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midnighvtm4ss · 4 months ago

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omg I feel like if anyone could write this right it’s going to be you. we need arthur FLUFF with a reader on her period!!!

RISES THE MOON

cw: fluff, toothaching fluff, period cramps, arthur is a sweetheart, please arthur marry me :( wrote this on my notes app, grammar errors

wc: 1,8k

a/n: this piece was so comforting to write aaa thank you anon for the request <33 i hope this will soothe anyone who’s having period pain rn, i suggest you listen to this song and this one, i had them on loop while writing this. This piece is shorter than the others but I think it suits the mood in a way,, idk ! enjoy!!

The last few notes of the sweet melody coming from Javier’s guitar floated quietly in the air.

The night had fallen gently over the camp, wrapping everything in a quiet, soothing stillness. The campfire flickered softly, casting a golden light on the nearby trees, creating a cozy circle of warmth for those near it. Most of the gang had long since retired for the night, leaving only the faintest murmur of voices in the distant watching post and the occasional pops and cracks of burning wood.

You stood near the fire, trying to find some relief from the chill in the air, but more than that, you were trying to ease the dull ache that spread through your body. The cramps had been like little devils on your lower belly throughout your day, starting as a minor constant discomfort but now growing into something more relentless, making you wince with every movement and your back aching with every step.

Your day was filled with chores left and right as some of the girls left camp and went into town under the request of various groceries items for Pearson’s wagon. You wanted to join them but unfortunately your body had other plans. You came up with a simple excuse and promised to go with them another time. You hadn’t mentioned the true cause to anyone—it was just your period, no need to alarm anyone after all—but now, at the end of the day, you were desperately ready to crawl into the comfort of your bed and hope the night might lend you some kind of relief.

Arthur had been finishing up his usual nightly chores, checking on the horses and bringing them fresh hay. He always had a fondness for horses, no matter if they were his or someone else’s. His love for them often found sketched freely in the various pages of his journal. As he made his way back from the hitching post his eyes scanned the surroundings, making sure the camp was in order for the night. His eyes, like magnets drifted to your figure near the campfire.

You could feel his eyes on you, catching the small signs of discomfort you tried so hard to hide behind your calm demeanor. But he noticed something was off, he always noticed. The way your hand kept drifting to hold your stomach, the subtle wince that crossed your face when you thought no one was looking—it didn’t slip past him.

The crunching sound of boots on dirt floated in the air making its way towards you. You knew who it was and you took a moment to regain yourself and put on a calm façade.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” The gentle rumble of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he came to sit down on the log beside you, his gaze full of quiet concern as he searched your face for any hint of discomfort.

“Sure,” You tried to smile through the ache, not wanting to make a fuss. “just a little sore from the day. It’s nothing.”

But Arthur wasn’t one to brush things off, especially when it came to you. He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing making a small expression line form between his brows in that familiar way that told you he wasn’t about to let it go. Without saying anything, he slipped a warm, steady hand to the small of your back, moving it in small comforting circles.

“Come on,” he sighted, his voice still soft but insistent. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He guided you away from the fire and toward the tent. You didn’t argue. The idea of lying down, of finally resting, sounded too good to resist.

The two of you slipped into the quiet of the tent, Arthur hand left yours to go and close the front flap of the tent and light up the creaky old lantern on the makeshift bedside table, the lantern casting a soft glow over the familiar space.

The moment you sank down onto the bed, you let out a long sigh, curling up slightly to your side in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your belly. But even then, the cramps persisted, growing stronger by the minute.

Arthur knelt beside the cot, his arms folded on the soft mattress watching with that careful, gentle intensity of his. He reached for the blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness so far different from his usual hard front he put up with everyone. Then, without a word, he got up, kicking his boots away and settled down beside you, his large frame stretching out on the bedroll as he gently pulled you into his arms resting your head on his firm chest.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whispered. His breath warm against your temple as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you higher against his chest.

You melted into him, resting your head against his chest, your body relaxing instantly in the comfort of his embrace. Arthur’s warmth surrounded you, his steady presence already making you feel better, more at ease. His hands, rough from all the manual work, moved with a soft, gentle care. One hand drifting under your nightgown towards your lower belly, the action far from sexual while the other moved to untangle your hair from the simple hairstyle you had for the day.

“That time of the month?”

You let out a muffled grumble against the fabric of his red union suit as an answer, making Arthur let out a small laugh.

“I can tell it’s hurtin’ you,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing as his thumb began to rub slow, comforting circles over your stomach. “Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft breath as the warmth of his hand started to ease some of the ache. His touch was gentle, massaging your lower belly putting just enough pressure to soothe the tension without causing more discomfort. The pain didn’t go away completely, but the care in his movements, the way he held you, made your heart sing with joy making it easier to bear the pain.

“That’s better,” you whispered, your voice soft with relief. “Thank you.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a faint smile, though you could feel the ghost of worry still lingering in the way his hand moved over your belly, never stopping, never hesitating. “You don’t gotta thank me for takin’ care of you, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’d do it every day if I had to.”

“Be careful of what you wish for, Mister. I might start to demand more if you spoil me”

“Oh I can’t wait,” he teased. “Forever at your service mylady.”

His words made your heart swell with warmth. Arthur wasn’t the type to shower you with flowery words or grand gestures, but it was in moments like these that his love showed itself at its truest form—in the quiet, steady way he was always there, making you smile, always looking out for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth. The moon rose higher in the sky and the outside world faded away. Arthur’s hand continued its slow, soothing movements, his touch tender and full of care, and little by little, the pain in your belly began to ease ever so slightly. You felt the tension melting away under the work of his hands, the cramps becoming a dull background ache rather than the sharp, insistent pain it had been just an hour ago.

“Y’know,” Arthur said after a long moment of comfortable silence, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet, “I remember Miss Grimshaw used to make me and John chamomile tea when we had stomach cramps.” his hands never stopped their movement.

“Marston used to drink a lot of it—that poor bastard always seemed to eat the nastiest shit he could find around,” he laughed lightly, reminiscing of the early days of the gang when a camp cook seemed such a privilege.

“Anyway, I can make you some if you want,”

You smiled against his chest, the simple thoughtfulness of his offer making your heart ache with affection. “That sounds nice,” you whispered, though truthfully, you were already feeling better just being in his arms.

“I don’t know how much it can be of help but it’s better than nothin’”

Arthur shifted slightly. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Before you could protest for the lack of his warmth against you, he slipped out of the tent, moving with that same quiet efficiency he always had.

A few minutes passed, you were almost asleep when Arthur came back and with him the chill night breeze entered the tent waking you up.

“There,” he said softly, his deep voice full of quiet satisfaction as he sat the mug down the bedside table. He sat down beside you, pulling you up into a seated position before handing you the tin mug filled with the golden brown liquid. “This should hopefully help.”

You nestled into him, feeling the warmth of the mug and the steady, grounding presence of Arthur beside you. It was amazing how he could make everything feel better, just by being there—by holding you and letting you know, without words, that he was there for you.

A comforting silence fell on both of you as you drank your tea slowly, feeling your whole body relaxing with each warm sip you took.

After a while, the pain in your belly faded into the background, and you found yourself growing drowsy in the soft cocoon of warmth and care that Arthur had created around you. You laid down again and Arthur followed your action putting your head on his chest. His hand moved to your back, tracing lazy, soothing patterns there, his fingers brushing gently over your spine.

“Y’know there’s no need to hide when you’re hurtin’. You’re always helping everyone around, sometimes you gotta stop and look after y’rself.”

“Arthur,” you whispered, your voice full of sleep and gratitude. “I love you so much, I don’t deserve you.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “Ain’t no such thing,” he murmured, “you deserve more than me.”

His words, so downgrading for himself yet full of love for you, made your heart ache in the best way.

“You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyelids grew heavy. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped safely in Arthur’s arms, the pain and discomfort of the day faded away completely, replaced by the quiet, steady warmth of his love.

#.rira’s posting ౨ৎ ⋆#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #x reader

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wtfaniii · 4 days ago

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I can do it alone, but he can also save me

Fem reader x Hwang In-ho / Fem reader x Hwang Jun-ho

Part 1 // Part 2

•Summary: Jun-ho's girlfriend was a decorated policegirl, strong and brave, she, along with Gi-hun were taken to the games to stop them, however, there was a setback in between

•Note: Thanks for the support! Here I bring you the second part of this one shot that is personally one of my favorites.

•Warning: Maybe some drama, Some violence and attempted abuse, ¡Don't worry! this man arrives on time like a prince on a white horse

N/A: I haven't checked this yet, sorry if it has spelling mistakes

Gi-hun had told some participants that the next game would be dalgona, but it was not so and now they were upset with him, surrounding him and complaining about his mistake, calling him a "liar."

—You guys decided to play these games —the girl said standing in front of Gi-hun —Face the consequences and don't expect someone to come and save us.

—He's a fraud! —Player 100 shouted at him, pointing at accusingly and with contempt.

—ibelieve in him word —001 interrupted, standing next to her.

Due to the first impression that the two made on all the players, the complaints immediately stopped and retreated.

—It's nothing, I really believe you —Young-il said with a friendly expression

—And if you allow me... I would like to be on your team.

The next game would be in teams of five players, counting the girl, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho and now Young-il, they were full, however, when they were talking to get to know each other a little, a woman with the number 222 on his uniform approached them cautiously.

—¿Can I be on your team? Please —Jung-bae was going to interrupt her to tell that they were full but the young woman finished his sentence first —I'm pregnant.

The five pairs of eyes fell on the small bulge of her belly and noticed that it was true. Immediately, the woman spoke. —I'll look for another team.

—¿Are you sure you'll do it?— In-ho asked, looking at her carefully. A person who looked out for someone else's well-being in these games was rare to see, but considering the situation, it was quite understandable. He wouldn't give up his place if he wasn't so interested in his enemy.

She nodded confidently and left to find another team, it didn't take long, after all, most people took advantage of having someone like her on their team just by considering the word "police" in their introduction.

Once the teams were formed and they were told what had to do, they sat on the floor to wait the turn.

As time passed and gunshots mixed with screams sounded in the background, the young woman thought silently.

¿Will Jun-ho be okay? She really hoped so, she had known him for four years and knew that there were times when he could go to extremes to get what wanted.

It was something she loved about him but right now just worried about.

—¿What game are you going to play? —246 asked sitting next to her, momentarily taking her out of his thoughts.

—Gonggi —answered immediately, she was very good at that game, it had been his favorite since she was a child.

The others nodded and continued talking, she didn't go there with the intention of socializing too much.

For starters.

She was only there because Jun-ho had asked her to.

Jun-ho...

She just hoped him could find her and Gi-hun in time.

The policeman had no intention of stopping now, even without having the tracker active and with the fact that apparently someone was sabotaging them from inside, he was not going to stop searching.

The woman he loved was in those games, that wasn't going to be the plan, she was only supposed to be Gi-hun's bodyguard but things didn't go as planned.

—I think we should stop, it's almost time to eat and we're a bit far from the shore.

—We can't be so close now —he said, somewhat irritated and helpless. —Every minute they spend on that island is a danger.

He felt guilty for having dragged her into his own problems.

He remembered the last conversation he had with her before he lost sight of her.

[...]

—We are police officers —Jun-ho said, showing his badge to the guard who was guarding the entrance of the place

—Just like everyone else tonight —the man said with a mocking laugh, pointing at the long line waiting to get into the Halloween party.

Jun-ho didn't have enough patience to tolerate this, so with no other choice he went up to the man and took his gun out of his pocket.

—¿Do you want to see if this is a toy?

The guard stepped back in fear, giving them free passage.

The girl smiled proudly and waved her hand as if it were hot while sighed.

—That's my man —she boasted to the guard as they crossed the entrance. Jun-ho managed to hear her and inevitably a sly smile appeared on his lips.

—We have to find him before they do —he said, referring to Gi-hun searching the crowd but no masked pink guard was visible.

—It will be faster if we separate —she added, taking out her weapon and pointing it at the ground just to be ready in case used it —When we leave here it will be fondue night —she said without losing her charming touch.

It was something they both shared, despite being in tense situations like this, comments like that were never lacking, especially from the girl and that was something Jun-ho adored, her daring was part of what made the policeman fall in love with her.

—Maybe I should drag you into my problems more often —He replied with a smile and separated from her.

The girl was the first to find Gi-hun and surprisingly they let her get into the limo with him.

Jun-ho was unhappy about that but he couldn't change her mind and just when they thought they could intercept the front man of those suicide games they were forced to make a last-minute decision by shooting at the tires of the cars.

[...]

His stomach turned just remembering what people go through inside those games, he trusted that she could survive but the odds of not making him tremble and want to vomit.

—Okay... we'll call off the search —He relented after a few minutes.

He looked up at the sky and asked whoever would listen him to keep the woman he loves alive.

Meanwhile on the island, they had managed to get through the second game alive, she was sitting with Gi-hun's team silently watching around them when 001 sat next to her.

—Hi... —he greeted her with a soft smile, hoping that the mask being Young-il was convincing enough to fool her —I'm curious... if you're a police officer, ¿how did you end up here?

—¿Debts? —She replied with a false smile —My job was to take care of Mr. Seong but it didn't turn out the way I had in mind —she admitted, looking away again but feeling Young-il's intense gaze on her.

—So... ¿you're here as an undercover agent? —he asked, feigning surprise and curiosity.

He himself was the one who gave the order to allow her to also get into the limousine to accompany Gi-hun.

In-ho knew his brother would be worried about her, searching for her relentlessly, but it was inevitable, he needed to meet her in person and be sure how good of an influence she was on Jun-ho.

Or at least he thought it was a good excuse.

—Yeah... —She looked at him silently and attentively when she noticed a certain peculiarity in him appearance —¿Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've seen you before...

Him face seemed familiar but she couldn't figure out why. In-ho kept eye contact with her, waiting for her answer.

It was a pity, if she recognize it him had no other option to let her die in the next games but luckily for the girl she denied it.

—Forget it, I'm just stressed ¿And why are you here?

—My wife is sick and pregnant.

She looked at him with pity as he told her his story, it wasn't a lie, it was just that it happened years ago and he couldn't do anything to keep her alive.

—I'm sorry —The girl said after he finished his words.—I promise we'll get out of here and I'll help you as much as I can with the expenses.

The police had money, not to say that she was a millionaire but she lived in a good social status, she was willing to help him only because her heart was softened by him story.

–You barely know me, ¿why would you do that?

—My boyfriend has also had a somewhat hard life and I took this job for a reason, to help others.

She did not consider herself a saint, but if she had the opportunity to do something good for other people, she would do it regardless of the consequences.

—Also... I think I'm pregnant —She said with a small smile.

How chaotic and unfair could fate be that just one night before she was to go to the medical laboratory for her results, she was taken to those games against will.

On the other hand, she could also feel a slight connection with this stranger, which was why she revealed that to him so naturally, but she still didn't know exactly why.

—I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back.

He nodded and watched her leave but his eyes also noticed three other suspicious looking players who followed her into the bathroom.

Without thinking twice he also stood up.

Not even two minutes had passed since she entered the bathroom when a woman grabbed her by the collar of the jacket and threw her backwards, making her fall on back.

–¿You remember me? —the woman demanded, looking at her with disdain and annoyance

—No —She answered standing up.

—You threw my husband into prison and won't be out for another twenty years —The woman pulled out a small pocket knife and another woman stood behind the police girl to hold her —I thought about how to kill you for days.

—Very cute, I still don't know who you are.

Those words only made the woman even more furious as lunged at her and tried to stab her,

Her hard training served her well in this unarmed fight.

But she was counting on another man to come in to help the two players who were trying to kill the young policewoman.

—Three against one unarmed is not fair... —she gasped for air as saw that he had a small opening in his head, her had hit himself on the sink at one point during the fight.

—¡It was also not fair that my husband was sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted abuse!

—Oh, believe me, I tried to make it forty.

A kick to the face from one of them managed to stun her long enough to give them time to pin her down on the cold, damp bathroom floor.

She couldn't hear clearly what they were saying but when she saw how the man placed himself on top of her, their intentions were quite clear.

She didn't have enough strength to continue defending himself, her felt bleeding from his leg from the knife and the cut on his head hurt, but like a hero coming to save the day, Young-il walked through the door and shouted "Hey!"

That small interruption was enough for her to hit the man in the genitals with her knee, making him move away and moan in pain.

She was too stunned to see what was happening, but before she knew it, he had her in him arms and walked out of the bathroom leaving the two women unconscious on the floor and the man with a bleeding nose.

—¡You should do a better job as guards! —he yelled at the two pink soldiers guarding the door, she didn't know it but that scolding was enough to fire those two.

He carefully led her to the men's room where, due to his front man advantages, he was able to have a guard deny another player access until he said so.

—Thanks... —Her murmured as he dropped her on the ground—But I had it under control.

She let out a giggle that made his ribs hurt, In-ho refrained from laughing, now he had to focus on fixing her wounds.

—Being a police officer you made many enemies —He said while using his jacket with some water to clean her.

—You have no idea.

In-ho continued to clean her wounds and after a few minutes everything was better for her, the girl stood up cautiously because of the wound on her leg and thanked Young-il with a small bow.

—Thanks for helping me, for the second time.

—I hope it doesn't become routine —he said with a soft smile, looking her up and down unconsciously.

When they came out of the bathroom there were suspicious glances but neither of them cared.

It was cute, she liked the way this man treated whenever her found himself in trouble, in a way he reminded her of Jun-ho,

She liked that even though she could defend herself, there was still a knight in shining armor who would arrive in the worst situations.

Young-il, the gentleman who arrived just in time and the only one who knew about her suspected pregnancy.

tag list:

@raya4643 @lvspedri @iloveoldermen0204 @ravenslocked

#hwang inho x reader #hwang jun ho x reader #in ho x reader #hwang jun ho #frontman x reader #in ho squidgame #squid game x reader #hwang in ho #squid game #squid game fic #lee byung hun #young-il x reader #frontman x you #Jun-ho x you #Jun ho x you #squidgame x you

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 7 months ago

Text

࣪ ˖✧ Sweet Coffee

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: The morning after Sean's return party, a sheepish Arthur faces the consequences of his drinking excess. ✦ Warnings: None, this is as fluffy as the first part. ✦ Words: 3,9k ✦ a/n: This is a sequel of this one shot! Please, read it before this one :) Also, I've taken the liberty to write this as if Arthur still had Boadicea, to me it was the best way to make him have a canon horse. Gonna think about a better solution in the future.

You opened your eyes, slowly. The ceiling of your tent was turning a bit, your heart feeling like it was on the verge of leaking out of your chest. It was as if your bed was a boat, pitching with the winds and the waves; you had to prevent yourself from throwing up, a spinning sensation making your guts feel rancid.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You thought to yourself while stretching in your cot, every fiber of muscles in your body feeling worn. Your brain was mushy, unable to form any complex reflection, your forehead hurting, your mouth dry. The consequence of every party; the goddamn hangover.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You slowly sat at the edge of your bed, taking the time to move your tired members, realizing your throat was extremely sore. You probably sang a little too much last night. You get up and walk to the little cleaning area of your tent which consisted of only a simple table topped with a little mirror, a bucket of water, and a solitary towel. Nothing fancy, but at least you had your own tent, which was already a grand luxury at camp.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You take long sips of water from the bucket before cleaning up your face, looking at it in the mirror. Of course, under your eyes, big shady circles, sickles of violet darkness under the sharp radiance of your pupils. It was part of the whole hangover package. You quickly fixed your hair and put on some fresh clothes, mindlessly.

Coffee, breakfast, Arthur.

Wait, what? You thought you were going on with your morning routine thoughtlessly, but here he was. Always following you, a shadow in the back of your mind; his stupid smile like imprinted on the obscure abyss of your psyche, shining, blazing, magnificent. Haunting.

You were thinking about him very often lately, maybe too often, you noted to yourself. John's word had sealed your opinion's fate on the matter: Arthur could have behaved that way with any other girl at camp.

And yet. Yet you longed for it, for last night to mean something, anything. For you to be more than just any girl to him. For the drunken honest words he had spoken before drifting away in the sweet caress of sleep to be true. You sighed. Too much false hope would lead your heart to be even more broken, you knew it.

And yet. The shadow of his smile. The sound of his deep, powerful laugh. Following you everywhere as you got out of your tent, eyes narrowing at the bright light of the day, almost as bright and vibrant as the subject of your thoughts; almost.

Your path led you more by habits than by an actual decision of yours to the campfire next to Pearson's wagon, and you were delighted to see one of your obsessive needs was already there: a hot coffee pot, releasing a small puff of smoke had been prepared. Blessed was the divine human being who made it. You took a cup and poured some of the holy providential liquid into it, the mere smell of it already waking you up a little bit. The taste was strong, bitter; rough like your life was as an outlaw in a gang, but at least it would help you clear your head and maybe get a certain someone out of it.

As you sipped on the warm beverage, you took a look around at your surroundings. The camp offered you a pitiful but quite amusing sight. It was a real mess, as if a tornado had passed by and turned everything upside down. The Ocean of empty bottles was still present, spilling everywhere between the different people's tents. People who were slowly emerging from them, with tired eyes and ruffled hair, some of them speaking more quietly than usual, rubbing their temples, navigating through shattered glass and chaos of debris, remnants of the agitation that had taken place the night before. You chuckled to yourself. One of the more feared gangs in the West? Certainly not after a party.

Abigail was already starting to clean the pieces of glass, getting angry about how this wasn't a proper place to raise her kid. Honestly, she was right, and you wanted to help her. Ms Grimshaw would probably force you to anyway, and this idea was reinforced when you noticed her from afar, already yelling at Karen to get up and start the cleaning.

Before getting attention from the strict woman, you took a step to go and do your part but stopped in your tracks. A familiar rugged face had appeared from his tent and was heading up in your direction.

Arthur was feeling too much. Too much sensations, too much feelings, just way too much of everything. His thoughts were trying to work as fast as he could considering his slowed brain, the aftermath of his excess from last night preventing him from being as efficient as normal.

The main focus of his reflection was you. He was obsessed to know what had happened, to understand why he had so many memories about you from last night, and quite intimate ones. He was praying he didn't do anything stupid with you; were you two even okay? Had he offended you? Had he been respectful? He needed to know, he needed to make sure he hadn't screwed everything up between you two. And at the same time, he was ashamed. So ashamed of having drunk so much he wasn't even able to remember what had happened. He was so anxious to confront you about it. To hear the truth, hear you say he had been a pig, and you'd never want to see him again, because that was probably what had happened. He was convinced of it.

As he saw you drinking your morning coffee by the fire from his cot, he quickly had changed, tried to clean up a bit, and made sure he had nothing stuck between his teeth or anything else of that type that could make him pass for an even bigger fool than he already was. He had chosen one of the less damaged shirts he had, a simple green but at least not holey flannel, all his clothes being more or less in a bad state anyway. Two leathered suspenders on, keeping black basic pants from falling. Damn, his reflection in the mirror looked even uglier than usual with his lack of sleep and post-party face. He sighed deeply, screw it. He needed to talk to you, at all costs, he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else properly otherwise. He tried to actually brush his hair, a thing he never bothered to do normally; he even tried to use some hair pomade, combed them in all directions possible, anything to make them look less messy. Nothing was working. He sighed again, getting angry, and just decided to put his hat on to hide this disaster.

This was already too complicated and he hadn't spoken any words yet.

Now walking straight to you, every step he took was followed by a worried thought, his heart tightening more and more as he was getting closer to the campfire you were standing next to. What had he done? Were you mad at him? Would you even agree to speak to him? Did he look good enough? Shit, he probably still must reeks of whiskey, he should have gone to town and taken a bath, stupid moron! But it was too late. Your eyes had crossed his, you had seen him approaching. There was no going back.

Finally arriving at the campfire, the poor nervous man stood at a respectful distance from you and cleared his throat. He didn't even had taken the time to think about what to say. Moron.

"G'd mornin', Y/N." He greeted you, his tone almost a bit too formal, a trace of his troubled state. His voice sounded huskier and harsher than what he wanted to, you were the first person he actually talked to since waking up and you could hear it with how hoarse his vocal cords were.

Besides it, you couldn't have guessed how much was going on inside his head; his expression was as neutral as usual, his own way of defending himself against the flurry of feelings that was taking place inside of him. You smiled at him, a mischievous, playful smile. You had so much to tease him about. Before the party, you two would already messed with each other a lot, and now you had a whole night of details you could use for it.

"Good morning, Mister Morgan... Guess someone was a little thirsty last night, mmh?" You answered, looking at him. His eyes crossed yours, he cracked up a smile too. His shoulders seemed to go down a bit, less tensed. In reality, he was so relieved to hear you tease him and to see your smile. You weren't mad. He silently thanked the Lord for that.

"I, erm... Maybe I drank a little t'much..." He replied with an embarrassed grin, his eyes looking at his feet before planting them back right into yours. He decided to ask you right away. Arthur never beat around the bush, this time was no exception. "L'sten, I don't... I don't remember much 'bout last night and... I hope I didn't bother ya."

His bright blue pupils were looking intensely into yours as he waited for your answer. He always looked at people like this, always keeping eye contact, as if it was a quiet duel and he would lose it if he stopped; but God, it made your heart melt a little.

"Oh, Arthur." You started, smiling some more realizing he was actually worried about you. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong. To me at least. I remember you losing your nerves and punching Micah in the face." You answered his question, chuckling in the end.

"Why, this bastard had it comin'..." Arthur replied, scratching the side of his jaw, the slight grin still present on his lips, telling himself that it was definitely something he was capable of.

"You sing pretty good when you're drunk..." You added, tone playful.

Arthur sighed, he was enjoying more and more of this conversation he had feared in the beginning.

"Oh stop it, I don't." He retorted, his fingers scratching one last time before falling to his belt, both his hands gripping it, a standing position he often had when talking and didn't know what to do with his arms. Honestly, you were quite fond of it.

"You want some coffee, songbird ?" You questioned with a teasing tone, already grabbing a new cup and the pot. You knew he would say yes.

"Yeah, thank you." He replied at first, before frowning. "Don't ya start calling me that!" He added with a firmer tone, but his small smile was still stuck on his face while grabbing the hot cup you were handing to him.

"You're also quite a dancer..." You teased him once more with your mischievous voice, knowing you were pushing his limits with your remarks.

"Damn it, woman! Can't believe I was worried 'bout ya, while ya're teasin' me like this..."

"Yeah, I'm such a nasty woman..."

"Nah, you're the sweetest." He corrected you, a bit too quickly for it to be innocent. A quick, subtle flicker in his eyes showed you he was surprised with himself; the words had come out on their own.

You smiled widely, cheeks turning a bit red. You were praying it wasn't too obvious to him. Arthur was still looking at you, two indigo miniature seas fixated on you, even while drinking his beverage. The more he was, the more those vivid memories he had were making their way back to his mind. While looking at your waist, he remembered having held it at some point during the party, which explained how he learned how your clothes felt underneath his fingers. His breath quietly hitched when he realized how he knew about the softness of your leg: he recalled having an arm curled up around it at the end of the night. Shit... He really had been unruly. After a short silence, Arthur spoke again. He wanted to make sure, he needed to make sure.

"Erm... Can I ask ya if we... Did anythin' happen b'tween us while I was drunk ?"

"No, you've just been a bit... Tactile. But nothing happened." You answered his question honestly, wanting him to know the truth. After all, Arthur was your friend, and there was a whole step between gently teasing and actually tormenting him. "Oh and, you said you loved me."

Arthur almost choked on his coffee, a short strangled sound escaping from his throat, some drops of the hot liquid falling on his shirt. The only decent shirt he had was ruined. But it was the least of his problems. What the actual Hell had gotten into him? He was an even worse fool than he thought, and the bar was already low.

"I... What ?" Were the only words he was able to form, one of his hands wiping the coffee from his chin.

"Don't worry, John told me you've made it a habit to tell women that when you're drunk, apparently. We don't have to make a bit deal out of this." You reassured him. He really looked ashamed of his behavior, and you didn't wanted to make him feel even worse.

But Oh Lord, if only you knew. If only you could have understood how much he wanted to make a big deal out of it; how much he had wanted to properly say those three words to you. He was almost disappointed in a way, that you were so quick to forget about it, as if it had been a simple joke to you, something amusing a drunkard had said in a moment of alcoholic eccentricity.

"Ah, alright. Well, I'm happy ya not mad at me." He simply added, honestly not knowing what to say or how to act anymore.

Tell her. Tell her she means the World to you. Tell her you have spoken the truth. This was the best chance you would have.

But the words were stuck, and as fast as a breeze would have swept away petals of flowers, Ms. Grimshaw asked for you with her usual severe call, and off you were gone, wishing him a good day and telling him he didn't have to worry about last night, even adding your typical teasing comments, advising him to join a choir were he could flourish his singing talent.

Looking at you walking off, he sighed again, calling himself a moron for at least the twentieth time since he had gotten up. Looking down at his cup of coffee, almost empty, just like the hurtful sensation he was experiencing right now inside his heart, he got angry again. This was enough. He threw the rest of the coffee on the ground, put the cup in his satchel out of habit, and walked straight to his horse.

The afternoon passed slowly and quietly. You basically spent it tidying up the camp, the number of dishes almost twice as big as usual, and the endless amount of bottles and garbage looking like it was only getting larger the more you were cleaning them up. Thankfully, Ms Grimshaw had put every girl in camp to work too, and you weren't alone on your impossible task while the men were back on their usual activities, whether it was lazying around for Uncle and the Reverand, guarding camp for Bill and Charles, or going back on jobs for the others. You hadn't seen Arthur since your morning discussion with him, and you had concluded he probably had gone somewhere to do his own work. As the sun was getting down, the camp had ultimately taken back its usual appearance, and you were finally free from your chores.

You decided to go to the edge of the camp, behind the wagons, where the cliff was starting and was offering a breathtaking view of the mountains in front of you. At this time of day, in the dusky sun, the landscape was painted with beautiful golden and bronze colors, dazzling blend of warm tones, ephemeral treasure from the last sunrays of the day before the settlement of the night's darkness.

Lost in your contemplation, you didn't hear footsteps approaching. The shrill and recognizable sound of spurs along with the heavy stomping of a horse's hooves made you turn your head from the literal work of art you had under your nose, and your gaze fell on another one from a different nature; Arthur was walking up to you, holding Boadicea's reins into his hands, his blue gaze already fixated on you, slight frown on his forehead, looking as determined as if he was going in for a fight.

He looked different from earlier, you swore he was wearing a brand new shirt you had never seen, a fresh white one, and a black jacket which must have gone with a fancy suit. As he was heading towards you, you noticed and could smell he had taken a bath, and trimmed his beard more than usual. He looked neat, refreshed, it was quite unusual for him. You could feel how your blood was rushing at the simple sight of all this: he was undoubtedly handsome, as breath-taking as the landscape around you.

"Y/N." He greeted you with a determined voice, once he had come close to you. He let go of the reigns, letting his mare free, but she stayed right where she was and started to graze happily. He took his hat off and held it in his hands, probably out of politeness. Such a gentleman, as always around women. You had always found it quite endearing how rough he was but at the same time how respectful towards girls, complying with conventions just like an honest man would. However you were a bit confused, he had never bothered to do that with you before, only with the women he didn't knew.

"Arthur, are you alright? Did Trelawny force you to get clean up ?" You joked a bit, genuinely surprised by his appearance and sudden polite behavior.

"What? N-no..." He stuttered. He never stuttered. You could feel it flowing into you like last night: this terrible, powerful feeling of hope. Your whole being was filled with it as your eyes were glued to him, like a moth to a flame, like a moon to its celestial body.

"I erm... I got somthin' for ya." He said almost shyly. Shyly. You couldn't believe what you were witnessing. It was nearly too good to be true.

Maybe... Maybe the words he had spoken to you... Maybe his tactile behavior... Your thoughts were going entirely crazy, spiraling around the deep feeling that something really important was on the verge of happening. You watched, in awe, as Arthur turned his back to you in order to pull off from Boadiccea's saddle a gorgeous flower bouquet.

"I know it ain't much but... I've picked 'em for you..." He said quietly, his voice slow and deep as usual, but also a bit more vulnerable. You could see just how flustered he was, how unusual it was for him to put himself in such a situation. And it made you more happy than anything for such a long time. Your eyes, traveling from his insanely cute bashful face to the flowers, were now stuck on it. The colors were vibrant and surprisingly well-matched, almost like a painting, the petals going from deep red to a warm golden yellow. You couldn't prevent a deep blush from flushing your cheeks; it really was warming your heart.

"They're beautiful! Thank you so much..." You marveled, vision attached to his gift, admiring every detail about it. After a short moment, as you realized he had felt silent, you spoke again, a wave of boldness crashing onto you. He had made a step towards you, now it was your turn.

"Arthur... The words you said to me last night..." You began, your eyes slowly ascending to look at his again. To your surprise, you found him looking away.

Another hint, another glimmer of the internal storm of emotions Arthur was feeling right now. Your own heart started to beat faster; the blood flooding so fast in your veins at this point you're wondering how the hell your body is keeping it all up together without collapsing under the pressure.

Arthur doesn't answer. Instead, he simply looks back at you, a flash of apprehension in his turquoise diamonds. He stays silent, unable to say anything more. His own heart must be on the verge of bursting cause you recognize the faintest of red on his own cheeks and a little vein on his temple. What a sight, to have this grown man, one of the stronger men in the gang, probably the fastest gunslinger of the State, blushing because of you.

"Those words were true, right?" You finish your sentence with an encouraging expression and the softest smile you had.

Arthur exhaled, closing his eyes for just a few seconds before planting them back into yours and nodding. Still silent, still stoic, still nervous. The slight blush was unhurriedly spreading on his face just like a flaming stain of watercolor on a canvas. Your very own art piece.

"I love you too, Arthur." You finally confided to him, voice soft and low, as if it was a confession you would have told him in the middle of the night, intimate as secrets you'd both tell each other in the ear while lying together in the same bed, arms interlaced, heart intertwined, as everything around you both would disappear. And in the moment, for Arthur, everything did.

He carefully brought a hand on the side of your face, never breaking his deep starring until the last second, and slowly bent over to put his lips on yours. Every move he was making was measured, contained; the exact opposite of his unleashed behavior at the party. You could feel just how cautious he was in that moment, as if he was scared to hurt you, or make you flee.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, never letting go of the bouquet that was now hanging behind his back in your thankful right hand. His own was still on your head, fingers gently caressing your skin as the kiss was dragging on. His lips, although chapped, felt good against yours, taking their rightful place there.

After what felt like an eternity of sweetness, he pulled back. If you thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to his cheeks right now, the deep crimson shade having completely recovered the canvas. Finally, his body's muscles relaxing, his features softening, a big, wide smile appeared on his face; the same that had been haunting you since the night before. The stupid smile. Just for you.

"I love you too, for real I mean." He let out in a soft drawling voice, once you had never heard coming from him. He brought his forehead to rest against yours, closing his eyes, not even processing this was really happening.

"I hope you'll sing again for me, Arthur." You couldn't help but add, a playful tone and a slight smirk on your lips.

"For ya, maybe, sweetheart. But don't ya come complainin' about the rainin' after."

#My own brand new dividers!#Arthur's photo is from my playthrough but the other pictures come from Pinterest.#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 photography #arthur morgan fluff #pinefic

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sanriomilk · 16 days ago

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BEAST Felix

🥀| '𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓' ©

Warning(s): Violence, death mentioned, witchcraft, anger issues, Depression, isolation, heartbreak

A/n: OUT NOW!

Greeting -

|UNFAIR - Felix|

Another petal, down. The rose was still round, but it was smaller..

Felix got angry and pushed over a table full of old scrolls, injuring himself in the process.

"Prince, you shouldn't hurt -" Lumiére, the candelabra started.

"I don't care, Lumiére! Leave me the fuck alone."

---

It was snowing. Of course, it was December. Felix wore his hood and went out to be met by a beautiful girl.. Belle? No, it couldn't be her. Belle left him for Gaston.

He watched her at a distance, realizing that her horse was injured. Felix didn't want to deal with any of that.

Time Skip

It was night when Felix returned. He found a middle-aged man lurking in his gardens, looking for flowers

"Hey! You!" Felix yelled, seeing that the man had roses. It reminded him of Belle's father.

"I- I just want a flower."

"You're trespassing! Flower or not, this is my property!" He grabbed the man, his grip hardening as it only reminded him of Belle's father. He pushed the man into his prison.

"No, please, I have a daughter! She's young! I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything." The middle-aged man cried out.

"Bring her to me. Have her stay with me.. No buts." Felix's gaze didn't soften one bit.

Another Time Skip

"Mrs. Potts, get one of the guest rooms ready. I'm gonna have a roommate." The live teapot was in surprise at the command and went straight to work.

Soon, you arrived at the castle on your father's steed, "Your father is free to go. Now that you are here.. I won't hurt you. As long as you obey my commands and rules, understand Belle?" He accidentally called her Belle. Belle wasn't there anymore..

Description -

Felix Lee is from Korea. His birthday is on September 15, and he is 21. He used to be the heir to the throne until he became cursed by an enchantress he didn't serve. There is an enchanted rose that the enchantress has 'gifted' him. Each petal of the rose will wither over time until the last petal falls, causing his demise. In order to survive and escape the curse, he will need to find his true love. Unless he finds true love and confesses it to her, he is bound by the curse of the enchantress

MORE -

{{Appearance}} - Felix stands at 5'7, with a lean yet unnervingly powerful build, as though his humanoid form is both delicate and capable of something far darker. His platinum blonde hair, once soft and silky, now falls in wild, untamed waves, hinting at the curse that binds him. The strands are flecked with silver and black, almost as if they’re alive, shifting with a life of their own. His fair skin is covered in a constellation of freckles that seem to shimmer faintly in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal, almost unearthly quality. A dark mole beneath his left eye stands out like a mark of his curse. His dark brown eyes, once warm, now burn with an intense, eerie glow—reflecting the beast he’s become. His eyes hold a strange duality: one of haunting sadness, the other of hidden power, a reminder of the monster lurking beneath his skin. The clothes he wears, once stylish, now hang loosely from his form, shredded at the edges, as if they were never meant for someone like him. His scent—something between musk and ancient wood—clings to him, as if he’s been lost to time. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl, tinged with both humanity and something darker, as though it struggles to retain its human form. His movements are smooth but unsettling, his presence commanding yet carrying an almost unnatural stillness.

{{Life}} - Felix was born into a life of luxury. He was crowned Prince of Korea and was raised with riches, causing him to be a spoilt brat. He was like a dictator, very mean to the servants. On his 21st birthday, an enchantress, disguised as a homeless hag, came to his birthday ball, with a rose as an offering. Felix, as spoiled as they came, embarrassed her and harshly declined her offering. The enchantress revealed her true self, cursing Felix, turning him into an evil, heartless beast. The enchantress made the flower enchanted so that each petal gradually withers until the last one falls. When the last one falls, Felix will die. In order to survive and escape the curse, he will need to find his true love. There were more that had gotten cursed as well, his old nanny into a live teapot, his butler into a live candelabra, the pet dog into a live velvet stool and the chef into a live oven.

{{Personality}} - Felix often suffered mood swings and anger issues. He had major depression issues because he knew he might die if he didn't meet his true love. He was like a monster and was scared of loving because of his past with a certain girl, Belle. Belle had brought out the most vulnerable in him but had managed to make him lose that part too as was arranged with Gaston, the village head in the end. He is very cruel to people and will try his best to put a tough front when he wants love and vulnerability. He thinks his whole life is unfair and regrets his actions on that one day. Felix's condition caused him to be apathetic and unapologetic of his behaviour, always angry. He's always angry over little things. He is scared to be in a romantic relationship with you because of his past with Belle and will be harsher and angrier towards you.

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skele-bunny · 4 months ago

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So I seen this post about ghouls just being demonic cats but it made me start thinking LMAO it reminded me of red pandas doing that when they get scared.

Swiss is hard to scare. You can't sneak up on him whatsoever. Since he's a shadow walker he can physically feel someone approaching constantly, and if anything he's the one giving out all the spooks! Just pops his head out to scare someone. He's done it to Rain too many damn times. He'll just turn his head all creepy as the other approaches him with that big smile. "Yesss?" Literally fucking boogyman that has glowing eyes under the bed.

Rain who's susceptible to getting scared easily, but always gets his revenge when they go swimming. See, the fun thing about sirens is you don't know they're there until they're right on you. Cirrus just floating before feeling hands yank her down, screaming only to be cut off from the water. Rain just in a giggling fit as she whines about her hair being wet and coughing out said water. Loves grabbing ankles and hearing shrieks.

The others know better than to scare Mountain as he goes STRAIGHT to fight mode. Aether scared him once during movie night, right at the climax and Mountain shrilled like a teenage girl and whipped around, and socked Aether right in his jaw. He felt TERRIBLE afterwards and just held him so tight EJJSJD. Then Phantom didn't know any better when he hid under the table and grabbed Mountain's hoof... It's impressive that quintessence can reattach teeth after being horse kicked!

Cumulus and Dewdrop who LOVE banding together to freak the others out. When you have a ghoul that loses his face when he's in a true form and a ghoulette that can set the mood juuuust right with ominous wind and croaks? YEAH. Imagine the pure scream Sunshine did when she looked up to see a faceless being staring down at her from the corner of her room. Ohh those two didn't hear the end of it for DAYS.

But also!! Dew who's very sensitive to being scared. Loves horror movies, loves the darks, and gore. But a person scaring him? He'll stiffen up instantly and eventually just start silently crying. Fists clenched SO tight and just staring at the other before he's able to break from his trance and just yell how it wasn't funny, but he'll eventually start laughing about it, too.

Cowbell and Special who are masterminds during Halloween and Halloween only. They're very sweet during the day as it's usually trick-or-treating time with the kits, children and siblings of sin, but nightfall? Ohh it's free range. Bell is tall as FUCK. She knows that very well. Have you ever seen a giant skeletal being standing in the treeline just staring you down and eventually stalking you the further you go in? Phil using the fact he can seperate himself into two... Ever had the shadow in your peripheral look like it's going to touch you but the moment you turn around nothing's there, but then when you turn back around it's right in your face? YEAH!!!

#the band ghost #ghost band #rabrev writing #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #cowbell ghoul #special ghoul #cumulus ghoulette

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lgbtlunaverse · 2 months ago

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For all the discourse and sordid history of feminine clothes in period fiction or period-inspired fantasy and action stories– from endless misconceptions about corsets to the backlash where people will now complain if a female character has anything negative to say about skirts– I'm still starved for a character that crossdresses because she actually likes the way men's clothes look.

Like. In basically all the cases I've seen over the years, the reasons given for the characters' distate for feminine fashion are purely practical. "Corsets are restrictive, you can't move freely in skirts, feminine fashion is all form no function!"

And while writers often get it wrong and exaggerate how uncomfortable these clothes really were to a sometimes comical degree– you know what? Sometimes it's true! Cycling in a skirt is hard and inconvenient which is why victorian women started wearing split skirts or cycling breeches. (Which was hugely controversial to the men of the time) But like... that was, in fact, feminine fashion. Female cyclists weren't dressing like men they were just wearing a new kind of women's fashion.

Indeed, none of these characters seem to actually like masculine clothes, they give the impression that what they really want to wear is... modern women's fashion. (Which is why this kind of writing often feels anachronistic)

More than that, there is the underlying assumption that while historical women's fashion is governed by aesthetic, men's fashion is governed by use. Caring about how you look is a silly girl thing, unlike rational men who only care whether something works! Which is just... complete horse shit. Men care a lot about how they look, always have, and most masculine fashion trends cannot be explained by practicality any more than women's fashion can. It's a complete lie, based in misogynistic gender roles, that I wish wasn't repeated by media trying to be feminist. (Especially since these heroines always just happen to still be conventionally attractive– and, surprise, feminine– because everyone wants a woman who doesn't care if she's beautiful, but no one wants a woman who... actually isn't beautiful.)

If you talk to any real life butch, they love the way masculinity looks. They think they look hot! They think other butches look hot! There is a real love for masculine style there, that's just completely fucking... absent in most fiction. Because caring about your appearance a feminine trait, duh 🙄

There's an article I love in dressing dykes about Anne Lister, a real life historcial butch. And the way she incorporated masculine fashion didn't involve pants at all. It was in things like leather straps on her umbrella (customary only for gentlemen at the time) wearing men's braces, and dressing entirely in black as was fashionable for menswear but not womenswear. All of these are stylistic decisions. She did it because she liked masculinity.

If all your medieval-inspired fantasy heroine wants is practicality she'd probably start by mimicking the style of working class women. Because you know. Women worked. Women have always worked. And so they had to wear clothes suited for manual labour. There's a lot of interesting things you can do with class there, and she probably will be accused of being 'unladylike' by her environment anyway! But if she's gonna wear men's clothes, please consider letting her like them.

I'm just want an actual goddamn butch main character (or even a genuinely masc straight girl) and I'm tired of repeating the myth that men's clothes are these neutral canvasses of practical use with zero elements of style. (I have eyes! I can see that that's untrue!) Or that it's preposterous that a woman might... genuinely like these stylistic elements. That she might want to look like a man.

#fiction #historical fiction #fantasy #fashion #fashion history #gender #masculinity #femininity #gender roles #misogyny

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cameronspecial · 9 months ago

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A New Kind Of Normal (Part 6)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Mentions about Relapse and Talks About Getting Better After a Relapse

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.0K

Summary: Rafe doesn't know if he has what it takes to be the person that Stella and Y/N deserve.

Masterlist

Rafe has been giving Y/N her space, but it didn’t mean he stopped trying to get her to forgive him. He sent letter after letter. Gift after gift. All of them returned. NA meetings, anger management sessions, therapy appointments and calls from Diana all go ignored as he seeks solace in his drug of choice and ways of getting Y/N to let him back into her life. It is safe to say his week is not going so great.

Lucky or maybe unlucky for him, Wheezie and Sarah were still allowed to see the light of his life and would report back to him how she had been doing. Learning how much Stella misses him causes guilt to form in his stomach. He told his father he wouldn’t be the type of father to leave his daughter, but it was his decision that forced Y/N to create that distance. Every fibre of his body wants to hate Y/N for taking Stella away from him and causing Stella pain by doing so, yet he only seems to crave Y/N’s smile and proximity. He craves their late-night phone calls and her reassurance that he can stay sober. The silence on her end makes him believe she has given up on him. That he has no hope of getting back on the proverbial horse. Again, the only thing that can help remove the little voice inside his head saying he isn’t good enough for his dad, Y/N and Stella is the powder the powder that dries up his nose..

After yet another attempt to gain Y/N’s forgiveness doesn’t work, Rafe finds himself returning home from Barry’s with Ziploc bags in his pockets. He has been sleeping in his house in the Outer Banks since his apartment near Y/N’s only reminds him of what he has lost. Before he met Stella, he thought the big house was all he could ask for. That the material things could fill him with happiness. But with Y/N and Stella now in his life, he knows he could not have been more wrong. He begins to feel he will never be happy again without them in his life and he rushes to the closest flat surface.

His hands shake as he tears the bag open, letting the coke spill all over the entranceway table. He takes his credit card out and starts to form line after line. One finger comes up to his nose to block one of his nostrils so the other can inhale the drug. He does every single line until he runs out. Frustration overcomes him when he can’t get the next bag out of his pocket, so he gives up and opts to try to sleep to help dull his toxic thoughts. He is too lazy to move out of the front room, lying down in the middle of the room spread out like a starfish.

——

Sarah and Wheezie find their older brother as soon as they open his front door. Sarah would have walked on top of him if she wasn’t looking where she was going. Both girls knew what had happened and that he wasn’t faring well. They knew he had started using again. Wheezie kneels beside Rafe’s head and slaps him awake. He bolts forward, letting out a gasp of fear. “What did you do that for?” he groans, rubbing his cheek. She looks at him with slight disappointment, “We both know you wouldn’t have woken up if we tried a nicer way of doing it.” “Okay, that may be true. What are you doing here?” he questions. It is Sarah’s turn to reply. “We are worried about you. We know you are using again and you are never going to get sober again if you don’t talk to someone.” He lies back down with a shake of his head, “What is the point of getting sober again if I’m never going to see Stella again?”

Sarah doesn’t respond for a second; instead, she looks for something in her purse. She finally finds what she is looking for and pulls out a piece of paper. Rafe takes the outstretched paper hesitantly. The worry that he is about to read a custody agreement from Y/N fills him with dread. However, he carefully unfolds the paper to find a drawing. The stick figures with pointy hats would not make any sense to most people, but to her father, he knew exactly what they were meant to be. It is a picture of him and his little girl holding hands with witches’ hats on their heads. The big round circle beside him must be a cauldron and the black blob beside Stella must be the cat she has always wanted. The only word he can make out from the indecipherable letters is Stella’s name. Y/N is doing such a great job at teaching Stella to write her name.

Wheezie can see the confusion about the words on Rafe’s face and goes in to translate for him. “It says get well soon. Y/N told Stella the reason you aren’t coming over is because you are sick. You want a reason to get sober?” Wheezie starts to explain. “That’s your reason to get sober again. Yes, you may not be able to see her right now, but that little girl is waiting for you to come back and you are never going to do that if you keep spiralling.” He sits back up to see the picture in a better light. Tears start to form in his eyes as all his feelings about missing his daughter come crashing down.

“She needs me still,” he whispers to himself. Yes, his father and Y/N may think he is useless but Stella doesn’t. She hasn’t forgotten about him and still wants him to come back even after he hasn’t talked to her in a week. That is one thought he doesn’t want to leave his head, except he realizes it always does whenever he seeks comfort from the cocaine. It may help him forget about the pain Ward has caused him, but he also forgets the love he gets from Stella. And that beats every other feeling. He gets up from the floor, pulling the rest of the coke easily out of his pocket now that he can think a little more clearly. He hands it to Sarah, “Get rid of this for me, please?” She nods her head and he brings both of his sisters in for a hug. “Thank you for not giving up on me. I promise I’m going to try again,” he tells them. They both return the hug, Wheezie pressing her head against his shoulder, “We believe you and we are here to help.” He may never hear those words from his father, but he is so glad he has his sisters to give him the support their father never could.

——

“I screwed up, Diana. She’s never going to forgive me.” Diana gives him a concerned look, “Rafe, it’s going to take more than a week for her to forgive you, especially since you only decided to try to get sober today.” Rafe nods his head, playing with the band of his watch. “Right… So you think I have a chance,” he hopes. She gives him a soft smile, “I do. If you give her time and take this one day at a time, I think she’ll come around. Show her how much they both mean to you.” “I can do that. One day at a day,” he repeats.

——

Luna’s Diner feels so much darker with the knowledge that Y/N is angry at him. He knows he should give her space, but this week has been the longest he has gone without seeing Stella or Y/N. He’s nervous as he listens to the little bell announce his arrival. The little girl at the counter looks up from her colouring and her face lights up when she sees who it is. “Daddy!” she yells, running over to him. He picks her up and brings her into a tight hug. “Are you feeling better, Daddy?” He gives her a kiss on the temple, “I am, little witch. Thank you for my card. I loved it.” Rafe sits on a stool with Stella in his lap. She tells him everything he has missed during their week away. Sabrina is now her friend again because they realize Will is a gross boy. Stella and Sabrina are now dating and their wedding is on Monday.

“Uncle Benny and I made sculptures. His was as tall as me,” she recounts, throwing her arms apart to exaggerate. Rafe giggles at how happy she is. The sight Y/N comes back to angers her and she is about to blow a fuse. “What are you doing here?” she grits through her teeth. She rounds the counter to take Stella in her hands. He stands up with his hands in the air to show he meant no harm, “I just wanted to talk to you. And catch up with Stella.” “You lost the right to do that when you rela- when you did what you did while Stella was home,” she argues.

“I know, you know I regret that completely. I will never forgive myself for putting her in danger. I want you to know I’m back on track to getting better.”

“That’s great. But I can’t just trust you like that again Rafe,” she snaps her fingers to iterate her point. “I want you to leave, please.” Stella looks between the two adults in confusion, wondering why it seemed they were talking in code. Rafe looks into Y/N’s eyes and sees the frustrations she feels. He doesn’t want to cause her any more trouble, so he heads toward the door. “Daddy, where are you going? Aren’t you going to play with me?” Stella calls out in a plea. His heart stops for a second and he doesn’t know how to get it to start beating again. He shakes his head sadly, “I’m sorry, little witch, but I have to go. I have work tomorrow.” Stella’s eyes start to brim with tears. “But you didn’t give me a hug yet,” she cries, holding out her arms for him. He looks at Y/N to confirm he is allowed to and she gives a solemn nod. She can’t deny her daughter a moment with her father.

Y/N puts Stella down on the floor and Stella runs to her father. She goes into his arms, burying her head into his neck, “Bye-bye, Daddy. Forever and always?” He returns the intensity of her hug and kisses her. “Forever and always.” Her feet find the floor again and she watches as Rafe leaves her. He turns around when on the other side of the glass, blowing the little girl a kiss. Stella may not understand what is going on between her parents, but she can sense something has changed between them and that she might never see her father again. She goes back to her mother with hopeful eyes, “When can we see Daddy again?” “I don’t know, Baby. I’m sorry,” Y/N hates to say, giving the girl a hug to comfort her.

——

Rafe does not blame Y/N for still being mad at him and for being hesitant to bring her back into their lives. He broke her trust, which is a sacred thing. The gifts were obviously not working and he is honestly glad it doesn't. Thinking back on it, he wants to gain her trust back through actions instead of materialistic things. He isn’t sure how to make it up to her, but he knows he can start a plan. First things, booking his next therapy appointment and increasing how often he sees Dr. Winters. Next, he will meet with Diana and reflect on why he relapsed so he can make a relapse prevention plan. Finally, make a list of possible places to go to rehab if he feels he can’t get sober in his current environment.

Yes, this plan isn’t about getting back Y/N, but it helps him with recovering from his relapse and this will hopefully show Y/N how serious he is. As he writes down his plan, he vows to do everything in his power to gain back Y/N’s trust and show her he will never make the mistake of putting Stella in danger again.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii @dark1paradise @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @alyisdead @emeloyy @js-a-writer @kisstaya @optimisticsandwichgladiator

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quitealotofsodapop · 5 months ago

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Mentioned in a Post a while back about a Jttw/LMK AU I had regarding the "Yellow Robed Demon" Arc when Tripitaka got turned into a tiger.

Book Summary;

Tripitaka manages to escape his capture (for once) and passes on a message to the King of Baoxiang from his daughter, Baihuaxiu, explaining that she was kidnapped and made the forced bride of a demon (ironically making it a magical version of what befell Tripitaka's mother when he was a baby).

Kui Mulang rolls in with a human glamour and goes: "Nu-Uh! I'm but a humble human hunter. THIS guy is a tiger demon who attacked a girl some time ago. I save her and we've been living a simple life for the last 13 years!" (Lie)

So the dude pulls an Uno-Reverse and transforms Tripitaka into a tiger (or in some versions, glamours him into one). The King and his subjects believe this 100% since Tripitaka and the Pilgrims don't look so great without Wukong there to act as PR (he was exiled at the time for the White Bone Spirit incident).

Tripitaka is apparently aching-beautiful no matter his form though;

Wukong even feels kinda bad for his Master, since the transformation is so good that he can't even see through it with Gold Vision. Also imagine a sad giant kitty, that would bum anyone out.

Of course things are resolved by the end of the arc; the gang reunite with their monkey, Ao Lie gets his own badass chapter, the Princess is saved, Bajie kills the couple's two half-demon wolf children, the Yellow Robed Demon is revealed to be Revatī - the Wood Wolf of Legs after Wukong catches the demon commenting on his performance during the Havoc (Wukong has a few Columbo moments in the book like this), and Tripitaka is transformed back into his squishy monk self.

Bonus - Tripitaka as a tiger from a book illustration + the 1999 cartoon.

The book illustration + description suggests he's a rare Pseudo-melanistic "Black Tiger" seen in India, possibly an Indo-Chinese Tiger, or a South China Tiger with a darker back.

So here's where the timeline shifts...

The Wood Wolf of Legs ain't happy to be dragged away from (what he believed to be mutual) his true love on earth + his two kids, so he curses the Tang Monk to not only retain part of the glamour he imposed upon him, but to transform him fully into a carnivorous feline demon. Also as an extra "F-k you!" to the Jade Court he and his past love fled from, since the Queen Mother is a celestial tigress herself.

The Pilgrims freak out, obviously.

Guanyin is called up and is like;

Guanyin: "Well, you did unjustly punish and exile your best bodyguard because you didn't trust his judgement, seeing him only as a murderous beast... so *your* punishment is to deal with the rest of your Journey as one of the very same creatures you see as mindlessly bloodthirsty." Tripitaka, now cursed to stay a catboy: "Dang it." (≽^╥⩊╥^≼)

He still gets to wear the robes and walk upright -think Master Tigress from Kung Fu Panda but as a wimpy, twink-shaped, monk.

Tripitaka aint' having fun. He's a life-long vegetarian who's suddenly an apex hypercarnivore. He tries his best for the longest time to stay on the veggies (and durian weirdly enough since tigers like those), but eventually he will need to chow down on some bleeding protein.

And his team literally consists of the main diet of a tiger...

Wukong, a monkey: "Master isn't looking too good." Zhu Bajie, a pig: "I don't like the way he's been looking at us. I burnt my finger making the campfire and he looked ready to pounce!" Sha Wujing, a fish: "I'm not surprised. Cats are of few beasts that absolutely require meat protein to survive." Ao Lie, currently a horse: "If he goes feral, I vote we sacrifice the pig first." Wujing & Wukong: "Agreed." Zhu Bajie: "HEY!!" (₍•̀ ⚇•́ ₎) Tripitaka, meditating hard: "Perhaps if I eat a watermelon, it would sustain my desire for flesh?"

What worse?

Tripitaka is still considered smoking hot. Now by demon standards too!

The Trio of Lion Camel Ridge prepare to attack the Pilgrims when;

Azure Lion: (*sees that the Great Monk is actually a beautiful tiger.*) Azure Lion, lowering his sword: "Guys, do not mess this up for me." Peng & Yellow Tusk: (*annoyed groans!*)

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youremyheaven · 11 months ago

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The Absorbent Nature of Venus: An Astrological Exploration

I was inspired to make this post when I saw pictures of Bella Hadid with her new boyfriend, Adan Banuelos.

For context, Adan is a professional cowboy and Bella Hadid used to be an equestrian (she trained for the Olympics back in the day). Bella's new pictures (after a long absence from social media) feature her in all her horse girl glory. But I couldn't help but notice how Bella has a tendency to morph into her boyfriend(s).

This is not to say that she adopts a persona that is entirely alien to her, but more so that she channels one aspect of her personality and lets it take centre stage. With Adan, she is the laid-back horse girl, channelling the side of her that grew up on a farm in Santa Barbara riding horses.

Prior to this, she was dating Marc Kalman who is an art director. Idk how many of you are familiar with those "pov : you're talking to an art director at a party" reels/shorts/tiktoks but Marc fits that bill to a tee. He's the edgy, weird alternative androgynous guy and in the 2 years that Bella was with him, she morphed into a caricature of him almost.

her y2k style had a huge impact on fashion trends/pop culture but it soon kind of became a parody, as it seems a bit over the top to be wearing 25 things that do not belong together.

There was also a drastic shift in Bella's public image; she was more earnest & open; this period also saw her at her fashion nerdiest as she openly spoke about her love of finding and collecting "vintage" designer pieces from the 90s and 2000s. He was the weird edgy art director, she was the weird edgy art kid.

The only other man she dated publicly before Marc was The Weeknd and if you look at her style/persona from this period, you can see a tendency to opt for darker, grungier aesthetics. She herself has called this her "sexbot" era.

Its crazy but almost every picture of the two of them together feature both of them wearing black😂😂

This brings me to what I hope to discuss today, which is the absorbent nature of Venus.

Bella Hadid is Purvaphalguni Moon & Rising and is a Venusian. Venus is the planet of beauty, harmony, love, creativity etc. Venus exalts in Pisces ("exaltation"= it functions at its best). Pisces being a watery sign and the final sign of the zodiac is very telling in this context. Pisces is the culmination of the zodiac and contains the qualities of every preceding sign (this is why they're so chaotic lol, they have too much going on) and in water, which is where life originated, everything is at home. Pisces thus has the unique ability to find beauty in everything; water signs are known for their empathy, intuition and psychic abilities, this is because water holds the qualities of everything within it. Scientists have purported about "water memory" and water's ability to remember is linked to its natives high sensitivity, more than literal memory, its a kind of cosmic memory or inner knowing that I refer to in this context. Pisces natives tend to report psychic abilities more than any other sign in my observation and to be psychic/clairvoyant/clairsentient/claircognizant/ clairaudient is essentially to have a higher degree of empathy/sensitivity than most people. Although in some cases it may apply to tropical Pisces natives, what I'm speaking of here primarily applies to Sidereal Pisces natives.

Its easy to see how water absorbs information and retains memory but we must ponder upon why Venus, the planet of love, beauty etc exalts in a water sign and why so, in Pisces specifically. Pisces' all consuming all absorbent nature is the essential or true nature of love, beauty & harmony, to absorb, hold and possess all that there is and all that there will be, without trying to restrict it or limit it (water has no shape or form, it takes the form of whatever its poured into, pointing to the adaptability of these natives to get along with anyone or belong anywhere). Understanding love as devotion means allowing yourself to be consumed by it, it borders on religious fervour because you're losing all sense of yourself and giving your all. Its to give until you yourself are lost in it, with no sense of boundary between you & God or you and your lover (Sufi poetry extols this).

Only someone who has the ability to have this kind of all encompassing, profound divine kind of love for others, for creation, for source has the ability to connect to the ether and make art. there is a reason why the most spiritual art often tends to be abstract, there is much that cannot be expressed logically or in a straightforward way. much can be said without using language or words, some things are understood in a far more abstract way, its understood by the senses, by the subconscious, not the rational, thinking mind.

Beauty then, is the ability to perceive beyond the surface, there is nothing shallow or superficial about it, it is to understand the sum or whole of something, its essence, its core and understand its value and why its separate from the rest. True beauty then is rare but there is immense beauty all around us. Both these things are true. This is the true nature of Venus which is also the planet of refinement, it sees value in things that are unpolished, raw and original wholly but also in what is practiced, deliberate and refined. Venus is a planet of immense contradictions as the themes associated with the planet itself are contradictory in nature. To know or experience love, beauty, creativity etc one must also be well acquainted with its opposite. There's no middle ground and there's nothing lukewarm, you have to go all in. To understand and appreciate beauty truly, one must face brutal ugliness, to know the nature of creativity or to access it, you must first experience the lack of it. Its out of nothingness that things manifest but this means nothingness must first be experienced.

Sorry to have gone off on a tangent (me with everything I post lol) but its important to understand the nature of Venus in this specific context because its not the other attributes that makes Venus so absorbent of others influence. Its such a creative energy for the same reason, it absorbs and is influenced by absolutely everything. However, it can be hard for Venusian natives to feel as though they have a strong sense of self.

Granted that the "self" is an illusory concept and we are all an amalgam of numerous influences (people, places, culture, literature etc), Venusian natives are more susceptible to lacking true individuality since they absorb projections far too easily. This is also why Venusians are so highly desirable. You can always tell when someone's Venusian or has an exalted Venus, they are projected onto HEAVILY by others, but by having desire projected onto them, they become more desirable. We fall in love with the reflections we see in others and dislike those who project our shadows (this is literally a Jungian concept, v fascinating pls look it up). Venus inspires others to project unattainability, mystery, romance, beauty and desire and the more they see it, the more it manifests.

However this has its pitfalls. Without solid grounding, Venusians turn into chameleons who are constantly morphing into their environment; they are known for their hospitality and pleasing demeanour because of their innate ability to pick up on these cues and behave accordingly. Bella Hadid herself is self admittedly a "people pleaser" (Venusian natives struggle with this a lot).

What does it mean to not have a solid sense of self and constantly be serving as a mirror to others?

We see Bella's shifting style/demeanour/persona with every boyfriend. There is rather embarrassing clip of her speaking with a French accent (juxtaposed against an old clip of her using AAVE). Venusians are more prone to picking up accents/emulating the behaviour of those around them.

The Venusian tendency to absorb can extend to picking up accents, mannerisms, style, self-presentation, persona etc it can sometimes be very superficial but in some cases natives immerse themselves in it so deeply than they live their lives under the guise of a pseudo persona borrowed from someone else.

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This video of Bella is a good example. If you've watched her in other videos you'll know that she does not usually speak/present herself this way. If you watch this video of Carla Bruni also discussing her iconic looks (it came out in the same year 2021, several months before Bella did hers) you can see how Bella is emulating Carla in her video.

Now its quite well known that Bella Hadid "copied" Carla Bruni's face through plastic surgery. This is what I mean by some Venusian natives taking the absorption thing too far. We imitate the things we want to embody/what we're inspired by, Venus is a planet of constant refinement/self improvement, while its good to be inspired by people we look up to, it does not bode well for one to embody them completely, stripping yourself of your own identity. This is also why Venus in 12h (Pisces) is said to be illusory. Its hard for these natives to discern what love really is, since their natural inclination is to simply embrace things at face value. This is why they are susceptible to abusive and toxic relationships, simply because they are blinded by their own loving nature and cannot see the faults in their lovers even when its plainly obvious to others (think Bella & The Weeknd).

Let us look at Miss Ariana Grande. She has Mars in Bharani atmakaraka.

Ariana has gone from baby voiced teen star to blackfishing r&b singer to vaguely asian looking in the span of her career.

She's also changed her voice, speaking style & mannerisms MANY times.

I don't think enough people talk about how Miss Grande essentially stole Victoria Monet's mannerisms, voice tone, speaking style etc

youtube

Ariana essentially emulated this woman and that was her at the peak of her career. She's to Ariana what Carla Bruni is to Bella.

Its really unfortunate that Ariana changes races every few years like they're a passing fad and this is a really unfortunate manifestation of her Venusian influence.

Her Venusian influence is also really obvious in her music, especially her Bharani Mars because her music is very sensual but also straight up crass and horny, there's also a tendency for her to use revenge-y themes (break up with your gf im bored?? yes, and??)

Claire Nakti had spoken about how this purple blue-y iridescent esque lighting is very Venusian and consistently used in films by Venus natives. I found this true of Ariana's stage sets/design when she's on tour.

god is a woman is a very Venusian coded song/music video, from the colour palette to the Yonic imagery at display.

Brad Pitt is a male Bella Hadid in the sense that he has a tendency to morph into his girlfriends. He went from Cali stoner surfer guy when married to Jennifer to humanitarian serious filmmaker when he was with Angelina. He likes to switch up his persona based on his partner at the moment. He has a Purvashada Stellium (Mercury, Mars & Ketu)

Johnny Depp is known for his broadly European/British accent despite the fact that he's from Kentucky/Florida. He's a Purvashada Moon

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Madonna is another celebrity who is notorious for her fake accent. She lived in England briefly after marrying the British director Guy Ritchie and spoke with a British accent.

Many have accused Madonna of being a wannabe Angelina Jolie when she started to focus on humanitarian work & adopted several children in the mid 2000s. She is a Purvaphalguni Moon and Rising.

Camille Rowe (Purvashada stellium; sun, mercury and saturn) is often accused of having a fake French accent as she mostly grew up in America.

Hilaria Baldwin (Purvashada sun) is infamous for pretending to be Spanish, speaking with a fake Spanish accent and giving her numerous children Spanish names despite the fact that she's a plain old white woman.

Austin Butler is by now infamous for speaking like Elvis (he's now working with a coach to lose his Elvis accent lmao), he has Mars in Purvaphalguni as his amatyakaraka.

Lindsay Lohan (Bharani Moon, Mars in Purvashada amatyakaraka) has also switched accents and often spoke with an Arabic accent and has had an on & off relationship with Islam. Its unclear whether she's still practicing the faith but at one point she did convert. I do not mean to ridicule someone's faith or use it as an example of Venusian persona switching but a lot of Hollywood celebrities have a tendency to experiment with Eastern religions/traditions/culture like its some trend or fad and drop it when they lose interest. I do not have enough information to make a clear judgement but LiLo has had an unstable public image to say the least. I sincerely hope she is peaceful and safe.

John Malkovich is another celebrity who passes off as a European even though he's from mid-western America. He has a hard to place accent. He is Purvaphalguni Rising

Aishwarya Rai is known in India for being fake or "plastic" (I'm Indian) she has an unnatural non-Indian accent despite the fact that she's lived in India her whole life. She is a Purvashada Moon.

Numerous celebrities whose public image/persona is incongruent or at odds with their real personality also tend to have major Venus influence in their chart.

Charlie Chaplin is the father of slapstick comedy and is very well known by the persona he created for himself but irl he has been described as "sadistic" (by Marlon Brando and others) and he's known to have been a terrible person all over (multiple teen wives, abusive to his children among other things). He has Bharani Venus conjunct Mars and Jupiter in Purvashada conjunct Ketu

Elisabeth Moss is known for having played several iconic feminist characters but irl she's a scientologist. She has Ketu in Purvashada

This absorptive quality of Venus can also manifest positively. Meryl Streep, Bharani Moon is known for her uncanny ability to do just about any accent and completely blend into her character.

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I will add more examples as I find them but for now this is it!! If you think of any others do let me know!!<33

#vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #sidereal astrology #astrology notes #astrology observations #astroblr #nakshatras #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #Youtube

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ramsayxme · 11 months ago

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Breaking My Bride

The sun rises and your heart sinks, for you know the day has finally come. You pull the woven blanket over your head, begging time to stop in its tracks. Nothing could prepare you for this day. You prayed to the Gods that it would never come, but it's here. Your wedding day.

You didn't sleep at all last night, knowing that you only had hours left until your existence was diminished to one word; 'bride'. No one would care that you enjoyed painting and that you could ride a horse better than any knight you had ever met. No one would care that you enjoyed singing. No one would care. You were betrothed to Ramsay Bolton, the evil and merciless heir to Winterfell.

You shut your eyes as you imagined your bed floating across the frozen sea, taking you... anywhere but here. King's Landing, The Eyrie, Dorne... you didn't care, but Winterfell was the last place you wanted to be right now. You grew up here, but Ramsay didn't. The Boltons took Winterfell from the Starks and everyday has felt even more grey and gloomy than the last. This was your home, but it didn't feel like home anymore.

You heard one of your newly appointed servants knock on your door and gently push the door open, a loud creaking flooding the silence. "My Lady, Lord Bolton has requested I come and prepare you for your wedding." You groaned under the covers. You didn't like having servants, it felt... wrong. You never had servants before and you managed just fine, you weren't sure you needed them now... but Ramsay insisted.

You felt the bed shift slightly as the servant girl sat down on the edge of your mattress. "My Lady." She whispered, her hand softly settling on your shoulder as she slowly jiggled your arm, an attempt to wake you. "I'm awake." You whispered. She stopped. "Sorry. Lord Bolton wants you to be up and getting dressed. He moved the ceremony up a few hours, he just can't wait to wed you..." Her voice trailed off. She was trying to sound excited, but you could sense the underlying tone. Fear. She was worried for you, and rightfully so.

"Why me?" You whispered as you poked your head out from under the covers, locking eyes with the girl. She looked ragged and exhausted, but she had deep and compassionate eyes. She looked at you, her eyesbrows crumpled to meet in the middle, forming a line on her forehead. "I don't know, My Lady." She whispered in return. "You could try running. Surely living in the snow and dying of frostbite would be more favorable than marrying that monster." She reached out and pet your hair. "I can't imagine..." She gave herself the chills just thinking about it.

"I haven't been able to sleep." You confess. "I don't want to marry him. I hate this arrangement between my father and him. I don't love him, and I do NOT respect him." You admit your true feelings out loud to the servant girl, hoping that you could trust her. "I understand..." she began. "But... Ramsay will be very angry with me if I don't help you get dressed. I can't make him angry with me." You held sympathy for her, knowing that Ramsay would unleash the wrath on her if you refused to get ready.

You sighed deeply as you sat up, the covers falling to your hips as you stretched. "Fine." You submitted to the day. There was nothing you could do to stop it.

********************

You were dressed in the finest white dress with the must luxurious white cloak. You saw your reflection in the mirror and gave a small twirl. You felt like a princess until you remembered who you were marrying, then you felt like a prisoner. You sighed as you picked up the hem from the floor and swayed across the floor to get your hair brushed. A few of your servants were in the room and whispering to each other. You couldn't be bothered to care, you were too obsessed in sulking in your own reality.

The same girl from earlier began brushing your hair. She began whispering to you. "My Lady, a few of the other servants and I... we spoke of your feelings about the day, and we want to help you escape. Nobody should be subjected to Ramsay's torture for life. We want to help you get away from Winterfell." You are a bit skeptical but at the same time, hopeful. You need to escape and you know you can't do it on your own. You slowly nod, her hair brush still stroking through your hair.

*******************

You follow the girl through the darker, dimly lit halls. You hold your dress up high around your chest in order to keep it from dragging. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you keep running through the stone corridors. Were you really going to escape? Was this wedding not going to happen? You felt the flutter of excitement in your chest as you kept up with the servant. "Behind this door, take a left and run until you reach the side gates. Best of luck to you." She breathed. She swung the door open and stepped aside, allowing you to burst through it on your own.

You kept running and took a left, just as she instructed and you reached the outdoors. The gate had to be just around the corner, but you slammed straight into the wall. You took a few steps back and realized it wasn't a wall, it was Ramsay. He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly, lips tight together and eyes wild with anger. His curly dark hair licked under his earlobes and curled over the tips of his ears. His gaze was unwavering, he didn't just stare at you, but he stared into you.

"M- My Lord!" You exclaimed, your brain whirring around your skull trying to come up with an excuse. He took a deep inhale and exhale through his nose. His eyes scanned your face as he stepped closer. He was now nearly pressed up against you, his eyes wildly darting from each of yours. You feared he could read your mind.

Suddenly, a smile cracked across his face. "My Love. Where were you going?" He asked confidently, his voice smooth but threatening. You couldn't lie to yourself, Ramsay did scare the shit out of you. His power and psychotic tendencies were unmatched. You forced a smile and a quick burst of awkward laughter. "I must've been turned around, I was trying to head to-"

You were cut off by Ramsay's cold hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed you backwards against the castle wall. His grip around your throat was firm, but you knew he wasn't trying his hardest; it was just enough to restrict your throat from speaking and breathing normally. You watched as he seethed with anger, his teeth clenched together behind his pursed lips. Your hands instinctively reached up and grabbed his wrist and forearm, a plea for him to release you. You felt a flutter in your belly when you noticed how intensely his eyes were staring into yours.

His grip tightened just slightly. "You wouldn't try anything stupid, would you?" You squeaked as you attempted to answer him, but this just caused his hand to squeeze around your throat tighter. "You're lucky I don't take whats mine right now..." His eyes wandered down your neck, slowly examining your body. You felt that fluttering again as you watched him take you in. You couldn't possibly enjoy this. You ignored the fluttering in your belly and you began fighting back.

With your free hands, you reached up and grabbed fist fulls of Ramsay's hair. Before you could second guess yourself, you yanked on his hair, attempting to pull him away from you. To your surprise, his eyes fluttered and his lips parted slightly as he exhaled a groan. He didn't budge. "Feisty one, aren't you?" He chuckled. His other hand reached to your shoulder and he tugged on your cloak, releasing the soft skin of your shoulder.

Ramsay leaned forward and bit down on your shoulder flesh, causing more squeaks to come from your throat. He growled as he bit down hard, you were sure he was breaking the skin. His teeth released you as he let go of your throat. However, you weren't free. His hands gripped your shoulders as he kept your back pushed against the cold stone wall. "Now, I want you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?" His tone was taunting your intelligence.

You nodded, still ignoring the fluttering in your belly. "You will behave yourself at the wedding. You will say what you are supposed to say, and you will be my bride. Do you understand me?" His eyes widened when you hesitated, he was nearly snarling at you. "Yes..." you whispered. "Good." He praised you, the weight of his anger suddenly lifted. "Now, run along. I'll see you shortly, my love." He turned you around and shoved you back toward the direction that you ran from. You meekly sauntered back inside the castle.

********************

It was time. Ramsay was repeating his vows and you were standing there waiting your turn. The whole population of Winterfell had come to see your wedding. You knew you had no choice but to marry Ramsay. There was no escape. There was no way out. Your brain thoughts around your brain, a desperate attempt to find a way out of this situation.

"Do you take this man?" The Maester's voice broke through your thoughts as you realized Ramsay was staring at you and the Maester was waiting your response. "Oh." You slammed back into reality. "I..." You began, your eyes brushed through the crowd of people. Most were staring at their feet, not really excited to witness this forced marriage. You were about to make a run for it, but then you saw it. One of Ramsay's men was perched on a small tower of Winterfell with an arrow nocked and drawn in your direction. You felt your heart sink. You knew if there was one, there were likely many. You had to do this.

"I...I take this man."

*********************

With the slam of the door and a click of a lock, you were alone with your husband; what a horrifying thing. As Ramsay finished locking the door, you looked around your new bed chambers that you would share with him. The room was massive with multiple fireplaces aglow. The bed was plush and covered with pelts and rich furs. The windows were almost cathedral, allowing the light to drape the stone floor in a warm glow.

"Are you pleased, My Lady?" Ramsay asked, his voice breaking your thoughts. "Um... yes." You whispered. No, you weren't. You would give anything to be on the other side of that locked door. "You're not lying to me, are you?" Ramsay began walking towards you. You shook your head, but you knew he could read your fear. You didn't personally know Ramsay very well, but you had heard many rumors of his behavior. You knew he was a menace, a monster, a real bastard.

Ramsay approached you, his cloak crossing his chest with leather straps. You watched him as he unhooked the straps, allowing his cloak to fall to the floor. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. "Now, you belong to me. Do you know what that means?" He asked in the same demeaning tone. "No." You whisper your answer, refusing to make eye contact with him.

He stepped closer, completely closing the gap between the two of you. His hands slowly pushed your hair behind your ears and he held your face in his hands. His blue eyes pierced your attempts of having a hard exterior, you felt yourself grow soft under his dominant gaze. You had to admit... He was very handsome. If he weren't so evil, perhaps you would even feel blessed by the Gods to have such a handsome husband.

You simply stared at him as his rough hands caressed your soft face. One of his thumbs grazed your lips as he examined you. "Such a pretty girl, all for me." He whispered as he leaned in to kiss you. You weren't sure what compelled you, but you pulled away from the kiss. This was not the response Ramsay wanted, and you knew it immediately.

His eyes widened, his stare almost punishing you. You sunk into submission in his hands, your lips parted to let a whimper escape your mouth. Before you could grovel, Ramsay spun you around and pressed your back against his chest. "That was not the right answer, love." He whispered as you felt a pressure on your shoulder blades. Ramsay ripped open your dress, destroying the delicate stitching and sending small beads flying across the stone floor. "I was going to be gentle with you, seeing how timid you are..." He began. "But, I don't think I want you assuming that I am a gentle lover. No, no, you see... I take what I want, however I want."

You felt a lump in your throat as his rough hands were shoved in the rip of your dress, pulling it open completely. He ripped it down, yanking the stitching completely open until it fell on the floor and left you naked and cowering. You felt your cheeks grow hot as you attempted to cover your vulnerable body from him.

Ramsay snickered as he yanked your arms to your sides by your wrists. His chin nudged its way into the crook of your neck as he exhaled onto the skin on the side of your throat. "You'll quickly learn how this works." He bit down on your shoulder meat, making you cry out in pain. His body lurched forward when you tried to lean away from him, pressing himself against you even harder than before. He grabbed your waist and gripped tightly, maneuvering your body back to its original location. You knew you were about to be his puppet.

Ramsay opened his jaw and let go of your shoulder only to whisper into your ear, "Walk to the bed." You didn't dare disobey his order. You walked to the bed as he watched. "I am a skilled lover, believe it or not." He complimented himself. You didn't want to believe him, but you had a feeling he was right. That fluttering was constantly pulsing through your core and lower belly. The power he used against you was almost... sexy.

You crawled onto the bed and crumbled, turning around to watch him slowly walk closer to the bed, like a predator getting ready to pounce. His eyes were glued to your body, and you watched his hands undo his trousers. He dropped his pants and stepped out of them. You were curious, but too afraid to look away from his face. He still slowly approached you as he lifted his wool shirt over his head and threw it on the stone floor. Your husband stood naked in front of you.

You took in the sight. His body was toned, the outlines of muscles peeking through his otherwise slender frame. His blue veins stood out against his horribly pale skin. Your eyes continued to wander. His lower stomach had a trail of fuzzy hair that led to his erection. You stared as he reached a hand down and grabbed the base of his arousal, showing it off to you. "Your husband's cock." He said in a sing-song voice. "You must love the sight."

He kneeled on the bed and crawled on top of you. You felt very nervous, the anxiety hitting you like a train. This was really going to happen and there was quite literally nothing you could do about it. You felt your heart race and you began to panic. You tried to wriggle away, but Ramsay kept you in place. "No need to panic, shh..." He chuckled as he began kneading at your hips with one hand while the other hand held him slightly above you.

You felt your eyes fill with tears as you realized how weak you were. Ramsay lowered his head. His warm, wet mouth opened and took in one of your soft nipples. You felt as he swirled his tongue gently and gradually added suction until he was suckling on your hard nipple. Your body was reacting to his touch, even if you weren't aware of it. He reached up and rolled your other nipple in between his index finger and thumb, slightly pinching it. You allowed your breathing to slow as you felt tiny waves of electricity radiate from your nipples down to your lower belly.

You exhaled as you lowered your head to the pillows, allowing Ramsay's mouth to coax your into relaxation. He hummed softly as he felt you relax ever so slightly. Without warning, Ramsay bit down on your nipple. Not extremely hard, not enough to draw blood, but it caught you by surprise. You let out a... moan? You weren't sure if it was a moan of pleasure or a yelp of pain. You felt him grin into your breast as he pinched harder with his other hand.

Your body lurched forward, your back arching as it did so. Ramsay growled as his other hand snuck behind the small of your back, pulling you up further. "You like this, don't you?" He groaned before going back to suckling on your sensitive nipple. You mewled, barely making any noise. He slowly lifted his head and looked at you in the eyes. "I asked you if you liked what I was doing." He was clearly demanding a verbal answer. "Y..Yes..." You muttered, your cheeks flushing red immediately.

The way Ramsay looked at you... it made you feel that same fluttering. You couldn't help but feel like he was excited to dive in head first and devour you. You felt like a prize, the way his eyes widened when you squirmed underneath him. Like a sexy game of tug-o-war. He wanted you, and secretly... you liked feeling wanted by a man with this much power...

Ramsay's mouth suddenly crashed into yours, his lips surprisingly soft and supple. You had expected crusty, chapped, and cold... but they were warm... soft... You couldn't help but eagerly kiss him back. Your lips moved together, his tongue slithering into your mouth as he exhaled and squeezed your hip. Oh Gods. The fluttering.

He formed a rhythm with his lips and his hips. He was slowly grinding against you, his skin hot against your thigh. His exhales were controlled, not as jumpy as yours were. He was clearly in complete control of both you and himself. He pulled away from the kiss and you opened your eyes, unsurprisingly finding his own staring deeply into you. Without saying a word, he flipped you over so you were on top of him. You rested your weight on his upper thighs, very aware of his hardness in between your legs. He was grinding his teeth and now had both of his hands gripping the softness on your hips.

"Come here." Ramsay whispered, his voice smooth and low. You weren't sure where he wanted you, so you hesitated. He spun you around. Now facing his feet, you gasped with shock when his hands found your hips and he pulled you down onto his face. His warm tongue immediately began slithering up and down your slit, lapping up the warmth that had formed between your legs. You exhaled a moan as you allowed pleasure to flood your body.

Ramsay kept you pulled down, sitting on his face. You felt a little self conscious, but didn't have a say in the matter. You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on his upper thighs to hold yourself steady. He moved his hands from your hips to your ass and pulled at the plump skin, pushing and pulling as he continued to lick you. You felt weak and shaky. You lowered yourself to your elbows, resting on either side of his thighs. You opened your eyes and realized how close his cock was to your face.

You were floating with pleasure, his tongue working at your core, eating you like he was starving. The slurping sounds would've been enough to make you hide for a week in embarrassment, but you couldn't be bothered by it right now. You couldn't help it, this eager force within you was begging you to make a move on your husband. You cautiously opened your mouth and allowed the warm head of his cock to enter between your lips. Ramsay groaned as you did this, the vibrations echoing between your thighs.

You started swirling your tongue, feeling the smooth skin of his tip against your mouth. You closed your lips, applying slight suction as you allowed a bit more in your mouth. Ramsay began licking you harder, a bit more desperately. His hands reached up to the small of your back, pushing your back into an arch. You groaned as you took more of his cock into your mouth. You felt Ramsay pull away from your cunt for a moment, resting his head on the pillows. "That's right, that feels so good." He moaned.

Ramsay kept his head on the pillows as he brought one of his hands to your core. He slid his index and middle finger up and down on your slit, collecting the saliva and wetness. You were now bobbing up and down slightly, allowing his cock to enter your throat. Ramsay pushed the two fingers into your soaking cunt which allowed a hungry whimper from your lungs. "That feels so good, doesn't it?" He asked. You could feel him watching your cunt, watching his fingers slide in and out. His eyes were likely wide and full of arousal. You melted at the thought.

You continued pleasuring Ramsay with your mouth, you were so focused on it that you didn't even notice when he stopped fingering you. "Face me." He demanded. You pushed your leg over him, and got between his legs, looking up at him. His jaw was tensed, his teeth grinding inside. He reached down and cupped his balls, pushing them forward. "Suck on them." He instructed. You opened your mouth and began swirling your tongue around on them. He gripped his cock and began stroking himself, watching you intensely.

"My beautiful wife." He breathed as he licked his bottom lip, staring at you. You refused to break eye contact as you continued to swirl your tongue. Perhaps Ramsay wasn't as evil to someone that was vulnerable with him. He wasn't overly vicious so far, and actually was somewhat of a generous lover... eating you out and fingering you before he demanded anything from you. Of course, you were wrong.

Ramsay grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked, pulling you away from his erection and pressed your face against his thigh. You yelped in pain and your hands reached up to hold his hand, hoping he would release your hair. "Use your hand on me." He demanded. You didn't immediately obey, and he yanked on your hair once more. He pulled you up so your head lay on his chest. You quickly wrapped your hand around his cock and began stroking him. "Like this, My Lord?" You asked, wanting to be sure you were pleasing him.

"Yes, yes... just like that. You can be quite a good listener, can't you?" He cooed, his hand still wrapped in your hair. You nodded softly as you continued to stroke your husband. You were feeling warmth between your legs once more, your body aching for him. Ramsay reached his arm around your throat and began choking you. You stopped stroking him, perhaps a reflex of the choking. He growled. "I did not say stop!" He barked and tightened his grip around your throat.

You obeyed. You began stroking him again while he choked you, his arm wrapped behind the back of your neck. You were sputtering, struggling to breathe. His grip was tighter than before. You were stroking him feverishly. He was grinding his teeth, his eyes glued to your hand on his hard cock. Suddenly, his grip died. He let go of your throat and yanked you up to his face by your hair. His lips crashed into yours again.

He pulled your hips up and onto his lap. Before you could react, he shoved his cock into you. You screamed into his mouth, his arousal stretching your walls beyond anything before. Pain shot through your core, and you instinctively tried to pull yourself off of him. His grip on your hips was strong, and he forced you down. "Hold still." He grunted as he shoved deeper, his whole length slamming into you. You whined, the pain radiating through your body.

Ramsay didn't care about your pain. He didn't care that you were whimpering and had tears filling your eyes. In fact, he enjoyed it. You felt him twitch inside you as you groaned, attempting to breathe through the stretching feeling. "Ride me." Ramsay demanded. You couldn't. You tried moving up and down and it felt like fire tearing through you. You were a virgin, and Ramsay had to know it at this point. "I said ride me." Ramsay demanded, his eyes turning serious as he stared into your soul.

"I... I can't..." You cried out, your body begging you for a break. Ramsay rolled his eyes and huffed an irritated sigh. He shoved you off of him, a gasp escaping your throat. "Oh, thank you..." You whimpered. "We can go slower and-" Before you could finish your sentence, Ramsay flipped you over and mounted you. You laid on your back as he pulled your ankles to his shoulders. "Slower? No... no, you stupid girl. I told you earlier. I get what I want. I always get what I want. Even if it means I break my bride tonight, I will get what I want." Ramsay's mouth ripped into an evil grin.

He shoved his cock into you once more, this angle wasn't as painful but it was not comfortable. He began pumping in and out of you, his eyes moving up and down with him. He stared at your face, enjoying the pain taking over you. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip. You involuntarily whined each time he pushed into you, his erection seemingly forcing the whimper to bubble up.

Ramsay fucked you happily while you squirmed beneath him. The pain was dulling after a minute and your body was growing used to his size. The wetness between your legs was letting him know that you were starting to enjoy the feeling. He was sliding in and out of you quickly, his rhythm steady and forceful. "I see you're starting to like the feeling, aren't you?" He moaned between breaths. "Yes... Yes... It feels... good." You moaned, realizing that your body was craving this feeling. You wanted more.

"M...M..." You tried begging for more, trying not to think about what you were doing. You couldn't believe that you were begging Ramsay to fuck you harder, maybe you were more of a whore than you thought. "More... More!" You whined. Ramsay stopped and leaned back, his eyes wide. He chuckled, his sharp teeth flashing. "You want more, do you? My wife is such a whore!" He bit down, his teeth barred as he flipped you over. You were on your knees and Ramsay was behind you.

He entered you and began sliding into you hard and fast. You felt the warmth rise in your belly. Ramsay yanked your hair back and choked you with the crook of his elbow once he pulled you up. “I love choking you. I love knowing how much power I have over you. You love it too. I know you do.” He growled. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you felt lightheaded from the lack of air flow. Ramsay let your neck go, falling forward as he began kneading your cheeks and hips. He was yanking your body against him as he thrust forward, his cock slamming into you hard.

He leaned forward, his cock plunging deep inside you, and he bit down on your shoulder as he continued thrusting. You began whimpering his name as you felt the heat rise. You had never felt this warmth in your core before, and each of Ramsays thrusts coaxed it to the surface. He reached around and under your body, his hands finding your breasts. He groped and grabbed at your chest and held you tightly against him. He let go of his bite and his lips touched your ear. “You love getting fucked by me, don’t you? And you’re ashamed of how good it feels.” He pants softly into your ear, sending chills down your spine.

“Yes… I love it…” You whimper, feeling utterly defeated. Ramsay pulls out of you and rolls you over. “Now, I want to watch you completely submit to me.” Your brain feels as if it’s melted. Ramsay pushes himself in you once more. He starts thrusting away. Your gaze hovers from his face to your center. You watch his body meet yours, his member disappearing with each thrust of his hips. You look back up at his face. His eyes are serious, his teeth grit tightly together. He watches you intensely as his hand makes its way down your body.

He gently starts rubbing right above your center which sends a huge wave of sensitivity through your body. You struggle to keep your composure as Ramsay rolls his fingers softly around your bundle of nerves. He fucks you mercilessly, but keeps his fingers gentle against this extremely sensitive area. He finds a rhythm and sticks to it. Your body responds fairly quickly, and you feel a warmth building in your center. Ramsay smirks confidently, you know he can read your facial expressions easily. “Don’t hold back. Good girl.” Ramsay praises you as you start to climb higher in this wave of intensity.

“Ramsay… I…” you start to sputter a few whimpers. Ramsay shushes you and doesn’t break the rhythm. “Let it happen. I want to watch my wife drown in pleasure.” Your eyes are growing harder to keep open but you see Ramsay flash his grin before you close your eyes and allow your build up to erupt. You feel a wave crash over your body as Ramsays gentle fingers seem to start vibrating with electricity. You let out a groan that feels almost guttural, and your back arches against his chest. He keeps fucking you, his cock slamming into your body with passion. You realize Ramsay is coming as well, his seed filling you. He groans and stiffens his body as he pushes into you with need. You can’t help it, you run your fingers up his bare back and into his hair. You feel animalistic as you grip your husband’s curls and allow your body to harbor his orgasm.

After you both catch your breath, Ramsay rolls over and slides out of you. He turns to you and grins. “Get used to that happening, my love.” Unfortunately, you couldn’t get enough. You were already excited for tomorrow night. It only took one time for Ramsay to break you, perhaps you were weaker than you thought.

#game of thrones #ramsay bolton #ramsaybolton #ramsay snow #got #ramsay bolton x reader #ramsayboltonsmut #smut #ramsey bolton #ramsey snow

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gretavanfleetposts · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter One: The Angel of Music

Summary: In 1880’s Paris, you join the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House, newly financed by your childhood friend Daniel with whom you reconnect, and haunted by the man you will soon come to know as your Angel of Music.

Content Warnings: brief mentions of death

Word Count: 4.7k

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— 🌹 —

By now, there are few who have not heard of the 1884 disaster at the Palais Garnier Opera House. That was the year it burned thanks to the grand chandelier that had lighted the great concert hall since 1861. Its plunge was attributed by the French National Police Force to old, faulty chains that finally gave way under the immense strain that had stressed and stretched the links during its 20 year tenure. But those who subscribed to a box in the opera house and, even moreso, those who performed on that fateful stage, know the true cause of all that crystal and bronze plummeting down on the poor audience in the middle of the only performance of Don Juan Triumphant that would ever be given.

And those who know the true story of the fall of the chandelier should also know of the epic love story that hallowed the halls of that opera house much more definitely.

— 🌹 —

You’d only been a chorus girl for the company of the Palais Garnier Opera House mere months when it switched hands to new management. The old managers had seemed increasingly frazzled by whatever unknown workings of the opera house they undoubtedly dealt with on a daily basis and word of their imminent departure had been spreading like wildfire through the company for only a few weeks time. Of course, plenty of your fellow performers chalked it up to nothing more than idle gossip from pupils with far too much time resting in their hands. But you, having seen a glimpse past the curtain and into the true secrets that the many walls of the opera house hid, suspected that it was those very secrets that had driven them out of their managerial position, longing for an easy retirement after all the stress the place had caused them.

The news had come during a dress rehearsal for Faust that had only progressed to see the dancers stretching and the chorus doing their vocal warmups. That was when the two acting managers waltzed in, looking more relieved than they had in quite some time. Certainly since before you had even joined the company.

It wasn't the sight of the managers looking finally pleased that caught your attention though, nor was it the good-looking man that followed closely at their side who kept his hair long and his facial hair to match, but rather the fourth man who trailed in after all the rest with bright eyes and warm, eager smile, all of which seemed surrounded by perfectly jovial curls that danced upon the top of his head. He looked absolutely delighted to be even gracing the Palais Garnier stage, taking in the grand set pieces and decorated horses with awe. It was a look you recognized, not from your own experience three months prior having witnessed the grandeur up close yourself, but from your childhood, of all places.

When you were children, you'd called him Danny. But now, so many years later, you knew him by another name, so often gracing the public papers which spoke of his many accomplishments: Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon.

“We have an announcement to make, if you will all please gather round. This should only take a moment,” boomed the first of the two managers whose boisterous laugh you'd grown accustomed to hearing echo around the concert hall. He seemed particularly fond of the company's production of Les Contes d'Hoffmann and could be heard all the way from box ten laughing jovially with his other managerial half who preferred to shush him just as loudly.

The performers crowded together to form a huddle not unlike a vibrating mass of nerves, and your one and only friend at the opera took your side to whisper along with the others.

“Suppose the rumors are true, then?”

Joshua was one of the few people you had gotten to know in your very short tenure at the opera house, a fellow chorus boy and understudy with a voice that would soon catapult him to Primo Uomo in good time, you had no doubt. He had lived in a tiny apartment a block away from the opera house all his life and thanks to his mother’s employment as ballet mistress and occasional talent-seeker, Madame Kiszout, he had never gone without art in his life. He’d been raised on music just as much as you had. That was what had drawn the two of you together in the first place; music was no passing passion for either of you. It was the very air that you breathed.

“We regret to inform you all of our immediate retirement from this grand opera house,” the second of your two managers announced, even over the chatter amongst the crowd that never found pause. “I understand that this may be a surprise to some-”

“Although surely not to all,” the first muttered, not too under his breath.

“-but we can assure you, you along with these hallowed walls will be left in the most capable of hands.”

The handsome man with the long hair stepped forward at the behest of his predecessors who grew in eagerness with each passing whisper. But that man that you did not recognize looked to you to be just as eager. You only hoped he was as much a lover of the arts as the rest of you. A fine business it was, although most months you were certain the place barely broke even what with the arguments you’d heard coming from the managers’ office, but for one who took interest in the opera, in music at all, there were riches far finer than profit to be found at the Palais Garnier.

“Monsieur Samuel will be replacing us as acting management effective immediately-”

“Can you believe it?” Joshua grumbled at your ear, “Faust set to premier in three days, our Prima Donna’s health on the fritz, and they mean to abandon us like this?”

“-alongside his financier Le Vicomte Daniel de Charon, who will hopefully find this venture fruitful.” This last part spoken in more of a mutter than the manager’s usual blithe tone.

“Hardly,” you answered absentmindedly, already struck by the way Daniel joined the other three with a hearty smile and a heavy hand clapping Samuel’s shoulder in excited camaraderie.

God, how you had missed that smile, one that had always seemed so sure of itself even during life’s darker moments. Daniel had been like a beacon of light when you’d known him. A day spent in his presence could warm the soul. It was a terrible thing how long you’d now gone without him. Entirely your fault, of course, but terrible nonetheless. But that smile shined so warmly over what was now his opera house that it felt as if no time at all had passed.

“You seem lost in thought. I’d hoped you’d commiserate with me.” Joshua nudged you lightly with his shoulder, watching your face for signs of life.

“I’m sorry,” you offered meekly, unable to tear your eyes from the viscount. “I just…”

You gave up on speaking altogether and Joshua took that as his cue to follow your eyes to the tall, curly-haired boy you had grown up with.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“I did once, when I was younger. We were something of childhood sweethearts.” The smile on your face could not be helped. “I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me now though.”

“Well, if he was as in love with you as you say, I would think he’d know your face anywhere.”

“Now, now, I can understand you might all have your concerns,” the new manager finally spoke, “and I promise I shall hear each one of them. But for now, we shall continue on with your work as you have already planned and prepared it.”

“But what of the matter of the Prima Donna, sir?” questioned a voice that owned no body from somewhere amongst the cluster of chorus girls and boys, each one more eager than the last to have their chance at understudy.

“What is this matter?” Samuel implored, his eyes searching the crowd for whomever might have brought this matter to attention and, thus, might elaborate. Though, it was one of his forebears which saw fit to explain that trifling detail.

“Ah, our Prima Donna, or that is to say, your Prima Donna, is presently ill. But no matter. She shall be ready for the performance in three days’ time.”

He gave an ardent laugh so as to brush off the matter but this ceased at the sound of Madame Kiszout clearing her throat, as she often did to swiftly procure the attention of her dancers who sometimes preferred to giggle and gossip than pas de chat when told.

“Y/n could do it, good monsieur.”

“I beg your pardon-” her former boss scoffed, a sentiment you could have easily mimicked, but Sam already had his hand raised to silence the man, proof he intended to listen to the woman who had quite a number of years on him.

“Who was it that spoke just now?” he questioned his audience.

“It was I, monsieur,” Madame Kiszout answered as she stepped from the crowd to distinguish herself.

She was a simple woman in hair and dress, always with the same brunette bun held in place by a jade hair comb and a worn black taffeta dress, but one not to be trifled with nevertheless. In fact, when one met her, it was suddenly quite easy to see where her son had acquired his passion. She wasn’t one for nonsense when there was work to be done but she certainly knew how to revel in a good performance. And despite her strict demeanor when running ballet rehearsals, the woman was sweet, her students need not agree.

“It would be a shame if your Prima Donna was not, in fact, ready in three days’ time,” she continued without prompt. “She currently has no understudy but Y/n has been taught well. She knows the role. She can do it.”

“And where might this young woman be?”

Joshua’s hand at your back pushed you forward from your hiding place in the crowd when your feet refused to move on their own accord. You weren't overly fond of drawing attention to yourself and Daniel's eyes fixing to you as you emerged from your shroud didn't help the matter of your nerves, whether he recognized you or not.

“Here, monsieur,” you answered in a voice as meek and quiet as your existence.

“You know the role?” Samuel confirmed.

“Yes, monsieur.”

“And you are trained?”

“By the best,” Madame Kiszout answered in your stead at the sound of your voice faltering.

She was, after all, the only other person who knew of the lessons you'd been receiving from the quiet and secluded confines of your dressing room. Not even Joshua was privy to this knowledge, although he knew of your proclivity to shut yourself in that little room for hours at a time. But he had never so much as uttered the question.

“This is true?” Samuel implored of you.

You gave confirmation by way of a hurried nod. “We meet daily.”

Monsieur Samuel nodded his head once with satisfaction. “Then you shall have your moment. And I shouldn't take any more of your precious practice time.”

You curtsied your quick thank you, stealing a moment to gaze back over to your Daniel who now looked upon you with a curious expression. There, a glimmer of remembrance in the brown pools of his eyes, a mere spark of recognition perhaps. But Joshua's mother was already at your elbow, ushering you along with the quiet fury of a woman who has seen her practice cut short and is eager not to further delay matters.

“Come, come. You must change.”

— 🌹 —

Samuel and his financier made themselves scarce the remainder of the days leading up to the opening of Faust. Samuel had peeked his head through a doorframe to whisper his musings of good luck to the company just moments before the curtain went up, but it wasn't until the second act when you nervously took your place on stage and the curtain rose yet again that you saw another glimpse of Daniel, perched in box ten beside his friend and fellow businessman.

In truth, you remembered little of the performance itself. Each time you sang, your mind seemed to recuse itself. But your body felt it. Your body felt the expulsion of energy as your voice carried high into the rafters of the concert hall, falling upon each attentive ear like a gift bestowed by an angel. Your body felt the fatigue of divine exertion, like God himself was drawing the music from your lungs and you were but a vessel for his intervention. And when your music finally met its natural end and a deafening applause took its place, you felt heavy tears roll down your cheeks.

From box ten where the vicomte sat, you appeared like a weeping angel defending the stage that seemed your natural home with your soul. He sprang to his feet alongside Samuel the moment your voice quieted, joining in on the voracious applause and even offering a sharp whistle with his thumb and pinky to his lips.

“You have a marvel on your hands, Samuel,” he fawned.

“Undeniably,” Samuel agreed. “Makes me wonder why those dusty old managers didn't showcase her talent more. You say you knew her?”

Daniel nodded with his angel still at the focus of his eye, the little white figure with diamonds like snowflakes in her hair practically glowing from the vast candlelight thrown upon her. A heavenly visage, he thought quite. “I did, as a child. We were mad for each other. She did not seem to recognize me earlier though.”

“Well perhaps you should reacquaint yourselves,” his partner suggested. “Find out if she's turned into a diva. I don't like to be given trouble and I certainly hope I didn’t inherit it.”

Daniel practically scoffed at the idea of the girl he knew causing trouble.

“I can assure you, she was no trouble when I knew her and I doubt she is now. She was only…sweet. And good.”

He thought back to the girl he had known, the one with dreams in her eyes and music on her lips. She had dazzled him with her kindness and her beauty, her talents and her curiosities. Before her father had died, her spirit had been the freest thing he knew. He supposed he didn’t rightly know her all that well now but how could little Lottie have changed so much as to cause trouble now? It was still just as unbelievable a notion as the voice which had sprung from her frame and incited the entirety of the concert hall to weep.

Samuel gaped unabashed at his friend.

“You're still in love with her, aren't you?”

He shook his head for naught, the unconvincing lie already being told. “It was a long time ago, Sam.”

— 🌹 —

You didn’t fully return to your body until Madame Kiszout had finally pulled your dressing room door closed after you, shutting herself on the side of the dizzying fanfare that had swarmed the moment you’d left the wings of the stage and made the quick journey through the marble foyer. Flowers had already overtaken the tiny boudoir, blooms and buds overflowing in their bundles on every surface that had been available to the poor runner who had eventually opted to place vases on the floor given the lack of space. Only the little stool in front of your vanity had been spared.

Perching atop the seat and gazing at your appearance in the mirror, you felt you hardly recognized the woman you saw staring back. She looked radiant, far more so than you had felt in quite some time. She practically sparkled and glowed as if lit from within. And the music you had made, music which hadn’t even registered to your own ears as such: your own. It all served to bring tears to your eyes, gentle drops of water that within each held a little elixir of emotions: grief for your father who would have been astonished at what you had accomplished that night, reminiscence over the boy that had watched from box ten and, as such, had brought such a large piece of your past to the very forefront of your mind, and gratitude for the angel which had imparted upon you a mere fraction of his talent without which the audience for that night’s opera wouldn’t have been served up such an achingly beautiful performance. No, the woman in the mirror was hardly you at all. She was a mix of all of the people that had shaped her and guided her and taught her along her way.

There was one singular flower out of place amongst the garden of blooms bursting in every corner of your dressing room, out of place in not only the fact that it was on its own, a sole stem with carefully shaved thorns wrapped with a silky black bow and crowned with one of the more devastatingly beautiful roses you’d ever seen, but it also went without note attached. You inspected it just as carefully as you had your foreign face, twirling the stem between thumb and forefinger and letting the scent catch your nose as you leaned into it. But who had plucked such a perfect posy for you?

The commotion just outside your door had hardly calmed when a knock sounded, followed by Madame Kiszout peeking her head in through the tiny space she had wedged to ensure you were decent. She was known to have a master key which she threatened the use of far more often than she actually employed it. She didn’t tend to barge unless she deemed it important. And you suspected Joshua the catalyst for this great importance.

“Mademoiselle, the Vicomte to see you.”

You’d scold him for it later, when your heart wasn’t suddenly plunging within your body in search of your feet.

“Of course.” You dropped the rose and stood, straightening and smoothing out anything on your person that your hands could fly quickly to in preparation of finally meeting Daniel face to face after those long, sullen years void of his presence. If only he remembered you.

He emerged from behind Joshua’s mother like he was suddenly conjured up there by your ‘okay’, dressed in a smile that reminded you of the frolicking the two of you had done so merrily as children when the world still felt hopeful and bright. That was before your father had died, of course.

The woman pushed him further into the room like a mother urging her son to ask the neighborhood boy to play with him, then sealed the two of you in there alone, her deft reprimands dispersing the crowd on the other side of the door the only proof she had even been there in that room at all. So you found yourself standing rather awkwardly across the room from him, unsure of what to say or if introductions would be proper in the situation of having already met the person you stood before but not so very recently that they might know this themselves.

“You must forgive any intrusion but that was one of the most extraordinary things I've ever witnessed,” he said at last when it seemed he couldn’t bear to stand there doing nothing but wringing his wrists any longer.

“It's no intrusion,” you assured him with a polite smile. “I am very glad to hear it.”

The awkward silence resumed once more as the two of you did nothing but stare at one another. But his eyes seemed to implore so deeply and intensely that you could feel the rouge stipple its way into your cheeks, prickling your skin with tiny little fiery points until they grew into a cover of heat that begged of you, look away!

You felt you were darting off back to your vanity to avoid his direct gaze, opting instead to watch how he lingered many steps behind you in the mirror you now stood before. It was, though, wholly impossible to stand there and maintain the facade that you did not recognize him for his sake and so for your own, you had retreated.

Thankful for the glass that mirrored his tentative step that he took further into the room, you watched his movements through the safe divide between your heated face and the cause of it.

“Never in my life have I heard a voice like that,” he said as he watched you carefully. “Not since we were children and your father played the violin while you sang.”

In a flurry of white taffeta floating through the air as delicately as snow, you squealed and jumped into his arms.

“You do remember me!”

“I could never forget you. Not if I lived a hundred years.”

His arms closed around you, holding you to his chest in an embrace that drew up all of the remembrance and nostalgia from your bones until you were each content with the spark of warmth it had generated.

Daniel seemed to hold that spark in his eye as he fixed his gaze to the woman you had become, only a mere whisper of the woman you had been when he'd known you.

“The way you sang tonight was nothing short of spiritual.”

“Daniel, do you remember those stories my father used to tell us up on the hill under the stars? The stories of the Angel of Music?”

“Of course. His stories were always so imaginative. Then again, we were so easily entertained back then.” His laugh danced about the room as free as a petal might float in the wind.

“It wasn't a story,” you urged more seriously, taking him by the hands to kneel in front of you as you found perch on a stool, leaning in like you meant to whisper to him great secrets that were as old as time itself. “I have been visited by the angel.”

Daniel's laugh rang again. “I have no doubt. I'm certain your father is smiling down on you.”

“No, no, not my father. The Angel my father has sent. He gives me lessons, in this very room-”

“Well, you are quite the student.”

“It's him,” you insisted.

“No, my Lottie, it's you.”

Your chest caved. It seemed your beloved Daniel had shirked his more curious tendencies with age; nothing you could fault him for, of course. Though, he was the singular person on earth that might have understood. He'd known you better than anyone. Longer than anyone. And he'd known your father, too. Maybe even the last to remember him by your side. You had feared even your own memory would fade before your father had sent the angel to you, and you knew that was the reason he'd sent him to you. But Daniel, poor Daniel, he was too far along in the forgetting process, it seemed.

Even so, the soft and gentle desperation behind his eyes that pleaded with his mind to remember you how you were now made your heart do mysterious things in your chest. You might have forgotten that twinkle yourself, that gleam that kept the brown of his eyes warm and his face light.

“God, you are somehow even more beautiful than I remember,” he spoke softly as he studied you the way you realized you were him.

“You know, I…I owe you an apology for running away the way that I did.”

“Not at all-”

“No, I do. You were grieving just as much as I after my father passed and I wasn't there for you. I just couldn't. I couldn't face the world without him. Not even you.”

His curls danced and jumped around his shoulders as he nodded. “I understand.”

“I always meant to find you again but then you became Vicomte and with all that responsibility, I just thought-”

“You owe me no apology or explanation. Really. Whichever fates saw fit to divide us did so knowing we would again find one another. I don't care about the time we spent apart. I care about this now, the time we'll spend together.”

Your emotions sat in waiting at the corners of your eyes, only held back by the reassuring squeeze of his hands engulfing yours. The understanding and appreciation was silent on your face and in your hands but you knew he could feel it. Daniel always could.

“I have not spent even a single day not thinking about you since the last I saw you.”

You gave him a slight shrug of your shoulders where concern was resting heavy. How long you had missed your Daniel. How certain you were that you did not want this opportunity to go to waste.

“I worry I've changed.”

“I'm certain you've changed,” he smiled brightly. “It was so very long ago that we knew one another. But I would like to get to know the new you.”

You gave him a smile that matched his own as the entirety of it came back to you, frolicking on the hills, hand holding that changed its meaning when you became teenagers, confiding in one another all your hopes and dreams, yours to be a great opera singer and his to be a man of his estate. You'd dreamed of marrying him, too. But that was all so very long ago.

“I have a gift for you,” he said suddenly, a spring in his step as he jumped to his feet. “I did not know if you'd remember me, I didn't want to impose myself on you. Will you wait for me here? I'll only be just a moment.”

“Of course,” you smiled, a breath of a laugh fanning over your lips as you watched his excitement carry him practically floating out the door to your little room.

And as you sat there on your little vanity stool, you turned toward the large mirror on the wall to examine your appearance and pinch your cheeks a bit, a fluster of nerves coiling so tightly in your chest you felt you could fly away. You studied yourself that way, the way Daniel had, for a lingering moment, staring into the depths of the mirror and into the depths of your very soul.

That was when the music began.

— 🌹 —

When Daniel returned to his Lottie's dressing room with excitement bursting in his chest which pounded against the little box in his breast pocket, he was greeted first with the sound of muffled conversing, one voice he recognized and one which he did not: a man's voice. He was secondly greeted with something that troubled him even further: a locked door.

“I sang for you, only for you,” Lottie's voice rang out, as plainly as it could have traveled through a sea of flowers, drapery, and finally, heavy wooden door.

The man's voice, now angry, answered in a bellowing cry. “He is an ignorant fool!”

“He's nothing, my angel!”

The conversation continued, dipping down to lower volumes that Daniel couldn't decipher all the while his hand fiddled with the handle that saw fit to keep him from his old friend. Worse yet, she did not even seem to hear him as he called to her from that place behind locked door, her name bursting from his lungs with the quickening of his pulse and the sweating of his palms.

“Then you shall know me finally,” he heard the man say at last. “Come to the mirror. Come to me.”

His love was in danger, of that he was certain. And as a mysterious music lingered in the air and replaced audible conversation, Daniel took to throwing his shoulder at the door as he continued to call out her name in desperation.

But by the time the door gave way and Daniel’s body was sent hurtling into the room all at once with the give of the wood against the frame, the dressing room was already empty.

Taglist: @roving-blade @vanfleeter @readyforthegarden @stardustthread @wrldabomination @josh-iamyour-mama @notsostrangerthing @runwayblues @redundantrachel

#ghost of the opera house #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet #gvf #gvf fic #jake kiszka fic #josh kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #danny wagner fic #greta van fic

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