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randomdragonfires · 29 days ago

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Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did - Part Four, An Interlude

Text divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him.

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader; Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

WORD COUNT | 12k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!

AUTHOR'S NOTE | This chapter does not pick up where chapter 3 left off. This is a short interlude that looks into Aemond and Alys and how they came to be, and what it is that keeps them together. Or atleast, this is my attempt at writing a complicated relationship that was doomed from the get go. The next chapter is the last one.

I do not entertain comments that so obviously reek of hate, an intent to provoke or misogyny of any kind. The fact that I've learnt to expect this is sad as it is. Be nice, or be civil and constructive and open to conversation. It's not hard, really. This is, after all, just a silly story. :)

MORE THAN A YEAR AGO - AEMOND POV

"Of course I'm here. It’s summer vacation, and it’s only one of the biggest gallery openings in the country," Wylde said with a grin. He was still new to Oldtown, while she was heading into her final year of school at King’s Landing—but they both knew where they belonged in the world. He would eventually take his place at the top, running one of the oldest commercial institutions in the realm. She would become a prominent socialite, wielding her family’s art connections with pride and skill, possibly on the arm of one of the men in this room.

For a fleeting moment back home, he had wished that man would be him. But that had passed—or so he liked to believe.

"Hm."

"Anyway, I have to make my rounds, shake hands," she sighed, as if already exhausted by the thought. "Most of them will try to get to my father through me, hoping for a chance at our family’s paintings for their displays." She paused, her expression softening. "My plane to King’s Landing leaves soon after, so I might not catch you to say goodbye, okay?"

She leaned in on the tips of her toes, instinctively brushing her lips against his cheek, a gesture so familiar it felt natural. His skin warmed under her touch as he held onto her for a moment, before letting her go and watching her slip into the crowd.

"It was nice to see you, Aemond," she said, giving him one last smile before she disappeared among the other guests.

He watched as the crowd welcomed her with open arms. And why wouldn’t they?

Aemond stood quietly near the back of the gallery, his head turned as he swirled his wine and pretended to be interested in the pieces around him. But his focus had already drifted.

From across the room, she had become the only thing he could think about.

She was magnetic in a way that defied simple description. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he could hardly deny that. There was something in the way she moved - fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture, every glance, was part of a conversation only she knew how to conduct. Aemond watched as she floated through the crowd with an easy grace, her black dress brushing the tops of her heels - not revealing, but just enough.

But it wasn’t her appearance that intrigued him the most. It was her detachment. The way she seemed to occupy the room and yet remain entirely separate from it. Like she knew she was better than the herd. How can she possibly not? He knew it, and he’d barely known her for ten minutes.

He studied her carefully, trying to decode the way she interacted with her surroundings. The other guests barely held her interest, even her husband - Brynden Rivers, the artist on feature - who was basking in the attention of his admirers, seemed peripheral to her thoughts. She would smile and nod at the right moments, offering polite responses when addressed, but her eyes - sharp, dark, endlessly curious - always strayed back to the art. It was as though she were in search of something she hadn’t quite found, or perhaps she was testing the art itself, waiting to see if it would reveal anything worth caring about.

He found himself wondering what she saw. What was it that drew her attention so intensely? Was she, like him, disillusioned by the pageantry of it all? Or was she simply beyond it, a part of a world he hadn’t yet glimpsed?

Aemond’s eyes lingered on her, captivated by her subtle confidence. He could tell she knew he was watching - how could she not? And yet, she gave no indication that she minded. Instead, there was a knowingness in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of his gaze that sent a strange thrill through him.

Almost as if she moved just for him.

As she turned from the group around her to admire one of the larger paintings, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. It was fleeting, just a flicker of recognition, but the brief moment stretched out in Aemond’s mind. She didn’t look away immediately, nor did she smile - there was something almost challenging in her gaze, as though she were testing him, daring him to keep watching.

And he did.

Their eyes met again several times as the night wore on, each moment charged with tension that had heat penetrating him through his black turtleneck. He couldn’t place it - this feeling that they were circling each other from opposite ends of the room. They had not spoken a word, yet it felt as though they were in conversation, their glances exchanging ideas, questions, provocations. What was she thinking? Did she feel this pull too, or was she simply toying with him, amused by the attention of a younger man?

She leaned in to whisper something to her husband, her lips barely moving, and Aemond felt an unexpected surge of jealousy - irrational, yes, but undeniable. She was so at ease, so unattainable, yet there was something in the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see her just as much as he wanted to understand her.

He’d never, in his entire life, felt like this before.

Their eyes locked again, and this time her lips curved into the faintest smile, not of politeness or pretense, but of acknowledgment. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Aemond, for all his careful control, felt the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t just desire - though there was plenty of that - it was the curiosity that gripped him. Who was she? What did she want from this night, from this life? And why did it feel like, in this crowded room, they were the only two people who mattered?

There was a moment when their gaze lingered just a little longer than before, the silence between them almost deafening, despite the buzz of conversation around them. Aemond felt something stir deep within him, a strange excitement, as though this unspoken challenge had a life of its own. What was he to her? Just another man in the gallery, or had she singled him out the way he had her?

It wasn’t until she broke the connection - turning back to the painting in front of her - that he realized he had been holding his breath.

Aemond had been standing in the corner of the gallery, nursing a drink that had long gone flat. His eyes drifted back to her, stealing glances, trying to untangle the mystery she presented without making it too obvious. He couldn't quite understand why she fascinated him so much, but her presence demanded his attention.

Then, it happened.

She moved.

At first, he thought she was simply changing her position to get a better view of a painting, but when their eyes met across the room for the third time that evening, something shifted. She wasn't just glancing anymore - she was walking toward him.

Aemond’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to remain calm, to not show his surprise, but he could hardly believe she was coming up to him. The crowd of art enthusiasts seemed to blur, and the distant hum of voices faded into nothingness as she neared. He couldn't help but track every step she took, as though each one was part of a dance he hadn’t learned yet.

And then she was there, standing in front of him. Up close, she was even more striking than he had imagined - her features sharp and graceful, with an aura of confidence that was almost magnetic. She had an air of quiet authority, but not in the way the old-money elite around them carried themselves. Hers was different, more subtle, more powerful.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she said, her voice smooth and knowing, as though they were already well acquainted.

He blinked, still processing the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “You know me,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly a question. It made sense - he was a Targaryen after all, but still, something about her saying his name with such ease unnerved him.

“To no one's surprise, yes.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that was almost teasing. “You didn’t think I’d notice the only one in this room who's barely looked at the art?”

The comment threw him for a moment, but then, intrigued, he leaned in slightly. “A room full of some of the finest art, and yet you’ve been watching me,” he pointed out.

Did she notice him before, the same way he’s noticed her?

For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alys Rivers,” she began, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly, as if inviting him to puzzle it out.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. "Rivers?" he muttered, almost to himself, trying to jog his memory. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And then it came to him - he hadn’t heard that surname in relation to anyone important in his world.

“Strong,” she corrected softly, the name falling like a small bomb between them. “My maiden name is Strong.”

Aemond’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Strong. Of course. Lionel Strong, the headmaster of the school he attended for years. Harwin Strong, whose presence in Rhaenyra’s life had always been whispered about, and whose children were a constant point of rumor and speculation.

She is a sister to them both. How had he not known of her all this time?

His gaze snapped back to her face, searching for any sign that might have connected her to that family before, but there was nothing immediately obvious. “Lionel Strong...” he said aloud, piecing it together, more for himself than for her benefit.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Lionel is my half-brother. Harwin, too.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. It was like a secret door had been unlocked, revealing more about her than he ever could’ve guessed. She had roots in his world, in his life, that had been there all along, just hidden beneath the surface.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the way his mind raced to catch up. "Surprised?"

“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he found himself even more intrigued than before.

Aemond leaned back slightly, still processing everything. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slower than usual in the presence of Alys Rivers - or Strong, as she had just revealed. But as much as her family ties surprised him, it didn’t change the allure she carried. She was still an enigma, now with even more layers to uncover.

Alys shifted her gaze to the painting nearest them - a sprawling canvas of abstract forms, colors bleeding into one another in what he deduces as an intentional mess. “So, what do you think of the work?” she asked casually, her eyes tracing the chaotic lines as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He tilted his head, not willing to offer anything up too quickly. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold,” she repeated, her lips quivering. “That’s a safe assessment.”

“I suppose it is,” he conceded, allowing himself a small smile. “But it’s honest. What about you? You seem like someone with stronger opinions on art.”

“I do,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the piece again. “This one... it’s my husband’s.”

Her words hung in the air, and Aemond couldn’t stop the faint sting of jealousy that crept into his chest at the way she said ‘husband’ - with a sense of familiarity that only came from many years of being tied together. He glanced back at the painting, trying to find some reflection of the man behind it.

“Your husband’s quite the artist,” he said, keeping his tone even, but his interest was undeniable.

Alys nodded, her gaze still on the painting. “Yes, he is. Brynden is one of the best, I suppose, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone else here already has.” There was something dismissive in her voice, a casual indifference that caught Aemond off guard.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And what do you think of his work?”

Alys tilted her head and gave a half-smile, as though considering the question for the first time. “It’s... fine. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t speak to me in the way art should.” She paused, then turned to him, her dark eyes finding him with a sharpness that left him momentarily breathless. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Aemond smirked, amused by how easily she read him. “It’s a little obvious. The way you talk about him, about his work… It’s almost as if you’re disconnected from it.”

She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile growing. “You’re observant, aren’t you? That must be exhausting.”

He chuckled softly, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told as much.” There was something thrilling about it - this mutual understanding, this wordless challenge.

“So,” he said, redirecting the conversation with purpose, “if your husband’s work doesn’t speak to you, what does? What kind of art do you appreciate?”

Alys turned away from the painting, her attention fully on him now. “The kind that demands something of me. Something that won’t let me look away. I want to be moved, even unsettled. The sort of art that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, intrigued. “You mean the kind that unsettles you in the same way a person can?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Exactly. Sometimes, the most impactful art is the kind that forces you to confront things you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but unforgettable.”

He found himself nodding in agreement, feeling the conversation dip. “I suppose that’s why art and history are so closely linked. Both make you confront uncomfortable truths. The more you understand the world, the more you realize how fragile everything is.”

She sighed softly, as though she’d found someone who shared her exact thoughts. “Yes, and that fragility - that’s where the beauty lies. When you can’t control it. And when it’s gone, you’re left wondering why you didn’t appreciate it enough.”

They weren’t just talking about art anymore, and both of them knew it.

“And history,” she continued, her voice softer now, “is like the ultimate piece of art, isn’t it? Layered and complex, full of contradictions. No matter how much you study it, there’s always something more to uncover.”

Aemond nodded, his gaze intense. “It’s a reminder that nothing is permanent. Not power, not legacy, not even love.”

The way he said it, the quiet certainty in his voice, made Alys pause. She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something behind his words. “You’re quite young. Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone challenging, though her smile remained.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “Everything has its limits.”

As their conversation deepened, they moved through the gallery, eventually stopping in front of a painting that caught Alys’s attention. The piece was striking - two figures, intertwined in an abstract embrace, their forms blurring at the edges, as if they were dissolving into one another. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, bleeding into one another in a way that suggested both unity and dissolution.

Alys tilted her head, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “What do you make of this one?”

Aemond studied the painting, the mingling figures, the way their outlines seemed to waver as if they could hardly contain themselves within the frame. It was both intimate and unsettling, a reflection of connection and the inevitable loss that comes with it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, voice measured. “There’s something about the way they’re almost… becoming each other. But it’s not peaceful, is it? It’s like they’re losing themselves in the process.”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the canvas. “It’s about boundaries, I think. How much of yourself are you willing to give before you start losing pieces of who you are?”

Aemond glanced at her, sensing the weight behind her words. “Isn’t that what love does, in a way? It strips you down, forces you to let go of your boundaries until you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins.”

Alys met his gaze, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Giving up so much of yourself. Maybe that’s why so many people cling to the idea of monogamy - one person, one connection, to keep things simple. Less risk.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you think monogamy keeps things simple?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not at all. Monogamy is just another way of complicating things, if you ask me. The idea that one person can meet all your needs… it feels like an illusion.”

He considered her words, watching her closely as she turned back to the painting. “So you don’t believe in it?”

Alys shrugged, her smile a little mischievous. “I believe in connection. But I also believe in freedom. Sometimes, those things don’t go hand in hand.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his mind swirling with the implications of her words. “Is that why you don’t believe in monogamy?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead turning to look at him with that same sly, knowing smile. “I didn’t say that - I can’t, given that I am married. But I don’t think it’s the only way to live.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I think monogamy works for some people. But for others... perhaps it’s just another form of control.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her gaze locking with his, challenging him again. “Do you crave control, Aemond?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the intensity of her gaze made his heart race. “I think we all do, in some way. It’s human nature.”

Alys took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But sometimes, the most exhilarating moments come when you let go of control. When you surrender to something - or someone - you can’t predict.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he felt the air between them grow charged. The flirtation between them had evolved into something far more potent, far more dangerous.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, his voice lower now, the distance between them shrinking.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips curving slightly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Aemond glanced around the bustling gallery, the laughter and chatter of art enthusiasts fading into a background hum as his focus narrowed back to Alys. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight tilt of her head, and the intoxicating warmth of her presence drew him in like a moth to flame.

In a bold, instinctive move, he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Her skin felt warm against his, soft yet somehow grounding, and he marveled at how effortlessly their hands fit together.

Without a word, he began to lead her away from the crowd. They slipped through a doorway and into an empty stairwell. As they stepped into the dim light, Aemond turned to face her fully, their hands still clasped. He felt a rush of exhilaration, the act of holding her hand feeling significant, almost intimate.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and playful, her gaze unwavering.

He hesitated, caught in the intensity of the moment, the gravity of her presence. He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and soon there was the ashy smell of smoke around them.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to find out.”

The smoke from Aemond’s cigarette curling lazily into the quiet space. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as his mind raced, the sharp taste of nicotine mingling with the tension. He kept his gaze on the blank space ahead, the smoke filling the air around them. She, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He could feel it—the way she watched him, measured him, waiting to see what he would do next. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt charged.

He took one last drag before carelessly flicking the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his boot without a second thought. The small, defiant gesture felt freeing, as though he was stamping out a part of himself—his restraint, his hesitation. He turned to face her again, her gaze steady, her lips slightly parted as if she was waiting for something.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the stairwell ceased to exist. Then, with a low exhale, he stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. It was a split second of tension before he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, testing the boundaries between them. But the moment her lips parted, the intensity between them flared to life.

Aemond pressed her back against the cold, hard wall, the warmth of her body against his heightening his awareness of every touch, every breath. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup her face, the other finding her waist, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, his fingers traced the line of her neck, her collarbone, before they slipped lower, teasing the hem of her dress.

She let out a soft gasp as his fingers found their way between her thighs, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling—only the smooth, practiced confidence.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as he continued, the rhythm of his fingers drawing soft moans from her lips. He could feel her tightening, her body trembling as she reached the edge. His thumb brushed over her in just the right way, and that was all it took. Alys stifled a cry as she came, her body arching against the wall, and Aemond kissed her again, this time slower, more tender, as if savoring the moment. Her breathing slowly evened out, and Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words.

They simply stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing the stillness as the world outside continued to move without them.

Aemond had spotted her almost immediately as he entered the courtyard of the university, the gathering of faculty and students milling about in conversation. He had been here long enough to know some faces but not enough to blend in completely. Most of them were talking about papers and projects he couldn't care less about, not today.

And then there she was.

Alys Rivers. Standing among a group of intellectuals, professors, and lecturers—all older, some of them even more seasoned than she was. They looked at her with respect due to someone who held both knowledge and authority. But Aemond? He couldn't help but view her through a lens far removed from the polite deference that the others offered. He could still taste the memory of her kiss, still feel the warmth of her body beneath his fingers.

From where he stood, he could tell she’d seen him, even though she was pretending not to. Her posture had stiffened slightly, her smile at whatever quip had been made by one of her colleagues was just a bit too strained. But it was her eyes that told him the truth—fleetingly, they flicked in his direction, locking onto him for the briefest of seconds before quickly darting away.

And in that brief glance, Aemond knew. Something had changed.

The gaze she gave him wasn’t the smoldering intensity he remembered from their night in the stairwell. It wasn’t the playful challenge or the simmering heat. No, it was something colder, more distant. Her eyes held a reservation that hadn’t been there before, a guardedness he couldn’t quite place.

It made him want to tear himself apart.

He could feel a knot of frustration building in his chest, knowing what that look meant—she had figured it out. That he was just a student here, not some intriguing enigma from outside her world. She had likely put it together: that he was young, still tethered to his academic life, and most probably someone she could regret ever getting involved with.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, not even aware of what he would say or do. He just needed to close the distance between them. But as he approached, he could sense her retreat, even from across the courtyard. She didn’t move away physically, but in every other way, she had already begun to pull back.

The light in her eyes when she’d looked at him the night they first met—the spark that had drawn them together so easily—was dimmed now, like she was shielding herself from it. He could feel the walls she was putting up, the distance she was trying to create. And he hated it.

Aemond finally stopped a few feet away, his eyes fixed on her, willing her to look at him again. To acknowledge that this wasn’t over, that what they’d shared wasn’t something she could just forget. But Alys barely glanced his way, her attention deliberately on the conversation around her, offering a polite smile to some professor who was undoubtedly droning on about some obscure piece of art history.

She wasn’t ignoring him. That would have been easier to handle. No, she was acknowledging him just enough to let him know that she had seen him—but not in the way he wanted.

It was a calculated withdrawal, a signal that this—whatever this was—couldn’t continue.

He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He didn’t understand. She was Alys Rivers, confident, self-assured, worldly. And now she was shrinking back, locking herself behind the very walls he thought she had long since broken down. He knew she was regretting it, regretting him. Regretting the way she had let herself lose control with him.

But Aemond couldn’t let that be the end. He wouldn’t let her slip away that easily, not after what they’d shared.

His jaw clenched as he took a deep breath, watching her from across the space. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was a woman who had opened a door in him he hadn’t even known existed, and now, she was shutting it without so much as a word.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Not yet.

Three nights.

Three nights had passed since that brief, fleeting glance across the courtyard. Alys had been there, wrapped in her distant composure, surrounded by those professors and intellectuals as though nothing had ever happened between them. But the space between them had spoken volumes—more than any words could. She had pulled back, retreated into the safety of her old life, her mind likely full of regrets.

But Aemond couldn’t let it go. The memory of her—of that night, her breathless sighs, the way her body had responded to his touch—had been burning in the back of his mind since. He had tried to shake it, tried to focus on the mundanity of university life, but the tension gnawed at him, unraveling him from the inside.

Tonight, it was too much.

Driving through Oldtown’s winding streets, the engine of Vhagar thrummed beneath him, a low growl matching the storm raging inside. He knew where he was headed before he had even set out, his body moving on instinct. He had to see her again. He needed answers, something more than that cold look she’d given him.

He parked down the street from her house—small, secluded, the same one where they’d fucked for the first time. His hands gripped the steering wheel for a moment, the echoes of that night replaying in his mind. He remembered every touch, every word, the way her laughter had turned to breathless gasps.

But tonight would be different. He wasn’t sure what he would say to her. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted from her. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her fade away like this—not without understanding.

The quiet crunch of his boots against the gravel as he approached her front door made his pulse quicken. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he almost turned back. But his hand was already lifting, knuckles tapping lightly on the wood.

When the door opened, she stood there, looking nothing like the composed and untouchable woman from the gallery. Her hair was down, soft and tousled, falling around her face, and she wore sleep clothes—an oversized, faded shirt and loose pants. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She must have been reading. He had to know what she’d been reading. What had captivated her mind enough to distract her tonight, of all nights? He so desperately wanted to ask.

But he couldn’t.

Because when Alys saw him standing there—her face wilted. It was like watching her defenses crumble in slow motion, a mixture of resignation and regret playing out in the slight downturn of her lips, in the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

“Aemond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but before he could speak, she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him inside, glancing quickly at the dark street behind him to make sure no one had seen.

She closed the door with a quiet click, sealing them both inside.

His eyes followed her, drinking in every detail. The loose fabric of her shirt, the way her hair moved with each step, and the quiet way she carried herself now, so different from the confidence she had exuded at the gallery and that night in the stairwell.

She moved to the kitchen, her steps quiet but purposeful. Aemond stood behind her, watching as she reached for a small coffee pot, her movements practiced and deliberate, as if she were stalling for time. The familiar hiss of the coffee beginning to brew filled the silence, but Aemond’s eyes remained fixed on her. His heart still pounded in his chest, an anxious rhythm that echoed in the quiet space between them.

He wanted to ask why she had pulled back. Why did she change so quickly? He wanted to know everything—why she had retreated, why she was here now, brewing coffee in the middle of the night as though they were nothing more than casual acquaintances.

But most of all, he wanted to know if she regretted him.

Aemond stood there, watching her small, quiet movements. The coffee pot sputtered softly, the scent of fresh grounds filling the kitchen, but all his attention was on her—the way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the way her fingers tightened momentarily on the countertop as though she was trying to steady herself. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His body moved before his mind could catch up.

Slowly, deliberately, he crossed the space between them, closing the distance. His chest brushed against her back, and he could feel her tense, though she didn’t pull away. His hands found her waist, fingers tightening just enough to hold her there, to ground both of them in this moment. She exhaled, a soft sound that almost broke him.

Aemond lowered his head, his lips grazing the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. He could feel the faintest strands of her hair brushing against his face, tickling his lips as he kissed the smallest, most intimate part of her. His breath was warm against her skin, and he felt her body shift—just the slightest tremor beneath his hands.

Her grip on the countertop tightened as she whispered, “Aemond… this isn’t right.”

He paused, his lips hovering above her skin as her words cut through the haze of desire between them. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her expression a mix of guilt and something more difficult to define. Her eyes searched his, lingering for a moment before she looked down, as if she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze for too long.

“I teach at Oldtown,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “You’re a student. I didn’t know... I never knew.”

She was visibly conflicted, her hands pressing flat against the counter as if to steady herself against the weight of her own words. “This... this isn’t right.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You teach art history,” he countered, his voice sharp, but controlled. “I’m in economics. You don’t teach me.”

Her eyes flicked back up to his, but there was still a shadow of doubt there. “It doesn’t matter. The lines are blurred, Aemond. We’re from the same world, the same institution. It complicates everything.”

“And what?” He leaned in closer, his voice low and heated now, laced with frustration. “Because we’re in the same place, suddenly this—” his hand tightened on her waist, “—suddenly this isn’t real? Or doesn’t count?”

She shook her head, but her breath hitched as his grip became firmer. “No, it’s not that—”

“Then what?” He demanded softly, his mouth inches from hers, his words a mix of desperation and desire. “What is it that makes you think this is wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her hesitation, the conflict in her gaze, only fueled his frustration.

“I need you, Alys,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to make me feel alive.”

The vulnerability in his words hung between them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of the coffee pot, the only sound punctuating the thick tension.

Alys exhaled shakily, her gaze softening. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her hand lingering there as though she was holding herself together. “Aemond...” she began, her voice quieter now, more fragile. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, stepping even closer, his lips brushing against hers. “I don’t care about any of it.”

Their lips collided with a fierce, almost desperate need. His hand slipped from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer, while her fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him toward her as if she couldn’t fight it anymore. The kiss was electric, a surge of everything they had been holding back. All the conflict, all the tension melted into the heat between them.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads pressed together. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel hers too, fast and erratic against him.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, though there was no conviction in her words. “I can’t…”

“You can,” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against her cheek, his hand still resting on her back. “You can.”

She let out a soft, conflicted sigh, her head resting against his chest for just a moment before she stepped back slightly, enough to put some distance between them. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly, her eyes searching for his once again, though this time, there was a trace of hope.

Aemond lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of contentment. Beside him, Alys stretched languidly. The sheets had slipped down, revealing the smooth curve of her back and the hint of tattoos peeking along her spine—small, deliberate symbols that only made her more intriguing.

Months have passed since they began what she calls a clandestine affair, and yet, he supposed he’d never get used to the feeling of being able to hold someone as exquisite as her.

He turned his head slightly, studying her in the faint light, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, the way she seemed completely at ease in the quiet space between them.

She shifted, rolling onto her side to face him, propping her head up on her hand. Her eyes, dark and sharp as ever, flicked up to meet his, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I was thinking,” she began, her voice low and languid, “about the mural at the Starry Sept.”

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a small smirk. Of course she would talk about art history after a night like this. “Oh?” he prompted, turning fully to face her, his arm resting beneath his head. “What about it?”

Alys leaned closer, her voice dropping into that tone she used when she was fully in her element—an intoxicating mix of mystique and allure. “The mural depicts Aegon’s Conquest, but what most people overlook is the subtle inclusion of symbols that reference the Valyrian Freehold’s decline. It's not just a celebration of Aegon's victory but a commentary on the fall of an empire—and, perhaps, a warning about the fragility of power.”

He watched her intently, captivated by the way she spoke, her words moving effortlessly between history and art, tying together themes in a way that made even the most obscure details seem relevant, significant. She was always like this— her intelligence wrapping around him in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“You think it was intentional?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious. “The decline of Valyria, woven into the heart of a Westerosi victory mural?”

Alys smirked, her fingers tracing small, idle patterns on the sheets. “I do. Art isn’t just about what’s obvious—it’s about what’s hidden, what’s suggested. Power, love, history—it’s all layered. And those who know how to look will always find more than what’s on the surface.”

Aemond chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. “You’ve quite the understanding of it all.”

Her smile widened, a little more playful now, her fingers brushing over his arm. “Maybe. I should, given that I teach it.”

He felt a rush of admiration for her, this woman who could so effortlessly transition from a fierce intellectual to someone who could make him feel utterly insignificant and yet completely seen at the same time. She was unlike anyone he had ever met.

“You’re wasted in Oldtown,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more serious. “You should be part of the think tank at the Citadel, teaching them all how to see the world the way you do.”

Alys laughed softly, shaking her head. “The Citadel doesn’t want women like me, Aemond. They want their history clean and simple. But the way I see it… history is messy—it’s complicated, just like everything else.”

He couldn’t argue with that, not when she had such a profound grasp of the chaos beneath the surface of things. He reached out, his hand sliding into her hair, tugging her just a little closer. “Messy can be beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

Her gaze softened slightly, her sharpness dimming just a little in the warm intimacy of the moment. “You’re full of surprises, Targaryen.”

He smirked, leaning in to kiss her softly, their lips brushing in a slow, deliberate way. When he pulled back, he caught the way her gaze lingered on him, as though she were sizing him up, trying to decide if she should let him in a little more.

“So,” she said after a moment, her voice softer but still holding that edge of curiosity. “If Westerosi art is a reflection of its history, what do you think it says about you? About the Targaryens?”

Aemond tilted his head, considering her question carefully. “It says that we are a people obsessed with legacy. Everything we do is about ensuring our names, our houses, are remembered. Even our art is full of dragons, of conquest and fire—it’s about showing power.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her eyes locked onto his, searching. “What do you want your legacy to be?”

He paused, the question hanging between them. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. His whole life had been spent chasing power, chasing recognition. But here, in this moment, with her, he felt something shift. Something deeper, more personal.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he had intended. “But I think I want it to be more than just a name in the books.”

Alys studied him for a long moment, her expression softening. She reached out, her hand resting on his chest, just over his heart. “Maybe that’s the first step. Realizing there’s more to life than what the world expects from you.”

Aemond’s heart beat a little faster under her touch. That’s when it hits him. For the first time, he wasn’t chasing power, authority or perfection.

He was chasing her.

“There's always this sense of danger, of forbidden pleasure. But people are drawn to it.”

She set her plate aside, her fingers brushing absently over the arm of the sofa. “In most of the stories, it’s either villainized or fetishized. Affairs are always catastrophic, or they’re seen as something scandalous, and yet… they’re everywhere. The stories, the songs, the histories—they all revolve around love triangles, mistresses, lovers. It's as though the idea of being with more than one person is at the center of so many lives, but no one ever talks about it openly.”

Alys turned toward him, her eyes sharper now, more focused. “That’s because monogamy is a construct. It’s a way of controlling love, of organizing it into something neat and manageable. But love isn’t manageable, Aemond. It’s messy. It’s wild. And sometimes, it doesn’t fit into one person, or one life.”

There was a quiet intensity in her words, the kind that made him listen more carefully. “And you?” he asked, his voice soft, probing. “What about your own life?”

Alys sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she set her plate down on the coffee table. “Brynden and I—we’re not monogamous, though we were, once upon a time. We’ve been married for over a decade, but we realized early on that there were things we both wanted, things that didn’t always align.”

Aemond frowned slightly, not quite understanding. “But if you love each other…”

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression, a kind of resigned wisdom. “We do love each other. We care deeply about each other, we love each other. But we’re not in love. Not in the way that most people expect or demand from a marriage.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his mind. “So, you just… see other people? Without it affecting you?”

Alys shook her head, leaning forward slightly. “It only works if both people are one hundred percent okay with it. That’s the thing, Aemond. You can’t force this kind of relationship. Brynden and I have different things we need out of life. There’s very little I can do to satisfy myself if I have to compromise for him. The same goes for him too. He’s my best friend. We’ve found a balance, a way to live together and still have space for ourselves.”

She glanced at him, watching his reaction carefully. “But it’s not easy. It takes a lot of trust. And it doesn’t always make sense to people who see love as something that has to be exclusive.”

Aemond sat back, his lips curling slightly in that familiar way when his mind was working through something, his ego surfacing. He couldn’t help himself. “I suppose I’m lucky, then,” he said, a faint note of arrogance in his voice. “To be the one who gets to benefit from that.”

Alys’s expression froze. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, the warm, intimate atmosphere between them cracked. She stood up abruptly, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Lucky?” she echoed, her gaze piercing. “You think this is about luck? Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain something like this without everything falling apart?”

Aemond realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He shot to his feet, his hand reaching for hers. “Alys, I didn’t mean—”

But she pulled her hand back, shaking her head, her frustration evident. “No, you don’t get to reduce my life, my choices, to something as simple as luck.”

He stepped closer, his hands moving to her shoulders, his voice softer now, more genuine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alys stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. He could see the tension in her, the wariness that came with it all. In a rare display, her years showed.

Without a word, Aemond leaned in and kissed her, his lips capturing hers in a way that was both apologetic and filled with longing. She responded, hesitantly at first, but then with more intensity, as though she were letting go of something. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet space. Aemond held her close, his fingers brushing over her sides, and he spoke softly, almost reverently. “I meant what I said, Alys.”

Alys closed her eyes for a moment, her breathing steadying as she absorbed his words. She sighed softly, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest.

“I know.”

Aemond lay beside Alys, his shirt barely clinging to her, the fabric slipping off one shoulder, exposing her pale skin. She moved beneath the sheets with a languid grace that only made her more irresistible. His fingers skimmed over her body, memorizing the dips and curves, the way her skin felt like silk under his touch. Every breath she took was a silent invitation, every brush of her lips against his a reminder of what had just transpired.

Her scent—something faintly floral and utterly intoxicating—clung to the air, mixing with the musky scent of sweat and sex. Aemond felt suspended in the moment, tethered to her in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His gaze drifted from the ceiling to her face, watching as she nestled deeper into the bed, her hair splayed out across the pillow like a dark halo. The way she looked in his shirt, the way she wore it so effortlessly, made his pulse quicken. Everything about her was sensual, down to the simplest gestures, like the lazy curl of her fingers as she reached for him, grazing her nails along his chest.

Her lips brushed his once more, a teasing kiss that made his head spin, like she knew just how far she could push him before he crumbled beneath her. There was an ease to her movements, a confidence that drove him wild, made him want to lose himself in her all over again. She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against his, the heat of her skin sparking something primal within him.

But then her voice cut through the haze, soft and matter-of-fact, as if she were commenting on the weather. "I’m going to see Brynden tomorrow."

The words struck him like a slow-burning match, igniting something deep inside. The stillness in the room suddenly felt suffocating, the heat they’d shared now turning into a simmering tension. His hand, which had been gently tracing the curve of her waist, stilled. Aemond’s pulse quickened, but outwardly, he gave no sign of the fire starting to rage inside him.

Brynden. Her husband.

He tried to keep his breathing steady, but the thought of her with someone else—him—was enough to send a surge of possessiveness coursing through him. Aemond prided himself on his ability to control his emotions, to keep them tightly reined in, but this was different.

She wasn’t just anyone. She was Alys. And the idea of her in another man’s bed, even if it was her husband's, twisted something deep inside him.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his jealousy in check. He didn’t have any right to feel this way. She had made it clear from the beginning. He knew what this was, knew the rules—yet none of that mattered in this moment. Not when the image of her leaving his bed for Brynden was clawing at him, filling him with a need he could barely control.

Alys shifted beside him, her fingers trailing lightly down his chest, as if she were unaware of the storm brewing inside him. But she always knew. She was far too perceptive not to notice the tension that had settled between them.

She tilted her head up, her eyes locking onto his, and there was a playful glint in them. “Are you jealous?” she asked, her tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t respond, his fingers now gripping her waist with more intensity than before. He swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t hold back. “I just fucked you, and you’re telling me you’re going to see someone else tomorrow.”

Her laughter was soft, almost like a sigh, but it stoked the flames inside him. She pulled away slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You always knew what this was,” she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm, as if she was reminding him of the rules they had both agreed to.

He turned his head, staring down at her. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, so at ease, but the casualness of her words only intensified the gnawing jealousy inside him. You always knew what this was. Maybe he did, but hearing her say it aloud, hearing her reaffirm the boundaries that she had always been so careful to maintain—it made him feel helpless in a way he hadn’t expected.

His mind couldn’t help but wander, the images of what tomorrow would bring gnawing at him. He thought of her with Brynden, imagined them together, tangled in sheets that weren’t his. Would he touch her the way Aemond did? Would he know the places to kiss that made her gasp softly into his mouth? Would he know the way she liked to be held, the way she would bite her lip when she was just on the edge of ecstasy?

Would he even care?

Or worse, did he know better than him?

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightened, his possessiveness flaring, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled from his lips. “Are you seeing others as well? Or is it just me and Brynden?”

Alys paused, her fingers stopping their idle movements as she looked at him, her gaze thoughtful. She didn’t seem surprised by his question, as if she had been expecting it. “Right now,” she said slowly, “it’s just the two of you.” Her lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a thrill through him despite the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

The fact—that men would come running if she wanted them to—remains unsaid.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a tight line as he absorbed her words. Of course they would. She was magnetic—her beauty, her intelligence, the way she moved through the world with such ease—it was impossible not to be drawn to her. But even knowing that didn’t make the tightness in his chest any easier to bear.

He sat up slightly, his hand trailing up her back, fingers brushing over the exposed skin where his shirt had slipped down her shoulder. He wanted to pull her close, to keep her here with him, but he knew he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to be the only one, to claim her in a way no one else could, he knew the limits of what he was allowed.

This arrangement works because everyone knows where they stand.

She smiled softly, pulling him down to her for a kiss, her lips warm and inviting against his. But as she pulled away, her gaze lingered on his, and there was something knowing in her eyes, something that told him she understood all too well.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I am jealous.”

Alys didn’t say anything, but the soft look in her eyes said enough. She knew. She had always known.

And he should have too.

Aemond had spent days trying to shake the feeling, trying to claw his way back to the control he’d once prided himself on. But the jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, gnawing tension in his chest. He hadn’t seen Alys since that night—had barely even let himself think of her—but she was everywhere. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying in his bed, felt her skin beneath his fingers, heard her voice as she casually mentioned her husband’s name, as if it were nothing.

He tried to drown himself in distractions—meetings, late-night study sessions, endless hours at the gym—but none of it worked. The silence of his apartment felt louder than ever, and every time he glanced at his phone, he half-expected to see a message from her. But it never came.

Not until Wylde’s name appeared on his screen.

He was standing by the window, mindlessly staring at the city lights when the familiar vibration startled him from his thoughts. He glanced down, and for a brief, disorienting second, his heart stopped. The photo of her flashed on his phone—a candid shot she had sent him months ago, a sunlit snapshot of her by the cliffs, her eyes gleaming with mischief and an easy smile that always made him feel lighter.

His stomach flipped, warmth spreading through him at the sight of her name.

It was as if all the heaviness he had been carrying suddenly lifted, the fog of jealousy and frustration dissipating in an instant. Without thinking, he grabbed the phone and answered, bringing it to his ear.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a hint of surprise in his tone.

He leaned into his pillows on the bed as she talked, her singsong voice making him feel lighter with each second. His cigarette burned idly between his fingers, ash falling unnoticed to the floor as he listened to her voice on the other end of the line. It had been days since they’d last talked, and the sound of her now felt like a balm to his burned heart.

“So, I tried that new coffee place you told me about,” Wylde said, her voice light, teasing. He could hear the smile in it. “The one with the ridiculously overpriced pastries.”

He smirked, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “And?”

She sighed dramatically. “Never again. I’m convinced you only recommended it for the aesthetics.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction. “Maybe. The coffee’s not terrible though.”

“Not terrible? I’ve had better instant coffee.”

There was a pause on her end before her tone shifted, more thoughtful now. “So… Daeron talked to me today.”

Aemond’s fingers stilled on his cigarette. “And?”

“I don’t know. He apologized, and we talked. One thing led to another and I told him I loved him.”

The warmth that had spread through him a moment ago began to ebb as she continued.

“I asked him why he never said anything, and he said he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“Hm.” He lit another cigarette, the click of the lighter distinct even through the phone. He could picture her so clearly, lying in bed with the phone pressed to her ear, her face soft with thought. He flexed his knuckles as he always did when he needed to keep his hands busy, the tension creeping back into his muscles.

“And then we just… I don’t know. We just sort of sat there for a bit.”

“Hm.” He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs, waiting for her to continue. Aemond had never been one to rush her, especially when it came to things like this. He imagined the awkward silence that must have hung between her and Daeron, and it stirred something low in his chest.

“We didn’t say much after. I was too embarrassed to continue, and he seemed tired. We just finished our drinks and then he insisted on walking me home.”

Aemond didn’t respond right away. He let the silence stretch between them, processing her words. His thumb absently flicked at the filter of his cigarette as he stared out into the dim city skyline, feeling the familiar weight settle on him. The thought of Daeron, after everything, still having a hold over her – it bothered him more than it should. He knew it was irrational, but knowing didn’t make it any easier to shake.

He shifted in his seat, the leather of his jacket rustling faintly.

A slight creak of her bed sounded through the phone as she shifted. “Are you still there?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone quiet, more subdued than before. He hesitated for a moment, flexing his knuckles again before asking, “Are you… do you still have feelings for him?”

The question was out before he could stop it, and immediately, he regretted how vulnerable it made him sound. He tried to keep his voice even, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

There was a pause on her end, the kind that made his chest tighten. He could almost picture her expression—surprised, maybe, but not angry.

“It hasn’t completely gone away,” she finally admitted, her voice measured. “There’s always going to be something there. But no, not quite as I used to.”

He took another slow drag, the smoke clouding his vision as he exhaled. Good. Maybe it’s time to focus on other things. Other people.”

He hoped his voice sounded casual, like it didn’t matter much to him either way.

“Yeah. Maybe it is,” she replied, her voice softer now, as though she was giving the idea some real thought.

Aemond let the silence stretch between them again, and this time, it felt a little lighter. He could feel the tension that had gripped him earlier easing. The jealousy that had been simmering for days was still there, but now it felt manageable, less like a gnawing ache and more like a dull throb he could ignore.

“Speaking of other people,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Have you made any new friends at university? Met anyone interesting?”

Aemond felt his jaw tighten for a second before he forced himself to relax. He could almost hear her smirking through the phone.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice deliberately noncommittal. “A few people.”

“Oh? Anyone special?” she pressed, clearly enjoying the chance to prod at him.

He hesitated, and the pause was long enough that he knew she’d pick up on it.

“Hm…”

“Aemond,” she said, exasperation seeping into her voice, though he could tell she was smiling. “Is that a yes?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, knowing it would drive her crazy.

“Come on! You can’t just say ‘perhaps’ and leave it at that. Tell me!” she urged, her voice rising with excitement.

He sighed, trying to hide the smirk playing at his lips. “There’s someone. But it’s nothing serious.”

“Someone? What’s their name?” she asked eagerly.

“No.”

Her laughter bubbled through the phone, warm and familiar. “You’re no fun.”

“Nothing much to say,” he countered, taking another drag. “It’s… too soon.”

She sighed dramatically, though he could hear the smile in her voice. “Fine, but you owe me details eventually.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been in days.

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smile this time. He could picture her so clearly, lying there in bed with that mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

“I’m tired. Good night, Aemond,” her voice was soft, gentle, as though the day’s weight had finally eased off her shoulders. There was something warm in the way she said it, something familiar that made him pause.

“Good night, Wylde,” he murmured back, his own voice laced with a quiet fondness he hadn’t meant to let slip.

As the call ended, the stillness of the room settled over him. Aemond leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone for a long moment, her name still glowing on the screen. The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he thought of her. Even now, after everything, she could still make his chest tighten with just a word. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers smolder and fade.

For a moment, his mind drifted back to last summer. How he almost told her when they sat in her bed before he left, how the words had been on the tip of his tongue so many times. The late nights they’d spent talking, the stolen glances when she wasn’t looking—he’d convinced himself it was just a crush, a fleeting thing. But the way his heart would flip whenever she smiled at him, or how his pulse would race when her hand brushed his... Maybe it was something more. He’d wondered if, just maybe, she’d felt it too.

But then he left. And in Oldtown, everything changed.

Alys.

Aemond closed his eyes, feeling a familiar heat coil in his chest at the mere thought of her. Gods, Alys. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known—intense, dangerous, and undeniably captivating. He remembered the first time they met, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through him, peeling back layers he hadn’t even known were there. And before he knew it, he was tangled in her, in whatever it was they had together. It wasn’t love, no, but it was something—something that gripped him hard and wouldn’t let go.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. Even now, his heart still flipped when Wylde called, but it didn’t beg for her the way it did for Alys. With Wylde, it was soft, warm, comforting. But with Alys... oh gods, with Alys it was something else entirely. The heat between them, the way his body craved hers—it was raw, electric, and it consumed him in ways that were almost terrifying.

And yet... he thought of Wylde, her soft pining after Daeron, how she still held onto the hope of something that had never truly been hers. It infuriated him in a way he couldn’t explain. He hated that she didn’t see how beneath her it was. Daeron, who despite being his own brother, would never be someone who would give her what she deserved. She didn’t see it, and maybe she never would.

His thoughts flickered back to Alys, to the way he’d let himself get caught up in her. He hadn’t intended for it to go this far. He didn’t need commitment, he didn’t need to belong to anyone. Not when he had someone like Alys—someone who didn’t ask for anything more than what he could give. What they had worked for him. It was perfect, just the way it was. So why did his mind keep slipping, why did the thought of Wylde still linger, hovering just at the edge of his thoughts?

He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. Wylde was still tied up in Daeron, in whatever heartbreak she was clinging to. And Alys... Alys was what he needed. She gave him exactly what he wanted without the complications, without the demands.

The next night, Aemond found himself standing at Alys’ door, barely able to breathe as she opened it. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and before she could say anything, he was on her, slamming the door shut with a force that echoed through the room.

His hands were on her in an instant, pushing her back against the wall, his lips crashing down on hers with a hunger he hadn’t realized had built up inside him. The kiss was fierce, unrelenting, and she barely had time to gasp before he was lifting her, his fingers digging into her skin, his body pressing against hers.

He didn’t stop to think, didn’t slow down, didn’t give her a moment to ask what was happening. He just took the way he liked. Her breath was ragged, matching his own, her nails digging into his back as she responded with equal fervor.

This was what he needed.

She twirled a strand of dark hair between her fingers, her eyes locked onto him as he talked about the upcoming summer trip to Valyria. Aegon’s relationship with Sara Snow had opened doors that were otherwise sealed shut for nearly everyone else. A summer expedition to the ancient, forbidden land—one that was so deeply tied to his heritage—felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and yet the anticipation thrummed through his veins in a way that was almost... understated.

“You’ll see things no one’s seen for centuries,” Alys said. Her gaze flicked over him as if she was sizing him up, wondering how deeply the land’s mysteries would affect him. “If you’re lucky, they’ll let you wander off the program. See the real Valyria, not just the parts the academics have planned out for their research.”

Aemond’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Sara Snow runs a tight ship. There’s not much leeway. But Aegon mentioned there might be an opportunity if I slip away during one of the less critical site studies. She’s obsessed with the subterranean temples. It’s the landmarks I’m after—those that would bear the sigils or icons linked to House Targaryen. Dragons. The Three-headed Beast.”

Alys leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, intrigued. “You think the old sigils might still be there? Carved into stone or etched into relics buried beneath volcanic ash?”

“I have a feeling they would be,” Aemond murmured, his eyes flickering with a hint of excitement. “The Targaryens came from there. It’s in our blood, our bones. The architecture, the ancient monuments, it would all tie back to our origins. Even if some of it’s eroded or destroyed, Valyria’s foundation was built on the backs of dragonlords.”

Alys’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Keep your eyes open for anything that seems... too deliberate. Valyrian artisans were methodical. They hid their secrets in plain sight, but only for those who know where to look.”

He nodded, his mind already racing through what he’d studied about Valyria—the imagery, the symbolism, the deep-rooted history he was about to walk into. His excitement was tempered, though, controlled as always. Aemond’s passions ran deep, but they were guarded.

As they continued to speak, his phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He almost didn’t reach for it, but something told him to look. The moment he saw the name on the screen, his expression softened, the tension in his body easing in a way Alys had never quite seen before.

“Who is it?” Alys asked, noticing the subtle shift in him.

Without answering, Aemond gave her a brief, almost apologetic smile as he slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Wylde,” he greeted, his voice warmer, softer than it had been in the last few hours. “What’s up?”

Alys raised a brow, watching as he leaned back in his seat, a trace of amusement flickering in her dark eyes as she observed the man in front of her transform into something gentler, less guarded.

More so the boy that he is.

Her voice was muffled, but Aemond listened intently, nodding along as if she could see him. His eyes brightened subtly, the corners of his lips twitching as she told him about her graduation gown fitting.

“Finally packing for Oldtown, huh?” he asked, a rare note of quiet excitement in his voice. “Good.”

There was a pause as Wylde spoke again, and Aemond’s gaze flickered toward Alys for a brief moment, remembering that he wasn’t alone. “I’m with someone right now, but I’ll call you later, alright?”

She said something else, something lighthearted, and Aemond’s lips curled into a small, barely-there smile as he ended the call.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, and when he looked up, Alys was watching him with that same knowing smile that made it clear she’d picked up on everything.

“Wylde?” she asked casually, though her tone was tinged with curiosity.

Aemond didn’t answer immediately, his features slipping back into the cool detachment he was known for, but Alys could see the faint trace of warmth still lingering in his eyes.

“She’s an old friend of the family,” he said, his voice measured, but Alys didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if he was still holding onto the echo of the conversation.

Alys leaned back in her seat, smirking. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

Aemond’s gaze met Alys’s, cool and steady, the warmth from moments before already fading as if it had never existed. His fingers absently flexed against the edge of the table, and he gave a small shrug.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Alys didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to watch him with that knowing smile, her lips curving as if she saw right through him. She leaned forward slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as her eyes locked onto his, sharp and unreadable.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, her tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity, probing.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “No. It doesn’t.”

He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag, the smoke curling lazily between them. Alys tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction, as if his denial was amusing to her. She didn’t push further, though. That wasn’t her style. Alys knew when to press and when to let things be. She had him figured out well enough to know that some things were better left unspoken.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost soothing, though the amusement in her eyes never quite left. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs casually. “If you say so.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. But Alys’s smile lingered, just on the edge of her lips, like she knew something he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

Two months later, she stood at his doorstep in Oldtown.

“Hey, missed me?” Wylde said, her voice light, that familiar carelessness in her tone that always managed to put him at ease. The way she looked at him—like nothing had changed—made something in his chest shift, the way it always did.

She stepped forward to hug him, and he held her for a moment longer after, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Have you moved into your new place yet?" he asked, trying to sound casual, as if her being here wasn’t undoing everything he had told himself.

As if he hadn’t spent months imagining this exact moment and wondering how it would feel.

"The boxes are in," she replied with a shrug, her eyes meeting his, bright and untroubled, unguarded in a way that made him feel like he could breathe again. "I should probably start unpacking soon."

He nodded, a small smile forming. "Let me know if you need help."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned back slightly, as if assessing him. “How was Valyria?”

And then, it all unraveled. The way she said it, like she genuinely wanted to know, like she’d missed hearing about his life. He began talking, and for the first time in what felt like a year, he felt that spark of excitement again, the kind that came naturally around her. He found himself smiling in a way he hadn’t in months, feeling the weight lift off his shoulders as he told her about the trip, about the ruins and relics, his voice lighter than it had been in so long. She listened, leaning in, her eyes tracing his face like she was searching for something she’d missed.

He didn’t even realize he was still holding her. He hadn’t let go, and his hands were warm where they rested on her, like something slotting into place. And suddenly, for the first time since he’d moved here, everything felt right.

Lighter. Like home.

He was fucked. Completely. He could feel it now, the rush of everything he’d tried to bury for months rising up, all at once.

How did he ever convince himself he’d gotten over her?

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

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thinkingotherwise · 6 months ago

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hii!

There are very few blogs that write about wind breaker, and I think your writing is very good.I would like to request Sakura, Sugishita and Umemiya (separately), pining for a fem reader and how they would cope with their crush without her knowing.

The reader is foreign (Colombia), she speaks several languages such as Japanese, English and French.She is talented in the arts (she studies at an arts academy), plays the piano, drawing, gymnastics and singing. She comes from a very rich family, her father is a metal singer and her mother is a martial arts teacher. I am a fan of curvy readers with a power character and stronger, she is kind but you don't really notice it since she is a sarcastic girl and a little cruel when she jokes without realizing it. She has a very well-groomed sense of fashion and changes his style very quickly but she loves boots of any kind. She is someone serious when she does not get into confidence especially with men (since she mostly does not have male friends), but when she does get into confidence she talks too much and tells black jokes, her laugh becomes loud and loud, she forgets manners and becomes becomes playful like touching or pinching your friends. She loves metal music but listens to all kinds of music. Before, she self-harmed because she didn't feel enough due to the pressure of always having been talented, that's why she has a long scar on her right leg and a few on her arms. She managed to overcome it with therapy and she doesn't care what her scars look like. She can be considered quite "crazy" because of her tastes, such as her somewhat macabre paintings or her jokes.

This was very long, sorry, but I got too excited.

Excited is good ;)

Sorry for the wait, I still have some more requests from April to finish.

Haruka Sakura, Kyotaro Sugishita, Hajime Umemiya x fem! Artistic! Sarcastic! reader

TW: selfharm/scar (mentioned)

Haruka Sakura

Even before Haruka realized he had a crush on you, he was in awe of your artistic skills, as well as linguistics. He was excited to get to know you were from out of Japan and he'd still randomly ask you different things about your country and the culture, and how much it was distinct from what you had in Japan. He'd ask you to say stuff in different languages, and in return, you'd make him pronounce them. He was amazed at your accents and words, while you were laughing at the way he pronounced them.

When it came to your questionable nature of joking and talking with others, at first, he thought that your jabs and cruel jokes were attacks on him. In that case, you'd return them even trying to pick up a fight with you. Even after all the time you spent together, he'd keep it up but he'd rather tackle you than punch you. He was aware it was how you normally behaved but he still wanted to let you know some might not be as understanding as he got used to.

Since the first time he got to know you, he was curious about your scar but waited for you to tell him first knowing some things are better kept as secrets for the time being. After he realized he liked you and then you did tell him about it, when you became a little closer, he'd surprise you by giving the bestest, longest, and coziest hug you could receive from him.

Being his crush would mean being taken care of in this strange aggressive, yet timid way.

Kyotaro Sugishita

At the beginning of, your rather questionable friendship, the both of you were quiet, him being that way normally and you trying to figure him out. With time passing you got used to him, thinking he was doing the same, but you finally realized it was his personality, so you took it upon yourself to be the more confident and talkative person.

Whenever you made him laugh or smile you'd celebrate it like it was the greatest success ever. You noticed he'd laugh rather easily if you were to joke at Sakura, responding to him sarcastically and making the boy confused.

Anytime you showed him your paintings he was surprised by your talent and imagination. He would ask you to describe the painting, what you drew, and how. It would be baffling to some that he'd become so interested but you appreciated it and went on and on about your art.

He'd also find appeal in your music, even if it was mostly metal he liked it, and even more, he enjoyed spending time with you while you showed the different songs to him.

When he realizes he has a crush he gets very invested in your hobbies, he could listen to you play or watch you draw for hours. Spending every minute he can with you.

Hajime Umemiya

Hajime got along with you the best since the beginning. He didn't mind whenever you started laughing and being touchy or pinching. When he realized he had some deeper feelings for you, than only friendship he would easily respond to your touchiness with his. He'd not leave you alone, when you started the little game, and be all over you trying to tickle you. You'd end up in a rather heated but also playful war.

You spent so much time together, he'd quickly understood that your cruel jokes are part of your character, and when he knew you didn't mean something, he'd playfully pinch you letting you know you're going too far. The both of you would be soo loud together while laughing and enjoying your company, you'd make Hiiragi's head hurt, and all the Bofurin to hear you.

Your styling skills made such an impact on Hajime. He loved it whenever you changed styles, he could watch you in so many different clothes and still be amazed by how good you looked. He himself didn't have any style, as most of his friends told him, so he sometimes asked you to lend him a hand and make him look cool as the leader of Bofurin.

As soon as he develops a crush on you he's more aware of the switch in you, emotional, as well as, physical. He'd always try to talk about them with you because he knows how hard it can be, and how much having someone to share it with can help.

Taglist: @misticbullet

#wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #haruka sakura x reader #kyotaro sugishita x reader #hajime umemiya x reader

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baileypie-writes · 11 months ago

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💕🩷hello ! I wanted to ask if you could possibly do more velvet and venner with a younger sibling?

Ok so how will velvet and venner react to their younger sibling (who was born with actual talent of singing) being use by another famous singer just as they use the trolls to become famous, like, the singer is stealing the younger sibling's talent to have a beautiful voice and keep getting famous and the younger sibling is becoming pale and weak (just as Floyd was) and maybe velvet and venner getting along with the trolls to save their younger sibling.

Hope you could understand, sorry if I'm sending this in the wrong time. Take your time and hope you could do it, if not then it's completely ok!

A/N ~ Omg, I love this idea! I decided to make this into multiple parts, since one would be too long. Part 2 should be out pretty soon. Hope you enjoy!

~I Want to Break Free~

Velvet and Veneer + Younger Sibling!Reader

Part 2 here!

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Relationship: Familial

Synopsis: Velvet and Veneer find out that your talent is being stolen by a famous singer. So they team up with the trolls to save their little sibling.

Warnings: Reader being tortured(not detailed/graphic), cringe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Veneer noticed it first. You were pale, and seemed weaker. He told Velvet, and both were concerned. Of course they asked you what was wrong, but you just claimed that you were tired.

This wasn’t exactly a lie. You were very tired. But the reason why is what you couldn’t tell your siblings.

You were born with a natural singing talent, unlike Velvet and Veneer. You always viewed this skill as a blessing. But for the past week, you wish you didn’t have it.

~~~

It all started when you posted a video of yourself singing a song by your favorite artist, Lemon Pop, on the internet. You went viral, and even got noticed by her. You were lucky enough to meet her in real life, and you even thought you became friends. Unfortunately, you were very wrong.

Lemon Pop was a fraud, just like your siblings were. She was inspired by how they stole the talent of trolls, and wanted to do the same. But after using a troll, she decided that it wasn’t enough for her. So after she saw your video, she knew immediately that she wanted your talent. She lured you in with her friendly facade, and when she finally had you close, she let her real personality shine. She’s a rude, manipulative and straight up abusive person. Way worse than how Velvet was in her glory days.

She forces you to attend all her performances, and stealing your talent before going on stage. She always threatens to ruin your life if you refuse or tell anyone. So not knowing what else to do, you play the role as her friend.

It’s so painful when everyone calls you lucky. You’d think that being best friends with a pop star would be the greatest thing in the world. But after feeling your talent leave your body in a painful, exhausting process for what felt like the millionth time, you wish you’d never posted that video of you singing.

~~~

“Where’s (name)?” Veneer asked.

“They’re with that ‘Lemon Pop’ girl again.” Velvet responded. Almost like that summoned her, the channel that was playing on the TV started mentioning her.

“Once again, Lemon Pop’s song is at the top of the music charts!” The announcer stated. It went on to show a clip of Lemon Pop receiving an award. You were there in the background, but anyone who knew you could tell that you were not well.

“Did (name) dye their hair?” Veneer asked.

“Uh, I don’t think so. Why?” Velvet responded.

“Because there’s some white in it.”

Velvet turned to the TV, and saw that he was correct. But your hair wasn’t the only odd thing about you. You looked exhausted, way worse than you seemed before. And for some reason, you were wearing long sleeves, long pants and gloves. It was warm in Mount Rageous, so your outfit was strange. Even more so, because you were visibly sweating a lot.

Before Velvet and Veneer could question your state to each other, loud knocking could be heard from outside their window, followed by a familiar voice.

“Velvet! Veneer! It’s us, Brozone!”

They thought they’d never see those faces again. It was the trolls. The ones that ruined their careers, and sent them to prison. They were banging on the window frantically.

Velvet stomped over to them. “What the hell are you doing here? Come to ruin our lives again?” She spat.

“Ah, Velvet. That was our fault. We tortured some of them, remember?” Veneer placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to calm her down.

“I know I remember…” Floyd mumbled.

“Whatever! What do you want?” Velvet slapped her brother’s hand away.

A small, weak troll suddenly emerged from the group. Their hands and feet were sparkly and transparent, and they had a large ponytail of previously red hair, which was now mostly white. “It’s about your sibling, (name).”

Velvet and Veneer’s eyes softened, and their expressions changed to ones of worry. “What about them?” Asked Velvet, defensively.

“What you did to Floyd… they’re going through the same thing.” The troll said.

The twins looked at each other, then back at them. “What? What do you mean? Who even are you?” Velvet snapped.

The troll sighed. “I’m Rosetta. I used to be Lemon Pop’s prisoner. She stole my singing talent, just like you did to Floyd. But I wasn’t enough for her. So she tricked (name) into becoming friends, so she could steal their’s instead. I got Brozone to help me find you, and get you to help them.”

Velvet and Veneer were speechless. They looked back at the TV. You were still visible in the background. Now your appearance made sense. They looked at Lemon Pop, smiling and waving to all their fans. And even though they did the same thing she was doing, they couldn’t help but be pissed. You were their sibling, and she was torturing you.

They turned back to Rosetta, pure rage clear on their faces.

“Let’s go save them.”

(To be continued…)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#trolls 3 band together #trolls 3 #trolls 3 x reader #trolls 3 velvet #trolls 3 veneer #trolls velvet #trolls veneer #velvet #veneer #velvet and veneer #velvet x reader #veneer x reader #velvet x gender neutral reader #veneer x gender neutral reader #velvet x reader platonic #veneer x reader platonic

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static-radio-ao3 · 8 months ago

Text

@jegulus-microfic // march 18 // prompt: instrument // words: 758 // part two + part three

“What do you play?” James asks, voice muffled as he is digging through his laundry basket.

“Huh?”

“Instrument, I mean.” James turns to face him. His glasses are halfway down his nose and Regulus’ fingers twitch with the need to adjust them. James is annoyingly handsome. Even in the middle of the night when his hair is tousled and his glasses are smudged and he has baby formula on his ratty college shirt, tan skin glowing under the fluorescent lights of the basement laundry room.

“What do you play? We’ve been talking every night but I don’t even know what instrument you play. I hear you sometimes when I get home.”

“Shit, I'm sorry, I can try to keep it down.”

“No, please, I like it!” Another second of rummaging before James shuts the door to the machine, twists the dial and presses the start button. “It sounds nice. Harry likes it too.”

James checks the volume on the baby monitor again, making sure it is still turned all the way up. When he is sure it didn’t magically turn off in the minute since he checked last, he places it gingerly on the bench in the middle of the room, sitting down next to Regulus.

Their shoulders brush. His arm feels warm where it is pressed against James’, despite the frigid air in the basement.

“Ah, thank you. It's uh— violin. I'm at the conservatory for classical music.”

“You must be really hard-working, then.”

This pleases Regulus, satisfaction burrowing its way into his chest, making him preen a little. People always think he is talented.

Secretly, Regulus hates that word. He has never been talented. No particular skill that stood out — and his parents made sure he knew it.

So yes, Regulus is hard-working. Passionate. Stays up until 3 A.M. to practice, tucked away in the laundry room so he doesn’t wake Sirius in their tiny two-bedroom apartment.

That’s how this whole thing started. Regulus, resident insomniac, slipping out of bed with his violin tucked under his arm. James, still adjusting to the fact that his son is now sleeping through the night, doing chores on the wrong side of midnight.

“I have to be, if I want to be the best,” Regulus says.

“I’ll have to come see you play sometime, then.” James makes it sound like a give. Like it is something he is willing to make time for. Regulus’ heart flutters. Traitor, he whispers at it.

“Do you now?” His teeth tug at the dry skin on his lips, picking at it until he bleeds. Sirius always tells him off for it but it is a nervous habit he has yet to beat.

“Absolutely. If you’ll have me that is.”

A hurried yes almost bursts from him, but he traps it behind his teeth before he can actually say it. He tries to play it cool despite the heat in his face, a teasing tone as he says, “Maybe. Gotta see if you’re worth keeping around first.”

James laughs at that. Regulus thinks it sounds sweeter than his violin ever has.

“I’ll be such a good audience, I swear. I can make a career-switch. Go from sports reporting to music reporting.” Because James works for the local newspaper. Writes sports columns. Takes his son with him to football games, a tiny infant strapped to his chest. The mental image of James at a recital with baby Harry on his hip makes Regulus’ heart flutter again. “Would that be enough proof of my dedication?”

More fluttering. Traitor, traitor, traitor. Regulus pretends to ponder on it for a moment.

“It’ll do. For now.”

James scoffs. Rolls his eyes. “For now, he says.”

It sounds fond.

Neither of them says anything else but Regulus doesn’t mind it. His eyes are trained on the laundry machine with his clothes in it. He watches it spin and spin and spin. Lets himself get hypnotized by the repetitive motion, the quiet humming, James’ even breaths. It’s peaceful.

“Same time tomorrow?” Regulus asks when he has gathered all his laundry, the basket propped against his hip. He doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes droop with his nod. He chuckles softly at the sight. “Get some sleep, James.”

A mumbled, “Sweet dreams” follows him out of the room.

For once, Regulus is eager to fall asleep, only so he can see James again tomorrow.

It is only in the silent halls of the apartment building that he lets himself think that there is no sweeter dream than those moments they share.

#hello microfic enjoyers. daddy’s home.#(i mean me btw)#also i’m actually not home i am simply dropping this off before leaving again #sorrey #anyways uhhh tags #give it up for the laundry room romance!!#i just think they’d be so soft and sleepy but still trying to stay awake to talk to each other #and then slipping into their respective beds with a grin on their faces #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing

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cryptidghostgirl · 9 months ago

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Hey hey! i have a third angsty silly idea teehee (yes same person who requested the one where wife reader gets teleported to the hotel and the one with the fake dating trope-)

Im at it again with my silly ideas i can’t quite get out of my head- so picture this RIGHT before the begging of the second fic (loved it btw if i could id kiss you on the mouth)

(this interaction is important) Reader is eyeing Alastor to subconsciously make him talk to her, he does of course it goes a bit like “Alastor dear, havent seen you before?” "Just moved in, thought of making some acquaintances” and they talk, reader tells him “a charmer too? should be careful around you not to break my heart” or smth smilar idk i suck at dialogue

And then the partnership happens and theyve been at it for a while (like at least 5 years id say)- until Readers twin brother dies in a planned house fire and she goes out for revenge, before that they have a fight like “youre going to be out numbered” “its suicide” blah blah blah- and eventually reader goes out alone

She does manage to to kill the criminals but because of the cold January weather and the exhaustion of it all- reader gets hypothermia and in the frenzy thats caused by it stumbles and falls into a fence spike of an abandoned farmhouse, gets impaled right below the ribs teehee, Alastor eventually finding her and goes out to bury her properly.

readers death happens in 1925 -8 years before alastor which gibes her enough time to take over half the pentagram with her blizzard/ice powers (cuz i think theyre. cool ;)) and is also important reader has a long tail with fluff (which can turn into a heart shaped fur or have happy/angry twitches) at the end because i think its cute and because her demon form has one so it matches (think the faceless room guardians by anyaboz on IG but fully white- with a void face from which emerges a dog skull at will). the normal form being overall relatively normal aside from the long ears and black limbs that symbolize the hypothermia part of the death (Yes this is an Oc but im making it a bit more generic for everyone :>)

When alastor does die in 1933 (when he got shot visiting readers grave) he hears of this blizzard overlord and goes a bit into her territory and into a bar where he sees a somewhat familiar person teehee and they have the same first conversation over again but in hell :D and then get reunited but possibly pull out their signature weapons on each other again for old times sake 😇

also i love you so much for taking the time to write my dreams it does mean quite a lot to me and if you want i can give more ideas because i have a lot more- 😇 (im tottaly not insane and or delusional i swear-)

A/N of course?? I’m obsessed with your requests. they’re always so fun. Also as a heads up, I decided not to do this as a part to for cover up because I got an earlier request asking to do a part two for that and I try to address requests in the order I receive them. I also made some other minor changes just to make it work a little smoother. Also, please keep sending in requests, yours are always so fun.

Frostbite (Alastor X Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Murder, death, gore, arson, a little bit of angst.

Word Count: 3,949

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor sat at the bar of Mimzy's club drinking like he did every friday night. Normally the whirling dancers and loud music merely served to give him a headache, normally he ignored them and all the fans who somehow recognized him from the radio. Tonight was far from normal, tonight there was someone new.

Spinning on the dance floor, the fringe of her blood red dress spinning out from her legs. The woman was all smiles, all laughter, and she seemed never to turn down a partner. He watched her, entranced.

The woman wasn't a talented dancer, far from it in fact, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm and enjoyment. He had no intentions of doing anything other than watching her enchanting display until he made eye contact with her across the club. She blushed, turning away and quickly engaging a friend in conversation.

It was all the encouragement Alastor needed. In the dim light of the speakeasy, Alastor smiled to himself. He downed the rest of his drink and got to his feet. The crowed of dancers parted to make way for him like the red sea, waves of whispers following his path. He could hear the chatter, knew the rumors that he was a man uninterested in women, uninterested in love or romantic involvements of any type He knew that that was what everyone was speaking of as he approached the first new face the tired old place had seen in ages.

Coming to a stop behind the woman, her friend saw him first. It made sense, her back was turned to him after all, a result of her embarrassment at having been caught staring. He friend tapped her shoulder, indicating for the woman to turn around, and she spun. Alastor could feel the hem of her dress as it brushed against his leg through the fabric of his pants. His smile grew.

"Haven't seen you around here before Darling," he hummed, "new in town?"

"Just moved in, actually." the woman bashfully replied, clasping her hands behind her back and crossing one foot in front of the other.

The position it threw her body into sent Alastor's mind reeling. He hadn't expected that. Sure, she was pretty and different, new, but Alastor didn't feel things like that. At least, not normally.

"Well, I'd love to give you a tour sometime. The name is Alastor, Alastor Hartifelt."

This was the test: his name. How would she react? Was she just another one of his simpering fans, begging for his favor, for his attention, or would she do something interesting?

He held out a hand which she daintily rested her own in, a smile spreading across her face.

"Y/n L/n. I'm free tomorrow morning?"

Alastor was lucky, Saturday mornings were one of the few he had free. Gently, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand. Y/n felt her heart flutter inside her chest.

"Ah, a charmer." she hummed as Alastor raised his head again and she took her hand from his, "I'll have to be careful around you."

Everything had snowballed from there. The tour around the city had spiraled into dinner which had further fallen into an attempt by Alastor to take her life. He had been curious, how it would feel when the life drained from her body at the force of his hands. Instead, she had met his advances by holding her own knife to his throat.

It became a game of sorts for the two, always trying to outwit one another, one up each other, land the other six feet under. The game ended when Alastor was chasing Y/n through the woods and she had stumbled, falling to the ground. He had grinned maniacally as he had advanced on her, as she had scrambled on the ground away from him. Knife raised, her back against a tree, she had breathlessly asked him out on a date. How could he say no? Especially when he looked up and saw that she had planned this all along. There was no other way their initials could be carved into the surface of the very thing that had stopped her escape. It was perfect, she was perfect.

Five years of bliss. Five years of feathery kisses and passion. Five years of waking up to her smiling face, of washing the blood off each other's hands, of nearly wedded bliss. Then there had been the fire.

Y/n had a twin brother, a brute of a thing who always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Despite his flaws, Y/n loved him. This time, on a January morning in 1925, he had pissed off the wrong person and gotten himself killed. Y/n was inconsolable, spent every waking moment tracking the killer. It didn't take her long to get a lead.

She was halfway out the door when Alastor found her, shoving knives into her pockets and grabbing a gun. There was a wild, unfocused look in her eyes. Alastor turned his gaze momentarily to the setting sun as it sent rays of liquid golden light bouncing off the snow.

"Darling, what are you doing?"

"Going out." she gruffly replied, adjusting the laces on one of her shoes.

Alastor sighed. Y/n had mentioned to him just the day before that she had an idea of who was behind the murder and it wasn't pretty. The most controversial and strongest gang in the city had, according to her research, wielded the flames. Alastor took a step forward, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder and she turned to him. Her eyes were hard and narrow, her face contorted by rage.

"Y/n, please." Alastor began, treading carefully, "Not tonight. It's awful out, and you just confirmed everything today."

"No." Y/n shook her head, "No, I can't wait to do this any longer, Al. It has already been nearly a month, I can't..."

She looked away, raising a fist to her heart, her shoulders hunching slightly.

"I can't."

"And I can't loose you." Alastor quickly replied, using his free hand to turn her face back to his.

"So come with me."

He hesitated. Y/n saw the look on his face, the doubt. She shook herself from his grip, turning back to the door.

"Alright. I'll go alone."

"Y/n," Alastor pleaded, taking another step towards her as she grabbed her coat off the hook on the wall, "it is too dangerous. I can't let you do this."

"Let me do this?" Y/n spun around, her coat in her hand and flames licking at the corners of her voice, "You can't let me do this?"

Alastor took a breath, trying desperately to keep his own anger at bay.

"There are too many of them." he tried to reason with her, "You can't do it on your own."

"So come with me!"

"I..."

Y/n scoffed, sliding her jacket onto her arms. Turning back to the door once again, she unlocked it. Her hand rested on the knob, she took a breath. Their eyes met over her shoulder.

"I'll be home later."

She swung the door open and stepped out into the night. Alastor trailed after her, the snow sinking into his socks. It was cold, a terrible night.

"Y/n, you'll die!"

"Do you truly have that little faith in me!?" she spun around, her rage radiating off of her, devouring everything in sight.

Alastor had never seen her like this before. He halted in his tracks.

"Please, I can't..." he took a deep breath, emotions had always been a struggle, "I can't loose you too."

"But I'm supposed to loose my brother and know who did it and do nothing?!" she screamed back at him.

"You will die!"

Y/n turned her back on him once again. She unlatched the gate to the garden and slipped through it, letting it fall shut behind her.

"So be it."

"Y/n!"

Alastor tried to run after her but, it was simply too cold. His limbs were numb, he stumbled.

"Y/n!" he yelled again but, she didn't turn around.

He could see her, in that red dress. She looked like she did the first time he had ever met her as she disappeared into the night. He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, it felt like an omen.

Alastor stood in the cold for a few minutes longer before resigning himself to the truth of it all: Y/n was going to do what she was going to do. He just had to hope she would come back, that the damage he had done in refusing to back her up like that wouldn't be enough to have driven her away. That she was strong enough to make it out alive.

The fireplace crackled invitingly. No matter how warm and cheerful it made the room, Alastor couldn't stop the dread. He sat down on the couch before it, painfully aware of the empty spot beside him. He tried to read.

The hours ticked by, seconds dragging on for eternity. Still, Y/n was not yet home. Alastor couldn't focus on anything. He couldn't 't read, couldn't sleep, could barely sit still. He paced circles around the room as the sun rose, he called in sick to work, intent on being there should she return.

When it reached four pm, when it had been nearly twenty full hours since she had left, he decided to go out and look for her. Y/n had always been messy, always bad at putting things away. While normally it had irritated him to no end, he now found himself grateful. He swore to whatever gods were listening that if she was alright, he would never bother her about it again because right there on top of her desk were all her plans, including the exact location of the gang's hideout, the exact place she had disappeared to.

The sight that met Alastor when he reached the old warehouse on the outskirts of the city was one he would never forget. Blood stained the snow red and there were bodies everywhere, both outside and within. It was clearly, Y/n's handiwork and he couldn't help but feel a tad impressed, he had underestimated her yet again. His slight smile, a result of the realization, fell as he spotted the footprints leading out of the backdoor.

He had tracked Y/n enough times to know they were hers, they couldn't be anyone else's. A trail of blood accompanied them, one foot dragging more than the other. Alastor tried to keep his head clear, his mind cool. He gave chase.

The back yard to the warehouse was large, gave the impression of going right off into the woods. Alastor soon realized that was not the case as the rusted, wrought iron fence came in to view. Y/n wouldn't have been able to see it. Judging by the way the tracks were iced over, it had been a long time since she had walked this path. In the dead of night, surrounded by trees, the fence would have come as a surprise.

As he got closer, the lump that he had assumed was a fallen branch came into more detail. Alastor's heart stopped, he rushed to her.

If only he hadn't waited, if only the minute he had felt she'd been gone too long he had gone after her. He might have been able to save her, to stop her from this cruel fate.

What had happened was obvious. The fence was iced over, slippery to the touch. Y/n had evidently tried to climb over it and lost her grip, the force of her fall being enough to ram the sharpened edge of one of the fence's defensive points right through her temple. Wrong place, wrong time.

Alastor had never cried like that before, as he sat in the snow at her feet, her body stiff from the cold. Not even when his mother had died could he ever remember feeling such a grief. It ate away at him, pooling in the center of his chest and spreading out. She had been so integral to who he was, so much a part of his life and way of being. She had been his dream, his end goal. Alastor remembered the ring, sitting heavy in the drawer of his night table. His tears redoubled.

By the time he managed to calm himself, the early winter sun had long since sunk to its bed and been replaced by the moon. Moving completely on autopilot, not considering his actions, Alastor wrenched her body from the fence. Y/n deserved a proper burial, in a place that mattered. He made her final resting place at the base of the very same tree she had told him she loved him while sitting at. His fingers traced their carved initials, grown hard with the years. There was nothing to be done.

The guilt ate away at him, festered over the years. If only he had stopped her, had gone with her, had come to her rescue. If only he had told her that he loved her one last time.

When Y/n awoke in Hell, to say she was surprised would be an understatement. She had never been one to believe in the afterlife in any sort of way, let alone such a wonderful one with so many opportunities for mayhem.

The thing that had been the toughest to get used to was her new form. All the demons in Hell got them upon arrival and when she caught that first glimpse of herself in the glass of a shop window, she understood why everyone on the streets seemed to be eyeing her fearfully.

She looked like she was rotting, her fingertips and toes black from the cold she had lost herself in. It trailed up her limbs, mingling with her own natural skin color. Her hair, her eye lashes, her eyebrows even, looked perpetually frosted with snow, little particles of ice hanging delicately in them. Then there were the horns and the tail, those were by far the strangest. The horns were pure white and curving like a mountain goats, the tail was thin with a little heart shaped ball of fluff at the end. It wasn't until another demon attempted to attack her that she realized the full extent of the changes that had taken place.

Y/n had just tried to punch the man, that was all. He had made advances, she had said no. He had tried again and she had told him she was married. It wasn't entirely a lie, they had been planning on it after all. Still, the man refused to listen and so, she had resorted to brute strength. When she had pulled her fist away, it was to find the man encased in ice. That was when the anger had set in.

Y/n didn't blame Alastor, not really. She was mad at him but, in the end, he had been right. She had died. It was all so brutally unfair. The way they had left things, that final fight, weighed on her soul. She wondered if he even knew she was dead, if he just assumed she had up and left him. The guilt, the what if's of it all, were crushing.

The stronger Y/n's emotions, the more uncontrollable her power. She still attacked people for fun but, taking over half of Pentagram City with her storms had honestly been an accident. In retrospect, she would call it a happy one.

Y/n liked being respected, being feared. She liked the near worship with which the smaller, weaker demons began to treat her. She settled into her new life with surprising ease and soon, every demon and hellborn in the place knew her name: Frost.

Y/n would've liked something different, preferred something cooler but, when the people give someone a name, its hard to change it and so, she embraced the title. Stone cold, cruel, powerful and appearing at what others perceived as totally inopportune moments. She locked herself, her heart, away. She swore never to make the same mistakes again.

Alastor visited Y/n's grave at least once every year. Always on the anniversary of her death, sometimes more frequently. That was where he too had met his death. As he had stooped low to place the bouquet of flowers he had brought on the surface of the hard-packed earth, the hunter had shot him, thinking he was a deer.

His arrival in Hell had been uneventful and not all together shocking. Alastor had been raised in a Christian household and although he never truly had faith in the matter once he had been old enough to form his own opinions, he had still always assumed that if there was life after death he was going to end up in Hell. He also knew that if he had ended up down here, Y/n had too.

The search was all consuming and fruitless. Every demon he interrogated, every one he thought had the slightest spark of his love within them, never had a single clue what he was talking about. Half the city was a snow storm and before long, that half was the only part he hadn't searched. Allegedly it was the territory of some new overlord known only as Frost who had taken Hell by storm - literally - just a few years before. Alastor already had a distaste in his mouth for the overlords, a sort of hatred spawned from something close to envy. He figured that worst case scenario, he could just add this Frost character to the list over overlords he had already taken out in the year since his arrival.

The chill of the air as he stepped over the border was a cruel reminder of the truth of his life. Alastor welcomed the cold with open arms, wondered if Y/n had already been killed since arriving in Hell. He had heard of the exterminations, it wasn't too wild of an idea. The thought gnawed on his mind like a parasite, intent on seeing him dead. Alastor progressed.

The fact that in death he still felt such things as hunger had been a mystery to him. There was something poetic about it, something forlorn in the idea that hunger and touch were the only things that followed a person to their grave. He stepped into the restaurant, his stomach growling, and walked up to the bar.

"Do you have beignets?"

Alastor knew the answer before the barkeep even shook his head. He sighed, falling on to one of the stools.

"Sausage and grits."

"Coming right up."

Alastor tapped his fingers on the counter, watching the world around him. Hope was running thin, anxieties and hurt taking over. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, how much more disappointment he could take.

"Haven't seen you around before, Darling," a voice purred from behind him, sending shockwaves of pain through his chest, "new in town?"

He summoned his microphone into his hand, ready to fight. It didn't matter that the demon most likely had no idea the effect of their words, the connections they had to his own past life. All that mattered was that he felt like he was being mocked, the world was parroting his life back to him because Y/n was out of his reach and probably would be forever more. He turned to face the person, a sickening grin spread tight across his face.

The demon had a clearing around her, the crowd avoiding her at all costs and whispering to one another behind the cover of their hands. Her tail flicked back and forth, ice emanating from the place her feet hit the floor.

There was something oddly familiar about her, the cocky smirk, the confidence. Alastor got to his feet. He leered over her and the woman didn't flinch one bit.

"Who's asking?"

A threat. The smile on the smaller demon's face grew, snow beginning to pile up on the floor in the corners of the room.

"You know, it's really far too cruel of you to go around with a voice like that." she hummed thoughtfully, a finger to her chin, "Gets a girl's hopes up just to shatter 'em on the floor."

Alastor could feel it now, the cold nipping at his extremities. Wind picked up in the indoor space and demons began rushing out through the door as quickly as they could. Alastor stood his ground.

"Ah, so you're the one responsible for this little snow town?"

"Why yes, I am."

"You're rather cruel yourself, you know." he mused, "Using my own words against me, how did you know? Do you overlords have some way to read a person's mind? Find the center of their desire and turn it to a weapon?"

Only now did the woman's expression change. Her calm facade morphed into confusion as the winds died down.

"What do you mean?"

"'Haven't seen you around here before, Darling, new in town?'" Alastor scoffed.

Y/n's eyes widened with a sudden recognition. It only fueled Alastor's anger as he took a step forward, shadows rising from the ground at his feet.

"I-"

"Just moved in, actually." the demon cut him off, holding a hand out for him to take, palm to the floor.

Alastor looked at her, disgust etched into his features.

"How could you..." he trailed off.

Eyes flicking over her form, Alastor examined the demoness carefully. Sure, she was different. She looked half dead, frost bitten to the extreme but, there was certainly something familar.

"Who are..."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. Slowly, he took her hand in his. It was icy to the touch, sent shivers down his spine. With a practiced grace, he leaned down and planted a feathery kiss on the back of her hand.

"Ah, a charmer." Y/n smiled as he raised his head to hers again, "I'll have to be careful around you."

"Y/n."

It wasn't a question, he knew the answer. Alastor could feel it in his bones.

"Alastor."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Alastor watched her movements in astonishment. Disbelief laid thick on his body, too heavy to allow him to move.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered into his ear, her breath a cold breeze.

"I... why are you sorry?" he asked, pulling her away from him.

Alastor placed his hands on her shoulders, brushing off a bit of snow that had landed there with utmost care.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I should have come with you, I shouldn't have said the things I said, I sh-"

"I love you."

She couldn't hold the words in anymore. Icicles of tears tinkled like glass as they fell from her cheeks and landed on the floor.

"I... I love you, Alastor. I can't... I always regretted... I..."

"Me too."

He pulled her back into his arms, this time holding her body tightly to his. The cold burned but he didn't care. The whistling of the wind outside seemed to quiet.

"I love you so much, Y/n. I am so sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

Y/n pulled back, cupping Alastor's face in her hands.

"Never again."

"Never what, my love."

"Never again will I be parted from you."

"I thought I'd never see you again." Alastor admitted, "I was beginning to lose hope."

"Me too, me too."

"Never again."

----

Next Part -> Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

A/N I am such a little slut for a good reunion scene.

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thebandghostofficial · 1 year ago

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[MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY]

An important (and overwinded) announcement regarding this blog below the cut.

Hello everyone! This is Rawkin Ghoul/ Tumblr Ghoul/ Tumblrina/ Soda/ etc etc.

First thing’s first: no, this blog is not an official Ghost social media account.

I started this blog in late 2022 when ghost-official started blowing up (I do not believe this one to be real either, and honestly I won’t believe they have a Tumblr until it is linked on their official website) and thought, “wow, I could make a better Ghost blog than that. One that’s way better organized and actually advertises properly for them, and posts regularly!” So I did.

Originally it was meant as just that, a little joke between some friends, and wasn’t meant to really get farther than that. But then I thought, Ghost does have a lot of fans on Tumblr- a lot of exquisitely talented and devoted fans. Maybe I can kinda “roleplay” it for a while, build almost a bit of a portfolio, and then either offer the blog to management or offer to run it for them officially, for fun, if they were interested.

More time passes and more people followed. I thought “xofficial” as a username was a common enough joke/ gimmick that people would realize it wasn’t for real (and in fact, when I first searched the URL, I found that this username was once in use years ago! Sorry, previous owner), especially after posting that April Fools joke post- this was wrong of me to assume. There are a lot of roleplay/ joke “official” Ghost accounts all over the web but I failed to really properly disclaim that I was one of them.

I of course don’t plan to reach out to Ghost anymore and haven’t for some time, for multiple reasons including Tumblr just not being a good website for advertising. But another one is I got pretty loose on here. Tumblr is so different from Twitter and Insta and all that- you guys (and myself! I go here too) don’t want to have someone sell something to you- but you do love interaction and jokes and solving things together.

I think we can all admit it- when Ghost is dormant, the fans can get bored and even agitated, and can start to have a go at eachother. I’m certainly not guiltless there either. I wouldn’t say I’m notorious or even particularly well known in general but I’ve gotten into drama here and there. I figured the blog would be a fun way not just to distract the community, but really engage with it. The blog passed 5k a month or so ago and I started thinking, we could do something really cool with it. Smaller events like fanart contests and zines. But what if we did more? Organizing pre-ritual meetups. Larger community projects like fan-made music videos. ARG. Maybe even a short video game- there are so many incredibly skilled and hard-working Ghost fans and I wanted to try to bring them together because I think our love for Ghost, for whatever reason we love them, screams so loud and everyone deserves recognition (also a reason I started Fanart Friday as a regular thing).

You guys know I do my best to keep up with your tagging and what you’re saying and everything and I’ve seen the people pointing out the blog isn’t real from the beginning- I didn’t want to address it directly at first because I thought if nothing else people enjoyed the mystery.

But, more lately there’s been more and more people who are agitated, disappointed, and even a little scared to hear that this blog is not official.

I want to offer my very sincere apologies to people who I made feel that way. I should have made it obvious sooner- I know so well that there are a lot of very young Ghost fans especially who wouldn’t necessarily surmise that this isn’t real. I’m really sorry to those of you I disappointed.

I will never ask you for money here, or any personal information, or send asks anonymous or otherwise from here or my main personal blog as “Tumblr Ghoul”. I have had one person ask to message me so I messaged them to allow them to do that. If somebody contacts you claiming to be the person running this blog, they are lying. Please block them. My interactions here I aim to keep as public as possible, hence being increasingly liberal with replies and reblogs as the number of people interacting grew.

My only goal with this blog is to advertise for a band that I love and to entertain/ help the fandom when and where I can. I love and appreciate all the fanart and interest in the character of Tumblr Ghoul but I don’t want anybody to feel obligated to me and I especially don’t want to hurt anybody. I started this blog for fun and that how I want it to remain- fun for everyone.

People pointed out when I didn’t post for some time a few months back and it was because I had lost interest in the blog and was going through a rough time- and then one particularly bad day I got on to check it by chance and just seeing your guy’s tags and comments made me feel so much better. I tell people that I found Ghost when I really needed a friend and they fulfilled that for me, but the past few months you guys have done just the same for me. I am so sorry to have betrayed that and made you feel unsafe and lied to in return.

As of posting I do intend to still run the blog as I have been (with a disclaimer added to the bio regarding the legitimacy of this account)- posting about tours, chapters, merch, etc, as well as Fanart Friday. I 100% understand if anybody doesn’t want to be involved in that, so anybody who has tagged me in something and don’t want it on the blog now, I can open messages and you can let me know. I will probably close them again after a week or so if I get a large flood of unrelated messages.

Please do not message me asking me who I am, who knows about the blog, etc. Gaining popularity was never something I wanted from this so I will stay anonymous, for the time being at the very least. A very small number of people know who is behind the blog and to my knowledge only one of them is even on Tumblr and in the fandom.

Thank you for all the support you’ve shown me, Ghost, and eachother. It can be easy to see the bad parts of a community and roll your eyes electing to keep your distance, but since starting this blog I’ve been reminded what good community is even when it’s frustrating sometimes.

Thank you for reading, I won’t hold it against anybody who wants to separate themselves from this blog at this point, and please don’t let my oversight and general dummyness sour your experience with Ghost or its other fans. Enjoy the rest of this tour and whether it’s with or without me, please keep rawking 🤘 Be good to eachother.

Thank you.

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sydsaint · 11 months ago

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If you don't think he's the hottest member of The Bloodline you are simply wrong I fear.

Summary: The reader is an old NXT friend of Solo's that makes her debut on Smackdown to challenge Iyo for her championship.

"You wanna tell me why the hell you dragged me down here when we could be chilling in the locker room right now?" Jimmy complains from Solo's side as they make their way through the backstage area.

"I told you earlier," Solo replies vaguely. "There's something that I want to see."

Jimmy scoffs but continues to follow his baby brother. The pair finally come to a stop backstage over by the production crew. Jimmy idles by and watches Solo intently turn his attention to the monitor set up against the wall displaying the action in the ring.

Iyo is currently out in the ring with the rest of damage control and talking about who her next opponent is going to be. "What are we waiting for here, Solo?" Jimmy starts to get annoyed by the lack of information Solo is providing him.

Suddenly, entrance music that Jimmy doesn't recognize blasts through the arena speakers. Solo cracks a rare smile and points to the monitor while the crowd out in the arena all go wild. "That's what we're waiting for." He points to the monitor.

"What? Who?" Jimmy steps forward to get a better look at whoever Solo seems to be excited to see. "Y/N L/N? Who's that?" He turns back to Solo with even more questions than before. "And why do you care so much?"

"Y/N and I are old friends from my NXT run," Solo explains. his gaze still transfixed on the monitor. "I haven't talked to her since I left NXT. But when I heard rumors backstage that some A-list talent from NXT was getting called up to Smackdown to challenge Iyo, I knew it was going to be her."

Jimmy turns his gaze back on the monitor as you march your way to the ring with no fear. Damage Control all encircles you to protect Iyo, but you pay them little to no mind. Iyo is the one you're here for. And no one is going to squander this opportunity for you.

"Long time no see, Iyo." You flash a smug smile at the current Smackdown Women's champ. "I'm going to guess that you're smart enough to know why I'm here?" You add. "So why don't we skip the niceties and get right to it?"

"You're a little outnumbered here, don't you think?" Bayley scoffs from Iyo's side.

You turn your attention to Bayley for a second. "No one asked, Bayley." You inform her nonchalantly. "I'm here for Iyo, that's it. So everyone else? Well, you're all just in my way."

Bayley scoffs and nudges Asuka and Kairi at her side. Dakota laughs with them but she's still not cleared for action, so you know that you don't have to worry about her.

"That's some ego you got there, newbie." Bayley's attention snaps back to you after whispering with Asuka and Kairi for a moment.

"It's not ego if you're just that good, Bayley." You reply. "And trust me on this. I am that good." You assure her.

Backstage, Jimmy watches with intrigue as you work your mic skills against Damage Control. "Well, she's certainly got balls, that's for sure." He turns to Solo.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." Solo cracks a knowing grin and nods to the monitor.

After a bit more verbal sparring Bayley is the first one to attempt an attack on you, she goes for a clothesline which you dodge swiftly. Asuka and Kairi plan a combo attack but you send both of them out of the ring as well. Dakota retreats since she can't fight, and all that's left is the woman that you're after. Iyo Sky.

"Look's like you're out of goons, Iyo." You laugh and gesture to the rest of Damage Control all laid out on the floor.

Not about to back down from the challenge, Iyo makes her attack and the two of you trade a few blows. You get the upper hand and send Iyo out of the ring to join the rest of her crew. Iyo's championship belt remains on the mat in front of you so you pick it up and raise up to a roaring crowd.

"You and me, Iyo! Royal Rumble!" You issue the challenge with the belt held high in your hands. "It's time the 'Genius of the Sky' got grounded."

You leave the belt in the middle of the ring and hop down off the apron. Iyo glares at you from the safety of her peers and retrieves her belt while you make your way up the ramp.

Backstage, Jimmy shakes his head in awe of your performance. "Damn. I can see why the two of you were friends." He chuckles.

A few minutes later you enter the room and spot Solo hanging around with his brother. Having not seen your former NXT buddy in almost a year, you head over to him.

"Well, I'll be damned." You march over to Solo with a smile. "If it ain't the hardest working man in The Bloodline." You tease. "Solo! It's been too long, man."

"Y/N, it's good to see you." Solo nods and opts for a side hug. "I see that you haven't lost your touch." He alludes to your performance out in the ring with Iyo and Damage Control.

You giggle and nod. "You know me, Solo. I take what I want. No matter who's in my way, or what I have to do to get it." You remind him.

"Solo was saying that the two of you used to run back in NXT?" Jimmy speaks up from Solo's side.

"Yep." You turn to Jimmy. "Solo's the only one that I could ever get to train with me on the regular. Everyone else was too afraid." You laugh.

Jimmy nods, starting to see why you and Solo were such good friends. You turn back to Solo with another smile and get back to catching up with your old friend. "Anyhow. Nick Aldis signed me to the brand so get ready to see a lot more of me, Solo." You inform him. "Especially with a title belt around my waist. Because I am so kicking Iyo's ass at the Rumble."

"Oh for sure." Solo agrees. "You busy after the show? I'd love to catch up some more." He asks you.

"Yeah, I'm free." You nod. "Just shoot me a text after the show. Now, I've got a meeting with Aldis that I probably shouldn't be late for. But we'll talk later, Solo." You dismiss yourself.

Solo nods and waves you off. He waits until you are out of sight before he turns back to his waiting brother.

"So you two definitely did it right?" Jimmy asks.

"What? No!" Solo scoffs.

"Liar," Jimmy replies with a smug laugh. "You most definitely hit that, bro." He insists.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wrestling #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #wwe #wwe fandom #wwe fic #solo sikoa #solo sikoa x reader #the bloodline #the bloodline fanfiction #syd's wrestling fics

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antianakin · 4 months ago

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It seems a little odd to me that people apparently want their lightsaber battles to be compared to the Duel of the Fates battle as a litmus test for how good it is. While I love that particular lightsaber battle, there are two reasons why I think it stands out: first, it involved a LOT of firsts (first time with three opponents, first time using wuxia style, first time at higher speeds more indicative of the prequels, first time with dual lightsaber, first time where one of the people involved wasn't human); second, it has a really good score behind it (and the music for this was demonstrably different than what we'd heard in the OT but the soundtrack to the Prequels followed in that same vein afterwards).

It was NEW, primarily. It was exciting because a lot of it was very different to ANYTHING people had seen before in a Star Wars battle scene and that made it exciting.

So if you want your lightsaber battle to somehow be BETTER than "Duel of the Fates" you have to not only find something new to add to a lightsaber fight that no one has seen before (which is pretty difficult to do these days), but it has to somehow be SO new that it's more exciting than all the new stuff Duel of the Fates had. And that just seems a little unreasonable and ridiculous, doesn't it? New is new, your new thing is not necessarily going to somehow be better than the last new thing just because it's new.

People remember Duel of the Fates because it was SO different and that made it exciting. And the scene is good, obviously, it's a well done fight sequence, the actors are all good at their jobs, but the fight scene that I most often hear people talk about specifically because of the impressive level of skill on the part of the fighters as well as the very intentionally emotional choreography is Battle of the Heroes.

There's nothing really in Battle of the Heroes we haven't seen before. It's a one on one fight scene, it's two characters we've already seen fight each other in a different movie (though obviously with different actors), they each only have the one normal lightsaber, there's not really any props either of them uses in the fight, and the style of fighting is pretty much exactly the same as in the other two Prequels and the lightsaber fights we've seen across them (including several fight scenes in this same film). It's LONG, but that's about as new as it really gets.

What people continue to discuss regarding the Battle of the Heroes sequence, though, is how impressive Hayden Christensen and Ewan McGregor were, how they weren't sped up with CGI at all and didn't use any stunt doubles for the entire fight because both of them were just THAT GOOD at the choreo (which likely was a combination of both natural talent and a lot of time given to training each of them). That level of skill allowed both actors to do the whole fight which meant they could act THROUGH the fight. Stunt actors are incredible and obviously do often work really hard to act as the characters during the fight scenes, but it feels different when the actor is genuinely good enough to do the fight and can bring their own acting skills to the scene. If the actors can actually do it and make it look good, it can really add an extra dimension to the fight that might not otherwise exist, and I do think that that shows in this particular fight scene

The other thing people talk about a lot with this fight is the intentional choreography and the way it was created with an emotional story in mind. Nic Gillard has talked about how it was supposed to show Obi-Wan constantly giving ground to try to give Anakin as much time as possible to calm down and come to his senses, and you can SEE THAT. You can see Obi-Wan giving ground, you can see him be on the defense almost the entire time. But Obi-Wan is conflicted, obviously, he doesn't WANT to kill Anakin, but Anakin isn't offering him a lot of choices and Obi-Wan knows his duty, so he does take the opportunities to strike at Anakin when they come to him. There's an emotional depth to Battle of the Heroes that quite simply isn't there in Duel of the Fates because they built it into Battle of the Heroes. Duel of the Fates is mostly just two guys doing their job until Qui-Gon dies and Obi-Wan gets angry about it, but that only lasts for a short period of time. Battle of the Heroes is emotional from the very beginning, all the way until its tragic ending.

There is no "beating" Duel of the Fates. It's impossible to "beat" Duel of the Fates in terms of impact on the audience because the whole reason it was impactful was because it was new. New things are probably going to be about the same level of exciting each time, and it's getting harder and harder to introduce that many genuinely new things into these fight scenes. But what you CAN do is really showcase impressive skills and choreography, and/or add in tons of extra emotional depth to a scene. Both things can and do make fight scenes memorable without needing to feel "new" or different to anything else. Don't be Duel of the Fates, you'll never be Duel of the Fates. Be Battle of the Heroes. I promise your viewers will thank you for it.

#star wars #duel of the fates #battle of the heroes #star wars prequel trilogy #prequel trilogy #star wars prequels #sw prequels

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steddieas-shegoes · 11 months ago

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stumbling into you

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'meet-cute at work' rated: M wc: 999 cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out tags: making out, getting together, rock star Eddie Munson, modern au

a/n: let me just say getting this under 1000 words took longer than it took to write the original 1484 words it was 🙁

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Steve's first day was going better than expected.

He'd admittedly lied about his skills to get this job, but how hard could it be to run errands?

A metal band in need of throat lozenges and hot tea was in the studio now.

Easy enough task to do.

When he walked into the control room, it seemed empty.

He looked back and checked the room number on the door.

"Let me help."

Steve turned to see the hottest guy he'd ever seen standing by the mixing board starting to walk over to him.

"Oh. Okay," Steve stuttered out.

"Let me grab the teas," the man said, his hand brushing against Steve's.

"I can just-" Steve let him, flushing when he smiled at him. "I could have set them on the table."

"It's okay, you've got your hands full..." he looked at the badge hanging off his lanyard. "Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry. First day."

"Really?" The man took the pack of throat lozenges from him, opening the bag and popping one in his mouth. "Welcome then. I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other over the next month or so."

"Do you record here a lot?"

"Yeah. We've got this studio booked solid for the next three weeks. Album needs to be perfect and we always get the best quality here."

"So do you sing?"

"I sing. Lead guitar, too."

"Is it a band I know?"

The man looked him over, taking in his business casual appearance, glasses slipping down his nose.

"I don't think we play anything you've listened to. Corroded Coffin?"

"My little brother listens to you! His mom never let him go to a concert though, said it would be too rough on him. He's kinda small for his age and she worries." Steve bit his lip. "Sorry, rambling."

"Cute, Stevie."

Steve blushed.

"I'm Eddie."

"Steve."

"Yeah, Stevie, I got that. You like any metal?" Eddie was clearly trying to have a real conversation with him, but Steve was drawing a blank on what the English language was.

"Never listened to any."

"You wanna listen? Something's off, but I can't put my finger on what. Maybe you could give me an idea."

"M-me?" Steve's eyes went wide.

"Yes, you," Eddie nudged him and tipped his head towards the mixing board. "C'mon, honest opinion."

"I-"

"Pleeeease?" Eddie pouted.

"Okay, but I don't really know what good is supposed to sound like," Steve agreed, walking to the board.

"Good is relative. If you think it sounds like metal music should, that's at least on the right track," Eddie pushed a couple of buttons and flipped a switch.

A surprisingly soft guitar melody filled the room, followed by a husky voice singing.

"This sounds..."

"Sounds?"

"You sound sad."

"Well, that's kind of what I was going for, so I guess that's a good thing."

The music cut off and Steve immediately wished he could hear more.

"Do you have other stuff recorded?" Steve suddenly needed to hear more of Eddie's voice.

"You wanna hear more?"

"If you want?"

Eddie flipped another switch, pressed a button, and a much faster guitar started playing, followed by heavy drums.

"This one doesn't have vocals."

Steve wouldn't listen to this regularly, but he could admit when people were talented, and it was very clear that Eddie and his band were talented.

"You're really good," Steve smiled at him.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Eddie shut off the music and stood up.

He leaned closer to Steve, playful smirk on his face.

"You wanna go in the booth?"

"I'm not allowed."

"I'm allowed and I'm asking, so." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, making Steve giggle.

"Okay, sure."

Once in the small booth, Steve felt overwhelmed with Eddie's presence.

His body heat was enough to make Steve sweat.

"You do all the lead vocals?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Since day one," Eddie said from right behind him, so close his breath hit the back of Steve's neck.

Steve shivered, closing his eyes as he felt Eddie's hand rest on his lower back.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," Eddie whispered against his shoulder.

"I don't," Steve gasped.

Eddie turned him, pushing him against the wall behind him.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie breathed against his lips.

Steve nodded, a whimper escaping his mouth as Eddie's lips touched his.

Eddie was a soft chorus, a soft kiss.

A soft moan when Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck.

Eddie's fingers gripped Steve's hips, tugging him forward so their hips met, both already half hard.

"Wait," Steve said when Eddie started kissing down his neck. "When will they be back?"

"Don't know." Eddie nipped at one of Steve's freckles. "Don't care."

Steve moaned again when Eddie's hand found the front of his pants.

"What if-"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Steve threw his head back as Eddie's hand cupped him over his pants.

"Fuck, feels good."

"How fast can you come?" Eddie's hand squeezed, almost making Steve's legs buckle.

"I-"

"Eddie! Thought you were joining us!" A voice yelled.

"Be there in a few! Just wanted to check something!" Eddie yelled back.

"You're a workaholic!"

Eddie checked through the crack in the door to make sure the person left before he turned back to Steve with a sad smile.

"I probably should join them." Eddie cupped the side of Steve's face in his hand. "Maybe after your shift we can meet up?"

"Really?"

"Really, sweetheart."

"Oh. Um, I guess. I mean, it's probably against the rules, but I can give you my number?"

"I won't let them fire you. I made the move, right?" Eddie dipped his thumb into Steve's mouth for just a second, teasing.

Eddie may have made the first move, but Steve was quick to make the next one that night, not giving Eddie a second to say hi before he was in his lap in the backseat of a hired car.

Steve's job had a lot of perks, but gaining a boyfriend was definitely the best one.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #meet cute

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arcadia345 · 1 year ago

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The Natal Astrology chart of Jeon-Jungkook

‼️🔞🔞🔞 not a real astrologer just my observations :) paid readings

Born in Busan, South Korea on Monday Sept. 1st 1997 at 3:23pm

ASC: Capricorn 6°

the first thing to stand out on him appearance wise would be his hands and arms, shoulders, teeth, hair, legs and thighs, but especially his torso! With his dreamlike and eccentric presence they didn’t take him seriously Saturn influence but as time passed and he worked on his crafts and himself everyone seen him as the star he is. Capricorns are known for having to mature quicker than others because of responsibilities. As a cap rising with Uranus and Neptune in the first just like him I KNEW he was a Capricorn bc of how his nose has always been prominent throughout his life but now he’s grown up/ into his features 🥹 and also how everyone always projecting (Neptune)onto him like???? Like when did he tell you this?? Definitely the dissociation king 👑. Very easy to dream about him I feel😭 he brings out our subconscious desires. His rebellious Uranus side popped out when he came out with his piercings and tats you could tell he was tired of being projected onto but also iconic because he’s kinda like the first A-list K-pop idol (bts in general tho)to go out of social norms appearance wise. In a way they kinda broke a generational curse 🥹 I remembered how he said he got the scar on his cheek because he was fighting with his brother which correlates to his Aries Saturn (his chart ruler) in the 3rd(siblings). Style wise he gets bored quickly so he’d like to switch up his appearance often. Most of the time he’d go for comfortable but still fashionable clothing, like you may see him in a chill outfit but it’ll cost more than ur rent💀. He could like to switch it up with odd/bold/flirty colors & fits but mostly he loves his darker colors like grey and black.

2nd house: Aquarius 14°

Lemme tell y’all right now…. This man is WIERD at heart🤣🤣 like he’s genuinely quirky lol it’s not a front like fr he’s so down to earth it’s crazy🥹 also his whole chart points to being very spiritual? esp with that 8th house stellium like he’s very into expanding his mind in any way possible so his could be heavily gifted and in pretty sure he knows this by now. He definitely ask himself “why me?”all the time like what did he do to end up so blessed/different?. He definitely would’ve had money regardless of fame as long as he stays true to himself and learns to give enough without being taken advantage of. He loves watching television/listening to music to pass the time. (Any other Neptune in 1st feel like they were raised by television??) Jupiter is all about indulging so in the 2nd house he loves all the simple pleasures, he LOVES FOOD like omg & nice clothes and smells everything that makes you feel good, he likes to collect things that’ll make you go????🤨😃 also he’s DEFINITELY CHRONICALLY ONLINE AND STALKING US BUT HE CANT HELP IT he’s just really nosey lmao😂. He’s the type of celeb to be like “I’m bored, what are my fans doing?” Like omg pookie you genuinely curious what I’m up to??? I feel so special😭 he feels his real persona can come out online better than irl? I think it’s a shyness thing.

ꪔ̤̥ Now since he grew up in the spotlight please take into consideration since bts is his 2nd family a lot of the things I discuss would include them especially 3rd and 4th house but I’ll just call them family also

3rd house: Pisces 23°

First off we already know how dreamy and passionate he is when it comes to his communication skills, in school years he could’ve been the kid nobody noticed in class, also bullying could’ve been a issue, the type to sleep through class, also his siblings could be talented as well, he/they could have many secrets they share between each other. I’m getting that it could be hard for him to remember his upcomings sometimes because like it genuinely flew over his head💀 like yes he was there but he wasn’t there mentally sometimes lol same. Saturn in this house his siblings/ family were strict on him he could be shy when it comes to expressing his emotions like it’s hard to just pinpoint one emotion when you feel everything all at once so that could discourage him from expressing himself. Also he could’ve been lied to /left out often and didn’t even know it omg😭 now don’t get me wrong even tho a lot of things fly past his head he’s VERY MUCH self aware he just doesn’t care fr💀 also since his 3rd house ruler is in the 1st the scenario that comes to mind is like someone seeing your sibling out and public and the first thing they ask is “where’s your brother(Jk)?” Saturn can represent the father and discipline🥺 trying not to cry while type this) him and his siblings went through a lot of difficult times together but also they taught him so much he has sooo much respect for them he knows he wouldn’t be the same person today without them omg like they really raised him🥺🥺😭

4th house: Aries 26°

Now he could’ve had an erratic home life he could’ve moved around a lot & moved far away at a young age since Venus is in the 9th. There is a lot of mars masculine energy here so he likes chaos/excitement in his home also lots of sporty/action stuff around the house I feel like when he first met bts it was like his first taste of freedom in a way. I tell ya rn there was never a dull moment where he lived lol. Him and his family were always in competition with someone they had to fight for their place. Struggle wise at times he could’ve been FIGHTING for his life lots of arguments and aggression (which makes sense since they said they didn’t really get along at first)but with the Taurus degree there was definitely struggles with money and food / stability and personal possessions which drove him to work even harder. His 4th house ruler being in the 10th is giving I grew up at work😟😔

5th house: Taurus 22°

Firstly he’d be such a great dad 🥺 a really funny one too 😂 . His flirting style is not flirting at all😎 well kinda he’s more of gift giving person. His love language is genuinely opening up to you because he barely gets to do that fr, for Capricorns that’s a big thing. Things like showing you the most simple smallest things that means sm to him🥹🥹 to things he created. also food is big to him like the key to his heart actually, that man loves his food! be ready to be wined and dined and spoileddd. He loves traveling, dancing, music, philosophies & beautiful things so he’ll want to get your input on almost everything he wants to pick your brain lol. Also he’s really clingy that’s important to him physical touch but he really doesn’t open up much because he knows he has a lot to lose so he definitely isn’t a fling type of guy he likes to build a foundation with someone unless it’s like a one time thing out of the country where he knows he’ll probably never see you again so might as well act on his instincts. He could be into choking/restrictions, taboos, spontaneity, feet??? One of his erotic zones is his neck. Also his siblings influence his creativity heavily because he knows they know what’s best for him. What he considers as fun is eating😭😭👀 playing some games, cooking, listening to his fav music, drinking, cleaning doing laundry like he’s such a simple man that a good day for him would be staying home all day 😂

6th house: Gemini 14°

He’s very versatile he likes learning he hungers for knowledge. He keeps a strict routine but still likes to switch it up cause he gets bored easily. He was very young when he started working and also he was one of the youngest of his peers so Gemini here makes sense also as he is naturally curious he likes working with his peers/ siblings and unique personalities. He likes traveling also and trying the different types of food they have and shopping there also he obviously spoils his pets feeds them the best food keeps them well groomed, it’s in a mutable sign so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had many types of animals but he’ll want to cuddle a lot with them so idk if he’ll be keen to reptilians with such a busy career atm. He’ll also be very vocal with them they could know a lot of tricks that he taught them. He’d like to travel with them also if he has the chance to, Taurus in his 5th he loves to dress them up and pamper them, wouldn’t be surprised if he was having danceoffs against them lmao 😂

7th house: Cancer 6°

Let me tell you something…. This is HUSBAND MATERIAL RIGHT HERE. The type to be like “I can fix them.” Cause he loves a challenge but he’d actually be able to fix them ngl😭. But first let’s get into how other people perceive him on a 1-1 basis. Now with both these planets being in the 8th it’s very evident that they’d want to jump his bones/ spiral into obsession/ an awakening after meeting him. People naturally spill their hearts out to him, definitely a trauma dumping placement. Ofc people are gonna baby him it’s like he brings out people’s maternal instincts they just wanna keep him safe🥹 but this is also how he treats everyone, with genuine love and respect❤️ also he could get shy easily like the bunny Thumper from Bambi 🥹

8th house: Leo 14°

Okay now bare with me on this one because it’s hard to really understand stelliums if you don’t have one in ur chart, but what I’ve noticed is no matter what they seem to get put in situations that correlate with the house the stellium is in, which causes them to focus on the opposite house to balance the energy’s out. Now first off this man has some HEAVY good karma from the past life he honestly deserves every abundant thing that comes to him x2. As you know he is very keen on perfectionism and order, I refuse to believe he wasn’t some cult leader /powerful witch or something in the past life. Especially a VIRGO stellium in the 8??!!? He was/is a natural born healer 🥹🥹 no doubts about it especially with his moon at a 0° so the moon is in its pure element no matter the sign he’s here to experience those raw emotions. I’ve never met someone with their moon degree at 0 cause its hard to find but i had a manager that had a cancer Venus 0° and when I tell you she made me feel soo special 🥹🥹 like you can feel how genuine she is she loved giving gifts and making sure everyone was okay like the energy was so PURE and innocent in a way it reminds me of jungkook and his acts of service . Also which is why I get why everyone thought he was a Leo moon cause he is in sidereal Astro but I don’t get that egoistic attitude from him if anything it’s the opposite. I don’t want this section to be too long so I’ll move on to his pleasures😈 he’s into praising, teasing, creampies, being rough, nipple play, playful banter, degrading, car s*x, breast/chest, backshots, anal, heavvvy on oral and hand play the type to tie you up 😳 he could possibly be LGBTQ+ friendly if ykwim since he has prominent Aquarius and Virgo is a mutable sign known for their curiosity and versatility, and yk Virgos are obsessed with perfection and cleanness so I’m assuming he likes to get extra messy and wet during the act and he’s not finished with you till you BOTH climax he refuses to be known for bad s*x😤 he likes to make a scene/put on a show. But like I said earlier with his moon and mercury conjunct he needs a strong emotional and mental connection with you before he does anything. His 8th house is so interesting I could go on and on but no😏

9th house: Virgo 23°

Jungkook is very sharp when it comes to the 9th and 8th house since they’re very important in fulfilling his life purpose. In later years school people could’ve seen him as perfect in a way very organized and on point probably a teachers pet or honestly it could’ve been the other way around 😹 ofc half the class had some type of crush on him or was just naturally curious about him but still with that Pisces degree he lowkey didn’t care to be there in a way he probably was absent often but the teachers didn’t care cuz hello??? It’s jk.🥴 Let’s not forget his Libra Venus is in this house as well so he’s natural charming without trying esp to foreigners (9th). He has a strong connection to his past life so I’m thinking he’s like a green witch in a way? Like healing/manifesting when cooking or in nature around plants and animals, singing or just by listening to someone who needs to vent or vise versa. When he travels he needs EVERYTHING to be clean and in place to make sure him and his people are safe bc if not he’ll spiral also he could get jet lagged easily but by now he probably has a routine that helps with that. Also I wouldn’t be surprised if he got married to a foreigner, someone in his circle that he’s known for a long time. Ngl I have Libra 19° in 9th and I tend to get reallly curious when I travel ifykwim 🥴🫣 I really like to experience the people aswell as the location that I’m in to get the full experience. Also with the Pisces degree he’s more likely to do substances like 🚬 and drinking when he’s with his siblings/cousins/ traveling

Mc : Libra 26°

His mother has a heavy Venus influence on him, I’m getting his family altogether was close-knit growing up. He’s known for his worldwide aesthetics, and basically being perfect boyfriend/husband material. Hes known to be easily loved by many, but he’ll mostly be know for the pain he’s experienced, his healing abilities, and his versatility in skills. His Chiron is in this house so most of his pain comes from the industry he’s in, authority, and his public image, with it being at a 29° his ego can hurt him the most😳 which is why I don’t understand why people would get that cocky vibe from him other than his mars. With a Scorpio mars here he’ll also be known as a big sex symbol/someone who brings strong reactions out of people. Since it’s also the ruler of his 11th house so he’ll be known for his viscous and obsessive fans especially online. He’s prone to getting many stalkers/sesangs with how heavy his 10th and 11th house is with Scorpio energy and peers see him as competition even though they see he’s not a malicious person. On the positive side tho he’ll have the ability to feel & see what goes unseen, people’s hidden motives and desires, and so will his fans!! Iykyk👀 Also mars represents passions and pleasure so he could have a thing for love at the workplace, maybe into older/mature people or power play. He could have a porn addiction, definitely into some kinky 💩 with that Aquarius degree. yall plz don’t cancel me I’m just reading his chart. 😭

11th house: Scorpio 22°

His internet presence with have good longevity, this house has to do with our wishes, I’ve been saying I really feel like he did something in the past life to “seal the deal” fame wise because that’s what his chart is giving doesn’t necessarily mean he did something bad but there was definitely intentional manifestation there. Esp with the kill or be killed degree here you don’t have room for mistakes. Yall this man is a stalker big timmme like he stalks us reallll bad but also so does his fans 😹😹 it’s definitely a 2-way street I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a spam twitter account to watch us start army wars💀. If you have Pluto in 11th you know how hard it is NOT to stalk people online😩??? I don’t even care about the people I stalk I’m just nosey asf lmao. His Pluto is at 2° so he could get a lot of gifts from seasangs esp food and material things I’ve heard him speak on these topics also. They’ll try to expose him for having fun since Taurus is in his 5th house,ie while out at restaurants, shopping, his creative endeavors, his love life, or just when he’s at his most comfortable, and children.(Omg? The way that sesang incident with Enwoo just happened right after I typed this wth😳)He understands how crucial his privacy is for his protection so he’ll choose not to post as much. He’s the friend in the group with the silent power/ magneticistm, he prefers to befriend people who understands his deep emotions, friends that have also went through traumatic experiences, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was apart of a online community secretly so he can feel normal for once. Also he’s known as the sexy emo friend lmao with the cool tats and piercings that smokes cigarettes to look cool 😎 he also prefers to befriend people who look like this also

12th house: Sagittarius 14°

Sag in your chart is where your blessings are & what you’re optimistic about. Also where you tend to be a little pessimistic. Sagittarius reminds me of the feeling a sugar rush/liqour gives you, while Capricorn reminds me of the come down afterwards regretting all the decisions you made and how you’ll never do it again. Like I’ve said this whole time he is spiritually gifted and he has strong connection to his past life. He has a lot of Deja vu moments, the things/hobbies he loved then he loves in this life also it brings him a lot of fulfillment. He’d prefer to be in solitude than to be around people but his Jupiter is in Aquarius so this part is a bit odd… he’s comfortable having cameras around when he’s secluded esp with friends but in public??? He hates it especially when he’s not with anyone he knows I think he has social anxiety 🥺 could’ve been overweight in the past life that’s probably where his love for food comes from, he’ll be blessed with assets abroad from his homeland. He could look really similar to what he did in the past life I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a bunny or something.

ꪔ̤̥ That’s it for now till next time❤️ check back for updates

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