Lucella Snow couldn't keep her mouth shut. The few times they spoke, her sharp words, as sharp as a blade, cut into the cage around his chest.

This cordial understanding soothed his senses and prevented him from dreading his visits to the beach. He had given up going out alone at night, for Lucella Snow never left his side, even when she wasn't there. He couldn't ride his dragon without thinking of the keeper.

She kept looking after Vhagar. The carcasses of charred sheep and game piled up on the beach, staining the white sand with their blood. The dragonkeeper avoided him. He didn't know why. Nothing had changed in their exchanges. Their duels of words, the winner of which always varied, had retained the same tenor, the same intelligence.

What had made her run away from him?

Lucella Snow had blended into the background, disappeared into the shadows, and escaped his blind spot. Aemond should have been happy. No more northern bastard with an unpleasant accent raging in his ears and insulting him at every turn. Yet something prevented him from rejoicing at this absence. He felt he was losing control and hated it.

Across from Jacaerys, Lucella burst out laughing.

He had never made her laugh. His insults sometimes drew a smile, though it was always tinged with resentment, and, more rarely, a snort. Lucella Snow didn't laugh. She would glare and insult you.

Lucella Snow was no laughing matter. You had to decipher her Nordic gibberish, which— intermingled with the insults and stubborn retorts to always have the last word—became particularly irritating.

And yet, Lucella Snow was laughing out loud with his nephew. His plain nephew. Aemond railed against the bastard who, like his mother, stole everything that didn't belong to him. Driftmark, the Iron Throne... And now Lucella Snow and her laugh.

That melodious sound, so clear, so different from her hoarse voice, stayed with him all day. He nodded absent-mindedly to his half-sister and her bastards. Neither Vaemond's nor Rhaenyra's plea echoed in his eardrums. All he could hear was her laughter, and all he could see was her face, her pink, stretched lips revealing astonishingly white teeth. Her hair went round and round in his mind.

He closed his only eye and prayed for a moment's respite, but the Gods turned a deaf ear to his plea.

His father burst in, reaffirmed Driftmark's succession to Lucerys, Vaemond dared to say what everyone else was thinking and lost his head in the process. His sister yelped; his brother turned his head; Aemond remained motionless for that damned laughter never left his thoughts and drove him mad.

He clenched his fists as his eye stared blankly at Vaemond's decapitated head.

Lucella Snow was driving him mad, whether she was there or not.

That evening, she still hadn't left his thoughts. He kept seeing the image of her, head back, smiling. Happy. Happy to talk to Jacaerys. Jacaerys, sitting next to Aegon—who was already drowning in wine—and his betrothed, was talking as if nothing had happened. As if he had not encroached on Aemond's territory. This made him furious. He sank into his usual silence but felt flames dancing in his chest. He waited and waited.

It was Luke's sneer when the roast pork was served that made him snap. His hand came down on the table and shook the glasses. Aemond took hold of his, still full, and raised it in the direction of the only two brown-haired boys, yet another example of their difference, their defect.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”

“Aemond.”

“Come... let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” said Jacaerys, whose cheeks had become flushed.

The echo of a laugh resounded in his skull. The ghost of his nephew leaned towards Lucella. Aemond’s eye twitched. His thoughts darkened.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The bastard dared to punch him. Aemond threw one back and was delighted to hear his jaw crack. Their mothers stepped in as Aegon grabbed Luke by the hair and slammed his head against the solid oak table. Aemond could not contain his chuckled. He was reborn in the chaos and the pain of his nephew. His nephew who had dared to speak to Lucella, his dragonkeeper. Who had dared to make her laugh.

His mother dismissed him. He happily complied. Another second in Jacaerys' presence and he would have had to deal with much more than just a punch in the cheek. The fire that was burning every inch of his flesh—and whose first spark had ignited in the remnant of his eye—was not subsiding.

The flames intensified. They would consume him if he didn't get out of here.

Once outside, Aemond automatically headed for the Dragonpit. Fight fire with fire. He would feed off the dragons’ chaos and rejoice in their hot breath.

The prince didn't dare dwell on why. Why hadn't he headed for the beach, where he was sure to find Vhagar? Aemond kept quiet about this question—the answer to which he knew but didn't want to admit—and rushed into the pit.

His heart missed a beat and seemed to speed up at the same time.

Near the stairs where the Pink Dread had appeared years before, Lucella, staff in hand, was leading the dragons of Rhaenyra's clan forward. The eminent departure of the heiress to the throne had been quickly made known. The decision had been taken in haste. Rhaenyra would return to Dragonstone, where she reigned over her vices. King's Landing would no longer be contaminated by bastardy and manipulation. His grandfather and mother had made sure of that.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” Snow's husky voice drew him from his thoughts. “Calm down. I don't want to use that.”

She shook her long wooden stick. Aemond had never seen Lucella use one. The other guardians never parted with it. They pricked the dragons' sides shamelessly and hit them when the creatures dared to rebel. Lucella did not stoop to such barbaric techniques. Her voice alone was enough to tame the most savage beasts. She had, after all, managed to bond with Vhagar.

Dragonkeepers forgot that the creatures in their care deserved respect and admiration. Only Snow understood this.

She grazed rather than poked Caraxes' rib.

Reluctance to hurt.

Without being able to explain it, Aemond felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that she didn't need a stick when she was looking after Vhagar. The bond between the Northwoman and his dragon was unique. The first non-Targaryen to be able to touch her without dying.

A Northern girl who could tame dragons. She would inspire the minstrels of Flea Bottom, whose songs would overflow with metaphors about snow and fire. Lucella was a conundrum that Aemond couldn't decipher.

He hated not knowing. He had prided himself on his intelligence ever since he lost his eye. Luke had taken away his beauty, he would shine with his mind. Philosophy, science, nothing held any secrets for him except Lucella Snow, who symbolised everything her native land was not.

The first time he had seen her, he had put her relationship with Vhagar down to luck. Perhaps his dragon, just as curious as he was, had become attached to this mongrel from the North. The days had passed. They had met again and Aemond had had to admit that the keeper knew what she was doing. He even dared to use the word “gift”, for no other dragon keeper possessed such an ability to tame beasts as she did: with love and respect.

For the first time in the history of Westeros, snow resisted fire. Ever white and strong, it extinguished flames.

Aemond did not move. He remained at the entrance of the pit and watched from a distance as Lucella calmed Caraxes with great gestures. The red dragon twisted in all directions to avoid her hands, but she was not discouraged. Her voice became firmer. He stiffened as he heard her order Daemon's dragon not to move.

“Lucella!”

The woman turned her head. One of the keepers appeared on the staircase. She was reluctant to leave the Blood Wyrm in the hands of one of the Elders. He had to pull her arm away from it. The Elder grabbed her staff and struck a clean blow into Caraxes' side. The dragon roared. A few waves of smoke escaped from his snout. A warning. Lucella clenched her fist and looked as if she wanted to say something to the Elder, but the other keeper called to her again. She joined him, shoulders tense, eyebrows furrowed.

Aemond watched them talk. From here, he couldn't tell what they were saying, but it seemed serious. They whispered urgently and glanced at the staircase. The keeper pointed to it. Lucella nodded. Aemond watched the girl disappear down the stairs. Something urged him to act. He pushed against the unpleasant memories—a winged pig and a dragon ready to char him— and followed.

Aemond could not see a thing. The dragons' only source of light was their fire. The guards armed themselves with torches to navigate this labyrinth of great galleries and endless corridors. Lucella strode with disconcerting ease in the complete darkness. A few torches here and there illuminated their surroundings, but he had to squint to make out Lucella's silhouette walking at a hurried pace.

Seeing that dragons were condemned to darkness, Aemond was glad that Vhagar didn't have to live in there. His gaze remained fixed on Lucella. She walked without hesitation. The pit held no secrets for her. She knew exactly where she was going and why. His guide in the dark.

“I have not seen you on the beach for a long time. Are you not supposed to be tending to Vhagar? The dunes and the fresh air are probably more pleasant than this… rat hole,” he glanced around wearily.

Lucella flinched, as she did every time they met. A small smile stretched Aemond's mouth. She was almost cute, startled out of her wits. He instantly chastised himself. Lucella Snow was not cute: she was an angry and sarcastic woman who constantly made inappropriate remarks.

The keeper rolled her eyes.

“What are yeh doin’ ere? Don't yeh ‘ave princely duties to attend t’?”

She had quickly abandoned all politeness. Had she ever had any? Their first encounters had exuded a certain reserve that annoyance had swept aside with a wave of its hand. The North and its lack of manners had quickly caught up with her. Aemond still couldn't understand why she spoke to him as if he were a commoner and not the prince, son of her king. The North may have worshipped their Warden, the Starks, but the Targaryen monarchy and power did not stop at the Neck.

“Vhagar don’t need me all th’ time,” she finally said when she saw he wouldn't answer. “She ‘as a rider. Would be good if he remembered. ‘ave neither t’ desire or t’ patience to carry dead sheep on me shoulder every day.”

“You are a dragonkeeper. The crown houses you, feeds you and gives you money to look after dragons.”

“Aye! Dragons. Not just one. Vhagar can look aftah ‘erself for a few hours. She survived Aegon's conquest, she'll survive three hours withou’ a pat on t’ ribs. Sunfyre needs me, Dreamfyre too. ‘nd wi’ Rhaenyra... Four more dragons is nah mean feat, let me tell yeh tha’. Not tha’ it matters anymore. People say you've lightened me workload. I thank yeh for tha’. I don't s’ppose dinnah went well? Was the meat not cooked to yer liking, yer ‘ighness?”

Lucella curtsied ungracefully. Her favourite mockery. Each time, she reminded him that she didn't care about his royal title.

“It concerns you not.”

“Hm… Well,” she shrugged. “I guess wine will loosen yer brother's tongue soon enough. Th’ Street of Silk is t’ best place t’ learn royal business. Everyone says so.”

She turned left into a seemingly endless corridor. He didn't know exactly how long they had been walking or the reason for this expedition.

“Just wish I could’ve looked after Vermax a litt’ longer. Tha’ an interesting character right ther’”

He laughed. It sounded bitter.

“His rider as well, I suppose?”

She turned and stared at him but said nothing. Lucella continued to advance into the pit. Aemond followed. An unpleasant feeling weighed down his shoulders. He opened his mouth several times but could not come up with something satisfactory to say. The image of her laughing at Jacaerys flashed in his mind. How had he done it?

“Do you not miss working in the pit?” he finally asked.

“Nay. It's not healthy t’ be so immersed in the dark. Some o’ t’ guards ‘ave gone mad. Even the North ‘s more welcoming. The dark always passes. Not ’ere. I prefer t’ beach, even if it means yeh’re there,” she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Vhagar is happier than any o’ those dragons. It's awful, t’ way they're treated. If I ‘ad me way, they'd be flyin’ free over King's Landing. A dragon is no slave that can be chained up in t’ dark ‘nd taken out when its rider wants t’ get some fresh air. I've always– Look out!”

Lucella pulled him out of the path of the flames. A dragon, illuminated by the blaze, appeared in his field of vision for a few seconds and disappeared into the darkness just as quickly. His heart pounded against his chest. His hands trembled. He saw himself again, ten years earlier, in the same position. He closed his eye.

“Fuck!”

Lucella screamed in pain. The distinctive smell of charred flesh rose to his nose. Aemond looked down. In the darkness, he could make out the keeper’s burnt arm. She yelped. The sound tore at Aemond's heart.

A rumble sounded, followed by a second. One by one, the dragons awoke. Lucella swore.

Despite her injury, she pulled the prince towards the exit. He followed her like a puppet, with no resistance in his limbs.

She was touching him.

For the first time.

They left the darkness behind them. Aemond's violet eye fell on Lucella's arm. Her armour had taken the brunt of the attack, but leather was no match for the Dracarys of an enraged dragon. Iron, dragonglass, Valyrian steel... The fire nibbled at everything, leaving nothing but ashes. The usually pale flesh of the female keeper was now nothing but a jumble of black and pink. Melted leather had mixed with the raw wound. He grimaced. It would leave a scar. Only now did Aemond notice that, unlike the other guards, Lucella's face and body had not been marred by the flames.

Before him and his careless mistake, a small, petty voice whispered to him. He did not try to quiet it. It was right. Because of his stupidity, she was suffering. A lump caught in Aemond's throat.

They went out of the pit, onto the open arena. Lucella grumbled under her breath. She berated him for having followed her and distracted her.

“Princes ‘ave no business in the pit! Yeh always want t’ play great lords… saviours… Whatevah! And yeh expect people t’ pick up the pieces yer idiocy caused! The nerve of yeh!”

Hatred took over and soothed her suffering. He let her scream. Perhaps that was the best remedy, for, no doubt, the adrenalin would soon evaporate and leave her weak and feverish.

“We must treat the wound as quickly as possible. I will summon Maestre Mullynn. He'll know what to do. He's the one who stitched up my eye, so he'll probably be able to–”

“Leave me be. Yeh’ve done enough. Go do what princes do. Fuck a whore, play knight, whatevah... I don’t give no fuck. Go.”

For once, he didn't comment on her vulgarity and simply repeated what he had just said. If she didn't see a Maester and treat her burns immediately, she risked much more than a simple scar. Aemond dared to put a hand on her shoulder.

The feel of her skin against his made him lose his train of thought. In his heart, a flame different from the others ignited. He leaned into this pleasant, softer, warmth.

Lucella jerked away from his grasp and stomped on the flame, leaving him cold as stone. She held back a cry of pain through clenched teeth and pressed her arm against her chest. One eye wasn't enough to hide the tremors that shook her arm. He clenched his fist. He would carry her all the way to Maestre Mullynn if he had to. Lucella had to treat that arm.

“I must insist... He–”

“Get lost, for fuck’s sake!”

Aemond stood still, surprised by the explosion. He was not facing a Northern bastard, but a dragon. A dragon ready to destroy everything in its path. In her amber eyes burned the flame of resentment. She had become the Stranger and promised death to anyone who dared stand in her way. Aemond had come close to Death many times. It had never looked so frightening.

He watched her walk away helplessly, her hand trembling on her fragile arm.

His eye itched. He didn't understand why.

As he passed through the gates of the Red Keep, Ser Criston Cole summoned him to the Small Council Chamber. His mother told him that his father, the King, had died and that Aegon was to be crowned.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He was not sad.

68 notes · View notes

bbimharuuu · 1 year

Text

Reader in Yandere! HOTD 4

Hi lovelies 💕 Sorry for not updating fast enough, I was in the middle of an exam week so I tried my best to update. Here's part four, hopefully I can finish the requests and asks in my inbox before starting on pt. 5! Enjoy :)

‌Seeing all of your family member standing there was surreal for you. Your father was nowhere to be seen but Daemon said that he's busy with other businesses.

‌You ignored the growing suspicion inside of you, not wanting to look uneasy when such a happy atmosphere was engulfing the family.

‌Yesterday the servants helped you pack your stuff with Ser Criston Cole guarding. You don't know the man too much, but it seemed he's close with the royal family, especially Queen Alicent's family. Now standing next to your step-mother, gone was the calm and soft look he gave you yesterday. Instead it was replaced with a hard and cold gaze as your step-mother walks slowly to you.

‌She smiled at you, but it always looks the same. Tense, not reaching her eyes, just for formality. But now you noticed an underlying fear in her eyes as she placed a small box in your hands. "Take this. It seems I have...overstepped my boundaries."

‌You tilted your head in confusion. Never once was she rude to you, so you're mentally asking yourself why she's acting this way. But before you could ask her, Rhaenyra placed her hand on your shoulder, turning you around as your step-mother was escorted away by guards.

‌"How are you, my child? It seems that lady has given, or to be more exact returned one of your belongings."

‌"Mine?" You asked before opening it. It was one of the many necklaces your step-mother wore. You remembered your father giving her this for her name day, but why was this given to you? "Why did she gave me this necklace?"

‌Rhaenyra sighed, brushing away locks of your hair behind your ear. "It's far too complicated of a story to tell my child. Let's just say that your mother was...still is my most cherished friend. Losing her is one of my most deepest regrets, and I will not lose you too."

‌You nodded, playing with your fingers as you listened to Rhaenyra. It seemed that your mother was very close to the royal family, but it's still a mystery to you. "Why? Why was she close to you?"

‌"Because she has always been with me even before my mother died. I would like to tell you all of the stories, but now is not the time. When you arrive, then I'll tell you stories about your mother," Rhaenyra smiled before pushing the box to you. "Keep this safe [Name]. It's a gift from your mother before she died."

‌Now that caught your attention, glancing back at the necklace before nodding to Rhaenyra. She hugged you before ushering you away to get ready to leave. You look back towards your siblings, all standing there with nervous looks. You didn't feel sad for leaving them, maybe you'll miss their presence but you know you'll be friends with people. You raised your hand slowly before waving at them, walking backwards before getting ready to leave.

‌The family decides for you to travel using Corlys ship before you try to ride a dragon, claiming it was too dangerous if you have no experience. You did see them in the distance, feelin in awe at their presence and size. Daemon promised he'll help you get used to riding dragons when they'll be back, maybe even letting his daughters help you when they claimed their own dragons.

‌Corlys beamed with happiness as he ushered you to his ship, flaunting it as he explained the history and the significance. It was very interesting to you as you looked around, asking questions here and there to quell your curiosity. Rhaenys soon came along, who chided her husband for already overwhelming you too much. But you reassured her that it's fine, that it's very interesting for you to learn.

‌You heard Rhaenys mumbling something along the lines of 'Always curious, just like her mother.' You kept quiet though, not wanting to take your eyes off the sea as the ship sailed away.

‌Turns out, it was truly boring for you to see only sea everywhere you look. You huffed as you sat down next to Rhaenys. You remembered the box of necklace in your small bag, grabbing it before putting it on the table. "I want to know my mother, please?"

‌Rhaenys chuckled before lowering her book. "What do you want to know? It seems that you're almost bursting because of the questions inside your head."

‌You opened the box. "I want to know her relationship with you, all of you. My father told me she died in childbirth, but it seemed it was all lies. He never told me about her house, her family, anything. I've never been so...interested with her life before any if you came along."

‌Rhaenys smiled softly at you. "Your mother is special to all of us because many different reasons. For me, it was because your mother was always fighting and being a brave little thing. Not wanting to back down from a challenge. Yet she still kept her grace as a lady. She grew close to my family after she grew close to Viserys and Rhaenyra."

‌You bit your lip. So your mother had a very close relationship with the family for a long time. It seemed that they cherished her so much, yet they never knew much about her death. "What about her death? Did she run away from all of you?"

‌Rhaenys looked away, face growing tense. It was quiet for a long time, only the crackling fire from the candle was heard. "Your mother's house was not a well known one. One day it collapsed because the Lord was not managing it very well. Your mother was sent away to marry your father to pay the Lord's debt."

‌You grimaced about the fate of your mother. Rhaenys exhaled softly before continuing. "It was shocking news for all of us. We went to ask the Lord of the house for her whereabouts but he vanished into thin air. We searched for her all the time yet we never succeeded. We only knew about your whereabouts because a servant came forward, claiming that your mother was living amongst them."

‌"Amongst...them?" You frowned. Odd choice of words, but maybe the servant chose the wrong words to tell that your mother was still living.

‌"Tell me," Rhaenys tapped her fingers on the table. "Have you ever met a servant rushing around to work with you or near you?"

‌You looked away, trying to remember if any servants did that. Most of them kept their distance with you, only a few came to your aid sometimes. You shook your head, glancing back at Rhaenys.

‌"It seemed you have forgotten about a certain maid that once came to your help when you cried in the gardens?"

‌Your heart stopped, looking back at Rhaenys in suspicion. How did she know about that incident? You cried there because you were tired of living there as if your a burden. That was back then before you accepted your fate, maybe when the birth of your new sibling was still new. You cried in the gardens at night because no one was there. Until a servant came up and comforted you with kind words and given you a few snacks. You don't remember her face, but you did remember how close your hair colour was with each other.

‌"You're not—you don't mean..." You stammered nervously as you played with the box.

Rhaenys nodded. "That servant was your mother, [Name]. She escaped from her room before she was inevitably killed by your father."

#hotd #house of the dragon #yandere #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #series

655 notes · View notes