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the-modern-typewriter · 1 year ago

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The Blue Key

On her first night in her new home, after a lavish dessert of strawberry cheesecake and cream, her new husband handed her a clinking set of keys across the dining room table.

“You can go anywhere in the house,” her husband told her, “except the basement.”

He showed her the key to the basement. It was midnight blue.

“Why? Is the basement where you keep the bodies?” she asked, with half a smile.

He didn’t smile back. “Do you promise me?”

She studied him carefully, feeling the weight of the basement key in her hand.

There were many keys to the house - hefty ornate keys for their front and back doors, a pretty gold one for their bedroom, a dozen little silver and brass ones for any other lock in the house that she might come across. Windows and cabinets and the like.

The basement key was almost insubstantial against her palm. Negligible. The sort of key that was easily lost, that looked like it might belong to a doll house more than a proper estate.

She couldn’t read his expression.

“You can’t tell me what’s in there?”

“I will know if you open the door,” he said, “and everything that we are will end.”

She laughed again, uncertainly, because the words were surely absurd and certainly not like him. He could have simply told her it was dangerous and so best avoided, or not given her the key to the basement in the first place. She doubted she would have given it all that much thought among all the other rooms.

Yet, his words instead piqued curiosity.

Once again, he did not smile. He stared at her solemnly, with a hint of something haunted that she had only caught flickers of during their courtship.

The laughter died in her throat.

He had been like something from a fairy tale from the moment they met; Prince Charming to pluck her out of the ashes of her drab life, even if she knew he had been married before. Everyone knew. Just as none of them had expected him to pick her. She had no experience in the running of manor houses, and no especially outstanding beauty nor fortune of her own to make up for that fault. In short, she was nothing like his first wife.

But, she had made him laugh, and she had liked him. God, how she had liked him – and liked him still – with such blushing ferocity that it almost made her dizzy.

Her new home was enormous, and beautiful, and filled with the kind of impossible luxuries that she had never even dared to dream of having. It was filled with him. She was nothing, and nobody, and he had given her the keys to be something and somebody else. Someone better. What was one small forbidden key against all that?

She knew the preciousness of privacy. Sometimes a secret could be the only thing that was really yours.

“Okay.” She bit her lip, and started to unhook the key from the ring. “Would you like it back, then? Just to be sure.”

He recoiled as if she’d drawn a knife on him and shook his head.

“Keep it,” he rasped. “Keep it safe. Keep it locked. Let it be forgotten.”

But from that moment on, though, she never really forgot about the blue key for a moment.

***

The library was probably her favourite room in her new home. It was astonishing to be able to have an actual personal library, stocked from soft-carpet and gleaming hardwood floor to cavernous ceiling with walls upon walls of books of every kind. The orphanage had maybe three books, worn and ancient, each crumbling a little more with every reading.

There were lots of stories in her husband’s books about girls with keys, girls with curiosity, heroes with something they were not supposed to look at under the pain of death or something worse.

Psyche with Eros, who was told without explanation not to look upon her perfect and mysterious host, for there could be no love without trust.

Orpheus, forbidden to glance back at his love, lest he lose her for good.

Pandora, with her strange once unopened box of evils and hope, told it was hers.

Eve, with her curiosity, with her knowledge, lured into plucking that shining forbidden fruit.

Bluebeard too, of course, with his many murdered wives, all told not to seek out their bloody predecessors behind his secret door, because – why?

Because it was a game of female obedience? Because it gave a predator an excuse to do what he did best, when he knew from the first instance that his victims would have to know? He chose them, after all. And why did they look, those wives, against all warning?

Because the uncertainty was unbearable? Because it was their home too? Because they loved the man they married and wanted to know everything there was to know of him? Maybe they wanted to save him. It was never cruelty.

The two of them were happy, her husband and her, as blissful as newlyweds were want to be.

In the evenings they would cuddle before the roaring fires, night caressing the windows, and he would read aloud from his favourite passages or play music. In the days he would work, or leave on some business or other, and she would wander the labyrinthian corridors alone and explore the many treasures tucked away behind his many locked doors.

The library could have lasted her years, but she found a room with a ceiling made of magnifying glass by which to observe the stars, a swimming pool built into the rock beneath the entrance hall, a lush garden bursting with colour that she could tend to in the sunshine.

There were servants to take care of the day-to-day running of the building, and so he did not seem to desire any particular purpose of her except to be his wife. Except for her to live in his home, in their home, and enjoy his easy company and the gifts he gave her. She found ways to keep busy. To contribute.

Thus, it took her many months to walk down towards the basement, to first look upon the door that she was not allowed to open. Spring had turned to the first icy breaths of winter.

The door was painted the same midnight blue as the key, and immaculate in condition. The lock was tiny. A dark slither, a crack, in something otherwise quite lovely.

She pressed her hand against the door and the wood was warm compared to the cool, slightly stale, underground air that filled her chest.

She dropped a hand into her pocket, fingers closing unerringly around the blue key. She tried not to touch it, not to think about it, but she had come to know it instantly by shape and feel alone. It was simply so odd to have a key so small. She had half expected the door would be in miniature too.

How could he possibly know, if she opened it? In some tales it was magic. The key would betray her. He would know by seeing it. But her husband did not want to look upon the key, he had never even mentioned it once after their first dinner.

What then was in the basement? Something so terrible that she could no longer love him? Or perhaps it was empty. Perhaps it was structurally unsound. Perhaps it was simply a test on if she would allow him that one thing that was his and his only.

She leaned down, and pressed her eye to the keyhole with a hammering heart. She didn’t know what she expected to see inside, exactly – a skeleton, or some ghoul staring back at her, or some hidden vault even. There was only darkness. Nothing to see. She straightened again, unsure if the painful feeling in her lungs was breathless relief or airless disappointment.

She walked back up the stairs.

She turned over the pages of stories in the library, and turned the key over and over in her palm, and wondered which of those many tales she was in.

***

“I think,” she said one night, as they lay in bed. “That it bothers me more that you will not tell me, than anything that could possibly be in the basement.”

He stiffened on the mattress next to her.

“Is there something I could do,” she rolled onto her side to face him, “so that you would know you could trust me with the truth?”

His expression was half-hidden in the dim light, his body made unfamiliar by slashes of moonshine slicing through the curtains. His blue eyes were open, staring up, away from her.

“You promised me that you would not dwell on the door.”

“No.” She reached out, tracing her fingers gently along the curve of his jaw, coaxing him to meet her searching gaze. “I promised I wouldn’t open it. There’s a difference.”

He snorted, but tipped his head towards her hand, planting a kiss to her knuckles.

“Can you at least narrow down the possibilities?” She pressed into the silence, because kisses were sweet but they were not an answer. “Is it something I shouldn’t see? That you don’t want me to see? Something that – I don’t know – can’t be let out? Are you the secret guardian of a nightmare world?” She attempted another smile, but it wobbled shaky. “Just give me something, and I’ll leave it alone. I just want to know. I need to know. Whatever it is – whatever it could possibly be – you don’t have to carry it alone. We’re supposed to be a team. That’s what marriage is.”

“Is my word not enough for you?” He sounded tired. “Is everything I have given you not enough?”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “You’d be happily blind, if it were you?”

“Ignorance can be bliss.”

“If you wanted me ignorant, why tell me about the key in the first place? You know me.”

They’d met on account of her curiosity, of her straying to places that she wasn’t supposed to be. He’d been visiting the library of one of the great colleges, reserved for great men like him, and she’d snuck in aching for a glimpse of the world.

Her husband said nothing.

“When you first gave me the key…” She swallowed. “You looked scared.” Her fingers, which had often brushed his in the library stacks once upon a time, grazed his pulse. It was racing. “I would fight monsters for you. Even if you’re the monster.”

As the silence stretched, she thought he might say nothing again, until the silence had grown so large that they might never reach each other across the abyss of it.

“I love you,” he said. His voice cracked. He caught her hand, entwining their fingers together, and squeezed. “Goodnight.”

The seconds ticked by into minutes, into she didn’t know how long.

“Is it a curse?” she whispered, into the dark. “If you’re not allowed or able to tell me, squeeze my hand twice.”

“Oh my god.” His voice was muffled, then, as he pulled a pillow over his face and wrenched free of her. “It’s two in the morning, darling. Go to sleep.”

***

She watched the door diligently for about a month. She didn’t think her husband had some poor creature locked up in the basement, but if he did then one would assume that either he would have to visit, or have the servants visit, in order to provide his victim some form of sustenance.

Nobody visited the basement door except her. There could not be anything living on the other side.

At least, not unless there was some other second secret door and tunnel system, hidden somewhere on the grounds. She didn’t see anyone vanish to one of those either, though. Would she, if it wasn’t on the grounds? How large a conspiracy could a little blue key possibly hold?

Would it count as ‘opening the door’ if she made a hole in the wall next to the door?

She remembered her husband, in the college library the first time they met, spying the collection of ghost stories she’d been straining to reach. He’d grabbed it off the top shelf for her, easily, a glimmer of amusement curling his lips.

“I never really got these stories,” he’d mused. “If it were me, I would simply not have gone into the haunted house in the first place. Or, one look at a ghost and – no, no thank you. Goodbye! Have a nice life.”

She’d gaped at him.

He’d shrugged at her, and handed her the book. “But I can see that you’re a braver soul than me,” he said. “Sneaking into a place like this uninvited.”

She’d accepted the volume, clutching it protectively to her chest.

“Well,” she’d managed. “People like you are already invited everywhere, aren’t they? So you don’t have to be brave.”

He’d startled into a laugh.

She’d wondered if he would expose her to security, wondered if she should have denied it, wondered how he’d seen through her so swiftly and –

“Don’t worry.” He’d already been turning away, with a last lingering glance at her. “I can keep a secret.”

She’d only learned later who he was, and that it had been a month since his wife had died.

How, exactly, had his first wife died? The papers had said ‘tragic accident’, but there had been no witnesses. He didn’t talk about it, or about her.

No. She was being ridiculous. Maybe she had only imagined the flicker of terror on her husband’s face, the way he had flinched from the key, the rough urgency in his voice. Whatever it was, whatever it could possibly be, was not worth sacrificing what they had. There were other rooms; a dozen of them!

She buried the damn key in the garden. Out of sight, out of mind. Better that than completely losing her mind over something that probably had a completely rational explanation. Love was a leap of faith.

She woke up the next morning to find the blue key back on the key ring, still covered with a fine sprinkling of dirt.

***

Her least favourite stories in the library were the ones about fate.

Maybe some people found such notions encouraging, comforting even in their reassurance that all of the suffering in the world was for a reason and that people could have some incredible purpose laid out for them. She’d always found the idea to be like quicksand beneath her feet, sucking her down down down trapped.

For, if it was fate, there could be no real escape. No chance. No hope.

She kept returning to the story of Bluebeard, tracing variations and retelling with the blue teeth of her blue key.

Maybe, if she was Bluebeard’s final wife, she would open the door and ultimately inherit a grand fortune, and recover from the trauma of falling in love with someone who wasn’t what they said they were.

What if she was only the second wife though, or the metaphorical third? What if her fate was to be some dead thing written only to add background colour to someone else’s happy ending?

It was all well and good of her husband to claim he would never go into a haunted house, but such declarations only really worked if one knew they were in a horror story instead of something else.

“Do you think, maybe,” she asked her husband as winter turned back to spring, “that we could go away somewhere?”

They strolled through the gardens, his arm wrapped protectively around her frail shoulders. Ever since the key incident she had found it difficult to sleep, to eat, to not find herself worrying about the door like worrying a hangnail until she tore off bloodied scraps of her own skin.

The house, which had once seemed so large to her, had turned into something suffocating. She had no friends in the area, and however far she went along the grounds in the lonely hours of her husband’s working, the door would always be there for her and the key would always be in her pocket. The questions, the creeping doubts, would buzz in her brain like flies swarming a corpse.

“Go away?” He seemed surprised. “Is there something else that you need?”

She had tried simply hiding the key, then stayed up all night staring at the key ring laying on her bedside to try and catch the culprit who’d dug it up from beneath the roses. One of the servants must have brought the damn thing back, right? Perhaps, the housekeeper? She got the impression that the severe woman had never really approved of her, never liked her. She was not as impressive and perfect a candidate as his first wife had been.

She had seen nothing, but when she fell finally into an exhausted slumber, the key had been waiting for her.

“I just thought it might be nice for us both to get away for a while,” she said. “A holiday. You’ve been so busy with your work.”

She had tried burning the key. It did not burn.

“There is a lot to do,” he said. “This is a large estate. It takes – management, a lot of care.”

“Perhaps I could help you?”

“It is not your burden, darling.”

“But it’s yours? A burden?”

The key, whatever it was, had to be of some supernatural origin. Of that she was increasingly certain. Well, the ghosts were in the house, so to speak, and he wasn’t leaving! He wouldn’t look at her, his attention fastened on the first snowdrops shoving their heads from beneath the hard earth.

“Tell me,” she said. “Or come away with me, please.”

He glanced at her, then.

She reached into her pocket and held up the blue key.

He turned away, quickening his pace as if he couldn’t wait to get away from it too.

“Where,” he said the next morning, “would you like to go, love?”

At the sea side, she tossed the key into the water when he wasn’t looking. If it was the servants, if there was any chance that something in the house was messing with her, with them, then even its evil reach could surely not reach beyond the borders of the property?

It was better for a while, after that. They were both lighter on holiday, away from his family home, with all of its history and responsibility.

The house on their return, waiting for them as it always was and would be, felt new and full of possibility again. They kept laughing over their first dinner back and fell asleep still high on love and freedom and everything they were supposed to be.

The next morning, impossibly, the blue key was on the key ring again.

She started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” her husband said. The colour had leached, stricken, from his handsome face. He looked older. Exhausted, too. His eyes were dark. “I wish—” He fell silent. He reached out to her, and she recoiled. “I’m sorry.”

“You wish what?” It came out whip sharp.

He said nothing.

She shook her head, the laugh on her breath not really a laugh at all. Of course, he would still not tell her.

“If you don’t tell me,” she said, “everything that we are will end. You understand that, don’t you?” She fumbled the key off the ring and hurled it onto the sheets between them. It sat there, so disgustingly innocuous looking, a glint of blue among the white. “This isn’t fair. This is – sick. Take it back.”

“I know.” He folded his arms, less great man, more frightened child hugging himself. He stared down the key like an old enemy. “I know.”

“Or,” she said. A plea edged into her tone. “We could leave. For good. Let this house, let that door, be forgotten. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, less ‘no’ and more ‘I can’t’ and more ‘I’m sorry’.

She squared her shoulders, even as his slumped. “Tell me, at least, if I should go. You love me, right? If there was something rotten in that basement, you would want to protect me from it, wouldn’t you?”

“You can go,” he said. “If that’s what you want. That’s always been your choice.”

She stared at him.

He looked haunted, hunted, and he had known all along that the key would always end up back on the ring, hadn’t he? That was why he hadn’t simply taken it off when he first gave them to her. She would have thought he didn’t trust her if he’d never given her the keys to her own home at all too, wouldn’t she?

She debated leaving him. She debated walking out the house and – what?

He looked so broken.

She sighed, the defiant fury sluicing off her shoulders too. She rounded the bed and craned up on her toes to kiss the lost furrow of his forehead.

“Just ignore it,” he said, clutching her hands. “Just ignore the door, and we can be happy.”

“Darling,” she said. “You don’t seem happy here.”

She kissed his lips, like packing up a suitcase, and snatched the blue key back up off the sheets.

Then she went down to the basement and opened the door.

#idk a story of mine I don't know what to do with #short story #fiction #bluebeard #fairytales #writeblr #writing #my writing #creative writing

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burntheedges · 3 months ago

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Summer Stuff-My-Inbox Fic Rec List (Part 2)

I can't believe it's already September? What the hell, honestly. Thank you all for sending me your fics again!

Remember to check out Part 1, too.

The list has 57 more Pedro-character fics posted since June 1, organized by character and then alphabetically by author. Mind all tags and warnings! I've noted word count (we've got a range!), whether it's part of a series, and pairings. Let's get reading and reblogging!

Characters in this rec list: Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Javier Gutierrez, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar, Tim Rockford

...

Dave York

melt by @sizzlingcloudmentality | 960 words | Dave x f!reader summary: wine drunk and with fresh croissants from the bakery you're having French breakfast and sex with Dave. | Daphne mentioned being proud of this one particulary because of the smut!! 😏

Dieter Bravo

Eros & Psyche by @schnarfer | ~16k, complete | Dieter x f!reader summary: Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually. | I can't wait to read this!

Golden Girl by @whocaresstillthelouvre | 2.9k | Dieter x f!reader summary: What happens when you discover your husband has been cheating on you? You call his best friend to help comfort you.

Starlet by whocaresstillthelouvre | 3.7k | Dieter x f!reader summary: Your husband has a big movie premiere, sure he looks great, but his co-star looks even better.

Din Djarin

Fifteen Weeks by whocaresstillthelouvre | 5k | Din x f!reader summary: It's been fifteen weeks since Din Djarin first entered your life, now you can't imagine it without him. You take a leap of faith in your relationship and visit him at his farm. | this is part 2! Don't miss part 1!

Oath Broken and Soul Bound by @whxtedreams | 1.8k, wip | Din x OFC Witch hunter!Din x OFC!Witch, from Flora: It's a Witch AU, fantasy and forbidden love. It's very new, only one chapter out but I have very big plans. I have pretty much the entire fic mapped out. It also has Ezra, Frankie and Joel as characters. You can learn more about their characters here in the character study i did for them. This is my passion project, I have so much love for them and I can’t wait to share my story in more detail!

Tales from the Dark Garden by @hapan-in-exile | 9k | Din x f!reader summary: The reader is a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house, where you encounter the Mandalorian.

Touchstone by @sawymredfox | 2.6k | Din x f!reader summary: Things are not always what they seem. They have a meaning. They have a reason behind them, private and cherished.

Ezra (Prospect)

There are Other Fish in the Sea by @beefrobeefcal | 4 parts | Frankie x f!reader, Ezra x f!reader summary: an alternate ending (and continuation) of another of Beefro's fics, where Frankie messes up and Ezra comes along.

Joel x Ezra

who knows where the time goes by @sixhours | 11k | Joel x Ezra (Prospect) summary: It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

Frankie Morales

Like the Rain by @jennaispunk | 2.9k | Frankie x f!reader summary: Frankie has something to say….will you listen? | Jenna said this one is her first Frankie fic!! and a challenge because it has more spice, which is fun!

Tide by whocaresstillthelouvre | 1.2k | Frankie x f!reader summary: Frankie Morales is capable of almost anything… except not cumming in his jeans when he thinks about you, the pretty clerk at the grocery store he always buys his giant jugs of laundry detergent at.

Javier Gutierrez

KEPT by @beefrobeefcal | 5.3k | Javi x f!reader summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Rhapsody in Blue by @maggiemayhemnj | 5.5k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javi G takes you to the Oscars. Takes you to the Vanity Fair party. Takes you back to the Chateau Marmont. Then just takes you. | Maggie said this one took her out of her comfort zone, and she ahd fun delving into more spice!

Javier Peña

An End to Drought by @almostfoxglove | 5.4k | Javi x f!reader summary: The future of your family's homestead hangs in the balance as Javier Peña comes home in the middle of a drought.

Dispose of Me by whocaresstillthelouvre | 1.8k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javier Peña needs you… and you're moving away in two weeks.

Dusk by @the-orange-tabby-cat | 8.7k | Javi x f!reader summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

Hold my hand by @milla-frenchy | 4.1k | Javi x f!reader summary: a stranger saves your life. Or your and Javi’s love story.

I'll Carry You by almostfoxglove | 2 of 3 parts, 13.6k | Javi x f!reader summary: You reunite with your childhood best friend when he arrives home from Colombia. Javier's sudden return to your life exhumes buried heartbreak, but he longs to set things right.

Scathed by @dancingtotuyo | 41k, wip | Javi x OFC summary: Javier and Emily experienced the drug war on different fronts in very different ways. Maybe, they’re what the other needs to heal.

Joel Miller

Joel & Ellie, no pairing

happy birthday, baby girl by sixhours | wip | Joel and Ellie summary: Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Joel x Ezra

who knows where the time goes by sixhours | 11k | Joel x Ezra (Prospect) summary: It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

x reader or x OFC

A summer with the Millers by @milla-frenchy | 4.2k, wip | Joel x f!reader x Tommy summary: you come back to your father's house for summer vacation and want to get closer to your crush and dad's best friend, Tommy Miller. His brother Joel is gonna help you to reach your goal.

Always in my Heart by @mermaidgirl30 | 1.2k | Joel x f!reader

summary: Losing a pet is never easy, but you’re not alone because Joel is right there with you, keeping you afloat.

BDSMaid by @mountainsandmayhem | wip | Joel x f!reader summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Cover Me Up by almostfoxglove | 97.7k, finished | Joel x f!reader summary: After you spare the lives of two kids who break into your isolated cabin in the woods, they lead you back to their settlement. You intend to get in, trade for valuable supplies, and get out, but end up staying. Four years later, you're a solitary but respected pillar of Jackson's close-knit community when Joel Miller shows up, kid in tow. You think nothing of him or the kid. You like your quiet life. Too bad it won't stay quiet for long. Or: Joel and Ellie make you human again. | Freya's first series!

Dark Shades of Innocence Lost by mermaidgirl30 | finished | Joel x f!reader summary: After your friends drag you out to Club Inferno on a Friday night, you meet an unexpected man with dark brown eyes. That man is Joel Miller, who turns out to be the owner of the club. The menace that will turn your life upside down. After not dating for a couple of years, Joel finds out and strikes up a proposition for you. Keep coming back and he’ll make sure you experience pleasure like you’ve never felt before.

Fragile State by @galway-girlatwork | 2.5k | Joel x OFC Tara summary: The aftermath of a traumatic car accident leaves a family struggling with fear and uncertainty. The emotional toll weighing them all down as they try to find some normalcy which they all know is impossible until he wakes up. Vulnerability and desperate needs for the man who is the center of their lives to remember who they are and the life he had with them. | the author mentioned this way of writing a story was new, which is very fun!

Halcyon by @justagalwhowrites | ch 16, 110k so far | Joel x f!reader summary: When your life falls apart, you find yourself back in your hometown of Austin, Texas for the first time in more than a decade. Eager to make your own way after a rough divorce, you reconnect with your high school best friend Joel Miller - a man you never thought would be in your life again. Things have changed since your falling out just before you left for college but friendship with Joel comes easy. His life isn't in any better shape than your own and the two of you make a vow to get your acts together - personal, professional and romantic - in the span of a year. But will your burgeoning connection make it so you can figure everything out or will your history together get in the way?

Her by milla-frenchy | 3.2k | Joel x f!reader summary: after Joel confides one of his fantasies to you one day, you make it come true. | her first kinda sub!Joel with Joel realizing a fantasy. 😏

In Need of a Top Up by @tateypots | 1.5k | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel likes calling you his wife and you like hearing it.

In pain and heartache. In comfort and love. by whxtedreams | 2.5k | Joel x f!reader summary: They were so desperate to hold each other after tasting life without one another.

It Tastes of Magic by sawymredfox | 12k | Joel x f!reader summary: Your grandmother always told you the same thing. Have always salt in handy to spill over your left shoulder. Knock on wood to keep away the bad luck. Don't forget that mint likes to have her space to grow. Actions always speak louder than words. And love as much as you can, because even when it hurts, it makes you stronger. Will she still be right?

Lock the Gate by almostfoxglove | 23k+, wip | Joel x f!reader summary: You're less than enthusiastic when your uncle's partner Frank invites two strangers from the Boston QZ to your compound to trade. Joel Miller proves just as callous as you and brutishly stubborn—but after a cutting first impression, a bloody inconvenience, and a long walk through infested woods, you're not sure if the fire you carry for him is actually hate.

Push it by milla-frenchy | 3.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: you have a secret “relationship” with Joel, your dad's best friend. You know you can't have more, but you can’t resist the idea to provoke him a little.

See How She Rides by @arcanefox207 | 4.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun. | Ally said she had a lot of fun writing this one and I think we're going to have a lot of fun reading it!!

spin me around by @ace-turned-confused | 2.4k | Joel x f!reader summary: you find a vintage record store full of rare finds, the man behind the counter the rarest of them all. | for the Secret Springs challenge!

Stranger in a Bar by justagalwhowrites | 17.3k | part 2, finished | Joel x f!reader summary: You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Teach Me How to Play Coach Miller by whocaresstillthelouvre | 3.2k | Joel x f!reader summary: You're home alone, relishing a lazy day when your hot neighbor knocks on your door. Seems his TV is out and he really wants to watch the Rangers game. You know nothing about baseball… maybe he can teach you a thing or two?

Tear You Apart by mermaidgirl30 | wip | Joel x f!reader summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you into the forest?

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...

happy reading and reblogging! 🧡

#joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #dave york x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier peña x reader #marcus moreno x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #joel miller #marcus acacius x reader #tim rockford x reader #pero tovar x reader #fic rec #stuff my inbox fic rec #part 2 #scheduled

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sunlightmurdock · 10 months ago

Text

The Odyssey | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Bradley just can’t keep his hands, or his thoughts, to himself. People are starting to notice.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, cum, bradley dislikes her fiancé, deception, also inaccuracies in the timeline of Pompeii and the telling of Greek mythology, very brief allusion to SA at the very end, 18+ minors dni, wc: 7.5k

…

“So there are rumours in the city that Psyche is the second coming of Venus, or the daughter of Venus — something like that. But, Venus — Aphrodite — sends her son Cupid — Eros — to shoot Psyche with an arrow to make her fall in love with something hideous.”

You’ve read stories like this before.

“He scratches himself with the arrow, and falls in love with Psyche the second that he sees her. But Psyche’s two sisters are married already, and no one seems to want to marry Psyche, so her dad starts to think they’ve incurred the wrath of the gods. He consults the oracle, and is told that Psyche is going to be married to this hideous, terrifying dragon-creature.”

“Ew.” You scoff.

He snorts. “This part of the story is where it gets kind of interesting. The oracle says that she is to be left on a cliff for her new husband, and they send her there in her funeral attire. Death and marriage become just the one central theme of being a total transition into the unknown.”

You’re quiet against him. He pauses. The ugly lampshade seems drawn to the rock on your finger, making it twinkle in the light.

“Anyway, Zephyrus — which is the god and personification of the Westerly wind, which is the most favourable of — I’ll explain it another time. Zephyrus gets Pysche ready to meet her fated match, and sets her in a meadow, where she falls asleep. She falls asleep in this perfect place, and wakes up transported to a kind of grove.”

You rise and fall with his chest as he sighs.

“Then, she finds this incredible house, with big golden columns, a carved ceiling and silver walls embossed with wild animals, and mosaic floors,” Bradley glances down at your fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt. He squeezes your waist. “And a voice comes out of nowhere telling herself to make herself at home, and she’s presented with a great feast.”

“The dragon doesn’t sound so bad.” You mumble into his chest, drawing a breathy chuckle from him.

“Well— she doesn’t trust him so easily. She’s impressed, but terrified. But, y’know, he’s her husband, and it’s technically their wedding night. So she lets herself be guided to her bedroom at night where she has sex in complete darkness, with something that she can’t see.”

“The dragon?”

“Well, he never lets her look at him. He always leaves before sunrise and doesn’t allow her to look at him. But she learns to like his visits, and becomes pregnant — in this version, anyway — but her family haven’t heard from her at all, so her husband allows Zephyrus to bring one of Psyche’s sisters to visit her.”

You’ve got plenty of opinions on what you have heard so far, but you keep them to yourself as Bradley continues with the tale.

“Her sister is jealous of how happy Psyche is, in this magical house, with her mysterious husband, you know? — So, she kind of reminds Psyche that he’s supposed to be this gross monster, who will kill the child when it’s born. She manipulates Psyche into wanting to know who her husband really is.”

“So, one night after her husband has fallen asleep, Psyche finds an oil lamp and a dagger — to find out if her husband is a monster, and to kill him if he is,” Bradley shifts his hips, stiffening as you sit forwards and press a soft kiss to the glimpse of his chest under his shirt. “And um… well, she sees him and he’s beautiful. Incredible. She’s so happy. But, she spills oil from the lamp on his skin, and he knows that she has betrayed him by looking, so he leaves her.”

“Why was he so against her seeing him if he was so beautiful?” You sit up and turn around, barely noticing as Bradley catches hold of your knee. He tugs it over his lap and pulls you across him, sitting you against his middle.

“Because he defied his mother by not making her fall for something disgusting. Aphrodite wouldn’t have allowed them to be together,”

“Oh, I understand.” You confirm, resting your hands against his stomach.

“So first, Psyche sees the god Pan. He recognises how in love she is, and she recognises his divinity. Then, she starts to walk the world looking for her love. She starts by going back to her sisters and telling them what happened, but they’re both pissed that her husband was Eros. So, both sisters try to offer themselves as a replacement to him by climbing the rock face and casting themselves to Zephyrus, but they both fall to their deaths.”

You frown, which seems to spark amusement in him. He gives you a calm shrug and tugs at your hips, making you flinch as the cold metal of his belt touches the warm skin of your inner thigh.

“So, Psyche keeps on wandering, looking for Eros. She comes across the temple of Ceres, and finds all of these offerings that are thrown everywhere and — it’s a mess. So she organizes it all, because offerings to the gods shouldn’t be neglected, and Ceres appears to her. Psyche begs her for help, and Ceres acknowledges that she needs it, but can’t offer any help because she can’t go against a fellow goddess.”

You shift uncomfortably, pushing away from his belt and settling against his thigh instead.

“Um… right, so after Ceres, the same thing happens at the Temple of Juno, and Psyche realizes that she has to pledge herself to Venus. This is what Venus wanted all along, right? — So, she turns Psyche over to her two Handmaids, Worry and Sadness, for her to be tortured. They ruin her clothes, and hurt her, and mock her for conceiving a child in a sham marriage.”

Your face creases, frowning back at him.

“Venus leaves her with this huge mass of different grains, and demands that they’re all sorted into different heaps by dawn. But a little ant takes pity of Psyche, and assembles a fleet to complete the task for her. We also find out around this point that Eros is in the same house, recovering from a wound, but he doesn’t know that Psyche is there.”

His hands bracket your thighs, and they have been since he sat you in his lap. Watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall with every word, your lips twitch at the corners as you think of the other day in the library. His lips on your neck.

“At dawn, Venus sets her a second task. She has to cross a river, and fetch golden wool from an untameable, aggressive sheep on the other side. Well, Psyche’s heartbroken and worn down by this point, so she plans to drown herself in the river, but she is saved by a reed and gathers the wool caught on the briars of it.

He can see it on your face that you’re up to something, but he pauses to let you kiss him anyway. Soft, and slow. His hands grabbing firm at your waist.

His lips graze yours, his nose brushing your cheek as he continues on with Pysche’s tale, fingers curling into the pale pink chiffon.

“For her third task, Venus gives her this little crystal vial and sends her to collect the black water from the river Styx. So, Psyche climbs the cliff face to get to it, and as she does,” Bradley is interrupted mid sentence as you press forwards and kiss his mouth once more, then the corner of his lips. He hums softly and tries to recapture his train of thought. “She’s attacked by the dragons that surround it — Jupiter himself takes pity on her and sends his eagle to protect her from the beasts and collect the water.”

Your nose brushes the curve of his jaw, soft lips parted just enough to tickle his skin with your cool breath right before you close them around his pulse point and suck.

He’s holding your hips, nice and steady — he could pull you back and stop you, but he doesn’t. His long fingers dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Keep going, what happens next?” You urge him, pushing lightly at his chest and pressing another longing kiss to the length of his throat. Your fingertips slip under the unbuttoned top of his shirt, skimming the flushed skin underneath.

He swallows, leaning his head back against the wooden headboard. You gasp softly as he squeezes firmly at your waist and lifts his hips from the bed.

“So, for the last trial, Venus sends her to the underworld to collect a dose of beauty from Proserpina, the queen of the underworld,” He’s painfully aware that his voice has grown thick and that he’s blushing like a kid, and suddenly the details of the story seem a little bit blurrier. Then, your tongue dips out from between your lips and wets the spot you had just kissed — exactly the way he does.

“Christ.” He chokes out, letting his head fall forwards to rest against your shoulder. “Do you get off on trying to make me cum in my pants or something?”

It’s at that point that he remembers exactly who he is speaking to, and how you’ve reacted to this kind of profanity before. Nose wrinkled, he’s wincing as he pulls back to look at you again.

You’re smiling. Well, biting at your cheeks in an effort not to, but smiling nonetheless. Your nose is wrinkled too, like you’re trying not to like the idea quite as much as you do.

“Oh, you do.” He scoffs.

“No, I just…” You huff and then shrug, glancing down at that loose button on his shirt. He watches your fingers toy with it absently, painfully aware of how his straining cock is wedged against his thigh. “Hadn’t really thought about myself being sexy before. I mean you’ve given plenty of people orgasms, right?”

He knows better than to answer that question, so he just stares back in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever come close.” You tell him.

His hands feel electric as they skim under that pretty pink dress, a twinkle in his eyes and a slight quirk to the right corner of his mouth. “Now who’s thinking too much, huh?”

With that, he kisses you. The deep and dirty kind as he presses forwards and grabs hold of the back of your neck. Every time, the surprise gets you and makes you part your lips. His tongue dips into your mouth as he pushes his hips off of bed and into yours. Only, this time, whatever he does has you making the sweetest little sound.

Right against his mouth too, a pleased little mewl. He groans right back onto your lips, fingertips trailing over the fabric of your underwear all of a sudden. You had been too distracted to even notice them creeping their way up your thigh.

Heart racing, your fingers skim into the curls at the nape of his neck, eyes locked on him. Swallowing hard, you glance down towards his just parted lips and catch sight of your lipstick printed faintly on the side of his neck. A beat passes where he just watches you studying his lips, waiting for you to kiss him.

Finally, you lean forwards and your cushioned lips are on his once again. Pouted and oh, so gentle. His fingers curl at the back of your neck, his nose bumping yours as he takes lead and lets you sink into the feeling of him.

Even with the thin linen of his shirt, and the slight crack in the window to the left of the bed, Bradley hasn’t ever felt quite so hot.

“Can I feel you?” He asks against your mouth, trailing the pad of his thumb across your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“If I can feel you.” It’s not an exactly well thought-through plan, you don’t have the logistics of it figured out, but he’s kissing feverishly across your face and, what with it pressing into your thigh, there’s only one thing on your mind.

“I can’t, baby—“

“It’s just touching.” The second that the words are out of your mouth, you’re struck with a strange kind of deja vu. Not here, not with him. An outer body kind of thing. Either way, you aren’t left with much time to think about it as Bradley dips forwards and captures your mouth once again.

You let yourself fall with him, even with little choice once he wraps you in his arms, and he turns the two of you until you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

This is exactly what got you so worked up earlier, so afraid. It feels so right to be moving in sync with him like this, your hands, your mouths, your bodies. His weight pressing into your stomach and his thick arms bracketing your body, engulfing you in him.

As he nips and rocks and caresses, you’re happy. It couldn’t possibly be wrong if it just feels this easy. His blue jeans are tented, straining against the pink of your dress, his shirt untucked and messy.

It’s like the two of you think of his shirt at once, as he props himself up with one hand and tears open those already loosely attached buttons with the other. All the while, his mouth is hot on yours, deep, soft sounds spilling from his lips.

He pulls it swiftly off of his shoulders and drops it haphazardly onto the floor, then there’s a pause. He’s sitting back on his ankles, both of you struck with the same thought once again. His gaze falls down to your dress.

“Should… Do you want me to take it off?” You figure, bringing your hands up to cover your chest, still blinking at his freshly exposed skin. Wide, angled shoulders, sitting square and rising and falling heavily with each breath. His skin taut with muscles, but without the definition of a man who keeps them for an ego boost. Tanned skin, dusted with light brown hair.

“I want you to,” He gives a slow nod of his head. “But I can work around it.”

“No, okay… I can take it off,” You lift one hand to stop him and swiftly tear it back the second that it touches his bare stomach. “Just— give me a second— the zipper—“

Bradley hooks one arm under your hips, and the other under your back, hugging you swiftly to his body and covering you with his weight. You squeak quietly as his fingers curl around the zipper and his lips work feverishly across your jaw.

The zipper barely whines as he pulls it slowly along the length of your spine, feeling the material go loose between the two of you. His mouth follows the sound south, feverish at your neck and down to your clavicle.

Squeezing your eyes tight shut, you let you shoulders relax and the material fall slack, giving his hands the freedom to tear it off and discard it like he had his shirt. Even so, the second that his warm mouth touches the centre of your chest, you push back into the pillows, scorched by the feeling.

“You want me to zip it back up?” Bradley asks coolly, one of his hands squeezing softly at your balled up fist. You hadn’t even noticed you were grabbing at the bedsheets like that.

“No, I just — — don’t want to watch when you see me.”

And that just about breaks his heart. He thinks back to the phone call he had that night in December, when Malcolm had finally picked up. Bradley had been standing beside your bed with that stupid plastic phone in his hand, keeping you on your side so that you didn’t choke if you puked — and that little shithead had answered laughing.

At first, Bradley had regretted threatening the little weasel. It could have cost him his career, especially if you had decided to flip the narrative on what happened in his car — luckily you hadn’t remembered that part. But god, hearing the arrogance and thoughtlessness, Bradley doesn’t regret threatening to knock some sense into that kid one bit.

And now, seeing what eight years of supposedly loving that kid has brought you to, he doesn’t regret what he’s about to do either. In fact, what he’s about to do might be a little bit to do with the fact that he would purposely like to spite your fiancé.

“Why don’t you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. In case you don’t like me.”

“Oh, I like you,” You hear him breathe out a chuckle as his hand reaches across yours, peeling your fingers off of the bedsheets and stroking his thumb across your relaxed knuckles. “C’mere. Feel.”

As expected, it works like a charm. Your eyes spring open so wide they look for a moment like they’re going to pop right out of your head. Heat spreads like wildfire, starting in the tips of your ears — it engulfs your face and your chest, spreading down your arms with no sign of stopping.

Sitting back on his knees, his chest bare and his shoulders squared proudly, he’s looking you right in the eye as he squeezes his hand around yours. Under your palm, still within the confines of his jeans, you can feel all of him, straining against the denim.

“Okay, but men get erections over ridiculous things sometimes—“ You reason as you pull your hand away from him. He lets it go instantly, but follows your hand away, planting his free hand into the pillow beside you and forcing you to lean back as he comes in close.

You think first of all that you’re ready for what he’s going to say. Then, he leans in closer. All the way past your face until his lips are grazing your ear.

“You want to know why I’m hard?”

“Mm.” You croak out, fingers once again balled into the sheets.

“I’m hard because I can’t stop thinking about how wet you were that night in Venice, and how you kissed me the next morning. You know you talk in your sleep?” His voice against your earlobe makes you shiver and pull back, frowning disapprovingly.

“I do not.”

“You do, baby — do you know how hard it is for a man to get a good night’s sleep when you’re whispering his name?” He turns his head towards your face and kisses your jaw softly, reaching out and grabbing at your hips. He tugs you just a bit closer and the dress falls just slightly. You let it go.

And before you know it, your fingers are curled into his hair, your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s unhooking that pretty pink dress from your left ankle. The second that it’s off completely, his hands go for his belt. The leather clangs against the metal buckle and against the button on his jeans loudly as he fumbles to work it open one handed. His other hand cups your jaw. His thumb sits on your left cheek, his four fingers sit on your right, he holds your head straight as he sucks at the supple skin of your bottom lip.

“Fuck me…” Bradley mutters, his forehead inches from yours. Looking down between your two bodies, both of his hands abandon their previous posts and go for your middle. Instinctively, you lift your knees, hunching forwards in an attempt to cover yourself. ��Stop, honey, let me see.”

“You’ve seen plenty of women.” You remind him, crossing your arms over the unlined, unremarkable, comfortable bra covering your chest.

Bradley teeters on the edge of being amused or upset by your comment. You’re nervous. He’ll give you that one. He looks up at you as he crouches between your legs, “So, I know what I’m talking about, huh?”

With that, he leans down and presses his lips to your stomach, right below your belly button.

“I could look at you all day.” He tells your skin, without looking up from his onslaught of delicate kisses, his fingers walking along the curve of your waist and back down again to your hips. As his hands skim down to your thighs, he takes note of just how much you’re trembling. Finally, he lets his lip graze the waistband of your underwear.

If he was being really truthful, and if he wasn’t holding back, he would’ve popped open the clasp on that bra about a minute and a half ago. Bradley has seen just about every kind of underwear there is to see, and his favourite has always remained the same.

There’s quite simply no better alternative to naked. His mouth works along your navel, headed straight for the apex of your thighs, and he thinks to himself that he couldn’t care less about what kind of underwear you’re wearing, until he sees it.

He’s on his front, face to face with the pink underwear with an embroidered Wednesday across the front. It is, indeed, Wednesday.

“These,” He rubs softly at each of your hips, pressing a wet kiss to the embroidery. “Are very cute.”

“Oh my god, no—“

“But I want them off.”

That’s what that look in his eyes is. You get it now, as he curls his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and it makes your stomach erupt into butterflies. The last time he took your underwear off, he didn’t get that good of a look — this time, you’ll be naked. But, he still has you nodding dumbly at him.

“Wait — yours too.” You realize.

Bradley nods his head, gently guiding the pink underwear down your legs. He’s not looking at your face. He’s practically salivating. “I will. I just want a taste.”

He lifts your legs upwards, slipping the panties off of your ankles, dropping them to the bed and grabbing the backs of your thighs. Legs pressed together and pushed back toward your abdomen just slightly, you can’t quite see his face, but your skin is hot with the knowledge of exactly what he’s looking at.

There’s a moment before you feel anything at all, where you know that he is just staring. It takes everything in your power to make yourself keep still, not squirm away, to not say something stupid.

Then, you feel his fingers right there, trailing through your excitement, examining exactly how you’re feeling about him. You turn your face sharply to the left, aiming for the respite of hiding it in a pillow. But next, he sits forwards and grabs your hips, lifting them off of the bed and bringing you to his mouth.

Right as your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, you feel his lips on you, kissing softly, following mostly the same pattern his fingers had. The tip of his nose bumps your clit as he flattens his tongue and licks upwards until he’s at that sensitive bundle of nerves.

But he doesn’t stay there. With how you’re trembling against him, he knows better than to overstimulate you. The last thing he wants is to make you cry on your second time at this. His mouth turns towards your thighs, sucking and kissing at random.

Your soft skin, bristled by his rough jaw. He can tell you’re trying so hard to sit still for him. You’re so polite when you want to be.

Then, he’s right back where he wants to be, his mouth presses firmly to your soaked core and he does the exact same thing once again. Familiarity is the easiest path to comfort. His tongue follows that slow, familiar stripe up to your clit and flicks softly at it. Then, he presses impossibly closer and wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking softly.

“Oh—“ You squirm, trying to reach for his shoulders, your thighs pushing back against him.

Finally, he relents. You want to touch him and that joke about ruining these jeans is about to become a reality if he doesn’t do something soon. Your head spins as he moves between your legs and kisses at your mouth, eyes open and blinking as you taste yourself on his lips.

The sound of a zipper breaks through the surprise, eyes widening further as you watch him shove his jeans down his legs.

“Still with me?” Bradley checks, kissing the corner of your lips as his jeans hit the floor. You swallow softly, glancing down at him kneeling between your legs. He’s wearing loose fitted blue boxers — well, you imagine they looked more loose before. All that’s separating him from you is that thin cotton material.

“Mhm.”

“Still want to touch me? — Tell the truth, honey. That’s all I want.” Your eyes are closed, head tipped back as he sucks his way along your jaw. You nod weakly at him, wondering if you look half as wild as you feel.

“Yeah.” You follow his mouth, chasing his lips until he kisses you hard.

You lean in once again to kiss him the second that he pulls back, and then, blinking slowly at him, a fluttering erupts in your chest. Pride surges through your ribs and into your stomach as you take note of the darkened hunger and arousal in his expression.

“But you can’t laugh at me.” You breathe out, willing that funny feeling in your stomach to just go away so that you can focus.

Every single word that spills out of your mouth, Bradley gets that little bit closer to knocking your fiancé on his ass the second that the two of you are back at home. He wonders what this asshole possibly said to you to make you so timid.

“‘M not laughing.” Bradley answers you, his voice calm as his hands skim over your naked hips. He swallows softly as he reaches for his own boxers, settling down at your side as he pushes them down his legs.

Suddenly, you’re far from laughing too. Your mouth is dry as he lays down and pumps his hand once around the length of his dick. It sits just below his belly button, standing to attention, swollen and red. Impressive. Big, like the rest of him.

He tucks an arm under your waist and pulls you across the bed, into him. Your stomach presses into his length while his fingers curl around the curve of your ass, teasing that line between your thigh and your pussy.

“Can I have a kiss?” Bradley whispers, nudging at the tip of nose with his to guide your head back. He knows that’s where your confidence lies. You’re smiling softly as you dip forwards to kiss him, well within your comfort zone. “Thanks, honey. Can I have your hand?”

As he asks, his hand inches forward until you can feel him once again brushing through your excitement. Another slow kiss, sucking softly at your top slip as he pulls back.

The tip of his index finger swipes through gently, his throat thickening his voice with desire. Your hips push back, and the tip of his finger slides in with no resistance.

You press your lips together, presenting your open palm for him to use. Bradley pulls back to look at your surprisingly steady hand. With the hand that isn’t toying between your legs, he takes hold of it and brings it to his dick.

He knows there has to be some natural curiosity buried under all of those nerves, and he’s not into the idea of using you like a doll. He takes your thumb between two of his fingers, swiping it through the pearl of precum on his tip, and down toward his shaft. Then, he lets your hand go.

With the hand that’s between your legs, his finger presses in again, further this time, and you squeeze around him in response. You trail three fingers from the top all the way down to the base of his pelvis. It’s smoother than you thought it would feel. Fuller. Just… not what you were expecting, maybe.

With one finger inside of you, his others explore between your legs, the long digits easily reaching across your lips and stretching towards your clit. You tuck your head between his shoulder and jaw, cuddling close to his chest as your fingers sprawl across the soft, ridged skinned of his length.

It’s not the most comfortable for him, stretching his arm around you like this, but he’s so entranced in watching you touch him that he forgets to mind.

You gasp sharply as his finger presses deeper than before, curling into a spongy part of your walls. Bradley kisses the sound away, his free hand coming up to cup the side of your throat.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers against your lips, kisses growing eager as he pushes his hips forwards, rocking himself against your bare stomach. You squeak back, nodding your head at him.

“Can you show me what to do?” You’re both being so quiet, sharing breaths and whispering even though you’re just about as close as two people could possibly be. Bradley takes your hand again, at once he pulls his finger out of you and dips yours between your own legs. Reeling, you just watch as he circles your clit with your fingers, soaking them before pulling back.

By the time he wraps your hand around his cock, eclipsing it with his own, it’s plenty slick. He lifts it slowly, and drags it back down, pumping it a few times on his length.

“Just like that, little firmer — yeah — yeah, that’s good,” He murmurs, now able to reach back between your legs more directly. He captures your mouth into one of his specialty dizzying, open-mouthed kisses as he presses his middle finger back into you. “Fuck, you’re so, so wet.”

It occurs to him briefly that maybe he’s in too deep — if this is how his first attempt at trying to convince you to further your studies has ended. It doesn’t stop him in the slightest.

He slows his motions next, rocking his hips into your hand as his ring finger hugs his middle and toys at your entrance before easing into you. You gasp, wincing slightly.

“Shh, shh… does that hurt?” Bradley whispers, searching your face for answers as your hand stills around him.

“A bit.” You croak out.

“Come here, honey, just give it one second. Tell me if it hurts any more.” Your head drops back down to his chest as the rough pad of his thumb circles at your clit. Trusting his expertise, you put your attention into touching him instead, guiding your hand up and down along his length. He pants softly, his heartbeat thudding against your cheek.

Slowly, he starts to work his fingers into you, moving them just barely to accommodate you to the feeling. A gentle curl of the two digits has you crying out softly into his bare skin. His cock twitches in your hand in response.

It’s been a long time since he has felt so out of his depth. He’s afraid of stepping a foot out of line. He wants you to trust him. It’s why he hasn’t yet snapped open the clasp on your bra — he doesn’t want to grope at you like some animal and scare you off. Getting to that point seems like a long stretch away.

But, the way you exhale softly and lift your head to kiss at his neck calms his nerves just a bit.

As his fingers push in further together, spurred on by the needy mewling noises you’re making, Bradley suddenly remembers the throbbing in his dick.

A pleased moan spills from your swollen lips as you drag them across his collarbones and along the protruding vein in the side of his neck, your hand still loosely working at a steady rhythm around him.

“Faster.” He hums into your mouth, rocking his hips eagerly into your hand as he curls his fingers into you. You keen helplessly into the feeling, squeezing your palm tighter and doing exactly what he had. A simple up and down tug.

“God, you’re the sweetest fuckin’ thing.” He doesn’t swear with you often, and really you’re not much of a fan of men with dirty mouths usually — but this, the gravel and desperation spilling from his voice has you throwing yourself at him, rocking yourself onto his fingers. “Taking it so well.”

Your mouth hangs open, legs spreading wider apart for him to angle himself closer. Bradley studies the look on your face, breathing heavy, knowing that if he does see you in his classroom in September, he’s in big trouble.

He’s not sure how he’ll ever look at you again and not think of this wide-eyed, trusting expression on your face.

His free hand comes up to brush your hair back off of your forehead, not quite noticing the lovestruck way you’re watching him as your stomach starts to tighten and tremble. His lips press softly to your forehead, just above your eyebrow, and then your cheek, just below your eye.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, smiling at the way it makes your mouth hang open in a rounder shape. Then, he leans in and sucks softly at your bottom lip. “How’s it feeling?”

You swallow through the dryness in your mouth, suddenly remembering to close it, then you try to nod at him. “Good.”

“Real good, or just good?” He nudges at the tip of your nose with his, fucking his hips into your hand as his skilled fingers drive the thoughts out of your head. Another slow, dirty kiss and it feels like you might just melt into him and become one if he does it again.

“Real good.” You whimper.

You’re hugging his fingers so tight that you wouldn’t even have to be touching him for him to still be on the verge of cumming already. He gasps and covers your hand with his, slowing it around his cock as his fingers continue into you relentlessly.

“Was — Did I hurt you?”

“The opposite.” Bradley reassures you, breathing hard as he starts to slowly guide your hand along him again. “You almost made me cum.”

Your eyes hurry open, right as something Bradley does makes you squirm right into him and gasp out loud. He watches you watching him, trying to see what you’re doing, what it looks like.

“Oh — mm, don’t… you want to?” Your other hand comes up to grab firmly at his thick shoulder as your eyes squeeze shut again. You can barely feel your legs. Bradley grunts softly in your ear, his thumb working firm circles around your sensitive clit.

“Not ‘til you do.”

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to wait long. Well, really there is nothing lucky about it. His moves are tried and tested. Before you know it, you’re coming all over his hand, babbling against the hot skin of his neck as you try to find the right word. Legs trembling, you cling onto his shoulder as he rocks your other hand around his length.

You can feel how close he is, how close he wants to be to you. He’s practically engulfing you, turning his face towards your neck and groaning enough to make you wish he hadn’t ever stopped touching you.

“I’m gonna cum.” Bradley seems to realize at once that you probably aren’t going to like what’s about to happen. He kisses you hard as he untangles your fingers from his and takes over, pressing his weight into you, chasing his own high.

Grabbing firmly at your waist, he pulls you against him and breathes hard into the crook of your neck, making it unmistakable as he groans your name. You watch, lips parted, as he coats his hand in his release, the fluid dripping onto his taut, shaking stomach.

“God, fuck—“ Bradley pants, swallowing hard and letting his head fall back against the pillow. So much for trying to keep his hands off of you.

You push yourself up so that you’re sitting, curling your knees up to your chest, taking a moment to observe him while his eyes are closed. All golden skin and soft lines, broad and strong. If he existed all those years ago, someone certainly would have wanted to carve him out of stone too.

“So, how does that myth end?”

He hums in amusement from beside you as his blurred thoughts start to come back to him. He’d almost forgotten what you had both even been talking about. He swallows thickly and glances down at the mess he has made on his hand.

“They survive it all, and get married,” He answers simply as he pushes himself up from the bed and searches for something to clean himself with.

Making a trip to the shared bathroom on this floor would probably be frowned upon in his current state.

“Their baby in the story goes on to be Voluptas — she’s known as the goddess of sensual pleasures.” He settles on a hand towel that seems untouched, and wiping off his hand and his stomach, then his dick. He turns around and finds you staring at him like he grew an extra head.

Quickly, you stand up and look towards the window like you hadn’t been staring.

“They went through all that just for it to be fine in the end.” You muse, shaking your head slightly as you grab your pyjama set and step into them, buttoning the shirt over your bare chest.

Now clothed in his boxers, Bradley presses his chest into your back and mouths softly at your neck.

“That’s how it always goes, more or less, right?” He decides, closing his eyes finally, turning his face towards your hair. You hum quietly. There’s a soft pause as his hand brushes over your bare stomach under your pajama shirt and then grabs firmly at your waist again. He sighs. “I should go.”

There’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of here in the morning. You’ve all got an early checkout and with everyone being on the same floor, he’s just asking to get caught sneaking out of your room.

You whine quietly and turn towards him.

“Really?”

“Unless you want to explain to the class exactly what I was doing in your room all night, baby, yeah.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. Despite your tired protests, you do let him leave without either one of you speaking about the line you have once again crossed.

He lets himself into his room, shirt barely buttoned, belt barely fastened. Luke is sitting upright with his back against the headboard of his twin bed, eating a packet of miniature cookies and watching an Italian dub of The Golden Girls.

They meet eyes, silent as the door clicks shut behind Bradley. It’s 3:45am. Luke hasn’t seen Bradley since they parted ways after the class dinner at 10pm.

“Hey, buddy.” Bradley mumbles, kicking his shoes off and already starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Hey.” Luke mumbles back, eyeing Bradley curiously. They haven’t spent much time together recently. Luke has noticed that he basically has the room to himself.

He scoops up a handful of the cookies and fills his mouth as Bradley strips out of his jeans. His head is turned strictly towards the staticky television, but his eyes peek quickly across at the lipstick mark on Bradley’s neck.

Again, Bradley doesn’t want to talk about it. He makes the most of his couple of hours of sleep and drags himself out of bed once again all too soon, packing his belongings for another day of travel. They make small talk as the two of them head down to the lobby.

Luke walks right ahead, greeting Robin’s tonsils with his tongue before he greets her verbally. Bradley strolls behind, dropping his bags to the floor and stretching his neck from side to side.

“So, what’s in Monteriggioni anyway, Brad?” Zoe asked, draped across the couch with her arms folded over her chest. She’s wearing a little pink tank top, looking at him over the top of a book she’s reading for him. This is the least hungover he has seen her in weeks.

“It’s a walled town — but we’re staying around forty minutes away from there.” He explains, dropping his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose.

“Where?” Abigail pipes up, sipping on a bottle of water.

“It’s someone’s house. He takes study assistants through the summer. Worked with him a couple of times.”

“You know so many cool people.” Zoe hums, turning her head and grimacing as she comes eye to eye with Luke’s hand groping at Robin’s ass over her levi’s cut offs. Bradley makes a soft sound of acknowledgement as he turns his head to see you giggling with Pasquale on the way into the lobby.

With his tongue finally out of Robin’s mouth, Luke cranes his neck to get a look at what it is Bradley’s smiling at. You. He turns his head to look at Robin, giving her a knowing look as he gestures for her to look over too.

“Alright, gimme your keys, let’s get out of here.” Bradley calls out to the group, walking around and taking the key from each person in the class. You take a seat on the edge of the couch that Zoe is laying across without greeting him as he heads up to the front desk to check out.

“Where do you go every night after dinner? — You just sit in your room or something?” Robin asks, leaning around her boyfriend. You lift your head and turn to look at her, immediately bristled by the smug little look on her face.

“Sometimes, other times I walk around a little.” You don’t owe her an answer and really, Pasquale wishes that you wouldn’t engage.

She makes a face, almost smirking, “All by yourself?”

“Oh, we have a message for this room. A young lady from New York called three times yesterday afternoon, we were trying to reach the occupant.” The receptionist realizes as she holds up your key. Bradley glances at the number, then back at you over your shoulder. He has to remind himself to call you your name.

You whip your head around at the sound of his voice across the lobby. You turn quickly back to Robin and she quirks an eyebrow at you.

Bradley frowns slightly at the furious look on your face as you storm across the lobby towards him and stand firm, “What?”

“You have a message — someone called you a couple of times yesterday. Call ‘em back so we can hit the road, I’m going to take everyone else outside to load up the van.” Bradley explains, glancing down at your outfit for the day. He likes those shorts on you.

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“You alright?” Bradley lowers his head slightly, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Fine.” You answer him, turning away as the receptionist hands you the phone, “Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

“… Catherine?” You frown, plugging one ear and holding the phone closer to you. Your maid of honour gasps on the other end of the line, appalled that you now have to second guess the sound of her voice.

“Everyone has been looking for you! We didn’t know which hotel you were at, Malcolm said you hadn’t called in days!”

You frown, wrinkling your face at her. “Daddy’s credit card paid for the hotel.”

“Well, Mac didn’t ask your dad. I’ve been so worried. How are you doing over there?”

Even more so, your frown deepens. Malcolm adores your father. They get along just fine. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t usually ask your father — usually, he wouldn’t need to. They talk every day.

“Yeah, good. Just busy and stuff, we’re traveling a lot. We have to get on the road in a second. I guess calling just slipped my mind.” You spent last night in another man’s arms and your fiancé was worried sick about you. You glance towards the door, watching Bradley laughing through conversation with Luke and Abigail outside. He doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“I’m glad you’re doing okay over there. I miss you. So, you and Mac are good, then, right?”

“Miss you too, but yeah, of course.” You mumble, propping your hand against your chin.

“Good. He mentioned you kind of cornered him about that fight at my end of semester party. I’m really glad you two figured that out. I thought for a second you two were going to break up over it when I first saw him on top of you like that.”

Bradley turns around and bends his neck to look at you across the lobby, his smile fades, brows furrowing slightly as he watches you press your finger harder into your ear and turn quickly away.

“Wait… Cath, what?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27 @ahoyyharrington

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun: maverick

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years ago

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VALENTINES DAY WITH THE SBI <3

• You hadn't been with the Sleepy Boys for too long, being a guest they had taken in until further notice had that affect after all, so when valentines day rolled around, you hardly noticed at first

• The only thing that clued you in at first was the way Wilbur used it as an excuse to share his plethora of sappy love songs

• Not to say he didn't already do that on the regular—he just had an excuse this particular day

• Chances are he ushers you, Phil, Tommy and Techno onto the living couch while he sits opposite all of you, strumming a tune about a mysterious stranger that had stolen his heart (often times maintaining soft eye contact with you all the while)—only pausing at the end to enthusiastically ask your opinions

• "I think it was shit. Where's all the men and the money and the riches Wil."

• "Tommy, I swear to god mate. One of these days, Wil's gonna smack you upside the head and I'm not gonna do anything about it."

• Tommy has spent every valentines day so far pretending to throw up at every romantic gesture he happens to stumble across according to Phil. Even if it's just a pink heart.

• He had been doing this ever since anyone could remember apparently, so it was to be expected at this point

• Secretly, though, he likes to think about everyone's reactions to him giving them a flower. He'd give you a daisy specificly, probably braiding a few stray ones into a flower crown for your hair like Tubbo had taught him. But he eventually decides that would be too babyish, and resorts back parading around the house while whining about love and how stupid it was

• Unlike Tommy's drastic change in behavior however, the only difference between normal Techno and Techno on valentines day, is that if you asked him enough times, he would read some of his greek mythology books out loud to you

• "Heyyyy Techno. Nice weather were having huh?"

• "S litteraly stormin outside (Y/n)."

• "Uh. Well. Rain, er, am I right?"

• "Jus' get in here so I can read to you already."

• Funnily enough, he always chose romance stories. Or at the very least, the few happy ones that existed in mythology, just for you

• The tale of Eros and Psyche happened to be your favorite. And each time you asked, Techno would turn back to the beginning to read it again, a faint smile on his face at your own

• At one point Wilbur had passed by Technos room, momentarily seeing through the cracked door the sight of you laying your head in Technos lap gently as he read to you

• Later when he brought it up to the pinkette, he had gotten a book thrown at his head and was told to never mention that to Phil

• Phil himself spends most of valentines day looking out the window and up into the sky quietly, petting one of his crows slowly. Like he was waiting for something. Someone.

• But in the meantime, while he waited, Phil was perfectly happy with his wild family and the stranger from the woods they had taken in, heart bursting with love for them all

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allgirlsareprincesses · 6 months ago

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A Tale of Two Disguises: Fairy Tale Motifs in Bridgerton Season 3 (Part 1)

It’s Polin Season! In the midst of this Friends to Lovers renaissance and rewatching the Carriage Scene™ for the 847,000th time, I find that I MUST give the fairy tale meta treatment to our beloved Bridgertons. Not only did the show explicitly relate its central couple to the Eros and Psyche myth, but there are a number of other fairy and folk tale motifs scattered throughout the season.

While we only have the first four episodes so far (Shonda, you cruel, cruel tease!), it seems clear that the theme of the season is disguise. Our leading man and lady have both put on masks to protect them from society, but those are slowly being peeled away as they draw closer together. I would argue that aside from Cupid and Psyche (ATU 425), the story also relies heavily on Cinderella (ATU 510), both romances in which the true self is revealed.

To begin with, Colin arrives back in town with a flirtatious new swagger, but apparently no intent to actually court a mate. In this way, he is very similar to the mythical Cupid, who is described as:

“that winged lad, the naughty child who has been so spoilt that he despises all social restraint. Amed with flames and arrows he flits in the night from house to house. He severs the marriage-tie on all sides; and unchastised he perpetuates endless mischief.”

Now I hear you, you’re saying that sounds nothing like Colin! And yes, but the point is that he has no qualms about flirting with one lady after another (or bedding prostitutes), metaphorically slinging Cupid’s arrows everywhere he goes, because that is the role he believes he must perform. The point of his character in Apuleius’ narrative is that Cupid has power over gods and men, to make them fall in love with one another, but he himself is never prey to such feelings.

UNTIL. His mother, Venus, tells him to make the beautiful Psyche fall in love with a monster. In some versions, simply the sight of Psyche is enough to make Cupid fall in love. In others, he accidentally pricks himself with his own arrow when he sees her, thus becoming the victim of his own schemes.

Similarly, Colin agrees to help Penelope find a husband, but soon finds that he himself has fallen in love with her. There is even a subtle reference to this when he gifts Gregory the bow and arrows. In the shot, Gregory turns with the bow pointed directly at Colin. He is in the sights of Cupid’s bow, about to be hit with his own weapon!

Once Cupid has fallen for Psyche, she is borne upon the wind to his palace, where she is served by invisible servants and her new husband visits her only in darkness when she cannot see him. By these means, he keeps his true identity hidden, leading Psyche to eventually question whether she has indeed married a monster. In her fear, she brings an oil lamp to his bed, and when she sees that he is in truth the handsome god Cupid, she accidentally drops hot oil onto him. Thus injured, her husband awakes into the realization that she has betrayed his confidence and uncovered his identity.

Similarly, Colin is concealing his true self behind the mask of the rake, hiding his desire for emotional intimacy even from Penelope. Not easily fooled, she writes as Lady Whistledown questioning whether this is in fact his true self. Once their “lessons” begin, Colin rather scandalously invites her into his home (his palace), a place that only intimate family members should be allowed. He then asks her to imagine invisible guests and musicians, just like Cupid’s invisible retinue.

Then, Penelope discovers his diary, just beside the lamp as Psyche also discovered Cupid’s true self. The shadow husband thus revealed, Colin appears and is furious at Penelope’s apparent betrayal. He knocks over the lamp and is injured by the shards of glass, just as Cupid was injured by drops of oil. This wounding is a critical part of animal husband tales, where the heroine approaches him with “flame and steel,” painfully stripping away his mask or animal skin so that it is impossible for him to hide from her.

Typically, at this point in the tale, the husband would flee, but Colin stays. There is still another betrayal yet to come with the revelation of Penelope’s alter ego, however, so I would not be surprised if we yet saw Colin retreat from her in pain, even temporarily. Further, the betrayal typically happens as a result of the bride’s lack of faith in her husband, so Penelope will need to learn to fully trust Colin as well.

The Cupid and Psyche tale is of course explicitly referenced in the dance performed at the Queen’s ball. To the extent that the dance is a retelling, it seems to focus on the ending of the tale, when Cupid awakens Psyche from a deathlike sleep and then raises her to Olympus, where she becomes a goddess as well. This then is where we are headed: the revelation of Penelope’s secret may cause her to fall into a metaphorical death state (maybe the fainting scene in the trailer?), but Colin’s love will ultimately lift her up to her rightful place among the gods.

Another interesting feature in Apuleius’ story is a moment when Cupid’s mother Venus offers a reward for the capture of Psyche, in punishment for wounding her son:

“Ho, if anyone can produce in person, or give information as to the place of concealment of a certain runagate princess, a slave-girl of Venus, Psyche by name, let him hie to Mercury the crier at the rear of the Murtian Sanctuary, and receive by way of reward seven times a Kiss of Bliss and once a Kiss honeyed-beyond-measure by the interjection of her alluring tongue.”

Basically, Venus places a bounty on Psyche. And WHO in the Bridgerton cast has explicitly associated herself with Venus? None other than Queen Charlotte, whom we know from the Part 2 trailer will be offering a reward for the identification or capture of Lady Whistledown. In the tale, Venus plays the role of an avenging goddess who is enraged both by insults to her family and by romances that occur without her approval and orchestration. Once again, this sounds exactly like Queen Charlotte, so expect her to play that destructive goddess role throughout much of the season.

While animal husband tales focus on the revelation of the true man behind the beastly disguise, Cinderella tales center around the exposure of the true bride. A typical Cinderella story includes the following:

Persecuted heroine, usually by family

Help or helper, usually magic

Meeting the prince, usually with true identity disguised

Identification or penetration of disguise, usually by means of an object

Marriage to the prince

Throughout all three seasons of Bridgerton so far, we can clearly see Penelope being persecuted by her family, with her wicked mother and two foolish sisters easily fulfilling their quintessential roles.

As for the helper, Penelope has had several, but her most notable is Madame Delacroix, who both assists her caper as Lady Whistledown and then also supplies her with her transformative new wardrobe. In this way, she fulfills the role of the Fairy Godmother to Penelope’s Cinderella.

Meeting the prince of course is somewhat different since Colin and Penelope have known one another for years. Still, it is true that Penelope’s full identity has been disguised, since she has hidden her role as Lady Whistledown from him and the rest of the Ton.

Identification or penetration of the disguise has not occurred yet, in my opinion, but it likely will in Part 2 of Season 3. In the book, Colin follows Penelope and discovers her secret, and it may be that something similar occurs in the show. It’s unclear yet as to whether there may be an object involved, although if there is, I suspect it may be an issue of Whistledown itself, or perhaps the pen she uses to write it. Further, Eloise is heard in the trailer giving Penelope a midnight deadline to tell Colin the truth, just like how Cinderella's magical disguise will fall away at midnight.

And of course, we know we’re headed toward the eventual marriage with the prince! But meantime, there are a number of other familiar features of the Cinderella tale, not least of which are Penelope’s three separate flights from three balls. She runs first from Lady Danbury’s Four Seasons Ball, then again when her arrangement with Colin is revealed, and a final time after Debling turns her down. In some versions of the fairy tale, Cinderella actually does attend three different balls, fleeing from each one before midnight and only losing her slipper on the last one.

Of course, while she leaves behind no shoe, Colin races after Penelope each time, and finally catches her carriage on the last one, kneeling before her and confessing his feelings. This, like the relation to the mythical Cupid, leans on Hunter/Huntress motifs common throughout folklore. Often, one lover will chase after the other, and then they will trade places and the hunter will become the hunted. And only very rarely do these lovers come together as equals in the end.

So I will end there for now! Cannot WAIT for Part 2, after which I will try to update this with any new observations!

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psycoland · 6 months ago

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@house-of-tales

Era raro ter um segundo de descanso, mas acontecia. Estava deitado no sofá de seu apartamento, curtindo o frio do clima presente. Estava deitado em seu sofá quando seu corpo começou a tremer, indicando que seria transportado para um lugar onde alguém estava em um extremo risco, ativando sua presença global. Mesmo que atuação nas áreas japonesas, quando nenhuma outra entidade divina ligada a proteção não podia exercer sua função, o tigre atendia em qualquer lugar possível.

Suas roupas foram abandonadas quando seu corpo mudou de forma, assumindo sua aparência original de um enorme tigre branco. Em segundos já estava no local, trazido por um portal, tomando a frente da vítima assim que as balas foram disparadas, atingindo sua pele resistente e manchando sua linda pelagem de vermelho vivo. Pela dor aquelas balas não eram normais, coisa que não era novidade. Olhou para trás apenas para ver quem era o coitado que necessitava de sua ajuda: um loiro de olhos verdes em uma situação nada favorável. Seus olhos azuis passavam tranquilidade para o outro.

Olhou para o causador daquele terror e rosnou, seguido de um rugido capaz de estremecer o solo. Em piscar de olhos suas garras estavam atravessam o corpo alvo, evitando usar a boca para não sentir o gosto da carne e sangue. Não demorou mais do que dois minutos, logo voltando para o ser indefeso. - “Está tudo bem agora?” - pronunciou ainda na forma animal, sem mover a boca, sendo uma voz quase telepata.

#🍁 ≈ Thaiga ✦ i can't be tamed ✦ (interactions) ≈ 🍁#house of tales ~ eros #house-of-tales #✦ Closed Started ✦

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psycoland · 4 months ago

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Michaell tampou a boca apenas para acompanhar as risadas alheias, evitando que sua boca cheia de comida fosse exposta. Terminou de engolir antes de continuar falando, ainda risonho. - “Ainda bem que você já sabe que também não presta. Mas você tem cara de quem entenderia exatamente o que estou falando... Por isso falei.” - apesar do teor babaca anteriormente, as palavras do ruivo eram sempre bem calculadas pensando em quem as ouviria. Eram assim que bajulava a maioria de seus clientes.

Piscou algumas vezes enquanto bebida um pouco do seu chá de maça com canela, os lábios sorrindo enquanto tocavam suavemente a louça. Sua atenção completamente presa em Karter antes de responder à pergunta. - “Bom, na verdade a cama é sempre a mesma. Quem pulam são as pessoas!” - respondeu com o mesmo humor típico daquele garoto. - “Brincadeiras à parte, sou garoto de programa.” - deu de ombros. Apenas isso já explicava da onde vinha tanto dinheiro.

Obviamente não comentaria que era a meretriz de maior orçamento, estabelecido pela dona do local. E também, nada diria sobre essa não ser sua única fonte de renda.

"Obrigado!" não era porque tinha o ego bem inflado em geral, que não seria educado e grato quanto a elogios. Mas logo viu aquele sorriso cafajeste, ouviu aquela voz de cara nitidamente babaca... e acabou tendo que abafar o riso contra a mão "Maluco, tu não presta! E eu também não, porque sei do que tu ta falando..."

No fim das contas, ainda que não fosse mais tão assim, já teve momentos mais cafajestes e escrotos. Não era seu maior orgulho, mas... não deu pra não rir daquele momento.

"Tu vive essa vida, então? Pulando de cama em cama?" perguntou só de curiosidade, em meio à uma colherada e outra de sua sobremesa.

#♛ ≈ Michaell ✦ that boy is bad and honestly he's a wolf in disguise ✦ (interactions) ≈ ♛#house of tales ~ eros #house-of-tales

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 6 months ago

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05/30/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika Waititi; Rachel House; GuzKhan; Police Menacing Max: Pride Month; Tell Tale TV Awards Reminder; Emmy Considerations: #Emmy4ConONeill Day; June 3 Fuckery with AdoptOurCrew; FanSpotlight; Mermay; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Today's Taika

== David Jenkins ==

Well, Chaos Dad Chose violence today.

Source: David Jenkins' Twitter

== Taika Waititi ==

Rita's new Music Video came out at midnight last night, and I was planning on just having this one picture, but now I gotta put in the whole video so you can see Taika in his Laundromat glory.

Source: Rita Ora's Instagram

youtube

Source: Kiaora29's Twitter

== Rachel House ==

Rachel out with friends <3

Source: Rachel House's Instagram

== Guz Khan ==

Quick Guz Khan sighting!

Source: Guz Khan's Instagram

= Reminder to Vote =

You can vote for the Tell-Tale TV Awards every day! Please do! Let's get OFMD and Rhys and Ruibo an award! Vote here.

Source: SaveOFMD Crew Instagram

= Upcoming Emmy Considerations =

Today 5/31/24 is the push for #Emmy4ConONeill! You can get useful graphics on the Our Flag Means Fanfiction linktr.ee or make your own! The biggest goal is to make #Emmy4ConONeill Trend! Rhys is up next on June 1! and Taika on June 8!

== June 3 Fuckery with Adopt Our Crew ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew will be pushing #DontStreamOnMax with any other relevant hashtag (#OurFlagMeansDeath, #SaveCoyoteVsAcme) on June 3rd during the Stockholder Meeting! Feel free to come out for the fuckery if you can!

Source: AdoptOurCrew Instagram

== Max Menacing: Pride Month ==

Thank you to @patchworkpiratebear for sharing these, there's lots of posts you can go to and polite menace max on for trying to make money off of pride month after cancelling OFMD and other queer shows. Feel free to hop onto your favorite platform and "unleash hell".

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7mTElVseN1/?igsh=MWVubW8wM3lzZmZseA==

Tiktok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeVFwdJb/

Twitter: https://x.com/StreamOnMax/status/1796211911052161511

==More Under the Cut==

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Tonight's cast card is our very near and dear Jes Tom! Thank you so much @melvisik for making sure they get their spotlight!

== MerMay ==

Today is the final day of Mermay! Have you filled out your Bingo cards? If you've done any please be sure to tag @bizarrelittlemew! I've really enjoyed this month's prompts and so many wonderful submissions for them! Thank you again Ida for putting this together!!

= xoxoemynn =

Our dear friend @xoxoemynn put together a fic for Mermay 2024! Please check it out below!

= Snejpowa =

Oh you glorious person you, @snejpowa this is going to make me cry. The intensity in those eyes, and the detail, my heart 😭

Day 30: Nine Guns

= Blueberreads =

Huzzah! The absolutely brilliant and delightful @blueberreads is keeping us fed with more MerMay Pixel gifs!

Day 30: Nine Guns

== Eros The Artist ==

The lovely, creative, and talented @erostheartist has done it again! This time with Izzy and the color teal prompt. I love the swallows, lovely connection to Izzy.

Day 26: Teal

= Spencer Does Art =

Poor Edward.. I love the dripping eye make up on this one it really is haunting. Thank you as always to the fantastic @ spencerdoesartt on IG!

= Stjernegaupe =

More vector art from the lovely @stjernegaupe. I saw Calypso's Birthday on Samba's Instagram stories the other day! Congrats!

Day 17: Have you ever been sketched? / Day 18: Calypso's Birthday / Day 19: Rowboat / Day 20: High On a Rocky Ledge / Day 21: Sandwich

== Love Notes ==

Hey Lovelies. It's finally here, it's Friday! I know this has been a bit of an up and down week for everyone, so please remember to take a break this weekend and get some much needed rest. I'm running behind on all the things today so I'd just like send you some love notes from the wonderful @ TheLatestKate. If you don't already follow her, please head over there and do so because she brings me so much peace when she posts. Happy Friday crew, <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Well, couldn't resist the Taika lean back and stare gif tonight, my contribution of ridiculous pairings is poor Rhys and the anal beads (and not knowing what they are).

Darby Gif by the absolute ultimate Rhys Rhysource, @wastingyourgum

Taika Gif by one of the best folks @eddie-redcliffe

#Youtube #ofmd daily recap #rhys darby #taika waititi #david jenkins #rachel house #guz khan #adopt our crew #our flag means death #ofmd #save ofmd #long live ofmd #finish our stories #polite menacing #emmy considerations #emmy4cononeill

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dearorpheus · 2 years ago

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Are there any non-fiction you can recommend for people who are fascinated by your blog (especially the elements of dark eroticism, morbidity and horror)?

🖤 love that you are loving!

i will try to stick to non-fic (also refraining as best i can from re-recommending texts from previous asks but there is of course bound to be some overlap): - The Severed Head: Capital Visions, Julia Kristeva -> read about Aubrey Beardsley's illustrations for Salomé (x, x)

and supplement w Baudelaire's Une Martyre "in which the narrator lovingly contemplates the beauty of a woman's severed head at rest upon a nightstand"

- Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty & Venus in Furs, Deleuze - The Sadeian Woman: And the Ideology of Pornography, Angela Carter - Aesthetic Sexuality: A Literary History of Sadomasochism, Romana Byrne - Perverse Desire and the Ambiguous Icon, Allen S. Weiss - "Must We Burn Sade?", Simone de Beauvoir -> read also about Erzsébet Báthory, the Bloody Countess. supplement your readings with Borowcyzk's Immoral Tales (1973), Julie Delpy's The Countess (2009), Alejandra Pizarnik's La Condesa Sangrienta and/or, if you have the stomach for it:

Lorna's death in Hostel Pt II (2007), inspired by the Countess^

- Anaïs Nin's diaries + Henry and June - Abject Eroticism in Northern Renaissance Art, Yvonne Owens

Hans Baldung Grien "gave powerful visual expression to late medieval tropes and stereotypes, such as the poison maiden, venomous virgin, the Fall of Man, 'death and the maiden' and other motifs and eschatological themes, which mingled abject and erotic qualities in the female body"

- Satanic Feminism: Lucifer as the Liberator of Woman in Nineteenth-Century Culture, Per Faxneld - The Library of Esoterica's Witchcraft - the biographical Taschen on H.R. Giger's oeuvre—biomechanical, Lovecraftian-tentacular fused limbs, bodies, systems, overtly phallic/yonic symbology, darkly psychedelic... very much fantastically erotic; I have my eye on the 40th Anniversary Edition

Giger, as we know, having designed the xenomorph from the Alien (1979) series to have an intensely sexual evolution:

- DEFINITELY read about+explore ero guro (see also: Bataille's L'histoire de l'œil / Story of the Eye! though it is fiction)

brief introductory articles here and here but it's truly so rich and decadent... delve into it!! film, lit, manga, history, so on... -> watch Nagisa Ōshima's In The Realm Of The Senses (1976) too

- if you can read French by any chance, Le Corps Souillé (The Soiled Body) by Eric Falardeau looks incredible; if not, this excerpt alone is delightfully provocative even in isolation - similarly, L'espirit de plaisir: Une histoire de la sexualité et de l’érotisme au Japon (The Spirit of Pleasure: A History of Sexuality and Eroticism in Japan) by Philippe Pons and Pierre-François Souyri is something I'm hoping might see an English translation

^an excerpt from an interview with the authors

- The Art of Cruelty + The Red Parts, Maggie Nelson - Crucial Interventions: An Illustrated Treatise on the Principles & Practice of Nineteenth-Century Surgery, Richard Barnett - The Butchering Art, Lindsey Fitzharris - Death, Disease and Dissection, Suzie Grogan - The Theatre and Its Double, Antonin Artaud - Men, Women, and Chainsaws, Carol J. Clover - House of Psychotic Women, Kier-La Janisse - The Monstrous-Feminine, Barbara Creed - Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers, Sady Doyle - The Lady From The Black Lagoon, Mallory O'Meara

#that's all that comes to mind for now! loveu anon #asks #eroticism #horror

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canmom · 23 days ago

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Animation Night 193 - Harpier cries: 'tis time! 'tis time!

PREVIOUSLY, in the dark halls of ANIMATION NIGHT, you have born witness to such horrors as these...

Animation Night 25: HORROR, featuring Kakurenbo, Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, Birdboy: The Forgotten Children, and many episodes of Yamishibai

Animation Night 77: Once More, Halloween, featuring Blood: The Last Vampire, Seoul Station, The Wolf House, and Shoujo Tsubaki - and more Yamishibai...

Animation Night 129: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed..., featuring Hellsing Ultimate, The Secret Adventures of Tom Thumb, Mad God, Ujicha's Violence Voyager, and guess what? Yamishibai...

Animation Night 176: The Hedge-Pigge Whin'd, a rather scuffed production which, contra the writeup, ended up just showing the Darkstalkers OVA from 1997. And some Yamishibai of course.

And now, my friends, and now... the witching hour is soon to be upon us once more, and it is time we revelled in the darkness and terror, for tonight is hallow'een, easily the best festival in the western calendar.

Many thanks go to @glitch-critter and @muzothecat, who provided me some excellent suggestions for animated horror that I have yet to see. Not that reruns would be the end of the world, there's some excellent shit on the list above I would be immensely glad to see again.

To begin with, we have the recently-released The Birth of Kitarō: The Mystery of GeGeGe (幾多郎誕生：ゲゲゲの謎). Which provides an excellent excuse to get into the subject of Kitarou. So let's begin our dark and sordid tale... well, it's actually a pretty positive tale, but that's not really in the spirit of things.

GeGeGe no Kitarō is a truly classic manga series dating back to the 60s, created by Shigeru Mizuki. But it's actually older still: the earliest incarnation of Kitarō is in a kamishibai performance written/illus. by Masami Itō and Keiyō Tatsumi back in 1933, called Hakaba Kitarō (Kitarō of the Graveyard). It tells the story of a ghost boy called Kitarō who lives in a graveyard; like many kamishibai it was aiming at straight up horror. Here's a board from the original (photo by translator Zack Davisson, thanks wikipedia):

So, you know yōkai? You're reading this blog, so probably, but just in case, they are the various freaky spirits of Japanese folklore, from kappa and tengu to nekomata and chōchin-oiwa. And the reason why they are such a popular feature of modern popular culture (you all know what a kappa is, right?) is in large part due to this manga.

Shigeru Mizuki, born 1922, had a pretty wild life. He was drafted into the army in 1943 at age 21, and lost his left arm in a bombing the next year; during his recovery he made friends among the Tolai people of New Guinea. He came home after the war, and found work renting out an apartment building and drawing kamishibai on the side; gradually the kamishibai work took over. In 1953, his brother Sōhei moved in after being tried for war crimes (the timeline does not mention the outcome of the trial); in 1957 at age 35 he moved to drawing manga, debuting in rental manga with Rocketman.

Starting in 1960 at the behest of Mizuki's publisher, the Hakaba Kitarō manga adapted the story of the yamishibai, introducing a wider audience to ghost boy Kitarō with his floofy hair and little third eye on a stalk. It proved explosively popular (despite being at first deemed too scary for children), telling the stories of Kitarō's encounters with all kinds of yōkai. The state of English translations is a bit scattershot; some of it is available on mangadex.

In 1964, at age 42, Mizuki debuted in serialised manga in Garo magazine - a name you might find familiar, the avant-garde magazine which also published authors like Suehiro Maruo (ero-guro mangaka, the author of Shoujo Tsubaki) and Hiroshi Masamura (the guy who made the cat manga we looked into on AN188). There, he rebooted the Kitarō manga, starting once again with the story of the birth of Kitarō. Before long he jumped over to the much larger Monthly Shonen Magazine, and retooled Kitarō to be more kid-oriented. From then on it's Kitarō city - and the immense success of the manga gave him the chance to regularly return to the newly combined state of Papua New Guinea.

In 1968, Kitarō arrived in animation land, one of Toei's early projects. It quickly became one of those classic famous Toei anime, you know the type, the kind of thing that every Japanese person of a certain age would have seen on TV. Mizuki himself composed the OP, and it continued to get sequels throughout the ensuing fifty years, with the most recent being in 2018. This is an old and widely beloved anime so there is a lot of it: the 1968 series accumulated 65 episodes, the third series in 1985-88 is the longest at 115, but the others are no slouch either; even the 2018 series pulled out a mighty 97.

As such, it's... perhaps a little daunting! But...

The Birth of Kitarō is a prequel to the 2018 series... and rather than being a spooky-fun kids anime, it's intended as a genuine horror story aimed at adults, presumably adults who grew up watching Kitarō, returning to the earliest Garo-era tone of the manga. Set in the 50s, the story sees salaryman Mizuki arrive in a village in pursuit of a mysterious medicine, where he finds the village ruled by an old superstitious family. Naturally, before long, murders start happening. And a mysterious white-haired man is somehow involved...

Seems like the perfect way to get into Kitarō. I missed the chance to see this film at Annecy this year, but it's already out on nyaa, so let's jump on it.

So that's our first act. What of our second?

Junk Head is a stop-motion scifi film pretty much enitrely solo animated by Takehide Hori who, at age 40, heard about Makoto Shinkai's solo-animated film Voices of a Distant Star (AN44), and was inspired to spend the next seven years working on a stop-motion scifi epic of his own. It tells of a cyborg from a future where humans have lost the ability to reproduce, venturing into a strange underground realm full of freaky creatures that, I'm told, invite comparisons to the art of Giger, Bosch, Escher and Gorey, and the films of Švankmajer (whose Alice we watched on AN50), Gilliam, and the Quay Brothers. del Toro lauded it as a 'work of deranged brilliance'.

Which is to say this is exactly the kind of thing we like to show here on Animation Night. I can't believe I didn't hear of this film before. Sources are not exactly abundant, but I was able to find a hardsubbed 720p version with a few seeds on it, so that's what we'll be watching tonight.

Speaking of the Brothers Quay, who enjoy a remarkably in-depth and thorough wiki page, they have yet to appear on Animation Night, and it's about time we remedied that! A pair of identical twins from the Pennsylvania who moved to the UK in 1969 to study at the RCA, they got their start in illustration before making a turn to stop motion film using bits of dolls and various other materials in the vein of Švankmajer.

They are incredibly prolific as a pair, making shorts in nearly every year from 1979 to 2021 (bar a couple of hiatuses). Most of their films are without dialogue, set instead to the music of Leszek Jankowski and a great many other other composers. They are huge book nerds too, adapting authors from Lem and Kafka to Emma Hauck; honestly there's a ton to dive into here and I will for sure be returning to these guys on a future Animation Night. Tonight, however, our pick will be Street of Crocodiles (2021), a musical piece in which a puppet walks through a desolate realm of "mechanical realities and manufactured pleasures", widely celebrated as one of their best films.

Stop motion seems to be a theme tonight, huh? Somehow, stop motion is just spookier than traditional animation. That theme continues with The House, an anthology piece for Netflix depicting three different stories taking place in the same house. Animated in London, each piece brings in a different director, respectively Emme de Swaef and Marc James Roels co-directing the first, Swedish director Niki Lindroth von Bahr the second and Mexican-British actress turned director Paloma Baeza for the third.

The stories span a few hundred years, from the 1800s to a flooded post climate change future. In each case, the house is the stage for tales of obsession and misguided ambition leading to disaster, whether it should befall anthro rats, humans or anthro cats. Widely praised for its animation and general weirdness, I'm quite excited to see what this mix has in store.

And returning of course will be Yamishibai, the wonderful long-running series of ridiculous cutout-animated creepypasta horror in the vein of old-school kamishibai boards. You know we gotta. And hey, if we're feeling in a really good mood at the end of the evening, I might bring Shoujo Tsubaki out of the vaults too. We shall see.

Animation Night 193 shall begin, with its gruesome course of animated horrors, at seventh hour.... which is to say 7pm UK time, just over four hours from the writing of this post. Be there, or be forever haunted by the ghosts of frames unseen (unless you gotta go trick or treat or something, we understand). The place? Upon the heath... of twitch.tv/canmom!

Hoooohhooohohoohooohooohohoooooooooo!

#animation night #animation #halloween

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lizziela · 3 months ago

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The Old Dragon's Prophecies

Aemond Targaryen x fem!OC (Arryn!OC) - Psyche and Eros AU

1748 words

Warnings:

Mentions of sacrifice, nightmares, mental health, mentions of death (small character), non-canon, english isn't my first language - And It'll be added more warnings for each chapter

Reduced to the ashes of the beast, she will be With all the World Westerosi Found in the Arryn’s, his bride will it be And in all places, for her, will it seek What if a sacrifice is made? Remain in place will it all stay

Prologue

Since she was a small child, she heard three things:

The first was how she was the blood of the dragon. Being born from a descendent straight out the House Belaerys, one of the few dragon riders descendent from Old Valyria.

The second was hearing her Septa Maeryn gossiping about her lady, Mellara’s mother, how she was a mad woman: that hallucinated and had the strangest dreams. Because to her Septa, there was no such a thing as a dragon dreamer that her lord talked so much about, trying to relieve his wife from the terrible rumours.

And the last and third thing, how she was the most beautiful out of her siblings. All 5 children of Lady Amara and Lord Arryn were handsome when young, and after years, they grew to be the most desired Lords and Maidens from the Vale. Even the youngest, Bennard, with only seven years of age, were considered to have been blessed with his mother’s beauty, just like his older siblings.

Lady Amara Arryn, borne Celtigar, was the grand child of the last woman who bore the last name Belaerys that was known in all Westeros. She didn’t get to meet her grandmother, with her having died when her own father wasn’t even close to adulthood, with his age closest to Bennard than Mellara’s.

Although, he told her tales about the fearless woman, who people gossiped, that could control and create bonds with dragons, even if they weren’t hers. Some would say that she could read the dragon’s minds, but he would always say that this part was the creativity of the people minds. Amara’s father, and grandsire, would talk every other day how she got her grandmother’s spirit and gifts, having tried to talk to a rogue dragon herself when she was younger than little Bennard during their diplomatic travel to Dragonstone one time. And they only showed up more after she got older and started realising that the dreams she had weren’t normal ones, they were dragon dreams after she predicted the almost death of her dear uncle, her father’s younger brother, during a usual hunt.

Mellara knew her mother’s dreams were enigmatic visions, she never believed the words her old Septa, who didn’t try to understand anything other than the syllabus she taught the Arryn Children. She couldn’t describe how she understands her mother’s troubled mind, she just knew.

To help with his wife’s burden, her husband would try and instruct her to write what she saw in her dreams, especially after Mellara’s birth, when the visions became more and more frequent. He would try and persuade Amara to write anything she could remember, even if most of them were extremely fogged after the terror’s they could show. After writing it down, Lord Arryn would send her journals to his most trusted maesters, trying to get them to decipher what she saw and what plagued her so badly, the things that filled his Lady with dread.

When Mellara was close to ten years of age, she heard the screams of her mother from across the private wing from the Arryn’s wing on their castle. The next morning, she heard her father comforting his wife about the most recent dragon dream, the one she could be sure were the doom of her dear family, especially her youngest and precious daughter.

At that time, Mellara was growing into a fine Maiden, being the fourth child and the youngest girl of the second Lord Arryn, the only Lord Arryn with heirs. It was strange for her to be on the receiving end of endless attention. Because of her beauty, because of her mother’s dreams, because of her uncle fruitless marriage…

She had two older sisters: Teresa, the eldest child, almost of age of marriage at the time their mother started having her terrible horrors about Mellara, with ten and eight years of age. She was 8 years Mellara’s senior. And Elyssa, who was the middle child of five, being 3 years younger than Teresa.

Whispers were heard through the Arryn castle, about how blessed she was with her mother’s beauty, the beauty the Maiden herself gave to her family, looking more like an angel than human. People would say crazy things about how if the Targaryens looked like the Gods made flesh, the small branch of Valyrian blood that run through the Arryn children made them look just as godly beautiful. But even the Arryn-Valyrian blood couldn’t be compared to Mellara, once she was the most beautiful of them. She had to have had the Maiden’s blessing before she was born.

After Mellara’s eleventh nameday, her mother told her about the secret they whispered through the halls, the terrifying dream that plagued their family, and Mellara was the protagonist of it. Amara finally told her youngest girl (now not the youngest child anymore, once Bennard had been born close to a year at the time).

What her mother told Mellara terrified her, but Amara was sincere with her child. Mellara was not to be wedded to anyone, she was told. But to not become a Septa as well. A decision that did not look good at the eyes of Westeros, especially once the girl was beautiful enough to be coveted even at the age of eleven. Though their family didn’t have much of a choice.

Her mother’s dream never changed during the years since she had it, Lady Arryn told her daughter: it always started the same, with her child now grown, and imprisoned by a Beast. She couldn’t see it, and a strange and soft voice would always affirm that the girl was protected. But the feeling she got during the dream always said otherwise. That her baby was in danger, that she wasn’t safe, that she fell into the viper’s den. And that Beast was the cruellest of them all.

But at that point, not only the soft and caring voice continued saying that Mellara was alright, now the girl talked to her mother directly in her dream, with words of safety and care.

Then the vision would change, and her fears would now be shown. The Beast, besides his creator, would light Mellara’s on flames. And now she could only feel, not hear or see, only feel her daughter’s anguish. It wasn’t from the flames pain; it was an emotional hurt, it felt like betrayal.

The dream then was narrated by the Valyrian Goddess, Meleys and Vhagar, was right beside her, saying everything she needed to know.

It terrified her mother even more, to be face to face to those deities, that her Valyrian side of the family tried hard to worship still. And it terrified even her father, the man with his faith strong to the Seven.

For that reason, Lord Arryn made his eldest son, Dorren, a young man of ten and eight at the time, swear to protect his sister from her terrible fate, from the fate of being burned alive, of suffering a huge betrayal, as his mother dreamed.

Close to eleven months after Bennard’s birth, the Lord Arryn, their father, succumbed to a winter fever after a trip close to the North, something unknown to the maesters from the Vale. After a few months, the Lord Harrold Arryn, the Lord of the Eeyrie, her father’s elder brother, also died from an illness that plagued him most of his life. Leaving Dorren to assume the Arryn seat.

Being now the newest Lord Arryn himself, he oversaw his sisters, making him now the one responsible for their engagements and betrothals.

Close to two months after being the new Lord, he married his older sister, Teresa, to the third in line for the Royce seat, after the late Lady Rhea Royce, Ser Garin Royce. And Elyssa, three years after, was given to a second son of Redwyne, Ser Torrhen Redwyne. The two, now married women, left at the Eeyrie Castle their two brothers and younger sister, who now was close to her four and ten nameday.

The story that ran around the Vale was that how good of a match the two Arryn girls had made, with honourable men, and how it was a feat to their Lord brother and the remembrance of the promise Dorren have made to their father, to look after his girls.

Although carrying a toll of a young maiden, already ready for marriage since her 15th nameday, but who still hadn’t a wedding date in sight. The opposite, only refusals made by her brother on her behalf. That rumour made de closest houses cautious about what the family of a formerly second son of the Arryn household could be hiding, once the whispers of the dreams were prohibited to leave the Castle.

The most common assumption was about their heritage, about how there was a curse, who passed since the Belaerys to the Arryn’s by blood.

The rumours around the Vale weren’t without a fundament, and completely wrong. It wasn’t a curse inherited after the last Lady Belaerys, although the actual curse wasn’t placed yet, both Mellara and her mother were just waiting for the time to come and retrieve the younger Arryn girl from her family. From her mother, Lady Amara, who was every year more and more apprehensive about the fate of her sweetest (and unbeknownst to her other girls) and favourite daughter.

And every day, of every week, the same dreaded dream would plague her more. And time by time she felt her daughter’s emotion even more vividly as if it was her own. It was the same message from the gods, with the same feeling of terror every time she woke up in cold sweat looking for her daughter’s chambers, afraid she had been taken during the night. That they had finally taken her from her home to marry that monster.

She was always afraid during the final time of her dream. When she heard the same rhyme, like a lullaby for children that always get stuck into your brain and nothing else can make it stop.

She always heard the words while she saw her daughter lit up in flames, silently, as if she couldn’t feel anything physically.

And the words were:

That's the prologue of a multi-chapter fic I am currently writing.

I hope you like it.

We writers love to hear about the feedback, so please say what you think about it.

Hopefully I will be able to post more frequently!

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

#aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon fic #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x fem #house of the dragon #the old dragon's prophecie #psyche and eros AU #hotd au #aemond targaryen au #lizzie thoughts #lizzie writes

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