#i might shade it in the future but ye | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaiyasstuff · 19 days ago

Text

romeo and cinderella | sylus

synopsis : He was romeo, and you were cinderella, not juliet. content : highschool!au, angst/fluff, light/implied smut

“You better be home right after school, or else.”

Your mother’s voice echoes behind you as the screen door slams shut, a sharp final note to the morning’s lecture.

You swing your leg over your bike, muttering under your breath, “Yes, Mother,” though you know she’s probably already turned away, satisfied enough by the command, not the response.

You begin pedaling down the cracked sidewalk, the same route as every other morning.

Past the corner store with its faded awning, past Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.

Nothing ever changes here.

Not the way to school, not the way home, not the rhythm of your days.

You live a simple life—though calling it ‘yours’ might be generous. It’s a life curated by someone else, shaped by rules you never agreed to and expectations you never asked for.

You’re eighteen. Old enough to vote, drive, be trusted with futures and responsibilities.

But not old enough to stay out past seven. Not allowed to date, to fall in love, to bring friends over, or even choose your own clothes half the time.

It’s a cage dressed up as safety.

And you’ve lived in it long enough to memorize every shadow on the bars.

At school, you barely register your arrival. Your feet move on autopilot, locking your bike in place and weaving through the murmuring clusters of students.

You offer polite nods, a faint smile here and there. No one notices your mind isn’t really with you. No one ever does.

Classes pass in a blur of chalk dust and droning voices. You scribble down notes you won’t remember taking, your handwriting slanting with disinterest.

By the time the lunch bell rings, your body moves instinctively, your thoughts still elsewhere.

You make your way to your usual spot—the one place that still feels like yours.

Tucked behind the gym, nestled beneath a towering tree that blooms early and sheds late, it’s quiet, hidden. You’ve claimed this little slice of peace for as long as you can remember.

But today, someone’s already there.

You stop short.

Sprawled lazily beneath the tree’s shade is a boy you’ve never seen before.

Tall. Long legs stretched out like he owns the place. A mop of white, unkempt hair flops over his eyes.

He’s got his hands folded behind his head, earphones in, entirely at ease.

You hesitate, unsure. He’s in your space.

Clearing your throat, you step forward, hoping your presence might be enough to make him move.

He doesn’t notice you at first—not until you stand close enough to block the sun.

One eye cracks open, then the other, sharp and startled. He pulls out an earbud, brows knitting together.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is laced with irritation, edged like he’s the one being intruded upon.

You blink at him, unimpressed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He sits up a little, smirking. “Go away. I’m trying to relax.”

You roll your eyes, not in the mood for games. “This is my spot.”

Before he can respond, you lower yourself onto the grass beside him and open your lunchbox, ignoring the way his gaze lingers.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his curiosity. Most students avoid him, you can tell. He’s probably used to being left alone.

Which makes your defiance all the more intriguing.

You take a quiet bite of your food, refusing to look at him. But in your peripheral vision, you can see him watching you—like he’s trying to figure out why you’re not scared, not flustered, not gone.

You take your third bite in silence, pretending not to notice the eyes still fixed on you.

But they don’t move. Not even once.

Annoyed, you finally turn to him, and it startles him enough to make him flinch—just slightly, like he didn’t expect to be caught.

“Why are you staring?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. Irritation prickles under your skin, but so does something else. A flicker of curiosity.

He blinks, processing the question for a beat too long before that crooked smile returns.

“You’re not running away,” he says, like it’s the most curious thing in the world.

You raise a brow. “Should people run from you?”

He shrugs, dropping his gaze to the grass as he reclines back onto his elbows. “People think I’m trouble.”

There’s no real emotion in his voice—just a statement, tossed out like it doesn’t matter. Like he’s used to it.

You chuckle under your breath. “I can see why.”

That gets his attention.

He sits up again, turning to face you more fully this time. “Really? You can see why?”

The sudden shift in his voice catches you off guard. It isn’t defensive. It isn’t smug.

For the briefest moment, something cracks in his expression—just a flicker—but enough for you to see it. The vulnerability beneath the bravado.

The way his sharp features don’t quite mask the tiredness in his eyes.

You blink. “I—I meant that as a joke,” you say quickly, your voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looks down for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face. Then, slowly, he meets your gaze again.

“I’m Sylus,” he says, extending a hand between you, palm open.

You stare at it for a moment, unsure why your heart gives a strange little stutter.

Then you slip your hand into his. His grip is warm, firm, and not quite what you expected.

“Y/N,” you say, softer than before.

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like something unfamiliar is growing in the quiet between you—not fear, not obedience. Just something… new.

The shrill cry of the school bell cuts through the quiet, startling a few birds from the branches above.

You sigh, glancing down at your half-eaten lunch with reluctant eyes.

Time always moves too quickly when you actually want it to slow down.

You push yourself to your feet and glance at Sylus, who’s still sprawled in the grass like the concept of responsibility doesn’t apply to him.

“Aren’t you going to class?” you ask, brushing crumbs from your skirt.

He stretches lazily, not even pretending to feel guilty. “Not really my kind of thing.”

You chuckle despite yourself, the sound escaping before you can stop it. He’s strange. Infuriatingly nonchalant. And yet… there’s something about him that tugs at your curiosity, something that makes you pause just a little longer.

“Then you can have my lunch,” you say casually, setting the box down on his lap.

He blinks, surprised, but before he can respond, you’re already standing, turning to leave.

“See ya,” you toss over your shoulder with a small wave, your voice light.

You don’t wait to see his reaction. You don’t need to.

But if you had lingered a moment longer, you might’ve seen the way he sat up straighter, mouth parted in astonishment as he called after you—softly, almost like he didn’t mean to.

“Wait—”

But you’re already gone, swallowed by the hallway crowd, the echo of your presence lingering like sunlight after clouds.

Sylus stares at the empty space you left behind, then down at the lunch box still warm in his lap.

His fingers curl around it, and for some reason he can’t name, his chest tightens just a little.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“Interesting,” he murmurs to no one in particular, and this time, the word tastes like a promise.

—•

You return home after school, the weight of the day pressing heavier on your shoulders than usual.

The front door creaks as you open it, and the moment you step inside, voices drift from the kitchen—sharp, angry, overlapping. Your parents. Again.

You pause in the hallway, listening for a beat. Same tone. Same fight. Different day.

With a sigh, you toe off your shoes and head straight for the stairs, not bothering to greet them. You know they wouldn’t notice if you did. You’re just a shadow in this house anyway—seen only when convenient.

Your room welcomes you like an old habit, quiet and familiar. You drop your bag by the door with a dull thud and collapse face-first into your bed.

The sheets are cool, and for a moment, you just breathe, hoping that if you lie still enough, the world might forget you exist.

But the yelling doesn’t stop.

Even through the walls and the floorboards, their voices seep in—accusations, bitterness, blame hurled like knives across countertops. You bury your head into your pillow, groaning softly.

It’s always like this. The noise. The pressure. The invisible weight of being stuck somewhere you don’t belong.

You close your eyes.

And for a fleeting second, you wish you could disappear.

Not forever.

Just long enough to breathe.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, trying to block out the sounds of your parents’ voices—each word another crack in a foundation already long crumbled.

But then, without meaning to, your thoughts begin to drift.

To him.

To Sylus.

You picture him beneath that tree, white hair catching the dappled light like strands of silk, that half-lidded gaze studying you with something between amusement and disbelief.

You didn’t even know him. Not really. And yet, his presence stuck to you like the scent of rain after a storm—faint, lingering, impossible to forget.

You remember the surprise in his eyes when you didn’t flinch. The flicker of something vulnerable he tried to mask behind smirks and sarcasm. And the way his voice had softened—just barely—when he said his name.

Sylus.

It rolls around in your mind, foreign but familiar, like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear.

You shift on your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You weren’t supposed to care.

He was just a stranger. A boy who didn’t go to class and didn’t follow rules and didn’t care about things like fitting in.

And yet… when you handed him your lunch, when you turned your back and walked away, something in you felt lighter. Just a little.

Like someone had finally seen you.

And didn’t look away.

—•

Dinner passed in silence.

Not the peaceful kind—but the brittle, suffocating quiet that stretches too long and says too much without a word.

Your parents didn’t speak. Not to each other. Not to you.

They just sat at opposite ends of the table, chewing mechanically, eyes locked on their plates like looking anywhere else might reignite the fire.

The remnants of their earlier argument still hung in the air like smoke—unseen but heavy, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to every breath you took.

You ate quietly, each movement practiced, calculated.

You’d long since learned how to cut food without scraping the plate, how to set your chopsticks down without a sound.

Any noise could become an excuse. A trigger.

And tonight, the last thing you wanted was to become your mother’s outlet again.

So you focused on your food, on the silence, on being invisible.

And then, without warning, your thoughts slipped elsewhere.

To the shade of that tree. To a pair of unreadable, red eyes beneath a mess of white hair.

Sylus.

The name echoed softly in your mind, drawing the smallest smile to your lips—so faint it barely formed.

But it was there. A crack in the numbness.

Would he be there again tomorrow?

You didn’t know. He seemed like the kind of person who drifted through places like wind, never staying long enough to be caught.

But the thought of seeing him again—of hearing his voice, that low drawl half-laced with amusement—was enough to make your chest tighten, just a little.

You stared down at your half-finished plate, the tension in the room pressing in around you.

But for once, your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere he was.

After dinner, you escape back to your room without a word. No one notices. No one stops you.

You close the door behind you with a gentle click, shutting out the rest of the house—the cold air, the silence that somehow feels louder than shouting, the ghosts of conversations that never lead anywhere.

And then, without bothering to change, you sink into your bed.

The mattress greets you like a friend—soft, familiar, forgiving. You exhale slowly, the weight of the day bleeding out of your limbs as you melt into the covers.

Your face sinks into the pillow, and for the first time that day, your body feels like it belongs to you again.

Your thoughts drift—naturally, inevitably—to him.

To the boy with white hair and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.

To that smirk of his—sharp, teasing, but not quite enough to hide the quiet behind it.

Sylus.

You didn’t know anything about him, not really. And yet he lingered in your mind like a whisper.

Something about him felt… different.

Like he existed just slightly outside the world you knew. Untouchable. Unapologetic. And for some reason, he hadn’t looked away.

You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Maybe it had been a one-time thing.

But the last thought that flickers through your mind before sleep pulls you under is not a maybe.

It’s a hope.

That he will.

—•

The next morning came like it always did—same time, same routine.

But something was different.

Your steps felt lighter, like the air was just a little less heavy. Like your heart remembered how to float, if only for a little while. And you knew why.

Sylus.

Just thinking of him—his careless sprawl under the tree, the way he’d blinked at you in surprise, the unexpected softness behind his smirk—made something stir in your chest.

Something warm.

You smiled. Not the kind you wear when someone expects it. A real one.

And as you pedaled your way to school, wind brushing against your cheeks, you even waved to Mrs. Tanaka watering her sunflowers.

She blinked in surprise, then returned your greeting with a smile of her own.

Same sidewalk. Same cracked roads. Same school gate.

But everything felt just a little less gray.

You parked your bike, walked to class, slid into your seat. But this time, your mind wasn’t lost in thought—it was focused, waiting. Listening for that bell.

The hours dragged like molasses. You stared at the clock more times than you could count.

Your notebook remained mostly blank, your pencil tapping restlessly against the desk.

Every tick of the second hand felt like a lifetime.

And then—finally—the lunch bell rang.

Before your teacher could finish their sentence, you were up, books shoved into your bag in a clumsy blur.

You heard someone call your name, confused by your sudden burst of energy, but you didn’t slow down.

You’d never bolted out of class so fast in your life.

Because for the first time in a long time, you were going toward something.

Someone.

And you couldn’t help the way your heart raced just a little faster with every step.

You stepped onto the familiar patch of grass, the sun filtering through the leaves of the old tree, casting dancing shadows across the ground.

It was just as you remembered—quiet, tucked away, untouched.

Except… he wasn’t there.

Your heart sank a little harder than you wanted to admit.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space beneath the tree.

Maybe he really was just passing through. A flicker in your routine, never meant to stay. You scolded yourself for getting your hopes up, but the sting of disappointment still pressed against your chest.

With a small sigh, you lowered yourself onto the grass, the silence pressing in around you again—but this time, it felt heavier.

Lonelier.

You pulled out your lunch box and set it in your lap, staring at it for a beat before opening it.

Your fingers hesitated at the lid. The food looked the same, but somehow the moment felt… emptier. Duller.

You were just about to take a bite when—

“You’re here again.”

The voice came from behind you—cool, casual, and unmistakably familiar.

Your breath caught.

You turned your head quickly, eyes wide. There he was, hands in his pockets, the ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sylus.

His white hair was a little messier than yesterday, like he’d slept through the first few periods—which, knowing him, he probably had.

But his eyes held a glint of amusement. And something else.

Relief.

“You’re late,” you said, voice softer than you expected, betraying the way your heart had leapt.

He shrugged, stepping forward, dropping lazily onto the grass beside you like he belonged there. “Had to make sure you’d actually show up.”

You tried not to smile—but it was hopeless.

You watch as he settles beside you, pulling a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers like it holds some grand meaning.

“What do you usually do in class?” you ask, curiosity slipping into your tone before you can catch it.

He glances at you sideways, as if debating whether to give you a real answer.

Then he shrugs. “Sleep. If not, sleep.”

You blink, then let out a laugh—quiet, but genuine. “Impressive. A man of great ambition.”

Sylus smirks, turning his head to face you more fully. “I get by.”

You shake your head with mock disapproval, though your lips are still tugging upward. “You know, most people come to school to learn.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

You raise a brow. “And what makes you so special?”

He leans back on his elbows, eyes flicking up toward the branches overhead. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You don’t reply right away, letting the silence stretch between you—not awkward, but comfortable, like the space under the tree was made to hold secrets too heavy for classrooms and dinner tables.

And even though you’re not sure what he’s hiding behind that smirk, for now, you’re just glad he’s here.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he says suddenly, arms slung over his knees, posture relaxed but eyes focused—really focused—on you.

You blink, caught off guard. “Like what?”

He shrugs, but there’s a weight behind the gesture, like he’s genuinely interested. “I don’t know. Something real. Something that isn’t ‘my favorite color is blue’ or ‘I like cats.’”

You pause, unsure where to begin. No one really asked you things like that. No one ever really cared to know.

“Okay,” you say slowly, picking at the edge of your lunch box.

“I… hate the sound of yelling. I memorize the floorboards that creak so I don’t step on them. I like quiet places. And I like the smell of rain.”

He hums softly, and you glance at him. His expression is unreadable—no teasing smirk, no snide remark. Just quiet attention.

“Rain smells like everything’s starting over,” you add, voice softer now. “Even if it never really does.”

There’s a moment of stillness. Then he leans back again, lying on the grass with one arm folded behind his head.

“That’s the kind of answer I wanted,” he murmurs, eyes half-closed.

You turn to him, watching the way sunlight filters through the leaves, painting dappled patterns across his face.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel seen.

Really seen.

You watch him for a moment longer, then tilt your head, curiosity tugging at your voice.

“What about you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

His gaze stays fixed on the canopy above, lashes casting shadows against his cheeks.

For a second, you think he didn’t hear you. But then he exhales through his nose—quiet, almost like a sigh.

“What about me?” he echoes.

You smile faintly. “Something real. Nothing about favorite colors or animals.”

Sylus is quiet again. Not in that dismissive, detached way you’ve seen before—but in a way that feels like he’s weighing something. Testing the edges of trust.

Then, finally. “I don’t like making promises.”

You blink. That’s not what you expected.

“I’ve seen what they do to people when they break,” he adds, voice low, almost like he’s not talking to you at all.

He glances at you then, just briefly. “So I don’t make them. I don’t like pretending I can protect something I might lose.”

You’re quiet, letting his words settle. There’s pain there—buried beneath the surface, guarded by sarcasm and smirks. But it’s real.

You don’t push. You just nod.

“Okay,” you say softly.

And somehow, that’s enough.

He shifts his gaze back to the sky, but there’s something different in the air now—like a thread pulled taut between you, fragile but undeniable.

The bell rings, its shrill cry slicing through the peaceful hush under the tree.

You sigh, already missing the silence, the strange comfort of his presence.

“Time to go,” you murmur, standing and brushing grass from your skirt. You’re about to turn away when you feel it—a gentle tug at your wrist.

You look down.

Sylus’s fingers are curled loosely around you, not tight, not demanding. Just enough to stop you.

You meet his eyes.

“See you again tomorrow,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. There’s no smirk this time. No sarcasm. Just something quiet and sure.

You feel your heart stutter, warmth spreading through your chest before you even know what to say.

You nod, unable to help the smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Tomorrow.”

And as you walk away, his touch still lingering on your skin, you don’t even realize you’re smiling the whole way back to class.

—•

It became a routine before you even realized it.

Each day, you’d wake to the same gray house, the same dull mornings, the same heavy silence at breakfast. But the air felt a little lighter now.

The walls didn’t press in as much. The arguments still happened, but they didn’t follow you as far. Because you had something else. Someone else.

Classes dragged, slower than ever—your eyes drifting to the clock, counting down until the bell would ring and you could escape.

Not from school, not from your life.

But to something.

To him.

Every day, he’d be there beneath the tree.

Sometimes already sprawled out with his earphones in, sometimes tossing pebbles or tearing at blades of grass, always waiting. Always staying.

And every day, you’d sit beside him like you belonged there. Because you did.

You learned little things about him—not all at once, but in fragments he let slip when he thought you weren’t paying too close attention.

His favorite season was autumn, because it felt like the world was quietly falling apart, and no one noticed.

He hated the cold, though. Said it reminded him of places he never wanted to go back to.

And once, when the light had turned especially soft through the trees, he’d said it out loud, “I wanna run away from here.”

You remembered the way he said it—not in a dramatic way, but like it was just a fact. A quiet truth he’d been holding for too long.

You had smiled at that. “Bring me along.”

And he’d glanced at you, surprised—but then his lips curled into the faintest smirk, and for a second, it looked like he was actually thinking about it.

Sometimes he’d hand you one of his earbuds without a word. You never asked what he was listening to—you didn’t need to. You just leaned in, shoulder brushing his, and let the music fill the space between you.

There was something inexplicably sweet about it.

The intimacy of sharing sound. Of hearing what he hears, just for a moment. It felt like being invited into a part of his world he didn’t show anyone else.

And slowly, gently, it stopped feeling like escape.

It started to feel like home.

Perhaps this was love, you thought to yourself.

Not the kind you saw in movies or read about in borrowed books.

Not loud declarations or roses at your doorstep. Not dramatic confessions in the rain.

This was quieter.

This was sitting beneath a tree, knees nearly touching, his music in your ear and the warmth of his presence beside you.

This was the way your heart stilled around him—not in fear, but in peace. The way his voice could cut through the noise in your head and leave behind something calm.

This was the way he listened. Really listened. Even when you talked about things that didn’t matter.

Even when your words trailed off. He stayed.

It was the way you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he was memorizing you.

And maybe you were memorizing him too.

His sharp features softened in sunlight. The quiet rhythm of his breathing when he closed his eyes. The sound of his laugh when it came—rare, unguarded, and entirely real.

You never said it out loud.

Maybe you didn’t have to.

Because love, you were learning, didn’t always have to be declared.

Sometimes, it was felt.

In the way your heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him again.

In the way the world stopped feeling like something to run from…

and started feeling like something you could share.

—•

You woke to the sound of something soft—barely there.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the moonlit darkness of your room.

For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. But then it came again. Gentle. Persistent.

Tap. Tap.

Groggy and confused, you slipped out of bed, the cool floor meeting your bare feet as you shuffled toward the window.

You pulled the curtain back—and nearly screamed.

Sylus.

His face was right there, peering in through the glass, silver hair glowing faintly under the pale moonlight. He wore that same smug smirk he always did when he knew he was getting a rise out of you.

You stared at him in disbelief, heart racing in your chest. His breath fogged the glass slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

You slid the window open with a hurried, startled whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He leaned casually against the frame, one hand gripping the edge, the other tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. “Thought I’d drop by,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You blinked. “So you climbed up to my window?”

“Would’ve knocked on your door,” he shrugged, “but your mom doesn’t seem like she’d take that well.”

You almost laughed—but the sound caught in your throat as you took in the sight of him.

Standing outside your window in the middle of the night like something out of a dream you weren’t supposed to have.

And yet, he was real.

Real, and here.

You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear footsteps down the hall. But the house was still. Silent.

With a sigh, you reached out and offered him your hand.

“Come on. Carefully,” you whispered, heart pounding in your chest as though it might give you away.

Sylus raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. “Afraid of waking the beasts?”

You shot him a look. “Afraid of you falling and taking me down with you.”

He chuckled under his breath, then took your hand. His fingers were warm—rougher than you expected, but steady.

You stepped back, guiding him through the window as quietly as possible. His feet landed on the floor with barely a sound, though the thrill of it made your pulse race.

When he straightened, you were suddenly very aware of how close he stood.

Only a breath away.

His eyes flicked around your room—walls painted in soft tones, books stacked in uneven piles, a few pictures tacked on the corkboard above your desk. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just… looked.

“What?” you asked, trying to keep your voice low and steady.

“Nothing,” he said, though his voice had lost its usual edge. “Just… didn’t think this would suit you.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You’re too big for this room.”

You blinked at him.

“It’s like putting a star in a shoebox,” he added with a smirk, stepping past you and collapsing onto your bed like he belonged there.

You stared at him for a second, heart still racing—not from fear, not even from the absurdity of it all—but from the way he looked so natural there.

Like he’d always been meant to be in this space.

In your space.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grinned up at you, arms behind his head. “And yet, here I am.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you draw the curtains shut and switch on the small lamp on your desk. Its glow is dim, casting your room in a gentle amber light. Soft shadows stretch across the walls, and for a moment, it feels like time has slowed.

You turn back to him.

He’s not smirking anymore.

His eyes are on the ceiling, the faint creases in his brow more noticeable now that he’s not hiding behind sarcasm. He looks… tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix, but something deeper. Something old.

You sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close.

“You okay?” you ask, the question barely a whisper.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. Then:

“Sometimes,” he says quietly, “I get this feeling like I’m not really… here. Like I’m just walking through everything. Going through the motions.”

You glance at him. He’s still looking at the ceiling, but there’s something fragile in his voice. A crack beneath the surface.

“It’s not even about being bored. It’s more like…” He trails off, brow tightening.

“Like you don’t belong?” you finish for him, gently.

His eyes flick to yours. And this time, he doesn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he says. Just that. But it’s enough.

The silence stretches between you again, softer now. It doesn’t feel empty—it feels like understanding.

Like a shared ache neither of you fully know how to name.

You shift, your voice tender. “I feel that way all the time.”

He studies you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose, something in his shoulders loosening.

“I don’t talk about this,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “Not with anyone.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

He turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable, but no longer guarded.

And in the hush of your dim-lit room, with only the moon beyond the window as witness, you feel the space between your bodies shrink—not in distance, but in silence.

You don’t reach for him. He doesn’t move toward you.

But something important shifts.

He came here to run from the world.

And instead, he found someone who stayed.

He’s still looking at you. The kind of look that feels like it’s peeling back layers.

You swallow. “My house… it’s not really a home.”

Sylus blinks, his expression shifting—still quiet, but more alert now. He doesn’t interrupt.

“My parents argue all the time,” you continue, voice low. “Sometimes it’s shouting. Sometimes it’s just silence. But it’s always heavy. Always there.”

He shifts, turning more toward you on the bed. “Is that why you eat so quietly?”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I learned early on not to make noise. Not to draw attention. Especially when they’re angry.”

“Do they ever…” he hesitates, the words sticking. “Do they take it out on you?”

You pause. Then nod. “My mom does. Not always physically. But words can bruise just as much.”

His jaw tightens. He looks away for a second. “I know what that’s like.”

You glance at him, surprised.

He lets out a breath. “My dad used to yell. At my mom. At me. At nothing. I stopped listening at some point, but the noise… it sticks.”

There’s a silence that follows. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a shared space now. A small pocket of honesty.

“Is that why you don’t like making promises?” you ask.

He meets your gaze again, this time without deflecting. “Yeah. I watched too many get broken.”

You nod slowly. “Me too.”

Another pause. Then, quietly,

“Sometimes I think about leaving,” you admit. “Just… packing up and going. Even if I don’t know where.”

He gives a soft smile. “Still want me to bring you along?”

You manage a small laugh. “If you’re offering.”

He nudges your knee with his. “Always.”

The quiet stretches again, but this time it’s warm. Safe.

He looks at you like he wants to say something more, but instead he just says, “Thanks… for telling me.”

You smile faintly. “Thanks for listening.”

And just like that, something delicate is built between you. Not loud. Not spoken with grand gestures. Just two people sharing the weight they’ve carried alone for too long.

And for once, it doesn’t feel quite as heavy

—•

A week passed.

And somehow, everything changed—without the world even noticing.

Every day, he was there beneath the tree, waiting. Like he always had been. Like he always would be.

You’d sit beside him, knees brushing, sharing lunch, music, thoughts neither of you dared to voice out loud anywhere else.

Your laughs came easier now. Your silences, more comfortable. The smirks he wore softened when he looked at you.

And your smiles—real ones—came without effort.

But it was the nights that changed everything.

Every night, just past midnight, there would be a soft tap at your window.

And every night, you’d let him in.

It became something sacred.

The hush of your room, the warmth of whispered words, the stolen hours under moonlight. You talked until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

Some nights, you sat close enough to feel the press of his shoulder against yours.

Other nights, he’d lie beside you on the bed, quiet, eyes on the ceiling, your hands just barely touching between the sheets.

You didn’t know what it meant.

But it felt like something.

Something real.

That night, he was lying next to you again—one arm under his head, the other draped loosely across his stomach.

You were turned toward him, propped on your side, watching his profile in the soft lamplight.

“Hey,” you whispered.

He turned to you, eyes meeting yours. “Hmm?”

You hesitated for a second, heart beginning to thrum. “Can I tell you something kind of… embarrassing?”

His mouth curved slightly. “You? Embarrassed? Now I have to hear it.”

You smiled faintly, then lowered your gaze. “I’ve never dated anyone before.”

He blinked, surprised, but he didn’t speak.

You continued, quieter now. “Never kissed anyone either.”

There was a long pause.

And when you looked up, he wasn’t teasing you. There was no smirk. No snarky comment waiting to pounce.

Just him.

Present. Listening.

“Why?” he asked gently.

You shrugged. “My parents… they never let me. I was always too afraid to try. And I guess no one ever really looked at me that way either.”

He tilted his head. “They were blind.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard.

He held your gaze, voice soft but steady. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

Your throat tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and the unfamiliar warmth curling in your chest.

You smiled, a little shakily. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not.”

And for a moment, in the stillness of your room, with the lamp casting its soft halo around the two of you, the world outside disappeared.

Just you.

And him.

And the space in between… getting smaller every night.

Your smile faded slowly, but the warmth he left behind remained—settled deep beneath your skin, in your chest, in the air between you.

He was still looking at you. Not just glancing. Looking. Like he could see right through to the quiet parts of you no one else had ever tried to find.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Have you?”

He blinked, eyes softening. “Have I what?”

“Kissed someone before.”

There was a pause. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

You swallowed, looking down for a second. “Was it… nice?”

“It wasn’t this,” he said quietly.

Your eyes lifted to his, and your breath caught.

He was close now. You hadn’t realized how close until your knees were touching again, until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath brushing your cheek.

“Can I—” he stopped himself, brows pulling together slightly.

You tilted your head, heart fluttering. “What?”

“I was going to ask if I could kiss you,” he murmured, voice low, raw with sincerity. “But I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“You won’t,” you whispered.

The distance between you was a thread now—thin, fragile, and pulling tighter with every heartbeat.

You could feel his hesitation—like he was waiting for you to change your mind, to pull away.

But you didn’t.

You leaned in first.

And when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t perfect. It was careful. Almost hesitant. Like he was afraid he might break something if he moved too quickly. But it was soft, and warm, and yours.

He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours. His voice was breathless, barely there.

“Definitely not ruining anything.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart pounding.

And when he kissed you again—slower this time, more sure—you melted into it like you’d been waiting your whole life for this moment to happen.

Because maybe you had.

His lips lingered on yours for a breath longer before he pulled back, just enough to see you clearly. The soft glow from your bedside lamp caught the edges of his hair, and in the stillness of your room, you could hear everything—your heart, the silence, the hush between words.

Neither of you spoke at first.

It wasn’t awkward.

It was reverent. Like something fragile had bloomed between you, and neither of you dared to move too quickly and break it.

Your voice came out quiet, barely more than a breath. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Sylus looked at you, the smallest furrow forming between his brows.

You swallowed. “This. You. Being here.” Your gaze dropped to where your fingers were now tangled in the hem of his sleeve. “It’s like… a dream I don’t want to wake up from.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched you—listening, really listening.

You continued, voice thick with the ache you’d held back for too long. “This house, this life—I feel trapped in it. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years. And then you showed up and suddenly I could breathe again.”

A pause.

You met his eyes, the words trembling on your lips. “Save me from this.”

Something flickered across his face—like he felt those words in his bones.

He reached up, gently brushing his thumb along your cheek. “I can’t fix the world,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll stay. As long as you want me to.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, not from sadness—but from the sheer relief of being seen, of being chosen.

“I want you to,” you whispered.

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

And in the stillness of your room, wrapped in that soft, fragile promise, you leaned into him again—your forehead against his, your fingers curling into his hoodie like you were anchoring yourself.

The world outside could wait.

Because in this moment, in this little pocket of warmth and moonlight—you were safe.

You didn’t move at first—still caught in the feeling of his breath against yours, the weight of his promise lingering in the air.

But something had shifted.

The line had been crossed.

And you didn’t want to go back.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself in the warmth of him.

You pulled back just enough to see his face—how close it was, how soft his eyes had become.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered.

“Anything.”

You searched his gaze, heart thudding. “What happens now?”

He blinked slowly, as if the question reached someplace deeper in him. “You tell me.”

“I want to know what this feels like,” you said, voice quieter now. “Really know. I’ve never… I don’t know what comes next. But I want to learn—with you.”

His breath caught.

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “I want to feel what it’s like to be close to someone. To be touched like I matter.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something breaking open in his expression.

Then he moved, slowly—reaching out to brush his fingers along your jaw, down to your collarbone, so gently it made you shiver.

“Come here,” he murmured.

You leaned in as he guided you, one hand on your waist, the other at the back of your neck.

When his lips met yours again, it was different this time—deeper, more certain. You kissed him back, matching his pace, the ache in your chest melting into warmth.

His hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

He didn’t rush. His touch was exploratory, reverent. As though you were something delicate and sacred.

Your fingers found the edge of his hoodie, tugging gently, and he let you.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the soft ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. You hesitated—your breath shaky as your hand pressed lightly against his chest.

He looked at you then, truly looked at you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “I want this.”

He leaned his forehead to yours. “Then I’m yours. However you want me.”

The way he said it—so honest, so completely unguarded—made your chest ache.

You kissed him again, letting your hands explore, touch, memorize. His kisses moved to your neck, your shoulder, each one slower than the last.

His fingers slid under your shirt, lifting it with a question in his eyes.

You answered with a quiet nod, helping him pull it off.

And in the hush of your dimly lit room, the two of you moved carefully. Not rushed. Not frantic. But slow and deliberate, like every touch meant something—because it did.

You traced his skin like it was the first time you’d ever been allowed to feel, and he kissed you like he was trying to give you back every piece of yourself you’d ever been made to hide.

When you finally lay pressed against him, chest to chest, limbs tangled beneath the covers, your body was buzzing—but your heart was still.

He held you like he was afraid to let go. And you clung to him like you finally had something worth holding on to.

In his arms, nothing else existed. Not the silence downstairs. Not the bruises your mother’s words left. Not the life you felt trapped inside.

Only this.

Only him.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel like a ghost in your own skin.

You felt real.

Wanted.

Loved.

But fate, cruel and untimely, had other plans.

—•

The next morning, you woke to sunlight cutting through the curtains, warm on your skin, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him.

You were still glowing from the night before—heart full, limbs heavy with a kind of peace you’d never known.

You got ready for school humming softly, the memory of his hands, his breath, his voice still lingering on your skin like a secret no one could take from you.

You slipped on your shoes, lunchbox in hand, already imagining the way he’d be waiting under the tree again. How you’d sit close.

How your smile would mean something different now.

But just as you reached for the doorknob—

“Stop.”

Your mother’s voice cut through the morning like ice.

You turned slowly.

Both your parents stood in the hallway. Stiff. Still. Like they’d been waiting.

Your heart stuttered. “I—I’m going to school—”

“Sit down,” your father said, voice quiet. Too quiet.

You stood frozen. The warmth from earlier drained slowly from your chest, replaced by the cold ache of instinctual dread.

Your mother folded her arms. Her gaze sharp. Knowing. “Who was in your room last night?”

Your blood went cold.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “We heard voices. We know someone was there.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to something real. “No one. It was just me. I—I was on the phone—”

“Don’t insult our intelligence,” your father said flatly.

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Letting someone into this house? Into your room?” your mother hissed, fury barely held behind her teeth. “What kind of girl sneaks boys in through windows?”

The words hit like slaps. Each one sharper than the last.

You flinched. “He’s not—he’s not just—”

“You’re not going anywhere today,” your father cut in. “Not until we figure out how to keep this from happening again.”

Your chest tightened. “You can’t—”

“We can. And we will.”

It felt like the walls closed in. Like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Just hours ago, you had been pressed against Sylus, whispering that this—he—felt like a dream.

Now, reality had come crashing through the window, ruthless and loud.

And you were trapped again.

Not behind locks.

But behind the bars of control, guilt, shame.

Your hand fell from the doorknob.

And as you stared down at the floor, all you could think about was his face.

Waiting under the tree.

Wondering why you never came.

—•

You sat in your room, the door shut tight behind you. Not locked—but it didn’t have to be. The threat hung in the air like smoke.

One wrong move, and everything you’d found could be taken from you.

Your lunchbox sat untouched on the desk.

The hours dragged like weights tied to your ankles, and all you could do was stare at the wall, counting the seconds between your parents’ footsteps outside.

He was out there.

Waiting.

Under the tree.

And you weren’t coming.

Your heart ached at the thought—at the image of him sitting alone, music in one ear, head tilted like he was listening for something. Listening for you.

You wished he’d come.

Not like in stories with white horses and grand speeches. You didn’t need saving in a way that looked perfect. You just wanted him.

Wanted to open your window and see his face again, hear his voice telling you it was okay, feel his hand reach out and pull you back into something that felt like yours.

“Come save me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Like Romeo.”

But even as the words left your mouth, you shook your head.

No.

You weren’t Juliet.

You weren’t going to die for love, or weep behind a locked door, or let anyone write your ending for you.

If anything—you were Cinderella.

And when the clock struck twelve, you hadn’t turned into something smaller.

You’d woken up.

You hadn’t left behind a slipper.

You’d left behind fear.

You stood from your bed slowly, crossing the room to your window.

You drew the curtain back, heart pounding with hope that was almost painful.

But the street was empty.

No tapping at the glass. No smirk. No silver hair in the wind.

You stayed by the window, heart pressed against the silence. The street below was empty, washed pale in morning light—but in your mind, he was still there.

Waiting.

Still and steady beneath the tree, earphones in, pretending not to care, but glancing up every few minutes to search for you. Just in case.

The thought made your chest ache.

You moved before fear could stop you—crossed the room, pulled open your desk drawer, and grabbed a sheet of paper.

Your hands trembled as you picked up your pen. You didn’t know what to say at first, not exactly. But the words came anyway.

Slow. Honest.

Sylus,

I’m sorry I wasn’t there today.

They found out. About you. About us.

I’m not allowed to leave the house for now. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me in here.

But I need you to know something—

Your pen paused. Your breath caught.

Then you wrote, carefully, deliberately:

I know you aren’t fond of promises,

but would you promise to be my Romeo?

You stared at the words.

Not because you needed a savior. Not because you were waiting for someone to rescue you.

But because if there was anyone in the world who could understand what it meant to run, to fight, to choose someone even when everything was stacked against you—it was him.

Wait for me, you added, smaller now. I’ll find a way back.

You folded the note carefully, pressing your thumb into each crease like sealing a vow. Then you tucked it into your schoolbag, heart pounding.

Later, when the house fell into its afternoon hush—your mother in the kitchen, your father on the phone—you slipped down the hall, eased open the front door, and slipped out barefoot, just long enough to run.

The school wasn’t far.

You knew every step of the path like a song.

No one saw you.

You reached his locker, breathless, heart in your throat, and tucked the note inside—right at the edge, where he’d see it the moment he opened it.

Then you turned and ran back home, lungs burning, adrenaline singing through your veins.

You weren’t Juliet. You weren’t waiting to die for love.

But maybe, just maybe, he’d still be your Romeo.

They found out.

You weren’t sure how—maybe a creak in the floor, maybe they noticed the front door slightly ajar, or maybe they just knew the way only people bent on control can.

But this time, they didn’t just yell.

They locked the door.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.

Physically.

The sound of the key turning in the lock still echoed in your ears, colder than anything your mother had ever said.

“You don’t leave this room,” she snapped through the door. “Not until you learn to behave.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t give them the satisfaction. You just sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, and waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade.

The air was thick, suffocating. The walls pressed in, closer with every hour.

But what hurt most wasn’t the lock. It was the distance.

You didn’t know if he’d gotten the note. If he understood. If he thought you’d just disappeared.

So you waited.

Every night, when the house finally fell into that deep, still quiet, you crept to the balcony.

The wind was colder now, but you didn’t care. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, sat with your knees drawn up beneath you, and looked out into the night.

You didn’t cry.

You prayed.

Please come.

Not as a prince. Not on a horse. Just as him.

With that silver hair and that crooked smirk and those eyes that somehow made you feel whole.

Every gust of wind had your heart leaping. Every shifting shadow on the street below pulled your breath tight. You waited. Night after night.

And each night you whispered it softly into the dark,

“Be my Romeo.”

Not because you needed rescue.

But because you needed him to find you.

Because you weren’t running this time.

You were trapped.

And you had never wanted freedom more.

—•

A week passed.

Seven days.

Seven endless days of silence.

Of being locked in. Of unanswered prayers whispered from your balcony into a wind that never carried them far enough.

You hadn’t seen him. You hadn’t heard from him.

Not even a glimpse through the shadows, no pebble at your window, no tapping on glass like before.

And yet, you waited.

Each night, you curled up by the door or sat out on the balcony in the cold, eyes scanning the street until they blurred, hoping—aching—for him.

Sylus… where are you?

The silence gave your thoughts too much space to wander. And they always came back to that moment—one so soft, so silly at the time, but now carved into you like a memory worth bleeding for.

You were both lying in the grass, sunlight scattered through the leaves overhead.

He’d just scoffed at something in his playlist—an old track from a childhood movie you’d convinced him to listen to.

“Fairytales are stupid,” he’d muttered.

You’d sat up instantly, jabbing a finger into his chest with faux offense. “Take that back.”

He laughed. “Seriously? Happy endings, magic love, royalty running off with peasants… it’s all fake.”

You jabbed him again, harder this time. “Then I guess I’m stupid too. Because I believe in all of it.”

He’d raised a brow, amused. “You think you’re some kind of princess?”

You’d grinned wide, proud and unwavering.

“I’m Cinderella. And you—” you pointed at him dramatically, “—are my Romeo.”

He’d stared at you then, just for a second, something unreadable softening the edges of his usual smirk.

“That so?” he murmured.

You’d nodded with all the certainty in the world. “Even if you hate fairytales, you’re in mine.”

He hadn’t said anything after that.

He didn’t have to.

And now, a week later, locked away in a house that had never felt more like a prison, you curled into yourself and whispered the words again like a prayer.

“Even if you hate fairytales… you’re in mine.”

And you could only hope—wherever he was, whatever had kept him from you—that he remembered.

Because you were still here.

Waiting.

You sat curled on the cold floor, your cheek resting against the edge of your bed.

The blanket around your shoulders had long since slipped off, and your fingers had stopped shaking hours ago.

Everything felt quiet.

Too quiet.

You weren’t sure when the nights had begun to blur, or how many times you’d stared at that empty street, whispering his name like it might summon him.

You didn’t know how much longer you could keep holding on to nothing but memory and hope.

And then—

Tap.

You froze.

Your breath caught.

You thought you imagined it.

Tap. Tap.

This time louder.

Your heart lurched violently.

You stumbled to your feet, legs half-asleep beneath you, and rushed to the balcony, hands fumbling against the door.

You flung it open and stepped out into the night air, lungs burning with disbelief.

And there he was.

Sylus.

Leaning against the tree across the street, hood up, hands in his pockets, head tilted up toward your window. Like he’d been waiting for you to come out and see him.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

You gripped the railing, eyes wide, breath trembling.

He stepped forward.

“I got your note,” he said, voice quiet—but it carried.

Your eyes blurred with sudden tears, your knees weak from relief, from joy, from all the emotions you had buried in silence.

“You came,” you whispered.

He gave a faint smirk, but it didn’t hold the usual teasing edge. It was soft. Tired. But real.

“You asked me to be your Romeo,” he said. “Took me a little while… but I’m here.”

You laughed—a breathless, broken sound—and covered your mouth with both hands.

He looked up at you, eyes glowing faintly under the streetlamp. “Are you ready to run, Cinderella?”

And suddenly, the lock on your door, the house behind you, the world that had caged you in for years—it all meant nothing.

Because your fairytale had come back for you.

And this time, you were going.

You stood there, frozen on the balcony, heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it from the street. The cold bit at your bare feet, the railing digging into your palms as you gripped it tightly—but none of it mattered.

Because he was there.

Looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that existed.

Sylus took another step forward, into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp.

He pulled down his hood, silver hair catching the glow, eyes locked with yours—steady, sure, unshaken.

Then he lifted his arms.

“Jump.”

Your breath caught.

“What?” you whispered.

His mouth tugged into a faint, familiar smirk, but his voice was nothing but steady. “You said you were Cinderella, didn’t you?”

His eyes softened, shining with something quiet and unspoken. “Then run from the clock. Run from the cage. Just run to me.”

Your fingers gripped the railing tighter. The drop wasn’t far—but it felt like more than height.

It was leaving everything.

It was choosing something wild, uncertain, terrifyingly real.

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Yes, you can.”

His arms stretched wider, voice quieter now. “I’ll catch you.”

Tears burned in your eyes as the wind whispered around you. Your world—your prison—stood behind you, cold and familiar.

But everything you’d ever longed for was standing just below, arms open, waiting.

You climbed onto the railing, heart in your throat.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just watched you with a look you’d never forget.

You met his gaze, your voice breaking.

“Promise?”

And this time, the boy who never made promises gave you one.

“I swear.”

So you let go.

You fell—

And he caught you.

Arms wrapped tight around you, your body pressed against his chest, the world spinning as he held you like you were something precious.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need.

You’d leapt—and he had been there.

Just like he said he would be.

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnds #l&ds x reader #lads sylus #sylus x non mc #sylus oneshot #vocaloid #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus

656 notes · View notes

beefjumper · 2 months ago

Text

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin (sarcastic). Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem (there isn't) and I have decided to contribute to that (because there's no such thing as too many elf Gems).

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

1K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

Note

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod

4K notes · View notes

love-ethell · 1 month ago

Text

This one took way longer than expected cause I really had no idea what to center the first parts on and I was way busier than expected these past few days, but here's part 2 to Blooming Hearts! (I think after this chapter I'm gonna go back to taking requests so feel free to leave more if you have any! >[]<)

𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼

Part 1

probably ooc :3

Telemachus x reader , arranged marriage au

Word count: 2.1k

summary: When you were 17 you found out you were to be betrothed to the prince of Ithaca, you thought he would be another entitled snotty nosed prick such as the princes you met countless times on visits. a few years pass with you staying in your kingdom and your parents decide its was time for you to meet the prince, so you're sent to the kingdom of Ithaca to meet your soon to be husband, with skepticism in your mind you think this will be a loveless marriage as you've heard most arranged marriages turn to be, but a part of you wants to make things work, soon after you learn this marriage might not be the worst thing ever.

(reader is depicted as female)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜

(Back in Ithaca)

Telemachus shut the door to his room, the hinges whining from the movement. Argos jumping onto his bed, tail wagging, waiting for Telemachus to join him. Walking over to the bed Argos hopping onto his lap, "can you really believe it Argos? I'm supposed to wed to a princess! Y/n of *insert kingdom name cause I'm lazy* I heard she's very pretty, I wonder if she would like me though.. I'm not much" he whispers.

He can't help but feel excited, the thought of potentially having a connection with someone as deep as his parents, someone to devote all of himself to, someone to give all of his love and for them to do the same.

Suddenly he realized something. A problem standing in the way of happiness, the nuisances living in his home. The suitors still being in the palace, the thought of them being in the same walls as his betrothed. His brows furrowed thinking about their booming laughs and obnoxious teasing. He didn't want you to be around them, or even meet them if it was possible.

He sighed, laying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. "That's a problem for another day I guess.. I doubt I'll meet her anytime soon, I wonder what she's doing now anyway" he thought aloud.

You were taking a stroll in the palace garden when you saw your younger brother Elias walking towards you, fiddling with his hands with a nervous look on his face.

"Hey, can I talk to you.?" he mumbles, looking at the floor. "Of course Eli come sit, over here." you replied

You both walk over to a bench set under a large tree providing shade from the bright sun. He takes a seat next to you. Picking up a small daisy from the grass, he starts to pluck away at it's petals.

"Is something bothering you?" You ask, noticing how off he seems today. Usually, he's very talkative, "uhm, so like, how do you know when you really like someone.?" he mutters, his face flushing

You start giggling, "Huh!? Why are you laughing!?" he stammers, his face visibly hot.

"Is that why you've been so quiet lately?" you manage to get out, clutching your stomach to try and calm the toll laughing took on it.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." You apologize after he glares at you once more. "Would you say you can see yourself with this person in the future?" You turn your head to look at him.

"We'll she's really funny, nice to be around, she's also pretty... like really pretty." He smiles, eyes lighting up at the sudden mention of this mystery maiden.

"I'll take that as a yes.." You chuckle. "So, did you bring this to me cause you wanna ask her out?" Nudging his shoulder while asking.

"I mean, yeah.. I just don't know how to go about it." He sulks. "I really want her to say yes.."

You smile at him, happy that he finally registered his feelings for her. "If this lucky girl is who I think it is, then I think she would say yes regardless of how you ask." The girl you're 1000% he's in love with is none other than his best friend Alicia, and to everyone else, it's clear that they both like each other, and yet they deny any feelings towards each other when someone points it out.

"Really? Do you think so?" He asked. "Of course I do. Everyone has seen the way you guys look at each other, " you hinted. "What I'd say you should do, get her somewhere sentimental, sayy the place you first met or somewhere you both have good memories together, as cliché as that is. Then, slowly get near her or maybe take her hands in yours and ask her said question." You advised, taking his hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze." You got this."

"Thank you." He says, giving you a light smile. "Anyway, I'll get out of your hair." He then gets up, walking away slowly, yet he looks much more energetic now.

you giggle at the sudden pep in his step after talking about Alicia. You wish him the best of luck in his little love story.

( I thought it would be cute to add at least a bit of sibling interaction)

(ginormous time skip cause why the hell not, and I'm tired of trying to brainstorm things so yeah, this is now like 2 and a half to 3 years later so like a few months before Odysseus returns :] )

You were walking through the halls when a servant came up to you, informing you your parents were requesting you in the throne room.

You begin to walk to the throne room wondering what they want, something told you it had to do with the marriage they had arranged with the Ithacan prince, and you were completely correct.

Over time, you had come to accept your fate. Whether you wanted to marry or not, you were engaged to him.

Your parents ended up informing you that by the end of the week, you were to have all your things packed up since you were going to continue the betrothal with the prince back in Ithaca.

Even though they did give you a heads up that this would happen at some point, it still stung. Having to leave your family. The home you grew up in, as you pack your things not even the crashing waves on the shore could muffle your sobs, tears falling into your luggage.

Saying goodbye to everyone was hard, but you reminded yourself that you would still see them at least a few times a year, which made it a bit more tolerable.

As you walk onto the dock, servants making sure everything is in check before you leave. On the far end, your father and mother stand before you.

"My darling," your mother starts, her long hair blowing in the slight breeze. "you look beautiful my love." she compliments, she had commissioned a new chiton for you to arrive in, a beautiful deep blue, white trims fastened with a belt. Not even you could lie, it was stunning.

"We are going to miss you," your father continued "We hope you find happiness in your new home." Even if you doubt that, you nod, smiling at them.

They pull you into a hug, and goodness it was like they were trying to flatten you out! "Okay, okay! that's enough hugs, i think if you squeeze me anymore I'm gonna pop!" actually that sounds much better than your current situation.

You dad chuckles, "Just wanna make sure you don't forget how much we love you dearest." That made you smile, even without the hug, how could you forget? They raised you, held you when nightmares kept you up, they made you laugh, smile, and even cry. You loved these people with not just your heart bit also your soul, in and out.

A servant calls out, everything is ready. You look over seeing Elias and Alicia waving over to you.

She had said yes to be his, even if the whole thing ended with Elias tripping over a rock and faceplanting right in front of her (it took him a few days to come out of his room from the sheer embarrassment) but they were together now and that's all you really cared about. Out of all your siblings you and Elias were the closest by far, if he wasn't with Alicia he was with you, and when you weren't playing the harp (or lyre), weaving or sketching, you were with him.

You wave back at them, focusing on Elias, he was crying, holding onto Alicia's hand to ground himself. Now that made you call out to him "If you cry I'm gonna cry! So stop it!" trying to at least make him laugh (it worked) He shot you a thumbs up, wiping his eyes and smiling at you.

You had already said bye to all your siblings, guess he just wanted an extra one.

Getting onto the ship you look back at the palace in the distance, not knowing when the next time you were going to visit would come, you soaked the serene scene up before nothing but water was left surrounding you.

A servant informed Telemachus that his mother requested his presence in her chambers.

Deciding to take the long way to avoid the suitors, he wondered what she needed this time, was it important or did she just want company? Well whatever it was he'd be happy to listen, its not like he was doing much that day anyway.

He reached his mothers chamber doors, knocking softly in the way he always did. He steps in seeing his mother sitting by her window, weaving as usual, he wondered if she ever got bored of doing that.

"Mother? is everything alright?" He asks just to make sure. She stands up grinning like a child, "oh everything is more than okay my love, your betrothed is coming to Ithaca to continue the engagement here!" she announced.

That made his heart skip a beat (multiple beats actually) "Really? oh wow. that's uhm amazing." his face flushing at the thought of finally meeting you. (AWHHH) "Do you know when she's arriving..?" he asks bashfully.

Penelope chuckles at her son's sudden shyness "she should arrive early tomorrow my dear."

He smiles, 2 and a half years he's wondered when he would meet you and the day has finally come. Can't say the same about his father. 'I wonder what she's like, is she as excited as me?' he questioned himself (you definitely were not at the moment)

He headed towards his room, wanting to make sure he would be presentable for the next day. He laid out some fresh clothes and his hair products (yes, I believe he uses hair products cause he's a pretty boy and rich). He knew it would take some time to know you, so he started coming up with questions to ask you while he was lying in bed so he could understand you better, eventually falling asleep after a while.

(Back on the ship)

It's been two days of being on this god forsaken ship, Passing the time by sketching flowers or things around the place, yet you’re still bored as ever, so you head to your last resort, your harp, you had avoided playing it in order to not nuisance anyone or risk messing a string up.

You tasked a few men with bringing it up to the deck from below, they successfully move it to a space where you could play freely. Thanks for the rather still tide, your performance went pretty smoothly, with the occasional bump or two that messed you up a note.

You had never tried before cause you felt like you would fail. but you wanted to try and compose a tune of your own, with this idea you spent the next hour or two brainstorming until you finally found the first few notes you really liked, you decided to go on from there, but as you started playing again the ship started rocking, you tried to pull you hand back but as the ship rocked your finger got stuck, causing one of the strings to snap, “Oh gods! What on earth!” you groan, finger hurting a bit from the previous attack.

“Are you okay dear princess?” one of the servants ask you, clearly concerned

“I am, but my harp is not, one of the strings broke.” you sigh, a defeated look on your face.

“Well I can have it taken to a shop to get fixed as soon as we reach the shores of Ithaca, if you would like that” they offer.

“That would be nice of you, thank you” you smile "well I am quite tired so ill be going to bed now, if you don't mind would you have those men who brought it up, take it back down please?” they nod scurrying away. “thank you!”

You walk into your room plopping down on the bed, even though it was comfortable the rocking from the waves didn't help.

Staring up at the ceiling, you start to wonder how life in Ithaca would be, how it would be with your new husband. 'What if he's different..? Maybe I can form something with him?' You catch yourself mid thought

'No, you're supposed to hate him, he's the reason you had to move, you were forced into this, no one can make you love him.' You sigh, you lay there for a bit sleep finally coming peacefully.

(you can comment or ask to be added onto the taglist!) >{}< hope you enjoyed!

(after that last part I just realized how stubborn y/n is when it comes to trying to love lmao :p )

💗Taglist!- @plushiesssforcrying @dorkyfangirl24 @lunalov3smoony @yuvany

#epic the musical #epic the musical fanfic #epic the musical x reader #telemachus #telemachus epic the musical #telemachus x reader

204 notes · View notes

novaursa · 20 days ago

Note

hey nova, could you make sandor x reader or tywin x reader (what came naturally for you). the reader is princess of dorne. maybe the reader heard they don't want to marry her, saying she's plain, etc. maybe angst hehehe. but if i also want them to grovel at the reader, like regret everything as they falling in love, but the reader has trust issues so doesnt want to give in.

You Who Tried

- Summary: Some of the greatest tragedies never had a chance to be mourned.

- Pairing: martell!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I've made this little more serious. I hope you don't mind.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, its warm glow dancing against the dark wood-paneled walls of the solar. Tywin Lannister sat behind his carved desk, a half-empty goblet of Arbor gold in his hand, untouched correspondence splayed before him and ignored. The candlelight cast shades across his face, aging him more than the years ever could. He stared into the wine as though it might whisper answers, his expression grim, eyes dark with something unspoken. It had been a year. One year since that night, the night of his wedding to the Princess of Dorne. One year since her hand had trembled within his own as they danced before the court. One year since her eyes, wide and bright like twin suns, had searched his face with a reverence that had startled him more than he had ever let on. He had been a conqueror that day, a lion who had claimed not just a bride but a realm of southern alliances and future security. Yet now, as he sat alone in silence, that night lingered like a ghost, pressing cold fingers against his spine.

He remembered her chambers clearly—fragrant with orange blossoms and lemons, the silk of the Martell banners swaying slightly from the windows cracked open to the cool night air. She had waited for him on the bed, not yet unclothed, her posture straight despite her bare feet and the loosened braid that draped over her shoulder. She looked regal even then, even young and untouched, like someone carved of ivory and sunlight. He remembered the color of her eyes—amber ringed in deeper gold—and how they lifted to meet his as he entered the room. There had been no fear in her, only that dangerous thing he now knew better than to underestimate: hope.

"You came," you said softly, as though you hadn’t expected him to. Your voice was calm but your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles pale against the fabric of your nightdress.

"It is our wedding night," Tywin had replied, his tone clipped, precise. Duty had always come easily to him—whether steel or oaths or flesh. He had not come to wound you. He had come because it was expected, because alliances were forged not just in ink but in blood and consummation. He had steeled himself against softness, as he always did. He had not meant to be cruel.

You had not shied from his touch. You had looked up at him as he approached, your eyes searching—questioning, yes, but trusting too. Your breath hitched when he took your face in his hand, tilting it slightly so he could study you better. You were beautiful, undeniably, and you smelled of sun-warmed citrus and spices he’d only ever encountered in war campaigns. Your skin was gold-touched, your lips parted in anticipation, and your gaze so open it unsettled him. No one looked at him like that. Not even Joanna had looked at him like that—not with such innocent belief. You had looked at him like he might be more than a lion in a cage of stone and obligation. You looked at him as though he could be tender.

"Will it hurt?" you had asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For a moment," he replied. "But you will be fine."

You had nodded, trusting him. Trusting him.

Tywin downed the rest of his wine in one swallow, the memory burning hotter than the alcohol. He could still feel the silken glide of your skin beneath his hands, the way your body arched hesitantly beneath him, and how you whispered his name the first time he entered you. Not my lord, not Lion of the Rock. You said Tywin like it was something precious. And he, in turn, had been careful—perhaps not gentle, but measured. Efficient. He had kissed you once, more out of necessity than affection, and when it was over, he had remained long enough to see the blood staining the sheets, a grim satisfaction curling in his chest. The seal was done. The alliance had been made. The honor of both houses preserved.

You had turned your face toward him as he dressed again, still beneath the sheets, your lashes damp and cheeks flushed. “Will you stay?” you asked, your voice soft but not pleading. “Just for a little while.”

He had fastened the last of his buttons, adjusted his belt, and replied, “There is much to see to in the morning.” He had turned without looking back and left your chambers in silence, his boots loud against the cold stone. He had not seen your face fall—only imagined it later, after the door had closed. But the image had haunted him nonetheless. A flicker of something had dimmed in you that night, not extinguished, but altered. He had seen it the next morning when you entered the Great Hall, clothed in Lannister crimson rather than Martell orange. You had smiled, performed your duties flawlessly, but your eyes had changed. There had been a shadow where before there was fire.

That was the beginning. Or perhaps it was the end. He had not touched you again.

Tywin poured more wine with an unsteady hand and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. A year had passed, and you had been the perfect wife in every way—dutiful, gracious, political where required. But never again had you looked at him like you had that night. You had stopped asking him to stay. Stopped meeting him in the gardens. Stopped waiting up for him. You had grown cold—not in anger, but in quiet, resigned indifference. And he had let you. Gods forgive him, he had let you.

He stared into the fire and thought of the girl who once looked at him like he could be more than the sum of his titles. Tywin Lannister felt something unfamiliar curdle inside his chest. Regret.

The halls of Casterly Rock echoed with silence at this hour, the keep heavy with the stillness that only came after the lords had gone to bed and the servants had stilled their steps. Tywin sat again in his solar, though this time the goblet in his hand had long gone cold. He wasn’t drinking tonight. He didn’t need wine to summon the memories that plagued him now—not when they came so easily, like ghosts waiting only for him to be alone. His mind wandered once more, against his will, to her voice, to the lilting cadence of it, full of music and color, always vibrant even when it grated against his composure. She had tried, gods forgive him, she had tried so very hard.

In the weeks that followed their wedding, you had not been content to merely exist beside him. You had sought him out—in the garden walks, in the solar, even in the corridor outside the council chamber, always with that same determined grace. You had come to him like sun rising over red dunes, warm and brilliant and strange. He had not known what to do with that. He had not been taught to receive warmth. His world had been forged in steel and stone, not sand and sunlight.

“Do you know how the first Martell prince took his throne?” you had asked him once, seated across from him in the solar after supper, a book open in your lap, your eyes glinting with curiosity rather than pride. You were not boasting—never boasting. You simply wanted to share a story.

“I imagine it involved blood,” Tywin had said dryly, not looking up from the document he was reviewing.

You had laughed softly. “All thrones do. But he did it through marriage. He wed the warrior-queen Nymeria. She brought ten thousand ships and a whole people with her. He gave her equal rule and took her name instead of forcing her to take his.”

Tywin had looked up then, faintly irritated. “And what lesson am I to take from this, my lady?”

You tilted your head, considering. “That strength does not always look like conquest, my lord. Sometimes, it is in yielding without being defeated.”

He had said nothing after that. He had returned to his writing, and you had closed your book, the light in your eyes flickering but not extinguished. Not yet.

There were more nights like that. You brought him fruits he did not eat, books he did not read, stories he did not ask to hear. You told him of the Red Mountains, of the basilisk-infested ruins of Yeen, of your mother who once rode a white sand steed faster than the Dornish wind. You spoke of your eldest brother with reverence and mischief, how he used to carry you across the hot stones of the palace barefoot, so you wouldn’t burn your feet. You told these things with a softness that was never self-serving—always a hope that he might say something back, that he might offer a sliver of his world in return.

But Tywin had never learned to speak in the language of affection. His tongue knew the taste of order, of correction, of decree—but not of warmth. He had not asked about your brother. He had not touched the slices of blood orange you left on a silver plate beside his wine. He did not turn when you stood behind his chair with a hesitant hand near his shoulder, waiting to be invited closer.

And yet, you tried.

You tried still when you invited him to walk the gardens with you under the moonlight, and he refused. You tried when you sat beside him with parchment and ink, hoping to write to Sunspear together. You tried when you sang beneath your breath, old Dornish songs with melodies so foreign they ached in his ears. You tried when you sat across from him at meals and smiled, always smiled, even when he didn’t look up.

And then—then, one day, you stopped.

He hadn’t noticed it at first. He was a busy man. The day-to-day demands of rule did not leave time for frivolous thoughts of wives and gardens and stories from far-off deserts. But the silence grew. The tray of untouched fruit no longer appeared. The space beside him at supper became filled with cold conversation and absent eyes. You sat like a statue now, your face perfectly arranged, your voice no longer lit with curiosity, only civility. You ceased to seek him. You ceased to speak of Nymeria, of old songs, of the brother who carried you barefoot. You ceased to try.

It was then that Tywin had looked up from his writing one evening, a line of ink drying crooked on the page, and realized the solar was too quiet. No footsteps approached. No voice asked if he needed anything, if he had eaten, if he would walk with you. There was no scent of citrus or sun-warmed spices lingering near his desk. The absence struck him like a blade between the ribs.

He rose without thought and went to your chambers that night. He had not been there since the wedding. He expected—he didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps the old you, the hopeful you, sitting in your chair by the window. Instead, he found the fire burned low and you asleep already, turned away from the door. You had drawn the curtains around your bed. He could only see the shape of you beneath the coverlets—still, unmoving, far away.

He stood there for longer than he should have, a shadow among shadows, before turning and leaving in silence.

It was too late.

And Tywin Lannister, who had bent kingdoms to his will and never wept for anything—not for his father, not for his wife, not for his pride—realized that for the first time in his life, he had lost something not because it had been taken from him, but because he had let it die.

159 notes · View notes

odileeclipse · 30 days ago

Text

Since there's no update here's a sneak peak

This is a scene that is a little further out in the future, but I want to share it because it came to me in a dream...I wrote this like 3 days ago when I was looking at how I wanted to progress their relationship It might make it in the final cut it might not but something fun to read while I finish the next part

You leaned back against the bench, letting your head tilt just slightly as your gaze wandered not toward the koi-like creatures in the pond, not toward the swaying willows, but to the soft, flowing strands of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair. It was almost hypnotic, the way it moved despite the stillness of the air, as if caught in some unseen current. Deep, endless blue fading into a luminous, almost ethereal lightness, like a river reflecting the night sky. You squinted at it. “Is your hair magical?” He turned his head toward you, golden eyes narrowing slightly, not in displeasure, but in quiet amusement. “That is quite the sudden inquiry.” You shrugged. “It’s just… it moves even when there’s no wind. And it sparkles, like it’s full of stars.” You frowned, studying the strands with something close to suspicion. “It’s a little unfair, honestly.” That earned a chuckle a real, quiet laugh, the kind you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. “Unfair?” “Yes! Some of us have to deal with normal hair that just sits there. Yours looks like it was spun from the sky itself.” He hummed, as though genuinely considering this. “An unfortunate injustice, indeed.” You deadpanned. “Are you mocking me?” His expression was the picture of innocence. “I would never.” You narrowed your eyes at him, not believing that for a second, but huffed and leaned back again. “So? Is it magic or not?” His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he finally exhaled, tilting his head just slightly so that a few strands of his hair slipped over his shoulder, catching the light. “It depends on how one defines magic.” You groaned. “No. None of that Sage of Truth nonsense…I want a real answer.” He let out another soft laugh. “Very well. No, my hair is not inherently magical.” You blinked. “Oh.” Then your eyes narrowed. “Wait. You hesitated. That means there’s a but.” He sighed, as if he had been caught in some great scheme, though there was no real frustration in it. “Perceptive.” You grinned. “So? What’s the but?” “The ‘but,’” he echoed, “is that while it is not magical in the traditional sense, it is… a reflection.” That caught your curiosity. You tilted your head. “A reflection of what?” His golden gaze flickered toward the pond, watching as one of the koi-like creatures glided beneath the surface. “Of who I am.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. It was rare for him to say something so… personal. But before you could think too much about it, you huffed, trying to bring back the lightheartedness. “Well, then I’m doomed. My hair just reflects how little sleep I get.” That startled another laugh out of him. It was soft, brief, but real. And somehow, hearing it made your chest feel warm. You smiled, shaking your head before letting your gaze drift back to the pond. He didn’t press for conversation, nor did you, but the air between you was lighter now, easier. And if you caught him watching you from the corner of your eye, his expression softer than usual, well…You decided not to say anything about that, either. You tapped your fingers idly against your knee, watching the way the strands of his hair shimmered even in the shade of the willow tree.

#cr kingdom #cookie run #crk #cookierun kingdom #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk #crk shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shmilk #shadow milk cookie crk #shadow milk cookie

154 notes · View notes

thedancingcostumeyoungadult · 4 months ago

Text

From the Grave - Lucius Verus Aurelius x fem!Reader

A man returned from the dead, a childhood ghost made flesh again

Contents: Lucius Verus x fem!Reader, childhood friends reunited, angst, comfort

Word count: 1.5k

Rome is fickle, it is her way, but even then the fall of the mad twin emperors Geta and Caracalla was a sobering moment. Tyrants they were, and you were far from mourning them, but still the future lay uncertain in the hands of a mystery. The truest shock, however, came with the whisperings of a name, one from a far distant misty past.

“What did you say?” You don’t mean to, but your astonished question startles the girl in the doorway, who draws away, apologies already pouring forth as she ducks her head.

“I’m sorry my lady I-“

“No, no, it’s alright,” you raise your hand in an attempt to calm her, “I just-“ your voice catches in your throat and you blink, trying to reel in your unruly thoughts. “Did you say Aurelius?”

The light chill of the evening rushes over your arms as you practically run through the atrium of your house, blood pounding in your ears in time with your footfalls on the tile floor. Your hair whips around your shoulders as you look into rooms, an edge bordering on frantic coloring your voice as you call out.

“Drusus!” A door just ahead of you flies open and your brother steps out, on edge as he reaches to the sword by his door.

“What’s wrong?” You reach him in just a few more steps, grabbing his arm to pull him with you.

“We must go to Rome.” He plants his feet like an obstinate mule, causing you to whirl on him, your other hand joining the first as you give him another pull. His face is full of confusion as he studies you and you’re sure you must seem like you’ve gone mad.

“What are you talking about? Why?” Words you’d never even dreamed you’d say again crack in the air as you say them, turning his expression to one of stunned disbelief.

“It’s Lucius.”

So many long years had passed since you’d walked these halls, it feels like the strange echo of a dream that lingers after you’ve awoken. The attendant at your side seems to fade away, lost among the whispers of memory that tug at you from every corner and hidden nook of the house of Lucilla Aurelius. The two days’ journey from your home had given you plenty of time to turn over every memory of the boy you’d known in childhood. How many mornings and afternoons had you spent chasing back and forth over these tiles? How many mornings had dawned since? Nervous pressure rises in your chest as you get closer, to what you’re still not sure you know the nature of. How do you know he’ll remember you? Will he care? Is it even him?

The abrupt halt of the attendant shakes you, drawing you back from the depths of your jumbling mind. Ahead of you is an open door, voices filtering through from the room beyond. The woman who had guided you here disappears as quietly as she’d walked beside you, leaving you and your thrumming heartbeat to stare at the man seated inside. TIme is like honey around you as you take him in. You don’t know this man, broad-shouldered and statuesque, cut in sharp relief by the firelight. And then you see his eyes as he smiles and yes, you do know him, somewhere deep and untouched for the lifetime that sat between you two, you know him. Something in your chest reacts, a choking sob jerking painfully from you as you step backwards, deeper into the shadows. You can’t go in there and pretend like what you’re feeling is anything less than burying you so you turn and retreat, tears flowing hot down your cheeks as you go.

Lucius doesn’t know if what he’d seen was a ghost, a woman draped in fluttering ruby silk, a shade that slips into the dark just as soon as she’d appeared but his body is moving before he can truly consider it, excusing himself to follow what might as well be an apparition. But he knows that face, he knows it and it’s shaken him to his core. In the hallway he catches the flash of fabric as a figure turns a corner ahead. He rushes towards it, the name he calls out all too familiar and all too strange in his voice.

The sound of it makes you freeze, stopping dead as footsteps sound behind you. You manage to turn just as he comes into view and stops as well. Between you the hallway stretches into miles yet you burn under his gaze, your heart crashing against your ribs. His chest rises and falls under his tunic and his hands flex slightly at his sides. He stands like a warrior, you notice, but there too is a trace of hopefulness, of a vulnerability that tugs your heart.

In turn Lucius’ heart nearly stops in his chest when he sees you, solid and living, not a shade at all but standing in his home once again like it was just days before that you’d last been there. Your cheeks shine with tears as you look back at him. He’d had a vision like this a million times after that day in the arena that had torn his world apart, a vision of you in his home, welcoming him. As the years had worn on he’d folded those ideas up and hid them away, new ones rising to take their place. His chest is full of a relieved kind of disbelief that sounds in the only words he can find.

“It’s been a long time.”

A smile breaks across your face for a split second and it’s as though the words turn a tide and he’s being dragged along, feet carrying him towards you as yours do the same, his eyes stinging as though from a salt breeze. You collide with him just a little too hard, driving a surprised huff from him as you throw your arms around his shoulders while his wrap around your waist, a large hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he tucks his face against your shoulder. Until then you’d been considering that you still may be dreaming, that you might wake and he would still be a distant memory. But now you feel him, strong and very, very alive, and the full weight of sixteen years floods through you. Fresh tears rush to your eyes, your throat aching as you swallow against them, reeling with emotions all jumbled together as your hand cradles the back of his head.

“It is you.” Lucius starts at the way your voice trembles and the fitful rhythm of your breath against his palm, quickly taking you by the shoulders and holding you gently away from him so as to see your face. You cannot bring your gaze to his, suddenly overwhelmed with the loss of him all over again as though a long healed bone had been broken again to be set right.

You want to scream, the way you had when they’d said he was dead, your legs threatening to give out just as they had then too. But his hands, warm on your shoulders even through the fabric draped around you, splint the break and you keep your footing somehow.

“I thought you were-” You suck in a ragged breath, fingers curling around his wrist like he might fade away if you don’t hold him there, “I mourned you, I-” At last you raise your eyes to his and find a sheen of tears to match your own.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wish to cause you pain.” Sincerity fills his expression and your heart breaks for him again, and then again even further when he continues, low and quiet in the torchlit hall. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Through your tears you take the opportunity to study him up close, your hand reaching tentatively towards his face. He blinks rapidly at the barest brush of your fingertips on his cheek that knocks his breath uneven. You can see only flickers of the boy he was, but he's there in the furrow of his brow, the tilt of his head as he regards you with similar interest. Up close his eyes are older, sadder, but still his.

“What happened?”

“Too much.” He shakes his head at the same time he gives your shoulder a squeeze, “At least for right now.” His hands fall away from you and you miss them in the same second, feeling your stomach drop a little when he clasps your hand that was still raised by his face with both of his for a brief second. You return the squeeze, offering him a small smile. A silent agreement passes between you to leave the grief for another time. As your hand leaves his you bring it to your face, wiping your tears dry before tucking it away in the folds of your clothes. Looking back at him, a glint crosses your eye as you tilt your head to regard him with a lightly critical eye.

“When did you grow curls?”

Thank you so much for reading it means so much to me I hope you enjoyed!! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Tell me what you thought I'd love to hear it ❤️

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus fanfiction #lucius verus fic #lucius verus angst #jeanie writes #gladiator ii fanfiction

230 notes · View notes

drak3n · 1 year ago

Text

VETERINARIAN!SATORU

CONTENT WARNINGS: fluff, angst, hurt & comfort, loss of a pet, poisoning, smut, breeding kink, talks of pregnancy and children, dad!gojo, this one’s kinda sad but it ends well i promise!!

sena’s note: i was torn between dentist or vet!gojo and then i was like… all animal-loving men can get it and so can gojo.

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST

➩ VET!SATORU who had studied and graduated abroad, having finished his studies with excellent grades and a bright future ahead of him

➩ VET!SATORU who had a hell lot of patients, and who was aware that over half of them were pets owned by ladies yearning to see the attractive young doc in scrubs, which he couldn’t blame them for

➩ VET!SATORU who never rejected new patients even when his assistants complained multiple times about how overbooked the calendar always was, because to him, all that mattered was to nurse all furry little babies back to health

➩ VET!SATORU who was about to close the clinic one evening, his assistants all having left long ago, just to hear the sounds of faint footsteps rushing to approach the clinic

“please, please help him! i— he’s been poisoned, i couldn’t—”

your sobs were cut off by satoru immediately unlocking the door he had locked seconds ago, and he tenderly took the faint cocker spaniel from your shaking arms. he was barely breathing, and foaming at the mouth.

“miss, try to calm down,” he told you calmly, pointing at one of the chairs in the treatment room when he saw how distraught you were. he would love to cheer you up right now, but time was critical. very much so. “please sit down. i’ll do anything i can.”

you mumbled prayers under your breath as you watched satoru checking your baby’s vitals, injecting apomorphine intravenously to induce vomiting. but it was too late.

➩ VET!SATORU who spent the next few hours in the clinic, watching you break down over your best friend’s loss as you fondled and kissed him, unable to let go; who despite loving his profession so dearly, couldn’t help but loathe it at times like these

➩ VET!SATORU who felt incredibly guilty watching you leave with the unmoving body of your senior dog’s in your arms after you told him you’d be burying him in your parents’ house garden

➩ VET!SATORU who couldn’t really sleep after that, his mind occupied with the images of you desperately trying to save your pawed friend and who grieved the loss of a companion from your teenage years

➩ VET!SATORU who took in two puppies who had been left in a box in front of the clinic, both pretty shades of brown, one of which had the same slightly curled fur as the dog that had slipped from his fingers and he had failed to save

➩ VET!SATORU who walked into the clinic one morning, greeting all waiting patients and their owners enthusiastically, just to pause when he sighted you standing at the counter

➩ VET!SATORU who called you inside first and watched through shaded glasses as you handed him a bag, your eyes dampening when you stared at the table your dog had taken his last breath on

“i forgot to thank you for your services and how you tried everything to save him,” you said softly, voice wavering, “i will pay for it before leaving, i just wanted to give you this.” he swiftly shook his head no, hesitantly accepting the bag to take a look inside. it was a box of chocolates and a bag of dog treats.

“these were his favorites,” you pointed out, chuckling nostalgically, “used to gobble them up like there was no tomorrow. i figured that the other girls and boys who come here might want to try what my boy loved.”

➩ VET!SATORU who excused himself for a second and returned with two tiny pups in his arms who wagged their tails at the charming young man, watching the way your eyes lit up at both of them

“some vile person just abandoned them in front of the clinic. they resemble your baby, don’t you think? i was going to keep both because i never give any animal away, but if you—”

“yes, absolutely!”

you carefully accepted one of the pups, cooing softly when it yipped and snuggled into your touch. satoru just smiled when you then stared at the other pup, seeing the obvious resemblance between them.

“i wouldn’t want to seperate them, though.”

he fell in love with you at that very moment.

“this little, handsome buddy is welcome to come and visit his lovely sister anytime.” he was happy that he finally got to see you smile and laugh.

➩ VET!SATORU who knew that you were the one when he saw you tending to your new pup with the utmost care, always eager to learn more about how how to handle and raise a puppy correctly

➩ VET!SATORU who already had a little family with you, because was there anything more intimate and sweet than having pets together? — but who couldn’t help but wish to have children with you as well

➩ VET!SATORU who was thrilled to find out the feeling was mutual

“wha— you’re off the pill?”

satoru was in the middle of fucking into you skillfully when you confessed it to him. you whimpered at his sudden lack of movement, nodding bashfully. “i know this is not the right time, but—,” you babbled, taking his hand to guide it to your lower belly, “‘m ready, satoru.”

his mind wandered to you swollen with your beautiful kids, tits leaking with your nourishing, sweet milk and face gifted with a natural pregnancy glow — not that you needed it.

“cum inside, ‘toru,” you whined against the pretty veterinarian’s kisses in-between his hips snapping against yours, “make me a mommy. gimme all of it.”

there was no way in hell that satoru wasn’t going to knock you up after this. and put a pretty little ring on your finger, of course.

➩ VET!SATORU who knew he had all he wanted as he saw you walk into the clinic a year later to visit your husband with your tiny babygirl on your arm, a spitting image of her father, and your two former pups on a leash, now grown in size as they wagged their tails wildly upon seeing the tall man in scrubs

➩ VET!SATORU who wondered if you’d say yes to a second child…

2K notes · View notes

redwinewhiteroses · 4 months ago

Text

The answer to the question on your mind

What will the Oracle say?

I was inspired by @capellla 🤍 who made a similar reading and I LOVED IT SO MUCH! You should definitely check out her reading.

I'm using the Wisdom of the Oracle cards in this reading and not tarot cards. You can pick a shade to receive an answer to whatever question you have in mind. The question can be anything but I won't give a yes/no but rather a general forecast on whatever it is that you are asking about. So it is going to be in the format of a combination of messages, keywords or a simple description.

Also a reminder, this is a very general reading because everyone's going to have different questions. So take the essence of the message and leave out what doesn't resonate.

Total Angel

You know the answer deep down. If you tune in and read between the lines, you will know what you should know. Your intuition is powerful, use it wisely to receive answers. Even if you think it's not easy sometimes to find the right answer, the message here is to ask and you will receive. And nine out of ten times the answer is already known to you as an intuitive nudge. You just know, don't you?

For some of you there's a message to trust your intuition for it is right when it comes to this question you are asking about.

And for very few of you, the answer is to listen intently, be sensitive and have empathy, maybe for yourself or to someone else.

Manifest It

There is some chaos and conflict here. It seems to me like there's a clash of opinions or an internal conflict of some kind. Whatever it is you are asking about might not be going smoothly as you wish. Thoughts or opinions are in a muddle. There's friction here and a hesitancy to cooperate on something. It's important to choose your battles wisely and as much as you desire to be understood, you should also try to understand where others are coming from.

For some of you, this conflict is happening purely because of a misunderstanding and a lack of insight.

For others it's because of your stubbornness and your rigid nature of not wanting to compromise and being inflexible is prolonging this state of chaos. Also you don't need to be right all the time and it's fine even if you are not.

Good thoughts

Good fortune is knocking on your door. I see a lot of positive thinking in this group and I wouldn't be surprised if you are into manifestation techniques. You are attracting abundance using your manifestation skills and law of attraction.

Success is all yours. If you've been working hard on something, know that your rewards are on the way.

There's also a message that you will be discovering even more things to be grateful about. It's all in your mindset, the more positive your thoughts are, greater treasures you will find. Abundance and fulfillment are major themes here.

Don't forget to share your prosperity and happiness with others you care about about.

Balanced

Take things slow. There's no need to rush. It's important to live one day at a time.

Whatever it is you are asking about, the answer lies in the present moment. You have to focus your energy on the things that truly matter to you, that has a bigger say in shaping your future for better or for worse.

I'm getting the message that it's important to write a good story for yourself right now. You have everything you need right now.

Stay present and create your dream now. A lot can happen right here, right now, there's so much potential that you don't even see. The past nor the future holds that power, only the present moment can give what you need.

Protection

Right when I started this, I felt like this is about a relationship. Loyalty, devotion and commitment are major themes in this group, whether it is about a relationship or otherwise.

There is undying loyalty and commitment from this person and they truly value your commitment. There's nothing to worry about for they have a loyal heart and they show it to you every day. Right now if you look around, you can see and feel that devotion they have for you.

For some of you, there's the message that you should remain faithful to your plans and work towards achieving them. Put in the work now with great commitment if you want to achieve desired results in the future. Your commitment and loyalty is being tested right now.

This message is for a very few of you, and that is if you've been yearning for something more passionate or exciting in your relationship and you have this desire to pursue someone else in search of that, the message here is that you already have loyalty and commitment from the person who loves you. Are you as loyal in return?

Major Change

Closing out a cycle and making amends is the main theme here. I sense some hurt and lack of closure that is here from the past. There is some unresolved hurt and unfinished business and you never really got around to seeing things through.

There could've been an argument, but you walked away without really gaining closure. So even if you want to move on, you are still bothered about the what ifs, the unsaid and the unexpressed thoughts and feelings.

It is important to heal, but it starts with letting go. Make peace, forgive and set yourself free.

In order to really move forward, you need to address the issues and fix what's broken. Clear out what's no longer serving you, gain clarity and learn the lesson. Unless you close out this cycle, you are going to be burdened without an end.

Finish what you started in order to move forward. If you've been taking more and more of something but not really completing what you should have already, you are only accumulating unwanted burden. It is very important to make amends for your highest good.

For some of you, there's a clear message that something needs to end. Nothing is ever lost or wasted so endings are nothing to be scared of.

Reflect

There is uncertainty and a sense of loneliness here. It's as if you feel like you don't belong or fit in. There's this lack of connection and feeling like you are on your own.

It's important to delve deeper and be closer to your core values and truth. This sense of belonging that you think you need must come from within in a way that is so personal to you. It is not in the outside world for you to find.

Even if you feel misunderstood by others and you feel left out, as long as you have yourself and you believe in your own truth, you are never alone.

Be completely yourself and be unapologetic about it, the people who see you for who you truly are will always find you and support you.

Never dim your light or think that you are not enough. Never think you have to be someone else to be accepted. You are amazing just the way you are.

Explore your preferences, likes and dislikes and get to know yourself fully, and try finding people or communities that resonate with you. You'll be surprised by how many like-minded individuals are there who really get you.

Lucky Babe

Finally you have approached the light at the end of the tunnel. I wouldn't be surprised if you went through a dark night of the soul recently. There's two very contrasting energies here and you are at this switch where you are moving from the bad to the great times ahead.

There's recovery, renewal and joy. It's as if you lost/broke something but now you are patching up all the pieces together to create someone new altogether.

For some of you, I see you coming out of a period of isolation and putting yourself out there more experiencing the warmth the world has to offer. Being lively and feeling full of life.

Finally seeing bright colors again, feeling alive and enjoying life comes to mind. You could meet someone or find something that helps you overcome the shadows of your past. It's as if it/they heal you and make you forget unpleasant things. A much needed change is here to welcome you to a new phase in your life.

And for others, I see new relationships, new friends and opportunities coming in. There's new beginnings and growth for existing relationships. Those who've been single for a long time, I see a lot of good fortune for you.

Something exciting could happen.

Perfect Harmony

Be honest and truthful to yourself and to others. See the truth for what it is. Don't try to alter it the way you want it to be. You are only deceiving yourself. This is the core message I'm getting.

For some of you, the message is to openly communicate with your partner, family or friend etc. Clear and honest communication is very much needed. It is important to speak your truth and to listen to others speak their truth.

For some of you, it might be necessary to put some effort to seek the truth of something yourself. Discover what lies at the core of something and don't just accept the face value of it.

Transparency, true wisdom, unveiling something and dropping the mask is also a message here. Clarity is being provided to you and you should be open to embrace that truth.

Right Path

You are finally finding the strength to complete something. It's as if you've been putting something off for many weeks, months or even years but now you are going to persevere and see it through.

Learning something, mastering a skill and being dedicated to a task is coming through as well. It's important to make amends and learn so you can have better opportunities in the long haul.

Go the extra mile comes to mind. Take a leap of faith and endure through this so you can finally complete this cycle.

Finally accomplishing something that was long overdue and willingness to be resilient is seen here.

Do not procrastinate or give in to instant gratification but instead look into the future, think of the long-term and engage in continued action.

Make sure you finish what was left unfinished.

Empowered

Take action, make a move, start something, by all means begin whatever it is you are asking about.

You have the power to make things happen so go ahead and put that creative powers into good use.

This is the sign you've been looking for, now is the perfect time to act. Don't hesitate a single bit for now the destiny is in your hands.

Take the lead, assume the position of a leader, take matters into your own hands and be confident in your ability to move forward towards victory.

For some of you, the message is to embody masculine energies and to be more assertive and bold.

You can expect to be busier than usual. A lot of action is happening.

Divine

Breaking cycles, escaping toxic habits that kept you stuck in a never ending cycle is the main message here.

You can feel as if the past is repeating itself or you have been here before, and it is only because there is something that you have to learn and integrate into your life. I see some personal growth and self-improvement happening for your highest good.

It is important to revisit this pattern from a new perspective. Learn the lessons and apply that knowledge to break free from what no longer serves you. Only repeat what works, NOT what doesn't.

Chaos and conflict will only happen if you run in circles without really addressing the root cause of the problem. I see some unnecessary drama as well that has occurred due to repeating the same mistakes.

For some of you, being attracted to familiar partners and repeating an old story might be true. It is as if you get to do things differently this time with the wisdom you didn't have the last time. It is important to not get stuck in a loop though.

I think some of you are clearing out some sort of karma from your lives and it is making you realise important things about yourself and the way of life. As difficult as it might be, you will eventually get out of it and mark the end.

This reading should not be used as a substitute for professional advice. Please use your discernment before making any important decision. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Dividers by : @anitalenia @strangergraphics @aquazero

Photo taken from Pinterest. Credit goes to the rightful owner.

#tarot reading #love tarot reading #pac reading #tarot cards #pap reading #pick a card reading #oracle cards #oracle card reading #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a photo #tarot #oracle #tarot love reading #puck an image #tarotblr

207 notes · View notes

amutamika · 2 months ago

Text

For some reason, in every of my hc‘s of Moshang, Mobei Jun is the less emotionally and mentally stable. And I know that most fics and headcanons are the other way around. And that is okay. I also love those. Shang Qinghua is also an emotional nervous wreck, always kind of on the run.

It makes sense. He suddenly is in his novel and all his plotholes are coming for him, but also the stuff that should be set in stone is changing ALL THE TIME. He is in a canon fodder body and just like Shen Qingqiu he just wants to survive. At the same time, the system is way less talkative to him, giving him almost no help (not that SQQ got that much more), and also coming way later into his transmigration (the reason being that it is getting its power from LBH’s presence). He cannot relax around Mobei Jun because he doesn‘t know if the ice prince isn‘t killing him one day.

But I also think that changes after the main plot (or at least after the extra chapters) gradually. He no longer fears death by Mobei Jun, he much more sees him as his protector against whatever looms in the unknown future. So he gradually loses his anxiety of dying every other moment. He settles beside Mobei Jun and becomes much more stable over time. The urge to flee at any giving moment subsides.

At the same time, Mobei Jun, who always suppressed his emotions, has the space to let those out. His caring and love for Shang Qinghua is the first emotion, but it snowballs into this whole mass of other emotions, he is unfamiliar dealing with. Now, he is the one, who is afraid of SQH leaving and he is terrified by the thought that something could happen to his husband. Suddenly he is the one with the anxious attachment style, because SQH has left many times, who knows if there isn‘t a next time and if that one might be the last he ever sees Shang Qinghua. And why wouldn‘t he leave? Mobei Jun was horrible towards him for years.

He starts questioning if SQH even loves him or if it isn‘t some weird Stockholm Syndrom thingy. And it troubles him a lot. He wants SQH to be close at all times, but he also doesn‘t want him to be sick of him. And on top of all that he has all those other emotions to somehow handle.

And that is when Shang Qinghua steps in as the emotional support hamster for his husband. He helps Mobei Jun to regulate his emotions, reassures him and yes, he stays by his side at his own volition. He doesn‘t see it a a weakness, but he recognises that his husband needs help.

And who better is there when it comes to emotions. Shang Qinghua has never used his tears sparingly. He is there when Mobei Jun cries for the first time, even though he himself doesn‘t know why he is crying. All the while SQH is holding this man who is way bigger than himself and whispering into his ears that everything is alright and that he can let it all out. And I just know that Shang Qinghua has tears in his eyes, too. It wretches his heart to see the man he loves coming so undone. But he is also happy that he feels safe enough in his arms, to show him this side.

And as time goes on, they slowly manage to lean onto each other. Mobei Jun gets better with managing and understanding his emotions. His anxiety resides, but he will always hold Shang Qinghua in his arms as if it could be the last time, because he just wants him to feel how deeply in love he is. And Shang Qinghua finally opens up to Mobei Jun about his transmigration. He even tells him, how he sculpted Mobei Jun to be his dream man, although his face is in a deep red shade while talking about that part.

And they live happily ever after!

#moshang #idiots in love #bear with me #mobei jun #mxtx svsss #shang qinghua #svsss #scum villain self saving system #svsss headcanon #headcanon #SQH is just MBJ‘s emotional support hamster #idk maybe i am just projecting #but just think about how cute this is #i just want them to be very happy #hc #svsss hc #danmei

166 notes · View notes

alkelkha · 4 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐓. chapter two

relationship — jinx/powder x fem!blk coded reader

❛❛ CRASHLANDIN' ON YA' ❜❜

a shooting star was your first impression of it.

the past week had been terrible; there were no bonfires on the beach this time because everyone was at the town center celebrating for whatever reason. you stumbled onto the beach sand and stayed on the ground coughing hysterically.

sand stuck to your wet body and hair. you were so tired you could barely keep your head up. what was this, the third time you’ve been waterboarded? but hey, who’s keeping count? this is the price that comes with being a good person. curiosity killed the cat, and it was going to get you killed one day.

you’ve accepted it— death, and if you were going to die, it might as well be for something cool like trying to take down the gang that has your home in a chokehold. what’s so wrong with wanting to go out a hero?

then that’s when you saw it. a bright white star rushing away in the sky.

the perfect time to make a wish! you folded your hands together and closed your eyes.

star… make my life worth more than this.

you opened your eyes and the star was…coming towards you?

your eyes widened, and you booked it off the sandy territory, losing balance every now and then. dunking and hiding behind the concrete wall that separated the beach from everything else, you covered your ears. the debris covered the portion of the beach, some even thrown over your head.

you kept your eyes closed for a long time before noticing the orange hue of the flames. getting up from your hiding spot and walking towards the destruction. there wasn’t much fire so those would be easy to put out. the fire wasn’t your concern though, it was what you would find. was someone there? are they alive?

coughing and waving your hand in front of your face to wave out the smoke, you finally found someone. they were crawling away from the rubble. you run over to them, but just as you get there their body has already gone limp. it was a female your age, the prettiest shade of blue you’ve ever seen, with a purple streak.

you knelt down and scooped her up in your arms, the stranger in your arms was light— and you had the strength of the average woman.

overtime the locals got her settled down, and she became flosnum’s talk of the town. apparently, there were three other people in the blimp that crashed but didn’t survive. not that the blue-haired mystery woman would know since she spent the majority of her time being nursed back to health and secluding herself from the rest of the world in her new complementary flosnum home. flosnum has had a huge population surge which meant a lot more houses and some left vacant.

as creepy as it sounds, you couldn’t stop thinking about thinking about her. washing dishes? thinking of her. bartending? thinking of her blue hair. staying at that boring shop filled with gunk? thinking about what kind of person she is.

it’s safe to say she lived in your mind rent-free. you couldn’t help it; she just seemed so cool! coming from the times you’ve been able to catch a glimpse of her. she dressed so strangely, too. you wanted to ask her so many things. where was she from? is her hair naturally blue? is her favorite color blue? what does she like?

just what kind of person was she?

the first time you were able to formally meet her was two days ago.

TINKETTES: SCRAPS & PARTS

leon, the old man who owned this place, had died. rest in peace. he left behind a museum of metal scrapes, tools, wires, and a whole bunch of other stuff that you didn’t understand. the only reason you were tending to it was because leon was the bar owner’s brother and he said he would give you a raise if you did this one favor for him.

in the back area for employees only, you threw a ball at the wall and caught it. you did that a couple hundred times before you heard the windchimes sung. someone was here? nobody ever visited.

trying to get out of the chair too fast, you ended up falling on your side. you opened the door to find her, of all people.

you swear you’re not a creep, but just from her backview, she was gorgeous. you wondered what she looked like with long hair.

"need help with anything?”

it was a normal day at the ‘SEVEN CHIMES’ (aka the pub). mindlessly placing drinks down in front of customers, you barely registered your coworker’s call for you. “[name]!” you turn around and run over to the counter.

“yeah?”

“big don wants to see you after your shift.” stella states as she mixes a drink. a warning. a sharp chill went down your spine, maintaining a smile, you nod.

shit. what was it now? had you not already paid enough money for the month? or was it the incident with the pervert customer?

you spent the rest of your shift with a gaping pit in your stomach. serving drinks, rowdy customers, talks about the mysterious blue-haired girl.

walking into big don’s office felt like walking into a dark room: ensure of what you would be greeted with. “stella said you needed me?” the sickly pale man, but not thin, leaned back in his chair with a dice between his fingers. his other hand tapped the desk, staring directly at you. “did i not give you a task?”

straighten your posture and answer “you… you did! you told me to hurry up and—“

“—get rid of the shop.” he finishes your sentence. “yes. yes, i did say that, yet i have not seen any progress.”

“i…” your throat felt dry. terribly dry. fidgeting with your hands you finally gain the courage to speak. “i did! i mean i am close to doing so— a girl wanted the shop.”

he nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “…good…good…” big don leans closer to his desk. “you still have to pay for your recent accident, you are aware of that, correct?”

“yes sir,” you respond nodding frantically.

letting out a small mocking huff his eyes finally turn away from him. “you’re lucky, you did something good. i’m not as angry as i was before.” he waves his hand to shoo her away. “i will deal with you some other time.”

wasting no time you got out of the office.

you were going to kill him one day.

you didn't dwell on it too much. that wasn’t your thing— as a matter of fact, that was the only thing keeping her alive. it happens, and then it passes over, no need to dwell on it [name]. patting your head (which stella points out to be a nervous tick), you waited for the blue-haired beauty.

she was cute and all, but she seriously needed to hurry up and appear so she could give her the keys to this place. if she didn’t, you would die (half joking). thinking about it… did you say that you would come to her or for her to come to you? you honestly couldn’t remember.

letting out a groan, you put your hands on your face. if you keep looking at the same weirdly bent metal scrap, you are going to lose your shit.

great, now you had to get up.

was walking around flosnum begging people for the tiny pieces of information they had on bluey beauty odd? yes, next question.

if you had to walk another ten minutes in the scorching hot sun, you would melt. being on the verge of heat stroke, you place your hand over your forehead to block the sun and lose your balance a bit, walking backward. you felt your back hit someone.

“oopsie daisy!” the person said in surprise.

turning around to apologize, your eye widens, “bluey!”

she looked less… sad and more alive the last time you saw her. there was neon splatted all over her clothes, and a sparkle in her pink eyes twinkled. she then narrowed at the sight of you, “you…” she was holding a box inside her left arm and was licking an ice cream.

you grab onto her shoulders, “i was looking everywhere for you!” you felt like you could finally breathe without having to worry about dying the next day.

“you were?” she tilts her head, confused about why someone would look for her.

you wrap an arm around her shoulder, she tries to move away from you. normally, you would care about being impolite, but you were on the verge of fainting. “surprise surprise, you got the shop!” you jingle the keys in front of her face. “please, move in as soon as possible.” you said smiling, she finally slips away from your grasp causing you to stumble a bit.

her full frame was now in your view. she was slim, toned core and arms, had an awesome tattoo, and was really pale— too pale for a place like this; some woman would die to have that body.

“gonna give me those keys, or was your real plan just to check me out?” she continues to lick her ice cream. shaking your head, you toss the keys to her. she catches the keys “thanks for the candy, stranger. it really helped a girl out.” she says with her back turned walking away from you.

wait wait. no, that’s not how it’s supposed to go. yeah, you were supposed to give her the keys, but you were hoping for a conversation longer than 30 seconds. okay maybe you were hoping way more than that… maybe being friends or something like that.

jogging up to her pace, you walk alongside her. “so!” you try to keep the conversation going. she furrowed her brows at you, either confused or annoyed by your attempt. “i was thinking since you’re new and everything that maybe you’d need a friend.”

at first, she slowed down and she just stared. not at you. it was like she was lost in her mind. “a friend, huh?” her voice lowered, “sorry, toots, i don’t do friends.”

jinx didn’t do friends.

she didn’t need for them. the closest thing she had to a friend was sevika, and she wasn’t even a friend she was more like… an annoying aunt.

they didn’t last.

besides… who would want to deal with her? vi didn’t, silco only made her condition worse, she always felt like a chore to sevika, and ekko… boy genius was too good for her. jinx wasn't who he wanted.

powder cleaned up the shop (by cleaning up, she put all the junk in the employee room). it felt nice to clean up; it was like her body was moving on auto-pilot just like it had been doing for the past two days. everything felt like an out-of-body experience after the numbness she felt the first month she had got here.

she grabbed a teddy bear out of the box and tied it up to the ceiling. for some reason, she kept the nagging thing around; powder kept sweeping up the place, “tidying” it up to her liking.

why do you keep pushing everyone away?

“shut up.” powder didn’t have the patience for it.

why do you keep pushing everyone away?

her grip tightened around the broomstick. “was me tying a noose around your neck not enough?”

why do you keep pushing everyone away? why do you keep pushing everyone away? why do you keep pushing everyone away? why do you keep pushing everyone away? why do you keep pushing everyone away?

because you’re a jinx.

jinx reached to her hip to grab her gun to shoot the annoying bear. of course, there was no gun to pull out from a holster. there was no reason to have one in a place like this. old habits die hard.

because everyone who gets close to you dies.

jinx.

dropping the broom, she turned on her heel and faced the teddy bear, “i’m not a jinx!” her shout seemed to snap her back to reality. it was quiet. so quiet that she was able to hear her own heavy breathing. “not… not anymore…” her eyes were fixed on the bear.

“i left all of that behind.” her raspy voice cracked, arguing with it. “it’s safe here, no danger!” she took strides to the annoyance, “no reason for someone around me to die this time!” she ripped the bear off of the noose, its head coming off.

so why do you keep pushing everyone away?

even with its head rolled on the floor it still tried to get its point across.

if she was right. if she believed everything she just said, why did she keep pushing people away? there’s no reason to be scared of losing someone; there’s no danger here.

jinx dropped the bear and turned around to get back to cleaning up. she crouched down to pick up the broom but her red-violet eyes caught something. a sticky note.

ONLY COSTS FIVE!

with a turtle drawn as a signature. she dropped her broom and dashed out of the shop.

powder wasn’t sure what the plan was, maybe there was no plan to begin with. she wanted to talk to you— to change her answer. she did want to be friends. she needed to get it off her chest because what if she waits too long and you don’t want to be friends anymore? what if you forget you even asked her? what if you didn't mean it?

she was on her way to find you at the bar (like you said for her to find you). on her way there she saw a bright light reflection of a bronze turtle necklace. she got cold feet.

odd.

very odd.

jinx never felt like this. why was telling someone you want to be friends so hard?

all of this leads to now, her stalking you, watching you from rooftops. it wasn’t her initial intention! she just panicked. it was night; it was the perfect time for stalking anyway. jinx followed you. the paths you took were odd. just where were you heading?

an alleyway. alleyways in flosnum were nothing like zaun; they were dimly lit, painted murals with vines, and flowers blooming from the cracked cement, making it their home.

two men walk up to you. “you know we don’t want to do this.” one of them says sympathetically. you didn’t seem surprised; it was like you were expecting them.

“kiss my ass.” you bit back then a palm connected with your right cheek.

oh.

this was not what powder was expecting.

a fight broke out. for a young woman, you sure were holding your ground against two muscled middle-aged men. you certainly weren’t the most skilled person jinx had seen fight, but you made the most of what you could with your frame. jinx debated on whether she should help you out or not. you were obviously going to lose, as of now, you had it in the bag.

that was until one of them took hold of your hair behind you. the other man spit out the blood from his mouth onto the cement. “stop fighting back and just take the punishment.” he raised his fist and punched you in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you completely.

he winds up his fist again and you prepare yourself for the impact.

you then saw a streak of pink. it shimmered. there was no longer a man; there was a woman, strands of blue and purple peeking out of the hood.

wait a minute… you looked down to see the man underneath her feet. did she just land on him? “what the fuck…” your eyes trail back up to the woman.

“yes, yes, give it up for your hero.” jinx spreads out her arms, waiting for applause. before you could say anything, she was already off the man and gone from your view. you no longer felt a tight grip on your hair and stumbled forward.

the man backed up “who the hell—“ jinx lashes out a well-aimed kick to the man’s head, his head collides with the alleyway wall and turns into a limp.

it was over so quickly. your arm still wrapped around your stomach. the woman’s hood falls, though you already had a good guess on who it was, her pink eyes fixated on you.

not knowing what to do, you speak up. “were you stalking me?”

“seriously? no, thank you?”

“oh, of course, where are my manners? my knight in shining armor, thank you ever so much!” your words dripping with sarcasm a smirk gracing your lips.

“damn right, toots.” with her hands clasped behind her back she strolled toward you, her hips swaying with each stride. as she stopped directly in front of you her shimmering eyes darted around you nervously. “yes.”

confused at the simple word, you tilt your head, trying to make sense of it. her irises dilated.

“I want to be friends.” sparkling doe eyes met with yours briefly before darting away.

not knowing how to react, you spoke up, “did you come all this way to say that?” great working [name], you just ruined your chance of becoming friends with the cool blue-haired beauty.

seeing your mistake, you shook your head, recognizing how much of a poor choice of words that was. “shit, sorry.“ now she was leaning toward you she was close. so close. her face was just mere inches away from yours. “shut up and let me say this.”

yes ma’am.

getting out of your face, jinx tries to stand up straight. “i’m a handful— more than that. I just want you to know what you are getting yourself before…”

this was when you realized that powder wasn’t mysterious for the aesthetic. not because she was some attention seeker like some locals would say. not because she was a loser. powder had a past that genuinely haunted her. those eyes carried a lifetime of pain and the way her shoulders were slumped made her seem exhausted.

you didn’t know why she was she looked so drained. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to find out. despite her weary demeanor, she was still reaching out, still holding on, and you were willing to take her hand because if anything she it looked like she needed this more than you.

you wanted a cool friend. jinx needed a friend.

before jinx could continue speaking, you blurt out, “when do you want to hang out?” jinx wasn’t sure if she should smack you upside the head for interrupting her or if she should blow something up out of excitement… so she stared at you. fireworks seemed to pop behind her eyes.

“right now.” powder grabbed your hand in a swift motion, her grip firm yet fearful. the action causing you to pivot in the direction she was taking you. now running, she pulled you along with her. powder didn’t know where she was running, she just needed to get the jitters out of her with you at her side.

ignoring the fact your legs felt like jelly because of the recent fight you smile, “i still don’t know your name!” laughing into the breeze that rushes through your hair.

glancing back at you, jinx caught sight of your smile. as if the upturn of your lips were a virus, a smile tugged onto her lips. “i’ll tell you when i’m ready.” jinx’s words echoed behind them.

“alright, baby blue.”

TAGLIST: @millie2point0 @powderbomb-jinxed

i am open to ideas for my next chapter! the chapter is full of fluff of them getting to know each other. its structure is split into weeks. week one: blah blah blah. week two: blah blah blah. week three: blah blah blah.

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x you #jinx x fem!reader #arcane x reader #jinx x y/n #wlw fanfic #arcane jinx x reader #x black reader #black reader #x black fem reader #jinx x blkfem!reader #elka's shop #jinx arcane x reader

183 notes · View notes