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pursuitseternal · 5 months

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Hi first of all, I wanted to tell you how much I love your fanfictions I'm always happy to see something new (ascended astarion and astarion spawn stories are my favourites but the others are captivating too). I was wondering if you could write a story where the original Tav dies and is reborn a few hundred years later and Astarion finds her again. Maybe in a more modern setting where the prudery thing isn't quite so… strong

I apologise for my bad English it's not my native language I hope you can understand it anyway

“Mistrial:” a Modern Faerûn AU

Astarion x Tav |E| 2.5K modern au

Ao3 link

Summary: Hundreds of years without her, Astarion still sits on the bench, Justice Ancunìn hear case after case. Until one day, that young prosecutor gets under his skin, until she confronts him after their trial, until ancient memories stir and things awaken.

A/N: Thank you to @myfavouritelunatic and @brabblesblog for their enabling and encouragement.

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“Justice Ancunìn, I have to object,” the little firecracker of a prosecutor ground her high heel into the tile of the courtroom.

Astarion shook his head, tired of her tone already on day one. “You don’t have to, counselor,” he rubbed two fingers against his silver-haired temple, “but given that this is already your twenty-second one today, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She looked at him with sharp eyes and folded arms. The little shit. He did not care for her already.

If this had been in the good old days when Faerûn was at its prime and most debauched, he could have her flogged for her tone and sent to cool in the stocks. And that would have been before he had been turned into vampiric spawn, before he had become hero of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life at his side. Helping him learn how to hide his immortality and vampirism from the public, learning how to still serve as Magistrate despite his… condition.

That was until time moved on, and his immortality won over the lingering bonds of love. He missed Tav, her brilliance and ferocity, her pointed ears and sweet blood, her passion in life and in the bed.

Like the blink of an eye, he moved on. City to city, career to career as hundreds of years continued their slow grind of time. Until now, now, he stared down from his bench in BGC, new finagled magic in this modern age like cars and electricity and internet. But law was law, and a judge was a judge

It was as if he never left, aside from the new spitfire attorney, just arrived from New Waterdeep, with a ferocity he would have once admired.

He just now found it tiresome. Irritating. He realized after a moment, she had the decency to wait on his final word on her request for objection. He shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at her. “Overruled, Counselor Ylfe.” He banged his gavel twice. “In fact, court adjourned until tomorrow,” he stood grumbling to himself. “At least I’ll be spared a twenty-third objection in so many hours…”

His pointed ears picked up on a high pitched scoff. “We shall see,” that lawyer snipped to herself. But that tone, that defiance and jabbing quality… something piqued his interest.

Stirred his ancient memory.

He finally groaned as he rested in his chambers, only moments after shutting the doors and sliding off those scratchy robes. Gods, he missed silks and wigs and velvets. Not this cheap crap everyone wore. He went to his cabinet, taking out a discrete green bottle and pouring himself a mug of its swirling ruby contents. He popped it in his microwave, one improvement on the campfire he would not begrudge using.

Not when it made his stash of blood warm for once.

But even as it hummed, his mind kept rolling over his day. Especially that stubborn, annoying, irritating prosecutor with her defiant eyes and jutting out chin and crossed arms and swaying, perfect hips, and……

“Justice Ancunìn, I figured you would finally have a moment for us to address how to best proceed civilly in your own chambers,” his head shot up, his gaze narrowed as he watched her stride on into his offices.

Her.

“What in the hells are you thinking, Counselor Ylfe?” he spat, fighting hard from baring his fangs at her. A habit eroded from nearly a millennia of practice almost overturned just at the sight of her. “You know any discourse outside of the courtroom can result in a mistrial?”

“This isn’t about the trial, this is about your abject disdain for me, personally, it would seem.” She did it again, crossing her arms and swaying her hips in that tight little black pantsuit of her hers.

Astarion let his eye wander. There was something about her… not many females cut so fine a figure in trousers, or slacks or whatever the fuck they were now.

Not since… her. The other her in his life. His true love. That was the last time he even gave a woman a second glance.

Her hair hung over her shoulder, but now, up close, he could see two pointed ears peeking through her crown of long and flowing hair. Elf. High elf.

He locked eyes with her, that piercing shade… his mind raced and wandered… flying through ancient history for some, the warmest of memories for him. Emerald Grove, Shadow Cursed Lands, the real Baldur’s Gate…

“Didn’t you hear me, Your Honor?” she snapped at him.

Astarion shook his mess of silver locks, smiling in a way that no longer hid his fangs. “I’m afraid I was… lost in the sea of my long and winding memories… darling….”

That made her freeze solid. Her smooth face drew into an inscrutable expression, her cherry red lips parted… “What did you call me…?”

Only then did he realize the slip of his own tongue, how that pet name he vowed never to use flowed right off of it. “D-darling.” He repeated, as shocked as she was at the impropriety. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ylfe.”

“Don’t be,” she instantly replied with a shake of her head. Then she smiled, even as her brows furrowed. She looked at him, at his pale face and silver hair and… dark brown eyes…. “Have you always worn contacts, Mr. Ancunìn?”

“How…” but before he could interrogate that true suspicion, his microwave dinged.

“You better get your drink, Your Honor…” That lilt in her voice was new, he noted.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugged. “I can always reheat it later. First I’ll have to apologize for my… behavior today.”

“I should hope so,” she grinned, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. “Treating a lady with such disdain… only to about face and call her darling the next moment… seems something only a true, black-hearted rogue would do…”

“What?” he went rigid. Bending forward, that old instinct to fight or fly racing through his nerves after centuries.

“I’ve never been a fan of contacts,” she smiled so easily as she leaned back against the top of his desk, fingers splayed on his files and papers. “Better if you just showed the world your natural eyes, Mr. Ancunìn….”

His nostrils flared, his breath racing and head swimming. But this time there was no fucking tadpole, he knew that.

“What’s your name…” he hissed, narrowed eyes leveling at her.

“I can tell you, unless you’re bent on letting your stash of blood from getting cold…. Astarion.”

His hand flew to her neck, bringing her up into his face, fangs bared, hackles raised, every long suppressed vampiric sense firing on all cylinders now as he smelled her. “Name,” he commanded.

“Taveria Ylfe,” she swallowed under his hold. “But those close to me have always called me Tav….”

“Tav,” her name was a gasp in his throat.

“And I know you,” she said, breathy and quick. “I didn’t know how… but there was something about you that made me… unsettled.”

“Twenty-two objections later and you call yourself… unsettled?” he smirked, lightening his hold, but stroking his fingers on her skin.

Her skin.

“Well, darling,” she purred, "lifetimes of perfect memory for our kind, and I should have recognized my lover with the crimson eyes and pointed fangs.”

Astarion shook his head, swallowing the rising ball of emotion that caught in his throat. “I’d cry, but it’ll make my contacts hurt,” he gave a wet laugh. His thumb traced on the side of her neck, two circle marks in her flesh, like moles or scars…

“You found them, the brands I’ve have on my flesh ever since you, Astarion,” she added, eyes batting shut under his touch. “I’ve looked for you in every lifetime, my true love with roguish swagger, red eyes, pointed fangs, and massive…”

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Ego?” he offered as an answer, but she shook her head.

“Cock,” she grinned as she bit her lip.

“I was hoping you’d say that… darling…” He hissed as her hand grasped at the gusset between his legs. “Looking for your evidence?” he growled, a roll of his hips into the pressure of her touch. So ancient and familiar. “You’ll get it, darling, if you want it…”

“I do, Astarion,” she sighed, fingers stroking back and forth on the cotton of his pants, feeling that rising erection instantly straining back.

A monsterous growl in his throat, a burning hunger in his belly, he grasped at the back of her neck, pulling her against his lips.

The age-old dance, the same taste. Closing his eyes, his body transported a millennia ago… as if he could smell blood and woodsmoke and magic in the air mixed with her scent. Had he suppressed so much of his senses he couldn’t recognize her scent? Had he ignored the same beat of her heart in her chest, same musical rush of blood in her veins?

He shook his head to let all that go, realizing her hands already tore through her own blazer and button down, clothing now cast to the floor. Already, she had shimmied off the desk, pressing harder into his kiss. He waited for no further invitation, hands instantly sliding her slacks from her perfect curves, his own clothing suddenly feeling too tight and too abrasive.

Astarion only wanted her skin on him now. After so long. He couldn’t move fast enough, his reflexes had dulled from neglect, his dexterity a fraction of what it once was with her. But it, too, slowly crept back, his hands making quick work of his own clothes.

Suddenly, those fingers remembered the smoothness of her skin, rekindled their dexterity. His hand clawed into her hair, the other stroked down her belly, backing her perfect body to perch on the edge of his desk. The gasp he drew from her lips as he sank two fingers into her folds woke something feral in him, something ancient. Vampiric.

“Tav,” he hissed, nuzzing against the music of her artery, rubbing along the stream of her blood in her neck. “May I, please…”

“Mmm, I want to see your real eyes before you take anything of mine, Astarion,” she purred, arching against him. One hand splayed on the desk behind her, she smirked and watched. Never had anyone removed contacts so quickly, so dexterously.

As he blinked, her heart poured open. That scarlet glare, that tilted head, those mussy silver curls. “I can’t believe it’s you…” she sighed.

His eyes went wide, shining in his unshed tears and well of emotion. “I’m so tired of words, Tav,” he replied, voice cracking with that exhaustion and unbridled desire now. “Just give me all of you, to lose myself in, to lose these long and draining years in, years without you.”

Not another word as said, nothing but the groans of their joining once more, the shudder of their bodies as they fucked, the creaking of the wood beneath her as he slammed his hips against it. Cock buried deep in her cunt, fangs digging into her neck.

Both parts of her were hot and leaking. Blood spilled from his mouth once more—warm and fresh and sweetened with her taste. Arousal leaked into the wood beneath them, her musk and sweat the only perfume he longed to smell.

He swirled his tongue over his bite marks, fresh bleeding wounds that swallowed those scars she was born with. A lasting brand on her skin as she had forever been on his heart, his soul.

He couldn’t bring her close enough to him, fingers clawed into her ass to keep her from sliding away with his frantic thrusts. And she had already wrapped herself around his waist, already scratched up the places of his back that weren’t riddled with scars still. Clutching him tightly to never lose him again.

Their lips were sealed together, locked as they sucked and moved and danced in their ancient kiss, the taste of her blood sending them both reeling into oblivion. She keened as her walls spasmed around his cock, that familiar ripple and beat of her climax pressing against his every wild and erratic thrust.

His forehead resting against her shoulder, the scent of her blood there was the last little push he needed, losing himself in the trembling warmth and comfort and pull of her body. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thrumming against her muscles as he came harder than anything for a thousand years. Forcing his head back up, he locked eyes with her, face twisting and arms shaking as he came. Lips pulled back to show those glistening and reddened fangs.

Her hand braced hard at the back of his neck, keeping her with him as his hips thrust, slowing as he emptied into her. At last he stilled, a foolish, young smile on his gaping lips, lips he licked clean.

He would tell her sometime, how she had made his undead heart remember how to beat and love again twice now. How she brought him back to life over and over again. But with that haze in her eyes, the way she clenched still around his cock, he knew this wouldn’t be the end of their reunion.

Thank the gods.

Lips curling as she met her mouth in a kiss, she drew him in again for more. “I have a hotel…” she whispered.

“And I have a penthouse, darling,” came his instant reply between her ravenous caresses.

“Hmm,” she laughed deep in her throat, their kiss still working slowly, unable to break apart once more. “As long as you keep it cleaner than your tent once was, I accept. Someplace for us until the morning when we return to court…”

His fingers, coated in the scent of her arousal, stayed her mouth. “Tch, surely even a young thing like you knows this will end in mistrial now,” he smirked. “Not even I can think of a clause that allows for lost soul mates to continue in court after such…” he glanced at the mess between their legs, “…debauchery.”

“Oh well,” she feigned disappointment, sliding off to retrieve her clothes. “Worth it…”

Suddenly his arms gripped her, pulling her by the swell of her ass, flush against his naked body one more time. “It’ll be days before either of us must return to court… long, exhausting, pleasure-filled days, darling.”

Tav dove up for his kiss, standing in her tiptoes to meet that smirk that haunted her for centuries. “You better hurry me away to your place, Astarion, or someone will find us here making up for lost time.”

Reluctantly and with a deafening sigh, he relented, busying himself to dress again.

“Oh,” she commented, that taunting tone in her voice, “and don’t think I missed how you never answered it your place was still a mess of chaos again.”

He turned, shaking his head as he refastened his belt. “Well, even if you are disappointed in that regard, I can assure you…” he gave her that look, those half-lidded eyes, that sharpened fanged smirk, “you won’t be left wanting in other regards.”

#astarion x tav #modern au #astarion modern au #judge astarion #lawyer Tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #vampire spawn #astarion spawn #spawn astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3

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siren-serenity · 8 months

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off to the grand line we go

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 tell me, what is your dream? to become stronger? to roam the seas in sight for freedom? whatever you want, the sea is willing to offer

-all written by 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍-

note: the ones with (nsfw) are not suitable for minors! minors dni. however, those without any other labelling are safe for everyone :)

𝐋𝐄𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄'𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 note: i've only watched a couple of one piece episodes so i'm not that sure of what arcs or whatever is happening. please be patient with me!! i will not write nsfw for non-humanoid characters ex. chopper honorary tag for sfw works, sanji + ace -> @officialdaydreamer00

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

you would forever immortalize that day. the fated day in which you met the mugiwaras, or the straw hat pirates. luffy, thrusting his hand into your field of vision, mouth grinning and an odd laughter bursting from him. then, in the corner of your eye, you saw everyone else with an earnest look in their eyes. "join my crew!" luffy beamed, like sunshine, like the sun itself. your soul ignited. your heart resonating, beating like drums in your chest. "aye," you grinned, clapping your hand into his. "i pledge to make you king of the pirates!"

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 ↳˳;; ❝ pillow prince (nsfw)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

sanji's hands are shaking as he holds yours, cradling them as if they were the finest piece of treasure in all the seas. his eyes are earnest, glimmering as always whenever he looks at something he loves, but they're more sincere than ever. "my dream is not just the all blue anymore. it's you and it's always been you."

𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐃. 𝐀𝐂𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ lucky to have youᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (ace ver. part two)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ you're so in loveᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ midnight snacks, midnight confessions (modern au!)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i never thought there was someone out there who could love me," ace blows out a wisp of smoke from his mouth, looking outwards from where he leaned on the railing of whitebeard's ship. the sunset highlighted his rugged looks that always made your heart stutter. his next words are quiet, murmured like a sacred whisper. "but then you proved me wrong."

𝐑𝐄𝐃-𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (shanks ver. part one)ᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ who is luffy to you?ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"let's just drink our sorrows away," shanks lifted up a heavy bottle of rum before giving you a light-hearted grin. the sun rising behind him lit up his ruby hair and he seemed to glow otherworldly. "or shall we just drink merrily until we're black-out drunk?"

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 ↳˳;; ❝ my favorite shade of blueᵕ̈೫˚∗ ↳˳;; ❝ when he loves you (buggy ver. part three)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"you," buggy grabbed your chin, tugging you closer to him. his lips curved upwards into a scarlet-smeared grin. blue eyes glimmered and shimmered with a hint of insanity yet there was something about the look in his eyes that made you drawn into the craziness of him. "you will be the greatest act of all."

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐄 '𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐎𝐍' 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 ↳˳;; ❝ morning routinesᵕ̈೫˚∗

you let an exasperated, yet concern-filled sigh escape your lips, hands bandaging his injured shoulder with ease. rosinante watches you with the slightest hint of guilt brimming in his eyes and you immediately felt soft again- no! he set himself on fire again! you must stay strict and- "thank you," rosinante grinned at you, charming in his own unique way, and you felt your heart flutter. "i love you."

𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 ↳˳;; ❝ i just wanna kiss youᵕ̈೫˚∗

"i swear, on my blade, that i will always protect you," zoro pledged and he seemed so serious that you didn't retort as you usually did. he sheathed wado ichimonji and then held your hands in his own calloused ones. the sun had set behind him and outlined his well-built body against the brilliant blue sky. "i swear it, because i will always prioritize you first and foremost." he took your breath away. he always had and always will.

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖 ↳˳;; ❝ early dawnsᵕ̈೫˚∗

"thank you," law whispers. he holds you tight to his chest, inhaling your sweet, unique aroma paired with the metallic, sharp scent of blood. thankfully, the majority of it wasn't yours and you were alive, in his arms. "never do that again. please." law is begging, perhaps for the first time in a long time. but he will get down on his knees and do every humiliating action if you could remain safe forever.

𝐁𝐎𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊 ↳˳;; ❝ eyes and smiles (my heart beats louder)ᵕ̈೫˚∗

"in this vast sea," hancock murmurs, having a lost look in her eyes. you step closer, embracing her gently with a hand cradling her head to you. "my love for you transcends everything." she leans back to look you in the eye and to your surprise, they had small shimmers of tears in the corners. she smiled and it was like the sun had blessed you with warmth. "perhaps our love is the most beautiful of them all."

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tavvattales · 8 months

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Lately, my mind has been filled with Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3(so sorry, my Genshin Impact peeps), and I just thought of another scenario that idk if I'll ever write.

And following my previous post about him, I thought of another somewhat angsty scenario, while yes, it starts happy— it has a sad but fulfilling ending.

TW: Reader gets elderly and mentions death.

Imagine another "good ending" Astarion and Tav/Reader, making a life for themselves in the Underdark. Unfortunately for you... you're not immortal, not like Astarion. You know it's not your place to ask to become like him, and he wouldn't do it for you even if you asked. You see, he doesn't want to curse you with never seeing the sun again or outliving your friends and family. It would be too much for him to bear...

And so he loves you through the years, trying his damnedest to make your life with him worthwhile in the Underdark. But as you start aging, the fine lines starting to crinkle when you smile...you tell him, "You know, I'm getting on in the years, it's okay if you want to leave and start a new life with someone else, someone younger."

And each time he tells you, "Don't be silly, darling. I chose you. I will always choose you"

Soon, your bones begin to creak, your hair now as white as Astarion's, and the fine crinkle of your smile more apparent than ever. Your eyesight begins to fade, and your hearing isn't as well as it used to be, yet Astarion still stays, affectionate as ever. He'll massage away your soreness, draw you long, warm baths, help you bathe, doing anything to make your last remaining years with him easier for you.

And as you lay on your deathbed, awaiting the moment you finally fall into the bliss of death after living a life, you only dreamed of Astarion's cold hand brushes against your forehead. You can barely make out his features anymore, but that familiar glow of his deep ruby eyes never changed— one that was always full of love, and so your voice croaks out, "Thank you for loving me all this time, 'Star," you say affectionately, placing your aged hand atop of his and squeezing it with little strength you had left.

He smiles fondly down at you, his eyes crinkling upwards as he does so, "No," he starts, letting out a soft sigh, not really wanting to accept this reality, "Thank you, for loving me. No...for saving me. From Cazador...from myself. And thank you for teaching me what it was like to love someone...and to be loved. I will never forget you, Y/N, and I hope we'll meet again someday, so I can fall in love all over again."

#rebby rambles #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc

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nightmare-foundation-2 · 4 months

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Hot take: Ozpin isn't even morally gray. I guess he is if you count past lives (slaughtering potentially thousands of ppl to end a war), but otherwise?? I really don't think he is.

Imo, Qrow is more morally gray, Ironwood pre-villain arc was morally gray, etc. I really don't think any of Oz's actions could count as 'morally gray', even when considering that he kept important information to keep his circle and by extension RWBY and Co hopeful, regardless of if you think it's manipulative or not (technically yes, but there was good intentions behind it so imo it's fundamentally different).

Oz really isn't the bad guy the entire fndm tries making him out to be. If he was I think the show would show him in that light, which it doesn't. It TRIED showing him as morally gray, but generally his actions aren't that bad. The FNDM loves saying Oz is an awful manipulative compulsive liar who's intentions are weird and muddy. But honestly I think if he was like that, he wouldn't be portrayed as good. Most of Salems own opinions on Oz is her projecting and being a hypocrite. I don't think the characters narration is reliable when it comes to Oz. The show itself tried making him seem like that in v6, but ultimately failed.

An example people use to say he's morally gray is pointing out that he made the Academies. Which, I won't lie, is a pretty stupid take. The Academies train older teenagers (17-21, possibly older if they allow older ppl to join) who have already been learning how to fight presumably since they were young. Ruby had presumably already had Crescent Rose for a few years by the time she was 15, and there's several combat schools to teach kids how to fight. Remnantians count as a warrior race! They HAVE to fight to survive. Even if you haven't been to an academy, it's normal to know how to fight to defend against Grimm. Controlled by Salem or not, Grimm are a constant that you NEED to fight against. The Academies just give widespread access to tools and education to learn in a safe environment filled with other hunters. They just so happen to fight off Salems Grimm forces, and unknowingly defend the Relics inside. It's a win-win-win on everyone's side. Yes, people are going to die. But they'd be MORE likely to die if a) they can't defend themselves properly b) don't have proper tools to do so or c) don't know how to fight at ALL. Thanks to the Academies, militaries don't need to be used (except Atlas). The possibility of war goes WAY down, and it's harder for the kingdoms to be actively corrupt (not impossible just less easier to be enforced). Objectively? The Academies are a GOOD thing.

Another example is people saying Oz brought RWBY and Co unwillingly into the shadow war. Which... is objectively incorrect. Qrow was the one who told Ruby about the information Cinder and Co were going to attack Haven, and Yang eventually went after her after she left. Ruby brought RNJR with her, because they all experienced trauma and reasonably wanted justice, thinking it was just Cinder behind everything. Then Qrow was the one who told RNJR roughly the truth. He didn't particularly want to, bit he relented anyways, and even then he held back information like Oz being immortal. He didn't even tell them about Salem, just that some nasty people wanted the Relics and Maiden powers and that one of them was named Salem. I guess you could count Ruby being brought into Beacon early, but even then that was the SAFEST option. If Cinder or Roman noticed her silver eyes in ep 1 and that got back to Salem, Ruby would be FUCKED. She was already involved in fighting Roman at that point, and thus would likely get targeted again, silver eyes or not. So Oz brought her in, citing her skill as the reason, while the others likely knew the truth. Qrow OR tai wouldn't have been fine with it if Oz only brought her in to put her into the circle. They would've torn him a new one. Not only that, but obviously he DIDN'T KNOW about the upcoming fall of Beacon. He genuinely thought Ruby and her team was going to be fine for the next 4 years, and when he was starting to suspect something was up, he STILL had no idea the Academy was going to be attacked during the festival. Why would he?? A direct attack isn't typical of Salem, iirc he or someone else said it themselves, especially since it had been 80 or so years since the Great War, which is implied that Salem started. Even IF he wanted to bring her in, he would've waited until after she graduated, which is what happened with STRQ and was going to happen with CVFY. Oz places an emphasis on letting them be kids for as long as possible. He only had to involve them when Qrow already told them everything. And even then, Oz repeatedly gave RWBY and JNR an out. He DID NOT WANT them involved, not yet at least. And with Pyrrha, he didn't exactly have a choice. He gave her time they didn't have, and required her to wait n think, and then needed her verbal consent WHILE BEACON WAS BEING ATTACKED. Yes telling her stressed her out, but I think if she knew the same thing could be offered to anyone else, she'd prefer to take on that burden. It wasn't fair, but it visibly pained Oz to have to give her the choice. He didn't want to, but war is never fair. He would've had to go to SOMEONE regardless.

As for Oz keeping the truth that Salem can't be killed a secret, imo, that is a very VERY hard call for anyone to make. For him it was the option of: tell them immediately and not have any allies (something he values heavily) or have them join Salem out of fear, wait first and tell them later and have them possibly freak out like Ironwood/betray him/lose hope and thus not have any allies, or never tell them so he has important allies and they possibly don't betray him or lose hope. Obviously, he chose the last option, and it's entirely possible he wanted to, eventually, tell them the truth, but we just don't know that. Of course I agree that Oz should've told his circle anyways, but for someone as traumatized and paranoid as Oz who's had to make this decision countless times, you can't exactly fault him for keeping the truth hidden. He's likely told the entire truth before and it bit him in the ass several times before he finally decided to keep it hidden. He said it himself, Leo was NOT the first nor was the last to betray him. As for not telling RWBY and Co? They're CHILDREN he's barely known for, what, a year?? And all of that he was their teacher/Headmaster who didn't often interact with them, or their mentor. He barely knew them and as far as we know, didn't get the chance to actually know and get close to them. They already knew just how dangerous Salem was from the fall of Beacon and battle of haven, plus the fact that she controls Grimm. They could've easily assumed Salem was hard to kill at LEAST since she's immortal and been around for countless thousands of years, and there's no way they thought no one tried to kill her. Oz barely knew them and they almost proved him right by nearly giving up. Plus, he was FRESHLY betrayed at that point. I'm sure yall noticed he was immediately pretty closed off due to the revelation of Leo's betrayal. He genuinely considered Leo a friend, so Oz's trauma response is to hold everyone else at arms length.

Another thing is the fact that he hid the truth from Salem as well early on in their relationship. Thing is, Jinn (a presumably reliable narrator) stated that they BOTH hid things from the other. Salem likely didn't tell him that she lied and manipulated kingdoms into turning against the gods, just that she wanted him back and the gods didn't like that bc that ABSOLUTELY would've upset Oz. Oz, knowing Salem didn't like the gods from her story, likely decided right then to keep the full truth from her, worried she wouldn't react well to it, something anyone would do. Not only that, but right after, Salem convinced, possibly manipulated, Oz into acting as a god-king with her, something he clearly didn't want to do. Jinn herself said "the hearts of men are easily swayed" as Salem convinced him to become a God-king with her. So yes, it's very possible that Salem manipulated him into doing that. "But Salem was fine with the truth later when he told her!" Yes, she was, but Oz couldn't have known that. And the whole reason he tried to leave her was because Salem was turning into a dictator tyrant, something Oz didn't want and something Salem was set on. He did overreact a little bit by bringing the kids instead of communicating with her, but it wasn't his fault that Salem immediately attacked him instead of trying to talk to him, or at least waiting until the kids were in a safe place before attacking him. Most of this wasn't Oz's fault, if any of it. Salem overreacted heavily by attacking him with the kids being react there. Had Oz and the kids lived and escaped her, they would've been TERRIFIED of Salem afterwards, traumatized by the ordeal. And it's never shown that Salem actually cared that they died, just that they "could've had freedom", blaming Oz instead. Meanwhile Oz, afterwards, spent whole LIVES drowning his sorrow and regret and trauma in alcohol, and he's clearly STILL affected by it if Salem using the silhouettes of their children is any indication, since she was likely taunting him (but also reminiscing, regardless of her feelings on the matter) and never brought up their children in any matter.

Overall I really don't think Oz is as bad as the fandom says he is. People like to think he and Salem are the same (something i might make a post on later), when they're very, very different. Oz really isn't bad, he's just traumatized and is basing current events off of past experiences. He's far from manipulative, uncaring, or really any negative adjective I've seen people describe him as. I've probably missed some things, but my point has been made I think. The fndm really likes to misinterpret Oz's character, saying he's exactly like Dumbledore, but in reality he's a subversion of characters like Dumbledore. He's a seriously good guy, and I think people miss that.

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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕𝐈.]

summary: "You know what he is. Better than most. I need not do anything. One day, dear Dream will ruin this himself."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 3.6k+

warnings: Wanderer is going through it emotionally; the price for immortality is the burden of remembering, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: I wrote this in 4hrs and need to get up at 4am (it's now 11.30pm) so if there are more warts on this than usual, I'm really sorry!! thank you so much for your support, too. enjoy the quiet before the storm...

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART SIX: YEAR 522-619

Your landings have improved. With the passing centuries, you’ve come to predict and control them better. Landings differ based on the circumstances of your escape. Sometimes it’s as simple as snapping like a rubber band from one place to another. Minimal pain compared to what you once dealt with, and significantly more comfortable. Based on your condition, landing can range anywhere from stumbling steps to falling flat on your face.

Today, unfortunately, it’s the latter.

Your skin burns, prickling all over, chafing from within. It’s become more of a dull ache after five hundred and seventy-five years. Easier to manage. Your control, in that sense, has come leaps and bounds.

Gravity bites into your ankles, forcing you to tip forward. Your jaw jolts upon impact, each tooth rattling when you hit the cherry red, glossy flooring. Your right hand throbs in protest at your side.

“Oh, dear,” a purring voice floats over. “There you are.”

Rolling onto your back, you huff a winded breath, cradling your lumpy, partially numb hand. “Desire.”

Desire of the Endless laughs, low and sensual, at your dry greeting. It’s quite the sight, but this is hardly the worst position they’ve ever found you in. Like the Dreaming, Threshold—Desire’s domain—hums with power around you. There’s a stark difference between the warm, lulling familiarity of the Dreaming compared to Desire’s kingdom. Threshold pulses with heat, want and desire. Those greedy, oppressive sensations ignite heat in your chest, cocooning your senses from all sides.

“Do get up, dear,” Desire says. Their ruby red mouth shines when they speak, all teeth on display. Openly delighted. That’s as good a reason as any to bolt. Desire spins on a red, lustrous chair, golden sheen passing through their eyes. “You make for quite an unsightly view, rolling around on my floor like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you struggle up, wincing at the heavy sensation in your hand. “Give me a break,” you mutter, peeved.

Another slow spin. You hadn’t noticed the glass in Desire’s hand until they twisted the bright-coloured umbrella. “Whatever happened to your hand?”

You almost snap that it’s clear Desire doesn’t care—never cared—and this act will get them nowhere, but hold your tongue. In truth, you would like to pretend Desire does care. By now, though, you know better—learned better, the hard way.

“I got caught stealing,” you reply flatly. Standing up takes two attempts. You fish out an apple from your pocket, rubbing it on your thigh. Victorious even in defeat, you continue, “Fingers went first, then the hand. It should be back in working order in a few hours. Don’t give me that look. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to go without food for two weeks? It doesn’t kill me, sure, but it’s a pain. Literally.”

“Sounds positively awful.” Desire pops their chin in their palm, all gentle, beguiling words that make you bristle. Their features shimmer, blurring at the edges. You force yourself to squint to keep Desire’s face in shape. If your mind strays, Desire’s power will reflect that. “Shame Dream doesn’t do anything about it, isn’t it?”

Umbrella twists again, those words coy and low. A fine bait laid out in your path. You’re not sure if you should be offended Desire assumed you’d fall for such a cheap trick.

“Whatever you're cooking, leave me out of it,” you bite out.

You sound exhausted. There’s no escaping that. When faced with Desire, there’s no point in pretending otherwise or playing pretence. Once, that lack of facade is precisely why you believed Desire to be your friend. Once. But that was a long time ago. Back when you were a lot more naive and hopeful about making friends with only constants in your life.

“You’re becoming no better than him,” Desire whines irritably, falling dramatically back into their seat, legs crossing with an inpatient exhale. “So boring. I remember when you used to be fun.”

Your bloated fingers twitch at your side. Sluggish and fumbling. You can’t help but wince at the dull, gnawing discomfort. That never gets better. Years don’t alter how pain feels. Biting into your apple to keep yourself occupied, you stroll on unsteady feet around Desire’s gallery. Six sigils to call upon each sibling and a mirror where Desire’s own sigil should be. Your attention skims over Dream’s sigil, the helm, while you chew, your features softening.

“So do I.” Your words come out faint, scratchy. There’s no denying you’ve missed Desire or how good it once felt to find yourself here. Not the Dreaming—nothing could ever come close—but so much better than the human world, than Despair’s domain. Or Destiny’s. “I remember how much I looked forward to visiting you all the time. You had my trust, Desire. You had my friendship, too. Then you decided to use me as a puppet in your little pissing contest.”

And then you became no more than a pawn utilised in a battle between beings more powerful and older than Gods. It’s perhaps the first and only time you’ve seen Dream truly angry. Or close to it.

Desire stretches to their feet, dual shadow slithering, slow and treacherous, across the floor.

“Do not become arrogant, Wanderer.” Footsteps amble in your direction. Desire’s fingers trail every surface on the way. You bite your apple with extra force when Desire halts next to Dream’s sigil, grinning sharply. “There is still much you do not know about your precious Dream. You’re but a leaf caught in a hurricane. Oh, so simple to ruin. You’re too blind to his faults.”

The snide bitterness in those words forces your body towards the Endless. “Am I? Help me understand, then. Tell me what this is really about.”

Desire pivots your way, ponderous air shrouding them. Your heart catapults to your throat, fluttering. For a second, golden irises bleed into piercing, wintery blue; flaxen hair darkens to tar black, and your steps stutter to an abrupt halt. You blink forcefully, and Desire’s face morphs back to their usual appearance. The sudden chill in your bones doesn’t abate.

What do you see when you look my way? Desire had once posed, a long time ago.

You had sat curled on a hard, shiny settee, still more comfortable than you’d been in a human prison, held in chains for days. That’s why you told Desire the honest truth. At your description, Desire’s guileful grin had wilted. Their hand had dropped from your bruised cheek where they’d been soothing the throb, leaving only intent curiosity peering back.

You see me because you desire nothing I can offer. For I reflect whatever is your heart’s deepest, most secret desire.

Back then, you had mutually concluded even Desire could not reflect freedom. It’s an abstract concept that holds no human qualities after all.

But just now, you—

Desire cuts the remaining distance between you, cupping your face with delicate hands. Your head nudges upwards, meeting their sultry, golden stare. “I do not have to explain myself to you, gumdrop.” They lean closer, whispering into your ear, “Besides, your devotion to Dream runs too deep.”

The hold drops dismissively.

"That's fair enough." It's not your business. You're not arrogant enough to assume whatever rancour between the two siblings exists is anything you can fix. If you could, you would do so in a heartbeat. So instead, you nod, taking another bite to chase the vision from moments prior. "For old time's sake, keep me out of it. Please. I've had enough on my plate recently."

Desire’s head slants curiously to one side. “Do you imagine me a villain?”

The genuine question you hear there stuns you momentarily. Turning the half-eaten apple in your palm awkwardly, you shake your head. “No. I never did.”

But Desire can be cruel. Malicious and self-centred. You suppose it comes with the job. Desire is a tricky, loud emotion, insistent upon whomever it bears down on. Even standing here, in the Threshold, makes every emotion muddle and stumble all over each other in your chest.

Desire pauses by Dream’s sigil once more, considering it with a tut. Their hand hovers over the helm, their back to you, tracing imaginary patterns there. “You know what he is. Better than most. I need not do anything. One day, dear Dream will ruin this himself.” Desire peeks at you over their shoulder, golden light reflecting cruel and complacent. “All I’ll need to do is sit back, look gorgeous, and enjoy the show.”

Your jaw tenses. “Ruin what?”

Protectiveness coils in your chest, sudden and fierce, rearranging your features into a new colder composition.

Desire blinks. Then again. “Something is… different about you, Wanderer.” They push away from Dream’s helm, scrutinising you with a curious hum. “What form do I take when you gaze my way?”

Your jaw grinds harder, your teeth aching in their gums. “As yourself.”

Desire laughs. The sound is a soothing bath, silk on your skin, and fills your chest with a bloated, bubbling feeling. The Endless tuts, waggling their finger as if you’re a misbehaving child. “Liar, liar. I am many forms and many faces. What is self anyway? Oh, but this… this is… most intriguing.”

Your teeth sink in the apple again, ignoring Desire’s probing stare. “Are you done?” you mutter.

Desire rolls their eyes, strolling back towards their chair. “Fine. You know I’ll figure it out in the end. You can’t hide it from me.”

“While you do that, oh Great One, I need your help with something.”

Desire lets a disbelieving scoff escape their lips. “Oh? My help?” Their arms part in invitation. “Fine, I’ll bite. What is it that your dear little heart desires most?”

The Endless leans forward eagerly, an ever-shifting veil of desire and deceit cloaking them.

This time, you’re the one to grin, lifting your near useless appendage for inspection. “A ring. But not for me.”

This time, Desire's face lights up with gleeful delight, previous ire wiped entirely. Fickle, as always.

“Ah, at long last—something fun. Little Wanderer, always full of surprises.”

You are meant to fall, as you are meant to rise. It is how your destiny is written. There are no shortcuts.

Cracking your neck, you hop into the Dreaming with only a minor wince as punishment. Voluntarily travel, you’ve come to learn with centuries, significantly reduces discomfort. When you grasp whatever excessive, rotting power the curse has instilled in you, and yank on it.

Strolling up the stone bridge, you give passing figures brief smiles and greetings, heading towards Dream’s castle. Destiny’s cold, emotionless words stalk your every step, rubbing your emotions raw. Shortcuts, he says. As if you go prancing around a park. Giggle daily and skip around, smelling daisies. As if your entire existence is anything more than a sick joke.

You’re just…

Tired. So, so tired. Inextinguishable exhaustion nestless deep in your marrow.

Over six hundred years. One would think you’d gotten better at immortality. But as you continue your exhausted trek, you can’t help but consider a notion you never had before:

That, perhaps, humans are simply not made for eternity. At some point, the soul—the weight of it—merely becomes too much.

The Gatekeepers bow their heads at your approach, peering down at the one requesting entry. You can’t help but crack a smile. They can probably sense you the second you cut and drop yourself here, but still they insist on these ceremonies.

But the law is the law. And Ancient Rules are merciless, even to the Endless.

“Wanderer.”

Your sour mood brightens instantly.

"Lucienne." Your spirit lifts at your friend's appearance. "How are you?"

An arm drops suddenly around your shoulders from behind. There's no need to look behind you. He's as familiar as the Dreaming is, and the clothes on your back, as the tiny wooden figure safe in your pocket.

“She’s fine,” Corinthian announces cheerily, giving you a slight squeeze. “Can’t you see?”

You lean into him, selfishly grateful he’s shown up. Like a balm, your friends and the Dreaming wash away the weariness. Ease the weight without knowing it.

“Cori,” you greet dully.

Corinthian’s brows wiggle, his smirk dynamite. “Natural disaster on two legs.”

“Nevermind,” you grumble, stepping from his half embrace. “I’m leaving again.”

He catches you by the collar. “Don’t think so. We have company, don’t we, Lucienne? It would be rude.”

The librarian observes your exchange with perplexed curiosity, but her wariness around Corinthian hasn’t budged in centuries. No matter how highly you’ve spoken about him, Lucienne has never once regarded Corithina as anything other than a nightmare. A highly volatile one at that. One that should not be regarded so amiably.

Lucienne’s brows knit, suspicion glinting behind her circled glasses. “Where have you been, Corinthian?”

Your attention drifts to him. Corinthian shrugs nonchalantly beside you, not a care in the world evinced in his lazy half-grin.

“Around.”

There’s a tense, fraught moment where Lucienne seemingly teases over the idea of pushing further. Ultimately, she permits the matter to drop, turning towards you with her hands clasped behind her.

“Corinthian speaks the truth.” Smooth, stolid words directed solely at you. Pointedly so. “Lady Death is visiting the Dreaming.”

“Death is here?” Just when you thought today couldn’t get much better. “Where?”

Lucienne’s smile is reserved but happy. She gestures for you to follow, but you only manage a step before halting. Corinthian’s smile takes on a venomous edge when your gazes meet, but he shadows your step when you resume your trek.

As expected, you locate them in the throne room.

Dream and Death of the Endless are so overwhelming in their sheer presence even Corinthian draws inwards, his teeth gritted while he lingers behind you. Their presence is dampened, glossed over behind veneers in the waking world. But here, in Dream’s realm, where aspects of Death manifest as well, they are themselves in the truest sense.

The siblings walk side by side through the sprawling space, caught in deep conversation. Dream’s unruly dark hair steals your attention first. He’s pale and tall as he was three years ago—unchanging. You should take him to the waking world soon. You’re sure the tales humans are starting to spin about pale cave dwellers are solely based on him. Maybe you should ask Lucienne’s help to hunt the stories down in the library later.

However, Death’s ethereal, compassionate glow can never be mistaken for anything other than her. Your curse comes alive at her presence, shrivelling far and deep inside, and you instantly feel ten pounds lighter.

You catch Corinthian mouthing after Dream, mimicking his creator’s words mockingly. Your elbow lands promptly in his ribs.

“Stop that.”

Though your words are no more than a hissing whisper, Dream’s head snaps in your direction.

“Wanderer.”

Even this far away, it’s as if his voice has whispered the greeting directly into your ear. Deep and soft. However briefly, something cracks in his solemn expression, gone the next moment. Death veers in your direction, her arms parting for a hug.

A smile blooms across her face. “Look who it is.”

The warming fondness in her voice forms a knot in your chest. Your arms wrap tightly around her, that hard weight in your gut practically shivering in her presence. It gives you an immense pulse of cold satisfaction. You no longer fear death, not when it wears such a kind face, but it’s good to know the curse fears to be unmade.

“Death.”

Her arms are strong and comforting around you, so loving you remember weeping the first time she held you precisely like this. There’s a foolish second where you nearly whisper that you wish to go now. But Dream stands behind his sister, silent and alone, and you can’t. Not yet. For him, maybe never, or, at least, for however long this lasts.

Dream holds your gaze, a thousand questions and answers alive in those depths, and you smile faintly at him.

Death’s embrace loosens, but her hands settle on your arms, not quite letting go. “You look good. Better than last time.”

It’s a loaded statement. One that pins everyone’s attention squarely on you, barbing the room in unspoken tension. Death’s words can only ever be taken one way.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” you force out cheerily. “Rubber ball. I bounce back. Can I, uh, borrow you for a moment?”

Understanding creases Death’s face. “Of course.”

You shoot Corinthian a glance over your shoulder, nodding your head outside. He deciphers your silent message to meet him later, slanting his chin in response. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Corinthian strolls away without another word, whistling a short tune under his breath.

Dream’s stare bores into your head until Death leads you away and from anyone’s sight. The castle is so vast that you could spend an entire day exploring and only cover half of it. At best. You’ve tried.

“Is this about what happened with Destiny?”

Death’s question startles you from your thoughts, sending them scattering. A scowl carves into your face when you process her question.

“No.” Realising how defensive you sound, you shove your shoulders backwards, exhaling deep from your chest. “It’s… it’s actually about Destruction.”

Death traces her fingertips lightly over the pale marble wall while you walk. Her pitch doesn’t alter, and her strides don’t falter, but there’s a change. Death is old and powerful, and you can only guess what she’s thinking right now. “What about my brother?”

She’s carefully neutral, and that concerns you more.

“Has he… said anything to you? Recently?” you wonder awkwardly.

“He has not.”

It’s not an unkind response—she’s patient and gentle the same way she’s been since your first meeting, but…

“He’s just been… different. Lately.”

Or maybe Desire was right. You’re a leaf caught in a hurricane. The Endless don’t need you. You just so happen to be a constant in their endless existence. A stray they find amusing at best, an irritation at worst. Meddling with their affairs is stupid. What were you thinking?

“You love every unlovable thing that crosses your path, Wanderer,” Death says knowingly, slowing to a stop. Her dark eyes shine with compassion. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s your real curse.”

Won’t that be ironic?

Spotting your crestfallen expression, Death sighs softly. “But I will speak with my sibling. Thank you for informing me.”

You’re uncertain why such an awful, distinct sensation of dread suddenly curdles in your gut. “There’s a cause for worry, isn’t there?”

Death only says, “We’ll see.”

You haven’t realised the loop you’ve made until you find yourself back in the throne room. Dream sits perched on the stairs, his coat pooling like an ink stain around him. Lucienne is gone, too.

“Thank you,” you whisper to the Endless at your side. “Sorry I interrupted earlier.”

“Do not be,” Death dismisses lightly, a more humorous note entering her voice, “Though I believe a certain brother of mine is anxious to speak with you.”

Dream stands, waiting on his sister to guide her from his realm. Ever the gracious host.

“You’re leaving?” you blurt, aghast. “Already?”

Death brushes her hand across your cheek. “I have much to do. But you are always welcome in my lands.”

Except you don’t see her realm often. Usually, when you meet, it’s in the waking world. Diseases have been ravaging the world. Plagues are a truly horrid affair. Utterly relentless, always devastating.

“I’ll be seeing you, little brother,” Death says.

Dream dips his head low—a quiet display of affection and respect.

“Wanderer.”

With a wink in your direction, she’s gone with a rustle of wings. You breathe out, staring at the empty spot Death vacated.

“Three years, Wanderer.”

A shudder skitters down your spine. Each word tiptoes down your vertebrae one by one. You didn’t foresee Dream acknowledging the time apart at all, much less first.

“What?” You round to face him but avoid looking directly at him. Your cheery chuckle rings hollow. “Missed me? I missed you.”

God, you wish you didn’t. Not as much as you do. You suspect he sees right through your flippant words and straight into your heart. Tendons in Dream’s neck tighten, bunching and coiling beneath his pale skin. A fire scorches, but you’re not entirely sure what it means if anything. Something about how raw—downright undone—he appears for that split second rips clean through your heart.

And then it’s gone, all emotion wiped clean, as if it were never there. No more than a fleeting dream. The same collected, eternal being is all that’s left.

“My subjects are… fond of you,” he replies quietly, scratchy with— “It saddens them to have you away.”

His words reverberate through the space your bodies create.

“They’re my dearest friends, Dream,” you remind him, and every syllable resonates with naked sincerity and love. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them when I’m away. Or the Dreaming.”

Or you.

Dream comes closer. In between shadows and dreams that he considers his own. When you come face to face, that slight furrow once again creases the space between his brows.

“You are weary.”

You give him a slow, fond smile. “Forget about that. Sleep later. First, let’s go.”

“Where?”

Does it signify anything? That he asks to share in your adventure without a second thought? The formidable Dream King, the ruler of Nightmare realms, is here with you.

“To the Wanderer Island. To the library.” You shrug, digging your back heels in with purpose, half-turned already. “Everywhere. I’m home, and I want to enjoy it.”

“Home,” Dream repeats with a faint exhale, so quiet you almost miss it.

And as you spin to go, you could have sworn you catch a glimmer of a tiny smile on Dream’s face.

an: and the stage is set.

once again, sorry for an extra messy chapter. I'll be away (but around, checking in when I can) and enjoy dream/wanderer being pining idiots : D everything from the next part onwards is gonna be kermitjump.jpg

thoughts? ideas? theories? let me know, and thank you for reading!!!

#the sandman #sandman x reader #netflix sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman spoilers #the corinthian #death of the endless #desire of the endless #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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reashot · 2 months

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RWBY And the Ruinous Powers.

Ruby: Oh no it's Salem!

Salem: Ha, ha, ha, ha. I'm going to wipe out all lives on Remnants. And there's nothing you can do about it.

Weiss: There is no way we can beat her. She's can't be destroyed.

Blake: We're doomed... Doomed...

Yang: If only there's someone, anyone that can save us...

Khorne: Have no fear ladies!

Slaneesh: Because we can help you with that.

Tzeentch: And then some with the power of Chaos(tm.)

Nurgle: Observes. Now begone. You female demon... Thing.

Salem: Oh I've been defeated by the awesome power of Chaos(tm.)

Oh I'm melting, melting! What a world...

*slumps to the ground*

Ruby: Yay! Thank you for saving us Chaos Gods!

Blake: We can't possibly defeat Salem all on our own.

Weiss: (especially not with our studio getting canned.)

Yang: Ehh... Can you please tell us more about this Chaos(tm.) Grandpa Nurgle.

Nurgle: Why I'm glad you ask... *looks down* Yang.

Salem: If you need me I'll be in my trailer.

Khorne: Chaos(tm.) is the truth of the world. A primordial force.

By becoming a member it will gives you power beyond your imagination.

Slaneesh: Not only power but also pleasure you cannot hope to dream.

Tzeentch: Also knowledge. Don't forget the knowledge.

If you call now. Our number is 1432-CHAOS-RULZ.

Remember it's 1432-CHAOS-RULZ.

Our great communication team will help you with the transition.

Erebus: Answering phone call is my personal hell. And if you don't call me right away you are actually not doing your part in punishing me. And you don't want me to be happy do you?

Tzeentch: And all it cost is just the low, low price of your immortal soul.

Ruby: Wow I did not know that Chaos(tm.) was so good.

In fact I'm so convinced that I'm becoming a member right now.

By joining Chaos it not only help me with my day to day task. But tear and rend my enemy into unrecognizable bits. And I have Khorne to thank for teaching me to channel my anger into destructive causes.

Blood for the blood God, skull for the skull throne. And Milk for my cookies.

Khorne: *sniffs* I'm so proud.

Weiss: And by joining Chaos. I become a better person. I'm no longer racist towards people who are different to me.

Nurgle help me realize that we are all just a piece of meat of that are slowly rotting away in a cold uncaring universe. And the only solace we can find is with each others.

Nurgle: I couldn't agree more Weiss. I hope we can spread our beliefs to more people that need it.

Blake: With me. I actually become a better writer With Tzeentch helping me with my writing I actually gain 50 new followers by posting a spicy fic. Isn't that right Tzeentchy.

Tzeentch: *thousand yard stare* ... I have forseen many things in my existence and not even I can unsee the thing I saw. I mean I think I can but you will never know.

Yang: With Slaneesh I even done thing I would never have done previously. All the debauchery and all manners of pleasureable thing I done that I can't repeat in polite company... Actually help alot in dealing with my anger issues. Seriously if you can only worship one Chaos God. Then Slaneesh can be considered the best pick.

Slaneesh: Yes... By joining Chaos there is no limit to what you can gain. So what are you waiting for and sign up now!

Caution: Joining Chaos may cause numerous health problems, such as; Blood leaking from every orrifices in your body, new apendages growing, lost of one soul, seeing demons, summoning demons or giving birth to demons and all manners of bodily & spiritual horror. If problems persist please consult your local apothecary to see whether Chaos is right for you.

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #warhammer 40k #40k #chaos god #brother gods #rwby shitpost #40k shitpost #khorne #slaneesh #tzeentch #nurgle #commercial #erebus #salem rwby

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mysoulremains · 1 year

Text

The first thing Hob became aware of was his headache. It started from his forehead, until slowly all he felt was the pain. He closed his eyes for a little comfort, but it barely seemed to help at all. He sat down on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands. Damn.

It happened all of a sudden. One minute he was in his own bedroom, the next loud noises could be heard all around him, the smell of ale hit his nose and he felt the tickle of a beard between his fingers. He let go of his head and opened his eyes, much to his own surprise. He gasped, eyes wide at what he saw.

He was in The White Horse. In the 14th century.

Now, he knew this wasn't possible. It couldn't have been happening. Did he fall asleep? Was this a dream? Where was Morpheus?

One of his friends poked him with an elbow and a laugh Hob had not heard in a long time, he forgot what the man sounded like. He forgot his name. He still retained some memories of the people around him, but 633 years was a long time. He didn't keep a journal back then.

"Hey Hobsie, you alright?" asked the one across him, another voice that was buried deep in his mind, barely recalled. It was spoken in a language he had not heard in such a long time, but one that would always remain in his heart. His mother tongue, Middle English. Oh, he missed it so much.

"You went all silent on us for a moment there," added the third one at their table.

Hob decided to roll with the punches. He was immortal, he had to learn to go along with things until he could figure out what to do. Sometimes it landed him in a pile of gold, sometimes a pile of shit. He coughed a bit and laughed, trying to hide his unease.

"Uh, yeah, I was just thinking," he said and looked down at the mug in front of him. That really took him back. He decided to try the ale inside, the burn in his throat familiar as he gulped it down, and fuck — he was really in the past. Before he met Morpheus.

To be more precise, minutes before he met Morpheus. He didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit. Would he need to insult his sister to restart their entire journey? Did he need to make a fool out of himself as the two Endless entered the inn?

"Don't lose your head doing it now!" More laughter rang out around him table, and the conversation was going in a very familiar way.

Hob sighed. Soon, Death would enter the tavern, followed by her little brother, and after a few moments Hob would need to repeat history for them to meet. He didn't really like it, nor the idea that their relationship needed to start from the beginning all over again, but he would try. Didn't mean it wouldn't hurt to not see the recognition, familiarity and love in those starry eyes, but hey, maybe the clean start could leave to a better future.

The door opened, then in walked the siblings, Death in her own elegant robes and Dream, Morpheus in his own black clothes with the ruby hanging around his neck.

Hob's grip on his mug became desperate, and he almost looked away when Morpheus glanced at him. Did that happen the first time they met too, or was he just hoping for something unbelievable?

The conversation around him continued, and Hob knew he needed to pick it up.

Sorry Death, you're lovely, but I need to do this, he thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Look, I've seen Death." And this time he meant it. The family visits with her were the best, and he finally got to thank her for granting him immortality — of course that all hasn't happened yet. And would not happen if Hob didn't act like he did all those years ago. But the time for panic would only come later, he needed to focus on his current mission.

Gain immortality and get noticed by Dream.

Hob continued with as much as he could remember, he wasn't sure if he jumbled it all up (when did he fight under Burgundy? Was it before, or after, he could not recall, it had been so long) but he still tried.

"Death is... stupid," he said with a finality to his tone. I'm sorry, he added in his mind.

He saw both of them turn around towards him in the corner of his eye, and he continued with the conversation. His friends laughed at him, just like they did the first time — except for them, this was the first time.

"What would you do with immortality?" asked one of his mates, clearly tipsy, and Hob remembered the words he said to that.

"Get better friends than you, that's what." Well... He got better friends than them. And worse friends. The centuries following were ever changing, just like Hob had become, and the years of experience inside his old body didn't sit right with him.

He could see Morpheus slowly walking up to him, and he anticipated the next words, almost mouthing them alongside the man.

"Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?" asked Dream and Hob looked up at him in wonder. He looked cold, more distant than ever, his eyes betraying the familiarity he saw when he looked at Hob and—

Wait.

Familiarity?

"Uh, yeah, yeah you're right." Hob squinted to try to get a better look at Morpheus and his expression, why was familiarity there? At that point in time Dream should have looked upon him with disdain, or like an experiment he wanted to fail. What was the kindness doing there? And what was the pain doing there?

"Then you must tell me what it's like," Morpheus continued. Hob wanted to laugh, because this was actually happening. He needed to start from the beginning.

"Let us meet here, Hob Gadling, in this tavern of The White Horse, in one hundred years," he said and Hob froze.

Hob Gadling?

Didn't Dream say Robert Gadling in 1389?

He gazed into Dream's eyes, and stood up suddenly, surprising both himself, his friends and Morpheus himself.

"You know who I am," Hob whispered out, eyes wide, which in turn made the man before him freeze. "Are you here as well? Or is this a dream?"

Hob knew he needed to give a clue, but he also didn't want his friends to realize what was going on. It could have been the work of a demon, or something worse. Who knew what other creatures existed?

"You... remember?" Morpheus asked, almost worried for an answer.

"Everything." Hob nodded. "We need to talk."

#the sandman #hob gadling #morpheus #dream of the endless #dream x hob #dreamling #morpheus x hob #kinda time travel?#idk this idea didn't want to leave my head #i might make it longer and put it up on ao3 but idk i need to finish my other wips first #or at least i want to finish my other wips first lmao #but yeah this didn't leave my head #and it could be such a funny concept #no idea if anyone has ever done it?

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bestworstcase · 14 days

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You ain't wrong about fndm's lady/dude crit imbalance. I've noticed so much whataboutism & overlapping insistence that Oz/Qrow/Tai did their absolute best given [magic special forces duties], [hell world full of hell beasts] and/or [Salem/Raven's Selfish Dippage/Supermom's Loss], often with a side of 'you're just being blinkered stans who can't accept when ur waifu mains have flaws that need a-fixin' or should Get Over Themselves & Stick With The Program'. I mean, no denying the STRQ guys would be leagues less dysfunctional were it not for their situation's unique pressures and the immortals' contributions thereof (ditto for Ozlem thanks to the Bros), but I still don't think that causality chain fully corroborates this 'naught but vindicated put-upon sensei figures, the Bad Moms Doing Badness exonerate everything, it's Just How This World Works, we've been over this, STFU already' perspective nursed by long-haul fanposters and tons of general watchers.

truly. although i will say i Don’t think it’s fair to judge qrow as a parent because he wasn’t one, in either the biological sense (uncle) or legal (did not have custody) or familial (not a member of the household). so while certainly there are things he could have done better (gotten sober) (quit taking missions from oz for the sake of being around more to help out) (confronted tai about the wagon incident—tho we don’t know he didn’t do that tbf) short of either moving in to take over parenting or like flat out getting whatever passes for child services involved to force tai to get help or foster the girls himself for a while qrow didn’t really have a lot of material power in this situation. & both options he did have posed real risks (misfortune + the compounding trauma of a messy custody fight while everyone was still grieving summer). so

but yeah what gets me is "they really did try their best" and "their best was in fact inadequate and caused lasting harm" are not incompatible statements. Sometimes Your Best Sucks. that’s life. & sometimes when you’re deep in the throes of a traumatic situation or a depressive episode or alcoholism or what the fuck ever You Will Hurt People because you Don’t have the capacity to support others or practice empathy; you can’t draw from an empty well. that’s life!

it’s just also where the "intentions don’t negate consequences" principle applies; qrow trying to Be There for his nieces whilst struggling with alcoholism doesn’t make the harm done by his alcoholic behavior not have happened, tai’s depression doesn’t make neglect not neglectful, salem… existing at all doesn’t justify the choice to rely almost solely on child soldiers to defend his relics. etc

this is also the most compelling thing to me abt tai (potentially) staying near vale because of summer, at the expense of his kids; as soon as you bring "summer is alive and well and chose to leave him" into this equation you bring the implicit blame to the surface: is this woman responsible for his actions because she chose to end their relationship?

consider that the one thing we know with 100% certainty about these two is that summer did not trust him with her real self; her reaction to hearing him down the stairs is.

this, followed by slipping on a mask and lying through her teeth with practiced ease. (in comparison, when ruby is feeling acutely distressed she shuts down and gets quiet, which has the effect of making her distress visible but also small and easy to ignore or easily shunted aside by louder more apparently urgent problems. ruby tries to put on a happy face most of the time, but when she’s Feeling Bad the best she can do is small, strained smiles. summer turns around with a relaxed grin and makes a casual joke at ozpin’s expense.)

so—yang remembers "supermom" and ruby thinks her dad "misses adventuring with [summer]" and for eight volumes there isn’t anything to contradict this impression the girls have that their parents were deeply in love and happy with each other… and then our introduction to the Real Summer Rose is:

reading bedtime stories to her girls

the lies come out of her so easily!

she planned her rogue mission in secret with raven, who also left tai for hitherto unknown reasons that are now strongly implied to be that she felt like a failure as a wife and mother.

leaving aside the question of why summer chose to join salem (and why she faked her own death to do it)… this does not imply a happy or functional relationship. if nothing else whatever problem summer had that drove her to plan this suicide mission with raven was something that she, for whatever reason, did not feel like she could bring to her spouse/partner—and that in itself speaks to a fundamental absence of trust, but taken in conjunction with a) this Extremely well-practiced emotional disappearing act and b) how tai handles emotional vulnerability in v4 (NOT WELL!) it’s kinda…

well. the blacksmith shows this to ruby then remarks "maybe you’re not the only one who has felt the weight of others’ expectations. like alyx, like your mother," and the only character summer performs for in this flashback is. tai.

and—while the silver eyed warrior paragon-hero fairytale cult nonsense was undoubtedly the greater burden—i think the narrative is inviting the question here of to what extent perfect mother/perfect wife was one of those expectations, to what extent Raven Leaving was a shadow cast over summer’s relationship with taiyang, and how she might feel about all this with fourteen years of hindsight.

wrapping back around to the point about tai and culpability, you have on the one hand this implicit blame put on summer for tai having neglected the children after she left him and on the other this nascent question rising to the surface of: was summer even happy in this relationship, if she felt like she had to perform happiness often enough for it to be this easy? there’s the asterisk of course that what we see in this flashback was outside of the ordinary but the ease and confidence with which she slips on that mask bespeaks habit.

so tai fourteen years later is still pining for this partnership in which summer may or may not have felt an expectation to Be Happy (perfect huntress, perfect mother, perfect wife) and in which she certainly did not feel like she could bring her Desperate Suicide Mission Problems to her partner… and his parental neglect is all rooted directly in the intensity of his anguish after she left him… and she’s spent those fourteen years with salem and if they’ve not already crossed paths offscreen they’re certain to do so now that tai is like alone on patch with salem / summer / cinder for neighbors.

there’s an interesting reckoning being set up here, i think, with the unspoken implication that summer was the load-bearing pillar in this family and by removing herself from it she Made tai into a neglectful father—that’s the family narrative, dad shut down after mom left (died), but the narrative arc is beginning to culminate with "okay, why did mom leave?" and it seems to me that the natural trajectory from there is to really interrogate that question of blame.

#i am rly curious to see how summer feels abt tai these days #because it doesn’t… feel like… there’s a trajectory here toward (romantic) reconciliation. and that’s rly interesting #the fandom will of course be ridiculous about it but what else is new.

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suncaptor · 5 months

Text

uquiz? on the verge of 2024? okay.... anyways which recurring character that gets called a whore in Supernatural are you?

below are the examples of the times it's used for recurring characters. OP does not view sex or sex workers derogatorily.

RUBY I'm not talking about witches, you jackass. Witches are whores.

URIEL Who's gonna stop us? You two? Or this demon whore?

URIEL Well… at least I'll go kill that demon whore, Ruby.

MEG [enters]: Crowley.

CROWLEY: Whore.

DEAN Wha—I'm not wearing any ma—(Dean looks at the cloth the makeup artist has just wiped over his face to find it covered in foundation) Oh, crap! I'm a painted whore!

CROWLEY The big lie -- the Winchesters still buy it. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And long as they still believe it, you get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, kitten. A whore is a whore is a whore.

(Castiel shoves Crowley against the wall)

FEMALE ANGEL A demon whore and a Winchester... again. SAM takes a step towards KEVIN.

EDGAR A pathetic mutt. Hardly one of us. I knew Eve, and honestly… your mommy was a whore.

MEG You gonna talk us to death or get down to it already? CROWLEY There's my whore. I'm not here for my dearly departed, though. I'm here for the stone with the funny scribbles on it.

CROWLEY

Well, I'll be a son of a whore.

ABADDON

Right now you and I are gonna talk about regime change.

CROWLEY

You little whore. [shouting] I am your k—

CROWLEY Abaddon giving you trouble, eh? Tell you what, you let me go, and I'll spit-roast the little whore for you. Sound good?

CROWLEY

From here on, I want you to know that the only reason you're alive is because I allowed it. And I want you to deliver a message. You tell that ginger whore that I gave her a chance to walk away and she spat in my face. So now, she'll never see me coming.

CROWLEY: A hamster told me. (Crowley pours sugar into the sup and stirs the contents) Tragically…the boy was terminally ill and soon to die. But before the witch departed, she gave the boy and his family the only thanks that made sense. She cured the boy with one spell and cast another that would take root once he was full-grown. That lying, manipulative whore mother of mine gave you immortality, didn't she…Oskar?

Crowley [on his voicemail]: Thank you for phoning Crowley, King of Hell. For demon deals press one. To report a sighting of that ginger whore Rowena, press two.

#ask to tag #uquiz #spn #supernatural #incoherents #my conception of myself regarding sex is so normal believe me anyways take this uquiz definitely made someone who is okay

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aldryrththerainbowheart · 1 year

Text

How I've missed you

Wait for me.

He said, mounting his horse and tipping his hat goodbye.

I’ll be back.

He said as he rode towards sunset. Until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance.

You’ll wait for him, but the question is how long? A month? A year? A decade? D was, after all, immortal, absolute. The time for him flows differently for you. One human lifespan is nothing but a blink of an eye for him.

You’ve never stayed in one place this long. You’re a nomad, drifting from one corner of Frontier to another. It made your feet twitch, aching to be on the road once more. But you couldn’t. How else he’ll find you? If he’d even look for you. You shook your head to shake off that thought. You can’t let them slink their way into your heart. D would never abandon you, ha made a promise and he keeps his promises.

Your deprecating musing was interrupted when you reached the door from your caravan. You ran your fingers over the cracked paint before reaching for the doorknob. A small, but cozy interior of your lodgings greeted you. Old, patterned scarf pinned over one wall, a small tin stove, a bunk in the far end, candles, and colorful trinkets hanging everywhere. It wasn’t much but you loved this place. The wheels attached to your home gave you the feeling that you can leave wherever you can and whenever you want.

You settled a bag with a piece of bread and cheese you’d managed to purchase for that little coin you had. When you heard squeaking followed by scratching of small claws over the worn wooden floor. Slicing off a bit of cheese, you crooned at the small thing creeping its way toward you.

You found Lettie when They were digging through your garbage in the middle of the night. You started leaving them with leftovers. One day you came home and found them lying at the foot of your bed, waiting for you. You have a pet now, you guess… Even though you have no idea what Lettie is, or even its gender. Just another creation of genetic tinkering done by Nobles.

“He’s gonna love you, I’m sure.” You told the creature as you ran your fingers over the sleek fur. It doesn’t respond, of course, but no matter. Just like with D, you don’t always need him to add to your conversations. You can do all the talking by yourself.

Slipping your hands under Lettie’s belly, you lifted them and carried them to your bunk. You flopped onto the bed and held Lettie close to your chest, before lifting them above your head. The animal's glossy eyes stared dispassionately at you.

“Look at you, getting all mopey.” Your voice took a high-pitched quality to resemble Lettie’s squeaks and, as you enunciate the words, you bounce the creature as if it’s talking to you.

“What do you know! I’m allowed to miss him every once in a while!”

“What would D say if he knew you were so anxious for his return?”

“Hush, I know he comes back.” You settled Lettie back on your chest, the animal was finally allowed to rest.

After a beat of silence, you whispered, “He always came back.”

You were woken up by a loud banging on the caravan’s door. You slogged towards the door whilst trying to blink away the blurriness in your vision. A distressed face of one of the villagers greeted you. It was the old man Johnson, he owned a farm on the outskirts of the town.

“Thank Krist! I thought you were never gonna answer!” The man spitted at you, face ruddy and eyes bulging.

“It better be good Jonny.” You grumbled passively at him.

“Harpies!” The man choked out. “A whole swarm of them!! They’re tearing apart my stock. I was…ah…

The farmer didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence as you walked out of the door with a golden blade in your hand. Johnson stumbled after you, eyes trained on the blade. Where in the seven hell did gypsy like you get their hands on such a weapon?? It was engraved with strange symbols with the dragon's head at the base of the blade, blood-red ruby eyes piercing into him.

You arrived at the ranch at the exact moment when one harpy clutched a frightened sheep in its claws. Just as the night perpetrator lifts the poor animal into the sky, a soft swoosh of a blade sings through the air. The harpy falls down with a blood-curdling screech, which alerts other harpies. They leave the flock and train their beady eyes on you. With a steadying exhale, you readjust your stance and point the sword in their direction, the golden blade gleaming in the moonlight.

The harpies all dive onto you in unison. However, their talons only grab air as you propel yourself upwards, your upper body twisting clockwise to reach as far as possible with your sword. Some harpies dodge, others drop on grass like swatted flies. Johnson was so taken by the sight in front of him that he hadn’t realized he remained alone on the pasture. Nor did he notice a dark figure approaching him slowly but steadily, broad shoulders draped in a dark cloak casting a long shadow over him.

You were running out of stamina and you knew it. Your movements were slower, your senses grew more sluggish. You cried out in pain as one of Harpie’s talons dug into your shoulder whilst the other aimed for your neck. Luckily, you managed to lodge the blade between the two of you. A bead of sweat ran down your neck as you felt the strength leaving your arms, beasts maw moving closer and closer to you.

The beast has never learned your taste, for its head has been severed from its body before it could notice. Same for the other harpy, which finally made the imminent danger disappear, at least for today. You grunted as the sharp claws slipped out of the fresh wound and swayed on your legs dangerously. It took you several minutes of labored breathing and cursing before you registered the presence of another in front of you.

When you looked up, you almost fell down on your knees for good. There, illuminated by the moon, was D. Serene and unmoving as ever. Spine straight while his sword rested in his relaxed grip, still stained with harpies blood. You stared at him for a good minute or two, before wobbly walking towards him. That walk became, a somewhat sloppy run, and with the remaining strength, you propelled yourself forward and jumped into the hunter's arms. D simply extended his arms towards you, knowing better than to try and fight your theatrics. The impact from your bodies colliding made an ‘ooff’ puff out of your throat, but you haven’t released your clutch on him. After a moment of silence, you spent feverishly clutching onto him with fingers tangled in his hair, you untangle yourself from him far enough to be able to look at his face. You immediately took it into your hands and started examining the dhampir closely, making sure there wasn’t a single scratch on him.

Once you were satisfied with the results the dhampir was left open to your affections. You kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. Inch by inch you peppered his face with kisses while he held you hugged tightly to him. D’s lips twisted as he tried to fight a smile tugging at his mouth. He couldn’t fight the quiet giggle that slipped from them.

And the farmer could only stand there and gape in awe. Out of all the things he saw tonight, A dhampir being smothered with affection with the softest of smiles would be the most unbelievable of them all.

#vampire hunter d x you #vampire hunter d x reader #vampire hunter d

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