#listen I absolutely believe he is spiteful enough to do that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neet-elite · 5 months

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Divine Intervention — (SDV) Elliott

Pairing: Elliott / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 5,094 Warnings: Exhibitionism, public, handjob, miscommunication, love confession Synopsis: Between your pouting and huffing, he briefly wonders just how he found himself in such an unfortunate predicament. The way you look at him alone tells him that he’s done something wrong, but it’d be more upsetting to him if you weren’t so pretty while sulking.

Therein lies the main issue.

A/N: I haven't written for Elliott in over a year so please excuse any OOC moments! There's just something about put together men losing control that gets to me yknow? Happy new year Elliott Girlies :D!!

pinglist: @beet-roots / @birdielouwho / check my pinned to see how to get added!

Between your pouting and huffing, he briefly wonders just how he found himself in such an unfortunate predicament. The way you look at him alone tells him that he’s done something wrong, but it’d be more upsetting to him if you weren’t so pretty while sulking.

Therein lies the main issue.

For all intents and purposes, today is a good day. The sun is shining, you had accepted his invitation to take an afternoon walk together, and he was so sure that his efforts in courting you were bearing fruit. Thankfully, you had even taken his hand when he’d offered it to you; a grace he refuses to take lightly even when you’re scolding him. You were smiling, talking away about your life on the farm and such, and he was happy enough to listen to your sweet voice by your side like he usually does. A mimicked smile refused to leave his own face despite the obvious burn in his cheeks, lightly squeezing at your hand to remind you that he was still there. He was still listening. And, that he was enjoying spending his time with you. In his mind, there’s no other way to describe the afternoon as anything other than romantic.

And yet still, you scowl at him now. It truly concerns him how he finds you just so cute even when upset, like some immature schoolboy, but the sweat on his brow and the shake in his fingers urge him to console you instead of indulging in his perversion. Because it’s not anger that troubles you, but rather… Feelings of inadequacy, he’s sure. Your frown coils tight around his heart and conveys failure on his part. And he certainly can’t have that continue, not when you’ve provided him such a pleasant day! What a silly thought, he thinks, for you to think anything other than highly of yourself.

And perhaps more importantly: because you’re completely wrong.

“I mean, is it because I’m not pretty enough?”

He instinctively winces at your words, a full body recoil at the fact that you’d even think of such falsehoods, let alone believe them enough to express them verbally. The sentiment rings in his ears, repeated over and over again as he stops and stares at you dumbfounded. Not pretty enough. And said with such hurt too, as if the thought itself wounded you. He can’t help but blame himself, mentally scolding for letting this issue go unnoticed. Immediate heartache ails him most, a tightness in his chest that he can’t shake due to the thought that he made you feel that way, in spite of the work and effort he’s put into courting you. A true gentleman never leaves a lady feeling so worthless, and so he’s quick to force himself into action. That, and because if he doesn’t do something about the way you’re staring at him so cutely right now, then he’s liable to act out.

“What?” he asks stupidly, because for once he’s at a loss for words. A million thoughts rushing through his mind of how best to console you, to make you see the truth. You’d think for a writer he would be better with his words, carefully plucked from his mind to suit each occasion perfectly, but for a moment he appears stunned. Taken aback at the complete carelessness he’s apparently treated you with; and how he wants more than anything to make you feel better. You deserve only the best. “It’s— No. Absolutely not. I won’t have you saying such nasty comments about yourself.”

“Well? Is it true? Because you’ve neither confirmed nor denied—”

“Of course that isn’t the case!” he sighs heavily into his words, tone coming out all wrong and rushed in an effort to make you see the error of your thoughts, when what you actually deserve is the utmost kindness. The annoyance he feels about himself causes him to pinch at the bridge of his nose for a breather to calm down, you shouldn’t have to deal with his misgivings.

Inhale, exhale. No, that’s not the case at all. “Far from it, actually,” he elaborates, taking both your hands in his own for selfish stability and letting out a another shaky breath. It’s embarrassing, truthfully. The real reason behind why he’s taken so long to court you, why he’s still stuck in the hand holding stage; and he’d rather not fully elaborate in fear of scaring you off… But still he has to offer you some half-truths. Something to reassure your silly mind. It’s the least he could do. “You’re perhaps the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He smiles, all warm and quiet. “I mean it.”

He tries his best to convey sincerity through his expression and tone of voice, but his efforts crumple the moment you look away from him. He thinks his heart actually falls when you sigh before speaking, too.

“I just— I thought we’d be further along by now, you know?” you pout, and he has to hold his breath to keep him from acting out.

Oh how he knows, however. How he wants to be further along in his relationship with you too; more than anything, really! But that’s exactly his issue. He wants. He yearns for far too much, to a downright disturbing degree, and it’s rather unbecoming of him, wouldn’t you agree?

Behind the shade of the trees and in the secrecy of the forest he levels with you, just a little. He doesn’t have the right words to appropriately describe his troubles honestly, and in fact he can’t. Not fully, for if he did then surely you’d turn away from him, and his heart hurts at even the thought. “Darling…” he sighs, soft and full of adoration, his hair obscuring you from his vision for just a moment before he tucks it behind an ear. Even during this tense exchange, he can’t help but to romanticise you, unable to view you as anything other than absolute perfection. He wants to help you see that too. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he starts, and it’s genuine. Shown through the tender touch of his hand in your own, the way he stares down at you so lovingly. It’s the honest truth, or so he tells himself, swallowing the thick lump of half before speaking again. “However, I believe there may be something wrong with me.” He admits, and though that much is true, a pang of guilt still worms its way to his tummy as he intimately knows just how rotten he is deep down.

And he thinks you might know too from the confused look you adopt, one so cute that he wants to squeeze your hand tighter. Tighter still than his usual reassuring squeeze, like he simply cannot handle just how much love he holds for you that he has to edge on harm just to express himself thoroughly. But he refrains, just like how he always does, except this time it’s because he’s far too focused on the bite of your lip, and how he wants more than anything to kiss it better. The things you do to him, and your oblivious nature; he’s not quite sure how long he can keep this act up in spite of how hard he’s trying for you.

You hold his hand tighter instead and his body aches to relieve you of your worries, so much so that just watching you pout might be enough to convince him to spill his secrets, the ones he’s held close to his chest all this time. “What do you mean, Elly?” You ask so innocently that it deepens the conflict within him, and the affectionate pet name you’ve taken to calling him might be the final nail in the coffin of his resolve. You’re right, though you don’t know it. You deserve the whole truth, no matter how embarrassing it is for him to divulge. It’s the least he can offer you after such patience you’ve expressed in waiting for him. It’s silly how easily he falls for you, and then he thinks that this should be evidence enough of how wrong you are. But, the lady asks, and she shall receive an adequate response.

He takes a slow swallow and exhales steadily. He never wanted to admit such mortifying details to you ever, content with keeping his boyish nature tucked in his heart forever. But deep down in the pit of his stomach he always knew it’d eventually come to this; the lack of control he has regarding you. More than keeping his character intact, he cares about you and your comfort. And when he takes a selfless moment to think about it from your point of view he easily decides, because anything to make you happier is what he’d like to aim for; for the rest of his life.

“Okay.” He says peacefully, already accepting of his fate because the outcome is (hopefully) that you feel better. What’s a little embarrassment for a good lady, right? “Okay, I’ll tell you.” He’s continues, but he’s stalling, because despite his innocuous want to make you feel as wanted as he surely needs you, it’s difficult to openly admit to such degenerate behaviour as per his affliction. His frustration must be present on his face, because the back of your hand raises against his warming cheek to soothe, a light balm to his otherwise burning body. His burdened mind is unable to distinguish whether the source of his burns are self inflicted or because he loves you so much; not that it matters in the end, because both facts are true, and it’s what makes this discussion so difficult for him to begin with. He’d always like to be honest with you, no matter the topic, of course! But first and foremost he’d like to be a gentleman, and treat you with kindness. Sometimes kindness requires lying, right?

“Please.” You utter softly, and it’s only then that he realises he’s been making you wait. How unbecoming of him.

He lets go of your hand and takes a step back to properly regard you, hoping to make up for his shortcomings thus far. Though, he instantly regrets this decision as he sees the immediate hurt on your face, and all your expression does is urge him to go faster, spill the secret, forget the consequences! So, in a rush, he forces the words out his mouth. For better or for worse, you so easily convince him to forget his surroundings.

“I have an issue. An embarrassing one, at that…” He trails off into an awkward laugh, promptly followed by a clearing of his throat when he notices you just staring back at him. “Well, see— The problem I have is… It’s one of a certain… Vulgar nature, shall we say…”

He doesn’t dare look at you as the words fly out his mouth, taking to chewing on his bottom lip instead of gathering the courage to face you after his deplorable admittance. But the conflict within him tightens around his heart, and he finds himself struggling to deny you any longer.

The wide eyes that greet him as he looks up at you almost cause him to stop babbling, but he’s too deep now to go back. He’ll just have to continue his speech staring at his feet, cheeks red hot in the face of your understandable reaction. “Truth be told, I like you. Really like you. Almost unbearably so, if I’m honest.” Another bout of laughter spills from his bitten lips as he looks to the side, tension building in his body as anxiety takes hold of his lungs, making it harder for him to breathe. “And, well… I mean that in every respect. Not just… Romantically.”

It’s difficult to get the words out due to the amount of fear he feels in confessing such perverted thoughts to you, but he hammers on. It’s what you’ve asked for, and he’d like to give you everything. Rather than dancing around the subject, he figures he might as well offer you the whole truth now, it’s basically out already. “And, well, quite frankly, it’s difficult for me to be around you and to not want to take you where you stand—no matter where we are—which is why I’ve kept distance between us, love. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

Silence follows, and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.

However, finally. Phew. His dirty little secret is now out in the open. He sighs into the relief and slowly meets your gaze again, hoping to find comfort in the form of your pretty smile, though what an immediate mistake that was. The soft expression of acceptance you wear warms his heart, and unfortunately, causes his dress pants to tighten too. A prime example of why he’s taken so long to court you, and he can’t help but catch the way your gaze drops ever so briefly. Awful, right?

“Elliott…” you match his sigh, taking a step forward to pull him into a gentle embrace by the trees, and he’s got no time to react beyond accommodating you. By all accounts he’s elated to have you respond so kindly to his perversion, could never have imagined a better response than your loving hug that he cautiously returns. But when his cock is slowly growing against your tummy, he’s only filled with more shame. Torn between pulling you closer to satisfy his selfish wants, and pushing you away to keep his gentleman appearance in check. You take the thinking out of the equation for him.

“It’s okay, I promise. I want you like that too.”

And oh how easily you admit that which he was so ashamed of, guilt ridden arms quickly wrapping around your back to pin you nice and snug against his body naturally, a physical representation of thanks. It’s crude for all the wrong reasons; not because his cock is quickly hardening against you and leaking all over his dress pants at just the thought of taking you, but because of how much love he feels radiating from your touch. The little reassuring pats against his shoulder, the way you gently move his hair from his face to get a better look at him, all the way down to the chaste—not for a lack of time, but of patience—kiss against his cheek. He needn’t have worried at all, had he?

In return, he strokes your hair. An action far too kind for the current setting, but he quickly learns that that’s what he likes about it. “Apologies, I’ve been rather inconsiderate,” he offers you, placing a similar kiss to your forehead. Soft and tender, just like you, an attempt to copy what he loves about you, and by extension: to reassure. “You see, it’s not a failing on your part. Never was, love.”

He feels you nuzzle into him in response and it feels like home, his arms wrapped loosely around your back, keeping you close enough to him for his chin to rest atop your head. You acceptance has warmed him up to the idea of honesty, actual honesty, and he takes the opportunity to indulge for your own sake. “I just cant help the abundance of inappropriate thoughts when I’m around you.”

You laugh, a light airy sound that forces a smile on his face in spite of the sheer embarrassment he’s enduring for you. He intrinsically knows it isn’t a berating laugh, but one of understanding. “Would you hate me if I said same?” you speak against his chest, and his heart hammers against your cheek.

Now it’s his turn to laugh, the slight jostling around together serving as a stark reminder of his lust, of which he does his best to ignore, but it’s growing increasingly difficult. And in size. “Would you hate me if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind?”

This is what he loves. The small moments shared together in secrecy, privately doting and adoring on each other as if no one else existed in the world. It is also, quite shamefully, the source of his unbefitting ruminations. Several thoughts flit across his mind as you remain in his arms, none of which he has the strength to say out loud. The things he thinks to himself late at night, disgraceful fist wrapped around his cock early in the morning. He wants to drag his thumb across your lower lip and watch them part, move his thumb up to your tongue for him to play with while you pant against him. Maybe even grope at your chest until you beg for him to take you home. Also, he’d like to—

“Elliott?” You giggle, and he suddenly can’t remember what he was doing before now, but your pretty smile has him smitten regardless. He hums down at you in reply, still half daydreaming about all the newly uncontained thoughts, until you kindly clue him in. “You’re grinding against me.”

He’d be more panicked if not for the sultry tone your voice adopts, but still he stutters an apology out. It’s the right thing to do, even he can tell that through his lust addled mind. “Oh— S-Sorry, I didn’t realise I—”

“It’s okay, do you need some help?”

It’s difficult not to curse under the weight of your unbridled acceptance, your kind offer of help going straight to his cock as he soon considers his surroundings. It’s utterly embarrassing that he’s this easy for you, the mere thought of being intimate with you riling him up enough to be rock hard against you. “Out here?” he takes to whispering, though he’s not sure why. He hasn’t exactly hid his actions thus far from prying eyes, but the thought of having you be intimate with him in such an obscene way causes his mouth to dry. “Really, no, it’s okay. I can deal with this later—”

“Let me rephrase that. Let me help you, please?”

And what kind of a gentleman would he be if he were to deny such a pretty girls request?

It was foolish of him to ever worry about your lack of embrace for his more vulgar wants. Not once have you shown him any hint that you wouldn’t like this part of him, but rather he selfishly wants to treat you with so much care that it happened to damage you instead. Far be it for him not to learn, and right now he understands that if he were to decline you once again today would all be for nought. Not that he doesn’t want your help in the middle of a secluded forest, only that he’s happy that you want it too. He nods.

“And what do you have in mind, dear?” he lets you take the lead, fully entrusting himself to you to know the best course of action. It’s a little selfish, not only because he still cares deeply for not overstepping any boundaries, but also because he wants. Needs to give himself up like this as a show of devotion, because if left to his own devices then he’d have no self control. He wants it all, and here you are offering it up to him on a silver platter. It’s dangerous, and not just because of the open setting.

Part of him also wants to lean into the shameless behaviour you’re currently exhibiting too, present in the way your hand inches down his chest, lightly tickling down his tummy until you land on his very obviously hard cock. He wants to rock his hips into your touch, wrap an arm around your neck and tug you up into a heated kiss. But the other part of him begs to wait. Hold off and test the waters a little before revealing his true nature, and besides, it’s sexy getting to see you take the lead like this. Even if his head feels dizzy from the sudden action from relative nothing.

Instead, he merely cups your cheek. Softly stroking his thumb over it while you busy yourself with his pants. Never before has he been so excited to hear the unzip of his pants as he is now, and he smiles into the hooded gaze you offer him. “Be patient.” You remind him, and he has no issue with following that order; seeing as all he’s expressed is patience thus far. He has an idea of what you’d like to do anyway, given how your fingers gently pet at his clothed tip, playing with the soaked through precum of his underwear as you have him pinned against a tree. It’s his fault for falling back there in the hug, to be fair. And, he can’t deny the twitch of his cock when you place a hand beside him for stability, effectively locking him in place before you. It’s hot being at your mercy, and he doesn’t think a first time could go better than this.

And patient he is, allowing you to have your fun playing with him without so much as a sigh. Really, it’s because he’s too focused on his thoughts, about just how much he simply adores the sight of you with your palm against his tip, determined not to fuck his hips forward in a searching for more. If he had his way, he’d have you stripped already. And though he technically has your blessing, he wouldn’t want to come across as some brute unable to keep his composure. No, for now, he exerts some more patience. Just like you asked. And he gets rewarded with your little fist wrapped around the base of his still clothed cock, allowing a shaky breath to escape his lips that immediately heats his face up.

He goes to hide his embarrassment by way of covering his face from view, but you so tenderly drag his arm back down to his side while still holding his cock. “Don’t hide, I’ve been waiting so long for this…” you beg, and he wishes you could understand just how much he needs you right now, because if you did, then you surely wouldn’t be tempting him this much. Precum continues to leak out and stain his underwear full of evidence that he wants you, dripping down his length as you give him an experimental tug. Maybe now you understand just how great his need is, because he bends almost completely over you from how good it feels to have your hands on him like this, how completely in love he is with you and the tender way you touch him, fist tight but oh so full of love. It’s difficult for him to even keep looking at you too, how pretty you are when in control like this, doing his best to keep a loving gaze on you but God it’s so hard; so troublesome when you look so cute while doing something so dirty, he can hardly keep up.

It’s all going to his head too, the public setting fresh in his mind as a gust of spring wind causes him to shiver. It doesn’t stop his cock from throbbing though, the warmth of your hand dipping under the waistband of his underwear to access his bare cock warms him enough. Dizzy with desire, he lets out a greedy groan.

“Careful.” He warns you, not sure what of, only that he already feels close to breaking point with his degeneracy and needs to let you know.

And all you give him is a sly smirk in return, pulling his underwear down to his knees before returning your attention to his cock.

Now that he’s practically laid bare before you, his worries seem as far away as possible. Literally forgotten about thanks to your soft touch, the glide of your fist up and down his ever needy cock with such ease due to the precum you’ve already coaxed out of him. Low moans of appreciation rumble in his chest, face scrunched up in an attempt to really lean into and feel how nice it is to finally have your hands on him. Just like you, he’s been biding his time. Perhaps even more so if he’s honest with himself, waiting to be able to feel you just like this. And it’s even better than he could imagine, his hips jutting forward just a little every time your thumb reaches his tip, every squeeze of your hand persuading more slick to bead out. For what he lacks in verbal communication, you make up for with your hands—as he so often forgets is conversational, too—in the form of a confession.

“I love you.” He suddenly gasps out, lost in his own thoughts as you fist his cock, the jerking motion clouding his judgement and causing him to spill even more secrets for you. He doesn’t even register the seriousness of his words until you say it back to him, all shy and quiet, but an unmistakable I love you too plays over again and again in his mind. In the haze your hands have him under, he can’t remember if he’s said it to you before; he must have in spite of his attempts to hold back, but to hear you return his affections so readily like that while getting him off where he stands proves to be a bit too much for him to handle. Proven by the way his cock twitches harsher in your hand, pulsing against your fingertips with great need for you as a sloppy sound fills the forest. Every pump of your fist causes his eyes to roll further back in his head, his back arching off the tree ever so slightly in an effort to feel more of you, to have more of his cock wrapped around your tight fist. It’s disgusting, stupidly obscene to have you jerk him off in the middle of the day, in the middle of the forest; and he regrets just how much he loves it. How it has his cock aching for you, red hot and leaking all over your knuckles as a whimper escapes him.

The sound is embarrassing and causes his hips to stutter into you, the little laughter you let out at his enjoyment only serving to turn him on some more, making him whine into your touch. He opts to bite on his knuckles to keep himself quiet enough, and he assumes you understand that the setting disallows him from voicing too much of his appreciation, and that he’s just as upset about it as your pout conveys. Because if he had his way, then he’d be doting till the sun came up about the sight before him, all sobs and begs included. Until you realised just how much he truly loves and adores you, and how you needn’t second guess yourself ever again. Make you feel as pretty as he thinks you are, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist to keep you as close as humanly possible to him as you get him off so sweetly, the face of innocence with his cock in your hand.

Your hum immediately draws his attention out of his self spoiling thoughts, but he struggles to focus on you fully. Vision glazed over with lust, jaw tight and teeth gritted. “You’re so pretty, Elliott.” You whisper, and there’s just something about being so soft and intimate in public that gets to him, y’know? Like, has him unable to stop himself from wrapping a hand tight around your wrist, the other remaining at the small of your back to give him more leverage to hump into. The tender nature of your actions causing him to dive deeper into his degeneracy, kind words matched with curses under his breath, weighty thrusts into your squeezing fist that has him gasping before you. It’s too much—

“I’m close—” he all but pants into the air, his body bent over you as his hips fuck into whatever they can, mostly your hand. It’s so wet and sloppy, so completely opposite to his usual appearance that he has no choice but to continue, biting down on his lip only to swallow the egregiously loud moans that want to escape, that want to praise you for making him feel so good with relatively little.

“It’s okay—” is all you manage to get out before he’s spilling, shooting his load and inadvertently staining your surely precious clothing, but he hasn’t the mind to apologise for it right now. Not as you continue to milk him through his orgasm, allow him to bury his face into your neck to gently nip at and hide his groans into. You have him shaking, trembling in your slowly loosening grip as the remainder of cum dribbles out of him, down onto the dirt below, and he heaves.

Big deep breaths, like he can’t believe what’s just happened, head woozy with a mix of things; but mostly love. So much love for you and your acceptance, and hope. “I—” He stops, having to still catch his breath after feeling so good, laughing lightly into the feeling of your barely there tugs, wincing when you eventually let go of his cock and clean yourself up as best as possible. He sends you an apologetic smile. “I hope you understand, now.” He finally gets out, sighing loudly and straightening his back. “Understand that it was never about you, love.”

“I think I get it now.” You smirk, and he too understands the hidden layer to your words. Grasped by excitement at the implication, like Pandora's box. Now you know his secret, and there’s no point in hiding any longer. He’s already looking forward to expressing this side of him again. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nods, returning back to his more gentleman like attitude, as opposed to the fiend you just saw. It takes him only a moment to tuck his cock back in, straightening out his outfit once more and clearing his throat when you’re seemingly sorted too.

“Shall we continue, then?” he asks abruptly, stretching his hand out for you to take, and he’s happy that you do so immediately; the same one that was just on his cock. He makes a note to remember this detail when he touches himself to the thought of today later tonight.

“I’d like that.” You smile up at him, and after taking a few steps forward together he bends down to whisper sweetly in your ear:

“Let’s find somewhere I can help you.”

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv elliott smut

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merakiui · 3 months

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god that LLH with butler jade and princess reader…it reminds me of havfruens forelskelse!!! those two stories really have those tragic aspects huh 😭😭😭😭 our fish boys never winnin’ 😔😔😔😔

i’m really looking forward to the sequel, but also take your time for it mera!!! 😌😌😌😌 ♥️♥️♥️i trust that you will deliver like you always do and i will wait patiently for the time when we finally see our scorned octopus try to take what he believes is his

and you’ve been delivering us not one but two eels fics in a day??? 😭😭😭 this is what manga tweels does to a mf

btw can i be ☕️ anon if it’s not taken yet???

:O funnily enough, havfruens was on my mind while I was writing butler Jade!!! I was listening to this music playlist and the songs inspired me to write soft, angsty non-con for the order. But it reminded me of havfruens the entire time. Doomed (one-sided) romance... orz Jade liking you in spite of everything he's been through when every part of him knows he ought to dislike you and your kingdom and everything in between. T_T I just love to make the fish suffer angst (you're next, Floyb).

Thank you so much for eagerly awaiting the sequel to havfruens!! It's going to be filled with lots of emotions. It has everything I adore writing: suspense, angst, conflict, confrontation, schemes, unlikely friendships, and so much more!!!!! I'm not sure if there will be any smut scenes like in the first part, but that's subject to change hehe.

Manga eels have rewired my brain yet again... orz I fear I won't be sane or normal when we reach Azul's overblot scene. I'm already so eager to summon his birthday card for this year and to see his platinum jacket!!!!! >w< AAAAAA TAKO DAY IS DRAWING CLOSER AND CLOSER........

And you may absolutely be ☕️ anon!!!! :D

#twisted chit chat #☕️ anon #every day is tako day if you're me <3

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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To Mama Rosehearts: (calmly but sarcastically) Oh, hello. You must be Mrs. Rosehearts. How do you do on this fine day? Forgive me for staring but I must say, you look quite stunning, madame. Your haircut really suits your face. (Mama Rosehearts asks about Riddle) Riddle? Oh don't worry about him, he's doing fine. He always had a knack for keeping things under control. Unlike some people.

Aaaand here’s the big one… the final boss of Family Day…

I tried to write this with a nuanced look at Mama Rosehearts, as I felt this was the most fitting for TWST’s themes of grey morality (which also comes through in the OB boys). No one is truly 100% evil, and I didn’t want to just have her screaming at other people 💦

Mama Rosehearts’s parenting methods are overly controlling, she’s uncompromising, and she has a bad temper. But in her eyes, she believes what she’s doing is genuinely the best for her son, and she’s also protective of him. She absolutely cares for Riddle in spite of her strictness. I wanted those aspects of her character to be present too, not just the worst parts of her that we tend to hate.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The problem with bad apples, you sometimes thought to yourself (blame Epel for sticking the apple metaphors in your head), is that they appear so normal at a glance. It’s hard to tell they’re rotten until you’ve had a close look for yourself.

Gazing at Mrs. Rosehearts, you’re shaken. Your mental image of her, cobbled together by hushed words and wisps of shadow, was always that of a monster—the kind that caged children and relished in feeding them lies, keeping them ensnared and submissive. Mother knows best. Listen to your mother. It’s a scary world out there.

She stood before you in blood red heels, wrapped in a smart business suit and modest pencil skirt in the same shade. Her hands were adorned in tulle gloves, sheer enough to grant a glimpse at her immaculate nails. Arms folded, head high, she was poised like an imposing queen before delivering her judgment.

Her eyes a blue-grey, red hair tightly pulled back and secured by a hair clasp. Even her bangs were cut the same, two locks atop her head curling into a heart-like shape. Mrs. Rosehearts was the spitting image of Riddle—or was it more accurate to say that he was a spitting image of her?

But if she was a monster, and Riddle, the same as her…

The terrified expressions of Heartslabyul students blitzed through your mind. The garden and its roses falling apart around them.

“He… He was really gonna do it…”

“He’s completely out of control.”

“He’s like some kinda monster!”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. They quivered, burning with an indescribable intensity.

“Hello.” Her first came clipped, cutting right by your greeting and fabricated compliment. “I can’t say I care for your tone of voice.”

Mrs. Rosehearts diverted her attention from you and to the young man standing in her shadow. “Riddle. They seem know you, but surely this one doesn’t belong to your dormitory?”

You could barely recognize him. The Riddle you knew was serious and strict—but he was also someone who loved to tend to the hedgehogs, and adored tea parties in the garden. His smile could practically make the flowers bloom.

But now he was less of a blossoming rose and more of a shrinking violet, most traces of his confidence wiped away. He diligently trailed behind his mother, appearing even smaller than usual. Meeker, and less sure of himself.

A remnant of Riddle. Not a rose-red ruler, but just a sad little child.

You stared at him helplessly, and he refused to meet your eyes.

“No, mother.” A trained, automatic response. “They are not a student of Heartslabyul.”

“I thought so,” Mrs. Rosehearts sniffed, unimpressed but satisfied. She silently noted your untucked shirt, stray hair, and crooked tie. “They’re far too ungroomed to be someone under your rule.

“And here I was, worrying that you had fallen in with the wrong crowd again. You aren’t still hanging around those horrid Clover and Pinker boys, are you?”

Trey and Che’nya. Your stomach churned, upset for them in their absence.

“Well…” Riddle fidgeted uneasily. Unable to tell a lie, and lacking the courage to tell the truth.

You took the chance to cut in, your eyes close to burning a hole in his mother. “Oh, don't worry about him. Riddle’s doing fine. He’s always had a knack for keeping things under control, unlike some people.”

Mrs. Rosehearts frowned at the insinuation. Her next words could make flowers freeze over. “You’d do well to learn some control yourself. This conversation is between a mother and her son.”

She placed a protective hand on his upper back and gave a slight nudge. “Come, Riddle. We wouldn’t want to be late to speak with your professors.“

“Yes…” He reluctantly turned away from you, trying to focus on the road head. At the path already chosen for him.

You couldn’t help yourself. Your feet fell forward, and you called after him.

“Riddle…!!”

“That’s quite enough,” Mrs. Rosehearts snapped. Her cheeks colored red with rage as she stepped between you and Riddle. “I don’t know who you think you are, sticking your nose in our affairs like this!! I won’t have another unruly child and their bad attitude invading my son’s life—not again!”

Anger surged in your chest. There were so many things you wanted to tell her, things she couldn’t possibly know because she never bothered to entertain them.

Riddle likes strawberry tarts. He doesn’t care if the roses are white, or if the flamingos are pink. And he prefers honey to sugar cubes in his tea, and milk tea over lemon tea. After a meal, he wants to sits and talk with everyone.

The smart thing to do, you thought, is to bite my tongue, or else it’ll just lead to a pointless screaming match.

But you weren’t so smart. Your opened your mouth, prepares to let loose a torrent to challenge her.

What rang out instead, loud and clear, was a boy’s authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, mother!”

"Yes, Riddle? You have something to add?"

“I..." He caught his still-quivering words and straightened. A quiet resolve burned in his steely eyes. "Those selected by the Mirror of Darkness boast exceptional potential and strong moral character. That holds true for myself, as well as my peers. I will not underestimate them, and nor should you."

Mrs. Rosehearts pursed her lips.

"They are worthy rivals that are deserving of respect," Riddle continued, "and they will continue to push me to excel. That is all I wished to say.

"Now then, we should be on our way. We're running late for a very important date with the teaching staff."

His mother looked as though she had a rebuttal, with her brows knitted and the color of her mouth vanishing. Riddle held his breath—and you weren’t sure if it was safe to take one.

"... We will discuss this at a later time," she declared at last. “We need to stay on schedule.”

Riddle released the air in his lungs, and you took a sharp intake.

Mrs. Rosehearts turned away, tossing an icy farewell to the wind. “Good day to you.”

She led her son down the street, saying something to him in a hushed tone. You couldn’t tell what sort of expression Riddle was making, but he held his head high the entire time, like a defiant rosebud in a bed of snow.

When they had finally disappeared into the horizon, you let yourself smile. He’s come into his own… even if just a little.

#Riddle Rosehearts #twst #twst interactions #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland interactions #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #NRC Family Day #disney twisted wonderland #Reader #self insert

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

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Aemond General Headcanon Alphabet

A - Animals - Are they an animal person? Good with them? Scared of them?

Beyond Vhagar, Aemond views animals as a practicality - if not for meat, milk or wool he sees little point in them.

B - Boozy - What is their alcohol tolerance like? What kind of drunk are they?

Aemond isn't a drinker, he rarely imbibes, having spent most of his life witnessing the negative consequences of Aegon's overindulgence. He gets pretty tipsy from a single glass of wine, which removes any inhibition/filter he has, hence his "Strong Boys" toast.

C - Chocolate - Do they prefer savory tastes or do they have a (secret) sweet tooth?

Aemond doesn't have a sweet tooth. He sees food as a necessity, not an indulgence. Any sweet treats that cross his plate he gives to Helaena.

D - Decision - Are they impulsive decision makes? Do they follow their heart, or do they prefer thinking it over?

He is meticulous in his decision making, unless angered. Aemond is at his most impulsive when he feels slighted.

E - Explosive - Are they quick to get angry? What kind of angry are they?

Aemond's temper is a slow burn, but when it reaches its boiling point he isn't explosively angry, just vengeful and spiteful.

F - Friendship - Do they make friends easily? Or are they more hard to approach?

Aemond is a loner by nature. His proclivities towards being a know it all mean people aren't quick to warm to him, and having been picked on most of his life he prefers to keep others at arm's length.

G - Ghost - Do they believe in the paranormal? Are they superstitious?

No. Aemond is practically minded. There's an explanation for everything in his mind.

H - Health & Hygiene - Do they take proper care of themselves or do they need to be reminded to have better habits?

Aemond prides himself on his appearance and puts a lot of time into ensuring he is well kept.

I - Income - Do they feel like money = happiness, or are they happy with enough to survive? Do they dream of a lavish lifestyle, or do they think luxury is unnecessary?

Aemond is a Prince, so he's accustomed to a certain lifestyle. He'd absolutely struggle without it.

J - Job - If they’d be living in our world - modern AU - What kind of job would they have? Would they be good at it?

He'd be a lawyer, most definitely. And he'd be amazing at it - he's intelligent, hyper focused and loves to debate, no doubt he'd be top of his field and earning big bucks.

K - Kindness - Are they kind? Do they like to pay it forward? Are they kind to strangers?

No. He's kind to his loved ones, particularly his mother and sister. Prefers to keep away from everyone else. Absolutely not a philanthropist.

L - Love Language - What is their love language? Does it change when it’s a romantic relationship or are they consistent with how they show love to friends and partners?

Aemond's love language is quality time. He prefers to be alone, so when he cares for someone it's a big deal when he wants to be around them/have them in his space.

M - Music - What kind of music are they into / would they be into? Can they sing / dance? Do they have good rhythm?

Absolutely cannot sing or dance, zero sense of rhythm. Typical white man. Enjoys darker sounding pieces. In a modern setting would absolutely listen to metal.

N - Nature - Do they enjoy the calm and quiet of nature or do they prefer people and the city? What kind of nature resonates most with them (sea, forest, mountains…)

The quiet solitude of sitting by the fireplace in a library, or being above the clouds on dragonback.

O - Offspring - Do they want kids one day? Are they good with children, or do they prefer to stay away as far as possible?

Terrible with children, as he never really had the opportunity to enjoy being one himself. Absolutely wants kids of his own though, as it's considered the "proper" thing to do and he wants to carry on the Targaryen bloodline.

P - Pain - Do they have a high pain tolerance? Are they quick to admit that they are in pain or will they endure it by themselves?

Considering what Aemond went through with his eye and how much of that he internalised, it's safe to assume his pain tolerance is quite high. If he's suffering he'll keep it to himself.

Q - Question - Are they curious by nature? Do they know loads of little trivia? Are they very knowledgeable in their field?

Aemond is a thirsty boi when it comes to knowledge. If a topic interests him then he's not satisfied until he knows all there is to know about it. He provides himself on how well read he is.

R - Rain - What is their favorite type of weather? Favorite season? Are they an ‘I’m always hot’ or an ‘I’m always cold’ kind of person?

Aemond prefers dry, cooler weather. His proclivity towards wearing leather means he gets too hot when it's sunny, and rain messes up his hair and makes it difficult to train/ride Vhagar.

S - Sleep - What are their sleeping habits? What does their bed look like?

He survives on very little sleep, but never looks fatigued. He's going to bed late, but also waking up early. He doesn't need a lot of rest. His bed is minimalist and always well made.

T - Tired - Are they a morning person? A night owl? A permanently exhausted pigeon?

He doesn't really switch off. He's up with the dawn and not going to bed until well after midnight.

U - Unwind - What do they like to do to relax? Do they need a lot of downtime?

Aemond needs a lot of time to recharge if he's spent a lot of time around other people. He'll either go for a lone ride on Vhagar, or tuck himself away in the library to read.

V - Vulnerable - Are they quick to overshare? Or do they keep up their defenses? How long does it take for them to trust someone and open up?

Aemond doesn't open up to anyone. Information has to be pried from him and he'll only really start to open up once he feels a sense of trust/comradery with someone, which takes a long time.

W - Weird - Do they have any habits that are considered strange or abnormal by other people? What are they?

His preference to being on his own, his reluctance to open up and his penchant for having to know the most about everything at all times could all be considered strange.

X - XOXO - In a modern AU: are they a texter or a caller? Do they use emoji? What are their most used Emoji? Do they use a lot of common abbreviations, or do they type out everything properly?

He'd be a texter. No emojis. Everything is typed out properly, but also doesn't say more than is absolutely necessary.

Y - Yes man - Are they quick to help out friends? And Strangers? Will they be easy to convince to do things for others or do they prefer just taking care of their own business.

He'd die for his family, and do absolutely anything for them. The rest of the world can fuck off as far as he's concerned though.

Z - Zone out - Are they prone to daydreaming? If so, what are they dreaming about? Or are they more focussed, and if they are, how hard is it to break their concentration?

Aemond is constantly in his own head, as he's not much of a talker. However, when he's doing something it has all of his attention, he doesn't do things by half measures. Babygirl concentrates.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #my headcanons

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verdemoun · 10 days

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there will be a detailed post about dutch van der linde in timewarp in the next 24 hours watch this space but before then The Ex's of Dutch Van Der Linde is an absolute posse

the main trio is annabelle, susan grimshaw and molly o'shea. molly catches up with the girlies more than any other members of VDLs. side tangent i know in my soul grimshaw and molly made up like grimshaw thought she was protecting the gang. molly would be hurt grimshaw actually believed she talked. she was just saying it to get a rise out of dutch. grimshaw would recognize the effect dutch has on the people that love him and be very apologetic for being blinded by the idea of molly talking and putting the gang at risk, and not doing more to help her as she mentally declined in 1899. they made up they're friends shut up let me dream

the first time molly went over for a formal exes of dutch meeting kieran was also there and the sheer panic poor molly felt please please do not tell me dutch slept with the o'driscoll!! he cheated on me with the o'driscoll!!!?! (she doesn't love dutch but she damn well will have another reason to hate him if she's adding cheating to the list)

he didn't!! he was hanging out with annabelle before the meeting. 1. she lowkey forgot he was there because he's so quiet 2. she's holding him hostage in an effort to get hosea to come. they all damned well know 3. it's a surprise tool that'll help us later

it starts off as just a nice wine dinner talking about girlie things bitching about work, modern era life but by the second bottle of wine someone has to break the ice 'remember how fucking annoying it was when dutch put on the gramophone' 'jesus christ yes i still fucking twitch hearing opera' and then it is all out war they are holding the roast of dutch van der linde

it is very stereotypical like they're making fun of how he preens like the pits of fashion they're saying he was bad in bed and things he did that gave them universal ick they're making fun of mangy tobacco pipe breath when he kissed them and all the red flags in hindsight like the gaslighting and the whole time they are still pouring more wine and smoking and getting more and more animated

finally, with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, annabelle goes up to kieran who's just been sitting there playing on his tablet having a few drinks and zaza and casually asks 'hey kipper what do you think of dutch'

and fellas let me tell you when he's drunk enough to be chatty kieran duffy has Opinions. he will talk so much shit and the girls are just sprawled on the couch drinking wine listening to kieran duffy pace around calling out shit like 'why is dutch such a creep around women has he ever dated a woman older than 25 also what the Hell is his deal with pretending he's a moral superiority 'dutch is a teacher uwu' fucking horseshit half the gang was only so devoted to him because they didn't know anything else and he deliberately picks out people he can mold people to follow his ideals at least colm had the decency not to pretend he cared about people i wanna punch his god damn face so BAD and his moustache is stupid'

the girls are just sitting there snapping their fingers go off kieran he was there for entertainment value the whole time. annabelle just adores him if she could steal one of bessie's boys it would be kieran they have such a special bond as fellow victims of o'driscoll torture. she is his timewarp mom

they put on REAL music out of spite and by real music i mean they are drunk dancing and shout-singing along to 'vampire'. by the time hosea gets there the energy is just so contagious he does join in the 'fuck our ex dutch van der linde' party while bessie is stealing the leftovers. kieran has somehow managed to fall asleep on the couch and bessie quietly sits beside him and has herself a sneaky glass of whisky while the girls + her husband have moved from alternative pop 'i hate my ex' to country 'i'm going to fucking murder my ex'

#rdr2 timewarp au #susan grimshaw #molly o'shea #annabelle rdr2

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p0rchc0ll4ps3 · 26 days

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Okay so tonight's three am thought is about Kim and skip squad (juvie cop) and speedfreaks and going undercover

In my book, the music of the youth and the music of revolution is edm. Trance, techno, hardstyle, house, the works. All of that. Edm represents the fury of the youth, completely anti-everything. It takes disco and turns it violent. The older generation (boomers lol) had the New and disco and all that but I think they also had a lot of acoustic and guitar stuff too. Very 70s. All the older generation dream of this time as the quintessential everything was perfect and great and the kids are ungrateful and will never understand and what's with this harsh noise electronic shit? back in our day we had disco which was electronic that made sense and electronic that you could dance to, not all this ... super fast super loud super grating shit. The kids don't get it, they'll never understand dance music. That and also. Where's the human soul to it? Disco has lyrics. Our pop and folk music had people who actually played the instruments instead of getting a machine to do it. Our music was real music. Etc. all that bullshit

So now you have this new edm that's just so intense. You have other sounds of rebellion and the revolution as well, of course, metal and industrial and all those types. But it's mainly edm. Sure surrounding countries have their edm as well. Graad has its synth stuff developed in the 30s and so does gottwald and there's stuff coming out of the semenine too. All sorts of influences everywhere. But the edm coming out of insulinde, ex-heart of the world, especially revachol, is atomic as fuck like extremely intense like the most intense bass in your life. Insulindean culture, and revachol culture really, is at its heart flashy and loud and vibrant and full of life. It is a stubborn-headed persistence, it is a constant will to survive, it is a flower growing out of the rubble, its continuing in spite of all odds and carrying on no matter what. It is forcing the sun to shine when there is no sun, and every part of insulinde and revachol culture reflects this. Everything flashes, sparkles, shines. Everything insists it is here it is real it is present it is ALIVE dammit despite everything we are ALIVE. You cannot erase us no matter how hard you try. (Which is also what Harry is. He is, in his purest essence, very truly revacholian.) So the edm is also truly revacholian. Loud, intense, highspeed. Bass like you've never felt bass in your life. Atomic

They have all sorts of raves and shit in all the bombed out palaces of the suzerainty, too. In all of revachols demolished buildings and its wiped out neighborhoods and its abandoned warehouses and its abandoned factories. Down in the catacombs and in the unfinished branches of the metro lines. Life in the face of death. The world in the face of the pales catastrophic end, standing up against it, defying it

So this takes me to Kim who grew up listening to operas and symphonies bc the orphanage that raised him thought they were erasing his culture by inflicting so much insulindean culture on him (but because Kim never knew anything other than insulindean culture, all they did was make him love it). Kim who, upon hearing speedfreaks and all the electronic shit the youth were into, couldn't believe the disgrace. Hated it with all of his soul. But the more he was exposed to it and the more he had to Get it to be juvie, the more he started to understand and the more he really really started to love it. Now he absolutely is a whore for the most violent bass and beats in the world. He loves that shit. He can't get enough of it

Some image in my head of him and eyes going undercover to some rave and Kim just absolutely digs it completely and eyes who likes folk and blues and that kinda shit can't really wrap his head around it (but he too resonates with the rage, he too understands the intensity and the lifeforce thrumming behind every beat)

#c4rg0f1l3s #that is my three am essay #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #yah this goes into the tags you must understand my agenda #marfă din elysium #and please do consider if Kim has to go undercover and dress all edgy and in black leather and all that #so does eyes. bc eyes comes with him. ok?

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drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

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Flufftober 5: Oh No, You're a Morning Person!

If Harry was being honest, he hated the mornings.

With a burning passion.

And what he hated even more than he hated the mornings, was being a teacher in the mornings. Was there anything in existence that was more annoying than listening to teenagers moan and groan about how difficult their lives were before you'd even sat down for a cup of coffee? Harry felt rather certain that there was not.

Still, if that was the worst part of teaching (and most often, that seemed to be the case) at Hogwarts, Harry wasn't going to complain.

The staff tended to be fairly reserved at breakfast, most of them probably weren't morning people, truth be told, and they usually had too much on their minds to be chatting anyway.

But all of that suddenly changed this year with the new addition to their staff. And perhaps none of this would have changed except that Harry had been on fairly good terms with Draco Malfoy since their 8th year. He wouldn't have called them friends, but they were friendly.

So he couldn't really be blamed for doing something when he heard Trelawney groan, "Oh no, you're a morning person," when Draco greeted everyone cheerfully on his first day during their set up week before the students arrived. "I've had the most horrific vision for you, dear-"

He looked up in time to watch Draco deflate a bit and he couldn't not do something. "Oy, Draco!" he called, waving cheerfully and plastering a smile on his face. "Down here," he said. "Ignore her," he added pointedly, "some people just have never been the best at seeing and accepting joy instead of horrors."

"I've had a vision about you, too, my boy-" Trelawney started, pointing at Harry.

He waved her off, "Yes, yes. I'm sure I've died a most terrible death and all that."

Draco huffed a small laugh but sat down next to Harry. "Thanks," he said, voice low so no one would overhear him. "Just a little nervous about my first day-"

"You're going to be great," Harry assured him. "Don't let her ruffle you. You know what she's like," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Well," Draco said, as he bit into his toast, "She has had some important prophecies," he said meaningfully.

And Harry knew that was true, they'd both been about him after all, but, "Seeing as I've been in her presence when she's made a prophecy that was true, I think it's safe to say she's making up a load of nonsense right now."

"Well, thanks for rescuing me. It seems like there aren't very many people on staff that enjoy conversation in the morning. It's nice that you do."

He'd done this to himself. He knew he had. And the smart thing would have been to fess up and tell Draco the truth but, "Yeah," he said laughing. "You've no idea what it's been like for the past two years with no one on staff to talk to in the mornings," he added a bit weakly.

Minerva shot him an amused glance over the tops of her glasses and he shrugged one shoulder pathetically in response.

"Well," Draco said, "You won't believe what I've found out..."

----------------

For six months this continued.

Every day.

Harry would come down to breakfast and try to guzzle his cup of coffee just to be awake enough to listen to Draco talk when he arrived five minutes later looking like he'd been up and about for hours.

It continued right until the first morning that Harry woke up in Draco's bed after spending the night there.

"Hey," he murmured when Draco opened his eyes. His voice was soft but a bit giddy with the feeling of adoration pooling in his chest at the sight of the other man. The grey light of dawn was just starting to peek through the window and normally Harry would be checking his alarm to see how much longer he could sleep.

Draco groaned, face scrunching up in displeasure. "Too early," he grunted. "You can't talk yet."

"I thought you were a morning person," Harry laughed in spite of himself.

The other man glared with the one eye that was open, "What part of 'you can't talk yet' was unclear?"

He grinned at Draco, wanting to absolutely smother his grumpy little face in kisses, and settled back into bed to enjoy the quiet of waking up together.

------------------------

Read my other Flufftober ficlets

#flufftober #fluff #short and sweet #listen. i have a hard time believing that anyone is actually a morning person #like. what is wrong with you if you wake up feeling ready to talk and be a fully functioning human?#drarry #love #hogwarts professors #soft #no one in this fic is actually a morning person #day 5 #yep. very behind.

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iknowshocker · 14 days

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If damon would have actually left bonnie in season 6 and choose Elena would kai have saved her ?

oh anon, this is one of my TVD roman empires.

i'm a firm believer that yeah, kai was absolutely walking over to heal her himself. i swing between thinking a. that was always his plan and he never would have let her die for real and b. he decides halfway across the room that damon doesn't deserve the easy way out and he saves her to spite him. either way, he lost Jo tonight. he's not letting Bonnie go, too.

if i could rewrite it i'd do it something like this:

we'd get to hear the rest of his villain monologue and it would end with him crouching down beside her and being like "you really need better friends bonster - that could have been me if you weren't so easily manipulated"

she's glaring up at him, gasping for air: "f - uck .... o - ff"

and he'd laugh, bite his wrist, and go "is that anyway to talk to the man about to save your life??? nooo, didn't think so" and while she's drinking and clinging to him he'd get that blood sharing rush and start babbling and in my perfect world that's the moment she learns about him helping on her birthday.

"i've done this before you know, without the - the weirdly intense blood thing, bon stop looking at me you're making me lightheaded close your eyes, thanks - yeah, anyway, i've done this before. can't believe i'm playing the hero after nuking the whole coven. the irony is not lost on me, lemme tell you - what? don't squint at me, why would i make that up? i saved you on your birthday bon-,"

and she'd rip away from him and go "jeremy saved me-,"

"jeremy ? hold on, thiS WHOLE TIME YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OKay, okay sure he opened the garage door, but who do you think gave him the power to do it?"

bonnie stares up at him in horror, realizing that a witch being involved actually does make so much more sense. kai would lean in closer to her, she's probably still holding his hand so he's got the other braced by her head and she's too shocked to move away.

"i saved you, bonnie. me."

she's looking up at him, eyes frantically bouncing between his, and whispers: "but why?"

"i already told you," he'd sneer, "i felt bad. i regretted leaving you. you're the one who didn't listen. you're the one who didn't believe me. you trusted your stupid friends, and look what it got you. damon left. he picked elena. you gave up everything for him and-,"

"stop," she'd say, trying to get away. but he'd grab her chin and make her look at him.

"they don't care about you, bonnie. you're just a magical help button to them. they call you because they know you won't say no. and you know the worst part about all this? the part i hope keeps you up at night?" he'd lean in even closer, whispering in her ear: "i would have picked you."

and then he'd leave. straight vanish at vamp speed into the night. and bonnie's laying there, in the wreckage of the wedding, all alone.

she cry's.

it makes no sense...and yet it makes perfect sense. damon lies as much as kai. damon is selfish. of course he'd pick elena. shit, bonnie would probably pick elena. what does that say about her? how has she let them convince her she's not worth picking? no, enough. that ends right now. she'd pull herself together, and she'd start walking home.

she'd go straight to the salvatore house. the doors open so she walks in. everyone is there, regrouping and crying and sitting quietly in shock. no one is looking for her. what did damon even tell them, when he came back without her? why did no one come back for her body?

caroline sees her first. she stands on shaky legs, staring at her wide eyed. "oh my god, bonnie? how - damon said you - he said that kai-,"

ah, so he blamed it on kai. funny, he seems to be doing that an awful lot lately.

"he lied," bonnie says. "he does that. damon. he lies."

caroline would run to her, breathlessly laughing, but bonnie doesn't return the hug.

"stefan!" caroline yells. "stefan, come here!"

he comes vamping in, sees the look in bonnie's eyes, and goes perfectly still. there's a phone in his hand, and quietly he says: "damon, i think i know why elena's not waking up. i'm gonna call you back in a minute."

from there i want them all realizing that bonnie has to be protected from damon. in this situation he's gone full rouge and he's proved he's willing to kill bonnie to get elena back. i don't think there's a world where they go back to prison world status besties after that.

kai, of course, is probably still lurking in town. maybe he went back to portland for a bit but he always comes back...he just can't leave bonnie alone.

#kai parker #bonkai #the vampire diaries #tvdu #anon ask

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silverraes · 5 months

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10 BL Characters I Would Hit With My Car

big thank you to @buddhamethods for starting this. I thought it sounded like a fun idea and just had to participate because I have Opinions™ :)

I am hitting some of these characters with only the best intentions and some of them out of pure spite

1) Shin (Bake Me Please)

if you've seen me post about this show or if you've seen it yourself, you know exactly why this guy is on here and also why he's the main reason why I just had to join in on this trend

square up, Shin, I'm hitting you with my car for all that bs and also to help with your character development a little <3

(I didn't find a fitting gif so have a pic as a great summary for why he's on here instead)

2) Way (Pit Babe)

listen I love him. after all if evil why pretty? but he's also a b*tch and he deserves to get hit by a car a little. as a treat. he's my pathetic little meow meow and I love to see him suffer (affectionate) <3

I'm also doing this as a public service so that Babe and Charlie can stay in their weird mama & papa boyfriends era without Way pulling his mind fuckery tricks on Babe

3) Kim (Kinnporsche)

hitting him with my car very lovingly simply bc he made Chay sad and we can't have that. maybe a little car accident can get him to actually admit that he's head over heels in love.

(and also because this man is way too pretty and I need to confirm that he's actually human)

4) Top (Only Friends)

listen. I believe that all of the Only Friends characters deserve to get hit by a car a little. all of them. but this man dared to say that he was serious and then went ahead and slept with someone else so. there's that.

5) Xue Yang (The Untamed/MDZS)

the most evil fucker for absolutely no reason. completely irredeemable. has the world's worst reason for being evil. I love him so much.

this guy is so fucked up that he managed to spend 3 years being all domestic with his nemesis only to realize that he actually developed feelings for him after he had already caused his death

there is absolutely no way to fix him but I'm still hitting him with my car for the amount of emotional damage he caused me with those god damn pieces of candy

6) Akk (The Eclipse)

I love him to bits and that is exactly why I'm knocking him tf out. very lovingly and rather softly but enough to give him some time off. because he deserves a break from all of the absolutely godawful authority figures in his life and what they're putting him through

7) August (Last Twilight)

this fucking b*tch.

I don't think I need to explain why I'm coming at him full speed. this is an act of public service, your honor, I'm doing nothing wrong.

8) Phee (Dead Friend Forever)

okay I know we've only had him for one single episode but this man is already stressing me out with the way he just threw away his cigarette bud in the middle of a god damn forest. sir what are you doing.

I'm only preserving the environment by hitting him with my car and getting him out of that forest, really

(also I can't pinpoint why but this guy is sus af and I don't trust him)

(the scene of crime, your honor)

9) Sprite & Zee's mom (Twins)

after @buddhamethods already took care of Zee (thank you for your service), I am volunteering to take out their mom. this woman needs the world's biggest wake-up call and since her own damn son ending up in a hospital didn't seem to do the trick, maybe herself ending up there will help

10) GramBlack double feature (Not Me)

the absolute audacity of these men to not be in love? after all of that?? I'm hitting them with my car because maybe ending up in hospital beds next to each other will finally get someone to admit that that G did not stand for Eugene what the actual fuck

(listen there are barely any scenes with actual Black and Gram together I'm working with the smallest of crumbs here bear with me)

tagging all of my moots. all of you. if you consider me your mutual, consider yourself tagged.

#tag game #bake me please #pit babe the series #kinnporsche #only friends the series #the untamed #the eclipse #last twilight #dead friend forever #twins the series #not me the series #only friends spoilers #the untamed spoilers #not me spoilers #thai bl

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valandhirwriter · 4 days

Text

Another snippet

For @laurikarauchscat. This is a snippet of pregnant Ciri, it was meant for a sequel to "Heirs of Nilfgaard" that never materialised. I totally agree that Ciri as a Mom is an idea that doesn't always work, and that not everyone believes possible. I respect your opinion absolutely. I still had fun with the idea of her being pregnant with little Prince Geralt.

The carriage rattled over another bridge, and Cirilla leaned back into the soft upholstery. The roads of the Empire were the best she had ever seen, and the carriage was made for comfort, still, she was exhausted. When her father had suggested they leave the City of Golden Towers and travel to Loc Grim, in spite of the time of the year, she had thought nothing of it. Her father loved to confuse his court and did so with great skill and more glee than one might think. Travelling to the Imperial Summer residence in February had certainly thrown the court into disarray.

Cirilla herself had agreed at once. She might be pregnant, but she was not an invalid. Even as the entire household, the guards, and everyone else conspired to fulfil her every wish and whim, she insisted on caring for herself and not being treated like a porcelain doll. She had little success with it. The servants were all set on making sure she had everything she might possibly need, had every comfort that one might imagine, and her guards were not much better. Captain Adair and his soldiers had made it their personal mission to ensure that she travelled as pampered as she had been at the main palace. Beginning with the best, most comfortable quarters and ending with whatever food she might take a fancy to. Had they all been scraping sycophants, Cirilla would have known how to handle them, but they were not. They were honestly happy and honestly worried for her. There was a type of care she could barely describe.

Ever since her pregnancy had become known, assassination attempts too had increased, and while assassins never could expect any mercy from Impera, there was a new quality to the assassin hunt now. She did not know all the details, and maybe she should be glad not to know what happened to those who had tried to kill her and who were taken alive. She had heard the Captain of her father’s personal guard talk to Captain Adair, saying that Vattier’s cells filled rapidly and that the old spy was as happy as a hog in a wallow and was working all the hours the Emperor sent.

The carriage slowed down behind the bridge; they must have reached a station to change the horses. Cirilla leaned back and listened to the voices outside: soldiers giving orders and servants running. She was not expected to do anything, sun forbid that she would have to bother with such mundane things. Still, she did not escape the polite question of whether she wished for anything, water. Tea? Some light food? And when she indicated she wished for nothing, the polite negotiations for maybe a little tea and platter of fruit continued. She gave in with a sigh, pointing out she wanted only a little.

She was more than relieved when Morvran joined her in the carriage. “You can help me eat up all that,” she pointed to the platter with fruit, delicate cheese and other small but enticing bits. “I swear everyone in this household conspires to feed me.”

Morvran smiled gently at her. “You don’t eat enough, my dear,” he said, taking her hand. “And they have worked out what will entice you. Captain Adair most certainly conspired with some officers native to the region to procure your favourite things.”

Ciri sighed. “I am not used to being pampered like that, Morvran. Even being pregnant with the heir to this Empire does not warrant that much fuss. I understand my maids, ladies in waiting and other household people, but the soldiers? Really?” It was what irritated her most. In Cintra, a pregnant princess wouldn’t have been made such a fuss about.

“They remember,” Morvran replied thoughtfully.

“Remember what?” Ciri asked, “I understand that my father’s refusal to marry certainly had people nervous.”

Morvran shifted, leaning his arms on his knees and looked at her. “Long before your father returned to Nilfgaard, there was a strong opposition to the Usurper, nobles, commoners, and soldiers, it went across all classes and estates. Nobles and escaped slaves conspired to take down the Usurper together. But one question remained wide open: the succession. Who should take the throne, once that man was dead? Some groups were fiercely loyal to your house; if they were not loyal to Emperor Fergus, who was dead, they were loyal to his father’s memory. Emperor Torres cast a long shadow over this land. Some of the nobles wanted to elect a new Emperor from their ranks, but they had to realise that the broad base of the resisters would not go with that. That’s why they expended so much effort to find your father and bring him back to Nilfgaard.” He gently took her hand in his. “The fear of those years, the fear of exchanging one tyrant with a worse one, is still there. Your father proved to be a magnificent ruler, a beloved ruler as far as the common man goes, but he had no children. The question…”

“The question what would happen when he died was still there,” Cirilla replied. She had learned that according to the common Nilfgaardians her father was a beloved ruler; in the eyes of the people, he had done everything right. It was something she was still struggling with.

“Exactly,” Morvran shrugged, “I was to be his heir, but the distrust was great. When you returned, it assuaged some of the fears. And now, knowing you are pregnant with the next in the line… it shows something is right again, dear heart. The sun is still shining on Nilfgaard. Many of the soldiers out there saw the civil war as young men, and to them, the thought that their sons and grandsons won’t be thrown into one again, that there is stability, is a great gift.”

Ciri squeezed his hand, smiling at him. She was delighted with their first child, she wanted it safe and healthy, but she still struggled with being pampered like that. “So everyone from here to Darn Rowan is conspiring to pamper me,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I will have to accept that.”

Captain Adair knocked on the door of the carriage to report that both carriages were ready to go again, inquiring whether she needed some additional rest before proceeding. Cirilla shook her head, casting a glance at Morvran. “Stay for a while?” Most of the time, Morvran rode with the escort; he got restless when cooped up the entire day.

But he smiled and inclined his head. “Of course, my dear.”

The carriage was closed, and the escort mounted their fresh horses. Cirilla could see her father’s carriage move out first through the window, surrounded by a heavy cordon of mounted Impera before their own carriage began moving again. To her surprise, she spotted that her father’s carriage was not drawn by the typical White Albans that served as Imperial coach horses, instead, much heavier horses - Roweni military horses - had been used.

“Is something off at the station?” she asked Morvran. “Don’t tell me that anyone would have the Imperial carriage drawn by the same type of horse your armies use to move supplies and catapults.” Her husband was a cavalryman; he needed no further explanation.

Morvran shrugged. “Your father decided to leave the Alban road and take the shortcut to get us to Loc Grim faster. The white road shaves six days off our journey, but we need to cross the ridge from here. White Albans would have problems with that ascent. For Roweni, it is no problem at all. I heard your father liked taking the route right through the garden districts; rumours had it, that sometimes he went as far as riding that part of the route.”

Cirilla chuckled before suddenly putting a hand over her belly, as the little life inside her became known through a few strong kicks. “Someone agrees,” she said, not removing the hand. “But my father and riding? He hates travelling on horseback. The worst days on the entire journey from Vizima were when the carriage broke down, and he had to ride.”

She could see the amusement sparkling in her husband’s eyes. “One might say that even your father now and then has the youthful impetus to show he is not a machine of the state but a man. The garden districts bring that out in him, or so the word goes.”

It was an amusing thought. Cirilla knew her father was a great statesman, a machine of the state in some ways, always working on things, not wasting time on unnecessary distractions. And yet… the idea that even he might want to enjoy some things or be perceived as a man by someone… it was an intriguing thought. Something else came to her mind again. “That word - the garden districts, I know it must mean the region around Loc Grim, but it’s not in the maps.”

“It’s colloquial for the Imperial heartlands,” Morvran explained. “The garden districts comprise of Loc Grim District, the Golden Hills and the Dakhur District. Once we are across the ridge, you’ll see why your father insisted on making the trip, early though it is.”

The name of the singular provinces Cirilla knew, they had come up in various things she had learned about the Empire since arriving in the south. They were among the economic strongest of the Empire, trading in various goods, especially dyes, silks and medicines. “While I would like to know what my father’s possible reasons could be, I also am just realising that I cannot recall many noble houses from the region.”

“There aren’t that many,” Morvran said, “except a few minor titles that are as old as the Empire itself. Most of the region is immediate to the Empire, making it the place with the least influence of the great houses in all the Empire. Which would be one reason, the reason of state, why your father chose to move you here before birth.”

It made sense, Cirilla agreed, that a few houses would still be miffed that her father had spurned them, bringing his daughter from the North to Nilfgaard and marrying her safely to one of his allies. While she had fallen in love with Morvran by herself, and he had been willing to wait for her, wait for a long time if necessary, many houses believed they should have had a slice of the Imperial cake. “Provided that the region’s populace isn’t worse than certain houses…”

Morvran laughed heartily at the suggestion. “With another Emperor, maybe, but your father? When he took the throne, he ended the religious persecution of all the heretics in these districts, stopped his secret service to further nose after traces of the old religious organisations that preceded Sol Invictus as state religion and generally allowed them to live in peace. Keep the Imperial law, pay taxes, and no one will ask to whom or what they pray or whether they believe your father to be a deity or not. Even before, many loyalists came from these hills, but after your father lifted the persecution, it gained him a few provinces with fanatically loyal people. I don’t want to know how many would-be-assassins were taken out by the locals before they could even come close to the summer palace.”

It was one thing that Cirilla truly struggled with - state religion saw her father as a deity incarnate, and she had encountered many people to whom this was important. Her father had allowed for certain religious liberties among his people, stopping zealous persecution of heretics and sects, something she wholeheartedly agreed with. But the entire idea was still very complicated to her. “And what would the other reason be?” she asked when she felt the carriage sway slightly as it began to be drawn along a steep rise.

Suddenly Morvran beamed at her. “Look outside,” he said softly, cradling her hand between his.

Peering through the window of the carriage, Cirilla gasped. They were just drawing across the ridge, and beyond she could see white road winding across the hills. Sharp black basalt cliffs formed the background, overgrown and dotted with flowering bushes and trees. Where the capital had been grey and stormy when they departed, spring had already come to these hills. The burst of red and violet bushes in front of the black cliffs were marvelous, and the fragrance of them even made it past the windows of the carriage. “It’s beautiful…”

Strong, warm hands squeezed hers. “The garden districts usually have an early spring, because the mountains shield them from the rough sea winds,” Morvan said.

#witcher fanfiction #Heirs of Nilfgaard

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