#but its so easy for me to get lost in the depression and to not do that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flawseer · 2 months ago

Note

In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter’s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

#wings of fire #dragon #wof #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #flawseer talk #flawseer reply #wof winter #long post #long winded

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night-night-stories-before-bed · 16 days ago

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‘Cause you are mine

Warning ⚠️; slight smut, Tony being his own warning (alcoholism, suicidal, depression.) Alcohol, blood, fluff 🔞

Pairing; Yandere!Tony Stark/Male!Reader

Summary; Tony can't take it any longer. He doesn't feel appreciated by his friends, feels like a burden to them and that the whole world is against him. That is until he meets you. You shine as bright as the sun and he is Icarus flying too close. But you are the one whose wings burn and melt.

Note; Tony is my Pookie, so be ready to have a lot of stories about him. And again, sorry for the mountain that is this story. ⛰️ And I was hungry for some Yandere Tony

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gala was boring as always and you wondered how long it would take for something interesting to happen. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for someone to catch your attention. Your gaze fell on Tony Stark. The man was alone in a corner, sipping at his drink. The hero seemed lonely, lost and somewhat sad.

Tony Stark, a man who had done so much for the world without ever being thanked. What a sad fate. Trying your best but people keep bringing back your mistakes.

Finishing your own drink, you left the empty glass on the bar before walking up toward the genius. Tony didn't even turn to you before asking you to leave. His voice was low, a dim whisper as if he didn't want to be heard.

- “Why? This Gala is so boring and you are the only interesting person around.” You said, grabbing a drink as a server passed. “I've been impressed with your latest work in medical engineering. That going to help our surgeons save more lives.”

Tony eyed you, suspicious of your intentions and you understood why. So many people only saw him as Iron Man or a drunk, not as another human with feelings. But Stark was so much more. He was a genius and his mind worked like no one else. You wondered why people thought so little of him after everything he had been through and did for others.

You raised your hands, showing you weren't a threat.

- “Hey, easy. I ain't trying to suck your dick, just talking about your latest achievement. Not everyone look at you and see Iron Man.”

You chuckled as Tony rolled his eyes and swallowed his drink in one go.

- “No one ever hears me talk about all that, they all want to speak to Iron Man, curse me or want something from me. So yeah, let me doubt you here princess.” There is an edge to Stark’s voice and you easily see it for what it is; a way to protect himself.

- “Well then, I guess I will have to prove myself to you, won't I?” You replied, getting a smirk from Tony.

And its the best thing you ever did.

For the rest of the gala you both stayed in your corner drinking glass after glass and talking about everything and anything Tony created and made in recent years. You don't understand everything, so you ask question after question just to see some light and passion appear in Tony’s eyes.

Neither of you saw the time pass until you were among the last ones standing. Barely. Drunk the both of you, you had to support each other just to walk outside while jiggling like two idiots as you tried to pronounce some scientific word and Tony tried to help you.

You expected to go your separate way, not thinking Tony would want to spend more time with you. After all, you were both wasted and morning promised to come with one hell of a hangover. But to your surprise and joy, the genius almost forced you into his car.

Tony’s mansion is all you imagined. Enormous, luxurious and extravagant just like its owner, you didn't expected to feel so empty and lifeless. Even wasted you wonder if his home reflect Tony’s entirely. Does inside he also feel that way?

You two crash somewhere in what you can only call a mix between a living room and a bar. Tony, who's the most sober between you, got in his head to pour more drink and you can't refuse. Sitting almost on each other lap the conversation continued with you asking questions and Tony explaining everything, even getting his hand on his tablet to give you a visual.

Before the first light of morning comes Tony and you already finished a full bottle and a half. The conversation isn't clear and it is mostly you two giggling as you struggle to pronounce any complicated words. Stark isn't better. Head resting in the crook of your shoulder, one leg across your lap, the genius looks somehow happy and content in his drunken state. You got your arms around him, making sure he doesn't fall and hurt himself.

But when the sun finally rose and filled the room with golden light, there was only a comfortable silence between you and Tony. Your head resting on top of his, your hand grabbing one of his arms as your thumb drew circles on his skin you both felt content. There is no sleepiness, no need to pass out, just the desire to keep the moment going and hoping it'll never stop.

But of course, every good thing must come to an end.

At first, you heard footsteps coming closer as you were slowly drifting to sleep. In your arms, you felt Tony move, which woke you up fully. Then the door opened as a woman talked. Mind still in the mist, you didn't really understand what she was saying other than she was going to show you out.

- “He isn't going anywhere, Pepper. My new friend is staying right there with me.” Tony said, his voice so close to your ear that you shivered.

- “Tony, you got meetings today and they are important so up and get ready.”

You grunted and groaned, barely listening to the two bickering. Your arm stayed around Tony’s waist, making sure he didn't fall down as he trashed around, arguing with the named Pepper.

- “It's fine Tony. You are a busy man with a lot on your shoulders and I don't want to steal more of your time. We had a lot of fun last night and I hope we can do that again, but for now, your duties await you.” You said, petting his back and you turned your head to look at Pepper. “Alright miss. Show the way, but slowly please.”

Pepper looked at you and nodded as you got up. Tony wasn't happy about it, but you ignored him, not wanting to cause Tony more problems. You followed Pepper, head heavy and feeling like you would never drink again when you felt someone grab your hand. Before you could utter a word, you were forced to run as Tony pulled you behind him.

You heard Pepper screaming Tony's name while the genius just laughed. Lost, you followed the genius. Tony took you down in his workshop and lab. He showed you around, smiling proudly as you admired everything, wondering how a single man could do and create such incredible things.

Having prevented Pepper from following, Tony relaxed and told you he didn't want to leave. Not anytime soon. It both surprised and worried you. Why was your new friend so determined to keep you close? Was he that lonely?

In the following days, Stark was everywhere with you. If you had to go somewhere, he accompanied you and even drove you around. You didn't have a second of peace and yet it only felt normal, natural. Tony fitted perfectly in your life like the piece you didn't know you were missing.

If you weren't sleeping at his place, Tony would join you at yours or you would stop at a hotel or motel. You could tell his friends, especially Pepper were getting tired of it. But not you. Having someone's full attention on you was something exciting, especially Tony who wasn’t one to trust easily.

Even after a few weeks, you didn't get bored with it. Every day brought something new in your relationship with Tony. Some of it was a story from Tony’s past, sometimes he took you to his workshop and you worked with him on some project or he opened up about what was going on in his head.

You couldn't remember when was the first night you shared a bed, but it was at Tony’s place after drinking way too much again. The genius was nuzzled against you, your arms wrapped around him when you woke up. Tony was trashing around, sweaty and whimpering. You could immediately tell he was having a nightmare. As gently as you could, you nudged him until he woke up.

Tony jerked awake, hitting you in the chest as he tried to get away. You had to pin him down against the mattress and ask Friday to turn on the light for Tony to calm down. You were shocked by how scared and broken Tony looked and wondered how no one saw it sooner. You passed the rest of the night cuddling and pampering him until he was calm once more.

As time passed you met each member of the Avengers and each time you were disappointed. Not by the fact they were human but by how little they seemed to care about Tony. They never really listened to him or rolled their eyes as he rambled about some scientific things. It was hard for you to appreciate them when they didn't appreciate your dearest friend.

You pointed it out to Tony who simply scoffed.

- “Tell me something I don't know, Princess.” He told you, voice tired and done.

- “Well I don't like them.” You grunted and he laughed.

- “Again, I know that.”

You kept an eye out on Tony and saw how down he often was after each mission or meeting with the team. You took it upon yourself to make him feel better; getting his favourite food and coffee or drinks and he would smile at you, thankful.

It is sooner than later that your relationship evolved from friends to more.

Again, it all happened after you drank way too much and ended up having a passionate night with Tony. When you wake up naked, you feared you had destroyed your friendship, only for Tony to be happy to now be your lover.

Not just your lover but also your boyfriend.

The news quickly found its way into every magazine and soon enough everyone knew Iron Man was seeing someone, a man. You didn't care about being the target of the cameras, as long as Tony was by your side. After all, you had nothing to be ashamed of.

However, you never imagined how possessive and protective Tony would be toward you. To your surprise, Tony hated seeing your names on the news or on magazines and would snap after any journalist trying to talk to you.

You weren't the only one shocked; his whole team and friends didn't recognize him. Tension began to build up between Tony and the rest of the Avengers. You could only feel guilty, thinking you were the cause and yet not understanding what was going on with Tony.

But with you, Tony was gentle and caring, even overloving sometimes. He would ask for forgiveness each time you pointed out how he acted and would forgive him. You couldn't stay angry for long.

But as the tension and conflicts grew, Tony and the Avengers grew apart. Soon enough, Tony announced he was leaving not only the team but also would stop providing funds to them and the S.H.I.L.D. But after tragedy comes happiness and Tony proposed to you.

As happy as you felt being engaged, the ring strangely felt like handcuffs or a leash. In the back of your mind you wondered if you were doing the right thing. But it was too late to back down, and now that Tony wasn't part of the Avengers anymore he was even more often with you. He was always there, even when you thought you were alone.

After all, he could access any and every camera in the country. There was nowhere where he wouldn't find you.

#male reader #x male reader #x reader #fanfic #reader #angst #tony stark x male reader #top male reader #tony stark #marvel #mcu #iron man

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angularbean · 9 months ago

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"Empty" praises [Alastor x Reader]

"Absolutely ravishing, darling."

Why was is that a simple sentence could make your heart pound in her chest? Threatening to explode in it's bony confides. It has to be the coffee you had, it's common for your body to react that way to the drink. That is its purpose after all, right? Perhaps it's simply due to the incapability to accept compliments. You're just a regular ol' sinner after all, what was ravishing about you? Maybe it was who was attached to the compliment. Someone who never failed to make your heart flutter. Angel's words rang through your ears. Tall, dark, and creepy. Not necessarily the adjectives you would use, but they were accurate. No, absolutely not. The Radio Demon was quite the charmer, that much is true. Always throwing flirtations your way. ... "Let's make a deal. But don't you worry, lovely, your soul is safe with me." ... "Crying suits you, darling lamb." ... "The fear in your eyes looks absolutely delicious darling. I could just eat you up." ... But there was no real emotion behind his flattery. Just empty words, designed to pull at your heart stings. A powerful overlord, who never showed interest in something as frivolous as love, would never think of you more than just some poor, lost sinner. Though sometimes you couldn't help but wish to be wrong. Oh how you wished to be wrong. But if you were, hell wouldn't be hell would it? You're in hell for a reason. Seemingly unrequited love would be the ultimate punishment. How depressing. There was something, however, in the way that the demon gently led your hand to his ever smiling lips, pressing them to the skin. The gesture used to punctuate his praise, vampiric eyes never leaving yours.

"Why how kind of you, Alastor." His sharp smile widened as his name fell from your pretty lips. Oh how he loved to hear you say his name. But that's none of your business, those are Alastor's thoughts and his alone. You were just on your way out, heading to Cannibal Town to gossip over some tea with Rosie. A dear friend of yours who is no stranger to your little predicament; who was about to get an earful about this little interaction.

Red eyes trailed up every nook and cranny of your attire. Admiring how effortlessly beautiful you looked.

"You make it easy to be. Have a pleasant time with Rosie, dear. Do greet her for me."

You grinned up at him, agreeing to do so.

He would never admit how his undead heart would softly murmur when you were around. How his breath would get caught in his throat when you looked up at him through your thick, pretty lashes. When your hair draped beautifully over your eyes, he longed to tuck it back behind your ear. Wanting to always relish in the way you looked at him. He would never admit to the strange feelings he felt around you, and only you. He wouldn't be the oh-so-feared overlord if he did, now would he? He had an to reputation to uphold.

You couldn't know. What's a secret or two among friends? Sure, 'friends.' You could say that.

Still he couldn't stop the words from escaping.

"Be safe, love. Make it back home to me."

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im absoultely OBESSED with hazbin hotel so i had to dust off the good ol' tumblr and write something about everyones fav. hope you enjoyed!

still tryin' to get a feel on how to write alastor, feel free to let me know what you think! i do take requests(;<

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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A Guiding Hand 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won't let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: surprise double chapters!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You lay in the dim glow of your laptop, the screen saver swooshing back and forth, giving light to the dark. You’re limned it its idleness, in a similarly inert state. You blink, eyes dry and raw, your head pounding. Your back and shoulder pang with your inactivity as you lay on your stomach, neck twisted to one side.

Your vision is static and fuzzy, the air humming. You groan and drag an arm up, the effort alone like lifting a boulder. The world is distant and desolate. There is nothing beyond those four walls.

A chime comes from your laptop. You stare at the curtain, darkness along the borders. It’s night time already. Or again. You don’t know. You lost count of the hours, rather, days.

You roll over and peer at the abyss above. The ceiling is similarly shrouded in shadows, the corners clustered with darkness. Your head spins at the effort of your movement. Your tongue is starchy and sticky from neglect. You cough and sit up, nearly falling back against your pillow.

You don’t want to be awake. It’s so much easier to sleep. Nothing makes sense in your dreams but everything is awful in real life.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and reach for the plastic cup of stagnant water. You sip from the brim and a slam brings you back into focus. Your hand shakes and you clack the cup back on the table, turning to watch the wall as chaos erupts on the other side.

“Goddamn, Irene, get off of me. I ain’t tellin’ ya again,” the holler rolls through like thunder. “Fuckin’ skank.”

Your eyes round as your ears ring. You cover them and back up to cower against the headboard. Your lip trembles as you hear a crash followed by the shatter of glass.

“We were having fun, sweetheart,” your mother’s desperate yawl comes over the patter of her feet, “don’t go so soon, please, baby.”

“Why you actin’ like a goddamn whore?” The man snarls and you hear your mother whimper. You sniffle as you fold yourself up and push your chin down against your knee, shielding your head as if it’s you taking the blow.

“I--” your mother snivels, “I just wanna love you, hon.”

You close your eyes. Lee huffs and stomps past your door, his shadow flickering beneath. He’s just another in a line of men your mother brings around; each one as angry as the last. It always starts the same; at first, they’re nice, then you hear how they change.

“I’m too damn tired and it’s too damn late. I’ll be back when you get your head screwed on,” he retorts and hits the wall, making you jump again as the springs of your bed squeak. “And you’re a goddamn mother... should know better...”

You crouch in fear, locked up as you listen through the wall. You hear him moving around as your mother begs him to stay. You press your hands to your ears so you can’t make out her words. The front door of the apartment snaps shut and quaver out a breath.

You wait until you hear your mother retreat, herself crying, and the clink of a glass comes shortly after. You wipe your face and lift your head slowly. You won’t be able to sleep, not with your heart racing like this.

It takes all your strength to crawl across the bed and put your feet to the floor. Your stench clings to your unwashed clothes. You haven’t changed in a couple days at least. You can barely remember the last time you left your room.

You sit down in front of your computer. The metal seat of the folding chair is hard and cold, even through your pants. You squiggle your fingers over the touchpad of the outdated laptop, as thick as a book.

The screen wakes up and you key in your passcode with one finger. The wallpaper comes up, the colours stinging your eyes, and you squint as you adjust to the glare. You tap on the envelope icon to open your inbox.

At least a dozen unread emails clutter the folder. Reminders and notifications automated by your obligations and inactivity. You scroll through and delete the messages telling you to submit your assignment and noting several missed tests. At the very top, the latest of the bunch, is from a person.

Your heart sinks as you see the name and the subject line. Professor Raymond Smith, Attn: Overdue Work. God. You clutch your head and your eyes tinge once more. You don’t have enough moisture to summon any more tears. Your head pulses and your eyes itch but you can’t cry.

You shudder and make yourself look at the screen. You hover your hand over the mousepad and make yourself tap. Just one quick touch and the message opens.

The professor greets you by name. You want to dissolve into nothing. It’s easy to just be a student number on a screen but now he picks you out of the bunch and you know exactly why. You haven’t logged into the learning site in a week or more. You haven’t been able to make yourself.

‘It has come to my notice that your last tasks have gone unsubmitted. As your instructor, I am obligated to check in to see whether I can expect these assignments to be submitted for grading. As well, I would offer any support necessary for you to do so.

Please respond to this email at your convenience so we might rectify this situation. You may also schedule a meeting through my calendar linked in my signature.

Best Regards,

Professor Smith’

You cringe. How do you explain to him that this always happens? That you’re just a failure?

This was supposed to be different, but just like everything, you blew it. You thought that you could make this work. You remember the day you got your acceptance; the program is manageable and you can do it all online. You thought you were getting better but your mom stopped refilling your script and you stopped caring.

You sit, blindly staring at the screen. For an hour, maybe more, caught between shame and sadness. You can’t just run away from another thing. You take a breath and raise your hands over the keyboard. It’s just letters on a screen.

Dear Pro

Hello Professor

I apologize for not submitting my work. I will not be able to complete this course due to mental health personal reasons.

Thank you.

You read and re-read. You guess it’s good enough? You don’t know. Whatever. Just another poor excuse.

You hit send and you peek at the time. You look at the original email. It’s a bit strange the instructor would email that late. You delete the email and go back to bed, hiding under the blanket. Typical, just another stupid idea.

📓

Your head throbs as you wake up. You’ve slept too much. Nothing different than usual but you haven’t left bed for more than a couple minutes at a time. Your skull feels ready to cave in and swells with each movement.

You get up, stumbling as you find your bearings, shuffling to your door and into the hall. You go into the bathroom. It’s a mess, like usual. Your mother’s clothes are on the floor and a man’s razor is on the edge of the sink. Is he here again?

You relieve yourself and flush, washing your hands then your face. You should probably shower while you’re in there. You lift your arm and confirm the need. You stink and your clothes are damp with your sweat.

You undress and crank on the faucet. You step into the grimy booth behind the counter as the water splashes down cold and slowly warms in the whining pipes. You shiver and let it cleanse you as much as it can.

You squeeze out some of the discount soap that smells like a hospital and scrub yourself as the air steams around you. You hear an odd creak then the plastic of the toilet seat hitting the porcelain tank. What the heck?

You grab the edge of the curtain and peek around it, smearing lather along the plastic. It’s opaque enough to blue your silhouette but not completely hide you. That man, Lee, belches as he holds his dick and pisses. He looks over and smirks.

“Ah, sorry, darling, didn’t know you were in here,” he chuckles and turns straight, leaning to brace the wall as he sighs, “goddamn, my balls are tight.”

You pop back behind the curtain and grimace. Ew. It’s not the first time you’ve had an awkward run in with one of your mother’s suitors, for lack of a better term, but no less jarring than any other. You shut off the water and back up, reaching past the other end of the curtain to grab the towel.

Something closes around your wrist and has you yelping. You cling to the curtain, staying behind it as Lee tugs on you.

“Don’t needa be shy, darlin’,” he tries to drag you out, “doubt it’s much different than your mama.”

You try to yank back but he’s too strong. You slip and barely save yourself as you grab onto the towel bar. You cry out, “let go! Please!”

He squeezes and you wince, pressed against the curtain as your knees buckle. Your soles are slippery on the wet tile. You whine and whimper, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s a knock at the door and he lets you go. You quickly pull free the towel and hide in the shower to wrap your body in it. You don’t think it’s clean.

“Everything okay?” The door groans with your mother’s entry.

“Ah, I’m just tryna piss and your daughter’s making all sorts of fuss,” he scoffs and flushes the toilet, “like she ain’t never seen a real man before.”

“Oh, Lee, you shoulda let her finish--”

“What’s the big deal, she was in the shower,” he deflects, “you know I ain’t her for that brat.”

You pant and lean against the wall, veins coursing with adrenaline. Your mother grumbles as they leave. You feel the draught of the open door and warily sidle out from behind the curtain. You gather your clothes and check that the coast is clear and find your way back to your room.

You pull on a fresh hoodie and your least dirty pair of sweats. You need to do laundry desperately. You need to do a lot of things. Your computer bings as if to agree with that sentiment.

You sit down at the table and stare at your laptop. The folding plastic thing has barely enough room for that and your notebook. You sigh. All you do is sigh. Everything is just a disappointment. You have nothing but trash around you and you fit right in.

You open the lid and login. You could watch that play through of the new fantasy game you can’t afford. Or you just break that damn thing. You have an email.

You don’t click on it right away. Instead, you scroll through a subreddit on an obscure television show you streamed on Youtube. All the posts are years old and the place is dead. If you’re good at anything, it’s avoidance.

Finally, your anxiety knots tight enough for you to do something. You close your browser and open Outlook. You make a strange noise as you see the response to the email you sent days ago. Or by your estimation. You scratch your neck until the skin burns.

You work at deleting the spam from your inbox before you’re forced to face the Re:

You click and read with trepidation. Again, the professor addresses you by name.

‘I understand that you are dealing with personal obligations. Considering how far we are in this course, I would like to allow you the opportunity to complete it successfully. If the current workload is too much, we can discuss alternatives to meet the learning objectives.

I would prefer that we have this conversation face-to-face. If you would like explore your options, please use the link below to meet with me on Tuesday at noon. Please confirm here and I look forward to meeting and speaking with you then.

Also let me know if I can do anything else.

Professor Smith’

You want to melt into nothing. You want to evaporate from existence. You want to just keel over and die. How embarrassing!

You want to delete it a forget. You want to say now and through everything away. You want to go back to how you’ve always been. You want to be a slug in the dirt. You want to stop hoping because it only ever ends like this.

But you can’t. You hit the trash button but then you can’t help but stretch your fingertips between CTRL and Z. The message reappears and you read it again and again and again. It feels like this is the moment. This is the big decision you make; is your life always going to be like this or are you going to try?

You hit reply.

‘Thank you, Professor Smith. I will meet you on Tuesday. I appreciate your understanding and I will do better.’

Your eyes blur as you move the cursor over the little arrow. You take a breath and tap your fingertips. That’s that, then.

#raymond smith #a guiding hand #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #professor au #the gentlemen #raymond smith x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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melljam · 1 month ago

Text

oh my god the unimpressed stare that shingen and gitae give when an opponent tries to attack them with something that fails miserably

shingen’s depressed little glance down at the blade that has just pathetically embedded itself into his skin as if that even does anything because his bones are genuinely impenetrable since he is quite literally built different

gitae’s mildly annoyed side eye at the officers for daring to believe that tasing him would work when they should have somehow known that he’s also just built different and would not even be stopped from committing axe murder if lightning struck him ten times over

ALSO these two are the type that gets excited over something/someone that can actually threaten their lives because of how used to being The Strongest™ they are

its such a shounen villain problem to have. sigh, another entirely boring and unfulfilling day of being the Strongest Guy Ever. when will someone who can actually contend with me come along to usurp my position as The Strongest™ :(

and shingen has experienced That with gap … now he longs for it again because he’s 1. depressed that he lost and 2. depressed that no one else can measure up to gap

their fight truly was the most important part of shingen’s life … unlike the birth of his many sons (or the very existence of one gun), which comparatively means Nothing to shingen

and gitae??? well, it could be argued that he might have just been annoyed at the officers for interrupting his fight, but that also means that he was enjoying his fight with jichang at least a little

but not in the same sense that shingen enjoyed his fight with gap. it was more like gitae was toying with jichang, and he found it amusing because of how easy it was

he’s so strong that he doesn’t even have to try with the strongest king. gitae can just mess with the poor guy until he decides to put him out of his weak misery when it stops being fun (which was when jichang rejected his offer to be his very own Smart Guy and it seemed to hurt gitae’s ego lol)

and after cop interruption, making jichang promise to let gitae be the one to kill him later on??? such a hilariously emasculating thing to do, like, we already know who’s winning our fight and it’s me so don’t even bother trying. just reserve yourself to die by my hand later, kthxbye <3

(jichang would not be able to uphold that promise, so i guess he was able to defy gitae in another way of his own …?)

or gitae’s teased fight with sinu. sinu went all out because he wasn’t taking any chances with another threat to big deal’s existence, and gitae got DISTRACTED in the middle of it. like, yeah your speed is cool and all but is that my dead father? oh, wait no! it’s my half-brother!

both jichang and sinu gave it their all to fight against someone who threatened themselves and their people, and gitae easily brushed them off but gave them an A for Effort !!!

shingen and gitae* must be somewhat bored with fighting when there are so few opponents that could actually compare to them in terms of strength. winning so easily almost makes it a menial chore for them. its the epitome of suffering from success lol

*it applies more to shingen than gitae though, gitae seems like he has the time of his life effortlessly messing around with weaker opponents, a predator playing with its prey

are they seeking something exciting, to flirt with the adrenaline rush of death because the safety of life has just gotten too dull for them?

to bring it back to the original point of the post: the ease of fighting must make the activity so underwhelming now. it becomes disappointing enough to produce such unconcerned expressions to injuries/attacks that would threaten an average person’s life

#☆#lookism #lookism spoilers #kinda long post #analysis #yes i am aware of how homoerotic this became #fellas is it gay to long for another man to beat you up so you can feel alive again #surely not …#fighting junkie characters addicted to the Thrill are so fun when theyre in a slump because theyre painfully bored and crave a good beating #although for shingen it seems more like a matter of pride #and as for gitae … he’s just Violent and sadistic i think #shingen yamazaki #gitae kim

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

Text

Creep Yan meets the sweet angel that is Clown Darling-

It was an accident. They swear it to their grave.

A left instead of a right somewhere down the twisting, spacious corridors of the convention center. They could've sworn they followed the receptionist's directions down to the letter, but playing back her voice in their head they're starting to believe she just made up whatever she could to get them to leave. What should have led them to the hall holding the annual concert for their favorite idol group had in actuality brought them to a another venue with an entirely different type of star.

The clown's smiling face was plastered on every wall. Children and young adults of all ages walked in hand with their guardians wearing the same face paint or best imitation of the entertainers outfit they could readily obtain. There were others closer to their age, but none as out of their element as them. Collectors exchanging priceless goods: bonding over favorite moments from what sounds to be a show. Is this what they're like with people who share the same interests? When they're apart of the crowd it feels normal, but how could a kid's show have such an effect on grown adults? They feel like such an outcast - and they know others know they are too. They can hear the words behind every stare throw at them.

"What are they doing in here...."

"Creeps like that are exactly what it's difficult to bring kids to public events."

"Freak."

They stumble through the booths, searching desperately for the exit they lost sight of shortly before realizing where they were. Tears obscure their vision as they collapse next to a row of chairs left out for guests. The concert had to have started by now and at this raise they'll never make it before the doors close. They finally had the chance to see their favorite group in person and now it was gone. Why did they ever think the universe would give them a opportunity for better after an eternity of hell. At this rate it would be better to just go home....

Hic....hic...

Soft cries bellow from the body sitting next to them. They wipe at their eyes with a striped handkerchief, careful not to smudge their face paint. From their mismatch shoes to their brightly colored clothes it was easy to pin them as another cosplayer, but there was something more... authentic about their wear. They cry silently into their hands without spilling a tear.

"Are....are you okay?"

The clown looks up at them, sighing heavily. "Oh, I'm alright. I'm just sad because you're sad. I've seen so many happy faces today and you're the first I've seen upset. It's enough to bring a tear to anyone's eye."

They tighten grip the strap of their bag. "I... can go somewhere else..."

"No, no!" The clown bounces to their feet and takes their hands - startling them. "I'm not saying that because I want you to go away. I'm saying that because I want to make you feel better, silly! Why don't we start with you telling me what's wrong?"

"It's nothing.... You don't want to hear about stuff like that it's depressing."

"Hm... can I at least try to make you happier?"

"You can try..."

"Great! Repeat after me."

The clown clears their throat as they kneel.

"When I'm feeling lonely, or think I just might frown. I think think a thought that means a lot and then I feel less down.

The clown's smile reaches the painted circles on their cheeks. "Its the song I teach all my new friends. Now you try!"

"When I'm feeling lonely...."

"Or think I just might frown."

"I think a thought that means a lot."

"And then I feel less down." The clown squeals as they clap they hands together. "Yay! You did it! And very well if I may add. How do you feel now?"

They pause for a moment, lips moist as they think about their mother's chocolate cake. There's still a slice left in their fridge. "A little better...."

"Now, tell me a thought that makes you feel better."

"Well... I really like listening to music...." Their smile is gone as soon as it came. "I actually came to see a concert today, but I got lost...."

"Concert? You mean like those sweet girls next door? Haha, you can hear them right through the walls? I guess it is difficult with all the screaming kids. Come on, I'll take you!"

They place their ear against the wall. Sure enough, music and the roars of the crowd blare through the structure. They cup their hands around their ears to hear better and decipher if their favorite song has already played - yanked from their seat before they can properly make out a single note.

"Come on, Come on!"

The clown giggles, clutching their hand as they skip and excuse their way through the crowd - promising younger guests their full attention upon their return with a quick hug and a free sticker. It's all the time the person they drag with them has to recuperate before being pulled along again.

"Wait... please... I can't...."

"We're here!"

Catching their breath, they look up to see the still open doors of the concert hall as people pour in and out. The bouncers stop a few of them to inform them of the doors' closing in five minutes. They made it... They actually made it... Tears of happiness catch in their lashes, sweeped away by a striped cloth.

"Are you still sad? I know you missed the opening act, there's still more..."

"No... These are happy tears... Thank you.. Thank you!"

The clown's laughter reaches the deepest depths their heart. "Anything for a friend! Come see me again if you're ever in any trouble..... Oh! I almost forgot something!"

The clown reaches into their pocket and pulls out a small, plastic badge. They pass it over to their new friend who inspects the smiling rainbow and letters engraved into it.

"Y/n the clown's helper of the day."

"That's a little token I give to the best of my little helpers..." The clown lends in, covering their mouth with one hand as they whisper. "Don't tell the kids - I give one to everybody."

They reach into their bag, grabbing their wallet. The clown quickly stops them.

"It's free, Silly! If you wanna pay me back, just have a good time, okay?"

The clown winks before walking off back to their hall - but not before passing out stickers to the bouncers who thank them for it and the water bottles they brought earlier. The dumbfounded individual they leave behind looks down at their hand - then the open doors of the concert hall. They sheepishly reenter the venue they came from, approaching the first merch with physical discs they see.

"Hello, I'd like to buy a copy of all available seasons you have."

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere #yandere blurb #clown reader #yandere drabble

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wizzdot · 12 days ago

Text

Sunshine

Description: just an idea I had. Might make it a series. Might not. Reader’s callsign is “Ray”. TW - Reader is depressed and has been through some shit.

Not decided who I’m going to make the main love interest, if anyone at all. Hell, not even decided if it’s worth continuing. Hit me up with ideas if you like what you read…

The rain hammers against the living room window. The window of your shitty, little rented flat in a dodgy, shitty area. It was cheap though. And it was a roof -albeit a temperamental, leaky one - over your head.

It was your decision, after all. You could still be slaving away as a soldier. Giving your all, with no reward. What had you even been fighting for, anyway? Oh yeah! Arrogant men wanting to play a game of chess with your life. Nah. You’d choose your shit flat and shit job, thanks.

The bottle of cheap wine looks real nice right about now, what with the rain not letting up. But you hadn’t done a food shop for two weeks, and you’d used your last packet of instant noodles last night. Shit.

Your jacket is still damp from this morning, you notice, feeling regretful for not hanging it up over the radiator as you zip it up. It’s not as if you allow yourself the expense of using the central heating anyway. You tuck the stray bits of hair, that were poking out, underneath the hood and brace yourself.

“Once more into the void” you tut lamely to yourself, before stepping into the rain, on the hunt for dinner. ‘Goin’ fuckin’ mad, talking to myself now’ you roll your eyes at the voice in your head, sick to the back teeth of your failing life.

The familiar, chipped door of the local corner shop jingles as you enter. You stamp the wet off of your boots on the dirty mat at the door, not that it made a jot of difference to the trail of wet you left in your wake.

“Hello you!” Ravi, the (overly) cheery, elderly shopkeeper shouts. I nod, sending a tight lipped smile in response to his greeting. “This rain, eh! It’s pouring down! Madness out there!” his accented voice says chattily, as you try to disappear behind a shelving unit stacked with tinned soups.

“Yeah, mad” you grit out, monotonously.

“Chatty as always, eh?” - “yep” good god, please stop talking to me! Not in the mood..

You grab two tins of soup, and three 29p noodle packets and head back to the counter to pay. Ravi scans your selection through and looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, awaiting something else. You sigh. “The norm, Ravi, if you will” you say. “Thought you might have quit! Bad vice to have, a young thing like you..”

You choose to ignore that comment, as he slides the packet of cigarettes over the counter. “£16.49”. You pull the slightly soggy twenty from your pocket and hand it over and he quickly counts your change and you’re on your way, the ding of the shop door sounding your departure.

The rain has somehow worsened, so you decide to run the mile and a half back to your flat, pissed off that you’d had to put any effort in, whatsoever. You’ve kept your fitness levels up since your military days. You huff a laugh at your own expense. Knew the morning jogs before work were worth while.. you think to yourself.

Work. Fuck. You’d not finished until 5am this morning, hence the wet jacket. Drunkards had crawled in after winning the football match, refusing to leave until gone 3am, and leaving a shit tonne of mess behind that needed cleaned up. You got decent tips though. Tips that your landlord would snatch off of you thanks to the fact that you were a month behind on rent payments. Easy come easy go, you thought to yourself, as you jog back to the flat.

You get back in record time but halt abruptly when you reach the door. The rain has, by this point, soaked completely through your jacket, but something else has caught your attention. The door handle (which lost its spring a while ago) is slanted down. Someone has visited while you’ve been gone.

“Fuck” you whisper to yourself, before quietly shoving the pack of cigs down your bra to try and keep them dry, and gently stacking the tins and packs of noodles into your post box, for safe keeping, while you investigate..

On second thoughts..

You grab one tin, and carry it as a weapon. Just in case, right? Old habits die hard…

You step in, silently, and notice the wet footprints leading to the kitchen. They weren’t even trying to be subtle, what the actual fuck?!

Slinking towards the kitchen, acting every bit the trained operative that you once were, you round the corner, ready to beat the intruder to ever lasting shit with your soup can, when your eyes meet something - or someone, for that matter - that draws the breathe from your lungs.

“Get out” you all but growl.

The intruder huffs a confident laugh.

“You’ve not changed much, apparently.. a ‘hello’ would be polite, Ray” the figure, with their back turned, lounging on your one remaining wooden chair, that you use to hang your washing on to dry, teases.

“I don’t go by Ray anymore. Now, get out” you spit, marching back to the door to grab your remaining tin of soup and packs of noodles, no longer threatened by the unknown, but instead, utterly pissed off at the fact they’re wasting your time.. You return to the kitchen, intruder still unmoved, and slam the tins down on the counter to try and convey the fact that they weren’t welcome..

“You’ve got about 10 seconds..” you warn.

“Until…?”

“Until I call your superior..”

“He knows I’m here..”

“I’ll call his superior, then” I threaten.

“You’ll call Kate? T’was her decision to send me..”

“Look, Lieutenant. I don’t give a single, steaming shit about whatever it is that you’ve gotten yourselves caught up in, this time. And if you think I want to be involved, you’re heavily mistaken. And it’s laughable that Kate chose you to try and retrieve me.. didn’t even think to send Gaz…? The only one of you wankers that I actually, borderline, tolerated?” You laugh bitterly.

“I really mean it, Ghost. Get out.” you practically spit his callsign, wanting him to understand that you really weren’t considering his, yet unspoken, offer.

“We’d have sent Gaz…” he pauses “but he’s broken. So I’ll have to do…”

Your stomach drops at that and Ghost almost almost sees the break in your facade.

*18 months earlier*

You’d gone through your entire military career with Gaz by your side. You’d class Gim has a friend, even though you were detached and fairly closed off. He was always determined to bring down your walls.

The pair of you were eventually split up when he was headhunted for the formidable taskforce, the 141. You didn’t see him for months, maybe even over a year, until your unit, which you labelled as ‘the Donkeys’, because they were all so shit, crossed paths with the 141 in Russia.

You, and Shepherd, you came to find out, who had been acting as the temporary commanding officer, visiting from America on a joint op, were the only survivors, not that Gaz knew.

The 141 didn’t stick around to check how us Donkeys got on. Just left us behind to do the grunt work, while they, along with Shepherd, moved on. Yeah. Still a bit bitter about that…

Mission accomplished, in their eyes. Necessary losses and all that.. the Donkeys were just collateral for them.. you included.

You returned to base, under your own steam, injured and forced to practically hitchhike back from Russia. When you limped back through the base security, flashing the dented dog tags, confirming that you were, in fact one of them, you were hailed a miracle.

Laswell called within the hour of your miraculous return and wanted to promote you to Lieutenant of your new unit, of strangers, that you’d yet to even meet. Hell, you were even ready for active duty, with your injuries. You decided that it was all for show. Or out of pity… you guessed that, seeing as the rest of the donkeys, and the existing Lieutenant, had been killed, they needed a replacement.

The day of the ceremony rolled around a couple of weeks after, the big names in the SAS, in their fancy suits covered in silverware and ribbons, turned up, to ramble on about what important work you’d all been doing and rewarding medals to hundreds of other soldiers. It was all bullshit.

When it was your turn to receive your medal of distinguished bravery, and to solidify your promotion to the rank of Lieutenant, you stepped up to the stage slowly, and glanced around at the huge crowd, dressed in their formal uniforms, and caught eyes with them. The 141. Gaz was smiling at you, sending a thumbs up your way, mouthing ‘proud of you!’ toward the stage.

You furrowed your brow, thoughts running rampant in your head. Proud of what, exactly? Proud that my entire unit were wiped from existence? Proud that, for some reason, I came back to base?

You froze on the stage. You don’t know for how long. You just remember gulping, trying to make your inner voice shut the fuck up.

Autopilot took over for a few seconds, and you step forward again, towards the important guy, holding the medals and sashes. “Y/n y/l/n. I present to you…” all you hear is your name, and then his muffled voice.

You take one final glance around the ceremony, and take the Lieutenant badge from the silver tray, earning a few gasps from shocked spectators.

“Fuck your promotion. I quit”

And you left the stage, head held high, and walk away. Away from the SAS. Away from the chess game of life. Away from the danger and greed of those in charge. You were done. Even the donkeys didn’t deserve their fate. They were someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone’s brother. And they were gone. Without a second glance. But they were oh so thankful for their service, right?

Bullshit.

Canon fodder. That’s all you were sent in for that day.

Pawns to be banished from the board for the next step of the game. Bigger picture. Greater good. All that grandiose bullshit.

You remembered rushing to your old room at the barracks and hastily packing whatever you had left. Hoping you’d be gone before someone detained you. Surely what you’d done was some sort of illegal, right?

What you didn’t expect was for Gaz and his Captain to come knocking on your door.

“Y/n? You in there..?”

“Piss off, Garrick” you snapped in reply.

“Soldier, open the door” the Captain’s, you’d assumed, rough voice commanded.

“Sorry Cap” you popped the P, immaturely, “no can do, don’t take orders anymore, remember? I quit..”

There was one heavy crash at the door, followed by some splintering sounds of wood, and then the Captain, followed by a sheepish looking Gaz, invited themselves into your room.

“Ray, is it? You don’t need to do this... You’re a valuable asset. You have so much to offer. I’ve read your file. You show a lot of promise. Garrick, here, backs that up. Says you and he came through the ranks together, said that you were the only one who could beat him in your year. Is that true?”

You kept your back to the men, continuing to blatantly ignore them and stuff your belongings into bags.

“You don’t have to rush, Ray. I have my other two men blocking the hallway”.

You remember furrowing your brow at that, not that he could see. Why was he protecting you? Why was he being… nice… about it?

“All due respect, Captain, but I’m out. Done. Finished. Yeah? Understood? I’d love to think up some more words to try and get through to you, but I need to get off base asap, before I’m detained. Hell, they’ll probably decide that what I just did is some sort of war crime. Now.. if you’ll excuse me..” you said, pushing past the men and out of the door.

“Ray!” Gaz shouted.

“Here, at least take this..” he presented his wallet.

“Help you find somewhere, yeah?”

You recall being caught off guard at his offer before nodding, sending a tight lipped smile his way.

“Thank you”

*now*

That was the last interaction you’d had with Kyle Garrick. Probably the last act of kindness thrust upon you since, hell, since you can remember...

And now his Lieutenant is in your shitty little flat, that Gaz’s money helped pay the deposit for, telling you that he is hurt.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the scraping of the chair against the wooden floor, and the massive Lieutenant, skull covered face and all, standing from said chair, his head practically touching the ceiling light.

“I’ll pass on your regards to Gaz” he grumbles, heading to the door. “Enjoy your soup, Ray.”

You wait until his back is turned and he is out of earshot, before gulping and scratching your damp hair. I hope Gaz is ok.. I - I wonder why they’ve came to me..? What the hell has happened..

More thoughts run through your head, and the squeak of the springless door handle jolts you again. Christ, hasn’t he gone yet..? He’s taking his time..

“Good bye, Ray. Trackers in the wallet. If you want to disappear again” Ghost speaks quietly, as if to himself, before stepping out into the curtain of rain.

Your eyes flash back and forth, furrowed brow. That slimy little prick, they’ve known where I was this entire time.. probably kept an eye on me.. what the actual fuck..

You rush to the door, opening it and seeing the Lieutenants broad figure stalking away into the darkness, the splashing of his steps the only thing you can hear over the pounding rain hitting the street.

“How hurt is he...” I shout into the darkness.

You don’t see, but Ghost smirks under his balaclava, before turning to face you.

“He’s not taking visitors, Ray. Let’s leave it at that..”

Cunt. Fucking bastard. He knows what he’s doing. Dangling a piece of string in front of a cat..

You growl.

“Arghh! FINE. Fuckin’. Fuckin’ FINE. You win. You happy? You fucking win, Lieutenant. Give me 5 minutes..”

He smirks again, and this time you swear you can see the smugness shine through his eyes. It won’t take you long to pack anyway. Not like you’ve unpacked in the 18 months you’ve been here.

You rush back into the flat and grab the two loaded rucksacks, untouched since you left base for the, what you thought would be, final time. You grab the door handle, and rush back to grab your tins of soup and noodles. Oh - and the wine!

What? It’s a waste not to use them..

You join Ghost back on the street.

“Welcome back, Ray..” the Lieutenant says in a cocky voice.

“Don’t call me that” you snap, bitterly.

“Need to have a name, woman. You’re the newest member of taskforce 141…”

“Piss off…” is all you can muster for the time being.

You wrap your soaked jacket, tighter around your body, and pray that the cigarettes in your bra are still dry.

You’re gonna need them…

#john mctavish x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #task force x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #tf 141 #141 x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod oc #fic rec #my fic

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fl100r · 2 months ago

Text

✦𝘾𝙀𝙇𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙇 𝘼𝘿𝙈𝙄𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 ✦

||ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏᴜ x ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇꜱꜱ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ||

・┆✦ʚ Chapter 1 ɞ✦ ┆・

"𝙄 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩"

"𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙒𝙝𝙮?.."

"𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩. 𝙙𝙪𝙙𝙚"

༻✦༺ ༻✧༺༻✦༺༻✦༺

Bakugou is so depressed after war shi happen so god game happen to him too, meet a gyatt goddess wow fell in love real? or cap?

{ Slowburn }

tw: Violence, rape.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣

Two days had passed since the War of Ravager's Crusade. Returning to his kingdom, Bakugou saw the ashes and broken homes of once-smiling children and families, now reduced to rotten, burned bodies beneath the rubble of their own homes. He felt a deep disappointment in himself for failing to protect his kingdom, even after promising his parents he would continue their legacy and be like his mother, the Queen of the Crimson Bones. He had lost everything he swore to uphold, and now he lay in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Hopeless and unsure of what to do, the realization hit him hard: his army, his village, his kingdom, his family-they were all gone. A tear rolled down his cheek, landing on his wrinkled, rough bed. He cried quietly, his sobbing filled with regret. He longed for revenge but felt utterly useless.

Katsuki Bakugou, the Crimson Warrior, was supposed to win this war, but instead, he had lost the souls of those who loved and admired him. He had managed to kill the leader of the Crab Clan without magic, which was impressive enough on its own.

Wait... magic. Magic had been forbidden in his kingdom. His mother had outlawed it, believing that no one should rely on the "easy way out to victory." She felt that those who used raw strength alone were worthy of respect and honor, with the sole exception of healing magic, which was revered for its usefulness.

But now... maybe he could use magic to bring some of his people back. The bodies weren't too far gone yet. Dark magic could be the key.

Bakugou quickly rushed to his library, searching frantically for dark magic spells.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧Meanwhile... At The Abyssal Sanctum (Y/N's Realm).. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ . ⋅ ˚̣- : .

"Y/N, you've got to stop your people from using your magic to revive the dead! Ugh! People in heaven are starting to disappear. We don't want our world to overpopulate!" An angelic but rough voice shouted angrily. It was Azariel.

"Erm... you're overreacting, dude. It's just a couple of people. It's not like a billion people got revived," you replied, unbothered by Azariel's concern and his constant ranting about the "overpopulation theory."

"My point still stands! Oh, Great Heavens, you infuriate me! Please get rid of the spell, since you and your family invented dark magic! YOUR MAGIC IS SINFUL AND EVIL!" he yelled, stomping away angrily, clearly annoyed by your stubbornness, and slammed your enchanted, huge doors behind him.

"It's just reviving, though. What harm does reviving someone cause? And sinful and evil? Alright, buddy, my magic doesn't have morality... it just is what it is," you muttered, feeling annoyed. He kept complaining about people showing up in heaven almost every day, which was apparently tiring for him. Then, when people used your magic to bring loved ones back, he complained about that too? It didn't make any sense.

While you were deep in thought, your doors suddenly burst open. Your best friend came rushing in, beaming with excitement.

"Oh~ HERE COMES THE GODDESS OF LOVE! WORSHIP ME, AND THERE'S A 50/50 CHANCE YOU WON'T DIE ALONE! Heheh! Y/N! GUESS WHO'S GONNA BE THE HOST OF THIS YEAR'S 500TH ANNIVERSARY GAME!" Koemi cheered, her happiness radiating.

"It's you. I know," you replied, unamused.

"Oh..." Koemi's tone dropped, sounding disappointed by your flat response.

"You could've maybe pretended.. To not know.. Jeez you always like this even when we were mortals." Koemi said annoyed.

"What? I'm stating something that I think is correct based on your reaction Dumbass."

"Okay.. Okay anyway you already know I'm gonna be the one who host this game event, so I've been thinking maybe we can bring the mortals into our little game. Can you guess why?.." Koemi said excitedly.

"We're gonna invite them to tea or something?..." Y/N said, still unimpressed.

Koemi huffed in annoyance. "You've known me since diapers in the mortal world. Jeez, it's like I'm a character introduced in your story mode, but the most forgotten character ever... Anyway, no. I have an idea! So, we do this game event where we pick our mortals-without looking into their past or future-and then make them fight for a single wish! A wish that can grant anything! Like, really anything! They can even join us as a god! What do you think?" Koemi asked, excitement bubbling in her voice. She eagerly awaited Y/N's opinion, even though deep down, she expected something simple-yet sharp-that would probably hurt her feelings.

"Okay that's good." That's it? You fucking piece of shit koemi said in her mind. Well it's fine anyway she's your best friend and she acts like this its fine! Koemi said in her mind, rambling about Y/N and her friendship, lost in her thoughts now.

"Soo.. When will the games begin? Since were gonna pick our own mortals whats the rules? We can pick any mortals right? So some of the gods can just pick someone who' better than everyone else and win the final fight"

Y/N said questioning Koemi ideas if she got a planned for those will use this advantage to just win unfairly in the event.

"Well here are rules of course!" As Koemi make a contract appear out of thin air with her magic,

(If you can't read it)

Welcome to an intense and fiery competition where mortals are subjected to extreme conditions and trials. Selected by the gods, these mortals, driven by lofty ambitions and desires for greatness, will face a crucible of challenges designed to test their determination and resourcefulness. The gods watch from their celestial thrones, relishing the spectacle as these chosen mortals confront their destinies. The gods and goddesses who participate in this grand event shall be rewarded handsomely for their involvement.

Rules and Regulations:

No Handpicking Mortals: Deities are strictly prohibited from personally selecting mortals for participation. The selection process must be predicated upon a divine trait or power inherent to the gods, ensuring that mortals are chosen based on their intrinsic qualities or motivations aligned with the deity's domain.

No Assistance Beyond Emotional Support:Gods are forbidden from utilizing their divine powers to aid mortals directly or indirectly. Any form of intervention, be it through supernatural influence, guidance, or manipulation, is prohibited. Only emotional support, such as encouragement or moral fortitude, is permitted.

No Manipulation of Mortal Trials: The divine entities must refrain from altering or manipulating the trials and challenges faced by the mortals. The integrity of the competition must remain unblemished, with each trial designed to test the mortals' innate qualities without divine interference.

No Breach of Confidentiality: The gods must maintain absolute confidentiality regarding any internal deliberations or decisions pertaining to the selection and challenges faced by the mortals. Any unauthorized disclosure of such information to the participants or external entities is strictly forbidden.

Punishment for Breach of Rules: Gods or goddesses who violate these rules shall be subjected to the most severe of divine punishments. The offending deity will be exiled from their divine realm and cast into a void of endless darkness, where they shall experience the profound isolation and despair of being cut off from divine powers and companionship.

-Koemi Ramírez.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚.

"bravo.. The goddess of Love and Lust actually thinks for once!"

Koemi's face expresses just 😐. "Sorry. I know you're not the goddess of lust only love.. Just a joke.. Anyway let me see the contract.." Y/N said as she reads it. "Make sure to signed it if you want to join the game!" Koemi said.

"Alright that looks good, I signed it. Did you already have other gods signed it?" Y/N asked

"I did just now-almost all of them have signed it!" Koemi said enthusiastically. "Anyway, I've got to find my mortal! Good wishes and love to you, my dear friend! You won't die alone-"

Before she could finish, Y/N snapped her fingers, and Koemi vanished from the realm with a soft pop.

Y/N let out a sigh, shaking their head with a wry smile. "Good luck with that, Koemi." She muttered to the empty space left behind, the air still crackling with the remnants of the goddess's departure.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . Meanwhile... Katsuki Bakugou. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒

"Fuck... I can't find anything in this damn library. I want my people back..." Bakugou muttered as he stood up, the chair creaking as it was pushed by his back. He walked through the empty hallways of what was once a lively and grand castle. Now, it lay in ruins, with rubble scattered around and burned curtains and carpets.

"Goddamn it... Why couldn't I just... protect them? They played dirty with me. I've searched through every book, but not one is related to dark magic..." Bakugou sighed, his eyebrows furrowing deeper, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness.

He stopped in front of a large mirror in the long, desolate hallway, gazing at the scars and burn marks that littered his body. He stared at his reflection, seeing someone tired and stressed-every word in the definition of exhaustion and depression. Once a great king, now... someone entirely useless.

"I should leave this place... The food here is stale. I can't survive another day without eating properly." Bakugou packed quickly, determined to leave the place he once called home, vowing not to return until he could restore honor and bring back the souls and bodies of his people.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, he heard a rustle in the bushes behind him. He gripped his axe, ready for anything, but kept walking forward.

"WAH! GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!" A creature with purple balls for a head leapt out at him. Bakugou swung his axe, purposely missing, the blade landing beside the creature.

"OH SHIT!-YOU! OUH MY GAWD-Y-Y-YOUR MAJESTY! UH, UH... SORRY! I THOUGHT YOU WERE THAT HOMELESS MAN WHO STOLE MY SILVER COINS, SIR!" The creature immediately dropped to his knees and bowed before Bakugou.

"Tch..." Bakugou scoffed, placing his axe back on his shoulder as he continued his journey.

"Mineta, buddy! You done yet? Did you kill that homeless man? It's getting dark-Oh! Hey, stranger. Did my buddy scare ya? Sorry, dude!" A yellow-haired man walked into the scene just as Bakugou was about to head toward the nearby town, which seemed to be having a festival.

Bakugou walked past the two boys toward the town. As he entered through the open gates, he noticed people celebrating. Decorations hung from house to house, and in the middle of the town stood a statue of someone, though Bakugou couldn't really see it due to the crowd. He made his way around the large crowd and headed for the food area.

"Ah! Hello, young man! Would you like to buy some bread? I've got all types-never old, only fresh!" the bread seller joyfully exclaimed.

Bakugou remained quiet as he picked a freshly baked loaf.

"Young man, I'm guessing you're not from around here, hmm?" the man asked.

Bakugou nodded. "What are you people celebrating?" he asked, his tone curious but still rough.

"Ah! We're celebrating our goddess, Koemi Ramírez.-the goddess of love. She lived in this town 500 years ago, but she left on a journey to gain more power and to help the people here. That's all I know... If you want to kno-"

Bakugou left, placing a block of gold on the man's counter before he could finish. He moved on to another food stall, buying more food. He didn't know exactly where he was heading after leaving, but his goal remained clear: to find a dark magic user or learn dark magic himself.

"Hey, well if it isn't the Goated Man! Hey, uh... can I get some bread?" the yellow-haired man asked, but was immediately cut off.

"Denki, you didn't help with the festival decorations, or anything really... No aid, no gain for you. Wait... is that how the kids say it these days? Hm... Anyway, no, get outta here," the bread seller replied.

"Can you at least tell me who that was? I bumped into him once near the woods after Mineta lost his coins because of a homeless man. He looks pretty tough! Is he a royal?" Denki asked.

"No idea, well just ask him. Anyway, move along, you rogue thief. Heh!" the bread seller laughed.

Denki rolled his eyes playfully and followed the man with ash-blonde hair.

"Hey! Your Majesty!" Bakugou ignored the sudden yelling behind him-on purpose.

"Can't you hear me?! Hey!!..." The footsteps grew closer. "Hey, Your Majesty! Hehe, sorry for interrupting your shopping, but can you please help-wait, hey man! Stop walking past me! Okay! Wait, I have something you're looking for!"

Bakugou stopped in his tracks and looked back at the yellow-haired man. The man pulled out a medium-sized diamond.

"Isn't this yours? Hmm?" the man said.

Bakugou glanced at the diamond, then back at the man's eyes. "Yeah. Get lost."

The man was shocked. He had stolen a precious, medium-sized diamond from him, and those things were very valuable-at least to people like him.

"Please, I'm Denki Kaminari, the Rogue of this town! You can trust me! Tell me what you want! I really need your help!" Denki pleaded with Bakugou.

"Ugh. Find me a dark magic user, or give me a book with dark magic spells."

Denki was stunned. Dark magic... It was ancient and illegal in many towns, cities, and kingdoms. He couldn't find something like that.

"...uh... Hm, I can't find you a dark magic book, but-"

"Ugh, of course..." Bakugou scoffed.

"B-but! I can lead you to someone who knows more about magic. Maybe there's a chance they have a dark magic book or know a user!"

Bakugou glanced at the dunce-faced man.

"Just help me with something... And I'll lead you to the person! Deal?" Offering a hand to Katsuki, Bakugou hesitated. "Fine.. what is it? as they both shook hands.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟMeanwhile... At The Sanctum of Eternity｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ

"Azariel, did you find your mortal yet?" Y/N asked.

"Why do you care? Since you don't care about the mortal world..." Azariel replied, a touch of annoyance in his voice.

Y/N rolled her eyes but then smirked. "Yeah, you're right, dude. I don't really care about the mortal world, even when we were mortals ourselves," Y/N said playfully, trying to annoy Azariel on purpose. Even though she was a goddess, being immortal could get pretty boring fast.

"Sigh... Did you find yours yet?" Azariel asked, referring to Y/N's own mortal puppet.

"Found what?"

"I-no, I hate you. You know exactly what I'm referring to, Y/N," he responded, filled with annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah, no. Not yet at least... I thought there'd be more people using dark magic who are worthy of my attention."

"What about the people who worship you?" Azariel asked.

Y/N stared at him as if he had offered his own beating heart on a plate. Y/N might as well have eaten it.

"Hell no. I don't want more people worshipping me," Y/N said.

Azariel looked shockingly confused. "Wait, what? I thought you-"

"What? You think my family and I invented so many dark spells and stuff because we love being worshipped? That's just racist to us creatures. Plus, some of us actually want to die-some of us are pretty much suicidal," Y/N said.

A portal suddenly appeared in the realm, and animals began to come through: bunnies and deer. Following them was a beautiful woman who emerged from the portal, reminiscent of Snow White but dressed in a more provocative outfit.

"Great entrance, Yui," Y/N said, recognizing the newcomer as Yui, the Goddess of All Animals and Creatures.

"Now that I think about it, why do gods need such sexualized clothes? Even you, Azariel-aren't you supposed to be holy? Why are you wearing a tight-ass corset?" Y/N teased.

"Okay, I-" Azariel started to respond but was cut off.

"Yeah, Azariel, why do you have that? But I have to say, you look stunning in it!" Yui chimed in, her voice gentle.

"Oh, thank you, so I-" Azariel began, but was interrupted by a loud sound coming from another portal. This one was pitch black, almost like Y/N's portals but with a more ominously emo ahh.

"Is the meeting starting yet? I want to go back to sleep," said Death, Y/N's older cousin.

"Hey, Damien, you look edgier than me as always. The meeting hasn't started yet-" Y/N began, but before they could finish, a bunch of portals appeared, each a different color and type of magic. Gods and goddesses began to come through, and the ground of the sanctum shook. Thrones emerged from the ground, forming a circle around a table made of gold, jewels, and crystals.

"Alright! Hello everyone, welcome! Welcome to the Gods' Contest of Valor! You may all sit down on your thrones, of course! I am Koemi Ramí-"

"BOOO! WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" a voice interrupted loudly. Sounds like Y/N.

Koemi sighed and continued, "Alright, alright, settle down. As I was saying, I am Koemi Ramírez, the Goddess of Love, and I will be hosting this grand event. We are here to select mortals who will compete for a single wish, one that can grant anything they desire, even the chance to join us as gods."

Another god shouted, "Get on with it! We don't have all day!"

Koemi smiled through her irritation. "Very well. The rules are simple: each of us will select a mortal from the pool of candidates. We won't look into their pasts or futures. The mortals will then face trials designed to test their strength, cunning, and resolve. The one who emerges victorious will earn the grand wish."

A goddess in a shimmering blue gown raised her hand. "Are there any restrictions on what the wish can be?"

Koemi nodded. "No restrictions. Anything goes. The only limit is their imagination. Now, I know everyone here has already selected their mortals-except Y/N!"

Y/N glared at Koemi, who smiled triumphantly, clearly enjoying embarrassing Y/N. "Okay, tomorrow we'll mark our mortals with a gem placed on their chest, close to their heart. It'll be implanted there and visible to other mortals in the competition. Of course, if they're wearing clothes, you won't see it. So, Y/N~ pick your mortal faster or you might get disqualified~ :3"

Y/N groaned and rolled their eyes at Koemi, visibly annoyed. "That's all, folks! Thank you so much-"

Before Koemi could finish, the gods began to disappear in clouds of enchanted colored smoke, leaving behind their magical residue. "Ugh... so disrespectful..." Koemi muttered as she, too, began to depart, leaving only Y/N behind.

"Fuck... I can't seem to find anyone who's good at dark magic, except for my family who's still alive, but I'm too stubborn to support them. Well, it's not mandatory for the mortal to have dark magic as their power; it can be their tendency. Sigh... I really need a strong candidate for this event. I keep losing to the others in past events..."

"Meow~ You gonna pull a Disney Wish song out of your ass?" Y/N's cat, perched atop the throne, meowed.

"What the-dawg, where have you been? And hell no, you know I wouldn't," Y/N replied.

The cat jumped down into Y/N's lap and settled in, purring contentedly. "How long have you been here?" Y/N asked, petting the kitty.

"Purr~ purr~ Hm, since the meeting started," the cat replied. Y/N petted the kitty more roughly, pulling back its fur and causing it to look mildly annoyed.

(Example cuz why not)

"You fucking rascal, I've missed you, buddy. You haven't been visiting me in my realm, always going into the mortal world," Y/N said, clearly annoyed.

"Just find me then! Jeez, woman... I've heard you've been-struggling to find a mortal. STOP PULLING BACK MY FACE, LADY-" the cat protested as Y/N continued to pet him, pulling back his fur. "Ehehe- it looks funny, Anyway what did you say?" Y/N asked "I marked some mortals I found, i think they might be worthy for you" "AWH you FUCKING JUST AGHHH!!"

"STOP PULLING BACK MY FURRR!!!!!" the cat yowled.

Y/N stopped petting him and giggled. "Alright, tell me the ones you marked."

The kitty barfed up a tiny crystal ball onto Y/N's hand and Y/N of course gagged a lil. "Here, just watch them and pick who's worthy!" he said.

As the tiny crystal ball began to shine, it summoned a mirror, revealing on the glass the mortals the kitty had marked.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . Meanwhile... Katsuki Bakugou. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ - : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : - ⭒

In an abandoned church, Kaminari said, "Whew-kinda spooky, heh!"

Bakugou rolled his eyes as he scanned the surroundings. Kaminari had mentioned that a buddy of his got lost in the church basement, and when Kaminari was close to finding him, he heard a scream and ran like a coward. So, Bakugou was helping him find his friend.

"So chilly... uhh, right this way! Erm..." Kaminari said, leading Bakugou into the darkness. The only source of light they had was Bakugou's lighter.

"Okay, where the fuck is your rascal? My lighter is running out. Why were you he-" Bakugou started to ask, but before he could finish, someone placed a piece of cloth over his mouth from behind. Kaminari watched with a look of regret in his eyes.

Bakugou struggled and managed to knock the person behind him with his elbow he tried to punch kaminari, but the cloth had some chemicals on it, making Bakugou dizzy. He eventually passed out.

"Ugh... What the fuck." Bakugou looked around. He was chained to a wall, his wrists cuffed. He remembered how Kaminari hadn't helped him and had watched him pass out. Without any of his belongings, Bakugou cursed his decision to team up with the rogue.

The room was cold and bleak, with hard concrete and bricked walls. A set of stairs led up to a closed hatch with a lock. "Urgh... ugh..." Bakugou grunted as he tried his best to break free from the metal cuffs. After a struggle, he managed to get them off and rubbed his wrists.

Bakugou climbed the stairs and, using his strength, managed to force open the hatch. The crimson warrior had no trouble with a simple wooden barrier. As he opened the hatch and climbed up, he was confronted with a horrifying scene.

People were caged up-some of the women were helpless and naked, while some of the men had bruises and cuts on their bodies. Bakugou's concern grew as he walked up to one of the cages. He examined a woman who was curled up facing the wall, seemingly lifeless. As he inspected her, he noticed that her private parts had been brutally torn apart. The woman had an umbilical cord leading up to her arms, indicating a baby had been born, but both the baby and the woman were long gone.

Bakugou's heart raced. What the hell was going on in this place? He needed to find out and put a stop to whatever horrific activities were happening here. Can't believe he made a deal with a person maybe responsible for these people.

The room was filled with caged individuals, and Bakugou noticed a set of stairs in the middle of the room. He was about to ascend them when he heard footsteps. Quickly, he hid at the bottom of the stairs.

A pair of red boots began descending the wooden steps. "Ehe... Denki, thank you so much for tricking THE Crimson Warrior! Haha! I can't believe he fell for your obvious act!" said a man with black hair, an almost shaved beard, green eyes, and a golden coat. To Bakugou's shock, the man was wearing his red cape, a gift from his mother when he was a child.

"Eheh... Yeah..." Denki replied, his tone nervous and regretful.

"What's wrong, kid? You got half of what we earned-aren't you grateful?" the man in the golden coat said.

"What? No, no, sir Gardinier! I-I just... can you please- I-just..." Kaminari stammered, clearly unsure of how to voice his concerns, knowing that Sir Gardinier is a powerful man.

"Spit it out," Gardinier's tone grew ominous.

"Can we bury the people who got caged up in here? I just... I want to pay respect to them. I know they didn't pay their debt on time, but please-" Kaminari's voice quivered, revealing his inner turmoil.

Gardinier's expression darkened, and he stared at Kaminari with cold eyes. "Bury them? They were criminals. They had their chance. They chose their fate."

Kaminari looked down, unable to meet Gardinier's gaze. "I understand, sir. I just... feel it's the right thing to do."

Bakugou, still hidden, clenched his fists. He knew he needed to act quickly. Gardinier and Kaminari's conversation had revealed the depth of their cruelty and the true nature of their scheme. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Bakugou planned to intervene and put a stop to their vile activities.

"Check on the crimson guy. I don't want to speak of this again," Gardinier ordered.

Kaminari, squeezing his way through the cramped space of the cages, approached the hatch with a look of horror on his face as he saw the lifeless forms of the people inside. He was shocked to see Bakugou had broken free.

"Denki! What's taking you so long? Open the hatch, I'm not hearing a cree-AGH! WHAT?! ERGH!" Gardinier's voice turned to panic as Bakugou pinned him down onto the hard wooden floor.

"ERUGH! You bastard! Get off me!" Gardinier yelled, struggling as Bakugou punched and pushed him onto the floor.

"SOLDIERS! HELP! URGH!" Gardinier shouted in desperation, but before he could call for help, he felt a sharp pain.

In a sudden twist of fate, Denki appeared, his hands gripping a bloodied sword. With a grim expression, he swung the sword with precision. Gardinier's head rolled onto the floor, his body collapsing as blood pooled around him. The crimson warrior's fierce struggle had come to an end, and Denki, though visibly distressed, stood over the fallen villain, having taken a dark step to ensure justice was served.

"Why... why did you help me?" Bakugou asked, his crimson eyes still burning with anger.

"I... I just wanted to help. I-" Kaminari began, but his voice faltered under the weight of his guilt and fear.

"SIR GARDINIER! WHERE ARE YOU? SIR!" A voice called out urgently from outside the room.

Bakugou's eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the sound. "We don't have much time. If more of them come, we'll be in serious trouble. Why did you really help me? What's your angle?"

Kaminari, visibly shaken, took a deep breath. "I... I couldn't stand what was happening here. I knew I made a mistake helping Gardinier, and I wanted to fix it. I just... I wanted to make things right, even if it meant risking my own life."

Bakugou's expression softened slightly, though his anger remained. "Well, you've got a lot to make up for. But right now, we need to get out of here before more of them show up. Can you help me free these people?"

Kaminari nodded, his resolve firm despite the fear. "Yes. Let's get them out of here."

Together, they moved swiftly to unlock the cages, working to free the imprisoned individuals as quickly as possible. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, heightening their urgency to escape and ensure the safety of those they had rescued.

As Bakugou and Kaminari worked to free the captives, the distant sound of heavy, booted footsteps grew louder.

"Move faster!" Bakugou barked, his fingers working furiously to unlock the last of the cages. The freed captives, though disoriented, began to escape towards the exit.

The heavy door to the room crashed open, and a squad of armored soldiers stormed in, their weapons ready. Bakugou's eyes blazed with a fierce intensity.

"Looks like we've got company," he growled, grabbing a heavy iron bar from the corner. Kaminari, his sword stained with blood, braced himself.

The soldiers charged, but Bakugou met them head-on with a brutal ferocity. He swung the iron bar with bone-crushing force, his blows landing with sickening thuds. The first wave of soldiers fell, their armor caved in and their bodies crumpled under his relentless assault.

"Come on, then! I'm not done with you!" Bakugou roared, his voice a harsh growl as he smashed another soldier's helmet into his skull. Blood and metal flew, and the floor became slick with gore.

Kaminari, though still rattled, fought alongside Bakugou with a grim determination. He swung his sword in wide, lethal arcs, slicing through armor and flesh with ruthless efficiency. Each strike was precise, severing limbs and opening gaping wounds.

The soldiers fought back with desperation, but Bakugou's rage was unstoppable. He swung the iron bar like a battering ram, crushing ribs and splintering bones. His attacks were unrelenting, each swing a brutal testament to his fury.

"Stay out of my way!" Bakugou shouted, deflecting a soldier's strike with a violent twist of the bar, sending the soldier sprawling. He grabbed another soldier by the throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the wall with a sickening crunch.

Kaminari, his face set in a mask of grim resolve, slashed through the soldiers with cold precision. He drove his sword into the chest of one soldier, twisting it before yanking it out and moving to the next target. His blade was a blur of deadly steel, cutting through the enemy ranks.

The soldiers, overwhelmed by the brutal onslaught, began to falter. Their numbers dwindled as Bakugou and Kaminari pressed their attack. The room was filled with the sounds of violence-metal clashing, screams of agony, and the heavy, thudding blows of Bakugou's iron bar.

One soldier, seeing the carnage and realizing the battle was lost, attempted to flee. Bakugou, with a feral snarl, intercepted him. He hurled the iron bar with deadly accuracy, pinning the soldier to the wall with a sickening thud. The soldier gasped, struggling weakly as Bakugou approached, his eyes cold and merciless.

"You think you can run from me?" Bakugou growled, delivering a final, crushing blow with his fist that ended the soldier's suffering.

Breathing heavily, Bakugou surveyed the aftermath of the battle, the room littered with fallen soldiers and the splattered remains of the once-proud soldiers. He turned to Kaminari, his expression hard but focused.

"Is everyone out? We need to get moving before more show up."

Kaminari, his face smeared with sweat and blood, nodded vigorously. "They're all free. Let's go!"

With a final, contemptuous look at the carnage, Bakugou and Kaminari led the way, guiding the freed prisoners towards the exit. The distant echoes of men of Gardinier and the harsh sounds of their escape faded behind them as they made their way out of the hellish scene.

Bakugou and Kaminari sprinted through the dense forest, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across the underbrush. The night was still, except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline of the battle still coursing through their veins.

"Keep moving!" Bakugou barked, his voice barely audible over the sounds of their pounding footsteps. The forest was dense and twisted, with gnarled trees reaching out like skeletal fingers. Branches snagged at their clothes, and the undergrowth crunched underfoot.

Kaminari glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide with fear. "Are we clear? Did they follow us?"

"We're far enough away now. Wait... damn it, my stuff," Bakugou said, frustration clear in his voice.

"Oh right... your stuff is-wait, it's with me!" Kaminari said, seemingly nonchalant. Bakugou looked at him, confused, since Kaminari was only carrying a decently large shoulder bag, not a backpack.

Kaminari suddenly pulled out Bakugou's big axe from the bag. Bakugou's eyes widened in shock. "WHAT THE-"

Kaminari grinned, his nervousness barely concealed. "Here! It's from my-just kidding! I didn't actually put it there. I really did grab it before we left."

Bakugou, still stunned, reached for the axe but hesitated as Kaminari's joke sank in. "Seriously, don't mess around like that. We were almost killed back there. I needed this axe!"

Kaminari's smile faltered. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to add to the stress. I thought it'd be funny, but I see now it wasn't the right time."

Bakugou grabbed the axe, his irritation evident. "Just don't pull crap like that again. We're lucky to be alive.. How'd you pull my axe from that tiny bag?!..."

Kaminari shifted uncomfortably, but tell Bakugou The reason, "So, uh... I'm one of the chosen mortals. By the Goddess of the Stars and Cosmic Guidance. She enchanted my bag, but she didn't tell me what it was for. I figured out that it has infinite storage. I wasn't sure how it worked at first, and I didn't want to bring it up until I was sure I can trust you. I thought it might be useful in a pinch. I just didn't expect it to be this useful."

Bakugou glared at Kaminari, his eyes cold and unforgiving. Kaminari's face was a mix of regret and relief. As Kaminari opened his mouth to speak, Bakugou cut him off.

"I still don't trust you. I don't forgive you for what you've done," Bakugou said, his voice sharp.

Kaminari's head hung low, guilt evident in his posture. "I understand," he mumbled.

"But if you want to keep breathing," Bakugou continued, his tone low and dangerous, "tell me where that person is who knows about dark magic. And give me the rest of my stuff from your infinite bag. Maybe then, I won't kill you right here."

Kaminari nodded quickly, scrambling to retrieve Bakugou's belongings from the enchanted bag. "I-I'll tell you everything I know. I'll lead you to the person Like I promise!" Bakugou took the items from Kaminari, his expression hard. "Lead the way," he said, not bothering to hide the hostility in his voice. "And if you try anything funny, I won't hesitate." Kaminari swallowed hard, nodding vigorously. "Understood. I'll take you there. Just please, let's move before we draw any more attention." as they walked Kaminari leading the Way, Towards the Mysticland of Scales Where dragons is very uncommon there.

Thank you! ❤

Chapter 2 , Chapter 3

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runninriot · 6 months ago

Text

inspired by the song Solitude by Black Sabbath, written for @steddiesongfics june song fics

Memories I Have Remind Me Of You

wc: 1999 | rated: T | tags: modern au, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, marriage proposal, dealing with heartbreak and regrets, Steve needs a little push from a stranger to make it right, sad but with a happy ending

The girl is nice. She’s pretty. Big eyes, plush lips, a kind smile, dimples.

Fucking dimples.

Her hair’s long and curly, doesn’t remind Steve of anyone in particular.

It doesn’t.

He does not think about someone else when the warm colour of her brown irises makes him remember.

Steve tries to listen when she talks, tries to laugh when she giggles sweetly, tries not to jerk away when she brushes his hand in a flirty manner but it’s hard to focus when his mind isn’t where it should be.

Did she just ask him a question?

“You didn’t even listen, huh?”

Steve shakes his head, looks back up at her, tries for an apologetic smile but to his confusion, she doesn’t even seem mad at him for not paying attention.

No, it’s worse.

She’s got that empathic, knowing look in her eyes. Like she can see right through him.

You’re so easy to read, baby.

He was never good at pretending.

“I’m not boring you, am I.”

It’s not really a question. The girl knows she’s a good catch, knows she isn’t the problem – Steve is.

“No, uh. Sorry, I-“

Who is he even trying to fool? No excuse he’s trying to come up with would be good enough because if he looks how he feels, it must be written all over his face. No way to hide the obvious.

I can see it in your eyes, baby. Your eyes always tell the truth.

Steve should’ve known it was a bad idea the moment he saw her picture, noticed the similarities. She instantly reminded him of-

He shouldn’t have agreed to this date.

Not because he doesn’t like her, no. She’s perfect, really. Or she would be.

They matched on a dating app, texted a bit back an forth. She was fun to talk to, made him laugh. And when she asked him if he wanted to meet, he thought that maybe it would help. That maybe this was his sign to finally get his ass back out there. He’d been holed up at home for too long. Sulking, sad, depressed.

Life just hasn’t been the same ever since.

His favourite meal has lost its taste. His favourite songs all sound off-key. Going to his favourite bar just seems like a waste of time - Steve’s life has lost its light, making everything seem dark and grey and dull.

Nothing is right anymore because everything reminds him of Eddie.

And Steve himself is the one to blame for his misery.

“I-“ Steve hesitates. He doesn’t want to bother her with his mess, didn’t come here to whine about things he can’t change. She didn’t come here to listen to him talk about his goddamn ex for fuck’s sake!

“What’s wrong?” she asks and Steve knows there’s no point in trying to pretend that everything’s fine when nothing ever is. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry for being such bad company,” Steve apologises and means it. She deserves better, could’ve gone on a date with someone worth spending her time with.

Someone actually interested in... something. Anything. Whatever it is she’s looking for.

Steve’s not it, that much is clear.

He’s not ready to move on. Maybe he never will be. Because what he had was all he ever wanted, all he ever needed to be happy. Life was good, perfect, before he ruined it all. Let the love of his life slip away because he was too afraid of the what ifs. So he pushed and he fought and he hurt the one that would’ve given him everything.

Now, Steve is just an empty shell of the man he used to be. Because the day Eddie left, he took Steve’s heart and soul with him, left him empty and broken and sad.

So fucking sad.

“You remind me of my ex.” The words are out before he can swallow them back down.

“Oh,” she answers, expression neutral. “Bad break-up?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to think about the day his whole life fell apart but-

“It was my fault. He left me because I fucked it up.”

The truth still hurts, even after all those months.

“What did you do?”

Steve and Eddie had met through a mutual friend, Dustin. It wasn’t quite love at first sight but close to it.

They quickly became friends, started hanging out on weekends, then, soon, even during the week. Spending the evenings after work at each other’s places, cooking dinner together, watching movies, talking.

Steve had never felt so drawn to another person, had never felt so comfortable in someone else’s presence. Eddie was... he was funny, kind, loud and wild. He had all these big dreams about what he wanted to do with his life. Dreams that were so very different from the small-town life Steve had always resigned himself to. Eddie wanted to travel the country, sleep under the stars, wake up next to a lake, follow the wind to wherever it would take him.

He wanted to be free.

But he stayed.

Eddie stayed because when they shared their first kiss in a weak moment of alcohol-fuelled recklessness, they ignited a fire that became too big too fast, making it impossible to smother the flames before they turned into burning desire that took a hold of them both. Scorching its way into their hearts where it settled, warm and bright, making light in every dark corner of their being.

It was the second first kiss that sealed their fate – a sober, slow, and tentative kiss in the low light of the morning sun that wiped away any worries and doubts Steve had when he woke up in Eddie’s arms after a night spent giving into their unspoken feelings as they took each other apart, not thinking about the consequences.

Knowing what it was like to wake up next to each other made it impossible to go back to simply being friends, to stay apart, to not fall in love.

Eddie and Steve were meant to be.

Together, everything felt right.

Eddie willingly put his own dreams aside for Steve who knew he could never repay him for the sacrifices he made just to be with him, tried to thank him every day by showing and telling him how much he loved him. And things were good, perfect.

Until-

“I don’t understand,” she says quietly when Steve takes a moment to breathe away the ache in his heart and the tears threatening to spill, “that sounds like a dream come true. What happened?”

Steve smiles sadly, sighs.

“Yeah, felt like a dream, too. But the thing with dreams is that no matter how beautiful they are, inevitably you will wake up.”

And a beautiful dream it was. Life was full of love and laughter and happy moments spent together, until Eddie proposed and Steve said No and the world tumbled down.

Because it was in that moment – with Eddie down on one knee, the simple gold ring Steve knew had belonged to Eddie’s uncle held between his thumb and finger as an offer, a promise to be his forever – that Steve realised he couldn’t do this to him. He couldn’t marry Eddie and keep him trapped in a life he never wanted just because Steve was too scared of giving up the safety of his home for a life on the road with no destination ahead and an unforeseeable future.

Steve said no to set him free but even then Eddie kept fighting for him, fucking apologised for putting ‘so much pressure’ on Steve with his question which- was insane because Eddie had done nothing wrong, ever. He had never been anything but wonderful and considerate and perfect. Steve had been the one not willing to compromise, who inadvertently put Eddie in a cage of his own making.

So he pushed and he fought and he hurt Eddie in order to give him back his freedom, thinking, believing he was doing the right thing. It was only when Eddie packed his bags and left that Steve realised he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

The moment Eddie walked out the door without looking back, Steve knew he had lost everything.

“Where is he now?”

“Hm?”

“Eddie. Where did he go?”

“I, uh...” Steve shouldn’t know the answer to this but he does. Because Dustin told him. Tells him whenever he gets a call or another letter from Eddie, ignoring the fact that it tears Steve apart every time. Or maybe he does it on purpose, punishing Steve for hurting his friend. And Steve lets him, never complains, always holds back his tears until he’s back in his fortress of solitude, where he can drown in his pain and sorrow.

He deserves to suffer for what he did.

“He’s in Michigan.”

“Huh.” She cocks her head, smiles. “It’s been what, 5 months you said? Pretty sure he could’ve gotten a lot further by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“For someone who’s always wanted to travel the whole damn country, he didn’t make it that far.”

“Eddie never made plans on where he wanted to go. Maybe he found a nice place to stay for a while before he lets his heart take him somewhere else.”

“Staying conveniently close for no reason whatsoever. Got it,” she scoffs.

Steve looks at her with pleading eyes, needs her to stop giving him ideas, can’t allow himself to let hope bloom.

“He’s free to go wherever he wants.”

“Maybe what Eddie really wants is for you to tell him to come home.”

Her words hit him hard like a slap across the face, ringing loudly in his ears.

“What if- What if he doesn’t?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

-------

“You left me.”

It’s not meant as an accusation, sounds like one though. And Steve can see in the way Eddie furrows his brows and tightens his lips, that it wasn’t the right thing to say.

“You told me to.” Eddie’s answer is short but calm, not filled with anger like Steve expected.

“I wanted you to stay!”

He knows it isn’t fair because Steve did tell him to leave. What right does he have to want him back, to ask for forgiveness?

“I didn’t want you to leave but I was scared that you’d wake up one day and realise that being with me isn’t enough. That being in love isn’t worth giving up your dreams. You shouldn’t have to give up your dreams for me! I should’ve gone with you. I love you. I-”

Steve is crying, can’t stop shaking. He’s so angry at himself, feels so powerless and stupid. And Eddie just stands there and stares at him confused like he doesn’t know that Steve would do everything for a second chance.

Just when Steve is about to give up, turns to go because if he stays here any longer, he’ll fall to his knees and make an even bigger fool of himself than he already has, two strong arms wrap around him from behind, keeping him from walking away.

“Don’t go,” Eddie whispers into his hair, tightens his grip to emphasise his words. “Stay.”

It’s what Steve should’ve said all those months ago, when he said the opposite instead.

Slowly, Steve turns within the arms holding him until he’s facing Eddie again. Eddie, who is so close now, Steve could bring their lips together by only moving in another inch or two. Could kiss away the tears running down Eddie’s cheeks.

“I can’t live without you, Eddie.”

“Then let me be with you.”

Their third first kiss is an angry one, rough and desperate. Full of regrets they swallow from each other’s lips, drinking them up to make them go away. To make it better. To make it right.

“Marry me, Steve.”

The answer comes easy this time - one word, a promise.

Forever, never apart, wherever it'll take them.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics #writing prompt

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torukmaktoskxawng · 2 years ago

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Headcanons if Avatar!Grace lived and raised Kiri alongside the Sullys and adopted Spider:

"Jake Sully, I know damn well that you didn't just ground your son for recklessness! 'You wanna hear about reckless? How about the time you taunted a baby hammerhead titanothere and its mother before being chased into the jungle by a Thanator like the asshat you are."

Spider is depressed because Neytiri has yet to warm up to him. Grace gathers him up like he's still a baby and since she's a Na'vi and he's a human, it's so easy to do: "Give her some time, kiddo. Neytiri has lost more than most to the Sky People. In the meantime, go find your sister. I think she's been wanting to show you her newest verse in her songcord."

"Neteyam, sometimes you gotta just ignore your father. He's a jarhead. No. I'm not telling you what that means."

Kiri when she's vocal about her insecurities and how she feels different from everyone else. Grace silently listens before saying: "You hear Eywa? Normally, I would call you crazy from a scientist's perspective... but after what Eywa has done for me... After she saved all that I am in this body while the human one died, and after she gave me you, I don't think it sounds as crazy anymore. You're a miracle, baby. My sweet little miracle. You and your brother are so special, and any moron who says otherwise must have a death wish."

Ever watch Once Upon a Time? Remember this scene between Regina and Emma? ⤵️

Quaritch: He's my son-!

Grace: HE'S NOT, HE'S MINE!

"Jake, Lo'ak came to me traumatized because he walked in on you and Neytiri."

Jake: It was an accident. But at the same time, he can't just walk in without announcing himself.

"No? Huh. That's funny. Hey, I think Norm should go talk to your son about the time you wheeled in on him and Trudy--"

Speaking of Norm, Grace has a hard time being able to fit herself in their portable biolab due to the size so Norm and Max build a large greenhouse and lab meant for Grace's new height difference. They can't change the fact that the microscopes are still too small for her hands, however.

"If my hands weren't capable of crushing the damn thing I would've done it myself instead of letting you idiots tamper the samples with your saliva AGAIN."

She still teaches all the village kids how to speak English among other human customs. A new school is built in the mountains and Tuk is her best student, obviously.

Grace vocally admits she prefers Jake in a wheelchair because he was easier to push around. To which Jake responds: "Woman, you know damn well you still push me around."

Here's some more angst: Kiri and Spider are arguing and I believe this scene comes from the live action Mowgli movie:

Kiri: You're my best friend, Spider. I understand what it's like for no one to want you. I don't have any friends neither. But we have each other and we're like the same--

Spider: We're not the same.

Kiri: We are. Because- you're special, and I'm special--

Spider: WE'RE NOT SPECIAL! Don't you get it?! We'll never be one of them! We're freaks! You're not special, Kiri! It's just something Mom tells you to make you feel better about yourself BECAUSE YOU CAME OUT WRONG!

(Side note: Wow. I just made myself cry.)

Grace would be beside herself. She's trying to comfort Kiri after the fight and trying to figure out what to do with Spider. She knows she should ground him, but at the same time, she knows where he's coming from and why he finally snapped. With Quaritch hunting them and likely trying to take Spider back, the boy is beyond stressed on top of still trying to fit in.

Lo'ak ended up being the one who got Kiri and Spider to make up after giving each other the silent treatment for a week. Lo'ak understood them better than Grace ever could.

Grace, with Rotxo, probably: If you break my daughter's heart, then I'll break your tail.

Jake is trying to get his whole family to behave alongside the Metkayina so that they could stay there and not get kicked out. He didn't realize he'll have to make GRACE AUGUSTINE behave on top of that.

Ronal and Grace have MAD respect for each other you can't convince me otherwise.

I NEED to see Avatar!Grace riding a skimwing with the brightest smile on her face that would be so amazing.

Tsireya buddies up to her immediately, sticking to her side like glue and asking a hundred questions, usually followed by "Can I take Kiri and Spider swimming?"

Ao'nung keeps a good several feet between himself and Grace. He's suspicious and she straightens him out with one glare, ESPECIALLY after he bullied her kids around for being freaks.

Grace even got Tonowari to laugh when she came dragging his son home by the ear for talking rudely to her.

Grace is like a second mom to Neytiri when they're so far away from home.

And finally:

"I'm too old for this bullshit."

Please reblog and add your own headcanons! I need more Grace

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alpydk · 5 months ago

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Gone with the Weave

Took a few days off to think. Seriously considered deleting everything, Tumblr, all of it. Realised I'd become a little lost in my writing, getting jealous over other people, insecure about my own abilities, forgot who I was writing for and why. So today I sat down and actually wrote for me again and you know what? It's helped. And because I'm hypocritical I'm going to share it with all of you.

So, here we have post-Epilogue short. Hurt/Little comfort. Gale/Tav - Tav & Astarion - Word count : 2398 -

CW - PPD / Grief / Death / Dad!Gale / Scenes of child death (Hallucinations)

It was like tar. It pulled her down and filled her lungs, thick and black. Tav tried to fight against it, tried to find the light that she knew shone above it, but her limbs were weighted down by fatigue and longing. A part of her wanted to be dragged down by it, to be lost to the depths of her depression, to disappear and no longer have the responsibility that had been thrusted upon her. To sleep and never wake; to be with him.

To everyone around her, she was a natural mother, tending to her baby’s needs, a confident smile at the life she had brought into the world. Tav was proud, strong, had been through the hells and back, figuratively and literally, and survived unscathed. But as with most, her pride was becoming her downfall. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it because weakness was not the sign of a good mother. As the days passed, as sleep turned to hallucination, still she clung onto the mask of what they all wanted to see, the last remnant of a life before life.

The child cried, but she did not react instantly, a quiet hope that someone else would come and tend to its needs whilst she pretended to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. For so long, the gods of dream and nightmare alike had ignored her pleas, and she had lain there awake, watching as the infant took all from her, leaving her with nothing but guilt and misery.

She wished he was there to help her, that his weave touched fingers that brought calm to her soul could calm the one that lay in the crib. He should have been there for this, she told herself, his strong forearms cradling the baby, a soft poem uttered under starlight bringing it to soothe. If only she had known before the final decision was made; if only things had ended differently and he had stayed, then maybe there would be fewer tears shed.

Still it cried, and no one came, the silence broken by the shrieks she had come to despise. It would be so easy to just leave, to walk out and never return, but then they would all know what she was truly like. The tar that had filled her lungs and surrounded her heart, leaving her bitter and tainted, would be exposed and they would know the truth. They would hate her as she hated the innocent child in front of her. But what if…? The thought was fleeting, cruel and unspeakable, a horror even in her own twisted mind. As night turned to the day, as cries turned to coos, she watched the baby, always watching and waiting for something to change.

---

Evening had set in and though the stars shone brightly as he had promised her, the night brought Tav little comfort knowing the long, drawn-out hours that were to come. She carried the baby to the small tub, her body weary and mind wandering, and she placed it in the water, watching as the bubbles rose quickly from its soft lips, as the arms tensed and held out towards her, as the deep brown eyes she had once loved lost their light again.

A knock at the door brought her around to her senses as she sat in front of the empty tub, the baby cooing peacefully from its bassinet. This had not been the first time she had seen such sights in the weeks since the birth. At first, it had been minor things, a shadow in the room that she had mistaken for a friend, the child crying whilst it actually slept. Soon the images became darker, the newborn lifeless in her arms when she awoke suddenly during the night, a slight misstep causing her to drop it to the floor, its body like that of a rag doll as it hit the wooden floorboards. Nothing scared her more though than herself, her lack of reaction, the quiet pleasure she saw in the freedom being granted to her. Would murder or suicide be the more publicly acceptable option? Would they forgive her? Could he forgive her, should she make that choice?

Tav rose from the floor, the image shaken away, and the mask put back in place. A deep breath was released before the door was answered with a smile and the face of Astarion greeted her. She was thankful it was him and not one of the more caring of the group; it would mean fewer questions asked, less concern over her wellbeing, and a chance that the walls would remain intact for another night.

He entered without invitation, many nights like this in the last six months that had thankfully grown less frequent since the birth. “You look like shit, darling.”

She smirked at his words, fully aware that the lack of sunlight was making her as pale as him, that the deep bags hung under her eyes. “Well, we can’t all match up to you, can we?”

Astarion made himself at home. Wine was grabbed from the cupboard and his feet put up on the coffee table. He noticed the baby but chose to ignore it, instead watching as Tav quickly sorted her hair in an attempt to look less haggard. “Resident do-gooder Wyll has asked me to come and check in on you.”

“And since when do you take orders from others?” She sat near him on the sofa, the faint stirring of the child drawing her attention. All she wanted was a moment like the old times, of two friends chatting about something that wasn’t related to birth or parenting, of wine and shameless flirting that meant nothing.

He watched her, her eyes allowing him to see the cracks that lay so visibly. “Since, 1 – it’s my turn, and 2 – it’s been a year.”

Tav scoffed. “Taking turns? Is that what you all do?” She ignored his second remark, a year since the Netherbrain, since that day when everything was supposed to change for the better.

“Quite frankly, yes. It’s one thing to be holed up alone with seven thousand spawn, it’s another to be holed up alone with that…” Astarion gestured his hand dismissively to the infant.

She knew he was right, life would be better without it, she wouldn’t be alone here, needing to be checked up on as if she there were something wrong with her. “You know you don’t have to. We’re fine.” The lie slipped out as easily as it ever did, the painted-on smile meeting her dead eyes. The small cry made her bristle, made the lie falter, and she hoped it was nothing but that one whimper.

He sipped his wine, the quickening of her heart rate deceptive as it cut through the heavy silence. “Still, we should at least share in a drink, shouldn’t we? A remembrance of sorts.”

“No, that’s not needed.” Tav was quick to cut off this suggestion. It was one thing for the wall to crumble in front of him that she was tired of sleepless nights, another for the actual truth to be pushed upon her and the dam to break.

The cry could be heard again, now with little pause between breaths. She wanted to ignore it, wanted it to die down, wanted anyone else to deal with it. But no one else would come. He would not come. She could see Astarion tensing with the building noise, and she had to react to save face. She stood, approaching the bassinet, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she glanced down and picked up the baby. It was as if it knew, was manipulating her and drawing her towards ruin, as if the gods were not satisfied enough with the sacrifices she had already made.

“Aww, you just want to see uncle Astarion, don’t you?” This was what people wanted, fawning over the infant, exaggerated displays of affection that she loathed to give. She carried the baby over, its cries stopping, and she gritted her teeth, knowing the moment she put it down, the noise would commence again.

“Oh, no, darling. It’s quite alright.” He pulled his legs off the table, a clear discomfort, and with it knocked over the bottle of wine.

The scarlet liquid spread across the wood, dripping quickly onto the floor, a lazy flow as it crept between the floorboards. Tav couldn’t take her eyes from it, the baby lying amongst it, the rag doll limbs amongst its own blood, lifeless brown eyes that stared back at her. Her heart didn’t beat, she stood not in panic, only a numbness lay in her mind at the sight.

Astarion grabbed a cloth and began to clear the wine, Tav seemingly frozen with the child in her arms, her mind a million realms away, a feeling he knew too well himself. “You know, they say white wine can clear out red…”

Her heart took a beat, a recollection of where she was, of the company present, and she hoped the vision she had seen had been instantaneous so as not to draw attention. The baby was thankfully silent, and she cursed herself for not feeling upset at the sights she was seeing. Murder or suicide…It would be so easy.

She sat with the baby in her arms, Astarion cupping the glass of wine as he leaned away from her on the sofa. She could see how uncomfortable he was becoming, as if looking for a conversation that was casual enough to fulfil his objective for checking in on her.

“So, Gale-“

“Is gone.” She interrupted him off before he could even start. This was not the topic she needed. He should be there with her, holding her through sleepless nights, soothing their child as it cried through the darkened hours. He should be sharing in her tears, her smiles, consoling her as she struggled with her doubts. The baby began to stir again, as if picking up on her emotions.

“Tav, it’s been a year and you’ve not spoken with anyone about what happened.”

She ignored him, his voice and the quiet cries already beginning to overwhelm her senses. There was nothing to talk about; there was only this lonely guilt filled existence. Days and nights of tar, of emptiness, of decisions she couldn’t bring herself to make. Hoping her mask wouldn’t slip, she rocked the baby in an attempt to calm it. She was a proud, strong mother. She was a good mother.

He sighed, not knowing if he should bother to help or not, but after all Tav had done for him in the past, he knew he had to do something. “Pass it here.”

She lifted her head, a defensive hold on the baby in her arms. Was it maternal love or the pride that prevented her from handing it over so freely? “No, I can handle this.”

Astarion reached over tentatively. The baby smelt odd, like spices he could not pinpoint, and his stomach turned slightly, but he would not accept what she was saying. He gently took it into his arms, Tav’s resistance minimal, as if her body was mutinying against her mind. The child grew quiet again, a small coo as its hand reached for his shirt and small pink fingers hooked around the cotton.

Tears built up instantly in Tav’s eyes, a guilt that she hadn’t been good enough to do this one simple thing, that she had failed in being a mother. She wanted to hide it all, wanted to run away, but she also wanted to fall apart so that people knew how deep she had fallen into the darkness and could come and save her, save her just as he had done so long ago. She wiped at her eyes, but it made little difference, the sight of her friend holding her baby, a light in his own eyes she had never seen before, a moment of innocence on the face of a seasoned killer. Why could she not feel that way? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she love…?

Her words were quiet. Astarion wouldn't care, and she knew it wouldn’t faze him. He wouldn’t coddle her like the others would. He was what she needed now that all was lost. “I can’t handle this…”

---

The night passed in a blur. He listened as she spoke of all that had happened in the last few months, of the things she had seen, things she believed she wanted, of pride and guilt that filled her heart to bursting. She spoke of the loneliness that consumed her and the child she could not connect to, of how it reminded her of the past she wished to forget, a past she longed for desperately. One life had ended, and another had begun and all she had been left with was shadows.

The baby slept through for the first time in months, Astarion having settled it in its crib as she had managed an hour of sleep. She’d waited ages in silence, listening for the sudden interruption that never came. It was as if it knew of her confession, and she hated and loved it for what it had done.

In the early hours her friend left, the rising sun announcing his need to depart, and with it she saw the light between the grey clouds, a new day ready to start again. The child stirred, and she stepped towards the crib with hesitation. She saw the purple robes that had been draped lightly at the base where it slept, the subtle scent of the library lying amongst spices bringing calm to the bedroom, and she heard the sound of the waves on docks, brushed up with the morning gale. Picking up her baby gathered with the robes, she held them both closely, the tears building, the relief, the love for her child breaking through the walls she had built.

The guilt flowed, but it was not met with a resignation; it was met with the promise to do better, to be the mother she should’ve been, to be the woman he had once loved. The child gazed at her, bright eyed, and she saw Gale once again; for a brief moment he was with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #bg3 astarion #bg3 angst

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

A Guiding Hand 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: happy sunday.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stop in the openness of the library. Just ahead is the long counter that arcs in front of the windows that look into an office space lined with desks. There are monitors facing away from you, those meant for the librarians and their assistants, and along the far edge, a sign denotes the stations meant for self-checkout.

You always thought of coming down but never found the energy. Besides, you wouldn’t want to borrow books that could be ruined at home. Beyond that, venturing into public has never been a simple task for you. You go for biweekly trips to spend the food credits on groceries and that’s about it.

Your eyes skitter around frantically. You hear the babble of children in the kids’ section with its bright colourful chairs and couches and a table of toys for the tots. You quickly surpass it and wander into the stretch of tables and chairs by the reference section. You put your bag down on a chair and sit next to it, folding your hands on the table then pulling them back into your lap.

You look over at the wall of tall windows that look out into a narrow strip of foliage. The brick walls are covered in thickly woven vines and birds flit in and out of the leaves. It’s pretty. You feel entirely out of place here.

You check the time on your digital watch. Almost ten. You can at least tick the early box, even though you might fall short of everything else.

You twiddle your fingers and keep your head down. Your toes tap in your sneakers and you fidget as the time ticks on. What if he doesn’t come? What if you’re not worth it? Should you check your email?

As you reach your bag, a figure approaches the table from the other side. You retract your arm and peer up at the man as he sets a leather briefcase on the wooden surface. Professor Smith nods at you and greets you by name. You feel like you should stand to greet him.

He offers his hand as you struggle to get to your feet. You tremble as you hesitantly accept the gesture. You don’t touch people and they certainly don’t touch you. It’s only a handshake. His grasp is firm and his skin slightly rough. Your hand feels weak and tiny in his confident grip.

He let you go as your fingers tingle, “good morning.”

“Morning, Professor, er, sir,” you stutter dumbly.

“Please,” he pulls out the chair on his side and you lower yourself back to the seat. “How are you today?”

“Mm, okay...” you swallow dryly, “er... you?”

You almost cringe. It must be rude to forget that. You’re not so use to interaction and you’re certain it shows.

You cross your arms over the table as his cheeks twitch and he smooths back his blond hair, “good, good,” he answers in his edged accent, “lovely sunshine today.”

“Erm, yeah, uh...” you don’t know what to say or do.

You close your eyes and reproach yourself. You must look totally lost. You drag your bag into your lap and unzip it. You take out your notebook and fish around for the chewed bic pen. You flip back the cover and flutter the pages, looking for a blank one. Your conscious of every single move you make as you feel his gaze on you.

“Right, so, I suppose you’re eager to be done with it,” he begins, “was their particular activities you found challenging? Maybe a formula in particular--”

“No, I... I think I got it but...” you twirl the pen and try to look at him. You get as far as the knot of his tie, the rest of it tucked beneath a sweater that seems rather much given the weather. “I just... fell behind. I’m s-sorry.”

“Well, that’s fine. It happens. So, if you can do the work, I can wait on it,” he assures you. “I’m not here to reprimands, that hardly fruitful for either of us. I want us to come to an accord. Let agree on a course of action.”

“Oh, alright,” you answer stuntedly, “well, I guess if I start Coursebook Four tonight I could have it done by—by Monday?”

“That’s a good first step,” he encourages as he pushes his glasses up his nose, drawing your eyes up to his. They are icy blue but not cold. “I like it. Setting your own goals. I find for some, it’s more effective than tossing a bunch of dates at them.”

“Thanks, professor, I... I really appreciate you... doing this,” you can’t help the shame that seeps into your voice. He pities you, you know it. You can see it in his face so you put your focus back to the table.

“Mm, given your...situation I think it’s understandable,” he says, “not easy to work in a racket.”

“Professor,” you put your hand to your forehead, dipping your head to hide behind it.

“Very concerning to hear,” he says, “and to think of a young woman in that environment.”

“Just my mom and her boyfriend. They don’t bother me.”

“Seems they do with all that yelling.”

“I-- I guess but—I—I need to use the bathroom,” you stand up and sway, “sorry.”

"As you will," he allows lightly, "I'll be here."

He sits back and checks his watch. It's much nicer than your plastic casio. You nod and sidle out from between the chair and the table. You shuffle away, only looking for a sign as you come out next to the front counter. You have to turn back to get to the bathrooms, your clueless meandering adding to the heat in your cheeks.

You lock yourself in a stall and try to muster the strength to come back out. Why did you come here? You feel so much worse sitting across from that man. Look at him. How could he not judge you?

You take and breath and try to shake away the anxiety. Someone else comes in and you make yourself leave. You wash your hands and steel yourself for another delve into the general public. You emerge and stop before the room of tables.

Professor Smith sits patiently across from your things. You round the table and close your notebook, sliding the pen back in the spiral. You chew your lip and slide it into your bag.

“I will have Assignment Four done like I said,” you speak barely above a whisper.

“Sounds great,” he stands as well, “I must thank you for going to the trouble of meeting me here today. I do find virtual appointments hardly have the same... effect. Might I buy you a coffee for the inconvenience?”

“A coffee? I... no, that’s--”

“Or a tea?” He suggests.

“Professor, um, no, that’s okay.”

“I insist,” he says, “I saw a cafe on my way in. Just on the corner.”

“I didn’t... bring my wallet.”

“As I said, my treat,” he intones, “don’t worry, we won’t be talking business.”

“Erm,” you sniff and slant your mouth one way then the other, “well, I...” you hate to keep saying no, it’s starting to feel rude. “Sure, er, okay, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he gestures you ahead of him, “ladies first.”

You sling your bag on your shoulder and step past the table. You cross the library floor and tread by the curved counter. As you come to the doors, he quickly gets ahead of you and pushes the door open, holding it for you. He’s polite, almost to a stifling degree.

The sunshine you casts a yellow haze, warming the dark fabric of your hoodie. You descend the steps and he catches up to you, keeping pace as he stays at your side. He points you to the left, “this way.”

You obey and feel the brush of his sleeve against yours. Pedestrians across the street seem to stare at you. No doubt they can see how you don’t belong with that man. Him in his prim outfit; his sweater pulled over a tidy collared-shirt and tie, and his glasses denoting and air of professionality. But you, in your wrinkled hoodie and jeans, must make a paltry contrast to the man.

“Right ahead,” he nudges the back of your arm gently before you can veer in the wrong direction, “would you like to sit outside? It’s beautiful out and I see a free table.”

“Er, if you like,” you shrug and cross your arms, “you really don’t have to...”

“I want to,” he assures as you come up to the patio area before the corner cafe, “please, you find a table and I’ll go inside. What would you like?”

You stop just beside the short wooden fencing that block off the seating area. Tea is usually cheaper. You’d rather not stretch his pity past a few dollars.

“Black tea.”

“Milk?” He asks.

“No, thanks.”

“Sugar?” He arches a brow.

“Just tea.”

“Ah, got it,” he dips his chin, “I will return. Please, have a seat.”

He turns on his heel and as he struts up to the front door, you search the patio. You find a table for two near the wall. You won’t be centre stage there. You put your bag under the chair and sit with your back to the street.

What are you doing? You could leave now. You could just go home. You came to talk about your schoolwork. So why are you here getting tea with this man? You need to go home and get started on it. You hang your head and lean back in the chair, arms folded as you gnaw your chapped lip.

The voices of the patrons around you buzz in the air. You catch snippets of conversations; excitement over a date they just had, or complaints about their work life, and even the low murmurs of intimate partners cooing at each other. Life is all around you, happening to other people but you remain in your corner.

You wince as Professor Smith returns. He places a porcelain cup before you. One you can’t just run off with. He sits across from you as you look up.

“Thank you, sir,” you utter as you sit up.

“Not at all,” he blows over his mug, a dark coffee with a thin layer of foam around the sides. You can smell it. “I do get curious,” he sets the steaming cup own, “about my students. Teaching from a screen can be rather disconnecting. I meet all sorts in my work but you... I didn’t see your name in the introductory forum.”

You look evasively at the brick wall. You untangle your arms and pinch the tag of the tea bag dangling over the brim. You shrug.

“I must’ve forgot to post.”

“Ah, never to worry, I won’t dock marks for it,” he kids, “so, you live with your mother.”

You nod and your eyes drop to the table.

“She must be proud.”

You tear the tag from the string and it recoils and falls into the tea.

“Proud?”

“Yes, well, you’re going to school. It’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, but...” it goes without saying; you’re not doing very well.

“Like I said, you’ve shown you can do the work, so do it,” he intones.

“I know.”

“What made you choose this program?”

“I don’t... know.”

“Well, you seem to have a natural affinity for numbers. Did anyone ever mention it?”

“I guess,” you lift the cup by the handle and blow over the top. You cautiously taste it and burn yourself nonetheless. You put it back down and cover your singed lip, the tip of your tongue pulsing.

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod furiously.

“Mm, well, I must admit, I am rather bad at subterfuge. This is a bad ploy,” he sits back, one hand on the table as he taps his index against his thumb, “I’d rather you take your time with the tea and not only for the sake of your tongue. I... hoped to keep you busy so that you needn’t return home so quickly. To that.”

“That?”

“What I overheard,” he says.

“Oh, I told you--”

“It may be usual for you but it doesn’t make it any safer,” he interjects. “I don’t know if you saw the email but I sent some resource you might look into. Grants. Some for housing. You could extricate yourself. You should.”

You’re breathless. It’s humiliating. How pathetic you must be in his eyes.

“I didn’t come to embarrass you,” he leans forward and slides his hand across the table.

You turn your head and gulp, the lump in your throat suffocating. Your nose tingles as your face scalds. You shudder and push your shoulders up.

“You’re a bright young woman, I only thought I might...” he struggles to find words, “well, I did not begin as a professor. I did not even start as some high and above pupil. No, I was a miserable lad. Barely made it through my first year but... all I’m saying is I might not have been where you are, but I get it.”

Your lashes flutter as you fight back tears. You’re so tired of crying. You’re exhausted of feeling this way. No matter what you do or where you are, you just feel like you don’t belong.

You look at your watch, “I’ll have to go soon.” You won’t even come up with a lie. You need to go before you break down completely.

He sighs, “right.”

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #a guiding hand #series #the gentlemen

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