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cherryrainn · 5 months

Note

I hope you are well!

Can I request a Hazbin hotel Vox x f!reader oneshot/song fic ( lavender kiss by the licks ) thats just something about a late night spent alone with him? Thinking romance, sweetness, how he is behind closed doors, just overall comfort stuff!

I found your work on ao3 and loooved the meet me in the pale moonlight songfic, it was breathtaking. You actually inspired me to start my blog, your writing is so lovely 🖤

Excited to see what you write,

Signed, Koko

━━ ✧ 𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; vox + reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; HII!!! THIS IS SO SWEET. I'M SO GLAD MY WRITING INSPIRES PEOPLE!! YOU ARE SO SWEET AND THANK YOU SOSO MUCH !!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; none

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

the night draped itself over the bustling city of hell, casting shadows that danced to the rhythm of distant sirens and echoing laughter. within the confines of a luxurious penthouse suite overlooking the chaotic skyline, vox, the charismatic and enigmatic demon of technology, found himself immersed in a world far removed from his usual grandiose schemes and relentless pursuits for power. tonight, he was not the manipulative man craving attention but a partner, a lover, basking in the comforting silence that only the late hours could offer.

what is a man?

you, his beloved, sat beside him, the soft glow from his flat-screen tv head casting an ethereal luminescence across the room. the shimmering lights revealed the intricacies of his features—the red sclera, light blue pupils, and that captivating mouth with sharp teeth that emitted a gentle, soothing light. the juxtaposition of his imposing 7-foot stature and the tenderness in his gaze, as he looked at you, was a sight to behold.

what is a woman?

vox had shed his dark blue tuxedo jacket. his fingers delicately traced patterns on your hand, sending a comforting chill down your spine. the air between you was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that neither of you wanted to break.

what is a heart that loves inside?

"you ever think we'd get a night like this?" he asked, his voice dripping with a mix of mischief and genuine curiosity.

what makes a man

you leaned in closer, feeling the magnetic pull between you two. "in a place like this? never. but i'm glad it's with you."

fall for a woman?

a sly smirk crept across vox's face as he leaned back, pulling you into his lap. his light blue fingers traced lazy circles on your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

what makes a woman take his hand, baby?

"you and me both," he purred, his voice oozing confidence. "this place can be a dumpster fire, but with you, it's almost bearable."

in a wonderland

you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "only 'almost'?"

i'm in a wonderland

he laughed, a sound that echoed with a warmth you'd never heard from him before. "alright, alright, you got me. it's more than bearable; it's downright enjoyable."

take me back to this

the two of you lost yourselves in each other's company, the outside world becoming nothing more than a distant memory.

i just want you to want me

there were stolen kisses and tender touches, each one deepening the connection between you two.

i don't need any other hand to hold so near

as the night wore on, vox pulled you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "you know," he began, his voice softer than you'd ever heard, "i never thought i'd find someone who gets me like you do."

make me scream for this

you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "and i never thought i'd find someone as...complex as you vox."

i just want you to want me

his grin widened, revealing those glowing teeth. "complex, huh? i'll take that as a compliment."

i need your lavender kiss

with a tender smile, he cupped your face, his glowing eyes locking onto yours as if trying to etch the memory of this night into his very being.

who is your man?

"you're somethin' else, you know that?" he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "never thought i'd be caught in the feels like this."

who is my woman?

you chuckled, your heart fluttering at the unexpected vulnerability in his words. "feelings are a wild ride, vox."

where is my heart that loves inside?

vox leaned in, closing the distance between you with a gentle, lingering kiss. his lips were soft against yours, a testament to the tenderness that lurked beneath his charismatic exterior. as he pulled away, a mischievous glint returned to his eyes.

what makes a man

"maybe hell isn't so bad if it means more nights like this," he mused, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

fall for a woman?

the two of you shared another kiss, deeper this time, as if trying to savor every fleeting moment. vox's hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwining, grounding you in the reality of the connection you shared.

what makes her think she can take it back?

"who would've thought the big-shot vox could be such a softie?" you teased, earning a playful smirk from him.

in a wonderland

"hey, don't get used to it," vox replied, his tone light but affectionate. "i've got an image to uphold, you know."

i'm in a wonderland

the room filled with the quiet symphony of laughter and hushed conversations, punctuated by stolen kisses that spoke of a connection that transcended the chaos outside.

take me back to this

vox's lips found yours again and again, each kiss a promise, a vow, and a silent declaration of something deeper than words could convey.

i just want you to love me

as the sun continued its ascent, bathing the penthouse in a golden glow, vox held you close, his head resting against yours. "this," he murmured, "this is what makes it all worth it."

i don't need any other hand to hold so near

"you've got me, you know? all of me. and that's not something i give freely." said vox

make me scream for this

"i know," you whispered, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "and i promise to cherish every part of you, vox."

i just want you to want me

a contented sigh escaped vox's lips as he buried his face on the top of your head, planting soft kisses along your collarbone. the sensation sent tingles down your spine, each kiss a testament to the depth of his affection.

i need your

minutes, or perhaps hours, seemed to slip away as you and vox lost yourselves in each other's embrace. the world outside faded into insignificance as you reveled in the intimacy of the moment, each touch and whispered word deepening the bond that connected you.

oh, i need your

finally, as the sun reached its zenith, casting a radiant red glow that illuminated the entire penthouse, vox pulled away slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "promise me something," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

"anything," you replied, captivated by the vulnerability in his gaze.

"promise me you'll always be mine," he murmured, his voice laced with a trace of uncertainty and vulnerability. "promise me you'll always want me, that you'll never walk away." vox whispered, his fingers tracing your lips.

oh, i need your

you nodded "i promise," you vowed, sealing your promise with a tender kiss.

#VOX #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin #y/n #reader insert #x reader #ask #fluff #songfic #hazbin hotel x reader

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scaranation · 1 year

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hi hi !! could you write an ANGST with Dottore and Zhongli where we break up with them? maybe in dottore we break up because we can't bear(?) his experiments anymore and in Zhongli one we feel not enough/that he loves someone else (maybe Guizhong?)

Gn reader or Fem!reader(if u write for fem. sorry if u do not,i couldnt find rules and im really really sorry ! :( ... )

p.s will there be To love another 3rd part? it's my fav fanfic ever !!

love your work ♡♡

hihihi i know this is like super late but this prompt is literally so good 😭 also im thinking of writing another part to that fic, but i just dont know where to take it so ive been procrastinating haha

dottore’s part is kinda ooc bcs let’s be real if he’s that whipped for reader he wouldn’t let them break up with him, but im going to pretend that he’s not as much of a red flag as he actually is 🤭🤭

༊*·˚ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader, Zhongli x GN!reader (separate)

Content: Angst, no comfort. Mentions of canon typical violence, assumed past Guizhong x Zhongli

DOTTORE

“It seems my beloved has finally thought to visit me.”

You cringed from the overpowering metallic scent as you stepped into your boyfriend’s laboratory, trying hard not to look at the borderline gruesome sights on the clinical beds.

Dottore cleaned the blood off a bone saw he was holding, setting the instrument down carefully before walking towards you - eyes lit up, but holding a gleam different to the maniacal one he usually possessed.

“How was your day, my love?” His voice was humorous. He seemed to be in a good mood, humming lightly while opening the door for you.

“It was fine.” You sighed as you felt the weight of Dottore’s harbinger coat settle across your shoulders, registering the touch of his hand as he pulled you into him and away from the Snezhnayan cold.

“Has that coworker of yours still been bothering you?”

“… Don’t try pretending.”

“Whatever could you be talking about?” The Doctor’s grip on you tightened.

“I wouldn’t wish death on anyone, even if they annoyed me to that extent.” You sighed, finally tilting your head to stare into the planes of your lover’s mask.

“Oh, they’re not dead. Rather, they’ve been subject to some biological modifications of an experimental kind - would you like to see?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I’m hungry, don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Good thing I have a nice place booked for dinner, my love.”

His compliance was almost uncanny.

Normal couples gazed affectionately into each other’s eyes over meat and wine, fingers fondly interlaced over the dining table. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to return Dottore’s adoring scarlet gaze, and his hold on your hand felt more like a death trap.

“Is the food to your liking?” He asked. He hadn’t touched any of the vegetables on his plate, only biting into the steak.

“Yes. You should eat greens, too.” You commented.

“Mm. Why don’t you feed me, then?” Dottore only tilted his head, smiling eagerly. Recently, a fear of you being turned into one of the harbinger’s countless experiments had taken hold, and it was this same fear that drove you to play right how he wanted. And so, lifting your fork, you fed him with all the patience you could muster - staring into those deep red eyes, feeling like nothing more than prey. Those eyes would’ve been the last thing many others had seen before their death, the end of their lives marked by that sadistic grin. You almost shuddered at the thought.

Normal couples slept under starry nights reflected in their star crossed hearts as they cuddled close under soft sheets. Normality was such a strange concept, you decided. Despite the fact that you were doing just what normal couples should, the situation was still absurd. However, your fear of becoming another one of the harbinger’s lab rats wasn’t unfounded. You mulled over this fact, almost snorting at the juxtaposition. Here you were - wondering if the man who cradled you in his arms would strap you down to a table in the name of research.

“My love, are you still awake?” You felt Dottore’s breath ghost over your neck, his face pressing into your nape. With a rustle, he readjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”

“Nightmares, perhaps? I have a pill you can use for those.”

“No, just… thinking.” You squirmed in Dottore’s hold. His comment only reignited your spiralling train of thought, pushing you further to the point of resolve.

If he could kill his clones - literal versions of himself - then what would stop him from doing the same to you? Even if you remained alive, would you have to continue to tolerate being exposed to such grotesque horrors?

It was simply better to break things off, before you no longer had the option to.

Breakfast.

The first meal of the day, and the last meal you’d share with your boyfriend.

“Dottore.”

“Yes?” The Doctor’s head jerked up immediately from where he was chewing. You could feel the undivided weight of all his attention sinking into you, and for a moment, you faltered. He was notorious for paying little mind to anyone else, and yet, he treated you with the utmost attentiveness. You steeled your resolve.

“I think… we should break up.”

Silence. Then, the grating scrape of cutlery against crockery.

“Why.”

Not a question, more of a demand. You gulped.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“Yes. Is it something I did?”

“I can’t bear your experiments anymore, Dottore. They’ve gone too far, and I don’t think I can stomach living normally with you as if I don’t know the kind of things you do. Even worse, every day I’m wary that I might be your next test subject - whenever I walk into your lab, I wonder when I’ll be the one under your needles. It’s exhausting.”

Another beat of silence. You could see Dottore’s chest rising and falling at an increasingly fast pace, his jaw tensing.

“I would never, ever do that to you. It’s ridiculous that you’d even think that, and as for your prior reason… I can arrange for you to come to the lab less often…”

“So you’re just going to cover my eyes and act like you’re not doing anything with those experiments? I just can’t be ignorant here, nor can I trust you. If you can get rid of your clones so easily, then what am I? What value do I hold-“

“Those creations do not even compare to you.” Dottore finally snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. You flinched, and he felt as though his lung capacity had been halved. His head spun in tandem with the rapid tightening of his heart, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

It hurt Dottore, realising that you didn’t trust him. That all those fond, intimate memories together were just you acting out of fear - or at least, the most recent ones were. It hurt, beyond anything Dottore thought he could inflict on his patients. And even worse, you were frightened of him. The light shaking of your shoulders and the way you flinched were enough indication.

The Doctor enjoyed seeing his victims become terrified, but that same terror on you almost made him feel like he’d been the one stabbed with a scalpel. Foolishly, he’d fallen victim to his own maniacal research tendencies.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant to say… that you can trust me.” Dottore raised his hand towards you to cup your cheek, wincing when you avoided the action.

“I tried to, I really did. But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“My love, please.”

The second harbinger was begging. What a strange sight.

“Let me go, Dottore.” You murmured shakily. You saw hesitation, hurt, and anger flit through those vermilion eyes you’d used to love. But that love you held for him had only smouldered into disgust and fear.

“… Then go. Get out of my sight.” Dottore hissed, his teeth clenching at the wary expression on your face.

It was painful, how you walked out without a second glance.

“My love…” Dottore whispered. He stared at the closed door, almost expecting you to return. He repeated the phrase, over and over to himself - his face contorting into an expression he himself couldn’t name. Was there truly an emotion as human as this? It was a twisted, unimaginable feeling the Doctor couldn’t categorise. The syllables came off his quivering lips, as though by uttering them he could make you come back.

But the truth was, your not-so-normal relationship was over. Perhaps, Dottore would return to the normality of his heartless experiments, and you’d return to the normality of a better fate than one you’d endure by his side.

He only regretted not being able to hold you more.

ZHONGLI

There were only two letters between you and your lover, but those two letters seemed to stretch wider every day - ‘I’, and ‘M’. The seemingly infinite synapse between mere ‘mortal’, and ‘immortal’.

Zhongli was undeniably a mortal vessel, but he as a being was not. He’d lived eons before you, loved and hated thousands. He’d experienced things you couldn’t even fathom, and yet, you couldn’t comprehend how he treated you as though your fleeting existence was the centre of his much larger world.

Whenever you looked into Zhongli’s amber eyes, heard his deep laugh, or felt his gentle caress, you could only feel insignificant. After all, he used to be a literal god. You couldn’t help the guilt that gnawed at your conscience, couldn’t stamp out the incessant feeling that he was too good for you, that you couldn’t compare to whatever lovers he’d had in the past.

“How’s the tea, darling?” Zhongli prompted. He sat with his back to the window, basking in an almost ethereal glow.

“Ah, I have yet to try it.” You shook yourself out of your thoughts to raise the cup in front of you. Zhongli only smiled warmly, but the gesture made your hand shake a little. You’d planned to break up with him today, and yet the way he still stared lovingly at you - full of infinite trust - made you feel terrible.

But how many others had he also treated this way? In his life, those others were probably far more special than you, possessing talents far more worthy of a god’s attention.

Suddenly, a shattering sound pierced your ears, and a scalding warmth set into your thigh. You looked down in a daze, before snapping out of it upon realising that you’d dropped the teacup.

“Are you okay?” Zhongli was at your side in an instant, mopping up the spilled tea and collecting the broken fragments of the cup.

“Yeah.” You gritted your teeth again. How dare someone as insignificant as you make Rex Lapis get down on his knees to clean the mess you’d made. It simply made you feel as though you didn’t deserve such a wonderful man at all.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is there anything I should know about?” Zhongli asked slowly.

“No. Well, yes.” You stammered. You hadn’t planned this out very well, and your heart squeezed tighter.

“Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything, darling.”

A warm hand came to rest against your cheek. You closed your eyes, feeling tears build and slip down your face.

Zhongli wiped at your tears, holding your hands in your lap as he looked up at you worriedly - his thumbs tracing comforting circles on your knuckles. He thought of saying something, before deciding against it. He knew it was better to let you speak first.

“Let’s break up.” You blurted, feeling Zhongli’s fingers come to a complete stop.

“We can work through this, tell me why first. Has something been upsetting you?”

Your tears fell harder. He still showed you so much kindness, never jumping to any conclusions.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, it makes me feel guilty that someone like me can have you.” You sobbed.

“Darling, you know it makes me happy to just spend time with you. That in itself is fair exchange, no?”

“But what makes that so special? You’ve lived for so long, you could’ve done this with anyone else, and you probably have. Who am I in comparison to someone like Guizhong?”

Through your blurred vision, you could still see Zhongli’s form kneeled by your side. He seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.

“You and her are both special, in your own way. Why don’t you calm down a little first? I can pour you some more tea.”

“I’m so selfish, Zhongli. I really don’t think I can stay with you.”

“Do you really want to leave that badly?”

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace, his soft understanding gaze. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“… Yes.”

“Very well then. You know I won’t stop you, because I just want what’s best for you.”

The light grip on your hands released, and as you stood up everything seemed to spin.

“Thank you… for everything.” You murmured, stealing one last glance at the man you loved - before leaving.

Zhongli remained where he was for some time. In his life, many things came to an end, but this hurt a little more. When Guizhong had left him, it was due to her passing - the youthful Rex Lapis had found someone to blame, to ventilate his grief. But the most crude fact in this situation was that you were still alive, and had chosen to leave him of your own volition. Zhongli himself had made this happen.

However, an archon’s most prized trait was impartiality. Therefore, Zhongli knew that he had to maintain indifference. He refused to let himself chase after you, or force you into anything. It was only unfair, if an immortal were to impose such a fate onto a mortal.

And so, he could only watch as you faded from his life, like the cyclic ebb of waves on an ocean shore.

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penspolin · 2 months

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POLIN JEALOUSY/ADVICE ONE-SHOT

Colin fights his jealousy after watching Penelope and Lord Debling dancing together at a ball, is teased by Benedict, and seeks advice from Violet.

The silver beads threading Penelope's hair seemed to glow like tiny moons. If he'd had parchment and pen, Colin might've noted the perfect juxtaposition of fiery red locks and sparkling silver. He noticed everything--the way her dress swayed so effortlessly against the floor despite her stiff grip on Lord Debling. Was it only Colin's imagination, or did her gloved fingertips hover an inch from his shoulders?

…perhaps he was only imagining it. He reminded himself that Penelope's stiffness was for the sake of propriety. Of course she’d want to touch Debling. He was a gentleman, for one, and even Colin had to admit that he had his own upper-class swagger. A little posh for Colin’s tastes, but from the looks being cast his way across the ballroom floor, Colin knew the lord had made a lasting impression on this season’s eligible debutantes.

Colin hastened for a sip of wine, only to discover that he had drained his glass. He turned away as a certain red-headed beauty twirled across the floor (more gracefully than he had ever allowed himself to notice). He nearly dropped his glass as he struck Benedict in the chest.

“Steady there, brother,” Ben said, putting a hand against Colin’s heaving chest. “What’s the hurry?” He cast a glance over Colin’s shoulder, and the pieces seemed to fall into place. “I’ll say, your friend seems to be enjoying herself. If ‘enjoying yourself’ is best expressed by a scowl, that is.” He tipped his glass. Colin shot him a glare, even though his heart lifted a bit at this last sentiment.

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch,” Ben said, pushing his glass into Colin’s available hand. “While you’re at the table, fetch me another drink, won’t you?”

“I’m not your waiter,” Colin huffed, stifling the urge to turn back to the dance floor once more. It was like an itch, only scratching it burned like a rash.

“You could do with a break. Somehow my ‘sturdy’ little brother has spent the night looking quite pathetic in the corner.”

“I’m not pathetic,” Colin said, and pain tightened his chest.

Ben rolled his eyes, still looking across the dance floor. “Say, maybe I ought to have a word with this Debling fellow. See if his eye for art is as keen as his eye for a wife.”

“Give him my best,” Colin grumbled, sounding more pathetic by the second.

Benedict gave him a sturdy pat on the shoulder. “And you, give Ms. Featherington your best while I do it. Now, hurry along now and get those drinks before the dance is over.” With a wink, he rejoined the sea of lords and ladies.

Colin gazed across the open floor once more. The waltz was approaching its conclusion. Pen’s hair looked on fire in the torchlight. His mind wandered to the fragments of a dream—Pen in the garden, her eyes twinkling a magnetic blue, her lips a luscious pink. He had leaned in just enough to catch the scent of her hair—like the wisteria garden, only…newer, fresher, somehow, and then—

“Colin, dear. Are you feeling alright?” His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Her brow furrowed, and he hurried to right himself, as he had taught himself to do long before Penelope had pounded her way into the forefront of his mind.

Some things, it seemed, had not changed. He had a guard up, and even his beloved mama could not crumble it.

“Very well, mother,” he managed, swaying slightly on his feet. “Merely...looking for a refill.”

“Not feeling up to a waltz tonight, I take it?” The look she gave him suggested she knew there was a particular reason for it—Colin was not one for skipping dances.

He had been avoiding his mother, he realized. Was that a flicker of hurt in her eyes? More than his brothers or sisters, Violet Bridgerton had always had an eye out for these things. And if that was the case, should he not be using her knowledge to his advantage?

“Mother,” he began, aware of the blush suffusing his cheeks. “Forgive me, I know we are in company, but I must ask. Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?”

She smiled, crinkling the skin around her eyes. Lovely eyes, so open and trusting. He suddenly hated himself for having avoided her, even if it was unintentional. Perhaps it was because of this conversation that he had kept himself from her.

And something told him that she knew this as well as she whispered, “I think you already know the answer to that.”

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton season 3 #polin bridgerton #lord debling #polin fanfiction #polin one shot #one shot #Penelope featherington #Colin bridgerton #polin fanfic #Bridgerton fanfiction

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pendragonsclotpole · 8 months

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I need to preface this post with the fact that I’ve been aware of Supernatural for as long as I’ve known what the terms fanfiction and fandom mean. It’s one of those pop culture moments that’s existed on the periphery of my mind as something really beloved and bemoaned about by people on the internet, but it’s never been something I really cared about outside of some iconic memes.

For the past four days, I’ve been watching Supernatural non-stop in my free time. I think I sat through eight episodes straight on one of those days, and I just have to say, the show is phenomenal.

I don’t know where to start, I could make a dozen of these posts about various points throughout the first two seasons and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve now taken a break at episode one of season three, because now that it’s a weekday I have work and can’t dedicate the time I could on the weekend.

First, Jared Padalecki’s acting is so beautiful and poignant and emotional. He really makes Sam Winchester into the bleeding heart of the whole show, and the entire time he’s on screen I worry about Sam. His portrayal of Sam’s heartbreak and desperation at Dean’s impending death after the car crash, as well as Sam’s horror at the reveal of what John told Dean before dying held a tragic desperation and denial that really embodied what the character represented in the first two seasons. Even as a hunter and with his special abilities, Sam felt like a quasi self-insert for the audience. I don’t mean that in a bad or overly tropey way, but in the way that he felt robbed of a proper childhood in favor of his father’s crusade. Sam is the angry, indignant younger sibling who never bore the brunt of responsibility like the older sibling did and it shows. In some ways, it makes him more entitled—I don’t mean that Sam does not have the right to be angry with John Winchester. He does. Fuck John Winchester. I mean entitled in the unintentional, coincidental way that your little brother or sister always demands the things you never had or rebels against the authority of the parent without ever dealing with the consequences you did as the older sibling. It reveals the veneer of freedom he had and the protection he received by virtue of his place in the Winchester Family. For me, it made him unbearably real, and this feeling of realness was made worse by the genuine naivety and innocence he keeps even as he continually gets screwed over by the demons. There’s a steadfast belief in the goodness of others within Sam that often conflicts with the sense of goodness he believes he lacks.

Sam trusts so easily, but he understands people in ways that should be antithetical to his upbringing. It took me forever to reconcile why he seemed so familiar, until I realized that Sam Winchester, for all that he was one of John Winchester’s son, had received the unconditional love of an older sibling for his entire childhood.

I don’t mean the perfect, kind, healthy love that often exists between fictional siblings. Too often I’ve watched media that makes me wonder how siblings like that even exist, or conversely, made me glad my siblings weren’t so fucked up.

I mean the kind of platonic love that exists between siblings living in the liminal space of love and hate thanks to the single fucked up connection that draws them back together continuously out of some sense of duty or commiseration or the need to be understood.

I mean the kind of love between siblings that would wither away when in a perfect world that does not stake their survival on their codependence of each other, but that in an imperfect and real world is equated to familiarity. Sam and Dean against the world—against John Winchester.

Out of all of the episodes I’ve watched in the last day and a half, perhaps the one that struck me most was episode 20, Season 2. What is and What Should Never Be. Not only was the title a bit of emotional whiplash—the juxtaposition of Should and Never lending a finality or a sense of wrongness that can’t be replicated by the words “Could Never—but we see Dean and Sam in a world where their one connection, hunting, has completely vanished and at a high cost to all the people they’ve saved, but mostly to Sam and Dean themselves. They’re connection as ride or die brothers is gone, replaced by an ostensibly better, healthier, more normal future liberated from the expectations of the rest of the world.

Without the death of Mary Winchester, Dean and Sam are no longer Dean and Sam. They’re just two people, connected by the two people that raised them, and likely to drift apart after that connection dies—frayed ends of a tapestry pulling apart and unraveling. Dean gains a mom and a normal life, but metaphorically loses a brother and a sense of purpose. Who is Dean Winchester if he’s not a hunter and Sam’s brother? And the sad thing is, neither of these are traits Dean ever chose. They are conditions foisted upon him, perhaps not intentionally, such as in the case of Sam, but ultimately placed on his soul until they tethered themselves to the very core of what being Dean Winchester is supposed to mean. The end of the episode, and Dean’s choice to return to the real world, regardless of Sam waking him up, is Dean fully giving up his dream in order to save Sam and be a hunter. The fallacy of the episode is in the choice Dean makes, which the more I think about it, feels less like a choice and more of an inevitability but one compounded by Dean’s readiness and willingness to go with it.

This is where I get to the crux of my surprise with these first early seasons of Supernatural: Dean Motherfucking Winchester.

I don’t know what I was expecting from early seasons of Supernatural, especially with the context of the later seasons. Maybe an overly cheesy, early 2000s ode to roadtrip Americana with a self-reverential take on the classic gun slinging frontiersman of the Wild West and bad supernatural CGI. Not to say it isn’t that (shout out to Sam’s comment on Dean’s particular brand of butch), but what surprised me was how real the connection between the characters was manifested on screen and how much good will the show built up in the audience. There came a point where I sided with Dean so much in the events of the show that I felt like I was riding shotgun in the impala. I saw it with every compliant “yes, sir” he gave to John, with every teasing comment he threw at Sam, and with every act of selflessness he exhibited by protecting other people. This isn’t to say that Dean is perfect. Sometimes he doesn’t take things seriously enough, or he’s willing to sacrifice people for some misguided greater good, or he’s obsessed with saving Sam even when he wouldn’t be if it were anyone else, but Dean has a conviction so many people lack. He has the capacity to love at a great cost to himself, either because he believes himself unworthy of being loved or because he’s not used to anything else.

Jensen Ackles does such a good job at this portrayal and with such a different technique than Jared Padalecki. Ackles embodies the desperate need for self-assuredness that Dean breathes, as well as the genuine fear he has of being seen. I love laughing with Dean as much as I love screaming at him for how stupid he’s being. If Sam is the self-insert, then Dean is the tragic hero, although that comparison feels like a poor facsimile for what Dean Winchester truly is because I don’t particularly feel an overwhelming sense of pity at his state or at his hinted downfall with that demon deal. If anything, I feel a sense of indignation mixed with understanding and frustration that Dean can’t catch a break but at the end of it all, is just how he prefers it.

It shouldn’t be a shock to admit that even without knowing what happens from seasons 3 to 15, I know how Supernatural ends. Just thinking about the ending makes me wonder if I should even continue it past season 5, but that’s a decision for another time.

For now, there’s something unbearably tragic in seeing Dean Winchester so close to a chance of a normal life and apple pie happiness (something he really seems to desire no matter how much he denies it) and then having to give it up, not just because it’s not real, but because he believes it should never be real.

Dean Winchester deserves better.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural season 1 #supernatural season 2 #supernatural season 3 #dean winchester deserved better #dean winchester deserves better #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #character study

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dykeydean · 3 months

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fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

#fic rec #masterlist #ezra posts

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sery-chan-13 · 2 months

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Holding Hands

Warnings:none unless you’re intolerant to fluff

Characters: Tanner, Treech, Sejanus, Coriolanus, Reaper, Jessup

Tanner: He's sweet and shy with you. He doesn't want to scare you by going to fast or by accidentally breaking your boundaries, so he prefers you starting contact. Of course, he gets more confident as the relationship goes on. He likes when you guys hold hands. When walking around town his hand is usually intertwined with yours. When he wants to hold your hand, you'll see him tapping his thigh anxiously and clenching his fists almost like the prospect of doing it was the most nerve-wracking thing he'd ever done. Just look at him softly and ask him to hold your hand, make an excuse. He loves it.

"Mmm... Tanner... can you hold my hand? Please? 'M Cold..." you whisper looking at him with those pretty eyes of yours. How could he say no?

His face was covered in a red blush and grabbed your hand softly, his other hand lying on top of it. Your hand in the middle of both of his because he genuinely thought you were cold. Your soft smile and the feeling of your lips on his was all the gratification he ever needed.

Treech: He is nervous to hold your hand. After years of working out in the woods and the lumberyard, gripping onto the axe... And his stupid need to impress you means he had a few cuts and bumps. He kind of hates how rough his hands are, yet is never saying no because he likes making you happy. There's nothing sweeter to him than how you gently trace his hands and press kisses to them. He will notice your hand getting closer to his and will intertwine his fingers with yours.

Watching the sunset out in the woods near a creek with the love of his life next to him was a perfect way to end his day.

He noticed your hand creeping towards his and hesitantly placed his hand on yours. Your soft hands were a juxtaposition to his rough ones. So different but held by each other. Holding hands turns into you, softly tracing his hands.

"I'm so lucky..." he mumbled pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Why's that?"

"Because I have you."

Sejanus: He LOVES holding your hand, especially when you're just relaxing at his house. It is a simple act of intimacy and he lovessss it. Out in public he'd much rather have you hook your arm with his, he thinks it's cute especially since his Ma and Pa do it. you will be the future Mrs. Plinth, he has decided. Just because you like holding his hand. Most times he softly reaches out. At first, he just places his hand on yours for a while before intertwining his fingers with yours.

As his fingers interlocked with yours, you sigh happily. He was so sweet, and smiled at you brightly, bringing your hand up to his lips.

"Thank you (Y/N)," he said, looking at you with those stupidly love-sick eyes.

"For what Sej?"

"For loving me, my beloved."

Coriolanus: Coryo is an asshole. If you go to grab his hand in public like in class or something, he pulls away. Has swatted your hand to keep it away. Holding hands is something he does to subtly show you are his in public. He doesn't hold your hands as much as he holds your wrist and your hand wrapped around his pointer finger. In private he's a bit kinder, doing a "come here" motion with his fingers. When you put your hand in his, he will press a chaste kiss to it and then just... hold it.

You pout as the blonde next to you lightly swats your hand away in class. He's so mean.

Later in the hallway, he's reaching out for your hand and you, while stubborn, simply give in.

His hold is tight on your wrist, and you grab onto his pointer, whispering he's hurting you. He loosens his grip a bit.

In his room, in the apartment he hates and loves, your head on his chest as you read a book, he motions for your hand. You softly place your hand in his, and he places a kiss on your wrist, almost whispering an apology.

"Mm... Coryo... Why can't you do this all the time," you whispered, laying your head on his chest, one hand in his, the other in his pretty blond curls.

He looked to the side, unable to meet your eyes. Truth was he didn't know why he did it. So people couldn't see how he cared for you? So people couldn't see that you're his soft spot?

"I don't know," he whispered.

There was a short silence before you hummed and mumbled, "I know. It's ok... just don't grab my wrist again. Or I'm gonna need more kisses."

Reaper: I think he is a big physical contact person. He loves having his arm around you or wants to be touching you all the time. Sometimes it's too much especially in the heat of the summer, so holding hands is the way to go. He will just grab your hand and doesn't even notice he's done it. He honestly just likes having you next to him.

You had been complaining of the heat since the morning. And hot it was. Especially with the human heater that was your boyfriend.

"Noooo it's too hot," you whined as his arms wrapped his strong arms around you, engulfing you in even more heat.

He lets go, albeit with a small huff. His hand is then reaching out. A compromise, you would think to yourself. You wouldn't die of heat and he could touch you. There was a small smile that spread across his lips as your hand met his.

Jessup: I think he's not too big on physical contact. One reason is he works in the mines and you work as a seamstress. He thinks he'll get you dirty and he doesn't want that especially if you are working on something. He would rather you initiate contact because then he knows it's okay. And yes, he knows you could easily wash your hands or go wash up, but he hates the thought of making you go through so much trouble. So, as a compromise, you hook your pinkie with his. You can 'hold his hand' and he doesn't have to worry about getting you dirty.

“Jessup pleaseeee,” you pouted, trying to hold his hand as he stubbornly took it away.

“You have to sew after this break you’re taking. You’ll get things dirty,” he whispers, looking at you with a smile.

You huff and curse your talent for sewing for keeping your sweet loving thoughtful boy from holding your hand.

You feel his pinkie hook onto yours and you smile brightly.

“I told you I’d find some compromise…”

#×reader #fluff #treech tbosas #treech x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth #tanner tbosas x reader #tanner tbosas #reaper ash #reaper ash x reader #jessup diggs #jessup tbosas #Jessup x reader #hehe they’re so cute #Mwuah #tooth rotting fluff

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jessamine-rose · 2 years

Text

꧁⪡ Alea Iacta Est ⪢꧂

Aaahh so here is part 2 of Housecat!! This continuation is written from Pantalone’s POV and features much darker content. Read the first fic before you proceed :>

Once again, thank you to @bye-bye-sunbird and @ddarker-dreams for the inspiration!! Same goes to @diodellet for your entertaining peer review and @yandere-romanticaa for your interest in reading this (*´∇｀*)

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, coercion, electrocution, offscreen death, psychological damage, Dottore is here, mention of drugging, mention of nsfw, dubcon, spice, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female cat-hybrid reader, pre-release Pantalone based on current lore crumbs

♡ 5.5k words under the cut ♡

i. the red string of fate

Love is nothing more than a contract.

The Regrator, of all people, is well aware of this fact. Love is an agreement easily forged and broken, an attraction founded on set conditions and self-serving fantasies. In a world of inequity, it is impossible for any relationship to be purely selfless nor unconditional.

The illusion of love persists, however, supported by centuries of myths. Soulmates. Star-crossed lovers. The red string of fate spun by the will of the gods.

How romantic.

Many would claim that Pantalone’s feelings are anything but love. They would dub him greedy, ambitious, obsessed, possessive, and so many other negative traits which ironically constitute the true essence of love. What he finds most insufferable are the claims that his efforts are futile against destiny.

If the gods deem him unworthy of love, he will pursue it on his own volition.

If the red string of fate ties his beloved to another, he will sever the threads and bind her to him with his own chains.

If his precious jewel rejects her owner, he will ruin her until she finally accepts her place in the world.

⬩◈⬩

Since her horrific revelation, his darling has become an amusing juxtaposition of obedience and defiance.

“What do you think of the present, my darling? Isn’t it a perfect fit?”

Pantalone clasps the jewelry around her neck. ______ blankly stares at her reflection.

The necklace is a simple accompaniment to her collar. The silver bell pendant makes soft tinkling noises with every little movement.

Its luster cannot compare to his darling’s tears.

“It’s…minimalist,” she answers. Her ears fold back. “But the bell is in poor taste. Do you expect me to wear this at all times?”

Pantalone smiles at her in the mirror.

“You wound me. And you are normally so enamored with my choices,” he replies. His hands rest on her shoulders. “The collar is already a perfect statement piece on its own.”

Zero wounds from the Electro Crystals. Sandrone’s craftsmanship is commendable.

Her tail relaxes. The violet bow is slightly askew; she must have been extra agitated today. Pantalone unravels it and reties the ribbon.

His hand brushes against her Vision. ______ immediately covers it with her own.

“You should get back to work,” she tells him. “I saw the reports on your desk earlier. What would the Tsaritsa say if she knew you were wasting your time on me?”

How foolish of her to bring up Her Majesty’s name.

“Matters of the heart do not concern Her Majesty so long as my work is unaffected. I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of separating my private and professional lives.”

His hand wraps around her tail. His grip is light but he can already feel the soft fur standing on edge.

“You know, it has been a while since I last saw you use your Vision,” he muses. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to watch your enchanting display again.”

“...All right.” His darling stares at her collar this time. “If that is what you want.”

Her hands are shaking. The sparks and red threads are thinner than usual.

Her fire is such a pretty spectacle. But it can only be viewed from a distance, a beacon of hope untouchable to its audience.

“There is no need to hold back, my love.” Pantalone waits for the fire to extinguish before he wipes her tears with his handkerchief. His other hand taps her collar. “You will only get shocked if you abuse your Vision. You won’t do that again, will you?”

She does not look at him. Recalling her previous attempts, most likely.

“I won’t. The last thing I need is to wake up to another one of your lectures.”

There is a bitter edge to her voice. Her tail slips out of his grasp and knocks over the empty necklace box.

He pats her head, smiling. “What a well-behaved pet. If I finish work early, I can take you to the shopping district tomorrow. We haven’t gone out in weeks.”

“I see. Do keep track of my purchases. I might just exceed my allowance.”

With that, ______ takes off the necklace and leaves the vanity table. She makes a point to push her unused shackles onto Pantalone’s side of the bed.

Despite her denial, she truly does act like a housecat at times.

As petty as she has become, his darling is making the most out of her cage. A pampered pet can never hope to gain the self-sufficiency of a stray. Any escape attempts would only bring her back to her owner.

Pantalone returns the necklace to its box, humming an old tune from Liyue. ______ covers her ears with the pillow.

Her neediness is sorely missed, however. He could easily demand her affection through more threats and gifts, but that would not be enough to satisfy his greed.

He would rather have her seek him out willingly.

ii. fool’s gold

A formal invitation announces a grand ball held in the capital of Snezhnaya. Another opportunity for the Regrator to make new business connections and to show off his darling wife.

“There should be a limit to the number of times I wear your colors,” she tells him. “By now, they likely view me as your little dress-up doll.”

“You are overthinking this.” Pantalone fastens the final accessory and fluffs up her tail. “We would not be the first couple to wear coordinated outfits. And think of it this way: An object takes after its master.”

He stands beside her in front of the mirror. They are only wearing matching jewelry this time. The violet jewels twinkle like artificial stars against their dark clothing.

______ frowns. “This necklace is too ostentatious, wouldn’t you say?”

Ungrateful pet.

“My priceless treasure,” he replies, the smile leaving his face, “you would do well to appreciate one’s generosity.”

A necklace of this price could feed so many empty stomachs in Liyue.

He grips the chain, allowing the jewels to press against her throat, and glares at her in the mirror.

“I’m sorry!” she says quickly. Her hands move to her neck in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure. “It must have been expensive. The…the design simply isn’t my type.”

“It is either this necklace or your collar, ______. Or are you secretly impartial to showing off my marks to the world?”

His other hand touches the love bites dotting her neck and chest. He had chosen an off-shoulder gown and an elaborate festoon necklace for that reason.

She averts her gaze. “...No, I’ll go with the first option.”

He lets go of the chain and readjusts the necklace.

His darling grips her tail with both hands. Her nails are newly trimmed and manicured after their last night of intimacy. Pantalone’s back is still healing from her scratch marks.

Even when he was kind enough to pleasure her, his darling took the opportunity to spite him. He had to use the shackles for their remaining rounds and her declawing session.

He adjusts her Vision this time. “I trust that you won’t cause a scene.”

“Of course.” She turns around and gives him a false smile. “This was part of our marriage contract, after all. I will assume the role of a loving wife for my sake.”

That is all. No clauses requiring loyalty or affection.

Pantalone’s smile is equally deceptive. “Stand by your promise. I will keep a close eye on you.”

⬩◈⬩

The ball is a waste of time—just the usual congregation of humorless businessmen, proud aristocrats, and annoying social climbers. The gilded superficiality of high society is no longer an otherworldly realm to the Regrator, but he is still grateful to have a companion.

It is more enjoyable when his darling is clinging to him like a frightful pet.

“My dear, you don’t need to stick to my side all night.” He shakes her tail off his wrist, smiling. “Are you that afraid of losing me in the crowd?”

“I’m not,” she whispers. Her hand grips his arm. “I don’t know anyone. They will just rope me into some meaningless conversation and gossip about ‘the Regrator’s trophy wife’ later on.”

They are nothing more than a crowd of foolish sycophants. But his darling is no different from them. If not for his riches, Pantalone is certain that she never would have spared him a glance.

Another admirer greets them and initiates a long speech about their loyalty to the Tsaritsa—a desperate farce before a Harbinger of all people. ______ smiles and nods along.

Well, the same may be said for his own attraction. He could have been apathetic to his darling’s existence had he not glimpsed her at the Shang family’s gala. She had looked so reserved, so pristine, until he came close enough to notice her cracks. Until he decided that he would be the one to break her.

The orchestra begins playing a lively symphony. The guests disperse to the dance floor and the edges of the ballroom.

“Would you care to dance?”

His darling’s thinly-veiled desperation is truly entertaining, especially as her gaze darts to the still-blabbering admirer.

He takes her hand, smiling. “Of course, my love.”

iii. odi et amo

Another letter is intercepted from Liyue.

Pantalone dismisses the messenger and opens the envelope. The letter is from his sister-in-law this time. Less valuable information, then.

It is just the usual family update, sans the necessary details which his darling would like to know. It ends with a sermon about marital conduct and the importance of “not being a nuisance to the Regrator.”

He smiles at the last line. The Lai family must have been quite shaken after the visit of the last Pyro Agent. Their previous letters are written in a similar fashion, all formal lectures with no ounce of concern for their little ______.

Had they met years ago, he would have envied his darling to the point of hatred. But now he can only feel pity for her.

Unfair as the world may be, there will always be certain pros and cons to one’s social status. Competence or inadequacy. Independence or loneliness. Ambition or sorrow.

Another agent knocks on the door.

“You may enter.”

They open the door and kneel. “My lord, your wife is returning to your office. As per your orders, she and her guard were only permitted to roam the eastern wing of Zapolyarny Palace.”

“You are dismissed.”

His darling’s letters are beginning to take up space in his desk. Pantalone adds the missive and locks the drawer.

The Fen wife recently wrote about a charm bracelet which his darling might like. He should add that item to his shopping list.

⬩◈⬩

Another obstacle to the Fatui brings extra work hours.

“Are you almost done? It’s late.”

Pantalone opens a new document. “I still have mountains of paperwork to go through. If you are tired, you may go to bed without me.”

The Northland Bank will be flooded with blood as soon as he catches those traitors.

His darling remains on his lap.

“It’s fine. I’m not sleepy yet,” she replies. She points at the stack of unchecked reports. “What are these about, anyway?”

“A few traitors. Some unforeseen interferences. A pesky little Traveler who has proven themselves to be quite the infernal threat.” He takes off his glasses and polishes the lenses.

He is due for another all-nighter.

______ turns her head. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He gives her a wry look. “You seem awfully concerned about my wellbeing. If you plan to take advantage of my current state, you are better off using subtler tactics.”

Her ears twitch. “You are still my husband. If anything happens to you, my welfare is at stake. I can’t assist you with work but I can at least provide some stress relief.”

Stress relief, huh?

His darling faces forward again. Her ears are pushed back, a clear indication of anger. It is an ineffective warning—they are nothing more than the soft, fluffy traits of a domestic cat.

Pantalone puts his glasses back on and pets her ears.

Her gasp is preceded by soft purrs. “What are you—? Stop! My ears are—”

He laughs, pressing a kiss against the back of her ear. “I know. So sensitive.”

His hand moves to the front of her dress and pulls down the neckline. Her love bites have already faded to near-invisible spots. It is about time for him to renew his marks.

“Pantalone.” She stands up and turns around, tail puffing up. “You still have work.”

“It won’t take long. Besides, was it not you who offered to alleviate my stress?”

He pulls her towards him, forcing her to straddle his lap, and touches the base of her tail.

“But still!” She bites back another purr. “Could we at least do this in the bedroom? The servants are still in the corridor. They might hear us—this is hardly appropriate!”

Until now, she still finds it necessary to retain her modesty. Her debauched noises during the act say otherwise.

It only takes a kiss to shut her up. He cups her face, smiling at every hitched breath and plea for air.

He will never grow tired of tainting her.

“My love,” he murmurs. He breaks off the kiss and presses their foreheads together. “Just think of it as fulfilling the contract you agreed to.”

⬩◈⬩

“Pantalone?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…plan to have children in the future?”

The pen hits the desk. It rolls across the wood, stopping just short of falling off the edge.

This is unexpected.

Pantalone clears his throat. “Can you repeat that?”

For someone who had made such a serious inquiry, his darling refuses to even look at him. She shifts in his lap, staring at his unfinished report.

And to think that he would not be the first to initiate this conversation.

“If this is about the contraceptives, I already told you that we are using a high-quality medication with no side effects. It is my turn to take them, anyway.”

Her tail thumps against his chest. “It’s not about the birth control.”

“Then what is this about? If you remain ambiguous, I may assume that you are asking for children.”

That would be a delightful surprise. Families do make for efficient binding agreements.

“I don’t know if I want that,” she mumbles. Her hands grip the desk. “It’s just…if you have any plans for the future, I want to be prepared for it. I spend enough time idling about and causing trouble for you.”

Not a direct refusal. What an interesting answer.

Thinking about it now, she had broached this topic in the early days of their marriage. Something about her lack of responsibilities and the Fen wife’s maternal duties.

Pantalone picks up his pen and continues writing. “As of now, starting a family is of low priority to me. We may continue this conversation once the Tsaritsa’s perfect world has been achieved.”

And when that happens, he will have all the time in the world to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Ironically, that statement only makes his darling more agitated.

“I see. I’ll enjoy my last pieces of freedom,” she mutters.

He puts down his pen. “My darling, are you merely bored with your current routine? Or are you looking for an excuse to devote your time to someone other than me?”

At the last statement, she turns to face him.

“Not at all!” she exclaims. Her eyes are wide with panic. “I like your company; I really do! Anyway, I couldn’t possibly treat a child with your degree of care and attention.”

It is good that she knows that.

“That is good to hear.” Pantalone smiles and wraps his arms around her, pressing her back against his chest. “I won’t demand a child or anything else from you. End of discussion.”

“I see…thank you for telling me.”

His darling stares ahead, but the relaxed positions of her ears and tail are a substantial response. He rests his chin on her shoulder.

“Besides,” he adds, “I would rather have you all to myself for the time being.”

iv. faustian bargain

The next few months are relatively peaceful. A pattern of gifts, dances, galas, red threads, intimate nights, banter, and mind games. Pantalone is pleased to note that his darling is gradually becoming more resigned to her cage. She has almost reverted back to her needy, pliable self.

Unfortunately, the gods always choose the best of times to tip the scales.

“I’m home.”

Pantalone has barely closed the door before his darling stomps over to him.

“My necklace is missing,” she informs him.

He pauses, coat in hand. “Which one?”

She leads him to her dressing room without so much of a word.

The farthest corner of the room is reserved for her old accessories. It is a haphazard mess of half-opened drawers and scattered jewelry boxes.

______ opens the topmost drawer and points at the necklace section. There are large, even spaces in between the necklaces.

“Someone rearranged it. My brother’s wedding gift used to be on the far left,” she explains. “It was a gold necklace with a pendant shaped like a Nilotpala lotus.”

Pantalone glances at the boxes on the floor. “Are you sure that you didn’t misplace it?”

“How could I? You don’t let me wear it to begin with,” she snaps, gesturing to her collar. “This isn’t the only one. I can’t find the box holding my Sango pearl necklace.”

A thief in his own estate. What a wonderful surprise.

In their entire marriage, this is his first time seeing his darling in such an incensed state. Aside from her swishing tail and folded back ears, her eyes are filled with enough burning fury to rival his own glare.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “My darling, for what reason would I engage in petty theft behind your back? I could easily confiscate your possessions.”

“I don’t know. But I am not trusting the same person who chose what I could bring to Snezhnaya.” She glares at him, eyes filling with tears. “I am fine with wearing your gifts, but is it too much to even look at my old belongings?”

“Wild accusations will do more harm than good,” he shoots back. “Did it not occur to you that someone else could have done it?”

His darling only laughs. “The servants, maybe, but they wouldn’t dare to steal from you. Unless you paid them to do it on your behalf.”

She opens the closet and takes out her coat.

“______.” It takes effort to maintain his composure. “Where are you going?”

“To the gardens. Forgive me for not being able to stand your presence.”

She leaves the dressing room. Pantalone follows her.

He reaches for her hand. “Darling, I—”

“Just go away!”

A burst of flames appears out of thin air, almost grazing him. Pantalone stumbles back, glasses clattering to the floor.

The sound of glass breaking is followed by the shock of Concentrated Overload.

His darling screams and collapses to the floor.

Pantalone takes a step closer. “You shouldn’t—”

“Don’t get any closer!” she shouts. She claws at her collar, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You ruined my life. I wish I never met you!”

Her honesty could not be any more brutal.

Pantalone draws back as though he has been slapped. His darling’s glare remains fiery.

At this point, diplomatic attempts at reconciliation are futile.

He picks up his glasses. The frames are warm from where the fire touched them. The chain is broken and one of the lenses is cracked.

“I do not blame you for your lack of trust in me,” he says coldly. He walks past her and opens the door. “I will give you some space if that is what you truly want.”

More sobs. Pantalone leaves the room and almost crashes into one of the servants.

“Lord Harbinger!” she squeaks. She bows immediately. “I apologize for not seeing you!”

“It is all right,” he replies, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He glances at her uniform. “You are one of my wife’s handmaidens. You go by the alias Myshkin, correct?”

“Y…Yes, my lord!”

A glint of silver flashes in her hand.

He frowns at her. “What are you holding? Have you found my wife’s missing jewelry?”

She jumps and averts her gaze. “What? I…yes, I did!”

Her hands are trembling. She opens her palm to reveal a familiar Vajrada Amethyst ring.

That little rat.

Myshkin is speaking a mile a minute. “I found it in the living room and was just about to return it. As soon as I saw it, I knew it must have been the ring Lady ______ was looking for!”

His darling has not worn it once in Snezhnaya. Neither did she mention the disappearance of that ring.

Pantalone takes it, a grateful smile on his face. “Thank you, Myshkin. I will remember this.”

She turns to the door. “Is Lady ______ all right?”

“Just a little shocked. Go tend to her.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Had she entered the room a second later, Myshkin would have witnessed the Regrator’s death glare directed at her.

⬩◈⬩

The Doctor’s office is a place of nightmares. Beyond the laboratory, his section of Zapolyarny Palace is filled with preserved specimens, glowing test tubes, anatomical sketches, and a pervasive aura of malevolence. Even the meeting room is far from welcoming.

“Ninth, I assume you summoned me for another private commission. How is your wife? I believe your wedding anniversary has recently passed.”

“Spare me the formalities, Dottore.” Pantalone takes a seat on the sofa. “I received your request for additional funds. The numbers are out of proportion, but I can overlook that if you throw in a personal favor for me. I believe you will find this commission more suited to your preferences.”

Dottore puts down his test tube and sits across from him. “What do you mean?”

Pantalone gestures to the package on the table.

“I would like you to soak these garments in a flammable substance, one so potent that it would guarantee inescapable death for the wearer once they come into contact with fire. The chemical should have an inconspicuous scent and remain effective after numerous washes.”

“What an interesting request. And who is this unlucky victim?” Dottore opens the box and takes out a set of maid uniforms.

That Myshkin had been stupid enough to steal memorable jewelry. Everyone knows that the wealthy are less likely to notice the disappearance of smaller pieces, moreso if those items are sold to a reasonably far-off pawnshop.

“You are quite literally playing with fire, and it seems that your employee is not the only target. Tell me, is it not easier to deal with them and your darling separately?”

Pantalone straightens his glasses. The new chain twinkles under the dim light.

“Think of it as killing two birds with one stone. It would be uncharacteristic of me to ignore an opportunity when it is presented to me.”

Dottore snickers. “Your poor little housecat. And to think you started out with something as innocent as catnip-laced perfume.”

“That is none of your business. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” Dottore sits back, a maniacal grin on his face. “Though I must demand payment. A chemical of this potency will be costly to produce, especially if I am to ensure maximum quality by using test subjects.”

Pantalone clasps his hands together, smiling. “Name your price.”

v. alea iacta est

Pantalone upholds his promise and grants his darling her desired solitude. He moves her to a different bedroom and works longer hours in Zapolyarny Palace. On the rare occasion that they cross paths in the estate, he scarcely acknowledges her.

Myshkin and her fellow handmaiden provide daily reports of ______’s activities and behavior. The former wears her new set of uniforms.

His darling holds on to her pride. She makes no requests for gifts or company. She continues her flimsy pastimes, sans the use of her Vision. She bristles at his silent treatment but makes no effort to approach him.

This is what her life could’ve been like had she married Chairman Jin. If she knows what is good for her, she will not compare that nullified fate to her reality.

The days are longer for Pantalone. The situation reminds him of their former days, that year spent patiently waiting and working behind the scenes and settling for the lightest of touches. But the reward had been worth it.

This time, he must only wait for his darling to come to him.

⬩◈⬩

“Lord Harbinger!”

The door slams open. The agent does not bother to kneel.

Pantalone barely looks up from his contract. “We are in the middle of a meeting. What matter is so important that you must disturb me and my client?”

“It concerns your wife, my lord! An accident has occurred in your household.”

About time.

He faces his client. “My apologies, but I must ask that we resume our negotiations some other time. I am afraid that my wife’s situation seems to be of dire urgency.”

“Naturally! It isn’t a problem.” The diplomat bows and puts away their reports. “Thank you for your time, Lord Harbinger.”

Pantalone leaves the conference room and faces the agent. “Tell me what happened.”

“Your wife attacked a servant with her Pyro Vision. We have already extinguished the fire and summoned a doctor, but her handmaiden is in unstable condition.”

All according to plan. “Are there any additional details which I need to know?”

They pause. “I was not present during the event, but I was told that the incident took place in your wife’s dressing room. She is currently afflicted with her collar’s Concentrated Overload as well as psychological shock.”

He resists the urge to smile. “Anything else?”

“Your wife asked for you, my lord. She specifically requested your presence as the guards were restraining her.”

How endearing.

“Cancel my remaining appointments for the day. That will be all.”

⬩◈⬩

The collateral damage only costs a few hundred thousand Mora. A singed carpet. Scorched closets. The doctor’s fee. The silence of the servants.

Pantalone barely regards the charred corpse in the servant’s quarters. According to the doctor, Myshkin had succumbed to her wounds shortly before his arrival.

In the end, she paid back her debt in blood.

Not a sound can be heard from his darling’s room.

He unlocks the door. Warm light spills into the dark room, highlighting the figure chained to the bed.

His precious jewel has never looked more pitiful. Her ears lay flat against her head and her tail is tucked between her legs. There are tearstains on her face.

Her Vision is on the floor. He wonders if it was her or the servants who had thrown it.

“You’re back.” She looks up, a fresh wave of tears trickling down her cheeks. “It was an…I didn’t mean to! I just…”

“Shh, I know.” He presses his handkerchief against her cheek. “They told me what happened. We couldn’t have predicted that your Vision would cause such a disaster.”

Her voice comes out in choked sobs. “It is my fault. I caught her…I was angry but she didn’t deserve—I can still hear her screams. What will I do?”

No friction burns or signs that she struggled against the shackles. Pantalone frees her wrists and hugs her.

“It is all right,” he whispers. “I will take care of everything.”

Another sniffle. She buries her face into his coat, soaking the fabric with her tears.

“I am more concerned about you,” he continues. He breaks off the hug and looks her in the eye. “My love, how are you feeling? It must have been such a difficult experience for you. If you need anything, just tell me.”

For a moment, his darling only stares at him with glassy eyes. Then she shakes her head and holds his hand, gripping it so tightly that her nails dig into his gloves.

“Stay,” she pleads. Her tail wraps around his wrist. “Please, I…just don’t leave me.”

Pantalone kisses her hand, a kind smile gracing his face. “I promise.”

vi. diabolic waltz

Myshkin’s death is covered up as a furnace accident. The false notice is sent to her relatives, along with a large sum of Mora for financial aid.

It is the least the Regrator could do for a desolate family.

His darling moves back to their bedroom. She spends the majority of the first night crying in his arms and seeking out his comfort. The next morning, she meekly accepts the Nilotpala lotus pendant and Sango pearls he had bought back from the pawnshop. The subsequent days are filled with silent apologies and thank you’s.

A week after the incident, she leaves their room to visit his private office.

“Are you still working?”

Pantalone looks up from his report. “This can wait. Do you need anything, my darling?”

“Not at the moment.” She stands in front of his desk, tail tucked between her legs. She is wearing only her nightdress and collar today. “Take this.”

She places her Vision on his desk.

He reacts with a carefully crafted frown. “______, why are you giving this to me? I believe you know the risks of losing a Vision.”

“I am better off without it,” she mutters. She pushes it into his hands. “It has always been wasted on me. You deserve to have it.”

In the end, fire is just another illusion. Despite the light it offers, it can only consume.

Pantalone lifts it up to the window. The Pyro Vision is brighter than any false star in the sky. He can feel its powerful warmth through his gloves.

The gifts of the gods, now in his grasp. But there is a far greater treasure standing before him.

He sets it aside. “I will take good care of it, then.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” His darling moves closer to him, tail raised. “You’ve done so much for me. I will do whatever it takes to repay the favor.”

Pantalone smiles at her and leaves his desk. “You only need to stay by my side. Though, I would not be opposed to other modes of payment.”

She nods and walks into his embrace.

⬩◈⬩

“I have a new gift for you.”

“Another one?”

His darling frowns at the package. “You know how I feel about your gifts. Just being with you is already enough.”

“Think of it as a gift for myself, then.” Pantalone pats her head, ruffling her ears. “I do enjoy spoiling my beloved pet.”

She purrs and hugs him again. “Fine, all right. That just means more cuddles for you.”

His precious jewel has shattered. She is much more affectionate nowadays.

The servants finish unpacking the phonograph. They pull back the curtains and leave the room.

______ regards it with curious eyes. “A Witch’s Chorus. What sort of music does it play?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

Pantalone places the record on the turntable and flips the power switch. The instrument begins to play a slow, festive orchestral arrangement.

Her ears prick forward. “This…it sounds familiar. Where did I last hear it?”

“Quite nostalgic, isn’t it? It is the musical score from our first dance.”

“That explains it.” She turns to face him, eyes shining brightly. “It was a waltz. How could I forget?”

The fire in her eyes has been completely extinguished. Though her gaze never fails to light up at any mention of their lost memories together.

Pantalone holds out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Her hand feels soft in his grip. “It would be my pleasure.”

No red threads this time. His darling follows his lead, a peaceful smile on her face. During the final spin, she is quick to return to his grasp.

“Pantalone?”

“Yes, my darling?”

She meets his gaze.

“I love you.”

Pantalone almost stumbles. He stops in the middle of the dance floor.

It is difficult to hide his surprise. “Please repeat that.”

“I love you.” She says it clearly, still holding his gaze. Her expression becomes anxious. “Is there…something wrong with how I said it?”

He never imagined that those words could be said to him with such utmost sincerity.

Pantalone only laughs and resumes the waltz. At this point, they are dancing off-beat to the music but there is no crowd to judge them. Only the stars visible through the windows, twinkling across the sky like unfathomable jewels.

“No, it was perfect. You just caught me off-guard,” he admits. He smiles, pulling her closer. “I love you too.”

♡

Read the Author’s Note here!!

It is done……I am finally free from this fic. I never want to see Pantalone’s pretty face ever again. This greedy man rlly made me write a two-part fic that was longer than Herbarium and Fairytale combined (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ㅂ˂̣̣̥)੭ु

I hope you all enjoyed the Regrator’s twisted love story. I hope you all liked my yandere characterization of him. I hope you all suffer from brainrot while I get some rest and question my life choices. Thank you for reading and have a lovely day, everyone <3

#pantalone #yandere pantalone #yandere pantalone x reader #pantalone x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #il dottore #dottore #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: manipulation #tw: death #tw: dubcon #spicy warning #mdni #fem reader #jessamine-writing

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doomsdaydicecascader · 10 months

Note

wow you’re the first person i’ve seen actually support the retcon, that’s cool

i’ve always been neutral on it but would you be down with explaining your opinions on the retcon?

so my number one feeling is that the way homestuck is most like a game is not in its framing or its many subsystems within itself, but in that homestuck is a challenge to the reader first and foremost. it challenges a lot of existing preconceptions about what stories are, what stories can be.

sometimes this is in some stupid ways, but a lot of the time, it's in very palateable ways. hussie describes stuff like the juxtaposition of the earthbound walksprite panels and hussnasty mode as a "creative power move", something that keeps readers on their toes, something which kind of prods at your expectations and why you have those expectations.

and it helps to ask, what challenge is homestuck presenting to me, the reader, by doing this. this is the repeated motion of homestuck, like. "oh, what, it's insane that there's a whole playable game", "oh, what, it's insane that the fallout and consequences of an entire session of the game is being given in just three walkarounds". rose's arc is a challenge to the idea of a "coming of age" story, how do you come of age into a world where the metrics for growth and maturity and adulthood are denied to you? what if "adulthood" and "maturity" were fake ideas all along? well, if nothing matters, maybe you should have a drink to rest your mind about it.

one of the most direct challenges is the challenge of what death means in a story - there are a lot of stories where death is a bad end for a character. an impactful enough character death can change culture around itself for as long as it remains relevant. but that's not what death is in homestuck. death in homestuck is the freedom from being in homestuck. this is most prevalent with its deployment of gnostic ideas - yaldabaoth's treasure being homestuck itself expresses this most directly. the creator has made a flawed world and encourages the suffering of its inhabitants.

death is freedom from this flawed world, and this is expressed in terezi: remem8er. characters who did terrible things, horrible things, unforgiveable things, can find peace in death.

and i think the retcon is far and away the headiest challenge, the final boss of storytelling in homestuck's terms, because it directly challenges the idea of continuity, which is, by the way, TOTALLY FAKE.

continuity isnt actually real, its a thing youre actively constructing as you read. the drawings, the words, the music, the animation, the gameplay - all these things can help shape the idea of art, but the art itself, that's produced by you, the reader. and i think this is a good time to switch over to talking about the never-ending story for a moment.

the never-ending story is a story about atreyu. he goes on a fantasy quest, one which involves the death of his beloved steed artax, the plight of the world of fantasia, and confrontations with the nothing, this devouring force which threatens to end it. and ultimately, he loses. the forces of the nothing are just too overwhelming for a fictional character to overcome. the stakes are too high, no ending could be satisfactory and not contrived.

but then he doesn't lose.

because the never-ending story, the movie, is about bastian, and the relationship and empathy he builds with atreyu as he follows him on his adventure, and bastian, as the reader, is capable of caring about atreyu and fantasia even as it's been reduced to nothing. and its bastian caring about it, and bringing his own context, his own experiences - the name of his dead mother - to the story, that allows it to be reborn as something that can be completed.

and then he rides on the big luck dragon falkor and barfs on the bullies from the start of the movie.

homestuck is doing the same thing, but filtered through the language of video games. if youre playing ff9 and lose to black waltz #3 or whatever, it's a video game, that's to be expected. just do better next time. you wiped on the trial, it's normal, regroup and pull again. youve got 90 minutes. and in that time, in that regression, you become the kind of person who could overcome that challenge.

and it's a powerful challenge! it's one most readers don't overcome, because they are still stuck in the terms of thinking about things in what they expect out of it, instead of what it is. and this is kind of the core idea of homestuck.

hussie put it the best themself:

Homestuck, as an examination of all forms of creative practice, whether cosmic or artistic, isolates the tension between perfect, celebrated idealization and specific, flawed instantiation. The purity of the ideal is what's initially sought, but the imperfection of the specific is what has true value. Conflict and suffering arise from the guilt and stress associated with overvaluing the former. Deliverance and humanity come from recognizing and embracing the latter.

and honestly, i like what the retcon does for basically all the characters it changes dramatically. people take issue with rose's alcoholism plotline being resolved with vriska_slap.png but i don't really, because rose's alcoholism isn't like, of itself if that makes sense. it's alcoholism as an extension of nihilism, in a way that doesn't reflect real alcoholism, but it doesn't have to. s'a story. things can mean things nonliterally.

and vriska regresses as a character, but i think this specific regression is the core of homestuck. you get the platonic ideal of vriska-ness, one who didn't see and feel the trauma she inflicted on tavros, one who has completely supplanted gamzee's role as the plot-mover guide in the alpha session. and one who only makes token gestures at reparations and atonement for her misdeeds. one who is still obsessed with being at the center. and between 2016 and 2019, i was so certain that she had died a heroic death in act 7 that it is an immovable core plot point of my own comic.

(homework: why would homestuck call act 7 the rapture?)

and like, those pre-retcon characters literally do still exist, they show up in remem8er. remem8er goes unbelievably hard on giving every single dead character in the comic the best catharsis available to them: deliverance from having to be in homestuck. and i mean that entirely sincerely! the best ending for a homestuck character is not being in homestuck. and that's a tough thing for people to get their minds around.

but again, it kind of comes naturally with taking homestuck as it is, and thinking intently about what it's doing, what conventions it's challenging and how it's challenging them. because sometimes it's deeply stupid (decade-plus of thought on the matter has not made the incest any more palateable or understandable)

but sometimes it's the best shit in the whole world

#homestuck #long post

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