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waynes-multiverse · 2 months

Note

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @imsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou

#dirty drabbles #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester reader inser #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic

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robotsandramblings · 3 months

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"One day, the Imperials started packing up and shipped out. So we made our move and escaped. We were the only ones who made it out before the orbital bombardment. Even the clone troopers left us to die. Said they were following orders."

this broke my heart.

and i think it needs to be discussed a lot more.

my first reaction is to say "no!! they would never do that!!! they would never leave behind their own little brothers!!! they are loyal! they have honour! they're good people!!"

but i think that's the point here. we're no longer seeing the clones we typically see from the Clone Wars show. we're no longer seeing our romanticized, rose-tinted-glasses version of them.

i feel like we're actually seeing them more closely to their original Legends version, where there was no inhibitor chip, where the clones really did obey orders without question and carried out Order 66 without a chip to force them into it, simply because it was a direct order from the highest authority.

and that's what we're seeing with these remaining Imperial clones. they are those types of clones. 95% of the "good" ones have been rooted out by now. what's left are the die-hards, the obeyers, the brainwashed, the ignorant pawns. they aren't concerned with saving lives or protecting people, not even their own kin. they're there to follow orders and serve their Empire.

it definitely hurts, but honestly, it's a bit refreshing, and yes it is realistic. i remember reading a post ages ago about an interesting hypocrisy within the fandom -- how we as fans hate seeing clones treated as less than human, how we want them to be treated "more human", BUT we also prefer them to be these good, heroic, noble characters. which is definitely not a human trait. humans are inherently both good and bad, and some are bad, and some are very very bad. so if we want our clones to have the full range of humanity, then some of them have to be bad people.

so really, especially at this point in the timeline, it is entirely realistic that these "bad" clones exist, that they are willingly choosing this path, and they are choosing to let people die, even their own, because of orders, or simply for their own survival.

personally, i'm glad the writers were brave enough to take this step. i honestly hope it doesn't end up as a "they're all still brainwashed" or "their chips are still active" explanations. we need some clones that want to be with the Empire. we need some clones to be villians.

#the bad batch #star wars #bad batch spoilers #analyzingsw #sw legends #clone cadets

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noodles-07 · 5 months

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follow up poll to my one about the doctor. which modern Doctor Who COMPANION would win in a fight against all the others. no holds barred. they can fight dirty. psychological warfare is not just allowed but encouraged (though not mandatory). just full on duking it out. this is not about who your favorite is this is about who would be the most devastating in combat

we're not including Jack Harkness because he Literally cant die. also not including Wilf because I love him too much to put him in these situations.

#we all know Rory took Amy's last name let's not kid ourselves #disclaimer I've only watched up to the Ponds so. grabbed all the names after River from tvtropes #doctor who #poll doesn't have enough options for Thirteen's companions :(#I know Donna is the fan favorite but lets be real. she was a temp. and the metacrisis didn't stick. if she wins I'm biting everyone

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 5 months

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What if... yan prince, with knight apprentice reader? Reader's father was the army cheif and she's the daughter who is ambitious, wanting to become just like her father in future.

Where does the prince comes in the story. They are playdates. But instead of playing house they play with swords, bows and arrows. As they grow up, the reader is assigned as his personal guard, but after a near death experience for reader while saving the prince, he realizes that how much more precious his knight is to him. Like a rare treasure. One he wishes to keep himself only.

Ps: the prince was originally very mischievous and childish, dragging reader everywhere with him and getting into trouble as well.

-🌼

Yandere! Male! Emperor x knight! fem! Reader

Finally! This yandere ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you've read Eros' story, you would know that there is an Imperial family, and that there is a crown prince which is Yuno, but if you've read Aeron's, there's a new bloodthirsty emperor in town. And, in an ask, I confirmed it's not Yuno. So who is it?

Also, thanks for the other asks, 🌼anon! Even those which are not requests. I've read them all and appreciate them ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

BY THE WAY, HAPPY NEW YEARS! This my gift uwu

Well, let's see, shall we?

Yandere! Emperor name: Callisto (yes, name is from Villains are Destined to Die manhwa (´▽`)❀.)

TW: Misogynism, literal pet names (dog)

Callisto.

Quite the arrogant kid. A brat, someone who thinks highly of himself because he's a prince, and a smug piece of--

Anyways...

Born as the Emperor's fifth child and the third son, he's always faded into the background. That's why he acts up in order to get into his father's radar.

His mother, a travelling dancer, got pregnant by the Emperor when they met at the fare. She immediately rose to become a concubine, and due to her ethereal beauty, Callisto inherited her looks.

And despite not being the crown prince, Callisto is favoured by the Emperor due to his mother being the apple of the Emperor's eye.

So other than being an arrogant mama's boy, what are his redeeming qualities?

Well...

He's smart, and actually politically intelligent. Even though he's still quite young, he grasped the way a monarchy run and how the state is affected by the aristocrats and the Imperial family's decision. He sometimes pipe up to say opinions and queries that even adult nobles cannot comprehend.

Why is this guy not the crown prince yet?

Callisto, having a rivalry with the current crown prince, Yuno, always bullied the boy.

Due to the current Empress being out of favor due to the Emperor's new concubine, Callisto, despite being younger than Yuno for two years, eagerly pushed down Yuno down. Somewhere he apparently belongs.

Everyday, whenever they meet at the academy, Callisto always finds a way to humiliate the boy. Tripping him, ripping his uniform, dumping dirt or bugs, anything.

This created a weird superiority + inferiority complex inside Yuno as he runs to his fiance.

Well, Callisto doesn't care.

His mother asked the Emperor to not give Callisto a fiance yet, saying that he "needs to find true love like how they met each other". When in reality, His mother is cunning, and wants to find a fiance for him personally. Someone easy to rope into their side and not be a perpetual spy for the other princes, princesses, and concubines. Especially the Empress'.

And so, even though Callisto doesn't have a fiance, he does a companion.

From the rigorous trickling of numerous proposals into one, you emerged victorious.

Someone who serves the Imperial Family, but is known to be quite the strong opposition to the Emperor who keeps him checked, the Captain of the Imperial Knights. He's married, and had a family with you as the daughter.

Strong, upright, and righteous, you inherited your father's sense of duty yet the strong sense of camaraderie and service to the people. Same as Callisto, despite being young, you had quite the righteous view of the world. Someone so helpful yet to nihilistic towards the Imperial Family even in a not so direct way.

The first time you two met was unfavorable.

He immediately tossed a sword to your way and without a moment of hesitation, tried to stab you. You parried quite well, making Callisto smirk in arrogance as he hopped back.

He found you interesting. A girl, wanting to be a knight? Preposterous!

Yet, admirable.

He liked seeing you scramble to keep up with lessons.

Sure, you're talented, but that made people hate you more due to your gender.

So, why not help, right?

Callisto would always watch you practice. His eyes never leaving you as you struggled to fight with the misogynistic teacher, the arrogant teammates, and the pressure burdening you.

And, when it got too much, he would interrupt the lessons by tossing a sword to you again and sparring.

It did stop the bullying momentarily, but god did it put you in trouble.

Drills upon drills, they punished you for interrupting the lessons despite Callisto doing it! The reason why it's you? It's because he's a prince, and the son of the beloved Concubine.

Of course.

This made your relationship with Callisto wonky. More like an enemies forced to be together for politics. But in a platonic way.

And years passed...

Callisto, now 22 years old, finds himself watching his stupid crown prince of a brother fumble his fiance as he dances with a random girl named Elisia.

Sure, she's pretty, but he always thought Yuno is head over heels for his fiance.

"Pfft. Such a fucking disgrace." He cracked his neck and got off the pillar to go to his father, the Emperor.

The Emperor is rightfully angry, seeing his son humiliate him over and over again.

"Father, I think you should really reconsider his position now." Callisto whispered, watching as Yuno pull Elisia to the balcony to do god knows what. "Hell, i'd rather have that weirdo of a hero who suddenly appeared one day to be the crown prince."

Callisto frowned as he remembered the man who suddenly appeared in the throne room. Now a Marquis, Aeron is steadily becoming a powerful man, and Callisto intends to bring him to his side once he...

He looked at the Emperor who shivered in fear from the mention of Aeron. He remembered how the Emperor sent that man to a suicide mission. It was honestly disgusting, but Callisto can't do anything other than try to send him party members.

"Yet those fuckers continue to betray him. What the fuck." He mumbled to himself before clearing his throat. "Father, what do you think? I even think Duke Eros is good for the position."

Duke Eros also, an eccentric man. Cold blooded and someone sharp, yet invents these infrastructures and weird devices that pioneers technology. A term he coined. An odd fellow, but Callisto likes the Duke due to being one of the people who can oppose the Emperor without that much backlash and resistance due to his own power and authority.

He's also someone who Callisto needs to look out about.

Honestly, the Emperor is never a good man. He's a greedy man, creating enemies left and right due to his pride and his habit of stealing money from the coffers of the people. Tax money? Pocketed. Jewels? Stolen. Government? Corrupt. Everything is fucked up in his reign that Callisto is having a hard time thinking of what to do.

So, why not usurp the throne?

His mother, who rose to be the Empress, has laid down a path for him. And all he has to do is to follow diligently.

His eyes scanned the ballroom to find his sweet little playmate.

There you are, eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats and assassins.

He felt bad, not letting you know of the plans. But he needs to do this. If he wants you to survive the usurpation, keeping you in the dark is what he needs to do.

The Emperor grunted, finally relenting to his son's will.

"Alright. I'm taking off Yuno from the crown prince position." The Emperor said, rubbing his temples.

Callisto secretly smirked, one of his plans finally bearing fruit.

"Thank you father. That will be enough. I don't think Yuno is qualified to be the next Emperor. He's too... Impulsive, and doesn't see the path you laid down for him." Callisto praised him, fueling the Emperor's Ego and lowering Yuno's reputation more.

"Yes yes... Go forth and call my Prime Minister. I need to discuss Yuno's abdication as soon as possible." Callisto nodded before going away from the ball to call the prime Minister.

Of course, you're diligently following him like the puppy you are.

And yes, you became his personal guard after graduating from the Knight training. Sure, you could have joined the ranks, yet Callisto here asked his father to make you his personal guard.

Not able to reject an order from the Emperor, you had no choice but to comply to his wishes.

"Hey, you're on my side, right?" Callisto asked, suddenly stopping in the middle of the long hallway. The moonlight filtering through the giant windows made an eerie yet despondent shadow on Callisto as you cleared your throat.

"Yes, your highness." You muttered.

"Then, let this be a test if you are actually on my side."

Suddenly, the windows broke, shattering the glass and the protective barrier placed on the palace.

Immediately, you unsheathed your sword and dashed to attack the intruder who crashed through the window. Cloaked with a dagger in hand, he tried to reach Callisto who's only leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Your highness! Please run!" You yelled, pushing back the assassin as you prepared for another collision.

"Nah. I actually want to see this." He chuckled and watched your body move and glide across the hall to fight off this unusually strong opponent.

Callisto's eyes was enticed by the way your form flexed under pressure and under the force of such a strong oponent.

Seeing you struggle and not complain was enough for him.

"Okay, big girl. Come on let's stop this. Just kill the man."

But before he could come up to you and help you stop the assassin, he saw you kill the assassin and look at him in a shocked stare.

It happened so fast.

He felt you grab his body as you shielded him with yours.

Then, a warm liquid spilling onto him.

His eyes zeroed on an another cloaked man with a dagger, stabbing your shoulder.

You slumped down on his.

You felt soft, warm, yet he oddly felt lightheaded.

When he came to his wits once more, he's cradling your body with the cloaked man's body mangled on the floor.

Carrying you, he ran to the royal hospital. He's soaked in blood, your blood.

He felt helpless for the first time as he demanded for one of his servants to call for his mother.

Yeah, maybe his mother would know what to do as you fought for your life.

It felt like a blur as he saw his mother run to him, carrying her heavy gown as she kneeled to him. Oh? Callisto is kneeling? When did that happen?

He felt his mother brush away his tears. Tears? When did that happen too?

Once more, a blur as he fainted.

He feels like he's floating on the sea as he confronted a man. He also looks the same age as him, maybe a bit older. The man looked at him with a smile.

There and then, the man, who proclaimed himself as god, told Callisto that he's the protagonist of a "media". He forgot if it's a novel or whatever a videogame is, but he knows that he's the most favored character of this god.

He scoffed.

"So, if I am the favored one, then why..." His voice shook. "WHY IS MY BELOVED FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE FOR ME?!"

It took almost everything inside of him to admit that he loves you, but he doesn't care anymore.

The god whispered that it's the part of the plot, and that he should just let fate run its course. He assured Callisto that you will be okay.

Callisto nodded, heaving a bit before giving the god a cold glare.

"So, if I am this protagonist, this ever so important character..." Callisto murmured. "I can get away with anything... Right?"

"Right?"

The sheath of a sword, and a heavy, wet plop on the carpeted floor became the backdrop for the sound of victorious yells.

Callisto sighed, cracking his neck as he got out of the castle, and out of the Kingdom to their East.

"Emperor Callisto! What shall we do with the captured servants?" One of the knights asked, and Callisto cleared his throat, thinking.

"Put them in the dungeon back in the Empire. I still have to think on what to do with them."

With the knights bowing, they dispersed as Callisto immediately teleported back to the Palace.

After learning that the previous Emperor was the one who sent the assassins, he almost broke his facade.

It seems that the Empress didn't seduce the Emperor enough to make sure he didn't doubt Callisto.

Yet, he doesn't care about that.

He only cared about the fact that the Emperor almost killed you.

With the guarantee that he won't have any dire consequences due to being the "protagonist", he immediately went to Marquis Aeron to assassinate the Emperor with his sprites.

Aeron gladly did it, giving two sprites to Callisto as they phased through the walls and kill off the Emperor in his sleep.

And, while the chaos of the sudden death of the Emperor, he challenged Yuno to a duel for the throne. Yuno, who just got his engagement annulled and watched as his fiance became Duke Eros', he's scrambling to bring back his pride and dignity.

Yet, the "protagonist" cheat proved right as he won by landslide. Beating Yuno black and blue and becoming Emperor.

His mother, proud as her son finally took the path she intended for him to have, became Empress dowager.

Where are you in this situation?

You were in a coma like state. The dagger, having poison, took a toll on your body. So, you did not witness the way he avenged you and took the throne for himself.

And when you woke up, you only heard of the assassination, and knew he's behind it.

"Callisto! You killed your father?!" You confronted him, appalled. And Callisto, surprised by your anger, only laughed in disbelief.

He avenged you, and you're angry? "Yeah, I did."

"You know that all of the people in this Empire knew you're the one who assassinated the Emperor." You glowered.

"How do you even know that?" Callisto smirked, shrugging as he took a seat on the throne. "They don't. You're deceiving yourself, big girl."

"Do not call me that." Your jaw tightened, eyes in anger and annoyance. "They will know. I just feel it."

Callisto frowned. How dare you say that when he's the protagonist? He's practically invincible.

"Are you threatening me, y/n?" He stood up. Suddenly, he didn't feel like the childhood friend you have. He feels imposing, too far for you to reach, a wall so thick you can't even comprehend.

"I avenged you. I killed my father for you. Those assassins? He ordered for them to kill me." He laughed, eyes wide with annoyance. "And you, a mere woman dares to not see the grace I gave?"

You laughed in disbelief.

DId he just...

"And I do thank you y/n for shielding me. It made me realize something. Your loyalty is something I need by my side."

He held out his hand, holding out for you to grab.

"Be my Empress. You're my most loyal dog. And you have a good eye for politics." Callisto proposed. "I can spoil you greatly, give you riches beyond your dreams. Just be my pretty, loyal, dog, or doll. If you're into that."

You gripped your hand into a fist, eyes ablaze with anger.

"I will not. Women are not mere dogs, nor do I need to say yes to your proposal." You spat out. "And I am not going to be yours. Never yours."

When did he become such a deplorable man? Someone so full of himself? He already was, but at least he's logical and never demeaning.

But this?

"I will correct myself. I knew that the people will know that it's you because you're the only one who is close to Marquis Aeron and Duke Eros, two of the well known opposition to the Emperor before, amongst the Imperial children. And you used Marquis' sprites, which only those who defeated the demon king can wield. And, Marquis Aeron is not the emperor now, but you. HIS FRIEND." You smirked bitterly.

"What? People are stupid! They won't realize that!"

"HAH!" You rasped out. "Even still, it will instill doubt in them. Other than that, I will abdicate myself as your personal guard. Fuck. You. Callisto."

Callisto's eyes widened as you turned your back to him, marching outside with a slam.

When he came back to his wits, he seethed in frustration and decided to take a breather. Anger is riddling him.

But once he calmed down and tried to summon for you, he just heard from your father that you ran away.

He scoffed.

As if you can run away from him.

But you disappeared. With such a meticulous way to vanish, nobody can track you at all.

As if you never existed in the first place.

He felt his body run cold.

Where did you go?

Where did you vanish to?

"Y/N!!"

He went mad trying to find you, tirelessly combing through the Empire without stopping.

It was only a year later that a lead was given.

You're out of the Empire. That's it.

Manic, Callisto decided to do the extreme to scare you out.

Now known as the warfreak Emperor, he reigned fear and blood onto other territories as he decimated every place just to find you.

His blood running cold, his time running out, and his patience running thin,

Once he finds you, you know you can't escape from his shackles. Literal or not.

And he will continue the bloodshed for you.

And this heavy burden and sin will be on your shoulder the longer you don't return to his arms.

#lizzaneiaelizalde #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yandere boyfriend #yandere male #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic

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fettuccinealfred0 · 5 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 1

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 6.5k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, neglectful parenting)

Summary:

“I must thank you for your company. I fear you have been the highlight of my night.” Astarion gives your hand an affectionate squeeze before he’s dropped it and disappeared into the night.

You stand there for a moment, dazed and coming back to your senses. Your skin is still flushed and hot as you imagine again what Astarion’s lips might have felt like against the back of your hand. Or perhaps pressed against your own? You think of Astarion and his sweet words and beautiful face. Perhaps it was possible to marry for love, after all. Perhaps Astarion would be your saving grace. For who couldn't resist ending the night in love with that man?

Read on ao3 here

The carriage creaks and groans as it makes its way up the hill. You feel the stern eyes of your father pressing into you like a heavy weight, a reminder not to forget the importance of the night, a reminder to know your place, girl.

Your entrance into society had been underwhelming, to say the least, and you could rapidly feel your father reaching a point of resentment that he still hadn’t been able to marry you off. Being the youngest daughter and with your mother passing when you were a young girl, you were simply a loose end that your father needed to tie off before he could go back to doing whatever it was noble men liked to do in their free time. You always assumed it was a lot of drinking and hunting.

You didn’t particularly want to be married, so you hadn’t really been entertaining suitors. What was the point of shackling yourself to someone if not for love? What was the point of allowing a man to own you and control you? You’d much rather spend your time alone with a little house, to garden and read as you please.

But, an unmarried woman is a dangerous woman, and that cannot be allowed.

So, you were in the carriage, attempting not to shrink under your father’s gaze as you headed off to a ball that seemed to be a last ditch effort to see you married. You stare down at your dress, instead, intently studying the shimmery embroidery and beadwork. It truly was a stunning dress, perhaps the nicest you had ever owned. The corset was pushing so hard at your chest that your bosom threatened to spill out of the top. You were not an arrogant or boastful person, but even you had to admit that you were breathtaking when you saw yourself in the mirror. A ripe fruit ready to be plucked by a husband, as your father had said.

The carriage rolls to a stop and you would prefer to jump out and take in a deep gulp of air to calm your nerves. But, you must always remember your manners first and so you patiently wait for the door to open and the escort’s hand to assist you down from the carriage.

The manor is fantastical, beyond even your wildest dreams. The entryway is full of candles in gold and gem encrusted candelabras, flowers blooming everywhere you look. The brilliant red and white roses fill the summer air with a sweet, perfumed scent. The House of Ancunin was always known for their opulence and it appears the newest young lord plans to continue the family legacy.

The Ancunins had been around for generations, their secrets and mysteries kept locked away in their manor on the hill, doors only opening for the occasional, extravagant party. It had been a long time since a ball had been hosted at the manor. For many years, it appeared that the noble family line had threatened to die off and fade into obscurity.

But recently, the new Lord Ancunin had made his presence known and celebrated his arrival into society. There were rumors that he was a bastard or that he had bought his title as the last ‘real’ Ancunin had died off. But nevertheless, this was the first time the manor doors would be open to the public again since the days of your grandparents- and everyone will be flaunting their wealth tonight like desperate peacocks.

You try to keep your mouth from falling open as you gawk at the ornate entryway, littered with art that it would take hours to fully appreciate. You would rather stop and admire, but your father rushes you into the ballroom. You’ve been reminded again and again what your job is for tonight- to dance and flirt and stop chasing nice men away.

The ballroom, with its giant windows and chandeliers seemingly floating in the air stuns you when you walk in. You’re immediately swept onto the dance floor as the orchestra swells in a symphony of music. You catch the way your beaded skirt reflects the light in the mirror as you twirl and for a moment, you’re stunned when you see yourself. You look radiant. Perhaps the only person in attendance who seems to match the grandeur of the ballroom.

Your first dance partner is dull, to say the least. And the next speaks only of himself, hardly paying any attention to you. You catch a break every now and then with a man who is at least light on his feet, but your night seems to be doomed to a vicious cycle. Dull and selfish, dull and selfish.

As you continue to lament in your head, you’re glided into the arms of a new partner. It takes a minute to pull yourself back to reality. You had expected yet another brainless Sergeant regaling you with stories of his military prowess that you would be forced to pretend to listen to. When instead, you’re met with silence, you finally turn to look up at your new partner.

Your breath catches in your throat and you feel your heartbeat quicken dangerously. The man’s stunning eyes quickly dart down to your throat before returning to your face. Or perhaps he was looking at your cleavage? He certainly wouldn’t be the first man tonight to fall victim to the wonders of corsetry. And was it just a trick of the light, or are his eyes red?

This man is undeniably the most beautiful person you have ever seen. The light from the room catches against the white curls meticulously framing his face, creating a halo. It seems impossible that this apparition might be human and not some hallucination conjured up in your boredom.

“Forgive me for intruding,” he says, in a sweet, melodic voice that seems to lilt in time with the music. “But I could no longer endure your absence from my arms.”

You’ve somehow managed to keep in step while you’ve been waxing poetry in your head about the stranger in front of you. Perhaps it was a testament to the many years of dancing that were drilled into you growing up, or perhaps it was because this angel was so good at leading you. But your footsteps do falter at his words, only a step or two before he’s guided you back on track. He’s still looking at you expectantly and you remember that you need to talk, that you can’t just keep staring at him in awe.

“Well, now that you’ve caught me, what do you plan to do with me?” You sound ridiculous, you think. Voice timid and tapering off a bit at the end from nerves. This is not who you are, some silly girl, driven half-mad the first time you’re given attention by a man.

But the man looks down at you through his pale lashes, eyes deep and dark with hunger and you think you might drop to the floor and weep and beg for him. A part of you wants to offer up your neck so he can rip your throat open with his teeth.

His voice is low and dangerous, like a predator, and it fills your stomach with a warmth that spreads through your veins. “Darling, I plan on never letting you go again. They’ll have to tear you away from me at the end of the night.”

You can’t quite remember when your throat got so dry, but a breathless, strangled sigh involuntarily leaves you at his words.

“Nor would I want to be anywhere else,” you manage to squeak out and the satisfied smirk that spreads across his face is worth it.

The music swells again, the song coming to an end and you dip as the dance requires. The man bends with you and you feel his breath against your neck. He must be nervous, too, you think because his breath comes out as sharp puffs of air. Deep in your mind, a part of you wishes that he would close the gap and his luscious mouth would make contact with the delicate skin of your neck. You have to remind yourself that would be ridiculous and improper in the middle of a dancefloor.

You stay dipped in his arms for a few seconds longer than necessary, much longer than what is considered appropriate in polite society. Your eyes fall closed and you feel your tongue wet your lips as he breathes against your neck. You savor that moment, locking it away in a secluded part of your mind so you can relive it forever. All too quickly, you’ve been lifted upright again and twirled on your feet.

“You’re an exquisite dance partner, madam,” the man compliments. You realize he’s trying to politely ask for your name and you give it to him. You would gladly give him anything he could ever want. You’re half desperate to rip the heart from your own chest and offer it to him on one of the gaudy platters that waiters are serving drinks on.

The man repeats your name with a wicked grin and you feel said heart stutter in your chest.

“My father would preen to hear your compliment but in truth, I believe a woman is only as good of a dancer as her partner, sir,” you reply, truly shocked at the coherency of the words managing to tumble themselves out of your mouth. “May I ask your name?”

“Lord Ancunin,” he replies and everything connects. So, this is the mysterious lord of the manor. You can see why he keeps himself locked up in secrecy. He could bring the world to ruin with that handsome face.

Lord Ancunin twirls you out and pulls you in close to his chest, his breath a deep whisper against the shell of your ear when he says, “Though, I hope you will call me Astarion.”

“Fitting,” you giggle when you turn to face him again and he quirks a pale brow up in question. You give him a dazzling smile of your own as you say, “A face as beautiful as yours belongs up in the night sky next to all the other stars.”

You did know how to be charming if you wanted to, even if your father never seemed to believe you.

“Ah, so you do know how to spin honeyed words back at me. Have I finally met my match?” The smile he gives you is mischievous and it makes you feel like you’re in on some inside joke with him. You like that feeling, you realize. The feeling of just you and Astarion, wrapped together in a world all of your own.

“If all it takes is a few sweet words to impress you, I am lucky you have found me so early in the night, before the crowd can woo you away from me. For surely everyone here will sing praises meant to dazzle our mysterious host,” you offer him a teasing smile of your own. He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, but darling, the words only matter when they come from your sweet lips. The rest of this rabble is nothing compared to you,” Astarion’s hand has dipped ever so slightly lower along the curve of your waist as he speaks in a low, rich voice. His touch, combined with his words, send your head spinning. You’ve received flatteries and had your flirtations like any woman, but there’s something about Astarion that is addicting and leaves you craving more.

Astarion has guided you to the edge of the ballroom floor by the massive windows overlooking the gardens, exploding with all varieties of blooms. Even in this darkened view, they’re stunning and a part of you wishes to go out and explore them. Perhaps you can convince Astarion to join you and you could walk with your arm tucked in the curve of his, letting your fingers ‘accidently’ sneak down to feel the sinewy muscles in his forearms.

Your mind wanders, questioning if Astarion spends much time out in the gardens. Or what he does all day up in his manor on the hill. As any noble Lord, there’s bound to be servants, but you doubt Astarion has any family. The Ancunin line was about to die out before Astarion seemingly appeared out of nowhere to revive it. It’s sad to think of him spending his days up here with no one who loves him, a fate you had grown intimately familiar with yourself after the last of your brothers moved away.

“Is it lonely up here by yourself?” You ask brazenly. Your own voice surprises you as you speak the question you’ve been wondering aloud. Astarion’s mouth opens slightly and he’s silent, as if you’ve managed to shock him to his very core. The shake of his head is nearly imperceptible before he’s schooling his features again, lips curling back into a cutting smile.

“Perhaps I’ve simply been waiting for your company,” he says, but you’re a bit disappointed by his empty answer. Though, you suppose it was rather rude of you to ask a deeply personal question in such a public setting.

“Do you like the gardens?” Astarion redirects the conversation, noticing how you’ve been staring intently over his shoulder at the greenery through the enormous glass windows.

“I’m quite fond of roses,” you tell him, a bit shy at the confession. Your mother used to have a few bushes that she cherished when you were a little girl, but they had died with her.

“Roses are very beautiful, as long as you don’t mind a few thorns.”

The double meaning behind his words is obvious to you in that moment, though Astarion is far more beautiful than any silly little flower you’ve ever seen. His beauty is just as sharp though, just as deadly. You wouldn’t be surprised if people had killed for this man, if people had died for him.

“I’ve always had a special talent for avoiding them,” you give him a teasing smile back and his eyes sparkle with glee at your response. They’re such an unusual shade. In this dark corner of the room they appear an unnatural brown-ish red. They suit him, obviously, as if every feature on his face was carefully selected to create the most perfect man imaginable. But those eyes give him a dangerous gleam that makes you want to drown in him.

“I don’t doubt that at all, little flower,” Astarion says with that low voice that sends arousal pooling deep in your stomach.

Your heart stutters at the endearment. Little flower. Not a practiced, rehearsed platitude, but something just for you. Something based on a moment you had shared together. You hope against hope that you aren’t making this moment up in your head but no, Astarion is here and he’s real and maybe everything will work out alright. Maybe marriage doesn’t have to be a curse that plagues you for the rest of your life.

Before you can speak, a man with dark, graying hair approaches Astarion, whispering quickly in his ear. Astarion’s gentle smile leaves his face as he listens intently. When the other man steps away, Astarion’s blazing gaze returns to you.

“I do apologize, my lady, but I have an urgent matter I must attend to,” Astarion’s lips are still turned down into a tight frown as he sweeps into an elegant, over-the-top bow. The motion looks so natural on him.

When he rises, he takes your hand in his own. You feel your breath catch in your throat as his lips brush against the back of your hand. You really wish you weren’t wearing your stupid gloves and could truly feel the softness of his lips against your skin.

“I must thank you for your company. I fear you have been the highlight of my night.” Astarion gives your hand an affectionate squeeze before he’s dropped it and disappeared into the night.

You don’t know how you’re expected to dance with or entertain anyone else the rest of the night. Not after Astarion. Not after you had met perfection. You spot your father, head bowed and distracted in conversation with a short, greasy man.

You sneak out of a large glass-paned door into the garden. The roses out front were just a preview of the true beauty hiding here. Blooms of every size and color swirl together. You follow the well-maintained paths, entranced, noting the flowers you recognize and staring occasionally at a flower you’ve only seen drawn in books.

You’ve wandered quite a ways from the party when your ears pick up a quiet rustling, compelling you to investigate. Your curious nature had always been a curse: it had gotten you chastised by tutors when you read books that were not meant for a young lady’s eyes, and had earned your father’s ire when he discovered you sneaking in to watch and learn from your brother's sword fighting lessons.

In this moment, your inquisitive spirit wins out again, and your feet move, almost of their own accord, in the direction of the sound. You hear it again. It sounds like a person, or perhaps… was that a moan?

You find yourself in a secluded area of the garden and debate whether you should turn back for fear of intruding on a couple’s private moment. As you turn to leave, you freeze, eyes catching the glimmer of pale silver hair in the moonlight.

Your heart sinks to your chest. Of course. Astarion is so beautiful it only makes sense that he would have lovers clawing the doors down for just a moment with him. In retrospect, it seems rather cruel of him to praise you as the highlight of his night when he was leaving you to meet with another woman.

Unable to look away, you see Astarion holding a beautiful woman in his arms, dipping her just as he had dipped you only a short while ago. But this time, he’s closed the gap and his lips are pressed against her, kissing her neck. Her eyes are closed in what you assume to be ecstasy.

And all you had gotten was a kiss over a gloved hand. An angry, jealous wave flares within you and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to reveal your hiding spot and make even more of a fool of yourself tonight than you apparently already have.

You’re hidden out of their sight, positioning yourself strategically behind a bush. Not that they would even notice you with how enraptured they are with one another right now. You don’t know why you’re even staying. Perhaps there’s some masochistic part of you that wants you to remember this hurt, remember that this is why you don’t hope, that marriage born from love was a lie that only fools believe.

You watch, ignoring the emotions boiling inside you and the gut wrenching pain that makes you feel as if you’ve been stabbed. Only… the more you watch, the less Astarion seems to be kissing her neck and the more he seems to be sucking at it?

Astarion parts from the woman and when he tilts his head up, the moonlight glints against the dark rivulets of blood running down his chin, his hand reaching up to wipe it clean.

You can’t help the shocked inhale that manages to escape you and you see Astarion’s eyes open and whip over to your hiding spot. You had questioned if his eyes were red before, but you’re sure now as they practically grow crimson in the darkness.

Your mind is reeling, you need to get out of there. You aren’t even entirely sure how you got to this part of the garden, but you rush back toward the direction of the manor as fast as you can on your trippy, heeled shoes, doing your best to only stumble minimally on your flowing skirts.

There’s no way it can be true, but you’re certain Astarion had been drinking that woman’s blood. You had heard the myths and legends about vampires, but it seemed impossible for the creature to exist in real life. Vampires were just scary monsters used to keep children from roaming in the dark, weren’t they?

Suddenly, everything clicks. Astarion’s unbelievable beauty was nothing but a farce, a trait evolved by a predator to draw you in. And of course, you had fallen for it like the silly little girl you were. A few minutes ago, you would have been willing to split yourself open for him to devour. He could have offered you the knife and you would have gladly let yourself bleed for his affections.

Now, your heartbeat pounds in your ears, so loud you can’t tell if you’re hearing the thud of your own heart or of Astarion’s footsteps chasing after you. You think back to the woman. Did he mean to kill her? Did he mean to kill you, too, now that you had caught him?

The doors to the manor are finally in sight when you brave a peak over your shoulder. Sure enough, Astarion is rounding the final curve of the garden as you slip through the glass-paned doors.

You force yourself to focus, to think. You can’t help wondering if this is how a rabbit feels when it’s being hunted. How it must know that its very survival depends on its ability to think quickly and get away.

Attempting to disguise yourself in the dancing crowd, you wind artfully between different partners and move in confusing, zig-zagging patterns so Astarion cannot follow you. But, you keep catching glimpses of white hair out of the corner of your eye, Astarion never falling too far behind.

Your new dance partner is twirling you to the next person when you see the vampire’s red eyes over their shoulder. As he stares at you with a barely stifled rage, you can’t see anything but the red that was dripping from his chin a few minutes ago and it sends a new wave of urgency through your veins.

Your head whips around and loosens a few pins from your intricate hairdo. The strands fall in your eyes as you frantically scan the crowd for an escape, or at the very least, your father. His disappointment and rage at your lack of a marriage prospect tonight is certainly preferable to the death you are certain you will face if Astarion manages to catch you.

When you look up, there’s a silver mirror in front of you. You look rattled and a bit disheveled, but Astarion is nowhere in sight behind you. Finally, you allow yourself to let out the breath you’ve been holding, shoulders dropping in relief.

A cold hand curls heavily around your shoulder, sending goosebumps skittering across your skin and you look up into Astarion’s angry eyes which shine a brilliant ruby red. Your mind reels and you glance between him and the mirror a couple times because he is standing right next to you but is noticeably absent from the mirror’s reflection. You hate yourself for making such a stupid mistake, for forgetting the rules about vampires, the monsters who didn’t have a reflection.

“Come with me,” Astarion’s voice is cold, so opposite of the sweet tone he used earlier while you danced. He uses his grip on your shoulder to start pulling you away from the crowd. To kill you without making a scene.

“No,” you cry out and try to pull away from him but his fingers dig into your collarbone even harder and it starts to hurt. He’s supernaturally strong as he drags you beside him further and further away from the dancing crowd, further and further away from any hope of salvation.

You should let out a scream, alert someone, do something. It’s not in your nature to go down without a fight.

“Stay quiet if you wish to live through the night,” Astarion hisses against the shell of your ear, like he could tell what you were thinking. You hate that his voice still sends a warm tingle down your spine.

Astarion pulls you around a corner to some sort of secluded closet where he flings open the door and pushes you inside. He’s got you crowded against the wall, his forearm angled so it’s pressing against your windpipe. He isn’t pushing hard enough to restrict your airflow, but his arm is a heavy reminder that he could if he wanted to. A reminder of the threat of death looming over you.

“Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t,” Astarion tries to rationalize with you, his eyes hard and unwavering as they stare into your own. Like if he says the words with enough conviction, he might just convince you.

“You’re going through a lot of trouble if I, in fact, didn’t see anything,” you point out, which is maybe not the smartest argument to make in the face of certain death. You always had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. To keep yourself from making this bad situation even worse, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep quiet.

“Impetuous woman. I was trying to hel- I mean…” Astarion grits his teeth in frustration. He seems to be recalculating in his head, figuring out what to do with you. “I had hoped to settle this civilly.”

Even though you feel like you’re growing to throw up, you close your eyes and force yourself to act nonchalant as you speak, “If you’re going to kill me, I’d prefer it if you didn’t drag it out unnecessarily.”

Your eyes are still closed, but you feel Astarion’s forearm drop away from where it was pressed against your throat, though his body still keeps you pinned tightly against the wall. This is possibly the closest you’ve ever been to a man and a dark part of your mind enjoys how his thigh is pressed against your own, only a few layers of fabric separating you from his pale skin.

You bite a little harder at your cheek to focus your thoughts and are overwhelmed by the metallic tang of blood on your tongue. When you open your eyes, Astarion is staring at you like a man possessed, his eyes glued to your lips, pupils blown so wide his eyes appear black.

Oh, right. Blood and a vampire are not a good mix if you hope to stay alive. You try to quickly swallow the blood down, as if Astarion hadn’t already noticed it. He lets out a sinful noise, something between a chuckle and a groan.

“I’m not going to kill you, darling,” his voice is deep and hungry as he carefully traces one finger along the pulse point in your neck. “Why would I kill you when I can keep you all to myself?”

You blanch at his words, seeing your future laid out in front of you. Chained up in the dungeon as a vampire’s slave. Kept alive, but barely, a source of constant food for a greedy monster. For a moment, it almost makes you laugh to think that of course this dramatic manor would have a gaudy dungeon.

“You’re a monster,” you say to Astarion, an angry sneer across your face.

“Oh, don’t act stupid, pet,” Astarion scoffs at you, his hand now moving up to tuck the loose piece of hair behind your ear and his cheek brushes against yours as he leans in impossibly closer to whisper. “It’s unbecoming of you to pretend to be something we both know you aren’t.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek as he pulls away from you and your mind is in such turmoil, you can’t even revel in the feeling of his lips finally pressing against your skin.

“Tell me, what am I really? A monster, yes, but what kind?” His voice is so smooth and silky as he taunts you, like a spider spinning you into its web. The time for escape has passed.

“A vampire,” you whimper out, the emotions finally catching up to you. You think again of the woman in the garden. “Oh god, that woman. Did you kill her?”

“Hardly,” Astarion replies, with a roll of his eyes. “And I can assure you, she was a very willing, very well compensated participant. The worst she’ll have is a bit of a headache tomorrow morning from the blood loss.”

He didn’t kill her? That doesn’t make any sense.

“For the record,” Astarion speaks again, interrupting your train of thought. “I have no qualms about killing people, but it’s such a hassle having to figure out what to do with all those dead bodies. I’ve found it’s much easier to get blood if you maintain a few snacks for the occasional top up.”

You’re still staring at Astarion, trying to understand how the man you met earlier tonight could be the same man pressing you to the wall and threatening you - when the door handle starts to rattle and turn. Astarion moves impossibly quick as he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to your neck, in the perfect imitation of a lover’s embrace. You can’t help the panicked noise that escapes you when you feel a sharp fang prick against your skin. It reminds you of the thorns of a rose. You know that this is Astarion telling you to play your part if you still want to stay alive.

The intruder clears their throat and Astarion parts from you with an exasperated sigh, as if he’s just been pulled away from a delicious feast.

“We’re busy,” he shoots over his shoulder, but when he turns his head, you can clearly see the outline of your father standing in the doorway, with the greasy man that he was talking to earlier beside him. A shock of recognition flashes in your fathers eyes before the hard mask of anger settles in.

“Lord Ancunin,” your father speaks, and you recognize the tempered fury that’s flowing in his words, threatening to erupt any second. The carriage ride home with him tonight was going to be unbearable if you managed to make it out of this. “Might I ask what you’re doing in this closet with my daughter?”

Astarion sighs again and finally, finally steps away from you, though you can see the reluctance he feigns in an attempt to keep up the act. Simply two lovers caught together at an inopportune moment.

Now that you have your own space, you feel like you can finally take a deep breath. You hadn’t realized how Astarion’s heady scent of bergamot and rosemary had been clouding your senses. Still, deep in your mind, there’s a small, shameful part of you that misses how the hard line of his body felt pressed against you.

“You had said she was a virgin!” The short man next to your father yells, his face an ugly, tomato red.

“She is,” your father swiftly attempts to placate the man. “She’ll still make a good wife, I promise.”

“The deal’s off, I don’t want damaged goods,” the greasy man turns swiftly on his heel and storms away. So, that’s what your father had been up to all night, scheming to sell you off by any means necessary.

When your father faces you and Astarion again, his eyes are flaming with anger. This night was not going to end well for you even if you did manage to escape. Astarion shifts a half-step in front of you.

“Lord Ancunin,” your father hisses again. You can tell it’s taking everything in him to keep his words polite and befitting of his station. You know that what he really wants is to relentlessly hurl insults at Astarion until he tires himself out. “I trust you don’t make it a habit of tricking naive young girls into following you into dark closets?”

“Your daughter, a young woman,” Astarion emphasizes the word. You feel a bit vindicated by this as you had been fighting your whole life for your father to see you as something other than a foolish child. “Is capable of making her own decisions and dealing with the consequences of those choices.”

The second part of his sentence was directed at you. You chose to follow him out into the gardens, to go where you were unwelcome, and you would be expected to accept your upcoming fate with grace. Your heart twists again and you feel hatred for Astarion blooming deep within you. You had not imagined the beautiful man that you danced with would be capable of such cruelty.

“I will not allow this insult on my family’s honor!” Your father’s voice continues to rise. “If the next words out of your mouth are not asking me for my daughter’s hand in marriage, then you will have made a very powerful enemy.”

“Powerful enemy,” Astarion laughs at that and turns to you as if you’re in on the joke. It is rather funny that your father thinks himself anywhere near the same standing as Astarion, but you’re having a hard time finding the energy within yourself to laugh at the moment.

“Oh, this is all going wonderfully according to plan,” Astarion claps his hands together in glee, face painted with a devilish grin. You think you catch the light glinting off one of his fangs in the dark closet. “For I had hoped to come speak with you about marrying your daughter. It seems you’ve already beaten me to the point.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the puzzle finally fits together. So, this was Astarion’s new plan. Keeping you as a slave must be too boring in his eyes, the vampire lord who wants for nothing, who has people falling at his feet for the chance to drink some of their blood. No, Astarion plans for you to keep his secret by controlling you. And everyone knows that the best way to control a woman is to marry her.

You feel like your soul is slipping out of your body. Nearly an hour ago, you would have been weeping with joy to be married to Astarion. Now, it just feels like an extended death sentence.

Astarion’s fingers brush against your arm, pulling your attention back to him, though you can��t bear to look him in his eyes.

“Dearest, would you like to go out for another dance? Or perhaps I can call someone to escort you to a room for the night?”

You nearly scoff out loud at the false choice. Both options presented by him, neither of which you really want to do. Either you go out on the dance floor and perform the act of a happy, loving couple or you’re sent off with one of his servants to be kept under guard. But, the chance of escape does seem higher if Astarion isn’t constantly by your side.

“A room, please,” you manage to choke out and Astarion gives you a polite nod. He grabs someone’s attention in the hallway and another beautiful woman with long, dark hair arrives to lead you to a room. Why is it that Astarion seems to only be surrounded by beautiful people?

Astarion’s gaze follows you until you round a corner and are finally out of his sight. You don’t doubt that he will be returning to the party to flirt and dance and drink blood while you are caged in a room like an animal. There’s an spiteful, jealous part of you that threatens to lash out. You’re jealous of his freedom, you remind yourself. You’re certainly not jealous of the people who get to dance with him the rest of the night.

You keep following after the dark-haired woman, but you can feel your father close at your heels. You curse the world for not just letting you mope in peace and quiet. Why does everything have to end in a fight with your father? Although he hates you, thinks of you as nothing but a burden, you know he is one of your last hopes of getting out of here.

When you’re finally deposited into a bedroom, you turn to him, pleading. “Father, please don’t make me marry him. He’s not a good man, he’s not who he appears to be.”

“No,” your father cuts back. “That is exactly what you will do. You have brought shame to this family. What would your mother think if she knew you were galavanting around like some common whore?”

You stare down at the beautiful embroidery on your dress and try to hold back the tears. Why did you expect this to end any differently? It never does when it comes to your father. And he always does love to bring up how much shame your mother would feel about you if she were still alive. You stay silent, waiting for this to be over, waiting to be left alone.

“You’re lucky” he continues, “somehow this is still better than you deserve. You will have a title and wealth. But do not think I will ever forgive you for this transgression. You will no longer be a stain upon this family.”

With a stern nod, he slams the door shut behind him, leaving you in an eerie silence. You aren’t surprised your father thinks you are undeserving of a title and wealth, though those are of little concern to you right now. You’d rather not be married, not expected to be subservient to some man. And worst of all, what you’d really rather have back is the person you thought Astarion was earlier in the night, the person you thought you might be able to love.

You reach for the doorknob but it has predictably been locked when you test it.

Leaning against the hard wood of the door, you sink to your knees. You can feel the tears burning at your eyes as you pick at the beading on your beautiful gown. How horrible this night had turned out. The tears start with a whimper against the wooden slats of the door and soon you’re weeping, crumpled into a sobbing pile of your skirts. Between hiccuping cries, you mourn the loss of your family, the loss of your life. From now on, you are cursed to be the bride of a monster. A bird trapped in a gilded cage being constantly circled by a very hungry cat.

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Notes: Hehe and that's chapter 1! Get ready for a whole lot of angst, yearning, and misunderstanding as these emotionally repressed weirdos try to navigate their feelings for one another in their new marriage. This is the first fic I've ever actually posted so I'm super nervous, but I have a whole 10-part plan set up for this fic because the Astarion brainrot is real. It's almost like… he's a tadpole that's wormed it's way into my brain…

For reference, I tend to picture everything as regency era since that is my favorite, but I didn't specify because I know everyone has their own favorite time periods they love to imagine!

Hugest shoutout ever to my amazing friend who helped me edit and let me bounce ideas off her. She was the hugest help imaginable and has been subjected to my constant ramblings about my ideas for this fic. Check out her wonderful writing on ao3 at AliensNSuch!

Chapter 2 will be posted next Sunday, 12/24.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion bg3 #x reader #reader insert #bg3 fanfiction #til death do us part

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delicrieux · 6 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 & 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞 | endless oneshots (winter edition)

pairing—regulus black x reader genre—angstyyy summary—a moment shared in the living room word count—3.4k

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

the wall distracts you. the great family tree of the noble house of black. on their velvet sofa you find yourself quite small faced with the vastness of the room – in front, the magnificent tapestry of a lineage woven into time and into objects, like a permanent impact; in back, the frost covered windows, and further still, the late afternoon glow of the sun burning the whole of london. you imagine, briefly, yourself painted in. your small portrait and your name. you long for it in moments; you know no other wish. the shape of you has been made for this only.

how tedious. how meticulously exact the needlework must be to look appealing. how with your wand you can only return the inner lapel of regulus’ coat to its pristine condition and begin again. each time, the frustration threatens to spill through bitten lips. an uncaring loop thrusts through skin and hits bone. you give up, almost, with the silver thread coiled around your fingers like a hair. r. a. b. shouldn’t be too hard, should it? three letters only, sown by hand, a small, meaningless claim to a coat he already owns. as if he can’t recognize his things, how silly. by the seventh poke you wonder if this odyssey has any significance to it. why grapple to capture a tempest in a teapot? you could easily weave it into existence with magic.

it would still be a kind gesture, a thoughtful one. an affectionate one, even, if regulus cared to look – see the tired hands, the waxen expression, the lapel grasped so tightly. the look you’d give for a second because you couldn’t bear to be more honest than that. i did it for you, please wear it and think of me.

but no, it must be done by hand, else the magic won’t work. something about labor, the repetitive loop and pull that sows in more than letters. fixes more than thread. such a potent protection, only from what you can’t say. in a blood-warm waters of a dream, you puzzled over a crystalline cave in search of something precious, only you couldn’t recall what. in april of next year, regulus will die there, and you’ll never know. but he’ll wear the coat with his initials woven by your hand, and that will be enough.

you don’t look up when he enters, but you recognize the footsteps. regulus is never direct, at least, not with you. he’ll circle the tapestry and then circle the windows and circle the coffee table and then he’ll have nothing left to admire so he’ll admire you. sit beside, throw a glance at your pious work and draw, with his eyes, the shape of your profile. think, perhaps, of a branch of the family tree from his portrait to something that doesn’t yet exist, or the rose-bush pattern of the couch and how one branch connects his shoulder with yours.

“what are you doing?”

“making sure you don’t lose your things,” what a non-response, as if he’s known to misplace objects or articles of clothing. regulus can be careless, but never to warrant worry over useless matters such as this. he has many coats, and can purchase just as many if not more, and if petty, he can pilfer from sirius and row because the silence had grown too loud, “don’t make fun of me, it has to be hand-stitched or the enchantments will fade."

"i was never going to," he says, a faint twitch of amusement about the mouth. regulus always likes that you take his jokes seriously or his comments too light. that, from anyone else, you'd hardly even register. it makes him special, perhaps. as though only he is worth the recognition, or you desire him to have it, "...is this my birthday gift?"

"birthday, don't make me laugh," you mumble, biting the inside of your cheek, "would hardly be appropriate. it's a christmas gift."

"christmas." is the offhanded response. a statement, an assessment, but without judgement. only regulus can wield that so cooly. can live in between worlds that should not overlap. androgyne in tone and disposition, and the sound of it, your name, sweet as any chocolate. you glance up and smile wryly, "oh."

"oh indeed," you utter, and the final, hesitant thread is plunged to the fabric. his initials gleam as freshly cut silver. you offer him the needlework, "there." pride fits in your mouth like a candy well liked, sweetens the tone into something likely mocking, "not bad, is it, regulus? or perhaps you think hand-stitching is out of fashion and outdated, a lost art of our aristocratic roots."

regulus doesn't respond. his touch is a cautious one. fingers slide gently across the intricate curve of his initials and trail it upward to the collar and you pretend not to notice. regulus must always inspect things like an artist inspects his pieces. with a certain amount of scorn and longing.

"if it's for christmas," regulus says quietly, still running his fingers along the letters, "do i need to return a gift to you?"

you stop yourself short of giving the response that is right at the tip of your tongue. the verbiage is odd. instead, "return?"

"yes. to match, or rather, one that compliments. does such a custom matter much?"

"ah, well," it does, of course it does. such gifts are not for two sides. they're something sacred for one side only. he's not nimble with his fingers nor patient enough to wield a needle. he'd quit before the first draw of blood on cloth from his useless hands. he could magic it, but that would feel like a lie. what is this offer, or is it a suggestion? an implication? more daring than the look he gives you, certainly. no, he couldn't possibly imply something so domestic. regulus is not the type. so it can only be you reading too much. a stanza where there should be none, "you'd ruin my coat."

"naturally," regulus doesn't smile, not even to go along with his deadpanned tone, as though he could think of no better possibility, but you know better, or at least you tell yourself this. you do; how his head tips slightly towards you, the steady gaze, and the quirk of his brow, it's a rare breed of expression he dons only to you, when he can't bring himself to a more chaste form. you could spend hours sorting every fraction of difference, so keen they are to the point that you swear they must exist. you wouldn't be surprised if someone else says they see nothing,"... a handmade gift for a handmade gift. just for you."

"for me," is all you can muster in response, perhaps hoping you'd hear it clearer, and less vague and silly, in your mouth than his. he has given you presents. lovely, but impersonal. his brother shows more interest even if he has none for you. sirius hears but regulus listens and then willfully picks things everyone would like to receive. the ideal gifts, never with heart or consideration, yet you wear them proudly to hide your bitterness, because such attention is not unwanted, and neither is this. regulus is not incapable of more but his more is reduced to a subtle nothing, like a glance at the tapestry and a thought.

"...the needle's sharp." is the offhand observation, "you're bleeding."

regulus's concern is odd and undefined; you're not the most affectionate of friends. the fondness shared, the gentle jibes, are for you, really, because how else can you convince yourself you're happy. or to soothe the aching of that pesky hope, the wish and want of the moon reflected upon water. your gaze is steady. your hand is steady, "see how much i care?" and you hold up your middle finger with a smile, "i bleed for you."

he does look at it. his lips quirk into a ghost of a smile. "do you." he says, and returns to you, the trace of a frown on his face as though he's grown distressed with such a gesture, and like an adult will scold their pet for bad behavior, says, "really, that's quite silly. no, worse. don't do such unnecessary things to your pretty hands."

pretty, he says, and how easy would it be to mock him or put him in his place with a joke and a teasing word or two. is he making fun of you again? it's only an insult when delivered to the point. and it would feel worse when he isn't, when he's just offering a compliment in a strange sort of way.

"doesn't hurt that much." you say with a confidence unshaken, and the wounds are so meager they're not even worth healing. they'll dry and close before he can lift his wand for episkey or conjure a bandage. but they'll remain, for a day or two, as proof of your diligence. the methodical elegance that comes from creating a handmade gift. you'll look at your hands and know they have worked to protect him.

it hurts a bit more when he reaches for them. if you really did want to press, he'd insist or, with a haughty glare, defy you and prove the strength of his own silly pride, but he only asks, and then, does so with such tenderness you would think he held glass and not your injured hands, the result of a restless task meant for his comfort. your fingers stings the slightest against the brush of his fingertips, calloused and slightly cold, "...you've always been a fool."

"only when it matters," you say softly.

when he says your name, he lingers on the last syllable, with the tilt of his head and the curious narrow of his eyes. to pick apart and discern. to wonder. only briefly, like all his attentions, does the hand linger. the expression you want is not one he'd be willing to show so clearly, not even in the warmth of the dying light.

"stop saying ridiculous things." regulus says after a pause. he won't, however, release your hands. they remain there in his grip, unmoving and together.

"learn to take a joke," you answer.

he leans forward. "make it funny and perhaps i will."

"funny," you can't say a thing to that, yet you've thought up many. later, when he is asleep and his pale face is illuminated by the moonlit night, you'll recite all the things you could not.

"got nothing else to say?" a quirk of the lip. joined hands, fingers intertwined, though not so securely. loose enough that if the mood strikes or a strange sentiment overcomes him, he'd break them apart and away.

"oh, plenty," you can't keep your face straight, and so your smile is quick to return, "i’ve only taken pity on you. did you miss the sound of my voice already?"

"very presumptuous, aren't we," he glances aside, "and really, so outlandish. the nerve. you have the nerve."

"i suppose i do." you squeeze his hand lightly, "nerve. candor. the quality that earns a great admirer."

"or the ire of all who know you best," he tilts his head to the side, glances quickly at you, and with a surprising amount of assertiveness, curls his fingers tighter around yours, "i appreciate that you'd like to share your charisma but some people don't consider charm to be a particularly laudable virtue."

"that's such a bad lie that i might as well be told you don't think i'm charming at all, not in the slightest. and oh, there we are, what a pout. you're entirely predictable."

"and you entertain me, still."

"you're the one that holds my hands hostage," you note wryly, wiggling your fingers slightly.

regulus doesn't have a quick response for that. at most he offers the roll of his eyes. doesn't let go, simply presses. let's a drop of your blood stain his skin. when he speaks again, he's grown thoughtful, "...hostage, yes?"

"...oh, do stop that," a pause. the silence lingers, "no, that's quite unfair."

"do you think so or not?"

your pulse throbs loud enough to deafen you. it is a foolish question and the answer is a clear enough indication of what you think. what motive could he have? to delight at the humiliation of your confession or to watch you tangled in a lie you clearly don't believe? the truth is so obvious it's untactful to inquire about its validity.

he sounds so serious as his thumb brushes along the dips and hills of your knuckles, "well? your answer? or is a minute not enough to think of something witty?"

at this, you frown, "regulus." and it comes quiet, like a warning.

"thought it came naturally to you. such creativity."

he has grown to be cruel sometimes. most times, rather, when it suits him to be. a petty, petulant thing not yet ready to leave its comfortable shell and grow beyond, "you must be eager for me to release you," he adds. a bitter afterthought.

"are you done?" you ask.

"what shall you do with your hands once they’re free?" he wonders, "sow something for sirius? he’d be wrecked if he didn’t receive a gift like mine."

"regulus." you repeat with a frown, "don't."

"why not?" he blinks.

"a gift doesn't mean anything if it's a gift for the masses."

"well, it'll be custom, i imagine," he says, "with his initials this time."

"regulus," a third time you've said it, a sharp tongue to cut, "stop it. you're being mean."

his eyes are cast downward, expression impassive. "if this is what it takes to get you to respond, then perhaps i am."

this isn't the game. the one where he'll pretend not to care so as to observe how you'll react. it is the type where you'll act cold enough he'll hesitate. then he'll carelessly expose himself so the hurt can be delivered with ease. an offense so great you'll seek the sweet relief of exile.

"i made it for you," you utter, barely a whisper, "no one else."

"is that so."

"if you don't want it, i won't force you to keep it."

"no, i like it," his expression has remained the same, if not with a certain lack of conviction, a flat tone you want to interpret as some half lie, but you don't. instead you nod. a half-hearted turn of your head before meeting his eyes.

"a bit possessive, don't you think? getting so cross over a made up problem?" you inquire.

"made up, huh?" you like the inflections of his voice, and even in his reluctance he maintains them, the gentle flow, the steadfast determination to the subject.

"mhm."

"thought it was logical to assume. you're friends."

"i have a different gift planned for him."

"different?" he clarifies.

"quite," you say, all sorts of bitter, "a broom cleaning kit."

that, at least, seems to somewhat appease him. and regulus settles, ever so slightly, his brow a faint twitch. the motion you always want to trace with your fingers, and map along until you memorize every curve and line and plane of his face.

he adjusts your hands again, idly thumbing over the slope and curve. he is thoughtful again, contemplative and somber and nothing more. a lingering fear clings to the curve of his mouth, "do you ever wish you could disappear?"

the question has no context, and it strikes you as the type that never did, with a subtle heaviness he is familiar with the implications of. it is only in a selfish way that the fear occurs. his isolation, perhaps. or he must assume that all others can share a similar loneliness, though only in different quantities.

"do you?" you ask instead.

"perhaps. sometimes. maybe not." he does, you think, look as though he often considers running away to somewhere no one else is aware of him. or if he's not wanted there, then elsewhere. somewhere remote and a touch fantastical. a desperate escape from family tradition, from being the second born son. a desire, or rather, absconding from responsibility. to be far and forgotten; to live a life you believe would bring you some semblance of peace and happiness, though not enough for the longing to subside and never enough for him to admit to it. no, regulus would first die than admit it out loud.

admit the envy he has for his brother. admit to wonder if anyone would look for him if he was to disappear.

you would. even if the rest wouldn't, you would. and if they did, how angry it'd make them if you refused to quit searching. it strikes you suddenly and without remorse, as if you've been pushed into a pile of snow. it's him you were searching for in your dream.

"no, then?" his voice shakes you away. your expression had frozen over, had it? how rare it is, to see worry worn so openly in the shape of those brows.

"sometimes," you answer honestly, though you're never quite sure where that might be. a growing, restless worry expands in the pit of your stomach. as though your nightmare is not so far from becoming reality. that one day, you'll search for him to the edge of the earth only to never find him again, "you aren't thinking of leaving, are you?"

he's taken aback by your expression. "of course not," he reassures, and he seems as though he means it, "i'm only indulging hypotheticals."

"alright."

"are you okay?"

"sure. yes. yes, absolutely."

regulus peers at you closely, scrutinizing, the gesture intense and pointed in its nature. and he returns to tracing the veins on your skin, a practiced art. a light tickle that has you shivering, not that you'd want to move away. never from him.

you hear him, soft and hushed. perhaps it is more suited to the intimacy of the moment and not that he's become ashamed. a faint, lovely mumbling that you would like to indulge forever if possible, "i'm really not going anywhere." he brings your hand to his lips after a moment of hesitation, like he needs the courage, the comfort. an earnest reassurance in a form of a small kiss as if it were his own insecurities at play, "here's okay. here's more than enough."

you nod. whisper, when you realize how close the two of you have become, "yes, stay here."

"...you as well."

"i will."

"wouldn't want to run around looking for someone who's meant to stay within my sights, anyways."

and it is you that laughs a little too hard to seem genuine, "as though you'd do such a thing."

he answers with a confidence unshaken yet poorly disguised by the restraint shown, "i don't plan on ever losing sight of you."

your eyes meet and hold, but neither will ever confess to be the one who glanced away first. for different reasons, perhaps, and no less of a humiliation. no less difficult to accept. the sight of him is too difficult to bear; the hair framing his face and the gentle hue of pink that grows steadily redder the longer he holds your gaze. he drops your hand first, and you resist the urge to run your fingertips down the sharp of his jaw and feel the softness of his skin or tug his bottom lip and hear the shuddering intake of air. to feel what can't be expressed, at least, not so simply.

you can't blame regulus for not wanting to admit it. he's shaped by his surroundings, has grown up in a family that doesn't permit affections. he doesn't know the structure of i'm sorry or thank you or i love you. but if only for a second, surely, he can try to imitate. you treasure each of his clumsy syllables and failed tries because he has never attempted anything of this sort for anyone else. the success doesn't matter, because he is earnest, at least to the degree of his own understanding and limit, and it's easier to say what's painful in silence.

or, maybe, nothing's difficult when the sun's nearly gone. when the window pane burns pink and white, and when the stars appear through the haze of fog and snow, and you think of the future, with him, but as the heirs of two prominent houses together, and it feels like a fairy tale that way, not quite real. so long as you imagine it with a dreamy detachment, you can convince yourself it doesn't matter further than a wish that will never come true.

because you've never learned to say i'm sorry or thank you or i love you, either.

thank u for reading <3

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp #hogwarts #imagine #imagines #reader #reader insert #xreader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #regulus black imagine #the marauders #the marauders x reader #ITS TIMOTHEE CHALAMET !

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strangesthirdeye · 6 months

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Adore ( 10th/14th Doctor x fem! Reader)

Summary: Sometimes old wounds can bleed again Warning: It's the Doctor who doesn't love him? light angst, slap, not a spoiler from The Star Beast special, heart breaking, broken, fluff, old face, forgiveness and horny cat. As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few years ago. ⏤͟͟͞͞☆

You have traveled with the Doctor since his 9th regeneration. You already know Rose, Jackie, Mickey and Jack. It can be said that you have made many friends plus enemies while traveling with the Doctor.

Although most of his travel can be dangerous but that is not an obstacle for you to continue traveling with him.

You have met Donna Noble. The kind and spitfire lady. Sometimes she can be a protective partner and sometimes she and her sarcasm can be quite dangerous for a certain period of time. But overall, you and Donna are best friends forever and always tease the Doctor with some kind of flirting and name calling such as Skinny Man or pretty boy, making him blush or whine with embarrassment. Sometimes he just brushed it off.

But then, Davros and the Daleks happen. And there goes Meta Crisis Doctor created by Donna accidentally and Rose coming back from the alternative universe. Everything seems to be planned for this thing to happen. Donna suddenly gets knowledge from the Time Lord causing her brain to burn if she 'uses' too much energy and she will die if it continues so the Doctor decides to wiped all the adventures she, you and the Doctor have been through.

Meanwhile you only looked at what the Doctor did to Donna from the Tardis door with eyes glossy with tears. You can't do anything, but you can only see the knotted situation in front of you. You're speechless and just accept fate with open arms.

Once the Doctor sent the unconscious Donna back to her house, the Doctor just kept quiet and didn't say anything. His shirt was soaked with rainwater, his face was broken and sad while his hands were fiddling with the Tardis control.

You don't know how to approach a situation like this so you just move closer to the Doctor and stand next to him and look at the control with a blank face.

A few seconds later you heard the Doctor sniffling trying to hold back his tears and you could feel the Doctor was about to say something.

"I will take you back home. So better prepared with whatever items you have here" Doctor said in his hoarse voice.

You looked at the Doctor skeptically. "what?"

"I'll take you home.. I can't let you travel with me anymore. It's gone too far and I can't let you in danger anymore" The Doctor exclaimed then pulled and pressed some controls there.

The sounds of wheezing and groaning are heard inside the Tardis indicating that the Tardis has started to move. You looked at the Doctor in disbelief.

"no.. Is this because of what happened earlier? hmm? Now you just want to say that it has crossed the line. But tell me, what we went through before didn't it cross the line too? Then why now do you want to take me back?" you argued

"I never asked for this to happen. Please just.. just don't fight and let me take you home. At least you will be safe" Doctor pleaded.

"But I'm already safe here! With you. Please don't take me back, Doctor..please" you begged with glassy eyes.

The doctor didn't say anything and just controlled the control. He didn't directly look at your broken face because he was afraid he would regret the choice he made. At least what he thought was the right choice. You will be safe. No more threats of aliens or disasters.

You scoffed bitterly. "You can't suddenly take me home, Doctor. I know you."

"actually I can. At least you don't have to go through all this if I'm not there" Doctor replied blankly while looking at you.

The Tardis stopped wheezing and groaned indicating that the destination had been reached. You looked at the Doctor with a betrayed face.

You let out a small whimper trying to hold back the tears. "Why are you doing this? We've been through a lot. Why now?"

"because I can't let the people I adore in danger anymore. All this happened because of me. I'm not a hero you can admire and flatter. I failed to protect the people I adore and now see what happens. I can't let the same thing happened to you too. I-" Doctor paused. "- you should go.."

You are stunned. Tears started to fall and fell down your cheeks, wetting your smooth cheeks. You sighed heavily and looked at the Doctor with betrayed eyes.

"if that's what you think is a good thing, Doctor.. Then once my feet step out of this Tardis that means I've lost faith in you, Doctor." you said with a sad tone of voice.

The Doctor just kept silent and turned his gaze to the control without glazing over you for the last time. You were dumbfounded and just nodded in resignation. Without words, you started walking out to the Tardis door with a sad expression on your face. "I just leave my stuffs here then..I don't need it anymore.."

And there you lost faith with the Doctor. You never see Doctor for several years until now.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Present day ⏤͟͟͞͞☆

"no, no! Pablo. You can't mess with the cat next door! I don't want grandchildren yet" you scolded your cat.

Pablo only meowed and he lazily walked under the table and landed there. You sighed. It's been 4 times Pablo tried to 'flirt' with the cat next to your house sneakily and fortunately your neighbor Dhani brought Pablo back to your house and stated.

"Pablo has started to mate with Munchkin this time. Fortunately, I was able to stop him from making me and you unpaid adoptive grandmothers" Dhani said blankly while handing Pablo into your hand.

You scoffed at Pablo and sat down on your sofa and started reading your book. It's been a long time since you stepped out of the Tardis and since then you haven't heard from the Doctor and you haven't talked about it anymore. You have moved on. You have the job you want, a sex-crazed cat and a new lifestyle that you feel quite comfortable with it.

But there are times when you might shed tears silently remembering the adventures you and the Doctor went through together. You feel a little regret but when you remember the thing that made you step out of the Tardis you immediately forget it.

' Forget about it, he might be happy traveling alone. He doesn't want you anymore' whispered the devil in your ear. You just shook your head and focused on reading again.

But your composure to read doesn't last long when you hear a familiar sound like wheezing and groaning in the back yard of your house. You were transfixed and the book in your hand fell onto your lap. Pablo suddenly woke up and hissed towards the door as if angry with the sound.

You then get up from the couch and go to the window facing the backyard. The curtains are pulled aside and there it stands majestically in the middle of your backyard. Blue Box that is bigger on the inside. Tardis. You exhaled heavily and closed your curtains again then walked towards your couch.

You are pensive. Why? why did he reappear today? why now? To apologize? To make up for all the wrongs he did to you? After all this time why did he suddenly appear in your backyard?

You bite your lip anxiously. This cannot be. What else does he want from you?

Not long after, a knock on the door began to be heard at your back door. You are silent. Breath caught in your mouth and your hands started to sweat. It's him.. That's really him. Why does he want to come back to you after he kicked you out of the Tardis years ago? You looked at Pablo who was still glaring at the back door.

You got up and slowly walked towards the back door. When you got there, your sweaty hands slowly reached for the doorknob. Anxiety and nervousness started to exist in your body while your mind screamed not to open the door and face him. But you don't know if he has regenerated or not. You worry about what you expect is him but it's not the same face. Can he be she? you don't know.

The sound of knocking is heard again this time accompanied by the hoarse voice of the same man who kicked you out a few years ago.

"Y/n, are you there?"

You turned the doorknob and faced his face with a nervous face. There he stood with his thin and tall body still the same as a few years ago only his attire was different and not his usual dark brown trench coat and striped suits in it. The shoes are still the same. Right now he has a dark blue trench coat, a white collar shirt along with a striped blazer matching his pants and complete with a gray tie. But what catches your attention is his slightly older face. His hair is still brown and spiky while his gorgeous brown eyes hold emotions that you can't identify whether it's sad or happy.

"Y/n" he whispered your name slowly as if an old memory struck his mind.

You just looked at his face and moved closer to him. Look upon his dark brown eyes with your uncontrollable emotions, you slap his face with all your heart. Angry tears running down your cheeks. He was stunned.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?" you hissed bitterly.

The Doctor was stunned and his face was upset. His cheeks were red with the imprint of your slap on his cheeks.

"I- I came to apologize" Doctor said slowly.

"why now? after you kicked me out of the Tardis.. why now?" you questioned with an angry tone.

"I think you deserve an apology from me after what I did to you.. I'm very, very sorry after breaking your heart and kicking you out of the Tardis a years ago.. I shouldn't have done that to you.. you deserve better than me" Doctor explained with a sad tone of voice.

"oh, you shouldn't have done that to me, Doctor. If you love your friends, you shouldn't do that suddenly and kick them out of the Tardis without any reasonable reason. Sure, you don't want the same thing happened to me. But don't you think that before this I have been through many dangerous things while traveling with you but you never stopped me from traveling with you. Why? why after Davros and the Daleks invasion, you suddenly change your mind and decide to kick me out? Not to mention what you did to Donna?" you exclaimed in your raspy voice. Your eyes were red with tears while your cheeks were wet with tear streaks.

The doctor was silent.

"i just want you to be safe" Doctor whispered but that was enough for you to hear.

"oh, sod off with me being safe, Doctor. I'm tired with your same excuse. I'm tired with this guilty feeling that I always have and think about what I did wrong to you until you kick me out of the Tardis ." you replied

"I don't want you to go through the same thing as our other friends... I-" Doctor paused and stared at your face with a pleading face.

"What is it, Doctor? After all this time without hearing from you and now you suddenly appear behind my house, why now? I'm already happy and moved on with all that then why did you decide to appear and disturb my peace? " tears fell down your cheeks again.

" because I care about you! i can't lose you. I adore you since the moment we traveled with Rose. I don't have enough courage to say this to you because I'm afraid I'll lose the person I love. Because i know.. I know that I will lose the people I love if I keep doing good things. That is my curse to be a Time Lord. I don't want you to go through the same thing as them so what I decided is the most sensible thing for me to keep you safe " Doctor looked at your face pleadingly.

You are speechless. The Doctor loves you. Now you understand. It's the feeling that you don't want to go through losing someone so dear to you so you push them away in the hope that they will be safe from you. In the hope that they can find a better love than you.

"you.. adore me?" you stammered. while holding out your hand towards the Doctor in disbelief.

"i adore you so much. No matter what my face looks like, I will always adore you and I will do anything to protect you. Half of my hearts is with you. I don't care if you lose faith in me but you still need to know that I really adore you" Doctor held your hand and stroked it gently.

You sighed heavily and brought your right hand to the Doctor's cheek and gently stroked his cheek with your finger. Doctor leaning against your palm while closing his eyes trying to feel the texture of your soft skin. It's been a while since he couldn't have physical contact with you and he doesn't know how much he misses the feeling of your skins.

"how many faces have you been through?" you questioned him with a softened voice.

"I've become an obsessed man with a bowtie and fez, I've become a Scottish man and I've become a woman. But then I got this face again out of nowhere. I don't know why" Doctor explained and placed his forehead on yours.

"why? to apologize?" you replied with a hushed.

"probably to admit my love for you" Doctor chuckled lightly.

You chuckled lightly for a moment then closed your eyes and parted away with him slightly. You stare at his face, his eyes and his lips. The Doctor did the same thing to you. And without wind or storm, you both lean and kiss each other's lips passionately and gently.

The doctor put his right hand on the back of your head and his left hand on your neck while you put both your hands on his chest. Both of your eyes are closed tightly to feel each other's presence. And after that, you both part away and stare at each other's eyes with love and fondness in both of your eyes.

"I adore you too, Doctor"

#bbc shows #david tennant #10th doctor #the doctor #14th doctor #10th doctor x you #10th doctor x reader #doctor who #doctor who x reader #14th doctor x reader #the star beast #heartbreak #lovers #love #doctor who 60th anniversary #Spotify

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sweetcloverheart · 3 months

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I can't stop thinking about how upsetting it is that in MLB the "Power Of Love" only applies to the villains instead of the heroes, and for such flimsy reasons

Marinette is never allowed to truly nor fully rely on her relationship with her classmates to help with interpersonal problems because if she does, then she can't be the "super strong female protag" the show totes her as. So the show will constantly/actively discourage any cooperation or reliance on her friendships (even as it "punishes" her for failing to do so like in "Penalteam" and "Strikeback") by having it always end in failure or a worst situation, while presenting the others as too "naive and trusting" of her enemies or any adults/solutions as useless (Oh hi Su Han!) to justify it, thereby forcing her to have to tackle whatever issue she faces alone while presenting it as necessary. She's even made to lie to her partner because telling him any relevant information regarding their previous main enemy would mean removing Adrien's glued-on rose-tinteed glasses regarding his father and what an awful human being he was in his final moments of life.

Meanwhile, Gabriel can do everything short of tax fraud and always be presented as our deeply conflicted "morally grey" villain who's actually totally in the right, because everything he does can be excused because it's being done in the name of obsession love for his comatose wife. Nothing he does is worthy of persecution because in the narrative's eyes, he hasn't done anything wrong actually, since it's all for love. Emotionally abusing his son and trying to take advantage of his depressive episodes for his own goals? It's fine, it's for Emilie. Using a clearly emotionally vulnerable child and a super exploitive one for his plans and then abandoning them to the consequences? It's fine, it's for Emilie (and Chloe and Lila are She-demons, so they deserve it!/s). Harassing his son's girlfriend (through both his position and magic) to either try and get them to break up ("Protection" and "Pretension") or getting a magical servant for his own ends ("Chat Blanc")? It's fine, it's for Emilie. Leaving his friend and secretary to die from the same broken miraculous that magic coma-ed his wife? It's fine, it's for Emilie. Using his adult friends and his son's same age ones for his activities as Hawkmoth by purposely upsetting them? It's fine, it's for Emilie. Exploiting his son's image despite said son being clearly uncomfortable with it? It's fine, it's for Emilie. Instructing one of his Akumas to allow his son to fall to his potential death to confirm if he's his teenage nemesis (Edit: was incorrect about event. Have corrected)? It's for Emilie, so he's good! Locking his child in a bleach white rubber room (Unfriendly reminder that Adrien has canonical claustrophobia) because he went to visit his friends and to have him out of the way of his ultimate plan via using the previously mentioned image exploiting? Emilie, Emilie, Emilie - so long as it's for her, anything he does is golden! Even at the very end, where you have Marinette pointing out how much he made his son suffer, Gabriel does no proper reflecting or is forced to have his goal denied of him as a result - instead, he's given posthumous hero status (along with a statue and another adult villain who skipped consequences giving a speech about what a great and noble man he never was) and made directly responsible for the utopia the world became because he threw the heroine's mercy right back in her face; all because the "Power of Love" makes it so that everything he does for Emilie is moral and good, no matter how vile.

#Clover Rants Miraculously #ML Salt

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contemplatingoutlander · 6 months

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Why are U.S. courts afraid of the 14th Amendment? Because it’s radical.

"The 14th Amendment has once again proven too bold for the judges empowered to interpret it. Political forces are at play again, this time fearful of a backlash if Trump is removed from the ballot. As this case makes its way through the appellate process and, most likely, to the Supreme Court, it should be understood in the context of how the timidity and unwillingness of judges to acquiesce to the judgment of the 14th Amendment’s framers effectively derailed our democracy’s promise after Reconstruction and until the mid-20th century. We must ensure that it does not do the same in the 21st."

--Sherrilyn Ifill, visiting professor, Harvard Law School

This is an important article about why the 14th Amendment was written and why judges are afraid to use it to ban Trump from running for office. Consequently, this is a gift🎁link so people can read the entire article even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post.

Below are some excerpts.

Judge Sarah B. Wallace’s decision that Trump engaged in insurrection but is nevertheless qualified to run for office is emblematic of the often outright resistance courts have shown to the 14th Amendment’s guarantees and protections. This instance applies to Section 3, which bars any participant in a rebellion against the government of the United States from holding public office. But almost from its inception, all the amendment’s radical provisions have inspired fear and timidity in jurists of every stripe. I use the word “radical” deliberately. The 14th Amendment was conceived of and pushed by the “Radical Republicans” in Congress after the Civil War. They were so named because of their commitment to eradicating slavery and its vestiges from American political life. A number had been abolitionists, and all had seen the threat that white supremacist ideology and the spirit of insurrection posed to the survival of the United States as a republic. Although the South had been soundly defeated on the battlefield, the belief among most Southerners that insurrection was a worthy and noble cause, and that Black people — even if no longer enslaved — were meant to be subjugated to the demands of Whites, was still firmly held. The 14th Amendment was meant to protect Black people against that belief, and the nation against insurrection, which was understood to constitute an ongoing threat to the future of our country. Frederick Douglass, the formerly enslaved abolitionist who rose to become one of the most prominent voices of the Reconstruction period, had no illusions about the persistence of the “malignant spirit” of the “traitors.” He predicted that it would be passed “from sire to son.” It “will not die out in a year,” he foretold, “it will not die out in an age.” [color emphasis added]

I encourage you to read the full article, which goes into detail about how the US judicial system has been afraid to actually adhere to both the spirit and letter of the 14th Amendment, and in so doing has done a major disservice to Black Americans for well over a century, and to our nation as a whole.

#14th amendment #section 3 #us judicial system #insurrectionists barred from holding political office #trump #racism #sherrilyn ifill #the new york times #gift link

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mymainwastoocluttered · 2 years

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When Vil Doesn’t Play The Villain (Vil)

Vil gets transmigrated into his favorite novel.

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Another indulgent, low effort thing to distract me from my allergies

— (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

“Vil… no… I’m–ah! Mhn… I’m still married!”

“To a man who will never love you as you deserve.”

Vil blows on her sensitive neck, enjoying the shivers that shake her body, enjoying the knowledge that he’s the only man that has made her do that. After weeks, months trying to win her affections, he finally has her; her mind, her body, her heart are all his, and soon the band on her finger will be his too.

To think he’d die a terrible death, only to transmigrate into his favorite novel. Vil hadn’t known if it was good or bad luck, until he met his favorite character, and now he knows for sure that it is the best of luck. To be able to share an existence with her, to be able to see her hair dance with the wind and her skin be kissed by the sun, to be able to hear her sweet voice directed to him…

Vil had fallen fast and hard.

(Y/N) went from his favorite character to his favorite person faster than the chandelier that fell on him in his past life hit his head.

Now, if only she weren’t married to that repugnant male lead.

Princess (Y/N) Branco, the ultimate villainess of the novel named “Wishing By The Well”. The villainess who, contrary to most in the genre, actually keeps her role until the very bitter end thanks to her incredibly sharp mind and outstanding skills, a woman who needed to be killed off in her sleep for no legal means could ever touch her. A woman who could’ve ruled the world, but only wished for her husband to not disgrace her with a public affair.

Vil had loved her from the very beginning of the story, and only finished the novel because of her. (Y/N) had been raised to marry the prince from a very young age, being born in a ducal house. She never had any problems rising to the demands of the people around her, her diligence and hard work trampling any difficulties she encountered. And as a noble, she had long abandoned the sweet dreams of love and adventure.

She admitted multiple times through the book that she would not mind if her husband had a secret lover, or got himself a concubine. All she wanted was to be respected as the first and main wife, so she had less to worry when she rose to the throne with the prince—who undoubtedly needed a woman like her to reign in his stupidity. But that disgusting fool simply refused to do something so small like keeping his pants on.

He practically worshipped the ground the “Main Character” walked on, gifted her dresses and jewelry and many other luxuries. He went everywhere with her, and gave in to her silly commoner whims easily like a sheep follows a shepherd. And in the end, it all reflected terribly on the princess, who quickly got ridiculed for being “incapable of keeping her husband interested”. For every dress he gave the mistress that became a trend, it was a new designer that taunted the princess by trying to sell her the same design. For every jewelry he gave the mistress that blinded the passersby, it was a new jewelry store that told the princess her chosen piece wasn’t available anymore. For every gesture of love he showed towards the mistress, it was a new line of mockery thrown the princess’ way.

And despite all that, (Y/N) kept herself beautiful, and showed herself ruthless. Even cruel at points. It was glorious to read as she’d finally let go of the shackles she kept around herself so she could become the perfect princess, and showed the dangerous, poisonous black widow that hid behind a fan.

And it had been even more breathtaking to watch it with his own eyes.

Duke Vil—the original owner of the body, conveniently also named Vil—was supposed to be the second male lead, to follow the protagonist like a good little lap poodle; jumping and barking when she asked, and then obediently stepping back and whining in sadness while she threw herself at the arms of another man. Vil—the one who took over the body—had despised the character, thinking he’d be better off devoting himself to the villainess–

And now he can correct that plot hole with his own lips.

“Soon, my dear, everything will fall into place, and the ring on your finger will carry my name instead, and the crown you deserve will be yours,” he promises her in a feverish whisper, drunk on her presence.

“Won’t royalty be too burdensome to you?” (Y/N) asks, meeting his searing kisses with her own. To be the one to see this monument of a woman soften and relax, that’s why Vil got his second life.

“My dear, I’m already killing a future monarch, nothing can burden me if I have you.”

“How villainous~”

“If anything, we’re saving this country.”

She laughs, resting fully against him, giving him the permission to pick her up and take her to his room, and Vil does so quickly, not one second to waste when he has her in his arms.

The one time he isn’t a villain, he’s usurping a throne for his beloved.

Maybe there was some rhyme to those castings back in his first life.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader

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gregrulzok · 1 year

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Honestly thinking about Fugo drives me up the goddamn wall sometimes like-- Like--

The gang were his family. He was with Buccellati the longest out of anyone, and he loved and admired him, and he helped bring the rest of the gang together, and he was such close friends with Mista and Narancia and they goofed off and did stupid teenage shit and choreographed little dances

And he'd grown so used to A. His boss being generally very sensible and caring for them all and B. His boss coming to him for advice

And then one day someone shows up and just... Takes over leadership basically entirely. Just. Has so much influence over the man who practically raised Fugo. And immediately starts directing him towards what is basically guaranteed death for at least some of them

When Fugo stays behind, digs his heels in and says "No, this is a bad idea, someone's going to get killed" don't you think he thinks, deep down, that Buccellati will listen to him? Will snap out of whatever rose-tinted glasses he's put on and take the advice of the person he's been relying on this whole time?

Because Fugo is smart, Fugo is rational, Fugo advises Buccellati and helps keep everyone safe, just as Buccellati helps Fugo not do anything impulsive out of anger. They know each-other and balance each-other and they TRUST each-other. And Fugo was looking for that trust. In that moment don't you think he expected that Buccellati would trust him?

And instead he gets left behind on the shore basically without a second thought. Just. "Okay. We won't force you. Bye." From his best friends. From the man that has been with him since he was a lost, scared little kid in need of a home. Even the boy he rescued from the goddamn streets leaves him behind, not for a noble cause, but for the sake of a girl they just met.

And Fugo was RIGHT, he was correct, they did die, his best friend died, his father figure died. Only One Of his actual friends survived.

There's no triumph in that though. No I-Told-You-So. It's just guilt because he could've saved them. If he hadn't assumed that they'd listen to him, and cared for his input. If he'd somehow known that he was that dispensable and could be left behind without a second thought. He could've gone with and literally just stood in the same room as Diavolo and killed him. Everyone else could stay outside.

Only one of them really had to die for everything to resolve, and that one was Fugo.

Why do you think he was so eager to go rushing to his death for the sake of what little remains of his family in Purple Haze Feedback.

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riririkinzi · 8 months

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GOLDEN HORIZONS AND BOLD TIDES

Hey guys! You remember my update about my Goldenheart Little mermaid fic that's been discontinued because I don't like the summary I made and that I'm gonna rewrite it in a different plot? Well I am while collabing with @long-distance-muse we've come up with some HC/Summary and stuff before the actuall fic cause why not (＾＾)人(＾＾)

HERE ARE SOME HEADCANONS/SUMMARY

• Valerin Adopted Bal when he was 2 years old, since his parents were killed that time and the incident gave him a scar on his face which makes him a prince of the merfolk kingdom

• Bal is a curious mer since forever, quite and shy yet he had an enchanting voice that would make anyone fall for him.

• Valerin would often tell stories of the world above from her point of view cause she knew how curious Bal is, and he loves hearing them.

• Merfolks below 16 are allowed to go above the surface if their acompanied by anyone above 16 which is the age of their adulthood.

• A merfolks life span is up to 300 years but when a human and a mers lips joined together for the first time, a mers lifespan would be cut into 200 and the human's lifespan would be the same.

• Merfolks would began to age really slowly when they reach 20 and so would a human if the 2 would kiss.

• When merfolks die their body dissolves into seafoam after their last breath and left what they last wore during their deaths.

• Bal own a garden where his most colorful flowers are gathered together of a circle like the sun.

• When Bal was 13 the noticed the guards brought home a statue of a young man around his age or maybe a year older and it was a head till it's chest.

• Bal somehow was mesmerized by it's young and handsome face, so he ask Valerin to keep the staue as a display for his garden and placed it in the center of the flowerbed and stare at it all day.

• Bal was also known for staring above, when the seas were calm, he would perch himself on a rock and stare upward for hours, watching the dim and distant star, lost in his own thoughts.

• On his 16th birthday the first thing he saw were the fireworks blasting off with different bright colors and stars in the sky so he sat on the nearest rock to gaze at it all night till the morning.

• A while after that night he found Nimona when she was in their shark form when he was collecting human items and together they would explore shipwrecks for human items.

• Nimona could have been adopted but prefer to be his Ward and Bal just accepts it.

• Nimona's still a shapeshifter and mistreated but the humans so she fled to the sea and decided to have her signature form as a mershark.

• At the age of 20, when Bal and Nimona went to the surface he spotted a ship with so many lights and music playing with the fireworks launching at the sky.

• Bal and Nimona reached the lifeboats to get a closer look, and from Bal's pov, he was amazed from the sight, so much joy, laughter, lanters glowing bright and music playing beautifuly with crafted instruments, and people were celebrating.

• But what caught his attention was him, Ambrosius, a Noble from a long bloodline of Knights, the center of attention and the man from his statue that must have grown.

• His heart was fluttered for he could not take his eyes of Ambrosius not even Nimona's voice can stop him.

• Soon a great big storm came, damaging everything from the ship, people panicked as Bal and Nimona got off the boats cause the humans are about to escape.

• Ambro wasn't able to reach the surface as he was drowning, Bal knew he was gonna die and had to save him and swim as fast as he can.

• The storm had calm while sun rose at it's peak, as Bal place Ambro laying down on the sand.

• For a moment Bal couldn't help but gaze at Ambro, his scaley hand carrassing his strong strucured face.

• He slowly placed a soft kiss in his forehead, breathing as Ambro had slowly opened his heavy eyelids halfway through but closes them again.

• Suddenly Bal heard footsteps of running and some shouting, meaning humans are coming so he heads back to the water as fast as he could and hid himself behind the rock.

• As the humans ran towards Ambro, they immediently carried his unconcoius body as Bal watches over while hiding.

• As he swam back to the sea, he couldn't stop thinking about the night he saved Ambro, how he first caught an eye on him and gaze into him.

• Every night he swims to the same shore where he dropped him off, sat on the rock on the shore, watches over Ambro sitting on the balcony as the moon shines bright, wandering on who saved him.

• He was desperate to tell Ambro that it was Bal who saved him and desperate to become human.

• He had no choice but to seek the sea witch as Nimona carefully and quietly follows him.

• Once he enters it's home, the seawitch didn't show her face but only it's eyes and tentacles.

• Bal asked and begged the witch to become human and so the witch agrees to do so.

• She warns him that if he gains true loves kiss with Ambro, before the morning after a year of being human, he'll have the ability to become human and merman anytime he wants, but if he doesn't he'll die and turns into seafoam.

• She also warns him that every step he takes would feel like he's walking on knives and broken glass.

• The seawitch reminds him that her offer isn't free since he must pay the price and that price would be 2 things he owns: his Arm and his tounge.

• So Bal accepts the offer as he lets the witch cuts his arm off and his tounge with her tentacles.

• After giving his tounge and arm to the seawitch, she immediently gathered everything to make the potion.

• Before handed the bottle to Bal once she's done, she also reminded him that he has to drink it on land before sunrise, and once he drinks it he'll feel the pain as if a swords pierce right through his body.

• Once Bal left the seawitch with the bottle he held onto, Nimona swam towards him begging him not to do this cause she doesn't want to lose him, his kissed her forehead and continues to swam up to the surface.

• Once he reaches the land, while the moon is at it's peak, he instantly drank the potion till it's empty, he groaned as if a knife plunged through him then his body collapsed as everything went to darkness.

• When Bal wakes up, the first thing he saw was Ambro looking at him, asking his name, and if he's alright, but since Bal couldn't speak, he stayed silent.

• Bal is taken in by an enchanted Ambrosius who feels a strange inclination to the mysterious stranger.

• He gets cleaned up and dressed in finery, which is when Nimona sneaks in and chews him out since Queen Valerin is worried and they’re mad that he just left them despite her asking not to leave them too (could be used to set up conflict on a sequel) but they ultimately understand how love can make people do stupid things so she lends her help as long as Bal doesn’t do anything stupid like turn into seafoam.

• In his rooms which Ambro gave Bal to rest in, he was trying to practice walking, it was hard and painful at first due to the seawitch's warning, but he learns to get ignore her and gotten used to walking more.

• Bal haves dinner with Ambs and they get to know each other better. Ambs starts theorizing that Bal might be royal because of his etiquette, wit and hopes so cause he down bad right now.

• The next day, they go on a date in the village, and they accidentally cause a scene where Bal’s feet hurt too much that he collapses and Ambs catches him. But that makes the hood he wears fall down, revealing that the noble was in town with a stranger.

• This makes it to the director, who is a guest who was staying with the insistence of Amb’s parents to help them set him up for a political marriage that would increase their political power while making Ambs happy. But the director just wanted another noble in the palm of her hands.

• For almost a year, the Director starts sabotaging their hangouts and tries to constantly embarrass Bal to the point that he is ‘commoner’, there are rare times that her plan worked but most of them didn't.

• Nimona catches on to her plan and informs Bal, who goes toe to toe with the director in the court.

• Ambs sees Bal in his element, and realizes that it was Bal who saved him from the storm, he wants to marry him whether he’s a noble or a commoner.

• Director realizes that the stranger is more of a threat than she realizes, so she switches tactics and instead of trying to chase him out, resolves to kill him.

• Nim, Bal, and Ambs notice and react differently. Nim tries to find a solution to bring Bal back to the sea where he’s safer. Bal starts second guessing because of one trap where Nimona got hurt in. and Ambrosius realizes that the person he loves is in danger and resolves to confront and stop the director before she kills him.

• Ambs confronts the director and is backed into a corner of either he marries the woman she arranges for him or his lover dies and he agrees to save Bal, and Bal overhears that Ambs agreed to marry another and is heartbroken.

• Looking for Nimona to make sure they go back safely and to turn into seafoam from despair.

• For the afternoon till sunset, he sat on a rock at the shore thinking about his death, and for the first time now as a human, tears from his eyes had shed down through his face from all the pain and suffering he's in, all of those sacrifices for nothing.

• Nimona finds Ballister in tears, learns about what happened, and shows him the dagger that she trades her hair for the seawitch, and tells him that he can return to a merman if he just draws Amb’s blood.

• Bal is conflicted but he doesn’t wanna leave Nimona alone with all the hair they have given up for (cause death is significantly harder to arrange visits for) and hides the dagger under his pillow.

• Ambs bursts in, sees Nimona and Bal, Nimona shifts and hides behind Bal and Ambs is afraid. Now Bal realizes he truly has to pick between the sea and land.

• Bal shields Nimona behind him and approaches Ambs, hugging him sadly before leading him to his bed. He beckons Nimona closer.

• Nimona explains situation, Ambs shares his side, lovers realize they can’t be together and Ambs takes the knife and lightly drags it over his heart, just enough to cause blood to spill on Bal.

• Bal faints from the pain of transforming again then lands on Amb's arms, he carries his body to the sea, where Queen Valerin waits for them after Nimona spilled the beans.

• Bal spent the next few weeks in his room in sadness thinking how he never got to say goodbye to Ambro, that 2 worlds can't be together, and most importantly that he trade his tounge, his arm for nothing, forever will he spent the rest of his 300 years of living in silence, but alteast he'll keep his memories of him.

• Valerin ensuing shovel talk and slight respect for the human who cared enough for her son to agree to a loveless marriage.

• Not only Ambro's parents find out the Director's plan but also that Bal was a merman and it was him that saved Ambro, and gave him their blessings immediently.

• Ambs sets Bal down and kisses him on the lips, magic sparkles, Bal got his voice back and finally can now be human-merman.

• Val is impressed by the power of their love and grants Ambs the power to turn into a merman, his life span would extend into 200 years with Bal and offers them to wed in the oceanic courts.

• They wed, kiss, all the wedding night stuff if you’re into that and officially adopt Nimona.

• Head back to land the next day to a fuming Director, shows off the wedding rings, Queen Val shows up in her ocean queen glory and demands the director’s arrest for threatening her heir.

The redesign of Merman Bal is coming soon along with some art and more. But right now enjoy on this list that me and the amazing @long-distance-muse made together

(This is a mixture of the Hans Christian Anderson, Disney and some little inspiration of @mvjerbs Prince Ballister AU)

#ballister boldheart #nimona #ambrolister #ballister blackheart #ballister x ambrosius #ballsius #goldenheart #little mermaid #au #mermaid #merman

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