#just setting up a future plot point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 1 year ago

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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”

You blink.

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”

“I know.” Harry grins.

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”

“Oi!”

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!”

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”

Harry’s eye twitches.

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.

“In your dreams!” You shrill.

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”

Harry nods. “Is it time already?”

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I��ll just go with you?”

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”

“One date, then.”

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.

“And I want to—”

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

He falls in love.)

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.”

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

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willsdreamgirl · 1 year ago

Text

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

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2-dsimp · 10 months ago

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Yandere rich single dad falling for his daughter's nanny/babysitter!

Cw: fem reader! jealousy, possessive/obsessive tendencies, father-daughter plotting on you, you’ve got an pushy coworker,

Synopsis: 【You were just a normal office worker with a minimum wage. So in an effort to pay rent, you scrounged job offers for babysitting since you were good at handling children. And in the process you applied and got accepted to become a nanny for a rich former movie star’s daughter. The daughter apparently hated every nanny she got but once she met you she was absolutely smitten…And so was her Daddy.】

Pt2→ 《x》

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere rich Dilf! Who continues to pace back and forth in his house, his anticipation growing as the seconds count down. He knows that you must be getting off work soon, and that you'll be coming back to him ahem to take care of his little brat and him before too long.

Yandere rich Dilf! That tries to distract himself, focusing on making sure everything is prepared for your arrival. He excused all the servants so he can personally oversee that everything in his mansion was set up to perfection. He was sweating like a madman.

Yandere rich Dilf! Who couldn’t shake the feeling of jittery excitement that's building within him. Eventhough he was hailed as a famous handsome actor he couldn’t get his shit together at the thought of finally making moves on his darling. This poor man was practically leaning against the counter for life support. From how he got swept up by the plan his nosey daughter concocted. Which was for him to seduce you into making you completely theirs.

Yandere rich Dilf! Whose daughter was already in full support of making her sweet nanny into her new mommy. And was smart enough to call her playmates ahead of time. So her Dad can give her the sibling she’s always been asking for. Since she was tired of being the only child in the huge mansion.

As the clock ticks down the minutes foretelling of your arrival. Quio starts to feel a sense of nervousness mixed with impatience, knowing that it was almost game time.

“Cmon Dad you can’t be looking like a wimp, it’s time for you to man up! By the time I get back I expect to have a mommy and a little brother on the way. Understood?”

His daughter, Peina chastised as she whacked him on the back and continued to threaten him give him encouragement before she left to see her friends.

"Okay, okay, Understood you prima donna."

Quio sassed with an heavy eye roll from how his bossy his daughter was. I mean sure he knows that she gets that from him. But at the same time it’s surreal to be at the receiving end of having orders being barked at you. Soon enough there’s a signature knock at the door, which makes Peina perk up. As she giddily skips towards the door to greet her beloved nanny.

“Gah wait! I’m not mentally prepared yet! Are ya really tryna give yer old man a heart attack?! How heartless can you be?”

He practically whispered yelled in an attempt to halt his daughter hand from twisting open the knob. As his heart raced at the speed of sound from the thought of seeing his apparent future missus crush. His daughter merely gave him a judgmental glare and promptly flipped him off. Mouthing to him ‘Get it together’ leaving him utterly offended. He was an A-listed actor damn it. Before flinging open the door to greet her Nanny with a big hug to their waist.

“Nana who’s this with you?”

At his daughter’s pointed inquiry, Quio nearly trips over his feet as he hauls ass to the door. His tall and bulky build moving as gracefully as a one legged flamingo. When he peeks his head out only to bite back a bitchy grimace at the sight of you with your so called nice colleague. Oh how he hated that pretentious asshole’s guts despite not knowing a damn thing about the man.

"Uh heya, Sweetheart it’s so good to see ya. I never get tired of seeing your gorgeous face!“

The Dilf crooned with a heavy twang to his voice as he blatantly ignored the little pest hanging to your side. His daughter felt the same way as she outwardly glared at your coworker while she purposefully tugged you closer to her Dad’s direction.

“Aha you flatter me too much Mr. Evinis. Also this is Miki he just so happened to see me and wanted to say hello”

You hummed lightly always finding the rugged single father to be charming. Completely, missing his subtle glance over at Miki, his serpentine eyes studying his potential love rival with thinly concealed disgust . He can't help but feel extremely jealous of the way that Miki is able to freely hang around you because yall worked at the same office. God, would it be too overkill to just buy the company you worked at so he could freely stalk watch you from 9-5.

"Hey, it’s nice to meet you man. But wow you’ve got an amazing house”

Your colleague says with a grin, holding out a hand for Quio to shake. Both him and his daughter stared down with an ick at the outstretched sweaty hand of the slime ball. And in order to keep up appearances in front of his soon to be wife. The Dilf inwardly sighed and begrudgingly took Miki's hand into an bruising iron grip. his eyes still fixed on you as he tries to focus on the conversation.

"Uh huh, Nice to meet you pal. Well, come on in, make yourself at home Sweet— "

“Don’t mind if I do! Oh my god is that the newest gaming console?”

Quio was soon interrupted by your colleague who had the audacity to grab you by the shoulders and usher you inside his mansion. Did he say that fucking parasite was invited? No, so why the hell did that cockblocking bitch think it was okay to scamper his mousy ass inside his mansion. Only meant for his lovely wife, his daughter, and him, alone. He was definitely going to call pest control afterwards to make sure the problem wouldn’t occur again.

Veins popped out around his neck as the Dilf nearly broke the door handle in utter rage. While numerous murderous thoughts about curb stomping the shit outta Miki crossed his mind like a freight train. And his daughter was the splitting image of him. She was appalled by how that leech just snatched her mommy nanny away from her grasp. And she balled her tiny fists with a small snarl present as she snapped her head up to give her Father a knowing look.

“Dad!…”

“Yeah I know squirt, I’ll make sure to have a real good chat with the fucker— I mean guy. You’ll get your sibling and mommy soon enough.”

Quio said in a hushed tone with an undertone of venomous certainty. Which made Peina somewhat pleased as she curtly nodded off at her Dad.

“Now run along and stay outta grown folks business”

He huffed lightly nudging his daughter further outside their residence. To which she gave an equally heavy eye roll mirroring his that he gave her a couple minutes ago. Before she started trotting off towards her friend’s chauffeur car that just pulled up for their play date.

Yeah he’d make damn sure that you’d be his pretty darling mama for him and his baby girl. Afterall he’s a man of his word and he promised to deliver. Nothing would stand in his way of achieving whatever he wanted. And he sure as hell isn’t letting Miki from the stupid parts and services department. Get away with the disrespect of having the gall to touch you without some form of bloody repercussions.

。

Lmk If you guys like him. If so, I’ll write some more or make a part two (>^ω^<)

#yandere drabble #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yanderecore #yandere concept #yandere content #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #dilf x reader #Quio the dilf #yandere dad

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lizzybeeee · 2 months ago

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Calling it now:

If there's ever any future installments of Dragon Age there will be no mention of the differentiation between the Dalish or City Elves.

Like in DATV they will simply all be 'elves' and the vallaslin will be reduced to 'cool looking tattoo's that some veil jumpers have' - no mention of the elven pantheon either, because why bother! They're all dead now!

They're all dead and responsible for every lore plot point in Thedas, and there's nothing of mystery or substance left in the world now.

No mention of the culture in the alienage, of the vhenadahl tree, of the horrific racism and systematic abuse the elves have been through...now its just elves. With the way the Veil Jumpers have been set up, and the fact that the elven gods were the enemy in DATV, I find it extremely unlikely that the Dalish will even exist as a group either. Why would they? Their Gods returned and blighted the world - not that the fact is even truly discussed in the game. Elves are just elves, and the notable elves are Veil Jumpers.

Maybe you'll walk in a city, pick up a codex, and get a copy and pasted explanation of history from a DAO codex - a reminder of what we used to have and what BioWare absolutely demolished in their attempt to build a new IP on the bones of Dragon Age. The absolute whiplash in writing, story, and character between DAI and DATV is staggering. How on earth could the studio that made such a gorgeous, rich world of lore surrounding the elves in one game end up utterly bastardizing and reducing it to nothing?

How can you look at a place like the Temple of Mythal and go from those gorgeous golden murals and emerald tiled roofs that reached to the heavens to a place like the Lighthouse? From the Emerald Graves to the ruins of Arlathan - devoid of halls that reach to the heavens and golden murals replaced with stained glass? The entirety of the Trespasser DLC had more character and reverence for what the elven empire once was, and DATV feels as though it's approaching it with the perspective of 'generic elven bullshit with triangles everywhere'. All that unique architecture has been obliterated by adding in World of Warcraft focus crystals and automatons.

How can you go from the atmospheric/environmental storytelling of the Lost Temple of Dirthamen to Solas just blurting everything out? No weight, no double truths or hidden meanings - just blurting it out, getting it said and done with no gravitas? That was Solas' entire thing! People have made threads literally dissecting what Solas says and does not say - now he spits lore out as though it were common, everyday knowledge.

How can anyone justify the sudden emergence of magical automatons everywhere in old elven ruins? As if Dragon Age didn't have a host of enemies/creatures available to use in their stead - or the ability to create something unique to the forest of Arlathan. What happened to the spirit guardians? What happened to the lingering echoes of the elves slaughtered by humans in wars ages past like in DAO? Magic was their very existence - spells taking years or centuries to cast, weaving in and about each other - and you're telling me the ancient elves spent their time creating magical transformers?! It feels/looks so utterly seperate from everything we know of the elves from Dragon Age.

Or look at the Crossroads - listen to how Morrigan speaks of it - the reverence for the past, the misty atmosphere, and the heaviness of this pocket of the world that carries the fading memories of a world and people that no longer exists...now it's reduced to a hub world! People are just popping in and out of it at will!

In Trespasser, the few eluvians that we were available to travel to led to the most lonely, desolate spots of Thedas, which ensured their survival over the past millennia. The mirror in the Deep Roads, the mirror in the ancient stronghold in Ferelden...now they're everywhere!The 'few surviving' eluvians are in every major settlement of Thedas and all are in operating order! More than that, everyone who sees an eluvian knows what it is - this ancient marvel of a world long gone has lost all worth and is reduced to a 'world building' justification for fast travel.

Poor Merrill, slaving for a near decade to try and restore a small sliver of her history, only to have all gravitas and wonder of her discovery utterly made void. All that accomplishment wasted, especially when Bellara can wave her magic omni-tool and fix an eluvian in a matter of hours.

If you took every specific Dragon Age terminology out of the Veilguard and replaced it with generic fantasy bullshit you would never be able to tell the difference. The world of DATV is so divorced from its predecessors its astounding.

#datv spoilers #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #bioware critical #bioware what the fuck #elves of thedas #dalish elves #city elves #one good thing about how bad this game is: it's easy to just separate it from the rest of the games #I wanted to explore every corner of the ruins in Inquisition #I wanted to read every codex #fun fact! it's all gone now!#Never forget the bioware fucking nuked southern thedas from existence #weeping into the void #duncan didn't die for this #datv critical #edited to add in that I think the 'dalish' won't even exist as a group anymore thanks to DATV #veilguard critical

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 6 months ago

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Master Dialogue Writing Techniques for Engaging Fiction (For Writers)

(Beware, long post!)

As fiction writers, we all know that effective dialogue is essential for bringing our stories and characters to life. After all, the way our protagonists, antagonists, and supporting players speak to one another is one of the primary ways readers get to know them on a deep, intimate level. Dialogue reveals personality, uncovers motivation, and propels the narrative forward in a way that felt narration simply can't match.

But nailing natural, compelling dialogue is easier said than done. It's a craft that takes serious skill to master, requiring writers to have a keen ear for authentic speech patterns, a nimble handle on subtext and implication, and the ability to strike that delicate balance between being true to real-world conversation while also keeping things snappy, dynamic, and laser-focused on the story at hand.

If you're someone who struggles with crafting dialogue that truly sings, never fear. In this in-depth guide, I'm going to dive deep into the techniques and best practices that will help you elevate your dialogue writing to new heights. By the end, you'll have a toolbox full of strategies to ensure that every exchange between your characters is as gripping, revealing, and unforgettable as possible.

The Fundamentals of Effective Dialogue

Before we get into the more advanced nuances of dialogue writing, let's start by covering some of the foundational principles that all great fictional conversations are built upon:

Reveal Character One of the primary functions of dialogue is to give readers a window into who your characters are as people. The way they speak — their word choices, their tone, their body language, their turns of phrase — should provide vivid insight into their personalities, backgrounds, values, quirks, and emotional states.

Think about how much you can glean about someone just from how they communicate in real life. Do they use a lot of slang and shorthand? Are they verbose and flowery with their language? Do they struggle to make eye contact or fail to respond directly to questions? All of these subtle linguistic cues are powerful tools for crafting multi-dimensional characters.

Drive the Plot Forward While revelations about character are crucial, you also want to ensure that your dialogue is constantly pushing the story itself forward. Each exchange should feel purposeful, moving the narrative along by introducing new information, triggering plot points, creating conflict, or prompting characters to make pivotal decisions.

Dialogue that feels aimless or extraneous will ultimately bore readers and detract from the forward momentum of your story. Every line should have a clear intent or function, whether it's uncovering a hidden truth, setting up a future complication, or escalating the tension in a high-stakes moment.

Establish Distinct Voices In a story featuring multiple characters, it's crucial that each person has a clearly defined and differentiated way of speaking. Readers should be able to tell who's talking just from the rhythm, diction, and personality of the dialogue, without any additional context clues.

This doesn't mean every character has to have an over-the-top, hyper-stylized way of communicating. In fact, the most effective character voices often feel grounded and natural. But there should still be distinct markers — whether it's word choice, sentence structure, tone, or speech patterns — that make each person's voice instantly recognizable.

Convey Subtext While the literal words being spoken are important, great dialogue also traffics heavily in subtext — the unspoken emotional undercurrents, power dynamics, and hidden agendas that simmer beneath the surface of a conversation.

The most compelling exchanges happen when characters are communicating on multiple levels simultaneously. Perhaps they're saying one thing out loud while their body language and tone convey a completely different sentiment. Or maybe they're engaged in a subtle war of wits, trading verbal jabs that reveal deeper wells of resentment, attraction, or vulnerability.

Mastering the art of subtext is key to creating dialogue that feels layered, lifelike, and imbued with dramatic tension.

Strategies for Writing Snappy, Realistic Dialogue

Now that we've covered the foundational principles, let's dive into some specific techniques and best practices that will take your dialogue writing to the next level:

Omit Unnecessary Details One of the biggest mistakes many writers make with dialogue is bogging it down with too much extraneous information. In real life, people rarely speak in perfectly composed, grammatically correct full sentences. We stumble over our words, interrupt each other, trail off mid-thought, and pack our speech with filler words like "um," "uh," and "you know."

While you don't want to go overboard with mimicking that messiness, you should aim to strip your dialogue of any overly formal or expository language. Stick to the essentials — the core thoughts, feelings, and information being exchanged — and let the subtext and character voices do the heavy lifting. Your readers will fill in the gaps and appreciate the authenticity.

Master the Art of Subtext As mentioned earlier, crafting dialogue that's rich in subtext is one of the keys to making it feel gripping and lifelike. Think about how much is often left unsaid in real-world conversations, with people dancing around sensitive topics, conveying hidden agendas, or engaging in subtle power struggles.

To layer that sense of unspoken tension into your own dialogue, consider techniques like:

• Having characters contradict themselves or say one thing while their body language says another

• Utilizing loaded pauses, interruptions, and moments of uncomfortable silence

• Injecting subtle sarcasm, skepticism, or implication into a character's word choices

• Allowing characters to talk past each other, missing the unspoken point of what the other person is really saying

The more you can imbue your dialogue with that layered, emotionally-charged subtext, the more it will resonate with readers on a deeper level.

Establish Distinct Voices As mentioned earlier, ensuring that each of your characters has a clearly defined and differentiated speaking voice is crucial for great dialogue. But how exactly do you go about accomplishing that?

One effective strategy is to give each person a unique set of verbal tics, idioms, or speech patterns. Maybe one character is prone to long-winded, flowery metaphors, while another speaks in clipped, efficiency-minded sentences. Perhaps your protagonist has a habit of ending statements with questioning upticks, while the sarcastic best friend always punctuates their barbs with an eye roll.

You can also play with differences in diction, syntax, and even accent/dialect to further distinguish how your characters communicate. The key is to really get to know the unique personality, background, and psychology of each person — then let those elements shine through in how they express themselves.

Lean Into Conflict and Confrontation When it comes to crafting gripping dialogue, conflict is your friend. The most compelling exchanges often arise from characters butting heads, engaging in verbal sparring matches, or working through deep-seated tensions and disagreements.

Conflict allows you to showcase the high stakes, unresolved needs, and deeper emotional currents that are driving your characters. It forces them to make bold choices, reveals aspects of their personalities that might not otherwise surface, and generates the kind of dramatic tension that will really hook your readers.

Of course, you'll want to avoid making every single dialogue scene a full-blown argument. But learning to sprinkle in well-placed moments of friction, confrontation, and clashing agendas is a surefire way to elevate the energy and impact of your character interactions.

Read Your Dialogue Out Loud One of the most valuable tricks for ensuring your dialogue sounds natural and lifelike is to read it aloud as you're writing. Hearing the words out loud will quickly expose any clunky phrasing, overly formal grammar, or inauthentic rhythms that would otherwise go unnoticed on the page.

Pay close attention to how the dialogue rolls off your tongue. Does it have a smooth, conversational flow? Or does it feel stilted and unnatural? Are your characters' unique voices shining through clearly? Are there any spots where the back-and-forth starts to drag or feel repetitive?

Actively listening to your dialogue — and making adjustments based on how it sounds in the real world — is an essential part of the writing process. It's one of the best ways to refine and polish those character interactions until they feel truly alive.

Hopefully, this can help you all!

The key is to always keep your focus on authenticity. Ask yourself: how would real people actually speak?

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

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tinalbion · 4 months ago

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'𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥' ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine x fem!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞! Minors, DO NOT interact! Smut with plot, fem!Reader, mutant!Reader, unprotected p in v, choking, biting, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), jealousy, canon typical language, no use of y/n,

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 10k (got a LITTLE carried away, oops)

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: After a successful mission, you return to the mansion to an annoyed Wolverine, who isn't happy with the time you've been spending with Scott Summers. You offer to hang out with him since you two are incredibly close, and that leads to a game of pool, and your eyes begin to wander while you're both flirting like crazy. You're afraid to make the first move, so maybe Logan will do it for you.

You had just gotten back from a mission that Professor Xavier had asked you to attend, and naturally, he had paired you up with someone who could challenge your growing capabilities, so he had you escort Scott Summers, who had a completely different skill set than you. He figured that if you could figure out how to work together, it would be useful to you in the future, and you thought he had a point when he put it in that context. The truth was, you and Scott didn't get along, more so you were over the top for his calm demeanor. You had a mouth on you, said what you thought, and your fighting was a bit too sloppy for his taste. He had constantly compared you to Logan Howlett, your ‘other half’, as he referred to him behind your backs.

You and Logan had become thick as thieves after you’d initially joined the X-Men, many people speculated that you two were ‘an item’, but as much as you would have wanted that, there would be no way Logan would agree. You and Logan constantly bickered, joked around, and enjoyed each other's company to the point that it was hard for others to be around you when you were in a room together. Your personalities melded well enough that you worked well with one another.

After the initial headache of having to deal with your loud comments of distaste for the company during this mission, Scott seemed to notice your distraction as you looked around and surveyed the area, and he felt that maybe he'd have some peace and quiet as you acquainted yourself with the area. You and Scott went head-on into the mission, learning to depend on one another, and you learned quite a bit now that your attention was solely focused on saving another like you; a mutant, a child.

With Scott's help, you were able to easily maneuver through the others who were keeping the small girl hostage, using your powers to easily dispose of the threats with Scott alongside you, giving you tips and ideas to use as he fought alongside you. Just this once, you thought, he wasn’t all that bad.

Logan scowled as Scott patted you on your back once you entered the mansion, the man walked up behind you as he kept his shielded eyes glued to you. You helped save a mutant kid on a mission and Scott just couldn’t stop singing your praises since you arrived back, and Logan wasn’t too fond of the way Scott was lingering around you. In Logan’s mind, he should be the one singing your praises, not Scott. He should be the one doting on you and soaking up all of your time, only if he wasn't so stubborn and allowed himself to break that barrier down once in a while.

He waited until you had walked away from the small group that greeted you, all gathered to see how your mission had gone, and the little girl had followed Scott to go and meet the Professor, which left you smiling and talking to the group that soon began to disperse.

“You ‘n Slim been getting real familiar lately,” Logan said, not even attempting to hide his bitterness as he walked up to you, having finished his own mission not even twenty minutes ago.

You smiled over at Scott as he led the little girl away and nodded as he praised you once more, wanting to show genuine thanks, but as soon as you saw Logan, your smile grew wide. Without hesitation, you ran up to him to greet him and waved. "Hey, Logan!" His comment about Scott made you laugh. "Ah, well, Charles has been making him teach me some stuff out in the field.”

Logan’s sour mood was instantly lifted as you ran up to him. He smiled back at you, the annoyance he felt from earlier gone now that you were in front of him, looking adorable as usual. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, trying to remain stoic.

“What kinda stuff he been teaching ya?” he replied, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

You looked over at Logan and smiled warmly, always enjoying when he was near you. "Well, mostly combat, but I don't have his mutation so I have to do more up close combat than what he does.” You sighed with frustration at the entire situation, but you remained as positive as you could, thankful for the opportunities.

Logan nodded his head as he listened intently, but he couldn’t deny that that answer displeased him a little; the thought of Cyclops showing you how to fight hand-to-hand combat made his blood boil, and he hated to think about him so close to you like that. He’d seen the way Scott looked at you, he knew his thoughts, or what any guy would do to be near a woman in such a situation. Wasn't having Jean enough to satisfy him?

“Yeah? He show ya all the right moves yet, darlin’?” He asked, trying to remain casual.

"Well, no," you confessed and leaned in closer. "He's kinda bad at it," you said in a dramatic whisper, rolling your eyes for even more dramatic effect.

Logan let out a sharp bark of laughter. That was the answer he wanted to hear. He was always looking for a reason to tear into Scott. "Yeah? Well, maybe you oughtta be spendin’ a little more time trainin’ with ol’ Wolvie here. He’ll show ya some much better moves than Cyclops ever could," he replied, leaning in closer to keep his voice down.

"Well that's the funny thing, I did request you on field missions and the Professor said no, that I needed to focus…”

Logan’s smile immediately dropped. He frowned deeply at the mention of Charles. Of course, the Professor would say something like that… "Yeah? What’d he say, exactly?" He asked, his tone growing serious as his irritation returned thinking of you with Scott.

"Well, he said I'd only be paying attention to you, and not actually working, goofing off." You huffed and crossed your arms. "He says we mess around too much, don't take anything seriously when we're together.”

Logan felt his face heat up at your words. Well, at least it wasn’t because you were paying too much attention to Scott. He huffed in slight annoyance. “So, what? He sayin’ you’d be too distracted around me to focus on a mission or somethin’? Pfft. Sounds like a load a’ bullshit to me.” He looked away, avoiding your gaze as he crossed his arm over his chest, mimicking you.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying! You're better at hand-to-hand and I wanted you to teach me," you huffed in irritation. “I take missions seriously, the Professor should know that.”

Logan’s frown morphed into a grin upon hearing that. It felt good to hear you say that and he had the perfect response for your anger. “Well, I’m sure the Professor won’t mind if we sparred sometimes, huh?” He said, his grin growing wider. “We could prove it to him when we kick some ass together.”

"Well, no, I don't think he'd mind that. We could do that in the danger room whenever you'd want. I bet you could teach me to throw a real punch," you said with a smirk. "Still can't believe the Professor said no though…"

“Yeah? You wanna learn how to throw a real punch, huh?” He chuckled to himself. He loved it when you got like this: feisty and ready for a fight. The thought of you taking swings at him? That was… exciting.

“Y’know, I bet I could teach ya a bunch of stuff he don’t want ya to know. Maybe he’s scared of how good of a fighter I’ll make you,” he teased, leaning in closer to you.

You couldn't help but giggle as you looked over at Logan. "Mhm maybe, but he also said–" You puffed up your chest, trying to imitate the Professor as best as you could. "You should never just hone your gifts, but learn to work well with others' gifts, then you won't have a weakness when you have each other."

Logan couldn’t help but burst with laughter at hearing your impression of Charles. “Eh that’s a buncha bullshit,” he barked, rolling his eyes. He always preferred to work alone. The thought of relying on your own strength, your own fighting ability, seemed more practical to him. “So, what, he expects you to get all buddy-buddy with Slim?” He asked, a hint of jealousy lingering in his voice.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, not aware of the underlying irritation Logan felt. "Apparently. He said our mutations are opposite and his is far-ranged while mine is more close-ranged. I need to learn to compliment others in battle if we want to thrive."

You groaned again, just wanting to hang out with your friend, Logan. The friend you had intense feelings for. Maybe Charles knew about that and intended to keep you distant so you wouldn't do anything stupid.

Logan couldn’t help the eye roll at that comment. Opposites, huh? That seemed to bother him even more. He just KNEW Scott wanted to get his hands on you.

“Yeah? Well, he sure don’t mind gettin’ his hands on you, huh?” He grumbled, under his breath. He was really trying to hold back his jealousy, but the thought of you learning how to fight with Cyclops… just didn’t seem fair.

You took his comment as a little odd, but maybe he was just looking out for you. "Well, I think he was just being nice, I wouldn't take it that far, Logan," you scoffed, looking away from him with a smirk. “Besides, he's got Jean,” you said as if her name left a sour taste in your mouth.

Logan’s frown deepened, his jealousy rising with every word you spoke, not to mention the slightly uncomfortable feeling that stung him when you mentioned Jean. He grumbled, his irritation growing rapidly as you dismissed his worries.

“Oh yeah?” He said through clenched teeth. “How is it that you don’t see the way he looks at you? He’s always got his eye on you. ‘Nice’, my ass.”

"I never see it because I don't look at him," you pointed out to him. “And again, he's got Jean.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as you responded, his hands clenching into tight fists. He knew you were oblivious to the way Scott was acting around you, even if it seemed so obvious to him, even if he had Jean. What was stopping him from acting that way with you when he once acted that way with Jean?

“Yeah, and you’re also not seein’ that it ain’t just him,” he retorted, leaning back against the sofa. “He ain’t the only one who’s got his eye on you.”

This took you slightly off guard, but you just chalked it up to Logan really disliking Scott. "What you seem to not understand is I'm not looking at Scott because I'm looking at you," you confessed with a softened gaze.

Logan froze as the words came out of your mouth. His face heated up, his irritation and jealousy replaced with surprise and a hint of hope. He wasn’t sure if he heard you right. Did you really just say you were looking at… him? He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say, so you had rendered him speechless for once.

You scoffed at his reaction and waved your hand in front of his face. "Earth to Howlett," you giggled. "What, honey badger got your tongue?”

Logan snapped out of his daze, his cheeks turning a soft shade of red. He grumbled under his breath, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, ducking his head to avoid your gaze. His heart was practically leaping out of his chest and you were just laughing at him.

"Mhm you're cute when you get flustered," you said softly leaning closer to him, resting your shoulder against his as you nudged him gently.

Logan was sure his cheeks were a full-blown shade of red at this point. He was not used to being called “cute”, and he definitely wasn’t used to people getting so close to him, let alone someone he secretly adored.

He cleared his throat and tried to maintain a casual demeanor, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Yeah? You, uh… think I’m cute?” He questioned, his voice wavering a bit.

"Oh absolutely, and ruggedly handsome, and stunning… I could go on." You said, listing them off as you tapped your fingers, that large shit-eating grin on your face, knowing very well it got under his skin.

Now that did it. Logan’s face was on fire. Never, in his entire life, had someone ever lay on the compliments so thick, certainly not one as sweet and gorgeous as you. He swallowed hard and tried to play it off as his usual careless demeanor. He was used to messing around with you, so why was it really getting to him today? “Aw, shut up,” he grumbled, shifting awkwardly against the wall.

You couldn't help but laugh at his cool demeanor, so you shrugged as you pushed yourself away from the wall, smiling wide as you looked back at him. "Oops, sorry," you said playfully. "I'll meet you back in the living area. I gotta go and check in with the Professor."

Logan didn’t want you to leave just yet, not when you were making his heart race like that. He let out a sigh and nodded his head, trying to act as stoic as possible. “Yeah, alright. You go on ‘n do that,” he mumbled.

"I'll see you in like, ten minutes then! Maybe we could have a beer," you offered and waved sweetly at him as you turned around to start to walk off, smiling wide.

Truthfully, you loved being around Logan, but you had no idea if you could ever admit that to anyone, they wouldn't understand the charm he had that you adored so much. With how quickly you two got on, it was a wonder that you were able to keep your thoughts as pure as they had been for so long, but lately, something about Logan getting all hot and bothered by you hanging around Scott made you realize just how much Logan truly meant to you.

Logan watched you walk away, his eyes lingering a moment too long on your figure. He mentally scolded himself for being so damn affected by you. It was so uncharacteristic of him, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. He was downright swooning. When you offered to have a beer with him, he leaped at the opportunity, it was the perfect moment to spend some time together. Away from Scott and the others, the way Logan preferred it.

“Yeah,” he replied, managing a smirk. “Sounds good, darlin’.”

So you went to talk to the professor and debrief him on the job you and Scott had done, and you did voice your ideas about working with others on the team to ‘spice things up’, as you worded it, and the Professor knew what you were getting at. He stopped you mid-sentence and looked at you with a soft stare.

"I know you want to work with Logan,” he began. “When you're ready, you'll be able to handle it," the professor explained. “I know it may seem frustrating, but Logan does have his disadvantages when it comes to missions, he's still getting used to working as a team, and sometimes he makes a decision that isn't the best for everyone involved.”

You grumbled in annoyance but nodded to the professor, so you thanked him and made your way to the living area to meet back with Logan.

Logan was already sitting on the couch in the living quarters, leaning back with a beer in hand, when you finally walked in. His heart immediately thumped as he laid eyes on you, and he felt his cheeks heat up. He mentally cursed himself again, he needed to keep it together. He didn’t want you to think you had this much of an effect on him, but he'd be lying if he said you didn't.

Logan patted the cushion next to him and gestured for you to join him. “C’mere, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough.

With a smile, you followed his instructions and plopped right down next to him, grabbing a beer from the table. "Ugh, the professor denied my request again," you complained to him.

Logan grunted in irritation as you sat down beside him, so he took a sip of his beer, his other hand tapping on the bottle. “He did, huh? I’m not surprised.” He rolled his eyes, taking another swig. “What’d he say this time?”

“He said you don't ‘play nice’ working in team environments, so until there's a chance that people get hurt when you make a wrong decision, it's dangerous. But you're not like that!” You huffed, popping the bottle open and sipping it fast. "I don't get it, I feel like I'm ready and you wouldn't do anything stupid to get someone hurt, I don't understand.”

Logan sighed and shook his head in agreement. He was frustrated, too. He didn’t understand why the Professor was so adamant on denying your request. He leaned back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “I feel the same. You definitely got potential if things go south, you’re a quick learner. Way quicker than the others, that’s for damn sure.” He stole a glance at you, watching you from the corner of his eye, all he wanted was to spend more time with you. “And as for me, we'll, he ain't wrong, exactly… teamwork ain't my strong suit.”

“Well, still, you wouldn't get anyone hurt on purpose, I know you well enough to vouch for you there.” You grumbled again and took a long sip of your beer, hating the taste of it, but you stuck it out. When you looked back over at Logan, you offered a small smile. "How was your mission, at least?”

Logan chuckled and shook his head. You were feisty, he liked that about you. It was endearing to see how determined you were to get what you wanted. He shrugged his shoulders in response to your question.

“Fine, I suppose. We weren’t there for long, took out the bots, and got out. Nothin’ too major. Nothin’ I needed Cyclops to help me with,” he replied with a scoff. He took another drink of his beer and glanced over at you. “How ‘bout you? Missions have seemed to be goin’ smoothly for you recently, huh?”

You couldn't help but scoff at his comment and looked over at the window, sighing. "Yeah, so far, it's been fun being out in the field, though, I like being more hands-on."

Yeah, that was one thing he adored about you. Your need for combat and to prove yourself as a capable fighter, it wasn’t for everyone, but you were determined to get your hands dirty. Logan couldn’t help the smirk spreading across his face. “Damn right, that's where all the fun is, out in the field. And you’ll get your chance, just gotta wait until the Professor pulls his head out of his ass and lets you,” he snickered.

You giggled at his comment and shook your head. "Yeah, we'll see, but I do hope we can work together one day, oh I bet going on a mission with you would be so fun!”

The fact you wanted to work with him on a mission was intriguing, to say the very least, but he almost felt a sense of pride seeing you want to work with him. “You’re full of surprises, ain’t ya, kid?” He asked with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Just call me a fun house I guess," You joked. "So, how does Wolverine spend his downtime after missions?" You asked.

Logan scratched the stubble on his chin and chuckled. “Well, I usually like to keep it low-key. Some drinks, maybe head to the bar or a game of pool. Nothin’ too crazy.” He eyed you with a sly smirk.

"Oh, you play pool?" You asked with a glint of excitement in your eyes.

Logan chuckled and nodded, taking note of the sudden excitement in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m damn good at it, too,” he boasted, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He leaned in a little closer to you. “You play?”

"I play for fun, so I'm not great. I'd be down to get some pointers from you if you're not busy," you offered with a smile.

Logan could barely contain his excitement. You wanted him to teach you how to play pool? He’d be spending even more time with you, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to have you all to himself.

“Of course, I’ve got time, darlin’, I’ll give you all the pointers you need. I’ll make a pool shark outta you in no time,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

You adored his charm, truly, you couldn’t help but giggle and nudge him with your arm. "Oh, Logan, you're something else," you laughed and patted his knee as you stood up in one swift motion. "C'mon! Wanna do it now?”

Logan chuckled at your comment and felt his heart leap as you patted his knee. He absolutely loved when you touched him. He stood up and smirked at you, his eyes filled with a wicked gleam. “Hell yes, let’s go. I can’t wait to show you all my techniques,” he said, his voice thick with innuendo.

"Hell YES, let's go! I got the beers," You said with excitement and yanked the six-pack from the table. You didn't take offense or think it weird when Logan flirted, he was usually like that with you, but every time he'd done so, it made you feel warm and fuzzy.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm. Your excitement was contagious, and it only fueled his own desire to spend time with you even more. He gestured for you to lead the way, his eyes scanning your figure. “Lead the way, doll. I’m right behind ya,” he said with a smirk, following behind you with a cocky gait.

You couldn't hide the wide smile as you walked along with the beer in tow, weaving through the halls towards the rec room. You'd look back to make sure Logan was still following, feeling excitement take over your entire body, also feeling the fluttery feeling in your stomach.

Logan followed you through the halls, his heart racing with every step, and he watched as you looked back at him, your smile making his stomach flutter. He kept his gaze fixated on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips as you walked ahead of him. He found himself wondering what it would be like to push you up against a wall and kiss you senseless… ‘What the hell is wrong with you? She won't see you that way, you're never gonna have a shot’. He quickly shook the thought from his head, reminding himself to keep it together.

You had found the room and pushed the doors open, turning on the lights as you waited for Logan. You let out a satisfied hum when you spotted the pool table and walked up to it, placing the beers off to the side as you started shifting through the pool cues.

Logan followed you into the rec room, his eyes scanning over the pool table with a cocky grin. He sauntered over to you, his gaze fixated on your movements as you rummaged around the table for pool cues. He came up behind you, his body mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your neck as he spoke. “I hope you’re ready to get schooled, doll,” he teased, his voice low and hoarse.

As you found the pool chalk after you found a cue stick that worked to your liking, you then turned to Logan, shooting him a raised eyebrow. You weren't surprised by his cockiness but also felt rather playful, so you figured you'd play back.

"You're not supposed to school me yet, Howlett, you gotta teach me!" You huffed, shooting him a faux frown.

Logan chuckled, his eyes roaming over your playful expression. He loved it when you got feisty with him. It only made him want you even more. He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, trust me, doll, I plan to teach you. But first, I gotta show you some of my moves. Consider it a demonstration of just how good I really am.” He moved closer, his body practically pressed against yours as he reached around you to grab his cue stick.

When he did things like this, you couldn't help but blush a little, but when he reached over you to grab his pool cue, his body was so close to yours and you couldn't find the sass to give him right then, he was so close. He did this to get you flustered, but he wasn’t actually flirting with you to see where it led, was he?

Logan smirked as he noticed the blush growing on your face. He loved seeing how flustered he made you, how simple close proximity had you acting so shy. He couldn’t help but lean in even closer, his body pressing against yours. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “You alright, doll? Suddenly losing your spunk?” he teased.

"Well you're the one distracting me on purpose, Wolvie," you huffed and slipped away from him, smiling wickedly as you walked around the table with your cue.

Logan chuckled, his smirk growing wider as you slipped away from him. You were always so determined and feisty. He watched as you walked around the table. “Mmm, maybe I am. But I’m just teachin’ you how to focus under distractions.”He casually leaned against the side of the pool table, his gaze never leaving you.

"Oh is that it?" You laughed and watched him as he got ready to strike the formation. "Very good first lesson, truly.”

Logan chuckled, his eyes locked onto yours. He loved your sassy comebacks. It only fueled his desire to prove himself to you. He smirked, his hand poised to strike. “Oh, doll, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’m just gettin’ started. Let’s see how well you deal under more distractions.” He leaned closer to you, his voice dipped low. “Because there’s a lot more where that came from.”

"Mhm, I already know that, but I think you're the one who's gonna have to pay attention to the table, bub," you teased as you watched from the side of the table.

Logan chuckled, his ego a little bruised by your comment. He had to admit, he loved your boldness, you weren’t intimidated by him in the slightest. In fact, it seemed like you loved challenging him, which only made him want to try even harder to get under your skin.

He smirked, his eyes darkened with a hint of arrogance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, doll. I can focus just fine, even with a distraction as beautiful as you.”

You chuckled awkwardly, looking away as you reveled in the compliments he showered you with. You knew Logan flirted a lot, you loved it when he did, and you just figured he only flirted to tease you. He didn't know you had developed feelings for him, but you flirted in return, it was a fun back-and-forth you both seemed to enjoy.

"Pfft okay, bub, prove it. Get a ball in a pocket.”

Logan's heart thudded in his chest as he watched you react to his compliment. He loved seeing the way your cheeks flushed just slightly, how your eyes darted away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. He knew you were used to his flirting, but every time he did it, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd begin to see how serious he really was behind it all.

The sight of you leaning against your cue, your eyebrows raised in challenge, sent a wave of desire through his body. You were so damn feisty, so damn beautiful. He had a hard time being as cool as he was when you were around, you just knew how to push all the right buttons. He chuckled and focused his gaze back on the table, took a step forward, his body moving gracefully as he lined up his shot.

You watched his body language as he leaned across the table the way he took aim with his cue, you made sure to watch, take note, see how he made it work. What you didn't expect was to really, really enjoy the sight of him over the pool table.

Logan could feel your eyes on him as he leaned over the pool table, and could sense your gaze tracing every movement of his body. He felt a thrill run through him, loving the attention you were giving him. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, but he couldn’t ignore the way your eyes were burning into him. The way you were watching him so intently. It made it extremely hard to concentrate. He steadied himself, lining up the shot, but he couldn’t help but smirk at your obvious admiration.

You watched as he hesitated, and you couldn't hide the wide smile on your face. "What's wrong, Howlett? Distracted?" You teased as you leaned over to look at him with a wide smile.

Logan couldn't help but chuckle as you leaned forward to tease him. Your proximity was driving him wild. He could practically feel your breath on his face. He looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Distracted? Me? Never. Just makin' sure you're enjoyin’ the view, doll.”

"Mhm, sure, sure," you laughed, loving his banter. "Take the shot before I push you out of the way and go," you warned playfully.

Logan chuckled, his heart racing as you taunted him. You were really testing his limits, but he loved every second of it.

He shook his head, his smirk widening. “Oh no ya don’t. You ain’t touchin’ this table till I’m done with it.” He steadied himself again, determined to prove himself. He aimed and took the shot, sinking the ball into the corner pocket with ease.

Your eyebrows raised as you watched him sink a ball into the pocket, you then hummed with a satisfied tone. "Wow, that's impressive, Logan, so, any tips I should know?"

Logan couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you praised his shot. Your words fueled his ego, and he loved showing off for you. He leaned on his cue, a smug smile on his face. “Mmm, tips? Sure, lemme see.”

He walked over to you, his body close enough to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He placed a hand on your hip, positioning you in front of him.

Your face blushed immediately, you bit your lip as he positioned you at the table, and you tried to focus on the table, but his body radiated so much warmth, and he was so close, that you had a tough time concentrating.

"O-Okay, so like this?"

Logan noticed the flush of color on your cheeks as he moved you into position, and he couldn't help but wear a cocky smile. He loved the way you reacted to his touch, so visibly flustered by his mere presence. He leaned in closer so his chest brushed against your back. “Yeah, doll, that's good. Keep your eye on the target.” His hand remained on your hip, his touch light yet firm as he guided you.

"Okay, so you sank a solid color, I got striped, sooooo," you drew out, "I'll try for the blue," you said and aimed your cue. You tried not to focus too much on Logan's hand on your hip, wondering just how good his hand would feel somewhere else.

Logan watched intently as you lined up your cue, trying to keep his thoughts from straying to other places. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the way your breath hitched as he pressed closer to you.

He leaned in, his chin hovering above your shoulder as he spoke, his voice low. “Yeah, try for the blue, doll. Keep it simple for now.” He tried to ignore the way your body felt against his, how badly he wanted to take you right on the pool table.

You nodded and took a deep breath in, then released the breath as soon as the cue hit the white ball, it glided across the table and into a fray of balls, hitting the blue-striped one against the side of the table, and sure enough, it fell into the corner pocket.

"YES!” You shouted as you raised a fist into the air.

Logan chuckled, a smile spreading across his face as he watched the blue ball fall into the corner pocket. He couldn't help but feel proud of you, watching your excitement as you celebrated your accomplishment.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above the shell of your ear. “Mmm, good job, doll. That was a solid shot.” His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer to him, his chest pressed against your back.

"Wolvie, you can... let me go if you want... or not... your choice," you hummed softly, your face turning slightly to look at him over your shoulder. You felt so flustered, he’d never been this bold before, being so close to you like this, his hands pressed against you in such a way…

Logan's heart thumped in his chest as he heard your soft voice, his body practically humming with want. His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer against him. He let out a soft chuckle, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you want me to let go?” His voice was low, dripping with desire. He knew he was walking a fine line, but he couldn't bring himself to pull back.

"I... not really," you confessed softly.

Logan’s breath hitched in his chest as he heard your confession, your voice barely above a whisper. It was all he needed to hear, and all he could do was let out a low groan, his hand on your hip pulling you closer. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

"I haven't done anything," you said with a small chuckle. "How do I drive you crazy?” you asked, knowing very well what you did, and how you would flirt relentlessly with him, wanting to get a reaction.

Logan chuckled at your response, his hand tracing lazy circles on your hip. “Oh, doll, believe me, you don’t have to do anything. Just your presence, your scent, the sound of your voice…” He leaned in, his lips hovering just above the skin of your neck, his voice dark and rough. “It’s all enough to drive a man mad.”

"If I knew any better, Wolvie, I'd say you have a thing for me..." You said with a gentle tone, your face close to his as you stared over at him, your expression filled with hesitance and desire.

Logan let out a soft laugh, his hand on your hip gripping you tighter. “And what if I do? What if I’ve been wanting you, desiring you, practically since we met?” His gaze darkened, his eyes locked onto yours. There was no denying the desire he felt for you, he had been fighting it for ages now. But having you this close, hearing your words, it made it damn near impossible to resist.

"Then I'd say you're a fool for not letting me know sooner," you huffed, almost glaring at him. "Here I thought I was dumb to flirt with you, and you never made a move, so I thought you weren't interested.”

Logan shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, I have been interested, more than interested. I just didn’t think you’d be interested in a damaged, pissed-off man like me. But trust me, I haven’t been able to get you outta my head since I laid eyes on you.”

"Hey, you're not all of that," you replied sternly. "You're more than that, Logan. Why’d you think that's all there is to you?”

Logan looked down at you, his expression a mix of vulnerability and hesitation. He knew you saw more in him than just his flaws and baggage, but it was hard for him to see past it all himself.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things, things I’m not proud of. I just thought someone like you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. I thought it was better to just admire you from afar than risk ruining something by being my usual, broken self.”

"You aren't ruining a damn thing, Logan, come on," you said and fully turned to face him, looking into his deep eyes. "Why do you think I always wanna be near you? Play pool, and drink beer, I like you, Logan. You're a damn angry man, but I like it, there's more under all that.”

Logan's heart thudded in his chest as you faced him, your words piercing straight to his soul. He couldn’t believe that you truly wanted him, despite all the bad he thought he was. His hand on your hip moved up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

“Damn it, you really think there’s more to me, don’t you?”

"Hell yeah I do," you chuckled with a large smile, closing your eyes once his hand cupped your cheek. "You think I'd prefer to be around you if I didn't? Everyone told me how much of a hot head you were, but I don't care what others say, I found out for myself that there's more to you than that. I’m never wrong.”

He couldn’t resist your sweet temptations any longer, he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, not with you being so close to him, scrambling his senses. He pulled your face close to his and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, one that conveyed the desire he had for you, wanting to taste you.

You accepted your fate and gasped against his lips, melted against his touch, incredibly happy that this was finally happening. Your hand was placed against his cheek and you kissed him back, the passion and intensity sparking between you both.

The feel of your lips against his was everything he had dreamed of. He let out a low moan as he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to taste you, his hand on your hip pulling you impossibly closer to his body. He broke the kiss only long enough to gasp out, "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. Wanted you.”

You couldn’t hide the moan against his mouth once his tongue glided across your lips, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach. When he pulled away, he left you breathless and smiling like an idiot. "I... me too, Logan," you whispered.

Seeing you breathless and smiling up at him, it filled Logan with a primal sense of satisfaction. Knowing that he was the one making you feel this way felt so damn good. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "You don't know how many times I've fantasized about this, doll. To have you this close to me, in my arms. It feels like a damn dream.”

"Mhm yeah? You fantasized about me?" you asked curiously, a flirtatious tone in your voice. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him, smiling up at him sweetly.

The sound of your flirtatious tone sent a shiver down Logan's spine. He could feel his body responding to your touch, to the way you were looking up at him. He let out a deep chuckle, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Oh, you have no idea. I've fantasized about you in ways you can't even imagine." He leaned in, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. "And I plan on making every one of them come true.”

You looked at him in surprise, your eyes wide and your cheeks beet red. "O-Oh, really? Logan, I had no idea you were such a dirty dog," you teased, trying to lighten the mood. You got nervous whenever someone spoke in such a flirtatious way, but NO ONE had ever spoken to you like Logan had.

Logan chuckled at your surprise, loving the way your cheeks flushed at his words. He loved the way he could make you blush, and how easily he could get a reaction out of you. “Oh, I’m a damn dirty dog, alright,” he whispered against your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. He pulled you even closer, his body flush against yours. “And I plan on proving it to you damn soon, if you’re up for it, that is.”

Here you were, pressed against the pool table and Logan’s broad frame, staring into his eyes, not believing a word coming from his mouth was real. You had to have been dreaming… He was asking for your permission to prove himself, your thighs pressed together as if you could hide the desire growing between them.

He took a slight step back to give you some space, a feral look in his eyes as he reached out and grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. "No," he said, his voice dripping with need. "Don’t hide that from me, I can…smell just how wet you are, princess. Your room, now.”

You made the snap decision right then and there, your entire resolve snapping, being taken over. “Yes, sir…” you replied and grabbed his hand, pulling him quickly to your room.

When you both reached your room, Logan pushed the door closed behind him as he pulled you back into his grasp, pushing you against the door while almost lifting you from the floor. His lips devoured you, biting and licking at your lips, trailing down to your jaw. All you could do was be at his mercy, he was so strong, and you could feel that primal urge taking over. He couldn’t think straight. The sight of you, your flirting all day, your smell, everything about you set him off and pushed him to the edge. His hands moved up your body, gripped your shirt, and roughly yanked it off of you. He was like a different person now that it was just you two, and you allowed yourself to be the receiving end of his demands because all you wanted right now was him.

His hands slid across your skin as he kept you pushed against the wall, one hand slowly reached down to grab your leg and lift it to his waist. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing his hips against yours, prodding you with the obvious erection in his jeans. Logan couldn’t stop himself from sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you against him as he rubbed against your clothed sex, releasing a guttural sound from his lips.

All while you were helpless beneath him, feeling how this incredibly strong man could hoist you up, move you, pin you as if you weighed nothing. You were at his mercy and you were loving every moment of it. “Logan, please, need you, no teasing,” you whined, feeling his mouth trail down to your neck, kissing and biting you there, slowly making his way back up to your jaw.

“Yeah? You don’t want me to take my time with you?” He laughed, nuzzling your throat with his nose before he brought down his mouth to you again.

You gasped and moaned his name over and over, trying to get him to stop being such a tease, but he wasn’t letting up, not until he wanted to. Logan hummed against your throat, tasting your skin, smelling your scent all over him, the feeling vibrated against your throat which only sent a jolt of need through you.

He adjusted and held you up with one arm, cradling you against him and the wall as he slipped his other hand between you both, feeling just how soaked you were through your shorts. “Damn, princess, my nose never lies, you are soaked.” He laughed at the amount that was already on his fingers, so he decided it was high time to feel you. He moved through the shorts and pushed aside the underwear, plunging two fingers deep within you, curling into your cunt.

Your body tensed as your nails dug deep into his shoulder, finally feeling a sliver of what he could offer to you, and you were already at his mercy. “Holy shit, Logan,” you whined, your voice cracking as your hips instinctively rolled against his hand.

“Mhm, that’s right, darlin’, ride my fingers and show me how much you want it,” he said gruffly beside your ear, smiling that cocky-ass smile. He managed to press his thumb against your clit and rub, causing your body to jerk beneath him, and it only fueled him to continue.

You did as he asked, riding his fingers as best as you could from this angle as he assisted you, pumping them in and out, curling deep to reach the spot you desired. Logan watched your face contorted with pleasure, your juices coating his hand as you needily moved against him. He watched with intensity, feeling his own excitement staining the front of his jeans as he added a third finger into the mix, stretching you out.

“Oh, fuck, Logan, feels so good…” You moaned out, and your head fell forward, resting on his shoulder as he continued to hold you in place. Your body felt heavy as he held you there, but you wanted to feel him properly, you needed him. “Logan, bed, please...”

Logan growled as you begged, he loved hearing your voice, but saying his name like this was too much to handle right now. He slid his fingers out of you, your body reacted as expected and you cried out, wanting the emptiness to be filled again, but you had no time to argue. His hands picked you up with ease and walked you to your bed, then he set you down as your body bounced from the drop, his eyes drinking you in while his hands worked quickly at your shorts.

As he leaned over your body, he couldn’t help but place such gentle kisses down your body, his hands immediately discarding your shirt from over your head as he kissed you over and over again, but you eagerly helped yourself out of the bra you had on. His tongue was tracing the dips and curves of your skin as he kissed lower, then he reached your breasts and began to suck on one of your nipples, his hands kneading into your soft flesh as his teeth and tongue gently played with your sensitive bud.

When you responded so well to his touch, he couldn’t hide the growl that pulsated against your skin, pleased with your responses beneath him. After paying some attention to your other breast, Logan began to trail more kisses down your body, his lips coasting against the dips toward your belly and then stopped just above your center. Your breathing picked up, your chest rising and falling faster as you watched him with wide eyes. He slowly swiped his tongue through your wet folds and then teased you a little with his tongue against your clit.

He pulled back a little to stare up at you, smiling. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured against you, his voice hoarse with desire.

Your body responded so well to his tongue between your legs that you had to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs against his head, but his large hands were spreading them in an instant, keeping you still. “Fuck, Logan, that feels so good-” You gasped as he sucked a little stronger than you expected, and the moan that came from your lips sounded so divine.

Logan continued to eat you out, his tongue pressing into you with relentless enthusiasm. He curled his long tongue within you, two of his fingers dipping inside to add to the pleasure.

“Keep doing that and I’m not lasting long,” you warned, your tone sounding whiney and pitiful.

He stopped eating you out for a moment and stood up, his eyes burning with desire as he quickly did away with his jeans. You could see the obvious tent forming in front, his hard on straining against the fabric before he slid them down quickly. “Fuck, I need to be inside you now,” he growled, allowing his hard cock to pop out from his boxers.

As you looked down to see his length finally free from its restrictive confines, your eyes were glued to it, and your mouth watered. You wanted to have him in your mouth more than you cared to admit. “Logan, please, I need you inside of me…” you said, almost in a whisper.

He crawled back onto the bed, his eyes locked with yours as he positioned himself between your legs. Logan slowly entered you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“You're so fucking tight,” he groaned, then started to move his hips in slow, deep thrusts.

"Damn, you're so thick," you groaned, feeling the intense pleasure roll over you as you smiled and leaned your head back. "Oh fuck, Logan.”

He smirked at your praise, his throbbing cock filling you completely with each thrust. He reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you into him even deeper. “You like that, don't you? You fucking love it.” He started thrusting harder, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched your face as you took him.

"Ahhh –fuck, yes I do!" You whined, clenching your teeth together as you melted into his touch, your moans were too loud now, there was no way you could control yourself anymore. "Feels so good.”

He growled, something he did fairly often around you, his hips slammed into yours now. “You want more? You want me to make you scream my name? Fine.” His thrusts became wilder, more erratic as his fingers dug into your skin and he took you roughly, mercilessly. “Say it, baby girl.”

"Yes! Logan, oh my god, Logan!" You cried out, moaning with each hard thrust he pushed against your hips, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

His grunts of pleasure echoed in the room as he fucked you harder, his cock reaching deeper into your core. Hearing his name on your lips only made him want to lose himself within you. He groaned louder, feeling your walls tighten around him, so he gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers leaving marks on your skin. “Say it again…”

"Logan!" You moaned out again, wanting him to know you only wanted to scream his name ever again. "Oh god," you cried out, holding onto him as you wrapped your arms around his neck to anchor yourself to him.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of primal lust and the slightest hint of a deeper emotion. "I like hearing you say my name," he hummed before his lips crashed onto yours. His tongue dominated your mouth, demanding submission as his thrusts became more desperate and needy.

You can't help but stare up at him, slack-jawed from the pleasure, moans, cries, and whimpers stumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to talk. "Y-Yes," you said simply as your eyes rolled back slightly. "You're fucking me so good, Logan.”

His adrenaline spiked at the sound of his name coming from your lips while he fucked you. "Damn right, I am." He grinned down at you, feral and satisfied. “You like it when I make sure to remind you who you belong to?” He asked roughly.

Logan's eyes rolled back in his head as he lost himself in the sensation of being inside you. He pounded into you relentlessly, the bed creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. His claws extended and dug into the mattress on either side of your head as he held himself above you, he'd take care of that later, all he could focus on was how good you felt around him. He increased his pace, his hips snapped forward as he buried himself inside you over and over. His breathing grew heavier and his face contorted with pleasure. He leaned down and bit down on your collarbone, his teeth sinking into your flesh.

You flinched slightly when his claws came out, but you still clung to him, not afraid of the animal that threatened to release. He continued to keep going, but you looked up at him in a haze and bit your lip before speaking. "Logan, can you....”

Logan slowed down, retracted his claws, and looked down at you, his expression filled with concern as he leaned down and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "What is it? Did I hurt you?”

"No, you didn't hurt me, I was actually going to ask if... you'd put your hand around my throat as you fucked me?” What kind of request was that for your first time with him?! You felt crazy for even asking, but it was something you thought about for a while now, though you wouldn’t confess that right away.

Logan's pupils dilated with desire at your words. He reached up and wrapped his hand around your throat, his thumb resting lightly against your pulse. He began to move inside you again, his pace slow and measured, his eyes locked onto yours. "Like that?”

"Y-yes, like that," you smiled shyly and closed your eyes as his thrust pushed deeper into you. "Just like that.”

Logan tightened his hand around your throat as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward as he buried himself inside you over and over, his breathing grew heavier, and his face contorted with pleasure. He leaned down and bit down on your collarbone, his teeth sinking into your flesh. He suddenly growled possessively against your skin as he felt you tensing beneath him. He could sense that you were close, and he wanted to push you over the edge right along with him. He tightened his hand around your throat further and increased his pace, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force.

"Yes! Like that! Just like that, oh my god!" You cried out and held onto his arms, your nails digging further into his skin as they caused the flesh beneath them to tear open.

He let out a deep, guttural growl as you cut him open, his skin repairing the second you caused any damage. Logan's response to your cries was a feral snarl as he felt his control slipping. He released your throat and sat up, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. He pounded into you with reckless abandon, his fingers digging into the mattress as he chased his release. "Fuck, I'm so close…”

“L-Logan, please,” you begged, “come inside of me, need you to fill me up!” you cried out, the sound coming from your throat was broken, strangled, your voice taken as he pounded into you.

Logan’s muscles strained as he continued to thrust into you, his movements became erratic and desperate as he felt himself reaching the edge, and his breaths were ragged as he could feel the pressure building within him. Suddenly, he let out a deafening growl as he finally succumbed to the pressure, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he came hard, his hot seed inside of you as he continued to thrust through his own release. His body convulsed, and his breathing was hot and heavy against your skin as you finally let your body go, the crash of pleasure hitting your body hard as your back was arched, your body and hips snapped up against him, his thrusts working you through your own orgasm.

As you clung to his body, your arms wrapped around his neck as your thighs squeezed him, pulling him deeper inside of you as Logan sighed, resting his head on your shoulder for a moment just to bask in the afterglow. Logan remained buried inside you, his arms wrapped around your legs as he tried to catch his breath. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and feeling completely sated for the first time in a long while. "Fuck, that was intense.”

You couldn't speak, you lay there with Logan's heavy body on top of you as you panted in short breaths, hoping to lay here as long as you could while you stared up at him with a thin sheen of sweat coating your face. He was a natural heater for you, his body pressed over yours as he brought a gentle kiss to your temple while you gently rubbed his arm, then you brought your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb against his cheek.

Logan nuzzled into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed briefly. He then looked up at you, his expression tender. "You should stay the night here in my room.” His hands squeezed your thigh gently as he reached down. "Unless you have somewhere else to be, of course. Unless...you don't want to.” He hesitated, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. "I mean, if you have other plans, I get it.”

That confidence and cockiness he had earlier was gone, it was as if he had changed into another person, one that was much more vulnerable now that you two were alone in your own world. “Logan, I'd love to stay the night with you,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to cup his face gently. “I always wished you woulda asked me.” You had a playful tone as you spoke, lightening the mood a little.

He pulled out of you slowly, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your belly, then he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him as he settled beside you. “Mhm good, I don't want you to leave yet.”

You lay in his grasp, your half-lidded eyes staring into his as you reached a hand to brush your fingers through his hair, finally able to feel the closeness you’d wanted for so long. Your eyes closed, breathing in your mixed scents as you let out a small, satisfied hum. “You know, Charles is right about one thing, I do get distracted by you,” you muttered softly.

The way you whispered this, the way you looked into his eyes as you spoke, your expression filled with such adoration, it pulled at him more than he would ever care to admit. His gaze softened as he placed his hand on your chin, his thumb gently sliding across your bottom lip as his eyes darted to your lips. “Guess Charles ain’t too daft after all,” he teased. Logan let out a long exhale, his arms tightened around you as you nuzzled further against him.

You let out a small chuckle as you looked up at him, your eyes glued to him as you got to really look at his face so close, seeing his features in a different light. “You know, I kinda like soft Logan, and not in a degrading way, mind you, just nice to see you let your guard down, showing me how you feel.”

His chest tightened at your words, but not in an uncomfortable way, he understood exactly what you meant, but he wouldn’t deny the sense of comfort it gave him to know that he could be vulnerable around you.

“Mhm, I ain’t used to showin’ that side of me, but here, baby girl, let me show you how I really feel,” he hummed, pulling you into a deep kiss, his need for you consuming him.

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flawseer · 4 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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