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dustofthedailylife · 1 year ago

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How to Steal the Duke's Heart 101

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Pairing: Wriothesley x (gn!) Reader

Summary: The moment your verdict was decided as guilty you were brought to the Fortress of Meropide - despite being innocent. Little did you know that the trip to prison would make you meet the love of your life.

Tags: Fluff, kissing, you're in prison (but innocent), some violence (not graphic), swearing

A/N: Due to me being utterly normal about Wriothesley I had the idea for this fic - who am I kidding I would commit a crime for this man.

“According to the judgment of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale, the defendant is declared… guilty.”

The voice of Chief Justice Neuvillette was ringing in your ears as he read out the verdict. Your verdict.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew you hadn’t done what you had been accused of, that the eyewitnesses had lied the moment they had opened their mouths, that the evidence had been tampered with, that you had been framed for the crime – but you were innocent. And no one was ever going to believe you.

After all, the device that had handed you the fateful false verdict was treated as infallible in Fontaine. You now at least had proof that its reputation was nothing but hollow words. But what use was the knowledge other than just a bittersweet confirmation for no one but yourself?

And before you knew it, guards were escorting you out the back of the Opera Epiclese in handcuffs. Roughly dragging you along with them into a big elevator. Down – deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean.

You had heard stories of the Fortress of Meropide before – the secluded place where all criminals and outcasts of Fontaine resided. The place no one had ever come back from to tell the tale. At least not in one piece.

You weren’t sure how you felt on the way down the elevator but you would describe it as something akin to hollowness.

The glances the guards threw your way out of the corner of their eyes literally screamed disgust. You were nothing more than a dirty criminal to them after all – someone who was to be shunned and banished from society for all eternity. And if you really had done what you were convicted for, you wouldn’t even blame them for their disdain.

When the elevator arrived at the bottom the doors opened with a mechanical hiss. The scent of machine oil, iron, and damp moldy cellars immediately pricked at your nose and it was the exact opposite of what you’d call homely.

The guards turned you in at the reception, where a rather unpleasant woman took your mugshots before handing you over to yet another rather unfriendly man who led you even further down into the Fortress.

With every new step you took, you tried to come to terms with the fact that the sight of damp, stone, and ironclad walls as well as the lingering industrial smell was going to be your life from now on.

And the dawning realization of that was painfully pulling a tight rope around your throat. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry and most of all, you wanted to run away and pretend like all of this was a bad dream. But you couldn't.

Instead, you were trodding behind the man who was escorting you and silently began to cry as big beads of tears soon began rolling down your cheeks.

"Crying won't help you anymore, sweetheart." The man remarked almost mockingly as soon as he looked back over his shoulder at your defeated frame. "Should've thought about that before you did some shit."

No. You’re wrong. I'm innocent.

At least that was what you wanted to spit back at him. But it was as if any fierceness or strength to stand up for yourself had left you the moment you set foot into this prison. You simply had no strength left to fight.

You soon arrived in a gigantic circular room. The contraption in the middle almost looked like a giant engine, elevators were going up one level on one side and even further down on the other side of the room. The ceiling was so high up that you almost couldn't make it out at all. The light was dim and the only real light sources were yellow lanterns whose light was bouncing off of the copper-colored iron pipes, crates, and frames that lined the entire room. Gloomy would probably be the best way to describe it.

The pungent smell of oil and damp cellar was hanging in the air here as well and probably even more prominent than it had been before. Only now it was also mixed with what you thought was old sweat and… tea? The smell of the latter seemed oddly out of place and you couldn't make out where exactly it was coming from. All you knew was that it was probably the only pleasant smell you had encountered down here.

Taking the elevator up one level again the man you had been following this entire time led you into a side hallway that looked more like a vent pipe. The dimly lit room that was lying behind it was only furnished with a bunk bed and a barely functioning lantern. He unlocked your handcuffs before roughly shoving you into the room with a smug grin on his face.

"Make yourself at home." He chuckled mockingly before turning around on his heel and leaving while whistling a tune to himself that eerily echoed off the stone walls.

You lay down on the bed, exhaling in defeat. Your throat still felt like someone had painfully tied it shut and tears were dangerously pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Now what?

You had no idea what to do here aside from sitting your time off. Where do you get food? Were you supposed to work and if yes, where do you have to and when?

You closed your eyes as a single tear escaped from the corner of your eyes, rolling down your cheek, dampening the pillow you lay on.

All you heard around you were wet droplets falling from the ceiling onto the wet stone floor, distant voices from down below, and your own breathing. The only thing that drowned these sounds out were the thoughts in your head.

Now that you had a quiet moment to yourself after everything that had gone down today, the realization about your situation was beginning to seep in for good. This bed, these walls, the oily smell… this was going to be the rest of your life now.

And that’s when you broke down and started crying once again.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was waking up to the smell of food wafting through the air vent in front of your room.

You got up from the bed, took the elevator down, and followed the smell. Soon you found yourself standing in front of a Cafeteria, where fellow inmates were queuing for lunch. Or was it dinner? You’ve barely even been here a day, but the distinct lack of daylight already made you lose track of time.

You sighed and walked over, queuing for some food as well. You didn’t have any appetite but you knew you had to eat something and your grumbling stomach was screaming for food, appetite be damned. Much to your dismay, the food needed to be paid for, well, at least the stuff that looked digestible.

You ordered the only free option and sat down with the bowl of grayish, funky-looking liquid whose consistency was more akin to that of wallpaper paste. It didn’t look appetizing, but at least it was free and would prevent you from starving.

Just as you were about to lift the first spoon of gooey pap in your mouth, someone sat down at your table, making you halt your movement for a brief second.

He placed his tray on the table with a loud bang before plopping down on the bench right in front of you. His food looked tremendously more high quality than yours. Your mouth began watering from just looking at it. Freshly made roast potatoes with rosemary, fluffy pieces of baguette with salted butter, a big juicy piece of meat – grilled to perfection, and a glass of mousse au chocolat.

He leaned forward, supporting himself on the table with his elbows, folded his hands and intensely looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. It seemed like he wasn’t in a hurry to start eating any time soon.

You pretended to ignore him and began eating. The soup, which could vaguely be identified as lentil soup, left a slimy feeling on your tongue and tasted completely bland. Every fiber of your body told you to spit it back out again but with enough willpower, you actually managed to swallow it. Not without pulling a grimace first though.

“You’re new here.” The stranger in front of you observed with curiosity.

You looked up at him, nodding slowly shoveling another spoonful of goo in your mouth before going back to ignoring him. You weren’t really interested in trying to make connections here. All you wanted was to get out of here again – even though you knew deep down that the likelihood of that was nearing zero.

“Adapting well?” He inquired, still not in a hurry to touch his food.

You suspiciously looked up at him. There was just something about this guy that was off. He didn’t quite fit in here at all. He was admittedly very handsome. He looked well groomed and his attire was way too pompous to be an inmate - or maybe he was some rich guy who got some sort of special treatment down here. Every other inmate was avoiding your table and people looked at him with an almost reverent look in their eyes. If it wasn’t for the scars that seemed to cover the majority of his body already, this just further confirmed your gut feeling to avoid this guy at all costs in the future.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He chuckled, eyeing you further with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What do you want?” You asked, now slightly annoyed.

“Just trying to strike up some friendly conversation. You know, seeing how lost you were while ordering food, not knowing about tickets, and just dashing around like a scared blubberbeast, led me to believe that no one gave you a rundown of how this place works. So, allow me?” He remarked with that same smirk.

When you wordlessly motioned for him to continue, he began explaining the workings and rules down here in detail. Unspoken rules, general rules, what and who to avoid, how jobs worked, work times, payment and money, general daily schedule, and a lot more. There was simply so much you were beginning to feel lightheaded as soon as he had finished speaking and you could feel the lump in your throat grow in size with every minute that passed. You would never be able to live here.

“That should about cover the basics.” He finished explaining as you swallowed thickly.

You opened your mouth in order to speak but he swiftly lifted his finger to shut you up.

“No need to say anything. I know it’s not easy to adapt to a new environment. Especially not one you feel trapped in. But that feeling will fade eventually. Trust me.” He threw you a genuine smile before lifting himself up from the bench and pushing his tray with the food in your direction, pointing at it with an offering gesture.

“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide.” He said, before striding away.

“Wait-” You jumped up from the table causing him to halt in his tracks and turn around once more. “What’s your name?”

“Wriothesley.”

After this strange encounter with the mysterious and admittedly attractive man, you didn’t see him around for a long while. This came as a surprise because you’d assume someone with his looks and attire would stick out like a sore thumb wherever he went. But it was as if the ground itself had swallowed him.

You wanted to see him again, mostly because you thought you could learn from him for your life down here. And despite your gut telling you that he was a walking red flag you had developed a strange curiosity for him.

You had begun working at the ship dockyard where a big window was offering a view into the ocean. You could somewhat make out the sky and time of day from there and it was the only thing that kept you from going completely insane in here. All you had done was sleep, work, eat, and repeat since you came here. Some people had tried speaking to you and some asked what you were here for, but you didn’t have any interest in conversing with them – especially not after you had tried telling someone that you were innocent and they had just laughed at you. Needless to say, you had no desire to connect with people – although he was the only exception seeing as you were craving to talk to him again, as much as you tried to deny it.

Today you were working at the docks again and found yourself longingly staring out of the large window. Your mind drifted off and you wondered how it would feel to simply swim back up to the surface where your lost freedom lay.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” A familiar voice reached your ears from behind.

“Wriothesley!”

The man in question walked up to you and came to a halt right next to you. He looked out through the window himself before looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a slight smirk.

“Still longing for the surface?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest. “It never fully goes away but once you get used to the Fortress you’ll find yourself unable to want to leave.”

“Is that so?” You ushered quietly, scoffing. You were simply unable to believe him, not when your freedom had been taken unjustifiably.

“Thank you for the food the other day, by the way. I didn’t have a chance to thank you yet.” You attempted to divert the topic.

“Don’t mention it.” He waved dit off with an unwavering smile. “It is almost time for lunch, have you eaten yet? We could head to the Cafeteria together. My treat.”

“Oh, you absolutely don’t have to, I have enough credits for food now that–”

“Please. I insist.”

And so you found yourself sitting at the table with Wriothesley again, with the most exquisite meal that tickets could buy down here.

You were surprised he was able to fork over nearly four thousand credits to buy the meals as if they were nothing. And especially since he treated you to such a meal as well, while everyone else down here held onto their credits as if their life depended on it. And of course, you also didn’t miss the stares of the others again when you sat down with your fancy meal.

You carefully eyed the food and then Wriothesley as if you didn’t deserve to be treated to something like this. He looked back at you with a genuine smile as he continued nibbling on his baguette.

“Anything wrong?” He asked with curiosity.

“No. It’s just… why–?”

“Why am I treating you to something?” He raised an eyebrow in amusement as if he had read your thoughts. You nodded slowly in reply.

“You’re interesting. That’s all there is to it.” He admitted with a smirk.

“I’m interesting? Me?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “You say that when you’re the one I could say that about. You don’t look like you fit in here at all, you have a truckload of credits to spend, and everyone here looks at you like you own the place.”

You paused for a second, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’ve been here for a long time already, haven’t you?”

“You… could say that, yeah.” He replied with a chuckle, dipping his baguette into the rich sauce on his plate.

“Why are you here?” You continued prying.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He replied with a smug grin before he continued eating.

You couldn’t quite decide if he was a red flag you should run as far away from as possible or if you wanted to get to know him closer. But either way, your first priority for now was not letting the food go to waste so you began eating the heavenly-tasting meal.

A silence settled between you two that was surprisingly pleasant as you both quietly ate with the occasional glace thrown at each other.

Once you were both done he took your tray with him to put it into the tray cart before turning back around with a smile.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked.

“U-uh… yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.” You stammered a bit taken aback, still confused as to why he wanted to hang out with you so much. You were a nobody with nothing to your name – not even a criminal record technically.

“Great. See you tomorrow then.”

And with that, a habit would slowly form. You would meet up for lunch each day and not long after, also for dinner. He often picked you up at the docks and bought a meal for you and only sometimes you were able to deter him from doing so and insisted that you bought your own since you were genuinely beginning to feel bad even if he seemed well off.

You sometimes sat down for a long time talking even after you both had finished eating. You chatted just about anything and as it would turn out you two seemed to share similar interests. You found out he really loved tea and had extensive knowledge in that regard. And it just so happened that you too were a fellow tea aficionado. Not only that though, you two shared a similar taste in music, books, food, and more. After a couple of weeks had gone by it felt like you had already been friends for the longest time. And much to your surprise, not once had he attempted to ask you why you were here or pried into your private life.

On another such day, you were just heading out of the dormitories towards the Cafeteria to meet up with him. But before you could arrive there someone forcefully yanked you behind some iron crates. You crashed against them with the back of your head with a loud bang, momentarily losing consciousness as pain shot through your system.

"What kinda big shot are ya, huh? What're ya sitting for?" A man yelled at you aggressively.

As soon as you got a grasp of your surroundings again, even though now extremely dizzy, you saw a big bulky guy with a missing front tooth who was pinning you against the boxes by your throat with an iron grip. He was accompanied by two other, less muscular guys who were staring at you in the same aggressive manner. His lackeys, you assumed.

"I have- I have no idea… what you're talking about." You struggled the words out due to the applied pressure on your vocal cords.

"What're ya here for, asshole?!" The man yelled at you even louder now, a few beads of spit flying right into your face through his tooth gap.

"I… I didn't do anything. I–" You gasped breathlessly as you clutched your hands around the hand around your throat, trying to alleviate some of the pressure being applied to it.

"Bullshit! You don't land here for twiddlin’ ya thumbs counterclockwise. And if the Duke's got the eye on ya already, ya've to be some VIP or some shit!" The toothless man spit on the ground between your feet.

“Duke?” You asked confusedly.

“Tch, don’t fuck with me here, shut ya trap. Now, tell me. What’ve ya done? Be honest or I might’ve’ta polish your visage a lil’.” He viciously cackled in unison with his two lackeys who were cheering on him.

“I didn’t. Do. Anything.” You bit back through clenched teeth, putting a strong emphasis on each word. And before you were able to react, a stinging pain shot through your system as a fist connected with your face, sending your head flying back against the crate once again.

You immediately began to see stars and could feel your consciousness quickly fade away. The ringing in your ears and the accompanying dizziness from the impact was overbearing everything and all you could make out before you passed out was a flash of white light and pleas for mercy. Then everything faded to black.

The next thing you knew was waking up with a bandage around your head and an intense migraine. You felt like a horde of boars had trampled over you. The omnipresent pain got worse when you instinctively tried to sit up on the bed you found yourself on.

You hissed in pain and immediately felt a pair of big hands push you back into the fluffy bedding.

“Stay.”

You recognized this voice. You had heard it so often in the past couple of weeks that, despite your delirious state, you had no issue placing it.

“Wriothesley.” You uttered weakly with your eyes still closed.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

He took hold of your hand with a reassuring squeeze and the feeling of his warmth on your skin made you feel tingly all over and the all-present pain immediately felt like it was being alleviated ever so slightly. Out of all people you were glad it was him by your side.

“What? Where?” You rasped, attempting to slowly open your eyes.

“We’re in a separate room at the Fortress Infirmary. Someone roughed you up real good and you fell unconscious. I arrived just in time to prevent worse. You’ll probably have a nasty bruise on your face for a while and you’ve got quite the concussion as well as a cracked rib. But nothing some bed rest and a good cup of tea wouldn’t be able to fix, hm?” He tried to reassure, brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"Your Grace, here is the medicine you asked for." A guard suddenly came rushing into the infirmary with a small satchel that he handed to Wriothesley before quickly leaving again after a courteous bow towards the man by your side.

You furrowed your brows in confusion at the display of submissiveness of the guard towards a fellow prisoner when you've been treated with nothing but disdain and… wait a minute.

Your Grace. The looks he got from the others during lunch and dinner time. The Duke. It's him?!

The memories suddenly came rushing back to you – how you had been slammed into the metal crates, how the toothless man had mentioned the Duke while threatening you and how his fist had then ultimately painfully kissed your face.

You didn't have all the puzzle pieces to connect everything into a clear image yet but it was enough to feel that there was an epiphany just mere millimeters out of your range.

You startled and sat up on the bed with wide-blown eyes once more as pain shot through you again from the abrupt movement. Pain so bad you thought you would have to throw up for a second.

"I-I… your Grace? The Duke? It's you! He meant you and– who? W-what?! I-I– he threatened me and I-I'm innocent. I don't belong here I–I'm innocent–" You incoherently stammered nonsense because your mouth couldn't match up with the speed at which your thoughts were racing.

Just who was he?

But before you got to properly ask that question a pair of soft lips gently connected with yours, rendering you speechless and cutting off the words that were spilling from your mouth relentlessly like water from a leaky faucet. He squeezed your hand a little tighter while the other gently found comfort on your cheek. Cradling it so carefully as if you're the finest piece of porcelain in the world and could break any minute.

The gentleness of his touch, the warmness of his lips, and the smell of Earl Grey on his breath made your body explode into a sea of fireworks. It wasn't until this moment that you realized you had developed feelings for Wriothesley that went beyond the casual acquaintance you met up with after work for food in the prison cafeteria. It was just that you had been too occupied and lost in your own thoughts about your predicament to realize it.

Your curiosity and cravings to see him more and more often weren’t just born from a place of loneliness. Your heart had craved for him all this time.

Your hands found comfort in his hair as you leaned into the kiss more, prying a low chuckle out of him and you felt him smirk against your lips.

"I know you are." He whispered against your lips when he separated from you again.

"What?" You asked in confusion, already forgetting what he was replying to.

"That you're innocent."

"N-no I don't mean just in this case… I didn't commit any crimes I was sent here despite being innocent I-"

You didn't even realize you had started crying until he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I know." He reiterated firmly.

You looked up in his face and his eyes were filled with nothing but sincerity. He must be the first person you ever encountered who didn't see the sentence of the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale as infallible and unquestionable.

"How?" You quietly breathed out in disbelief.

"I knew it on the first day I saw you. My beliefs were just further confirmed when I talked to you for the first time. I've been working behind the scenes to get you out of here again ever since." He admitted, wiping another stray tear from your cheek.

That's why he was gone for days after your first meeting and suddenly arrived again behind you at the docks.

"You went above ground?" You rasped, making the question of who he actually is even bigger.

He nodded, taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Is that why he also said you would find out who he is soon enough that one day? But you still didn't know… who actually is he?

"How are you allowed to go out? Who are you?"

"You still didn't figure it out?" He smirked. "I'm Wriothesley. Warden of the Fortress of Meropide."

And at that moment everything fell like scales from your eyes.

His attire, the looks of other prisoners, the abundance of tickets to spend, randomly disappearing for days, the Duke… the Cryo Vision dangling from his shoulder despite not being allowed to carry any in here.

He was the one who saved you earlier.

He must've noticed your glance because he squeezed your hands a little tighter and reassured you: "They won't ever bother you again. I took care of it."

You didn't dare ask what he meant by that and simply nodded in acceptance.

"I can also tell you that things are going well. I pulled some strings and you might be out of here by the end of the week again with no criminal record to your name."

But what if you actually didn't want to leave anymore? At least not without him.

"Will I be able to see you again?"

A question that spilled out of your mouth before you could properly think about it. But the deafening silence that followed told you everything you needed to know. He rarely left the underground and was occupied down here most of the time so the possibility of you and him seeing each other again was low.

"Certainly." He replied after a while avoiding looking into your eyes.

A white lie. He wanted you to return to your old life again, out of the confines of this prison you had unjustifiably been thrown in. He didn't want to keep you here only for the selfish desires of his heart that he had unplannedly given to you along the way. Maybe he would find a way to be with you once you returned, maybe he didn't – But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in what you had for the remaining time you were here with him.

And that's when he pulled you closer once more, one hand resting on your waist, gently massaging your skin through the fabric of your shirt while reuniting your lips as if it was the last thing he would ever get to taste.

And maybe, if it was what it took to see him again, you wouldn't mind actually committing a crime.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin wriothesley #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

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luveline · 2 years ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match.

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks.

Finished. his text says.

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened.

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly.

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light.

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough.

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready.

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?"

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen.

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side.

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway.

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head.

Miguel squints at you. "What?"

"What?" you ask back.

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge.

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength.

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek.

"It's going to make my skin clearer."

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible."

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment.

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti."

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake."

"It's fish?"

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides.

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry…

Does Miguel not want to kiss you?

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods."

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest.

"You'd love that."

"Are you teasing me?"

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs."

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders."

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want."

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through.

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings.

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone.

The puppy barks hello.

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta."

"I want what you want," you say honestly.

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks.

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance.

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid."

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up.

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried.

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks.

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–"

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back."

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?"

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?"

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering."

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon.

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?"

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine."

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you.

"I sent you all those photos," you say.

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you."

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch.

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge."

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking.

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better.

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night.

He's talkative tonight.

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much."

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing.

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led."

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime.

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt.

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive."

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad."

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it.

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little.

"Then…"

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?"

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead.

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him.

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that."

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it.

"You're not mad?" he asks again.

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss.

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard.

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away.

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy.

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks.

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?"

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?"

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?"

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?"

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely.

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?"

"Your face was wet."

"And after when we were eating dinner?"

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point."

"A kiss would've made me feel better."

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back.

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know."

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says.

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek.

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you.

"Where are you going?"

"I need a drink."

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands.

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck.

"No!" you laugh.

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down.

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile.

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down.

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold."

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on.

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises.

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo."

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

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cleopheanne · 6 months ago

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Vedic/ Sidereal observations

- If you have any proeminent Jyestha placement please go buy an evil eye protection, it can be any jewelry with eye imagerie on it not only the classic cristal one that we often see but make sure that it is very visible on you.

The evil eye that is often projected on jyestha is basically a curse, people see your potential even though you crawl in dirt like a scorpio you see. They observe your resilience evolving in a state without resources and fear what you may become once you acquire this abundance, so they manifest your failure DON'T EVER TELL ANYONE YOUR PLANS even if they are family idc

- If you are one of those that went through rahu/ketu antardasha as an adolescent/young adult saturn mahadasa don't got nothing on you , I would say that first the energy of Saturn is difficult because it requires you to actually put in the work: you can not escape it, however when you finally submit and accept it you will often harvest the fruits of your efforts.

Ketu does not work like that at all, your current actions don't actually matter in a ketu ruled period it is your past karma that is resurging, Ketu will take away everything that you actually have not only material possessions but also intellectual ones: opinions, your self-image relationships, everything that makes you appreciate the material world, you cannot truly try to girlboss your way out of a ketu dasa the best thing that you can do is SURRENDER, meditate, be introspective, journal, practice yoga and pick a solitary sport and allow yourself to contemplate life

- Saturn in the 4th house, conjunct moon, or in cancer will destroy the health of the mother, pls it is not a norm at all most of the time saturnbin the 4th/cancer will indicate that the mother was very strict and austere

- Mercurials and Martians shouldn't expect empathy from anybody sadly, I don't know why but society seems to agree on the fact that they do not deserve to be understood, taken with softness and respect one thing I think it is due to is the fact that they often appear as very stoic, they keep their emotions often to themselves conserving a very cold even bitchy appearance so people often treat them badly based on this impression, they are often met with the 'you think you are better than us ?' anyway

-I've seen many western astrology post saying how many celebrities have scorpio moons right and it make so much more sense when you see that most of them have their moon in sidereal libra rashi, since saturn is exalted in libra, and saturn is the one who grant tangible material abundance, libras have a natural understanding of how to manifest that abundance: they know how to manipulate the material world, using Māyā.

- Ketuvians how about stoping to hide under the guise of disgust and admit that all you really want is to be included and cared about ?

-Purva Ashada men will have the most long, luscious hair ever beyond that they are often stunning and they conserve a kind of androgynous appearance if often they physique is very masculine with hard features they will have the softest voices, most delicate manners ever, it would be so cool to see them take care of a pet. On a darker side this nakshatra is very recurrent in cult leaders even fictional ones lol

-Dhanista and Revati would do great in bellydancing since both of these nakshatras have instruments associated with them, rhythm is innate to their functioning.

- Rohini women are so funny to be around when they get over their insecurities, they are sometimes so insecure it's just hurtful for me to see that, they will break off their bonds with people especially other women over jealousy and not realize that they are the problem, acting like pick mes, making subtle diss and wonder why they are left alone at the end ! If everybody as a problem (as in you are in an argument ) with you and you are not nodal (ketuvian or rahuvian) you are probably the problem 🤷🏾‍♀️. A little introspection shouldn't scare you 😙 that's how you grow as a person

- I strongly admire Anuradha people, their resilience is unmatched like their bone structure, the most gorgeous faces like they were sculpted by Michael Angelo himself

- Mars and Jupiter are bestfriends so you will notice that in real life most bestfriends have this combination of placements or they can have Venus/Saturn too as these two planets are also best friends

- Purva Phalguni/ leo men are so vulgar lol, they scare the hell out of me, Venusian men in general they act like they will eat you alive 🥲

- Rahuvians deal with a lot of mental issues I've seen mostly chronic depression that can lead to suicide in some cases 😕 if you have proeminent rahu placement, try get more in touch with you ketu placement it has helped me a lot, for example ketu in the first house: self-care, protect your energy and your space do not allow anybody to enter it, take extra care of your body exercise, meditate. Ketu in the 6th house: put yourself at the service of other people, in the 11th house: force yourself to join a community, an organization etc

- I've recently saw an interview of Mia Khalifa and she talked about her childhood and her struggles with her weight and turns out she has a Virgo moon in hasta, it made realize how much Virgo women often struggles with their alimentation in general, they have many toxic behaviors regarding the consumption of food and many many of them have had ED or still have it. It's crazy to see that when the constellation of Virgo symbol is an ear of wheat so it associated with bread and eating in general and the natives of this sign have abnormal behaviors towards food.

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justtwotired · 2 years ago

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“Back the fuck off.”

Summary: you and Regulus recently broke up over stupid teenage reasons. It was a really bad fight and you two haven't spoken since, though both regret your actions. At a Gryffindor house party, he spots you kissing Mathew smith, the Gryffindor seeker, who Regulus absolutely despises.

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gryffindor!reader

Warnings: swearing, kissing, fighting, a bit of sexual assault.

⬇️unamused⬇️

Regulus stands at the drinks table with Barty as they are being pure Slytherins looking around with judging and cold looks. Neither of them wanted to come to said party, but Evan -who was currently participating in a round of beer pong- insisted they went.

His eyes travel the crowd and he spots them, making him narrow his eyes. He knew she was doing it to spite him, he knew even she hated Smith, but there she was, sticking her tongue down his throat.

"Ohh, she is playing with fire." Barty seemed to start enjoying the party the moment he followed Regulus gaze. "Shut the hell up." Regulus head snapped towards him and then his eyes traveled back to the girl and that stupid idiot she was kissing.

His hands where slowly starting to roam under her clothes and that's when he couldn't take it anymore and pushed himself of the table making his way towards them.

- 15 minutes earlier -

"They are absolute morons." Y/n shook her head as she watched Sirius and James jump of the table they'd just been dancing on. "Tell me about it." Remus rolled his eyes.

She took a sip of her drink as she watched the boys make their way over to them. "Oh, their coming pretend you don't know them." Peter said and they all quickly avoided eye contact with the two boys. "Oh haha, you're so funny." Sirius said sarcastically.

His eyes fell on Y/n and they narrowed. "Boring again, I see." He said as he eyed the glass with clear liquid in her hands. "But thinking about it, I could use some water," he took it out of her hands and a horrified expression formed on her face.

"Sirius no wait-" but she was to late and he took a sip and moments later spit it out, coughing. "Y/n, you absolutely menace to society." He said handing the glass back to her.

"Are you alright, pads?" James asked laughing. "I am, but she isn't, what psychopath just casually sips straight vodka." He grimaces and James' eyebrows race.

"What? It's good, you're all just over dramatic." She said taking another sip, making Peter chuckle a bit, as he himself had made that same mistake before.

They all looked up at the sound of the portrait swinging open and watched an excited Evan and annoyed Barty and Regulus walk into the common room.

Y/n rolled her eyes, and then they landed on someone and a smirk formed onto her face. "Y/n, no." Remus said and she looked at him. "What do you mean no?" She asked.

"Regulus just walked in and your wearing that smirk? Whatever your planning, no." He said and she rolled her eyes and giggled. "It's just a bit of fun." She said, standing up to leave the couch and pushing the glass into Sirius' hands.

"Here, you can have that." She says and he looks at it in disgust. "No thanks." And puts it down.

"Smith, hey." She greats the seeker and he turned to her. "Y/n, looking ravishing as always." He said with a shit eating grin as he looked her up and down and stopped at her chest.

She would slap him in the face if it wasn't for her plan just unfolding:

Make Regulus as jealous as possible.

"I can say the same about you." She said, her words slightly slurring. Smith took a step closer, snaking an arm around her waist. Everyone in Hogwarts who had a brain knew he had liked her since fourth year, which was one of the reasons Regulus despised him, but also the other way around.

Everyone in Hogwarts with a brain also knew Smith was an actual, selfish, prick. He had a reputation of cheating, one girl even claimed he had cornered her once, but no one knew if it was true, as she had a reputation of lying.

"I heard your single now." He grinned as he pulled her closer, his breath smelled like alcohol. "It was such a shame you where with... him." He sounded disgusted at the last words.

She let out a sarcastic laugh, starting to maybe regret her decision a little bit... but only a little.

"Well, that's over now... sooo." She trailed her finger passed his white button up. She looked up at him and he smashed his lips against hers, she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open to look around the room and they landed on Regulus who wasn't looking at her as his eyes traveled around the room, but she could see them slowly make their way over to them and she closed her eyes again as Smith tongue slipped into her mouth.

They broke apart for a moment before they kissed again and slowly his hands started to travel, one slipping into her skirt and the other under her top.

His lips detached from hers and made their way to her neck and then he whispered in her ears. "Seeing such a beautiful girl like you with a Slytherin. Tsk, I'll show you what it's like to be with a real guy." He whispered before going back to kissing her neck and his hand suddenly slipped into her panty's.

She was taken by surprise but before she could do anything about it, someone else did.

Regulus had made his way trough the crowd, pushing people aside and watching as Smith went further into her skirt and kissing her neck, it made his blood boil.

"Back the fuck off." He said and Smith looked up and grinned, taking his hand out of her skirt, and Regulus almost thought she looked relieved.

They made eyes contact and he narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you want." She said, obviously with alcohol in her system. "Indeed, what do you want?" Smith asked as he put and arm around her waste and his finger tips rested under the band of her skirt.

"I want you, to get your filthy hands of her." Regulus said with a threatening tone. "And why would I do that? Such a pretty girl, and she isn't yours anymore? I wouldn't even have cared is she still was, I had plans anyway." He laughed dryly and Y/n looked rather horrified as she questioned if that would have been against her will.

"Leave her alone." Regulus demanded and Smith smirked. "And why would I do that, she seemed to be rather enjoying me."

Suddenly, Y/n started to really regret her decision, and grabbed his wrist to stop him from going any further. "What is it baby, you don't like it?" He asked and she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Stop, I want you to stop." She told him and he huffed. "You don't tell me when to stop." He said and pulled the hand on his wrist away with his other hand.

She knew she had gotten herself in this situation, it was her own fault, but now she really wanted to get out. Suddenly he let go of her and Y/n hadn't processed the sickening crack.

Regulus had punched him right in the nose and blood was rapidly streaming out. His grey eyes fell on Y/n who stared shocked.

He grabbed her arm and then dragged her out of the common room and eventually stopped in a hallway.

"What is wrong with you?" He asked angrily. "Do you know how much worse that could have been?" He asked, he was furious as he turned his back to her.

"Honestly, Y/n that was such a stupid move! And for what? Making me jealous? Well it worked, happy now?" He turned to her as he yelled, but stopped as he watched her.

Her hands where shaking and tears streamed down her face. His features softened as he walked towards her and took her hands in his, placing a soft kiss on each of them.

"It's alright." He whispered to her and she shook her head. "No, no it's not, I'm so sorry, it was a stupid move. I didn't think it trough." She said as more tears streamed down her face and she sniffed as her nose was now full and starting to run.

He wiped away the tears with his sleeve and kissed her on the forehead. "It's alright, Ma Cherie." He whispered as he hugged her. "Come, you need to get some sleep." He said and then led her over to the Slytherin dorms.

She was sitting on his bed as Regulus took a T-shirt and sweatpants out of his closet. He hands rested on her top and then looked at her. "May I help you here?" He asked and she nodded.

"Use your words, darling." He said softly, he always requested she used words when asking for her permission to do things like this, as he didn't want her to regret later.

"Yes." She croaked out and he slowly lifted it over her head and helped her pull the clean shirt over her head. He did the same with the pants and then tucked her into his bed.

He changed out of his clothes to, and joined her, pulling her into him and kissing her forehead. "I love you, my little dove." He said and she murmured something along the lines of "I love you too." Back before falling asleep.

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suppose-i-was-worm · 1 year ago

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Like the Beat of a Drum pt 1

It began when Tim’s soulmark came in- fourteen years later than most children. He didn’t tell his parents, already well aware of what they thought of his late/non-existent soulmark.

He knew what society thought of people who were more than ten years older than their soulmate, and he didn’t want to be labeled a cradle-robber, so he discretely bought a patch to cover it with. Being markless was also helpful for being Robin- nothing to identify him by or to threaten his soulmate with.

Bruce said that having a soulmate was fine, as long as nobody ever saw your mark- even Tim hadn’t seen Bruce’s mark, though he knew where it was.

Tim didn’t know if he wanted a soulmate, but he was the first (and only) to admit that he couldn’t wait to meet this “Daniel Fenton”.

What he wouldn’t admit to anyone is that sometimes, when he was feeling particularly lonely, he could hear a heartbeat other than his own, pulsing from the mark just over his sternum. People would think he was crazy, and that was something he couldn’t afford on top of being labeled markless.

Nobody could know that Tim had a soulmate. He almost pitied the kid who got stuck with him.

~~~

Danny hadn’t had a soulmate before he died. He’d never heard a heartbeat that was a perfect harmony to his own, even when he listened hard.

After he’d died, the heartbeat he began to hear was always loud in his ears, and he had a smudged bit of writing on his hip. When he’d gone to Frostbite about the weird new mark, the yeti explained that other universes had soulmates, and their marks might be different from his own universe.

“You’ll find the right one someday, and then your mark will become clear.”

Sometimes Danny tried to imagine what his soulmate would look like. Would they be fine with him being a ghost? Would they treat him like the rest of the world did, with disgust and revulsion and distrust?

Surely not. Soulmate implied that they would be perfect counterpoints to each other. He assumed that meant they would get along.

The mark was always clearer when he was Phantom. Sometimes he imagined it cleared up a little as Danny depending on the choices he made, but he wasn’t sure about that- it’s not like he’d told anyone that he had a weird new tattoo, and it was in an odd place to look at.

He often found himself floating and looking up at the stars on quiet nights, day-dreaming about having someone perfect for him and him alone.

~~~

Tim grit his teeth and kept moving, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest as he fought. He knew he hadn’t been stabbed- that felt different. Clearly, his soulmate was in some kind of trouble.

It’s not like he could do anything for them- he was currently fighting some ninja-cultist-assassin weirdos with Jason.

“We will raise the Ghost King and he shall bring fire upon the world!”

Dick had already swooped in and saved the little girl they were trying to use as a sacrifice, but something had triggered the summoning circle anyways after Tim had tried to mess up one of the lines. It was bubbling neon green, and Tim couldn’t decide if it looked more like the Lazarus pits or more like highlighter ink.

His second heartbeat pounded, a loud drum beneath his hidden soulmark, a soulmark that had been sore for days.

He had worried, of course, that someone was in danger and he couldn’t save them- especially as the fight started and the pain became worse.

To his relief, after the sigil started bubbling, the pain receded, as did the noise, and he could think about other things. Such as the so-called ‘Ghost King’.

With a rumble and a crack like thunder, the green pit spit out a slight figure that hung in midair for a moment, before dropping like a rock onto the place where the pit had been moments before.

Tim knocked out the last cultist and turned to face the new threat, but was instead greeted with a young man with floating white hair, curled up on his side, green blood oozing rapidly from… All of him.

What the hell?

~~~

Danny woke up slowly, feeling all sorts of sluggish. The ectoplasm in the air was thick, so he must be in one of two places- Amity, or the Infinite Realms.

The lack of restraints around his wrists and ankles made him think it was the Realms, but when he pried open his eyes, he was shocked to find himself somewhere altogether unfamiliar.

It was a medbay, of sorts- that he could tell, but from the glass wall he could see a vast cavern, filled with various bits and bobs. He could hear bats distantly chirping above him.

Before moving more than his head, Danny took stock of his situation. He did feel weighed down, yes, but it felt more like blood loss than anything else. There were bandages across his chest, and the heart monitor was letting out a long beep, as if warning everyone in the vicinity that the patient was dead.

Something heavy was taped to his hip, over his soulmark. He winced at the thought- Jack and Maddie had attacked that area with a single-minded intensity, thinking it was the thing that caused him to ‘possess their baby’.

Probably another bandage, but who would go through the trouble of wrapping him up? No one in Amity would, at least, nobody who had the kind of tech he could see. Vlad would just find a way to manipulate him because of his pain, not patch up his wounds.

The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was a tugging at his core, pulling him away from the Fenton lab and into a world of green before that world went black.

“You’re awake.”

Startled from his thoughts, Danny looked to the door to see a young man in primary colors and a domino mask. The stranger tilted his head.

“Can you understand me?”

Danny tried to answer, but all that would come out of his dry mouth was a rasp, so he settled on a nod.

The stranger came closer, bringing with him a glass of water that he held to Danny’s lips.

Suspiciously, Danny took a sip, but all he could taste was clean water, so he drank slowly until the stranger pulled the glass away.

“Wh-where am I?”

“Gotham City, New Jersey.”

Now, Danny hadn’t ever been stellar at Geography, but he was pretty sure he’d never heard of a city called Gotham. Part of him thought that it would be just the right place for Sam to live- Goth-am.

“Would you be up to answering a few questions?”

The stranger was looking at him expectantly, so Danny nodded. Maybe he’d get information if he gave some.

“Wonderful. Do you have a name?”

“Phantom.”

The stranger typed something out into a computer Danny hadn’t noticed before.

“Thank you. Where are you from?”

~~~

“Illinois.”

Tim hadn’t been expecting such a mundane answer from the odd person in the Batcave medbay, but he was well aware that metas came from all over the world, even if they got spit out by Lazarus portals.

“Do you know how you got here?”

Phantom shook his head.

“I was- in the lab, and then everything was green. I passed out pretty fast after that.”

Now, the bats might be emotionally stunted, but Tim was the greatest detective that ever lived, so analytically he was fine. ‘In the lab’ plus the wounds the meta was sporting? That told a disastrous story.

“Can you tell me if anyone else was in the lab with you?”

Phantom paused for a long time.

“I just want to help, Phantom. There might be other metas in danger there.”

“Meta?”

Tim hadn’t expected Phantom to not know what a meta was- that painted an even worse picture than he thought.

He made sure his voice was kind and even when he answered.

“Powered individuals with the meta gene. I haven’t run your DNA yet, I was waiting for you to wake up for permission, but I’m sure you have the gene. There are protective acts in place to stop the abuse of powered individuals- we want to help.”

Much to his surprise, after gaping through his explanation, Phantom laughed!

“No! I’m not- no- my condition- it’s medical, not genetic.”

Tim winced. This poor guy, he’d been brainwashed.

“There wasn’t anyone else in the lab. I saved the rest of us before getting caught.”

Phantom’s tone was airy, but Tim could hear an underlying strength to it.

“What am I supposed to call you, by the way?”

~~~

Danny watched as the stranger went through several stages of grief at his question, and wondered how in the world it had been an odd query.

“I’m- Red Robin. Of the Gotham Bats.”

Oh. That’s why. Danny nodded sagely.

“Sports, I see. Which one requires masks? Cribbage?”

Ope, there went several more stages of grief, perhaps even some as of yet unknown to man.

“No. The Bats are vigilantes. We work with the Justice League, a group of superheroes in charge of world safety.”

Look. Danny might live under a proverbial rock in Amity Park, but superheroes? Never heard of ‘em. Point one to being a different universe.

Well. Point several, he just couldn’t remember the others. Wait a second-

“Are soulmarks a thing here?”

“What? Yes, why?”

Danny shot up, despite the pain in his chest and side and- everywhere.

“Can you show me a soulmark? Do you have one?”

Red Robin’s face shuttered behind the mask, and the heartbeat in Danny’s ears sped up a little.

“I do not.”

“Oh. Sorry. I just- Sorry.”

There was a noise from outside of the medical area, and then a voice called out.

“Red Robin? Is our guest awake? I brought a representative from the JLD.”

The vigilante got up and went out quickly, and Danny felt really bad for hurting him. For a few minutes he was left alone, so he lay back down and stared at the wall.

And then. And. Then.

“YOU!”

Danny shot up into a sitting position again, pointing at the man in the trench coat who came into the room.

Trench coat man looked confused.

Not caring for his stitches or monitors or anything like that, Danny struggled onto his feet, forgetting the pain in his anger.

“Do you, John Constantine, know how much of a pain in my ass you are?” He sneered and let his voice take on a nasally tone. “’Oh Great One, Phantom, lord of the realms and all that shit! John Constantine sold his soul to me, but he sold it to my cousin too! Who gets the soul now?’”

Danny ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You know who gets his soul now, Constantine? I fucking do! I-“ He flagged- maybe he shouldn’t air out this guy’s dirty laundry in front of strangers? “Anyways, fuck you, dude. Find a way to get me home and never fucking sell your soul again.”

~~~

Tim was honestly shocked that Phantom had been able to move in the state he was in, even with what Tim suspected was accelerated healing.

His extra heartbeat had started pounding a mile a minute the moment Phantom saw Constantine, but Tim ignored it for now, instead focusing on their guest.

When Phantom mentioned being sent home, Tim had to step in.

“I don’t believe that is wise, Phantom. You came to us severely injured. My conscious would not let me send you away without-“

Constantine was backing away from Phantom, so fast that he ran into Dick standing at the door.

“Nope. Not dealing with that. No offense, King Phantom, but you’re above my paygrade.”

Phantom (king?) stood still for a moment, looking lost, but then he drew himself up.

“John Constantine, I am your paygrade. Send me where I’m supposed to be.”

Tim watched curiously as Constantine winced.

“That’s some. Pretty vague wording there, your royalness. That is a spell, that I can cast, but whether it does anything or not?” He shrugged. “Can’t tell.”

Phantom slumped, and then waved a limp hand at Constantine.

“Yeah, I didn’t figure. Sorry I yelled at you. I’ll try not to lord the whole ‘I own your soul’ over you too much. Can you at least get me back to the Realms?”

“It might take me a while. What will you do in the meantime?”

Sighing, Phantom made his way back to the med cot, sitting on the edge gingerly.

“Heal the rest of the way. Haunt an abandoned building. Do whatever the hell ghosts do in this dimension.”

“Ghosts?”

Dick spoke up, and Tim could tell his brother was a little shell-shocked.

Phantom winced.

“I mean, as long as ghosts aren’t like, science experiments in this one. Been there, done that. Not fun.”

Constantine shrugged.

“There aren’t a lot of you running around, you should be fine.” He turned to Tim and Dick. “Bats, don’t cause an interdimensional incident. Phantom may be a good king, but he’s still a king.”

“Only on days that end in y.”

With another shrug, John disappeared in a swirl of tan trench coat.

Tim looked to Phantom, who was scowling at the place that Constantine vanished from.

“Well, your majesty, can we offer you any assistance?”

~~~

With a groan, Danny stood back up off the bed.

“No- I think I’m healed enough to get out of your hair by now. Uh. Thank you for your hospitality and all, but I should be… Trying to find a way home.”

“Whoever is back where you came from wants to hurt you, Phantom.”

Danny wasn’t sure why Red Robin seemed to care so much. Sure, he had pretty much decided that if anything happened to Red Robin he’d ice everyone in the vicinity and then finish the job on himself, but that was just him. He was pretty sure everyone imprinted on the first person they saw in a new reality.

Right?

“There are people I have to protect.”

He had to keep himself from wincing at the half-truth. He’d ordered the ghosts to stay away from Amity Park right before Jack and Maddie had captured him, so they were fine, but he had to protect Jazz and Sam and Tucker from finding out that the Fentons were so awful as to attack their son.

“You have to protect yourself first.”

The other man had stepped into the room.

“You’ve obviously been through something hard, Phantom. Take a break. We can find a safe house for you to stay in until you are feeling better. I’m Nightwing, by the way.”

Danny nodded to Nightwing, and then looked expectantly at Red Robin, who was tapping away at his wrist computer.

“Collectively, the only one of us with a suitable safe house is Red Hood. His have great security systems, but aren’t connected to the bats main computer network in any way.”

He looked up from his computer with a smile.

“Ready to meet a zombie, Mister Ghost King?”

#dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x batman #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #brain dead #tim drake/danny fenton #soulmate fic

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feministfang · 8 months ago

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Three brave women beat up a shopkeeper in islamic republic of Pakistan for harassing them and all the Pakistani men are so pissed off that they’re sending death threats to those women for taking action in their own hands instead of tolerating and calling some male authority or police. That piece of shit also filed a case against those women for abusing him and as a citizen of this trash country, i can tell he will win the case.

A 20 years old girl, Sania Zehra, was brutally tortured, raped and murdered by her husband, syed ali raza bukhari, when she was pregnant with her third child. This also happened in Pakistan on 8th of July. Now the same men are silent over this or trying to shove the issue of Palestine on feminist pages posting about Sania’s case because "far worst things are happening in the world". Meanwhile, Pakistani women are busy dick worshipping the victim’s father because "he must be so traumatised after losing his daughter like this. oh poor man!" As if that bitch isn’t at fault for making her daughter marry that old beast when she was probably 16.

Celebrities here are more concerned about men’s deteriorating mental health in this country as these lunatics think catering to men’s feelings will somehow fix them. What else can you expect from them when the entire world outside has progressed, but these dumbfucks are still portraying the same old cringe fairytale stories where a simple beautiful, but unfortunate girl falls in love with some ugly psychotic man and tolerates his abuse because "that’s true love 😍" and in the end, she’s successful in fixing him.

But when we speak a word against the atrocities women face in this country, all these people lose their minds and try to silence us to ensure the image of their fuckin country is not at risk of defamation and the lovely Pakistan can become an example of how peaceful islam is. Pakistani men (and most women here as well) are intolerant when it comes to the vilification of the image of their country and religion. And their asses start burning when they see someone ruining it. They even stoop so low to the level of satanism that they would not hesitate to send death threats to anyone making them look bad globally. A girl i was friends with on FB wished Malala another gunshot on her face by Taliban because of her anti-marriage stance.

This is why i urge y’all to please don’t stay silent on the issues women are facing in Pakistan. I never see global feminist pages talking about female oppression in this garbage country. Some feminists living in west also act like brown men are somehow better than white men and they’re more oppressed than white women because of racism, or that muslim men are better than christian bigots. Stop victimising brown muslim men. Not only are they hideous but also the misogyny the south asian society has shoved in their assholes is extremely disgusting and they keep shitting it on women everywhere they go, including white women.

I wouldn’t expect support from brainless libby feminists as they’re probably busy pulling their pants down on their favourite OF platforms or fighting misandry online, but i would love to see all the radfems speaking up for south asian women. Please make it known globally how the Pakistani islamic community is constantly oppressing women day by day.

Use the examples i stated above. Speak up for Sania Zehra!! Demand justice for her globally, and keep bashing corrupt Pakistani law system. Also, don’t forget to defame their religion. These people are most protective of their culture and religion. I don’t see any hope in this country for women, but there’s a chance they will start taking action and give proper justice to the victims in order to protect their so called dignity.

#justice for sania zehra #radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist community #radical feminist safe #feminism #radical feminist #pakistani women #muslim men are trash #brown men are trash #pakistani men are trash #all men are trash #men are trash #south asian women #female liberation #radical feminists do interact

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tealvenetianmask · 9 months ago

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Thoughts about Striker being a "supremacist:"

On the surface, he's sort of a social class activist/ Robin Hood archetype. I think he truly thinks of himself this way. But when Blitz calls him a supremacist, who's he a supremacist against exactly? It's imps. This guy hates imps (and also identifies as one, even though he's clearly some sort of hybrid, which is interesting).

Let me show you what I mean. The short version is that he's the self-hating minority bigot trope, and it's executed really well.

"Blue Bloods"

"Disgusting, rich, pompous goetia"

"Some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you."

"You don't get to talk over me. . . all you ever do is try to talk over us."

"Once I split your neck open and let you choke on your own blue blood, you won't be worth any more than the tomb stone you'll be buried under."

So . . . first, he doesn't actually say a lot that's solely about royals, and ALL of the quotes above are about how royals look down on people like him, NOT about any inherent flaws that they have. They're about class, not race, unless you count "blue blood" as race. I don't. It's tied directly to money. "Disgusting" comes up in reference to Blitz's relationship with Stolas, but the words "rich" and "pompous" follow immediately. Striker hates royals because he hates that society places them above him.

Imps

"Pathetic."

"You little things aint worth the cleanup."

"Oh I remember how easy you are to choke the life out of, little one."

"Blitz, come on. You know the two of us are superior to most of our kind."

"I still think it's embarrassing. You're wasting a lot of potential relying on a weak little . . ."

"Vermin"

I think that this is where Striker's worldview comes into clearer focus. He thinks that Moxxie and Millie (and by extension MOST imps) are inferior to him. The word "vermin" is particularly telling. There's something visceral about his disgust for "lesser" imps.

I think Striker worries that they reflect who he really is. I think he truly believes that imps are inferior to higher class demons, and he fears that if he doesn't prove himself to be special (through violent dominance), he's vermin himself.

Notice how in the image below, his edge over Moxxie is all about size and physical strength- the things he implies throughout the episode make him the superior being. Look at that wide smile. He loves the feeling of being superior.

Relationships between imps and royals

"You are so above sucking on a disgusting rich pompous goetia . . ."

"kill the unkillable . . . starting with the one that treats you like a plaything."

"Blitzy"

"You two are both embarrassments to our kind for meddlin' with blue bloods to begin with. But at least loud mouth here has the sense to only fuck his rich bitch, instead of being a little purse dog."

"This worthless little pet reeks of his over bloated master. I'll at least enjoy getting rid of him."

Striker clearly sees these relationships as imps lowering themselves. It doesn't seem to occur to him even for a moment that these relationships might involve genuine care because he sees all interactions between social classes as being about power and "who wins."

Notice that despite in theory caring about the power dynamics, Striker puts most of his shaming language on the imps in the relationships, and uses demeaning language to do it- "embarrassments, purse dog, little pet," as if they're at fault (for being used, in his view . . .?) and should be ashamed.

I thought about delving more into why Striker sees Blitz as closer to his own level, and I think it comes down to the things he values (physical strength, willingness to kill, detachment/independence), which are not the things that we the audience end up liking the most about Blitz. He misses the point of what actually makes our boy great, basically. 😍

I've spent a lot of time reading and watching videos about real life white supremacists because I like to be miserable, and . . . yeah, this character really shares their view that some people are inferior to others, and that the traits that make them inferior are inherent and immutable. The people he hates just aren't the ones he'd have us believe he hates.

#I saw a reaction video a while back that described Striker as extremely cool but also extremely uncool at the same time #and it really stuck with me #stiker #helluva boss #stolitz #fizzmodeus #moxxie #millie #blitz #blitzo #stolas #villains #i love well written authentically detestable villains <3 #my helluva meta #been cooking in the back of my mind for a while #Now edited #Ugh why do I post without rereading?

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tackykachowch · 2 months ago

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I wanted to make this post really extensive, with a lot of screenshots etc, but I'm literally operating at 0% so forgive me this one time.

So, you all know how I'm constantly after season 2's blood because of how it butchered well...Everything, but especially my favorites Silco and Jinx. And what do you know, they even screwed up Silco's glass. Yes. A Glass. Let me explain.

Animators at Fortiche are real professionals, so they know that every object tells a story, so even small things like glasses or cups can tell us a story or let us understand the character better, or even reflect the whole meta of the show. Arcane season 1 really exceeded at this. Going through every scene of this season I noticed that Piltovans use elegant and neat glasses and cups, and the glasses that are particularly used by the councilors are made out of gold. While Zaunites drink from simple glasses without any ornaments, metal mugs or straight-up out of bottles. But there's this one single glass that's different from any other glass or cup in the ENTIRE season - Silco's glass (also Jinx's cup but I'm not gonna talk about it here).

It's made out of simple glass and is pretty bulky to give an association with Zaun, but also has golden ornaments to associate it with Piltover. This single glass perfectly encapsulates Silco as a character - a Zaunite who rejects living under the status quo and who strives to get his people opportunity and freedom Piltover has. Also it reflects his unique position in society - he operates the entirety of the Undercity, yet even this amount of power is barely enough to compete with Piltover. Silco represents the middle of the barrel, a fusion of both cities at their current states. Then, in ep9 it gets destroyed, foreshadowing Silco's death and destruction of the relative peace the two cities had until this time. It's perfect, no notes.

But theeeen we have season 2 *barely disguised rage*. In it we have my favorite flashback out of all of flashbacks ever, where we see- huh??

Silco's glass?? How did it get in there?? And there's THREE of them now???? This is surely some kind of mistake, right? Let's fast forward a bit- WHAT IS IT DOING IN A CAVE????

So, you want to tell me, that an object unique to Silco and Silco only, which perfectly represented his character and even played a minor narrative role, is in fact NOT unique and its destruction in the season 1 finale meant Literally Nothing???? WHAT??????

This is what I meant when I said that s2 jumped headstrong into the fanservice without the second thought about how it impacts the story and characters. You see, Silco now HAS to keep a glass from the times he, Vander and Felicia were friends. He HAS to keep a diary where he says how he admires Felicia, even though nothing indicated that someone inspired him or something of that sort in prior material. (UPD: Also, Silco is more of an idealistic character in the first place. He DOES care about people to some extent, but he always seemed to fight for the idea itself, and not some people in particular. So to give him this new unknown character as part of his primary motivation is....strange, to say the least. It's almost like writers want to make him more sympathetic hmmm). He HAS to keep a photo of the three of them and an "Our Love" record, because he's a sap like that and he lowed his fwiends so wewy much. We already knew Silco had a soft side because he kept things Jinx made for him, we already knew that he hadn't completely let go of the past because he kept Vander's knife. There's no point in adding all this garbage except make the audience go "awwww". It's disgusting and insulting.

But back to the glasses. It makes no sense that the three of them have the glasses and use them, because none of them have any amount of power yet. Moreover, Vander never has ANY Piltovian aesthetic in his design, and Felicia is literally a non-character, so what is exactly the reason to give her such an important object to begin with? I don't know a thing about her, except that she's arcane's most manic pixie girl ever and that by her sheer existence she ruined Silco and Vander's dynamic. Cool. And why would Silco keep the glass with him throughout all these years? And then openly drink out of it in his office? Is it supposed to mean that he carries on the dream the three of them had? But Vander openly rejected this dream, and the remnant of this is located in the very same office (Vander's knife). Orrr maybe um. Maybe. Ughhh. I can't. Think of anything. Hang on. Maaaybeeee it's ssssupposed to represent how Silco's fight for independence went back to the place it started in (The Last Drop)? Okay, maybe, whatever. But then again, what was the purpose of destroying his glass in season 1 ep9 if presumably the two other glasses are still intact? Except Silco dying it doesn't tell us anything, because it lost the previous weight it had in the narrative.

Then we fast forward again to my favorite episode out of all the episodes ever - s2 ep7. In it Silco appears only for a few seconds, but by God are these one of the most destructive few seconds for his character. First he comes to the scene with his flask in hand. A....weird thing to have in a BAR, but okay.

But then as he says the infamous line about forgiveness Vander hands him- oh. Uhhh...A. A Piltovan glass.

Not Silco's glass, or maybe some entirely new glass to represent Zaun's progress as a free nation, but a Piltiovan one. Okay. You were pretty obvious with the line here writers but I guess it wasn't enough.

S2 proceeds to be an insulting, disgusting mess in its every aspect and I will fight with it for the rest of my life.

#i hope this is coherent. i wanted to roll this post out as fast as possible because a few more days and i wouldn't have written it at all #silco arcane #arcane critical #arcane #arcane season 2 #i need the gif with silco beating up someone with legs telepathically play when people read my critical posts bc that's what i look like #when i write them

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