Show of hands: Who'd be interested in a gory dead dove fic staring (BOOK ACCURATE) Yandere! Euron Greyjoy x reader x Yandere! Victarion Greyjoy??
Two of the most unpopular charcters ever lol. Maybe I should just wait until winds of winter comes out (as if) and publish it when the ASOIAF fandom reawakens.
I lowkey want Fake! Daeron and Daeron to meet in season 4!!
Let them trauma bond and become besties and both be adopted by dear uncle Gwayne!! Let them ride off and live far away from the drama and raise chickens and be happy
Show of hands: Who'd be interested in a gory dead dove fic staring (BOOK ACCURATE) Yandere! Euron Greyjoy x reader x Yandere! Victarion Greyjoy??
Two of the most unpopular charcters ever lol. Maybe I should just wait until winds of winter comes out (as if) and publish it when the ASOIAF fandom reawakens.
So we all know the trope where the Darling runs away while pregnant with the Yandere's child. Darling ends up giving birth and raising the child until the Yandere finds them once more. Reclaiming "his perfect" family.
BUT (hear me out)
What if it's not the Darling who ends up having the baby? What if after the Darling escapes and starts living a "normal life," just trying to recuperate from the trauma.
Meanwhile, the Yandere uses the Darling's DNA/Blood mixed with their own to create a child. I don't really know the medical/magic specifics. But years later, Darling ends up running into a child that looks SO UNCOMFORTABLY LIKE THEM, but with one feature making it obvious they are the Yandere's child as well.
This child haunts them. Because they've clearly been raised by a deranged, obsessive psycho. Who will very likely use this child as an excuse to reclaim their Darling. But they are technically still the Darling's child. Someone the Darling wants to get to know and raise and watch them grow.
Will the Darling go back to the yandere just for the child?
Will the Darling try to steal their child?
What horrors and miseries await?! Tune in next time!!
Hello everyone, I'm Abdullah from the Gaza Strip, I'm 18 years old. I recently graduated from high school with a 93.9% average in the scienc
Hello everyone here 💙 I'm Abdullah from the Gaza Strip, specifically from the south. I'm the youngest of my siblings and I'm striving to complete my education. I took my high school exams this year and excelled, achieving a 93.3 average. Now I'm aiming to study dentistry, but my family lost everything in the war, and we're now on the verge of a new life. I need to pay a university placement fee of over $200. However, I'm absolutely certain that there are people who can help me because of their immense humanity. My words may not be very expressive, but I desperately need help.
❤️🩹Summary: There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. You're an eldritch creature living amongst monsters. A piece of you lives within each of them. And a piece of each of them lives inside you...
❤️🩹Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Body horror in Frankie's part, slight gore and blood in the rest, angst, super cryptic.
❤️🩹Could be read as romantic or platonic.
I am a monster, for now and forever. I am a monster, what a terrible being.〜♡॰ॱ
There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. ~❣✧❣
⚡︎Frankie Stein ⚡︎
There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. Frankie is desperate to unravel it. To crack it open. She feels you in every one of her limbs. Feels you in the stems of her patchwork heart. That has to account for something right?
Your melancholy seeps through you, tainting the tiles in shades of gold.
Frankie blames the binding of your skin, she's always found it too loose.
Nothing extramundane, to tether your essence within yourself. She wouldn't mind taking you apart and stitching you back together. Recreating you into something perfect. She's grown wry of watching you crack your ribcage open, shoving astral celestials where your heart should be. You mutter things, things she doesn't understand, things she's scared she'll never understand. Her bones rattle, a rouge spark runs down her spine. Every piece of you haunts her...
Frankie use to believe, verily childishly, that parts of her were salvaged from you. She knows now that that's impossible, yet she still wishes every night for the childish dream to come true.
In many ways, Frankie has always been bound to you. Your first friend, your first confidant, your first punishment, your first comprehension. Even when you'd been too young to understand the cacophony of the world, you'd still know the two of you were connected.
It had only taken a lifetime to understand why.
Bones collapse into constellations. Somehow she feels you slipping away. Her slender fingers trace the stitches across the hollow of your chest. A meteoric reminder of her work. "It's okay I'll have you fixed in no time." Frankie doubts you find any truth in her incentive. You've always been drawn to pessimism. Still, she feeds the needle through skin and muscle. Praying she remembers the stronghold pattern her mother taught her.
The shade they used for your blood is too bright. You bleed in rivers,
flowing with no end insight. You wash away her sorrows with farfetched promises. Awakening a longing, she never knew she had.
Frankie wishes she could pluck out your spine. Kiss each vertebra like an iridescent pear. Maybe then your souls would tether, maybe then everything will go back to the way it once was. The needle snags across bones, marring your skin in star-kissed bruises. She pecks each one, muttering a sorry across cold flesh. You feel like home under her lips. A home she never got to know.
Yet the echoes of its brilliance linger faintly in the hearts of those who once knew its warmth.
Frankie smiles as your eyes crack open. Dizzy and distant, you've yet to notice your enhancements. The pieces of herself she tethered onto you. She wonders when you'll notice the new eye, the new leg, the mismatched fingers. Her heart sparks thumbing loudly in her ribcage.
She sinks down, by the operation table,skinning her knees. You feel like home, now more than ever.
Your fingers find her head, patting the matted hair, she smiles something solemn and forlorn. She trails her fingers over one of the stitches on your arm, prying her slender digits between the threads and into the gaping tissue. Her fingers release a spark, your body arches off the table. After all, blood has always been a good conductor for electricity. "It's just a power boost. You'll be right up in a few minutes." a giggle rips from her throat, as you mummble an acknowledgment. Eyes overcast with equal parts grief and glee.
She always knew she loved you how could she not? You'd been linked to her for as long as she had a conscience. You had always been her everything. Sometimes she wonders how you both ended up like this. Stitching pieces of yourselves into each other.
Frankie closes her eyes. Her mind struggling to regain control. Her deep breaths waver as she hears shifting from the table.
"It's alive..."
𓆩❤︎𓆪Draculaura𓆩❤︎𓆪
Draculaura can smell the ethereal ichor now. Maybe it's always been there. Hidden under bygone layers and golden sand. She wonders if now, knowing what you know, makes you see her as anything less. You're older now, smarter. Maybe you understand the world just a little bit better than she ever could.
Despite her gifted immortality, Draculaura likes to think that she's grown, too. No longer the little batling who faints at the mere scent of blood. Yet the urge to vomit is still there, an acidic reflex in the back of her throat. She's been avoiding you lately, simply because you make the urges go away.
She can't live with that.
Can't live with what you make her.
You trace the heart on her cheek. Your fingers feel like divinity sinking into her skin. You try to reason with her, tell her the truths of the crypt. "Surly Draculaura, you must know who you really are. Isn't it silly that you persist in this nativity?" Your words are harsh. Good intentions wrapped in silver blades. She bites her tongue, killing the queries before they dare spill.
You make her crave things.
Things she's avoided her whole life.
There's blood on your lips, dripping onto the ground. She fights the urge to kiss you. The heat of the sun amplifies the scent of the decaying flesh. Her stomach growls, this isn't right. The grip on her parasol tigtens. There is justice behind your actions, not one she can make herself understand. She watches as you tear into the decomposing body. "Don't", it's nothing less of a prayer. She feels her fangs elongate. How she wishes the world would turn to black.
Can a vampire be haunted?
Surly they can, it's the only answer to your staunch lingering.
Draculaura's coffin feels too snug, like a home and a prison encapsulated in one. She wishes she could feel cold dirt under her nails, feel the thrill of digging her way out of a grave. It's your fault, it has to be. Why must you awaken such ancient sensations? Such horrid cravings, such primal needs.
Why must she see divinity in your face, liquid darkness shimmering behind enigmatic eyes? You are something terrifying, something painful. You are what she was supposed to be, what she's fled from her whole life.
Your silhouette is a curse and a blessing. A reminder of a lineage she was thrusted into. A legacy she never wanted. Everything about you is a hunting familiarity for a family she never knew. She wonders if she would have been the prettiest girl in the morgue. She wonders if her father should have let her die all those eons ago.
"I used to be human" She confesses one night. She doesn't know why you agreed to come over. Why seeing you in your pajamas sparks one too many fond memories.
"So?" your tone is one of perplexity. She feels foolish under your gaze. You glide the makeup brush across her cheeks. dusting them with faded nostalgia. "I can't eat them. It'll feel like I'm eating myself" How long has it been since the transformation occurred? how long has it been since she shedded the body of that sickly fragile girl? She's been a vampire for centuries yet still can't get used to the title.
"You can eat these ones..." Something ancient within her stirs, her bones rattle with comprehension. She knows what you mean and it fills her with a need to scream.
Draculaura can't see her reflection, can't gauge how different she is now. You used to help her with her makeup back in high school. Back when the shade of your lipstick determined your personality for the day. She's never seen her face. She prays it's identical to yours. She prays that someday she can embody you...
There's a deathly hunger within her. Bubbling in her stomach. She needs to let it out before it kills her. Can she even die? She's almost sure she wants to. You almost make her want to succumb to the impulse of quitting her humanity all toghter. Your presence makes her all so hungry. She's gotten better at hiding it under school-ghoul gossip and trend talk.
She settles for a kiss tonight, a rushed peck on the cheek. Some vampire she is, instead of bleeding you dry she's pouring her sorrows into you. She wonders if you take note. See the ghosts jouncing within her soul.
Draculaura's nails pick at the skin of her birthmark.
The skin cracks.
blood trickles.
Can a vampire even be haunted?
Yes.
She knew the charade wouldn't last forever.
Knew that one day the lights would dim and the stage would fade to black
A final curtain call. An impending doom.
The final nail in her glass coffin. Rendering it to shards.
And she'll be left plucking fragments from her eternal flesh.
There's a small joy in knowing you'll be her effacer.
The one to put an end to 2,000 years of pretend.
"And then he was all like "You know?" and I was like "Whatever" and he was-"
"Draculaura, I have no idea what you are talking about." She turns to face you, your smile is a crushing weight. On her shoulders crave. You throw your head back and laugh. Laughing at how little she's changed since you shared a desk in class. Since your most eminent concern was fearleading practice and algebra tests. Draculaura should laugh too, this she knows. Yet she remains distracted by your neck and all the glory it holds.
Just a small bite won't hurt...
☾🐾☽Clawdeen Wolf☾🐾☽
Clawdeen is protective to a fault. A trait she could never identify as innate or habit. Still, the urge to stalk you persists. Pricking away at her fur like wolfsbane.
Clawdeen's been brought up to believe in legacy, to worship the moon and the stars and their maker. Ancient things have a way of lasting lifetimes. She knows this now, finds its evidence when she unravels her family, her pack, herself...you. Her kind has been known to nurture those they love, to birth and raise every great warrior. She ponders again if this was originally encrypted in their blood or if her species picked it up throughout the years.
All she knows is that something inside her awakens when she sees you. A testament to an ancient love, long since stifled under sand and snow.
She wonders if that's what she's done with you all these years. If, in her own way, she's raised you to become some sort of warrior, a great beast living amongst subsidiary.
The two of you sit beside the bay window. Her newest sketchbook draped across her lap. You lean in resting your head on her shoulder, listening as she explains the inspiration behind each design.
You feel like you've been mauled. A piece of you thrown in every direction. Only to morph into the creations of your hunter. "You remember your first design?" you ask, closing your eyes to still the world. "Wasn't that when we wrapped Howleen in a red blanket and my mom's scarf?" Her claws prick her upper lip as she stifles a giggle. "And made her walk around the house like it was a Scaris runway" You add, relishing in the bygone recollection.
Your childhood memories together are coated in ichor. Jejune days
when you'd watch her tumble over herself trying to be everything she could never be. Even back then, you'd known something was amiss with the world. Seen the ancient wolf that lay dormant within her. felt its bonds call out to you, pulling you in deeper. You'd cling to her like a frightened child to a teddy bear.
But you're older now. Instead of the scared child, you've turned into the monster under the bed. Funny how everyone's heritage catches up with them at some point. Even when you grow unaware of its presence. Legacy still tends to echo in your bones. You're both the same in that regard.
"I can never tell if I'm alive or dead." You tell her one night.
"Neither" Clawdeen's voice is rigid, stiff. She can feel your awakening and rebirth. It sings in her head, more vital than a howl. "creatures like us don't die so easily. We only transform." She remembers the legends, the wars, they rattle in her bones sending shivers up her spine. Neither of you have ever died. You've survived every tribulation.
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" you reply, Clawdeen notes the embers that burn behind your eyes. How they spread across your body like a wildfire.
"What doesn't kill me, simply gives me a reason to kill it" She swears she sees the moon flicker in retort.
Clawdeen slits her throat with her claws.
Choking on moondust and half-fallen stars.
Her father once told her heritage is everything before giving her a golden ring fashioned as a wolf's head. She still doesn't know what he means.
She knows her kind was born from misplaced love.
She's just glad your fates are entwined.
"Someday you'll have red eyes." You trace your thumb over her lashes as you speak. Trailing down to play with her curls. She knows what you mean. Oh how, she wants to devour the hope you offer so freely. Rip it from your heart and feel it pulsing under her fangs. Maybe then her stars will align and she'll truly understand what she is.
Clawdeen's feelings grow teeth, gnawing at her carnivorously as she pulls you close. Muttering a 'thanks' as if it holds the weight of the world. There's comfort in the thought that she's molded you. Helped nourish your flames until they grew so potent. She's ever only been the middle child of the moon. But with you, she feels like so much more. Like something celestial, something ancient. An heirloom made of blood and moonrock.
Above you the clouds part. Giving way to the full moon.
₊˚.༄Lagoona Blue₊˚.༄
The air in her lungs feels synthetic, dry. She chokes off the sand and ozone, blinded by the unfiltered light, leaving burns on her frail, scaled, skin. She wonders if this is how a fish feels as it's being reeled on land. She wonders if she's any different now.
Her heart hammers when she sees you, cracking her ribs in hysteria.
Water lilies bloom from their marrow, she counts them just to distract from the stars burning in your eyes. Her teeth catch her bottom lip, gnawing the pink flesh like a shark does its prey.
Her eyes burn when she catches a glimpse of you by the pond. Gazing conflicted at three-eyed frogs. She can't help but see you as a cacophony of unmarked graves. Too many ghosts linger across your body, they're prints evident in the afternoon sun.
You leave a water lily behind her ear as you brush past her in the hallway. She thinks your perfection is exaggerated, artificial like the air. The kind daydreaming divers pray to find in rogue oysters. Lagoona is sure you're the last of your kind. An endangered creature too proud to ask for help. She clumsily fingers the flower's petals. The wave of nostalgia that invades, has her gasping for air.
The ocean she once called home is overrun by rot. She too is infected by the pollution that plugs her gills. In her dreams, she treads through clean oceans, webbed fingers entwined with yours. There is no corrosion here, no death. Just you and her and everything that entails the definition of good. When she wakes up she notices that her gills are falling one by one. Pastel blue glints scattered, floating across her bed like the empty husks of sea stars.
She too is the last of her kind.
She too is destined to perish in agony.
She wonders if you hear her tears. Hear them fall into the abyssal sea. Feel their reverberations as they create rings on the surface. She can't expect such a thing from you. You're in your own world struggling with your own scars. You left her another flower today, nymphoides indica, she doesn't understand what you're trying to tell her.
The pond has started to bleed too. Its decaying scent is pungent from miles away.
has it bled into her?
Is she infected too?
You're there again today, worlds apart yet close enough to touch. Her body stiffens as she kneels next to you. Desperate for your attention, desperate for you to tell her what she is. Maybe, just maybe she can confess her love in time to share a grave with you.
"I used to be so beautiful.." Your voice sounds evasive. A final cry for help before the ocean consumes you. Your reflection in the pond is muddled over. A glitch in reality, something Frankie would have more experience with. "you still are mate…you still are" Her words are earnest, yet she doubts they bring you solace. "If it's any consolation, I'm polluted too..". You laugh so condescending it makes her stomach churn. She rolls the words in her mouth again, tasting them for misunderstandings.
"We're all polluted Lagoona. We always have been."
You're made of one too many pieces, all doused in poison. You rearrange the water lilies on her head. Your fingers feel like home threading through her hair. "The last of our kind." Lagoona giggles, her body is growing dryer, desperate, the moisturizer and hydration station have long since stopped working. Now she awaits the poison to take over fully. You're her memento mori another helpless creature awaiting death.
And yet, to her, you're still as radiant as the first day she met you.
Lagoona's grave will be in the sea. It's a last wish one you decide to honor. You kiss her on the cheek as she turns to you. Body half submerged in her home. She hugs you, with all the longing her frail corpse can muster. It's only too late when you notice that you too are being submerged. Dragged into the eternal depths. Lagoona refuses to part with you. This is her final gift, the last present she will give you. A quick and painless death. One with a comforting presence.
Her father used to tell her strange tales of bizarre men who'd come to their ancestrial home, seeking answers far too advanced for them. She wonders if she's had the answers all along. Maybe she just had to look a little deeper.
It doesn't matter now. For her final breaths, she is at peace. She is content to end like this. With you in her arms.
𓂀𓆣☥Cleo De Nile☥𓆣𓂀
Cleo likes to think she's come a long way from her former self. No longer an autocrat cheerleader with stary eyes and a need to be worshipped.
She likes to think she's filled out the role of queen, of sovereign, of absolute.
She's done her dynasty proud...
Shattered and transformed herself into the perfect vessel.
It's not until she catches her rogue reflection in the gleam of your eyes, that she realizes she's still the same. Eons have passed yet Cleo still remains the same frail cowardly daughter bearing the burden of the D'Nile name.
You look every bit a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. You've grown to fill the role you never knew you had.
Cleo bleeds gold. She always has.
Little did she know, you did too.
You always had.
There's a crushing weight, something that makes her long for entombment. "I wish I were a mere child once more." her tone is sand on sand. So faint you think it nothing more than a mirage of sound. Her head lays on your lap bleeding out her sins as she prays for the sun to melt her. Feeble, unstable thing she is. Hailing from a feeble unstable place.
Maybe it would do you both some good to forgo the past. To embrace a thundering, grotesque future. Maybe it's time to retire the thrones and gold bangles. Maybe it's time to depart.
she laughs at such a preposterous notion.
Cleo's Icoffine lays in a pool of shards and wires and golden beads. Her bandaged fingers wrapped tightly around your bicep, tugging you closer until the scent of spices and flora became overbearing. "it's...okay" you lie through the rage bubbling in your throat. Through the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. "It's not-it's...it's never been okay", the words feel like boulders crushing her bones. turning her body and bandages back to dust.
You've known Cleo to always wear a broken crown. Funny how, after a millennia, the cracks still keep growing. Only now they bleed into her corpse, cut through bandages, and aim for the heart. You want to wipe her tears away. To whisper glory and purpose into her bejeweled ears.
Cleo lies on the golden floor. It's cold, frigid, she doesn't remember gold to be so unwelcoming, so petrifying. You pull her hand to your heart, hovering above her. Watching as she melts and hardens in the same breath.
"Allow me the pleasure of death once more. Allow me the luxury of being the only monster you ever have to know." Cleo doesn't remember missing her sarcophagi so much. Her lungs fill with broken promises as her eyes sting from mulish obsoletes. "I've been so blind for so long." She confesses, free hand fiddling with the jewels on her blouse. Running them along her nails waiting to see which will scratch first. "As have I, there's no need to-" her voice is harsh as she sits up. The undead rising from its bejeweled grave. Her hands cup your face. She tries to be gentle, to cradle you like a flower petal. "I'm-I-" her breath hitches as her fractured mind screams. "I hate myself all so very much. Yet I love you with every bit of the heart I thought I lost all those millennia ago."
Chaos has a way of squirming through her veins.
Her dreams are tainted in rubies, seeing you lying in the sand.
The noise above is defining. She hates that she's not used to it by now.
It can't be fair.
The world can't take you from her.
You're the only lifeline she has left.
The only hope that remains.
You tell Cleo you want to die one starless night, she understands the sentiment. You don't know why that makes you cry. Her lips leave phantom kisses across your eyelids. Spilling gold pleated secretes into your skin. Cleo wishes she kept you entombed next to her, rotting away far from every disaster. Yet she knows she can't, not now at least. You've morphed her into her purpose better than her omnipotent father and cruel sister ever could. With you by her side, she's truly become a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. While you rein above her, some all-knowing creature who she can't help but worship.
Do you have a Twitter or any other art accounts? I can't get enough of your greyjoy art it's so beautiful!!! You make them all look so 💞STUNNING💞. Was literally blushing and kicking my feet going through your blog😍😍
Thank you! It's so sweeet to hear that you enjoy my greyjoy art so much <3.
Sadly I don't use twitter, but you can always find my latest art on Weibo (https://weibo.com/u/6205380052?tabtype=album) Not much ahead of tumblr because I haven't been drawing much lately ;w; I'll try to make more if I have the time ՞˶•⩊•˶՞ಣ
I'm so happy to find someone else who is also a fan of the squid siblings!! The way you draw Euron and victarion is so gorgeous it makes me crush on them even harder!! 😤
So we all know the trope where the Darling runs away while pregnant with the Yandere's child. Darling ends up giving birth and raising the child until the Yandere finds them once more. Reclaiming "his perfect" family.
BUT (hear me out)
What if it's not the Darling who ends up having the baby? What if after the Darling escapes and starts living a "normal life," just trying to recuperate from the trauma.
Meanwhile, the Yandere uses the Darling's DNA/Blood mixed with their own to create a child. I don't really know the medical/magic specifics. But years later, Darling ends up running into a child that looks SO UNCOMFORTABLY LIKE THEM, but with one feature making it obvious they are the Yandere's child as well.
This child haunts them. Because they've clearly been raised by a deranged, obsessive psycho. Who will very likely use this child as an excuse to reclaim their Darling. But they are technically still the Darling's child. Someone the Darling wants to get to know and raise and watch them grow.
Will the Darling go back to the yandere just for the child?
Will the Darling try to steal their child?
What horrors and miseries await?! Tune in next time!!
My favourite "Yandere theory" will forever be that Odile looks a shocking lot like Odette, because she is a magical "fanfiction" baby that Rothbart created and gave birth to; she's meant to be his and Odette's OC baby.
Her development could totally have been sped up by magic.
But also we don't know how long Odette's been a swan so realistically Odile could have aged normally and just happened to be/look like Odette's age by the time the story takes place.
Odette on the other hand most likely doesn't age at all cause why would Rothbart want her to age and die before becoming his??
And if I can get just a little more unhindged pls.
I think Odile agrees to go along with seducing the prince because 1) she really really wants "mommy" and daddy to "get back toghter". Poor girl has spend her whole life only seeing her mother from afar and being stuck commiserating with her father.
2) Siegfried was hot I guess??
But yeah Rothbart was so obsessed with Odette. That he literally made a fan child oc with her and gave birth to it. Will FOREVER be my favorite theory~💜💜
