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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months

Text

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convicted he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

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dmwrites · 9 months

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Cecil: Birds of a feather stick together. But if that bird loses its way, it will be lost forever. Welcome… to NightVale.

[intro song plays]

Cecil: Listeners, today I have a guest with me here in the studio! Intern Vincent found our guest wandering in the desert as he was driving to the station this morning, and I jumped at the idea of having this guest on our show! So, why don’t you introduce yourself, mystery guest!

???: I’m… Grian. My name’s Grian.

Cecil: Well, welcome to our small community radio show, Grian! Listeners, Grian is-

Grian: Did you say listeners?

Cecil: Why yes! All of our wonderful citizens of NightVale, even the secret police, are listeners of my show!

Grian: Oh… never mind.

Cecil: As I was saying, listeners, our wonderful, if a tad interrupting-y, guest Grian is wearing a torn red sweater, black pants, and closed-toed shoes. I must say, that’s quite a fashion statement, Grian! Not too many people would wear a sweater in the desert. You must not be from around here!

Grian: I… no, I’m not. I’m not quite sure how I got here… I just… I thought I could escape the desert if I walked far enough.

Cecil: Well, as long as you’re not from Desert Bluffs, I’ll call you a friend! Eugh, Desert Bluffs, am I right? But speaking of Desert Bluffs, let me remind all of you that our half-a-millennia traditional triathlon against Desert Bluffs is almost upon us! Volunteers, taken from their homes at four in the morning with bags over their heads, will be competing in three sports events against our bitter rivals, Desert Bluffs. The three sports events, as is tradition, will be: bloodstone dodgeball, confronting the in-laws over broken boundaries, and pickleball. Good luck, NightVale athletes!

Grian: Did you just say, like, words? Like, genuinely, it feels like I just had a stroke. What on earth is a bloodstone?

Cecil: You know, I should have known you weren’t from around here, what with your funny accent. Where are you from, silly little man?

Grian: I… well, that’s a tough one, really. Hermitcraft? Third Life SMP? The Desert? All of them, I suppose. I really don’t know how I got here… I’m not sure this isn’t all a mirage.

Cecil: And you say I say strange things! Well, Grian, I was about to remark on how other cultures may not have bloodstones, but I just noticed all of the blood on your knuckles, and under your fingernails, and on the cuffs of your sweater, which I still do not think is seasonally appropriate.

Grian: Oh god. I thought I scrubbed it off with the sand. Scar…

Cecil: While we figure out the mysteries of the blood here in the studio, and Grian stares down at his hands in horror, let’s take a look at traffic. There is a man with a clock. He stands. He smiles. He will never stop smiling. They will call him a traitor someday, but for now, the traitor lies dead, the present he gave in the hands of that smiling man. They do not know that the clock, golden in its edges, will bind them together in ways they can’t even understand yet.

Grian: Scar is- Scar was my friend. I promised my life to him.

Cecil: I’ve promised my life to someone too! But it was marriage, to my beautiful Carlos. I love Carlos so much.

Grian: Scar… god, he was such a blundering fool, but with a heart and voice of gold. I didn’t think he’d get as far as he did, but we just kept getting away with it. We didn’t think about the end.

Cecil: What did this Scar wear? This is a audio medium, after all, Grian, and I must describe everything to the listeners.

Grian: He didn’t wear much, like, ever. Super annoying, too many abs.

Cecil: There is no such thing as too many abs, Grian.

Grian: I- sure, okay. Can I get back to my story now?

Cecil: Yes, please do! I am sure everyone, especially the secret police, are very interested.

Grian: I killed him with a creeper first. It was a prank, a mistake, but it really cemented the idea that this wasn’t all fun and games. It felt like fun and games for a long time, even after he died for the first time. It wasn’t until-

Cecil: And now, a word from our sponsor. Listeners, are you tired of having a perfect dog? Does your dog-food photo perfect dog leave you the laughing stock of the town? Do you ever wish you could put an imperfection on your dog so you could just fit in? Now you can, with warts! Just put warts on your precious pooch, and slide blissfully back into the dreary backdrop of life while walking them on their leashes. Dog Warts: because nothing can stay perfect forever.

Grian: I… I had to kill him. They- the ghosts of all of my friends, they told me there could only be one victor, and I… god… we stood in a circle of cactus, so we couldn’t leave, and we fought with our fists. I kept hitting him and hitting him and, god, Scar was never the best at fighting… and we were both laughing and I was crying and there was so much blood… it took so long for him to die, Cecil, and all I could do was keep hurting him, so he wouldn’t suffer. And then I was… alone. I said I was sorry, but he couldn’t hear me. No one could hear me anymore. I had won, but at what cost?

Cecil: That’s very dark! Uh, listeners, our guest Grian has a tear running down his cheek, and I am afraid he may burst into outright sobbing! To save you from that audio nightmare, I take you now to the weather!

[Howling by Lupus Nocte plays]

Cecil: Listeners, Grian is gone. He has left the station. He ran out, muttering something about “never being able to escape the desert”… whatever that means. Maybe we should stop inviting random people we find on the side of the deserted road with blood on their knuckles into the studio… but I am afraid that’s all the time we have for today, listeners. Stay tuned next for a canary, stuck in a cage made of bones, singing sadly for none to hear. NightVale, hug your loved ones close tonight. You never know what may happen next. And good night, NightVale, good night.

#grian #life series x wtnv #3rd life #grian can never escape the desert #and he found NightVale!

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bunnakit · 4 months

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last twilight episode 6 thoughts, feelings, etc.

it's that time again and i've decided to be very extra for this episode because, well, it deserves it. what a ride that was. fair warning i was feeling fucking romantic and wistful for this.

we have August showing up, trying to integrate himself into their daily routine, and then disrupting that routine entirely. and when he suggests running with Day Mhok seems defensive, jealous and probably concerned that August has seemed unreliable before - and currently is operating with more information than Day, leaving them on unequal footing. August knows about Day's feelings for him, but Day has no idea August knows, and that's not really fair. but Mhok doesn't want to say anything because maybe, just maybe, August could make Day happy. maybe Day could finally get what he wants for the first time in a long while.

so Mhok watches. because Mhok will never put himself first, it's not who he is.

Day clings to these broken and battered shoes, a connection to a past life he thought he had to leave behind. he clings to familiarity and comfort. all things Mhok has become to him.

and so maybe Mhok sees himself in these battered, rough around the edges shoes. maybe Mhok believes he can be fixed, just like the splitting sole. maybe Day is fixing him every day, not in a stupid fucking 'he saved me' bullshit like the crying guy at the interview, but in a genuine, he's changed my outlook on life, my perspective, my everything, and made me a better person. maybe these scuffed shoes can be better if someone helps them.

and so he fixes the shoes, just as he's been fixing himself ever since he walked through Day's front door, and he gives Day the sunflower he couldn't give him before. Day asks him what it is but again Mhok doesn't have the heart to say. he doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain, only moves past the moment because this isn't for him, isn't about him, this is about Day reclaiming something he thought he lost.

How can I throw them away? I love them so much.

Maybe if he loves these broken and scuffed shoes he could love me too.

and here's where we have a story narrating for us again, my absolute favorite thing about this entire series. i love the narration from the books they read - and i love that the boys are both simultaneously the character represented. the words always have a way of applying to both of them and it's fucking gorgeous.

and with this narration we've been so seamlessly slotted into Mhok's POV. everything up until now has focused pretty strongly on Day's struggles and adjustments, we've seen everything from the lens of Day and what he's facing, but suddenly we're so perfectly slotted into Mhok's body, something we haven't focused too hard on yet. sure, we've seen his pain and his grief, but we're seeing so much more now, so many little intricacies and inner thoughts. i absolutely love how this was done.

Do you think I fell in love with him without realizing it?

and as he has this love blooming in his chest, this realization of the magnitude of his feelings - that he doesn't just want Day to be happy but wants to be the source of that happiness - Mhok begins to become invisible again. it's a place he's familiar with and it doesn't come as a surprise. just with a mournful resignation. this is how it always is, and how it was always going to be.

and just like with Porjai he decides to step back. it's worth it as long as the people he loves are happy; even if that means he's not by their side.

like the scuffed shoes, Mhok is replaced with something better. Day put in his eye drops and no longer looks to Mhok but to August instead.

and as Mee and Day's fear grows smaller Mhok's grows larger. the fear of being left behind and the fear of being forgotten. the fear that Day no longer needs him, will no longer look to him for help or seek him out. the fear that he's lost his place as Day's friend, slid back into the role of only a caretaker, and perhaps even further back still into a stranger.

Mhok's shirt reads: IF LOST, DROP IN ANY MAILBOX. Return Postage Guaranteed.

because Mhok is lost. he doesn't know where he stands anymore, where he fits into Day's life. but he knows he'll always return to Day's side for as long as he needs him.

the scuffed shoes are left on the shelf, just as Mhok has tucked away his feelings for Day. they'll always be there, familiar and reliable, and maybe someday Day will need them again. maybe someday.

and then we learn that Night smokes, and maybe Day never hated the smell of cigarettes.

I think his voice is like the scent of cigarettes.

maybe Day just hated the way the smell reminded him of Night.

and we learn Day had fully resigned himself to spending his birthday alone.

his mother would be out of town, spending it with Night is out of the question, August has practice, and it's Mhok's day off. as if Mhok would rather be anywhere else. Day is used to not being a priority.

as Day peers at Mhok's chest maybe it feels like he can see into him. Mhok has always felt invisible, but somehow Day saw him in spite of all of that. maybe he wonders if Day can see into his chest, see that his heart is made of sunflowers, tucked away and kept in secret as to not inconvenience Day. and maybe Mhok wonders: can you see them? can you see the way they bloom and turn towards your light?

and for a moment Mhok is weak. he takes Day's hand and places it back on his chest as if to say: my heart is here and it belongs to you, can't you feel it?

and here is where i will begin to cry and not stop crying until the end of the episode - so if you're crying don't worry, i'm here with you.

because Day sprays Mhok with Tiwa cologne. fucking Tiwa cologne.

Tiwa means day time. the cologne was created to mimic the atmosphere of the Thai countryside during the day.

suddenly, Mhok is bathed in the scent of Day. both the concept and the man.

it's Day's favorite scent.

It smells both like toughness and aggression.

At first, you want to flee from it.

But after you scent it for a while, it makes you feel warm.

and Mhok's face falls at first because is that how Day sees him? he thought Day saw him, he thought Day understood that he's not all the things people say he is and - oh.

oh.

you can see the palpable relief across Mhok's face because Day does see him, does understand him.

(the cologne also shows us once again Day's privilege. Tiwa costs $140 a bottle, or ฿‎4884)

again Day asks what Mhok is going to this dinner as, and then asks why Mhok is so secretive.

and maybe for a moment, for just those fleeting few minutes they spent getting ready together, Mhok was able to pretend this was real. he was able to pretend Day was going to dinner with him, would stay by his side and enjoy his birthday with him, create new memories with him.

but that's not for him. it's just another sunflower he tucks away in his chest.

they arrive at the party and there's no place for Mhok; not at Day's side, not at the table, not anywhere. he's never acknowledged again by anyone there, no one offers him a spot because he's an outsider, this place isn't for him. when the sun no longer shines on Mhok he is invisible once again.

suddenly, Mhok is back in his own fish tank - because it's not only Little Day that freed himself of the cloying miasma of his environment but Big Mhok had as well. his tank was clean, he could breathe and see clearly again.

but now he's back there, as smoke fills his lungs and regret tastes like ash on his tongue. he can't smell the jasmine blooms anymore.

Day still looks for him, still seeks him out because Mhok has always stayed, has always been around even when Day didn't know he needed him. Mhok's been there at every step of this journey and now suddenly Day is adrift on his own. what do you do when the person that has always been there is suddenly gone?

it probably feels as if Day has been robbed of yet another one of his senses.

and we see Day get overwhelmed again, the narrative has shifted away from Mhok now and we're nestled back in Day's body where things are so loud and so much, too much, and he doesn't have the one person he can find comfort in there. everyone is trying too hard, treating him like glass, and he's still a fucking human being, he's still an adult man, he's not a fucking child -

and so he escapes. he finds a moment of peace and collects himself. he hears someone approach and who else could it be but Mhok? it's always Mhok, it's always been Mhok.

but Mhok's not here.

August is.

and suddenly August is kissing him but it's not right, it doesn't feel like he thought it would, and maybe he realizes he liked the idea of August more than August himself. maybe he clung to memories made fond and soft with time.

because this? this is not the kiss of a man full of hope and love. if Bad Buddy taught me anything, this is a kiss goodbye.

the hero is coming and it's time for the villain to go.

Mhok knows better than anyone that the one thing Day doesn't want from anyone, the one thing he fears the most in all of this, is receiving pity. he's never wanted to be pitied for any of this, but August has just pitied him in the worst possible way. and of course Mhok is here to see it.

of course Mhok would come back, now of all times.

and we see Mhok speak in a way we haven't before. his rage becomes incandescent, beyond the limits of just shouting, and it's the quiet of his rage that becomes far more terrifying. it's the quiet calm before the storm. Day has never seen Mhok enraged, not really, he's never been there when Mhok has hit someone, but he must hear the control slipping from Mhok's voice.

because August held everything Mhok had ever wanted in his hands and played with it, pitied it, and tossed it away. how can he be anything but full of bitter fury?

but as Day holds Mhok's hand he stops. he reluctantly releases his hold and curls his fingers around Day's hand. he'd do anything for Day, now more than ever.

Mhok speaks softly to Day and holds him close, the hug as much for Day as it is for him. they're both broken, both trying to hold on to the withered petals of their hearts. if they hold on tight enough maybe they can hold each other together.

and now we're to my absolute favorite recurring thing Mhok does.

Mhok takes Day away, he doesn't let him retreat into that tiny fish tank. Mhok brings Day out into the world, to breathe the fresh air.

and each time he's brought Day somewhere he can enjoy without his sight - yes, even this rooftop.

on the porch, Day could smell the jasmine blossoms.

Day could smell the flowers at the market, was surrounded by their scent.

now he's bathed in the light of the rising sun, in the warmth it has to offer.

the world feels different in the early hours of the morning. the air is a little colder, a little thinner, everything is more quiet and subdued. you can feel the sun start to thaw out the Earth, can feel as it glides over your face and warms your cheeks.

this place is special to Mhok, a small sanctuary he's tucked away for himself, and now he's sharing it - and a shard of his past - with Day. in exchange, Day opens up. he explains that no one really liked him before, that each person (Gee not withstanding) at that party pitied him and were only there as some sort of act of charity.

I'm just so damn lucky to be blind.

because people are looking at him now, right? he has everyone's attention now. he got to kiss his crush. people would fall at his feet to help him.

but it's all wrong, tainted with pity and charity. he has their pity but not their affection.

Is there anyone else in this world who doesn't feel pity for me?

Do you still think I feel pity for you? Mhok asks after kissing Day in the light of the rising sun, because Mhok has never pitied Day, not for a single moment in time. it's not pity that he feels housed in his chest but love, overwhelming and all consuming.

just as the moon represented the hearts of Moonlight Chicken so does the sun represent the hearts of Last Twilight. this is the dawn of something new for both of them, fragile but hopeful.

I'M JUST FEELING SO FUCKING MUCH. do you think p'aof will be my best friend? if you've read this far i'm smooching you and also here's a dumb little surprise.

tag loves: @benkaaoi @callipigio @lookwhatihave

#bunn meta #ltts meta #last twilight #last twilight the series #mhokday #this took me 3 hours to put together #what am i doing with my life

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ardafanonarch · 3 months

Note

Hi omg I love this thank you for doing it! I have seen a lot about what named sword did or didn't or might have belonged to whom - do we actually know the names of any First Age swords and who wielded them? (other than Eol's cursed pair).

Thank you!

[Anon, this one got so long that I have divided it into 3 parts so people can navigate more easily to weapons that most interest them. Thanks so much for sending this ask, I went down many rabbit holes researching and learned some new things myself.]

The Iron Gang: Anglachel-Gurthang, Anguirel, Angrist

Swords of the First Age, Part 1 of 3

Anglachel

Meaning: Uncertain. Possibly a combination of ang “iron”, lach “flame” and êl “star” (Eldamo). Sindarin.

Maker: Eöl

Owned/wielded by: Eöl, Thingol, Beleg, (Gwindor), Túrin

Notable for: forged from meteoritic iron; given as fee to Thingol for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth; slaying Beleg

Fate: Reforged in Nargothrond as Gurthang

Then Beleg chose Anglachel; and that was a sword of great worth, and it was so named because it was made of iron that fell from heaven as a blazing star; it would cleave all earth-delved iron. One other sword only in Middle-earth was like to it. That sword does not enter into this tale, though it was made of the same ore by the same smith; and that smith was Eöl the Dark Elf, who took Aredhel Turgon’s sister to wife. He gave Anglachel to Thingol as fee, which he begrudged, for leave to dwell in Nan Elmoth; but its mate Anguirel he kept, until it was stolen from him by Maeglin, his son. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Túrin Turambar’

Discussion

Anglachel and its mate Anguirel are remarkable weapons. Not only because they were forged from “star iron”, against which the mere iron ores of Earth were no match, but also — certainly in the case of Anglachel and probably likewise with Anguirel — they seem to have possessed a sort of dark power, even sentience.

When Thingol gives Anglachel to Beleg, Melian says:

‘There is malice in this sword. The dark heart of the smith still dwells in it. It will not love the hand it serves; neither will it abide with you long.’

Melian’s words, as usual, prove prescient: Anglachel goes on to be the instrument of Beleg’s demise, wielded against him by Túrin as Beleg attempts to cut the fetters holding his friend captive. Gwindor then briefly carries Anglachel, until he and Túrin come to the Pool of Ivrin and Túrin is released of the madness of his grief over Beleg. Túrin notes that the blade has blackened and become blunt, and Gwindor remarks:

‘This is a strange blade, and unlike any that I have seen in Middle-earth. It mourns for Beleg even as you do.’ The Children of Húrin, Chapter 9: Death of Beleg

The implication seems to be that Anglachel has weathered unnaturally after losing its master.

Presumably because of this damage, Anglachel is reforged in Nargothrond. We do not know who specifically reforged the swords, but it is popular fanon that Celebrimbor, who remained in Nargothrond following his father’s expulsion, may have been involved. After reforging, Anglachel becomes Gurthang.

Gurthang (Anglachel reforged)

Meaning: Iron of Death. Sindarin.

Maker: Eöl, reforged by smiths of Nargothrond

Owned/wielded by: Túrin

Notable for: slaying Glaurung, Brandir, Túrin

Fate: Broken under Túrin’s body in his suicide. Shards buried with him.

The sword Anglachel was forged anew for him by the cunning smiths of Nargothrond, and though ever black its edges shone with pale fire. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Túrin Turambar’ Then they lifted up Túrin, and saw that his sword was broken asunder. So passed all that he possessed. The Children of Húrin, Chapter 13: The Death of Túrin

Discussion

Anglachel’s seeming-sentience is amplified by its reforging as Gurthang. In this incarnation, the weapon frequently flickers and flames as if it houses a fire of its own. Most notably, when Túrin prepares to take his own life, Gurthang speaks:

Then he drew forth his sword, and said: 'Hail Gurthang, iron of death, you alone now remain! But what lord or loyalty do you know, save the hand that wields you? From no blood will you shrink. Will you take Túrin Turambar? Will you slay me swiftly?' And from the blade rang a cold voice in answer: 'Yes, I will drink your blood, that I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay you swiftly.' Then Túrin set the hilts upon the ground, and cast himself upon the point of Gurthang, and the black blade took his life. The Children of Húrin, Chapter 13: The Death of Túrin

A Tangent: The Enigma of the Sentient Sword

There is no explanation in the legendarium for why or how Gurthang speaks, but a speaking sword is an enduring feature of Túrin’s story that goes all the way back to the earliest version, Turambar and the Foalókë (c. 1917-19, published in The History of Middle-earth Vol. 2: The Book of Lost Tales Part Two). So why did Gurthang speak, and why was this feature so dear to Tolkien? Well, here’s a passage on the death of the hero of the Tale of Kullervo in the Kalevala, a Finnish epic that Tolkien read as a teenager and which was a major inspiration behind the story of Túrin.

Kullervo, Kalervo's offspring, Grasped the sharpened sword he carried, Looked upon the sword and turned it, And he questioned it and asked it, And he asked the sword's opinion, If it was disposed to slay him, To devour his guilty body, And his evil blood to swallow. Understood the sword his meaning, Understood the hero's question, And it answered him as follows: "Wherefore at thy heart's desire Should I not thy flesh devour, And drink up thy blood so evil? I who guiltless flesh have eaten, Drank the blood of those who sinned not?" Kalevala, Rune XXXVI, translated by W.F. Kirby (1907)

Very familiar, isn’t it? The existence of a talking sword in-universe provides opportunity for all sorts of imaginative explanations, but the influence of Kullervo offers, I think, a compelling Doylist one.

Finally, it’s common to read interpretations where Anglachel and Anguirel exhibit the same properties as Gurthang. But there’s not, to the best of my knowledge, explicit canonical evidence that “speech” was an ability these two swords had from the time of their forging by Eöl. (I was also fascinated to find, during research for this post, that Anglachel and Anguirel were probably not always black. I made a separate post about it.)

Anguirel

Meaning: Uncertain. Possibly a combination of Sindarin ang “iron”, (unattested) uir “fiery” (or Noldorin uir “eternity”), and êl “star” (Eldamo).

Maker: Eöl

Owned/wielded by: Eöl, Maeglin

Fate: Unknown; presumably lost in the fall of Gondolin

Discussion

Compared to Anglachel, we know little of the history of its mate Anguirel, save that it was stolen from Eöl by Maeglin, presumably at the time Maeglin left Nan Elmoth for Gondolin.

Angrist (knife)

Meaning: Iron Cleaver. Sindarin.

Maker: Telchar of Nogrod

Owned/wielded by: Curufin, Beren

Fate: Breaks in Beren’s attempt to cut a second Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown.

Then Beren did Curufin release; but took his horse and coat of mail, and took his knife there gleaming pale, hanging sheathless, wrought of steel. No flesh could leeches ever heal that point had pierced; for long ago the dwarves had made it, singing slow enchantments, where their hammers fell in Nogrod, ringing like a bell. Iron as tender wood it cleft, and sundered mail like woollen weft. But other hands its haft now held; its master lay by mortal felled. The Lay of Leithian, 3051-3063

Then Lúthien rising forbade the slaying of Curufin; but Beren despoiled him of his gear and weapons, and took his knife, Angrist. That knife was made by Telchar of Nogrod, and hung sheathless by his side; iron it would cleave as if it were green wood. The Silmarillion, ‘Of Beren and Lúthien’

Discussion

Although of a different maker (and of unknown metallic composition), Angrist has interesting similarities with Anglachel and Anguirel. Besides the initial ang- element, all three blades are noted for an ability to cut through iron, and both Anglachel and Angrist end up “turning against” their masters as a pivotal moment: Angrist by breaking as Beren tries to cut a second Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, and Anglachel by being the instrument of Beleg's death. As Eöl is also noted to have learned from the Dwarves, some fans have imagined these three blades may have been forged from the same meteoritic iron, or at least to share some of the same “enchantment”.

Note that the quote from Lay of Leithian does not explicitly apply to Angrist, which is a name for Curufin’s knife that Tolkien first used in the 1937 Quenta Silmarillion.

Part 2 | Part 3

#weapons #anglachel #gurthang #anguirel #angrist #the children of hurin #the lay of leithian #kalevala #turin turambar #beleg #eol #maeglin #curufin #anon

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

Text

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

A Torn up Masterpiece

Warnings: Age Gap (R’s 19/21 in flashbacks/26 now), Manipulation, Gaslighting | 4,272 Words

18+ | Minors DNI | No Smut, but alluded to.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“If I was some paint, did it splatter, on a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter? If you got to wash your hands?"

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

The director was a man of few words, and with even fewer fucks to give, which is why you're here against all your many protests. He had a knack for living up to his name, because as you saunter into this meeting room full of people—them—you can't be bothered to stand you feel the fury coursing through your entire body.

"Welcome to the end of the world as we know it everyone.," the Director's hologram gravely greets, prompting an eye roll from you because of course you have to be here but he doesn't.

———

"Well, the end of the world for all of you.," you instantly correct the man who glares at you in an instant., "What a pleasure to hear from you Agent Y/L/N—the upcoming star of the show should always make herself known.," you smirk as the rest of your old team look back at you, their expressions all varying from pensive to amused, and for a very select two—regretful.

Wanda and Natasha hadn't seen you in five years—you grew up, and not for the better.

Once upon a time, not too long ago you'd be sat in one of their laps in this room, giggling and possessing a hope for the prospective future. They'd made promises of a forever love to you, sharing in the sweetest of moments with you, but it was all a ruse. It took you a lot of time to see their murky intentions, and you now know they never intended to keep their false words.

Oh to be young and in love right? Wrong!

What a clueless little girl you were to ever believe they'd love you without limitations. It was so obvious to anyone paying attention that the couple had simply grown bored alone and found your youthful energy worth exploiting. They surrounded you with their tantalizing auras within only a month of your arrival, edging straight into your heart with soft smiles and sweet phrases that miraculously shielded the sickening lies of a promising love beneath.

Most of your intimate moments happened in their bedroom, and for as long as you could reside between their bodies it felt like enough. They'd been adamant on their privacy from the start, but naive as you were, the publicly shared intimacies between the long term lovers told you that you were really just a preferred secret.

Still, you held onto your naïveté, and the older woman ate every bit of your innocence up like a couple of succubus's until you were hollowed.

When the older of the two proposed marriage you were shocked. Stood off to the side you watched the women embrace, tears of joy fell from the witches eyes, while ones of betrayal fell from your very own. Not even ten hours prior were you bringing the both of them to the edge of bliss and now you're being tossed aside.

Natasha didn't even warn you of this proposal. The team saw you broken, some even spared you a solemn glance, but they said not a word of comfort to you as they rushed instead to congratulate the blushing brides to be. It's funny really, at the ripe age of twenty one you had finally lost your rose colored glasses—almost like a cryptic right of passage as you officially entered this new age of adulthood.

These people were no family to you, all you ever were to them was the kid with desirable powers, and a bleeding heart worth tearing to shreds. They didn't even notice you leaving the room, and they were all a bit stunned to hear you were permanently gone the next day, but not too shockingly their lives moved right on.

To the couple you were only ever meant to be a short weekend expenditure. They'd tell you that they had fun, but that it couldn't go on. But then they had you, the pitiful whimpers and your eagerness to please was addicting. The longer it went on the harder it was to let you go, so they trapped you with empty words, and shallow gestures of love to keep you tame.

Breaking you entirely wasn't the intention, but it was likely always going to be the end result as they selfishly misused your blind trust.

Now though, as they stare at you pleadingly, hoping to catch your eye they burn with regret. There used to be a permanent smile on your face that always matched your bright eyes, it always warmed the both of their hearts. They didn't love you as they should've, but they did really love you at the end of the day. You were a bright light, but it's obvious that's long gone, you're a dimmed lantern at best now and that's on them. They crushed your heart and you became a pessimist with nothing left to give.

"Alright team, now that we've got strategy out of the way I'm going to wish you all the best.," Fury concludes., "And Y/L/N—do behave.," you flipped the man off., "Bite me Nicholas.," then you harshly brushed right passed the women trying to lure you into their pitiful trap of a closure that would only remedy their guilt.

You wouldn't give them such satisfaction...

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

If you never touched me, I would've gone along with the righteous. If I never blushed, then they could've never whispered about this.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"So, you're the infamous Y/N Y/L/N then?," you hear a gruff, yet feminine voice coming from behind you, and for some odd reason you actually stop to indulge them., "It depends on why you'd be interested in my existence on if the answer to that question is a yes or no."

The smile you gave the curious blonde was polite, but it was clear as day you weren't. Something in your eyes told her this wasn't a friendly encounter, and deep down she knew once you placed her lineage that it would be even further away from one., "You're the one my older sister broke right, like your heart?"

Bold—that's the only word that came to your mind as this short blonde woman spoke to you. Incredibly out of pocket as well mind you, she's only just meeting you and she acts as if she has the right to ask you such a personal question.

"Yelena?," she nods with a mischievous smirk., "I remember hearing about you, it appears she has a record for breaking hearts I'm afraid. Starting with you, and likely not ending with me.," her face instantly falls as you mockingly pout in her direction., "How incredibly tragic."

Yelena stood there incredibly dumbfounded, her mouth agape, and her feet glued to the floor as you continued onto the readied jet for your forced collective travels.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be.

The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind; I regret you all the time."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you sip on the gin and tonic you commandeered for yourself. Wakanda was a nice place, you almost felt bad stealing their booze, but you were certain they would understand the pressure placed on you. Honestly, you felt worse for the battle being brought here, to a hidden away place full of advancements. It was meant to be a place of peace, but you knew they were ready for war.

"Y/N, are you sure you should be drinking?," you took an even larger sip before turning to face the man of your nightmares., "You aren't my captain anymore Steve—kindly fuck off."

Misplaced anger really, but when you get to the nitty gritty of the situation you'll find it wasn't all that misplaced actually. Steve, along with everyone else on that godforsaken team knew you were only ever a plaything to the couple. Silently they watched as you were torn to shreds by the very women you trusted most. Never did any of them think to save you, to be the voice of reason, to save your fragile heart...

They were never anything more than pawns in a game of needless war anyways. Constantly fighting battles that were never their own, and in many ways making everything much worse.

They ruined you—that's for fucking sure.

"It's just, tomorrow's really important.," he continued on, his self righteous tone irking you to no end, and for a second you miss when a moment like this would end in pleasantries.

When you would stutter an apology, and bend to his very whim, because it was always easier to please than it was to fight. It's not that you miss being the pushover, because you don't. It's just that you miss the carefree feeling of it all—this all consuming bitterness is lonely., "For you it is, for me it sounds like freedom."

Once again you left someone behind in a state of shock, too bad the you of today didn't care.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts. Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first, and I damn sure never would've danced with the devil—at nineteen. And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

As you'd expected, the land was a wasteland. Bodies from all sides were piling up in heaps, an expected sight to see when cowards send their brainwashed soldiers into the battlefield. Thanos—the purple tyrant you'd heard all about had yet to show himself, likely lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike. His minions in his ear while you are sat in a tree, because you were the secret weapon today.

Once Vision's metal clanked against the ground you smirked inappropriately; it was showtime.

Watching from the tree you honestly wished you had some popcorn to enjoy this show, and with the wave of your hand you suddenly did. Everyone who'd ever wronged you was having their asses handed to them; as they deserved, and it pleased you to allow it to happen for the short period of time before you joined them.

Thanos stopped in his tracks when you were now standing before him, he blinked a few times, then to everyone's shock he kneeled before you., "Y/N Y/L/N, what an honor it is to meet the woman who can bend reality to her whim.," he rose again and looked to you with a smug smile., "Pity that you'd fight on the losing side here though, why not join me instead?"

"Go on.," you humored the freakish alien in a tone that offered interest, a twinge of pride hitting you when your old team collectively gasped at your potential betrayal., "We'd be twice as powerful together and could lay waste to this populous of weaklings. Start anew even. Live in a world where those who've wronged us along the way could be put in their place."

Wanda and Natasha shared a worried glance from across the field when you said nothing. You simply stood there with a pensive stare, as if you were genuinely considering his offers. There was no reason for them to expect your loyalties anymore after they fabricated theirs. Still, a part of them believed you'd deny him, more so though they'd hoped you still cared.

"Tempting...," you mused., "Sadly not enough though, don't take it too personally, but I've learned that I'm better off working alone.," and with the simple flick of your wrist the titan was kneeling before you., "That's right Thanos, bow before me like the trash that you are, only a coward uses their powers so wickedly.," you chuckled when the man tried to get back up, but your pure power overruled his stones.

"Real revenge comes in showing the people who'd wronged you that they no longer have a place in your world, that they don't matter, and quite frankly that they never fucking did.," you spat so venomously in the titans face you'd think it was him who broke you, but you knew you were loud enough that they all heard you.

"Sounds a bit personal child, all the more of a reason for you to join me on my conquests!"

"You don't get it.," you laughed exhaustedly., "Suffering doesn't end with your plans of a more controlled version of genocide Thanos. It'll only breed a new kind, and I have no intention of letting you take away what I have found for myself out there in this cold world."

"I have more power in my finger than you do with that gauntlet.," you clarified., "Yet I have enough self control to know that the workings of the world aren't mine to control.," you then chuckle., "Well, in a technical sense I guess they are, but I don't interfere with the plights of men anymore—they're on their damn own."

Thanos looked to you tiredly., "They're all too stupid to understand that this is the way to go! Seems you are just as dumb Y/N—what a pity. The world requires order, and I'll restore it!"

"No, you actually won't.," the gauntlet that once contained his bulky hand crumbled before his very eyes., "You're going to pay for this!"

"Yeah?," you snort., "How do you reckon that?"

He said nothing but you tracked his eyes, the army of his wasn't anywhere close to dead, but he gasped when with just the wave of your hands they began to dematerialize into dust., "Well, no matter—I don't break my promises, trust me child, you will be made to pay! I swear to it.," you quirked a brow., "Do enlighten me."

Before the egotistical maniac could tell you his newly made plans for vengeance you were being splattered in his alien blood., "That was for the people of Asgard, and for Heimdall and Loki!," you momentarily froze in your place, but after a second you snapped yourself clean of the remnants then quietly vacated the field.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts; Memories feel like weapons, and now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering....

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

No one even thanked you as you passed them by, they were too busy rejoicing in the win that they hardly brought to fruition. Well that, but mostly they were also too afraid to face you or the wrath they were rightfully owed by you. Natasha and Wanda let you pass them, but they remained somewhat hot on your trails.

The moment you stepped into the elevator, you leaned your head on the cold wall and sighed. Preparing yourself mentally for their arrival, you truly didn't have enough fight in you to continue running. Especially not when you feared they'd find a way to follow you home. Natasha is a super spy—she'd find you, and Wanda a witch who's unaware of her power, so if there's any will to, you know there's a way that she'd find you. Plus, closure is cool...

"Make it quick.," you greet them with your eyes closed, a shiver running up both of their spines at the chilling acknowledgment., "I'm late."

"Y/N.," Wanda says your name so brokenly, it almost makes you feel bad for the little witch., "We're so sorry, we never meant to hurt you.," welp, there went all of the potential sympathy.

"Oh?," your eyes suddenly pop open, a dark red now encasing them and masking your natural eye color that they once found comforting., "But you see, I actually think you did Wanda."

"No, we didn't Y/N.," Natasha adds in a much harsher tone, potentially regretfully too as you slam the both of them into the metal walls right after. Neither of them even try to fight your hold, they remember from training you that it was no use back then, so to struggle now would just be wasting their energy., “Yes you did.”

“You got off on it, looking back now I can see it clearly.,” you chuckle humorlessly., “Those glances you two would share after a good fucking done by yours truly, they spoke of love, but when you would shift to look at me, they would darken, I mistook the predatory lust in your hypnotizing eyes for love; how naive.”

Not that they really had much to say in their defense—that you’d believe, to negate your claims, but even if they did wish to defend themselves they couldn’t speak passed the zippers that had materialized on their lips.

“I see the way you two looked at me all day, your fucking traitorous eyes trailing over my ass.,” you slammed your fist into the metal besides Nat’s face., “The way Nat here couldn’t stop staring at my tits like she had any right!,” you seethed., “You two are fucking disgusting.”

“But I get it.,” you smirked, then traced over the features of Wanda’s face., “Must be so exhausting with little old pillow princess Nat.”

The glare the blonde sent your way only made your body shake with laughter, it was anything other than funny really—but it is what it is., “Don’t try to ignore the truth Natalia, the only time you did shit was when Wanda gave you a magical dick to fuck me with, you’d go feral.”

“Fucking your babies into me as you’d both say. Fantasies of impregnating me really had you two on one, I’d cry out for reprieve but it never mattered what I wanted.,” you gripped them both by their chins., “Did it?,” you dug your nails into their skin., “Did you care at all?”

Both of their eyes brimmed with tears, your sudden drop into vulnerability cracking their guilty hearts right open., “It hurt to be used like that, then left to waddle back to my room shortly after.,” you sniffed., “That’s the night I realized that I meant nothing to you both, and three days later you solidified it with rocks.”

Natasha began to thrash against your hold, it was clear your words angered her, and you saw how Wanda’s hands trembled as she sobbed. With the wave of your hands their ability to speak was restored., “How can you say that?,” the blonde cried out., “We loved you Y/N!”

“Impossible.,” you refused to believe the lies.

“No, we really did Y/N/N,” Wanda whimpered, and you only rolled your eyes at the woman., “True love doesn’t exist to break a person.,” you shook your head, then you raised it again to look between the both of them., “That’s all you two ever did to me—you’d built me up, made me promises you never intended to keep. Then you broke me into a million little pieces.”

“You didn’t even give us a chance to talk, you just fucking left!,” Natasha shouted at you., “Oh, you’re telling me the witch and the spy couldn’t find an aimless twenty one year old?,” the both of them clamped their mouths shut as soon as you challenged them with such an honest observation—they had the upper-hand.

“I stayed in a hotel the first few nights, hoping you two would show up to clear up my mind., you pathetically confessed your bitter truth., “But you never showed, I instead saw you two giggling like little school girls as you traipsed around New York with your hands linked, and not a care in the world as my heart shattered.”

The couple shared a deep look of regret that you refused to catch. They remember that day, Wanda even felt you nearby, but they honestly thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with them so they left you in your perceived peace. Now though they see they only caused you more damage flaunting their happiness.

“It was a harsh lesson learned.,” you whisper., “To love without a safety net? Well it’s childish. To trust someone else with your heart? Idiotic. Loving the two of you was my greatest mistake, and in a way almost my smartest decision. Now I know that solitude is safest, so thank you.”

Anything else would be like beating a dead horse, you said all you cared to, and even though you were all crying it went very well. Seeing them at least a bit torn up melted away the last of your resentments for them, but not nearly enough to make any real sort of amends.

“Take care.,” you waved your hand, then before either of them could reach for you, you were gone. Dematerialized right before their eyes, and Natasha was left to catch the love of her life as she stumbled forward in a fit of sobs., “W-we broke that poor girl Nat, sh-she didn’t deserve that.,” the redhead said nothing back, she simply rocked her wife and hummed softly to soothe her very own breaking heart.

The ding of the elevator startled them apart, their limbs were heavy as they went to leave, but just before they reached the door the redhead noticed a white rectangle of sorts on the floor of the lift. Natasha picked up the mysterious photo off the ground as the elevator doors shut again, her mouth instantly agape as she turns to her wife to show her what you mistakenly dropped, and the two of them feel waves of nausea roll through them.

They had to find you...

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

You're a crisis of my faith

Would've, could've, should've

If I'd only played it safe

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"Hey Y/N/N.," you smiled at the woman, and instantly accepted her warm hug., "Hey 'Ria."

"How were they?," she stared back at you with a teasing smile., "Total menaces.," you matched her knowing smirk when you heard soft gasps followed by the softest pattering of tiny feet., "Nuh-uh! Mama we were good!," Tommy shrieks., "The actual best!," Lilith adds while running into your tired body after her brother.

You hummed in contemplation, settling soft kisses to their sweet faces as you snuggled them even closer., "If you were the best, then can you tell me why you're both still awake?," you stood up, placing each of your four year olds on a hip as you did while waiting for someone to give you a plausible explanation.

"Because...," you watched as your daughters green eyes tracked between you and Maria., "Auntie 'Ria gave us ice cream before bed.," You gasped in a playful show of shock at your daughter's not so quiet whispers., "Traitor!," Maria suddenly boomed, then she launched forward to remove the squirming girl from your grasp so she could attack her with tickles.

A smile overtook your face at the sound of your daughters fading giggles as you watched her disappear with Maria down the hallway. Then you shifted to the boy in your arms slightly concerned., "Why so quiet there my lil love?," he sniffled lightly., "My tummy hurts mama."

"No more ice cream for my little man before bed then, hm?," he nodded against you, a yawn shortly following the gesture., "Let's get you some medicine for your tummy and water."

Maria walked by the kitchen with a proud smile., "Lil's in bed all tucked in.," she hugged the two of you quickly before kissing your son's temple in a show of goodbye., "Thanks 'Ria!," she winked from the door., "You saved my life, so I watched your tiny gremlins; we're even."

Tommy winced as the pink liquid offended his tastebuds, but nonetheless he took it like a champ., "Mama's bravest boy.," you coo'd while tilting the glass of water for him as he was a bit too tired to do it himself., "Ready for bed honey?," he nodded then reached for you, and you happily pulled him back onto your hip.

Then just as you went to carry him to bed there was a loud set of knocks on your door., "Shit."

They were recognizable taps to say the least, and absolutely unwarranted to say the truth. You were hoping it was Maria having forgotten something, but that was only wishful thinking.

"We know you're in there.," your son looked at you with furrowed brows and heavy eyes, and if not for his tired concern you'd have groaned., "I know you know I'm in here..."

After taking a few calming breaths, and smiling reassuringly at your son you opened the door.

"Mommy!," your son gasped, and in a split second he was bouncing into Wanda's arms, and you could see the emotions rising up in her at the actual acknowledgment from your son. Mad as you are at the couple you did always feel a bit guilty for keeping them apart from the twins, but it wasn't safe, and you had every right to take your time growing up and healing.

Natasha looked a bit sad when you looked to her, you saw her tightly gripping your polaroid from their second birthday, and that's when you realized exactly how you were found out, and that she was clearly looking for her mini me. Mouthing to her you let her know she was asleep, and to your shock she smiled at you instead of harshly glaring over this 'betrayal.'

"Mama! Look.," you tore your attention from the blonde to meet your son's gaze., "They're here! Does that mean the world is all saved?!," You chuckled lightly., "I think it does Tommy."

"Come on in...," you relented, allowing the couple to enter, and rubbing at your temples., "Make yourself at home, I'll make the coffee..."

—————

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #gxg #wanda x you x nat #wanda x nat x you #wanda x reader x natasha #wanda x natasha x reader #wanda x reader x nat #wandanat imagine #wandanat angst #wandanat fluff #wandanat x reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x you #wandanat x female reader

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specialagentlokitty · 2 months

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Shaun Murphy x reader - the jobs we love

Hi. I saw that you have The Good Doctor in your writing list. If you still write for it I was wondering if you would write a Shaun fic? If it could include this prompt 7. “You are the best person I’ve ever met, I’ve met so many people, but none of them compare to you.” from your prompt list. Also if it could be the Reader that says the prompt. Thank you and love all your work!❤️ - Anon💜

Slowly moving around your hospital room, you followed a strict step by step routine, being mindful of the furniture in there.

Each step hurt, but you had to keep practicing your routine.

“I would have to advise against moving around, you will hurt yourself more.”

You smiled a little bit, turning to the doorway, hands clasped behind your back as you smiled from ear to ear at the doctor who was waiting.

“I have to practice my routine Doctor Murphy, otherwise I’ll forget it.”

“Do you use the same routine every time?” He asked.

He padded in, holding your file to his chest, and he stood in front of you, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet slightly.

“I need you to sit down.”

You nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You watched as Shaun walked over, standing in front of you as he began to do some basic checks on you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“My leg hurts a lot, but other than that I’m okay.”

“Yes, you have broken your leg in two places. It is why we told you not to move around.”

You hummed a little bit and nodded.

“Why do you carry on walking around if it hurts you?”

You moved back on to the bed, putting your leg up and Shaun before checking it over, and you let him.

Sometimes you would move in discomfort, but you didn’t do anything to stop him from doing his job.

“Well, it’s my job. I have deadlines to meet, and the season starts up again soon, so I need to be ready to practice.”

“I would advise against practicing until your breaks are fully healed, you may break your leg again.”

“I’ve broken many bones.” You smiled.

“What is your job?”

“Professional figure skater.”

Shaun nodded his head, pacing back and forth as he went through your file.

“Why do you still do it if you get hurt?”

You rested your head back on one of your arms, looking as he took a marker out of his pocket, and began to draw on your leg.

“Well, it’s something I love doing. Would you stop being a surgeon if you got hurt?”

“Yes, it is not logical to stay at a work place where you get hurt.”

“Soldiers get hurt, police officers get hurt, firemen get hurt, sometimes doctors and nurses get hurt too Shaun. If everybody stopped doing their jobs because they’re scared of being hurt then we’d have nobody to help us.”

Shaun furrowed his brows a little in confusion.

“I.. I don’t understand.”

“Are to scared that you’ll get hurt when you get a really bad patient?”

“Yes, sometimes I am.”

“But you’re still here, right?”

Shaun nodded his head.

“You know why you’re still here?”

“Because I like my job. I am a surgeon. I am a good surgeon.”

You laughed softly, nodding your head.

“Yeah, you’re a good surgeon. Exactly. You love your job, that’s why you’re still here.”

“You love your job.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s why you see me every time I break a bone Shaun.”

He nodded a little.

“You break a lot of bones (Y/N). You should be more careful.”

This made you laugh, and you grinned a little at him.

“Maybe I should, but sometimes we’ve got to take the risk.”

“I cannot take risks, that is dangerous.”

Shaun clasped his hands in front of him, unclasping and clasping them back together as he looked around the room.

“You need surgery to fix one of the breaks in your leg, Doctor Melendez has you scheduled for this evening.”

You hummed a bit.

“Are you gonna be in there too?”

“Yes, I am assisting.”

“Good, i trust you Shaun. I know you’ll do right by me and my leg, you make whatever choice you have to.”

“What if it means you cannot ice skate anymore?”

You smiled softly.

“I trust you.”

“Why? Many people do not like me taking part in the surgery. They do not like having an autistic doctor.”

“You want to know a secret Shaun?” You whispered.

He quickly nodded, shuffling closer so he could hear what you were going to say to him.

“You are the best person I’ve ever met, I’ve met so many people, but none of them compare to you.” You whispered.

Shaun smiled a little bit, and he leant back, looking at you briefly before he turned away.

“Nobody has ever told me that before.”

“Well it’s true, you, Shaun Murphy, are extraordinary. You are amazing, you are smart, and you are going to be the best surgeon in the country one day.”

“How do you know?”

You turned your attention to the ceiling.

“Because you’re the best at what you do. I trust you. I’m glad you’re going to be the one to fix my leg.”

Shaun smiled a little more and he quietly left the room, still smiling to himself.

He had met a few times, sometimes you would go to the hospital with small fractures or head injuries from falling.

Every time you would remind him how he’s going to be a great surgeon, and he would ask you questions about figure skating.

It was a friendship he had never had before, you never doubted him for a second, you listened to him and let him talk about everything that was bothering him.

Shaun liked seeing you, but he didn’t like seeing you in the hospital, but he knew you were going to be okay, because he knew exactly how to fix your break so you could go back to doing exactly what you loved

#the good doctor #the doctor doctor x reader #the good doctor x you #the doctor doctor imagine #Shaun Murphy #Shaun Murphy x reader #Shaun Murphy x you #Shaun Murphy imagine

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bioethicists · 4 months

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Genuine question, but is restorative/ transformative justice useful for addressing hate groups?

I was under the impression that the prevention of violence extended to hate groups, but I keep seeing the reoccurring message from some people that incels, for example, don't need compassion or community (reasoning being, that they became incels because of their entitlement and superiority complex, which would not be solved with accountable compassion or community).

But I don't really understand the unspoken alternative? It seems so much worse for the women they'll inevitably interact with to just leave them isolated in their community, edging each other to the extreme.

while i do think some people online genuinely believe that incels are like, broken sociopathic monsters who need to be murdered or abandoned by society because it's their own fault etc, i think most of the time what people mean by that is "the burden of teaching men not to hate women should not be on women; men are still responsible for their own hateful actions; they are not owed my compassion or empathy, even if it would 'help' them". it's also backlash to the fact that people like incels often get painted as poor little victims in a way many other people (like the women they hate so much) do not.

that being said, everything that happens to anyone ever happens in community, whether people like it or not. total individualism is fake + any leftist worth their salt knows this. if the only way you can imagine someone having accountability for their actions is to believe that something is entirely, 100% their fault with absolutely no outside influences or nuance, then nobody can never be held accountable for anything. everyone needs compassion + community (i would argue the benefit many ppl derive from hate group membership is a sense of community), but i wouldn't say they are owed it by any individual. i would also say that the way in which compassion/community is applied (often when there is no political analysis + it's just based on appeals to "everyone has good inside them" or "love away the hate") in these cases can become just a way of reinforcing an echo chamber, refusing to challenge someone's beliefs, or silencing the people harmed (critiquing ppl for not being "good" victims or not having compassion for their abusers).

ppl often misunderstand restorative approaches as being "lesser" or "letting people off" when they can often require more accountability + more demonstration of change than a carceral approach. it is not synonymous with "loving someone's hate" or "letting them off easy". i mean, under the u.s carceral system, membership in most hate groups is not illegal. even when it becomes legally relevant, the people who are actually harmed are rarely centered in these approaches- it's just a bloodfest over how much we can punish people so we can show off how we think misogyny is super bad even as the court system continues to be one of, if not the most prolific perpetrator of misogyny + victim blaming. as if a handful of violent misogynists' suffering is supposed to be vindication or deterrence (when it never rlly is).

ultimately, there are tens of thousands of reasons why someone may be a member of a hate group, but it usually boils down to the fact that they are deriving some sort of benefit- financial, emotional, familial, cultural, interpersonal, etc- for doing so. some people would probably respond really well to a restorative approach because they would be capable + interested in delving into why they believe these things + how they could get their needs met without harming others. others are fully aware of the fact that they are deriving benefit at the expense of others + simply do not care or, worse, that is the benefit for them- the hurting other people/feeling superior to others. part of moving outside of the logic of the carceral system is moving past the idea that every individual person must be either punished or saved, rather than focusing on the conditions which create hate groups + give them power.

there may be a lot of individual members of hate groups who would not benefit from restorative practices, but we can still make hate group membership as undesirable + lacking benefit as possible, minimize the amount of power + resources they have to do harm, magnify the amount of power + resources the people they are harming have access to. to me, this is restorative, because it focuses on minimizing harm rather than punishing perpetrators + centers around people who have been harmed. further, if we understand the needs or desires that often drive hate group membership, we can work to make those needs/desires easier to fulfill through less destructive means + do the structural work of addressing why, for example, so many teenage boys have a need/desire to feel sexually dominant or 'alpha'.

the biggest restorative work to me is not based on any one individual, but on making the pathways into hate groups as narrow as possible + the pathways out as broad as possible, while still emphasizing accountability + capacity for change.

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thenighthekate · 9 months

Note

could you do an angst to fluff with tom based off the way i loved you by taylor swift? if your comfortable with it or have time!! <3.

The way I loved you ( t.k. )

And my heart does not beat. It is still inside my chest. My tears keep on falling and my head will not rest.

There were many ways to love someone. Stolen kisses, morning hugs, late night dinner. The bond between two people only growing stronger with every conversation they had, but ours only seemed to crumble. With every forceful peck, strained embrace, silent meal, the bond in between us quietly disappeared.

He wasn't bad, wasn't the best, but neither was I. We had our problems and once we got out of our honeymoon phase they only seemed to worsen. With every day our arguments grew stronger, louder, the fire in our eyes glowing brighter as our voices raised. It was our new life, we loved each other, just not the same way we used to.

In all honesty I was getting so used to our new reality that when it all flipped I could only cry.

I missed our contact, even when all of it resulted in screaming and crying. Driving down the highway with music blasting just to avoid each other, toxic, but we atleast saw one another. Now it was like we didn't exist, just two separate people living together in what felt like far too small of a house.

The moon was shining that night, rays of silver breaking through the heavy rain that hit the cars windows. It was silent, no obnoxiously loud music that could cover our thoughts, only our breathing filling the empty spaces.

I was staring straight ahead and with a few stolen glances I figured that Tom was too, his brows scrunched, hands tightly gripping the wheel as he looked down the road. He was deep in thought, whatever clouding his mind making him softly shake his head. I didn't pay any attention to it until the car slowed down, drifting to the side of the street and rolling to a stop.

Silence indulged us two as I looked around for any clues, anything that would tell me if something was wrong. " Did something happen to the car-"

" We need to talk." His hands let go of the wheel slightly, his gaze still fixated in front of him. I knew what those words meant, I knew that he wanted to go deep on anything that was bothering us, anything that made us be where we are. " We can't keep going like this. I'm tired of living in this hole, I mean we don't talk, we live two separate lives. We sleep in the same fucking bed, but yet we're different." His rant was pretty short, half of which he looked me in the eye. I could see the sadness behind them, the clear desperation to make things work, fix whatever was broken.

" I don't know what happened to us." There was no cheating, no huge arguments, the lust between us jost slowly seemed to burn out. My fingers played with each other, anxiety filling my brain as it poured out into my words. " I love you, but we can't fix anything if we don't even know what started it."

We stared at one another silently, our eyes in a way almost communicating. " It's either this or we break up."

I knew it, he knew it, but yet something was tugging on both of our hearts, not letting us go with the latter.

In a moment of what felt like a spell was put over us we leaned in, our lips connecting and fighting against each other. This was the first real kiss in a while, no small peck or a smooch presented in front of family to make them know of our so called love. Minutes were shared as our hands traveled bodies, skin blushing and heat rising, I missed this. I missed moments like these, our love for one another just spilling past our edges making us swim in the softly sweet feeling. I missed our dancing in the rain, laughter coming straight from our throats as we got drenched from the water above. I missed us.

We separated with deep breaths trying to catch air back into our lungs, his hands holding mine as we stared into each other's eyes. His palm while clenched around mine raised up, his soft lips planting a sweet kiss on top of my knuckles. " I love you. I promise that whatever was fucked up will be fixed." And for the first time in months I could actually see a light for our future.

#thenighthekate #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

Text

Before | 1. the mountains are screaming

A Woman Story

Rating: Mature

Series Summary: Five peeks into your past before Joel Miller reentered you life

Summary: you’re alone and in need of supplies but a trip down the mountain brings you much more.

Tags: The Last of Us, set in the Woman universe, love, loss, loneliness, backstory, slight enemies to lovers vibes.

Warnings: talk of loss and grief (spouse,brother& kids), violence, blood, fight, guns

Notes: those drabbles I referenced, yeah they turned into a mini series within the Woman series! 3 chapters to be posted before we delve back into the main story with 2 more to follow on alternating weeks!

Shoutout to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for taking a look at this! I adore you my dear 💚

Words: 3632

Series Masterlist | Woman Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You’ve put it off long enough, but you’re low on supplies, and the homes within comfortable walking distance are long-picked over. You know going into Jackson is your best bet, but it’s a full day’s walk just to get there, and you haven’t been there in years. You don’t know if it will be abandoned still, crawling with infected, or crawling with people. It’s risky leaving the house unattended for so long, but you haven’t seen another human being in almost 2 years. In theory, no one should be here when you get back.

You have to go, and you have to go tomorrow. Winter will be upon you before too long. You figure you’ll need to make a couple of trips to get you through the winter.

You set out as soon as it’s light out. The trip there is easiest, going downhill with your pack light. You can’t even consider the trek back.

Alone, the town feels more unnerving. A few windows are broken here and there, doors rotted out in places, but relatively untouched. Dust collects in inches. You’re shocked by how much is left intact, like the town has been preserved by fate. You stuff your bag with canned foods, carefully inspecting each one before moving to the first aid supplies.

Your pack is full when you hear it, a collection of voices. A strong command echoes to spread out and clear the buildings. Your heart drops to your stomach. You should’ve come a day earlier. Procrastination has come to collect its dues just like it did in college, except this isn’t your GPA. It’s your fucking life.

You glance out the window. Several people with rifles flank the street, five in your sights, but you hear more. So many more. A couple of horses whinny. You slink behind a shelf, pressing your back against it. You have minutes, seconds maybe before they find you. There are too many to shoot your way out. You have to find a way to slip out undetected.

You scan the store, spotting the back entrance. Maybe they won’t be out back. There’s a thicket of trees around the north edge of the city. If you can make it there without them spotting you, maybe you can hide out until it’s dark enough to travel to the mountain tree line. It’s a long shot, but you’re a sitting duck here.

You move quickly, careful to stay out of sight. Your boots are heavy on the floor. The voices grow in number and volume. Your hand touches the cool door knob. You take a moment to steady yourself. There’s no time for nerves or doubts. You crack the door open. The alley is clear.

It’s open on both ends, doing nothing to ease your nerves, but the bright fall colors from the thicket call your name. Sticking close to the wall, you make sure to keep any noise to a minimum. Your heart races with each new voice.

You’re almost to the end of the alleyway. The trees are 50 yards away, a couple of houses to keep you covered as you move toward them. You can do this. Then the crunch of gravel bounces off the walls of the alley. You glance behind you. Your eyes connect with brown ones. Time stands still like a deer in a hunter’s crosshairs just before he pulls the trigger. You might look just as wild. Before he can alert anyone, the adrenaline hits. You take off toward the trees, all sense of stealth gone.

He yells and then starts after you, but you can’t spare the time to look behind you. You can’t outrun him, but if you can make it to the trees first, maybe you can find a place to hide before they catch up.

There are more shouts, more footsteps. A shotgun fires just as you cross into the cover of the trees. There aren’t a lot of options, but you’re in better shape than you were 30 seconds ago. Fall leaves crunch underfoot. You can’t run forever. You’ll reach the end of the thicket soon enough.

A dog barks. Your brain barely comprehends it. Horses, dogs, what's next? House cats? Out in the open, they’re sure to catch you. There are more houses if you turn west. Maybe you can hide until dark. The footsteps are getting closer no matter how fast you run. Maybe you should just accept the odds are not in your favor. You’re hopelessly outnumbered and outpowered, but you won’t do that. You haven’t come this far to give up now.

A body collides with your back, knocking the wind from you before you tumble to the ground. You use the momentum to roll, hoping to shake the body, but his grip is too strong. You refuse to hold still, finding his thumb and pulling it back. He cries out in pain. Your nails dig into his cheek, leaving a nasty trail of scratches down his face. It’s enough to push out of his hold.

You slip on the leaves as you attempt to get up. He grabs your ankle with his unharmed hand, pulling you back down. You manage just enough coordination to land a kick to his groin and a solid punch to his right eye. Your knuckles ache immediately, but it works until two sets of hands clamp down on your arms. You try to pull away, but they push you to your knees.

Another person helps your attacker to his feet. You catch a flash of red on his cheek, presumably from the scratches you left down his cheek. It’s little comfort when the barrel of a rifle lands at your back.

This is it. This is where you die.

“You okay, Gabe?” A woman’s calls.

“Been better.” He’s panting. Good. “Think the thumb’s broken, but I’ll be fine.”

Boots crunch on the leaves, drawing closer until the toes of them stand at the edge of your vision. Silence falls, your own quiet panting the only thing you can hear. You wonder if you look as wild as you feel. Maybe they’ll just shoot you now, give you no chance to plead or bargain. That would be more humane.

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks.

You still haven’t looked up, haven’t looked at her face. Survival says you should. Maybe they’ll be less cruel if you look into their eyes. You don’t respond.

“We got her backpack.” A random voice calls. You don’t remember dropping it, but the last couple of minutes are a blur. He comes up beside the woman. She digs through your newly acquired possessions.

“Not much here,” She says. “Your group must be nearby. How many are there?”

Dry laughter forces its way out of you. You suppose you could lie. Maybe they’d spare you, but they’d find out soon enough. There’s no need to draw this out.

“You think this is funny?”

“There is no one else.” You roll your head up, looking her in the eye for the first time.

She straightens, leaning back just a little as she contemplates your words. She’s not what you’re expecting. She wears a stern expression, but her eyes seem almost kind, like an old friend with a cup of warm tea. “I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“Why would I lie about that? I’m dead anyway.”

“Are you?”

“I’m the one with a rifle at my back right now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Precautions.”

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“It is the truth. I’m the last one left.” The woman seems to believe you this time, an air of surprise passing through her eyes.

She looks at the men keeping you contained. “Let her go.”

“Maria,” One raises a sound of protest, but she cuts him off with a single glare.

The rifle lowers. The grip on both your arms disappears as you scurry to your feet. The woman looks between you and your bag before handing it back. “There a lot of traffic through these parts?”

“I think the stores speak for themselves,” You say. She tilts her head to the side. You won’t lie, it is effective. “I haven’t seen another human being in 2 years, but I don’t stay here.”

“Infected?”

“Had a small pod come through a couple years ago. Haven’t seen anything but strays of late.”

She seems content with your answer.

“Am I free to go?” You sling your pack over your shoulder.

“You’re gonna need more than just that to survive.”

“What makes you think I don’t have what I need.”

Once again, she cuts through your bullshit. Is this woman a mind reader or something? Or maybe it’s been the lack of human contact. No, this woman has the stare mothers develop to pry the truth from their children. It’s just as effective on adults.

“We’re gonna stay here, at least for a while. You’re welcome to join us.”

The offer catches you off guard. You’re not sure what to think. If they wanted to kill you, they would have already, unless they’re really that sick and twisted. You look around at the other faces around you. Four men including the one you hit. There’s already swelling around his eye, the scratches are bright red with drying blood. Two women, but you know there’s more. You can hear them now, clearing the buildings through Jackson.

“And if I say no, Maria?” You square up with their leader, a faint smirk graces your face. There’s a certain power in knowing her name when she doesn’t know yours.

“Then I’ll have Gabe escort you back with plenty of provisions to get you through the winter.” She points to the man who caught you.

“You’re gonna send the man with a broken thumb and bad eye? Must not like him very much.”

“Kinda been getting on my nerves lately,” Maria cracks a grin, but you don’t return it.

Gabe scoffs. “I’m the comedic relief. Can’t kill me off.”

Your face stays flat, unimpressed. “I don’t need an escort, and he clearly isn’t in any shape to be going anywhere.”

“I said you could go. I never said I trusted you.”

“I can fix him up before I go.” You nod to the man. “I used to be a trauma nurse.”

Maria tilts her head to the side. “Good. He’ll be in better condition when he takes you home tomorrow.”

You don’t know why, but the word home makes you cringe. You don’t have one of those anymore.

You set up outside of the old clinic after scouring for supplies to clean the scratches and a splint. It seems like FEDRA cleaned out a lot of the medical supplies when they evacuated, but you manage.

Gabe watches you carefully, still wearing a smile. “I don’t see how you can sit there grinning with that black eye.”

“Badge of honor.” He says, eyes glued to you. “Do you ever smile?”

“No.” You say, taking a hold of his hand. Gabe starts to ramble on about something you tune out as you focus on the anatomy of his hand. There’s something about using your old trade that sets a thrill through you, only briefly. Without warning, you snap it back into place. He screams out in pain. You look up at him, a brief smirk playing on your face. “Lucky for you, it’s not actually broken.”

“You’re better than I thought, Doc.”

“Nurse,” You say, splinting his thumb. “You should wear this for the next 4 weeks. Longer if there’s still pain.”

“Or you could stay and oversee his recovery,” Maria says, walking up. “We could use someone with your skills.”

You finish wrapping the splint before turning to face her. “I’m good. He’ll be fine.”

“It would be nice to have you around-”

“I said no.”

She sighs, crossing her arms. “Okay, but it’s an open offer if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

Maria shifts, sliding her hands into her pockets. “House around the corner at the end of the street. We cleared it. It’s dusty, probably rat-infested, but in decent shape. You can stay there tonight.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

You sit on the porch steps of an abandoned house. A faded red X paints the door behind you and an orange campfire flickers in your eyes. There are about 30 of them in total. A majority of them circle around the fire about 50 feet away. You catch the hums of multiple conversations, but no substance. A few children run around, catching fireflies, but it's the laughter that strikes that deep sense of want within you. Your chest aches with the grief of what you’ve lost since the outbreak, forced into survival mode. When was the last time you laughed? Or smiled? There’s been no occasion to. There’s been no desire to.

Tears blur the edges of your vision. Memories flash before your eyes of the good times, your brothers, your parents, grandparents, friends, that last summer with Sarah. Your heart clenches. You have no idea what happened to them. You can only assume they’re gone. Hoping doesn’t do you any good, and the odds have never been in your favor.

“You could come join us, you know,” Gabe says, walking up to you. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, a smile plastered on his swollen face.

You quickly wipe the excess moisture from your eyes. “I’m fine.” It’s emotionless, passive.

“You gonna sulk all night? I’m the one with a busted face.”

“I’m sorry some of us don’t feel like celebrating.” You roll your eyes, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you look back at the door to the house you’ll be spending the night in. Can’t you just be left alone? You have to spend the whole day with him tomorrow.

“You’re like one of the Eight Dwarfs,” he says.

“Pretty sure there were seven.” You bristle, standing up.

“Doleful, the eighth dwarf that never was. That’s you.”

“Doleful, really?” You say, rolling your eyes. Your annoyance with him is growing exponentially. What is his deal?

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you so much as crack a smile. Always so serious.” He furrows his brow in an almost mocking manner as he steps into your space, wearing the same goofy grin. You want to slap it off his face.

“Do you always talk to women this way?” There must be smoke pouring from your ears at this point.

“Only ones who give me black eyes.”

“You were the one chasing me!”

“You were running. Maybe I just wanted to say hi.” He’s goading you, and the annoying part is he’s succeeding.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Then walk away, Doleful.”

That’s when it hits you. How close he’s standing. His eyes flutter over your face. You can feel the warmth of him seeping into you. How long has it been since you touched another human being? Today's events notwithstanding. It’s been even longer since you had someone look at you like that.

You swallow, letting yourself dwell in the feeling for just a second before setting your jaw and turning away. You catch the sound of him letting out a breath, the same one you were holding. Your hand hovers over the door knob. “Make sure you keep your hand elevated tonight.”

“Yeah… will do.”

You step inside before he can say anything more.

You’re flush against him on a horse the next day. He insists he’s fine to take the reins despite his broken thumb. Maria also insists, muttering something about not trusting you. Experience tells you you shouldn’t let them know where you live, but your gut trusts them not to harm you.

Gabe tries to joke and make conversation. You give him nothing but grunts and one-word responses. You stop about 30 minutes from your destination to eat lunch and let the horse rest. Your legs feel numb, not used to riding.

“You gonna ignore me the whole time, Doleful?”

“Talk to the horse.”

“He’d be better conversation.”

“What is your deal?” you ask, finally fed up.

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“What mood? There’s no mood to lighten!” You finally lose it. You haven’t had to deal with the yapping of another person for years and your tolerance is at an all-time low. Carter would be disappointed at how fast this man has gotten under your skin.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you like he’s actually thinking. That would be a first. “People still need to experience joy and laughter.”

The laugh that leaves you is free of humor. It comes out under your breath, meaner than you intend, and he hears it. “You obviously didn’t have to lose anyone.”

He straightens immediately, face darkening. “No, I just chose to not let it consume me.”

He moves over to the horse, securing the saddlebags with more force than necessary. The tension and anger ripple off of him in droves. You bite your lip, guilt instantly falling over you.

“Gabe, I-“

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I think it’s best if we don’t talk the rest of the way.”

You supply a nod, but the guilt eats at you the closer you get. From what you can catch of Gabe’s profile, it’s set firmly in stone. You haven’t seen him without a smile yet. It hasn’t been long, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels like you swallowed someone’s joy, put out their light with your darkness.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. His head twitches back just slightly, letting you know he heard. “That was cruel. Of course, you’ve lost people. You don’t make it this long without it.”

You feel him tense underneath your palms, but then he inhales deeply and relaxes. “My wife and two girls on outbreak day.”

You suck in deeply. “I’m an asshole.”

“I mean… yes.” A faint smile returns to his face and light to his eyes, and maybe, just maybe, your lips tug upward a little bit. “I know it’s a little much for some people. They don’t get it.”

You relax a little. “Try a lot.”

“If I came off as too strong, I’m sorry.”

You bite your lip. “It’s okay. I guess I’m a little rusty dealing with people.”

He waits for a second, letting the silence invade. You hear a woodpecker in the distance and the crunch of leaves underfoot. A squirrel scurries across your path, presumably preparing for the harsh winter ahead.

“How long have you been alone?”

“My brother died almost two years ago. We were the only ones left.”

Gabe nods in acknowledgment. He keeps the silence for the rest of your ride.

By the time the gate fades into view, you can tell Gabe is mostly back to his usual self, not quite as smiley or annoying, but close. Either that or you’re actually growing to like it- him.

He helps you bring the food inside. You catch the ways his eyes roam your space without being too invasive. “It’s a big place for one person.”

“It’s got a gate.”

“So does Jackson.”

You look at him. He raises an eyebrow. “Part of Jackson.”

“Has more people too.”

“And what makes you think I want to be around people?”

“This isn’t living, Doleful.”

For the first time, you don’t mind the nickname. It hints at a familiarity you don’t have, but you’re starting to wonder if you want it.

You cross your arms, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “And smiling means you are?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Attempting to.”

“So what? I’m just supposed to go back to Jackson with you? Join the group and wander?”

“I think our wandering days are over.”

“Oh?”

“Maria thinks we can settle in Jackson. You said it yourself, just a few stragglers..”

“I only know from up here, not down there.”

“Stores are hardly touched.”

You know he’s right. “Why do you want me to join so badly?”

“Well for starters, you fixed me up pretty good.” He holds up his braced hand. “Could be pretty useful to have around.”

“So I’m just useful.”

“I don’t think you want to be alone,” he says. You inhale softly. “And I would really like the chance to make you smile.”

You look away, emotions you long pushed down threatening to spring back up.

“I figure I have two hours before I need to head back. I’ll wait outside.”

Gabe leaves you in the kitchen. You walk through the house, contemplating his words. The offer he and Maria both made you. Do you leave this place? A safe haven of sorts. You stop in the great room, Carter’s blood stain brown and dried on the light carpet. You’ve tried so hard to pull it out, but everything seemed to make it worse.

Sun streams through the big, picture window. You walk over, soaking it in. A small moment of peace in a tumultuous world. Something in your heart tugs, something else releases.

Gabe sits out on the deck, staring at a creased, faded picture when you settle next to him. The breeze picks up, playing with the color of his shirt. “Is that them?”

Gabe nods.

“My brother bled out in there.” You point behind you. “I’m thinking a fresh start might not be so bad.”

Gabe smiles at you. “Is that so?”

You nod. “I don’t need long to put a bag together.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind. My face isn’t so sure though.”

You’re not sure what it is, but laughter breaks out of you, a smile cresting your lips. Gabe chuckles alongside you as your crow's feet crinkle.

“I knew it.”

“What?”

“That you would have the prettiest smile in the world.”

#the last of us #tlou #woman (joel's version)#woman (joel’s version)#backstory #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal

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barcalover86 · 10 months

Text

My heart can't take it 2- Pablo Gavi

The first part here - is one of my favourite fanfiction of him

Masterlist

Finally, I managed to end this one. It's been some time, and I'm sorry for the wait, but I wanted to write it in the right way and to give you a well-deserved ending. Thank you for your messages and unconditional support! I see every request of you, and seeing that you want me to write your ideas makes me the happiest! Have a nice day, love yourself, and enjoy this! Love to all of you!🫵

I couldn't answer to only one of you because it wouldn't have been fair, so I tried to mention all of you here and announce you whenever it's ready.

I've been writing this for days..

-------

'Que las noches sin ti duelen'

"How many times do we have to listen to this song, Pedri?"

"What? You don't like it?" he turned to look at his friend who was next to him in the car.

"It's not like I don't like it, I just got bored of it"

Pedri laughed.

"Are you sure that's the reason?" he teased.

"Ok, end it here" Gavi said before the two of them sat silent in the car, while the music was still on.

Pedri was taking Gavi home again after the training. It was already 5 p.m. and tomorrow, they have to do some videos about the new Barca kit, so the moment Gavi went to his house, he went directly to his bathroom to take another shower.

"Why is he showering again?" his sister questioned her mom, being concerned about her little brother. He already showered after his training in the changing room with his teammates.

Her mom remained silent until she decided to continue the conversation.

"It doesn't seem like he is good. Are you sure you don't know what happened to him?"

Of course, she knows. He's been acting weird since the night their friend groups went together on the beach. She knew that you were the reason for his sadness. She stayed with the boy all night while he was crying in her arms. He never told the reason, nor did she asked, because as his older sister, she knows when Pablo is suffering towards a girl. Although, Aurora never told their mom this thing. She respected her brother's privacy.

"No" she just answered simply, before going to her room to not continue this subject.

It was true that Pablo Gavi was showering more lately, which doesn't seem so weird until you question yourself about it. He stays hours in his bathroom.

Crying.

He hadn't seen you since that day and it had been almost 4 weeks. He missed you a lot, and he had no one to talk to. He knew that his sister would be mad at him for falling in love with her friend, who didn't even talk to him, and Pedri.. he was going to make fun of him. He had to keep it all to himself, and the emotions sometimes got him. Crying while people think that he's showering was the best idea that came into his mind. Like that, his family wouldn't hear his sobs.

He didn't eat.. not yet. Aurora started to get more concerned, so she knocked at his door.

"Mami made you some pollo con arroz, want to come down to the kitchen to eat?" she asked hoping for a positive answer.

"Maybe later, gracias"

She barely heard him, but it was enough to know that his voice wasn't his normal one.

"Estas bien, hermanito?"

"Si"

That si had to be a strong word, but it only came from his mouth as a sob.

His sister felt like someone had just broken her heart. Hearing her brother at the edge of crying was something so hurtful. Pablo was one of the sweetest guys, and he doesn't deserve anything that could make him sad.

She waited a few seconds after talking again, trying to find the perfect way to say what she wanted.

"Come here, Pablo"

"Come outside, I know you aren't showering right now. Let's meet in the kitchen in 10 minutes. You have to eat and we to talk. I'm gonna tell our parents to leave, we'll be alone."

After that, Aurora left.

She managed to find a reason for their parents to go out of the house, and when Pablo came and sat on the chair that was in front of her, her heart broke again.

His eyes were red and puffy. The boy clearly had been crying for hours!

She didn't say anything more, only went to him and hugged him. Tight. Pablo returned the hug, trying so hard not to cry in front of his older sister. He accidentally escaped some sobs, but Aurora didn't mind. She hugged him until he calmed down completely.

"You have to tell me what is happening to you, Pablo. This is something serios"

"It's nothing, Rora."

"I know you, Gavira" she said with a serious face.

"I am just scared that the next season I won't play that much" he lied

"Oh, you're getting on my nerves. I really want to help you, but if you keep lying to me, then we won't go anywhere. I won't get mad, I promise you."

"I..I really like one of your friends," he said after some time.

"Go on" she encouraged him.

"And she doesn't give me attention at all. We barely even talked, and I'm sure that she doesn't feel the same way as me. She doesn't even look at me as a friend."

"Y/n, right?"

He started to panick at the thought that she knew.

"I'm so -" he wanted to apologise until he was interrupted again.

"It's ok, Pablo. No worries, ok? It's not your fault that you like her-"

"Kinda love her," he said sadly before turning his head to another direction, afraid not to cry again.

Aurora smiled. Pablo Gavi was never this soft. He was a sweety, of course, but she never saw his little brother like that, and she kinda likes the idea of having you even closer.

"You don't have to worry about me, hermanito. Go talk more to her and I'm sure she will like you. You are a great boy, and let's be serious. Who wouldn't fall in love with you?"

They both laughed.

The next day, Aurora invited her friends to their house.

------

"Will Pablo stay with us?" asked one of Aurora's friends.

"Yes, he has some plans to do," she said, and they all looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

She just winked at them and then started laughing.

"Ohh, he is in love, isn't him?" You finally spoke after being quiet for a while.

"Oh, you wouldn't know," answered his sister before you borrowed your eyebrows, confused.

You decided not to say anything anymore, but you felt some pain in your chest, and when you saw Gavi walking past you to sit on the couch near some girl, your heart felt like it just had broken. Your eyes couldn't not look into his.

He wasn't looking at you. Of course, he wouldn't. He is a famous football player, he is for sure in love with some influencer or with a beautiful lady that has the perfect body.

The truth is that he wasn't looking at you because he knew that if he would, he couldn't stop moving his eyes away from you. He knew that if he saw you, even for a second, he would lose control. He couldn't even stand the fact that you were there, far but so close to him.

Aurora saw you looking intense at her brother, so she decided to help both of you.

"Hermanitoo, come here a second, por fa"

"What?" answered the boy after standing up while going near his sister.

"If you really want to stay with us, then we should play something together. God knows when we will stay together again like this. We have to enjoy every minute!"

"What game?"

"Truth or dare!"

"Oh, I'm not playing that stupid game of yours"

"Then you won't stay with us"

Everyone was cheering for Gavi to play, but the only thing that made him not go was you. He really wanted to stay with you. He even sat down beside you, really, really close to another.

The truth is that you hate this game. You never enjoyed playing it, but this time, you felt like you wanted to stay.

You feared that something was to happen, and when it really happened, you couldn't do anything but panick hard. Of course, Aurora would ask you something like this after you said dare.

"I dare you to kiss my brother!"

"What-no"

"It's a dare, y/n"

You argued a lot with his sister, and you didn't even realise when Pablo turned your face into his, and he touched your lips with his. The kiss was everything you've ever imagined, and it was the best one you've ever had.

When you looked into his eyes, nothing was coming out of your mouth. You couldn't love this boy, could you? He barely even talked to you.

Gavi, on the other side, was the happiest that he finally managed to do that, and he for sure winked after to his sister as a "thank you". She only returned his smile, being happy for the both of you.

You didn't say anything until it was late and you decided to go home.

Pablo somehow excused himself, finding a way to be only with you. He didn't even know where this courage came from, but he was so thankful for it.

"I'm sorry you had to kiss me" you finally spoke.

"It was just a game after all, it didn't mean anything"

Oh, and how stupid he was for saying that. Full regret starting to feel in all of his body.

You couldn't say anything. You froze there, not being able to leave the room.

You knew he didn't feel the spark that you felt. Even yourself couldn't believe that this past weeks all you thought about was him. The moment he kissed you, your heart felt like it healed and was the best feeling you've ever felt in a while. You felt alive and.. happy.

He knew he fucked everything up.

"I'm so-"

"It's ok. Really. Like, I get it!"

"What-"

"No, like- I get it you don't.. like me. I get it that you don't even want to.. talk to me? See me? I completely understand you. Maybe I would ruin your career if people see us together. Maybe-"

"Para!"

"Maybe you just stood with us, because your girlfriend couldn't meet you today or-"

"Y/n, para!!"

You did anything other than stop yourself from talking.

"And I can't even believe myself how I managed to be like the other girls. To.. start to like you and-"

"You what?"

Now you only stopped, just because you realised that you said it out loud. It was like you admitted yourself to what you feel for him.

You started to panick and quickly got out of his house, with him following you.

"No, wait!"

He managed to take your hand and stop you.

"You like me?" he said softly with tears in his eyes.

"No, it's just-"

"Dime la verdad, y/n"

He had hope in his eyes.

"Por favor.."

You looked at him. You just couldn't stay there and lie to him. Lie to those pretty eyes.

"I don't even believe myself for this-"

"Tell me!"

"Joder, yes! Yes, I like you!"

He smiled.

"I can't believe this."

"Lo siento, Gavi. I know you-"

"No! Don't say anything anymore. You know nothing. You have no idea how long I wanted to hear you say it. To hear that you like me."

He looked into your eyes and smiled.

"Can I kiss you..please.." he finally found the courage to say it.

You were shocked. Completely shocked.

He laughed at your face, but knew that you wanted it so he did it. He kissed you.

This time, it was different. It didn't feel like it was something rushed. It was slow, full of love and adoration.

"I've liked you for so long, you have no idea. Now, can I finally call you mine, amor?"

You smiled widely.

"Por supuesto!"

I hope I didn't disappoint you with this one..

I have so many ideas of how could I have continued this, but it would have been too long, but I could make a part 3???

When they say "I love you" for the first time or when they introduce their relationship to their friends and families?

I can also do one where we have y/n's version of the story????

What do you say about it?

Shall be a part 3 to this one??

Thank you for the waiting, and thank you if you are reading this. It means a lot to me that you also read this part and took some time of yours to enjoy my stories. I wish you a nice day and don't forget.. love yourself!!

I have a request that asks him "Jealous Gavi," so it will be out soon. I hope that it will be really soon done. I'm working on it

Reminder:

@its-astrotea-love

@rens-daylight

@http-isabela

@madelineorionswan

@lilians17

@gavisuntiedboot

@barackosteaa

@magdis-things

@iheartgavi

@coco657

@httpskay

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hexiewrites · 2 years

Text

It’s not the first time Steve has to call an ambulance that does it.

The first time he’s fucking terrified, coming home from a long shift at the new Blockbuster down the street and dinner after with a coworker only to find his boyfriend, passed out on the floor of their shared apartment. He panics, at first, because what the fuck is he supposed to do, and then he gets it together and calls 911. The paramedics won’t let him in the ambulance so he follows behind in the beamer, white knuckles the steering wheel, all the way to the hospital. They won’t let him go all the way in and he paces for hours in the waiting room, drinking shitty hospital cafeteria coffee, before the nurse finally tells him where to go.

And the thing is. The thing is it makes sense. Eddie’s been struggling since the Upside Down. So has Steve, to be honest. They’ve both been crashing, different vices, different issues. So the first time he has to call the ambulance, he gets it. It makes sense, even though it hurts. Sometimes things happen, and Steve can’t fault Eddie for one night of too many goddamn whiskeys. Hell, he’s come pretty close to that point himself, more times than he can count lately. He makes a promise to himself to be better, to be there when Eddie needs him.

To be enough.

It’s not the second time he calls the ambulance that does it either, because as much as that one hurts, it still makes sense. Eddie on the ground gives his brain Eddie in the Upside Down, broken and bleeding and almost fucking dead and Steve calls the ambulance but he chugs a beer back before he follows in the beamer. And fuck, they’ve been through it, haven’t they? Eddie’s been trying but of course it’s going to be hard. People make mistakes and god knows Steve’s made his own, so who is he to do anything but try. Try harder to make Eddie see he doesn’t need this shit. To make him see that Steve loves him so much, loves him enough for both of them, loves him enough to get them through it. So that’s what he does.

He tries, even though he’s failing too. There’s beer in the house and he gets it, now. How much it helps to keep the noise down.

They’ve been fighting about it, even though they don’t have much else they fight about.

So of course he gets it.

The third time he has to call hurts even more. Of course it does, it screams Eddie’s failing and you’re failing and why can’t you be good enough, why can’t you love him enough to fix it. But the hurt is washed over by anger because how can he keep doing this after everything they’ve been through? Hours of meetings together. Weeks of Eddie off in rehab. Whispered promises that it’s done, it’s over. You can’t beat addiction but you can control it. They can focus on them. Maybe start that family they keep talking about. It’s behind them now. It was supposed to be behind them.

But it’s not even the third time, because the third time when Eddie wakes up he looks devastated but he still manages a smile. Still manages to say, voice rough because of the intubation, third time’s the charm, right baby? And- the average addict relapses four times, but I’ve always been below average, huh? I can feel it. This is gonna be my year.

And Steve’s not perfect either. He’s doing better, yeah, he’s putting in the work, but he’s not perfect. He’s better though. He’s been better because he’s been trying. He’s still trying because he keeps picturing Eddie, baby on his hip, cooing and giggling. Picturing them curled up at forty, at fifty, at eighty. Looking back and saying wow, we were fucked up then but we had each other. We got through it together like we always did. So the third time hurts. It pisses him off. But he’s still holding that picture in his mind, despite it fraying at the edges just a bit.

But the fourth time, when it should all be behind them because it had been better, they’d been better, when he comes home and finds Eddie on the floor, broken bottle next to him, needle still in his arm…

Well. Fourth time’s the fucking charm for him.

He calls the ambulance, watches Eddie get loaded in, feels the tears drying onto his cheeks. One of the paramedics knows him from the last time and gives him this sad smile. Says “we got him soon enough, think he’s gonna be okay. He’s lucky, your boy, but even cats only get nine lives.” Steve shuts the ambulance door and doesn’t get in his car to follow. He heads back up the stairs, cleans up the vomit, and starts to pack.

He puts his most important things in the beamer, leaves the rest. Doesn’t leave a note because he doesn’t know what to say. Calls the hospital before he goes because he has to know—Eddie’s awake and asking for him.

He drives to a liquor store instead. Drives until he can’t anymore and checks into a motel halfway between Chicago and Hawkins.

Thinks about his blue two year chip (sitting on his nightstand in the apartment, one of the things not precious enough to bring) as he twists open the bottle, and finally finally finally lets the sweet relief of whiskey burn through his throat.

He’ll regret it tomorrow, but tonight? It’s the only thing he has left.

Steve doesn’t go back to Chicago for nearly four years. He thought about it. Thinks about it. Constantly. He knows that Eddie’s alive because Dustin kept in touch, will give him a little knowing nod every time they see each other (rare, these days, as Steve barrels towards thirty and the kids finish university, get jobs across the country, try to make it home for Christmas and don’t always succeed). He never asks for more because it’s too hard to hear. Dustin tells him, one day, that Eddie’s doing really well now. Steve doesn’t know if he can believe it. He doesn’t want to believe it, because if Eddie’s doing well now without him it means he’s the problem he’s the reason he—he calls his therapist and puts in the fucking work.

He stays in Hawkins. Faces his demons, mostly metaphorical now. Spends a lot of time with Hopper, who gets it more than almost anyone but still wants better for him. Spends hours on the phone with Robin, who begs him to go back into the real world but he can’t, because it hurts too much. Takes enough correspondence classes to get an associate’s degree. Starts driving to the community college a few towns over for classes and upgrades to a Bachelors of Psychology, and starts to understand himself and Eddie and trauma, and things start to hurt a little less. He doesn't drink anymore, goes to meetings with as much regularity as he can, and when he’s finally got a new two year chip in his hands he thinks he might be ready. It hurts like an old wound, twinging in the rain but mostly fine, and he thinks he could maybe handle Chicago again.

He still doesn’t go.

At the end of the day, it’s the acceptance letter into the Masters of Educational Counselling program at the University of Illinois that does it. He honestly hadn’t been expecting to get in, it’s a competitive program and Steve Harrington who barely graduated high school doesn’t exactly scream school counsellor material. But his essay was good, he knows it was. And he knows he’s going to be good at this.

So he packs up the beamer, again. Pulls over to sleep in a tent on the side of the road and calls Hopper from a payphone, sobbing because he can’t do it.

He does it anyway.

He gets to Chicago and his apartment’s on the opposite side of town now but the first time he drives past the hospital again he has a breakdown so bad he almost goes home. But he’s been putting in the work, and he’s doing more than trying now. He’s solid, he’s stable, and he pulls himself together. He calls Hopper and Robin, he goes to meetings, he’s doing well.

He’s studying in a coffee shop, down the street from his apartment, when the open mic starts.

“Hi everyone,” says a voice that Steve would recognize from a hundred miles away. He forces himself to look and Eddie’s on the little stage, an acoustic guitar in hand. "Thanks for being here with me today. I've got some new stuff for y'all that I think you're going to like."

And then he plays. Steve gives up on his work, leans back in the chair, and watches. Eddie looks... he looks good. Better than he had when Steve was around. His hair's still long but it's curly and bouncy, and his skin is bright and alive in the way an addict's never is. His fingers skip, sure and strong, over the frets and his voice is that same melody Steve has never let himself forget, with this almost bluegrass twang that makes Steve's heart ache. He’s playing different music, and he’s shining like he’s made of gold in the late afternoon sun.

There's something about it, about watching Eddie, that feels a bit like healing. Eddie had always loved to play, but the music scene he was in had broken him before, not fixed him. He'd always wanted to make more of his own music, and here it is and it's good. The songs are catchy, straddling his blues/folk upbringing and his rock/metal lifestyle.

And then Eddie finishes a song, maybe his sixth, and his eyes scan the crowd and Steve feels when they land on him. He feels the way the whole room runs out of air, all at once, and Eddie is totally frozen for a full minute. Steve's heart is beating a million miles an hour-he wants to get up, he wants to run, but he's frozen to the seat. Pinned by Eddie's gaze.

And he knows he's been doing better, he has, but nothing was ever as good as it could have been because this is what he was missing.

"I've got," Eddie finally says, and has to stop and clear his throat. "I've got one more song for you." He's talking to the audience, but he never looks away from Steve, and the room has narrowed so much it might as well only be only the two of them there. "This one's about the one I chased away."

Steve pays attention to the lyrics and his heart breaks half a dozen times. Eddie sings about hating himself, about Steve hating him, about how the thing that tore them apart is the thing Eddie will never touch again, how the hatred is what drove him to be better. He sings about forgiveness and healing and when he finishes the coffee shop claps, Eddie waves, and the spotlight cuts.

It isn't even a conscious decision, but Steve finds himself walking up to the stage. Eddie turns away from where he's put the guitar away, their eyes meet again and it feels like coming home.

"I don't hate you," Steve whispers, because he's forgotten how to speak. "I never could."

"I'd understand if you would," Eddie says, and he's stepping closer. They're a foot apart now, eyes locked, and Steve's hands are shaking.

"I've been, uh, working really hard on myself." Steve admits, and he can't help himself. He lifts a hand and tucks a curl behind one of Eddie's ears. "I... I think about you all the time."

Eddie grins, and leans into his touch. "Me too," he murmurs, and drags his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. "I've been putting in the fuckin' work, Steve. And it's not easy, and I'm not perfect. I can't ever promise you perfect. But I'm three years sober, and I think I'm worth it, now. I think you're worth my love and I think I'm worth yours."

"I put in the fuckin work too," Steve mumbles, and he tips his head forwards so their foreheads hit.

When they're forty, they look back on this moment and grin at how little they knew. How much they believed their love would be enough, because the first time it wasn't. But this time, now that they've grown, that they've put in the fucking work?

This time, it's enough.

Eddie looks good with babies on his hips. Steve loves him more every day. They look back at forty, at fifty, at eighty, and they know their love could only have existed because they broke it, and learned by themselves how to fix it. It still hurts sometimes, aches like an old wound, but all Steve needs to do is to squeeze Eddie's hand, to feel his heart beating, and he knows:

He wouldn't trade what they have for the world.

(click here to read Eddie’s version, by the incredibly talented @riality-check !)

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its-warm-in-here · 2 months

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Teeth 2

Well, here we go again! this is still gross, but some people seem to enjoy it so I kept going! If you like it or have any feedback, I'd love to hear it!

Link to Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/its-warm-in-here/741702465482883072/teeth?source=share

Alastor x !DeerDemon! Reader

Warnings: imbalance of power, cannibalism, i guess this falls into vore??

A nervous voice rings like a bell, jerking you back to consciousness. “Where’d you say they were?”

The light above you is bright and blinding on one side. In the other eye, not so much. Every nerve blazes in agony. Your neck is bent at a bad angle, but you give your remaining good leg a kick. Pain. Acute and grinding rips through. Breathing is sharp and your ears ring. Still, you try to focus. Above, uncertain strangers bicker. “Just outside the fence. Its bizarre. There's not many cars around here and it's not like they could have dragged themselves halfway across the Pentagram in that state.”

“Are you saying someone put them there?”

“Not tryin’ to be discouraging or nothin’, but they look a little ehhh...Roadkill-eysh.”

Hell, you certainly felt like it.

“The innards are spilling!” another squeaks and giggles, then something pointy jabs into your gut.

“Not helping, Niffty,” a lower female voice scolded and shooed away the tiny, stabbing demon off. “Still. They’re looking better off than most hell carrion I’ve seen. At least they could get themselves to us before any cannibals came sniffing.”

You cough and the vision finally comes swimming back to your other eye. Demons of all sorts hover above, the blond one desperately tries to tend to the worst of your wounds but seems to be panicking more than anything while her partner tries to intervene. The air in your chest rattles with each breath as your ribs pop and crack back into place. You try to say something but the only sound you get is a sort of half weeze. Probably have a collapsed lung or something. Fuck that truck driver. Double damn him! Regeneration never feels good, but at least it didn't take too terribly long, like some sinners you knew. Even if it was agonizing. Give it a day or so and you’d be right as rain, with or without the help of this Hotel Staff.

That being said, you hoped they knew what they were doing. Healing a broken bone took some time and if they made it worse, that’d just slow you down even more. And you can’t have that. While the strangers fret above, your head lolled to the side. There, in the doorway another figure lingers. It's just a silhouette, you can tell they're tall, but the thing that catches your eye is that impossibly wide, yellow grin. That stands out against the shadows like its glowing. It's so familiar. And unsettling.

Several hands take hold of your limp shoulder and someone starts counting, “On three, okay? One. two. Three!” tears prick your good eye and you can’t stop the scream that rips from your chest but it quickly dies to a whimper. It's painful, debatably than before, but you can feel your fingers again. Your eyes flutter as you teater on the edge of consciousness. Head falling to the side once more, you let the hotel staff continue tending to the big gash over your hip.

You can’t hear it over the bickering of your saviors, but the figure in the hall’s mouth opens in what you can only assume is a chuckle by the way their chest flutters. If anything this face looked, for lack of a better word, pleased. With one final leer, that smile swept out of view. Something in you churns.

“Charlie, I’m gonna need you to keep their leg still,” the only voice with any reason orders. Her partner hops-to in response and two little hands grip the injured leg. “Okay, um, sorry I don't know your name, but this is gonna hurt.”

It does. Then everything goes black again.

-----

It happens again when you’re cleaning up after dinner.

Creole food is great and all, but it uses everything in the kitchen, and it sticks bad on the pan. Niffty was busy with clearing the table and getting the exorbitant amount of dishes loaded into the wash. Besides, with her little arms, she’d end up head first in the big pot. So it fell to you to scrub the oversized dutch oven tonight. You’ve been working on this for a good ten minutes but the remaining fond caked onto the base was just was not giving up. Somehow, you’ve managed to slosh soapy water all up your sleeves and onto the front of your shirt. Cursing under your breath, you apply your best elbow grease to the base of the pot.

There's the briefest touch at the top of your tail then a quick yank on the hair. You yelp, whirling around. “What the actual fuck-”

“You know, if you leave it soak, that will be much easier to handle,” the radio demon muses. His gaze is fixed on the bit of hair he’d plucked, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. “And I'd avoid that steel wool. Can't have you ruining my best pot.”

Scowling, you dry your hands on a soaked apron then put them on your hips. “Well, maybe if the chef took some responsibility to clean up his dishes, I wouldn’t be putting his cookware in danger.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up and he tucks the tuft of fur into his breast pocket. “I’ve been wondering if you were still interested in continuing our arrangement.”

Your throat goes dry and hair goes on end. That's a bit to the point. Its not like your last interaction had been dominating your mind or anything. And its not like you’d had some rather... vivid nightmares on the subject. Nothing at all like that. It stirs a mixture of emotions, pained but intrigued. If Alastor is asking after another ‘nibble,’ then he’s been thinking about this too. And that might entail another favor. “I’d be lying if it hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Excellent. I must say after a meal like that, I'm in the mood for a little... entremet.”

That makes your head spin. This cant be like last time. Not with so many rules that hadn't been set, too many boundaries that could be tested. Not with him so smug. “Oh, o-of course.” He’d been respectful thus far, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t pull something nasty in the second encounter. “But I need some ground rules, Alastor,” you step back, bumping against the counter and he closes in. Cornered again. Your ears drop and he can't look more pleased. Heart hammering, you put on your best smile. “You get your palette cleanser but I pick where you bite. And you stop when I say.”

He hums and straightens himself to his full, towering height. “Sounds like a deal.” Green swirls around his extended hand and dread fills your belly.

Quickly, you snap your hand up, pinky held aloft between you. “N-no deals. This is a promise. Alright?”

Alastor’s eyes narrow as he contemplates your offer. This is a bad idea, right? Before you can consider the consequences, his pinky locks with yours. “Promise.” There's a rush of energy and a small burst of green. He lets go, rolling his shoulders as he tucks his hands into the small of his back, and leaving you dumb founded, staring at your empty hand. “Give that pot another scrub then meet me upstairs.”

---

There's no answer when you knock. Briefly you think to wait in the hall, but the voices of Husk and Angel echo up the nearby stairwell. So you duck in, surprised to find the door unlocked. Once more, you are greeted by the outside air contrasted by the roaring warmth of the hearth. You linger near the door, as you haven’t been officially invited in.

Swallowing, you stare up at the mounted antlers and taxidermied bones. In another afterlife, that could have been you. Peeled apart as some trophy for a cannibalistic freak. Thank whatever power that dedicated hell for making you more durable than his normal prey. Still, it did warp your relationship with the Radio Demon. He probably would never have even looked your way were it not for the strange coincidence that you were also a deer. But didn't that make you feel just a little special? Like you had something in common with one of the most powerful being this side of Pentagram City? And maybe you could utilize some of that power if you stay in his good graces...

Even if he only wanted you for meat.

You shake your head and rip your gaze from the dead animals and to further into the room. For a moment, you consider taking the seat from last time or putting on some jazz, but there’s a gust of wind from the forest that makes you turn. Pentagram City might be a bustling, chaotic, absolutely insane metropolis, but it was hardly known for its great outdoors.

Air moves through the trees, whistling a bit as it blows past the opening to Alastor’s room. Just beyond, there's a small table with a single chair and past that, the forest expands to a blue-green bayou. It's enticing. The grass sinks into the marshy ground beneath your hooves as you step into the impossible bit of nature contained in the Hotel. Cautiously, you step over to that little table and rest your palm against the tree. It certainly feels like a real cypress tree, the bark is rough and the tight pine needles are prickly in your hand. Above your head, lights like fireflies dance and illuminate the underside of the tree and the wet smell of moss fills your nose. You take a deep breath. Beyond the tree, the bayou stretches out with more cypress and cat tails. Much of the soft ground gives way to murky blue water, but you can see where a path would lead through the trees. In the distance some animal is shifting through the underbrush. This was much more pleasant than the foyer. Maybe you could convince Alastor about adding one of these to your room.

That is, if he offered another favor for a favor. No need to push too fast. Push too hard. Besides, you had more pressing matters than asking after a backyard.

“Well, you certainly know how to make yourself at home.”

You jump nearly a foot in the air and whirl around. At the one seat, Alastor sips an after dinner espresso, eyes closed and legs crossed like he’d been there the whole time. Hell, maybe he had been here. Quickly, your smile returns along with a bout of anxiety. “It is lovely here. Can you blame me for getting swept up in the view?” Alastor opens his eyes just a bit to look you up and down. Then he rises, coming to your side. His hand rests on your shoulder and he turns you to face the cat tails. “Did you make it? Or is this some doorway to another place?”

“A bit of both,” he says cryptically as you admire the slow moving current. “Have you thought about what treat you're giving me today, my deer?” His hand slides from your shoulder to the base of your neck, nails pricking at the nape.

You scoff, and snap to face him out of his grasp. Alastor’s gaze that had been fixed on the back of your head locks onto your eyes instead. “Are you always this straight forward with your food or am I just lucky? Besides, there was no time limit on our little promise. Maybe I'd rather wait for tomorrow instead. Or even next week.”

A staticky chuckle rattles from his chest and his hand comes to trace the line of your jaw instead. Your heart skips a beat. “Oh, I highly doubt that. Not when you’re so eager to please.” He gives your cheek a sharp pinch.

“Of course,” you fire back and lace your fingers behind your back. “I like pleasing everyone.” You strut past him, ears straight forward and tail aloft then take a seat on the little metal table. Confidently, you cross your legs at the ankle and lower your gaze at him. This can’t be too easy, or Alastor would lose interest in the game. “You’re not so special Mr. Radio Demon.”

His head tilts and static blares in a sort of question. “A bit bold of you deer. Putting on a show for me, hmm?”

You bite your lip and taste iron. “Please, who would ever need to put on a show for you?” Alastor’s face tightens, trying to discern your lie or maybe he’s just insulted. Either way, even if you’re new to this performance thing, it was having some sort of effect on the demon. “So, I was thinking-” you point to your arm- “here-” you point to your thigh- “Or here.”

Alastor’s eyes light up. “Oh-ho, multiple choice!” He gives your arm a pat. “Let's start here.” Suddenly, something strong wraps around your waist and you're lurched from the table to a chair that appears from thin air. The momentum almost makes it topple to the marsh. You lurch forward, grabbing the table and landing hard on the glass. Before you can right yourself, that strange force grips around your wrist, trapping it against the table.

Then the jazz kicks on.

And there's a knife.

It's a quick flick of the silver blade and a ribbon of flesh is sliced away from your inner arm. “Ah-!” the scream dies in your throat as he pops the bit of you into his mouth. Can't interrupt his morsel, where were your manners? With teeth grit and fist balled you bite out, “-ah, little warning next time?” Alastor side eyes you, appreciating the bite with hums of enjoyment instead of an answer. The cut is painful, but clean. As if he'd sliced a filet off your forearm. You take in a sharp breath. There isn't much blood and the wound is quick to start patching up, but it's definitely deeper than the last time. Around your wrist, a shadow keeps your arm locked in place. It feels like it might give if you pulled hard enough but you keep your arm still the best you can.

“Tasty,” he remarks and your stomach flutters as he lines the blade up for another go. There's more warning but not enough and you bite down on the inside of your cheek. He pauses a moment watching you wince, smirking at your reaction. This time, he slices your flesh into a few pieces using a knife and fork. Taking his time.

Savoring this.

With each bite, you stare intently, a tight lipped smile fixed in place. Each bit of you slipping down Alastor's throat made your abdomen tighten with something between nausea and excitation. While this was different from the last time, like an after dinner snack instead of a quick exchange, you can't help but feel a twinge of resentment. Last time had been close. Intimate. You want to feel his teeth again.

“It's rude to stare, deer,” red eyes meet your own before turning down and taking another cut, this time off your bicep.

Intimidated, your gaze snaps to the blade, watching his knife cut a good inch into your arm then glide down along the bone. He must notice your struggling to keep still, as another black tentacle loops around the hollow of your elbow. This is the most he's taken. Red. Dripping. It hurts, more than the others but you can't tear away as Alastor flays the skin from his prize. Had you not known better, the muscle of your arm might have been appetizing. Like a cut of flank steak in need of a good seer.

And Al finishes it in one bite.

“Enough,” it sounds more confident than you feel. His fingers click and the hold of your arm lets up. You scramble back, running your fingers up and down the new skin. It smooths and prickles at your touch. Luckily you’re not prone to scarring. “That was a bit much for a palette cleanser, don't you think?” you snap. Chills still run up your arm and where he cut tingles like a limb that had fallen asleep.

He dabs his mouth on a handkerchief embroidered with a big ‘A.’ It comes back with a blot of red. “And you handled it surprisingly well,” Alastor muses with a note of pride. “Not many are quite so calm under my knife.”

“Yeah, and not many patch quite this quick,” you fire back, goosebumps dot the flesh, the new nerves flaring in the cool air, but you drop your arms to your sides and approach the little table once more. Anyone else would be bleeding all over his nice grass. “Does our agreement still stand? Favor for a favor?”

“Questioning my integrity as an overlord?” he jabs with a hint of sarcasm, and takes a long, loud sip from his expresso, making you wait as he finishes the drink. “You are a bit of a spit fire today. What is it you’re after, my deerest?” Your tongue suddenly feels thick and dry in your mouth. It had been so perfect in your brain, just ask him to fix your problem. A simple intimidation from the Radio Demon and you’d be off the hook and out from under that Shylock’s thumb. Then these freaky visits would be over. Huh. Or even ask about having a portal to this realm in your own room. Heaven knows how much you missed the fresh air. Just say something. Alastor regards you with glee as your brain desperately tries to concoct exactly how to answer him. “Now, now, don’t think about it too hard on it, you’ll have steam coming off your ears any moment.”

You blink twice at his smug grin, when the request hits you. Just the thing to make the sinner squirm and keep him guessing without giving away too much of yourself. Just the thing to stay in the game. “No, I know what I want.”

“Hmmm?” He thinks he’s winning.

“Flesh,” the words feel repellent on your tongue, but you smirk through it, “I want to try it. Yours, to be specific.”

The music stops with an abrupt scratch of the record.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor is a cannibal #alastor is asexual #dont like dont read #cannibalism #this is fun!

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thebunniesgrim · 7 months

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Helluva boss needs to slow down

I know I know take of the century I'm so big brained

What I mean is the show is too excited

Its given us some good episodes sure but goodness

(You just can’t top Ozzie's there will never be a better episode and I'm trying cope frankly)

I understand that as a show grows older and is still in development things change visions shifts yeah, I got it.

But Viv has said that that she plans for Helluva Boss to have multiple seasons like at least 3 or so she has time to work out all her ideas

Why is she rushing?

like slow down babes the show isn't going anywhere

This show is so excited to get to the fun stuff they don’t want to build it up. They want Stolas and Blizto’s slow burn and love story but don’t want to really build them up as people outside their relationship or even together in the relationship. anytime blitzo and Stolas hangout together its whenever some other 3rd party is around. In LooLoo Land its Octavia, in Ozzie's its moxxie and Millie, and in Seeing Stars its Octavia again I mean at this point she’s the catalyst for their relationship. When they don’t have someone else involved its sex for the book. Bltzo and Stolas haven't hanged out in a meaningful way. Without sex

I saw in a tumbler post that in the Helluva boss poster the fact that Stolas is bigger on the poster than the main characters who are small and off to the side. It really tells you how the show is going so far.

And it's true so?

If you knew nothing about Helluva boss and saw that poster you’d think Stolas was a main character, the protagonist, or the villain.

Stolas is in 90% of the episodes and is a side/supporting character, at least that’s what the wiki says.

A supporting character is supposed to not be important to the main plot but still helpful to the protag

The folks behind Helluva boss are picking favorites and you can tell in the eps

How come we didn’t get to Moxxie’s family life till season 2? a main character! But we got to see Stolas family life? A supporting character? and we see his wife her reaction to the cheating, his daughter and her view on the situation. But we don’t know about Moxxies family till season 2 or Millies family where it’s dropped to focus on Moxxie and Striker and the pain games (Sally Mae wasn’t in the pain games).

Helluva boss made it seem like from episode one it was going to be about a trio of imps and a hellhound going to the human world to kill people for sinners and how many times did they do that? Let's see

Murder family

C.H.E.R.U.B.

Truth seekers off screen at the being (I'm assuming because why would they be on earth as a group? the only people I think who’d go on earth to fuck around is Blizto and Loona)

And

Ozzie's off screen at the beginning

Imp has only done their job like what? A few times? On screen that we’ve seen

The synopsis of the show says according to IMDb says:

And then the wiki says:

Like what is this show about? because we haven't got what we were promised like?

Like I get that helluva Boss is a satirical show and we aren't supposed to really be reading into it but what is it satirizing? hell? Office shows? What?

Even “edge” adult shows have some semblance of structure or plot you know? Like Rick and Morty or smiling friends (can't wait for more episodes tbh)

Rick and Morty didn't have an episode about not physically going to alternate universe still what? Ep 8 season 1? I could be wrong

And Smiling Friends didn’t have Pim and Charlie do their job (I.e., making someone smile) still the Halloween episode or if you don’t count holiday episodes. Episode 5 Who Violently Killed Simon S. Salty

They stick to the structure of the show for a few episodes and then do other stuff you know?

Helluva boss was like nah speed run! And did the other stuff in the second episode and didn’t return to it till ep 4. I don’t count Spring Broken because it doesn’t really feel like they're doing their job basically it's not the same set up of sinner comes to them, tell them back story, they go to earth shenanigans ensue, and they kill the target. They've only done their job twice on screen

Even non adult shows like

Wonder Over Yander (I'd love another season) they don’t have a story not about Wonder or Syliva till season 1 episode 7 about Westley

Steven Universe didn’t have a townie episode till episode 5

In the episodes about killing, we could have gotten more intel on how the characters feel about their job. How they feel about each other and stuff

Also, this show can't take plot points seriously or do good foreshadowing or set up

Ok so Ozzie’s my favorite episode I love it :)

But

So stolas and Bilzto have a falling out in the end of the episode.

gasp drama! ikr?

But here’s the thing they messed up the flow with Seeing Stars let me explain (studios)

It makes since to me that they wouldn’t talk the next episode sure give them time to stew in their misery. sure

So, the next episode is Queen Bee, then The Circus all goes good gives us some backstory cool

it's going well... Until

Uh no

Oops

Fuck

Seeing Starts where Stolas and Blizto are just talking to each other like normal like nothing is happening between them

and

Don’t say they're worried about Octivia because if that’s the problem they get sidetracked so much and Stolas just forgets about his daughter.

Like instead of just killing the humans stopping them from getting to Octivia. you're telling me that Blizto couldn’t shoot the van door open? Or overtook the drivers and drove around LA?

Press x to doubt bitch

Also, the fact that Stolas “has his ways” to find blitzo without his book he couldn’t use that to find Octavia? Really?

I'm starting to think they aren't royalty. More like upper middle class you know that family with a 2 story house and pool you feel me?

Because you're telling me that you “need” security to a theme park but you're only child and heir is out here magically unsupervised? wow

Also, Stolas hasn’t taught Octava how to use the book. You would think that with how many hits he has out for his head he’d teach Octavia to use the book by now. Stolas started when he was like 7? Just saying

Anyways what I'm saying is they fucked up the flow for western energy.

If they didn’t have Seeing Stars there it would have been fine frankly

Also Stolas getting hospitalized and being fine in Opps was much a slap in face

Like homeboy was fucked up right?

Like leg messed up

arm broken

he was stab! With a holy weapon!

And 1 episode later he’s fine... what? You almost died dude! Are you not traumatized? Worried about your daughter? No? Ok.

And then the conflict in Ozzie's gets resolved through text

>laugh track<

Also set up for like villains is kinda screwy

So, first

Villains we haven't seen again

The Cherubs and D.O.R.K.S. we haven’t seen then since episode 4 and 6 respectively we don’t know where they are or what they're up to at all.

The cherubs are a direct conflict to they’re business and the dorks are literally a threat if they catch them all of hell is in trouble and Stolas, Blizto, Moxxie, Mille and Loona (possibly Octivia and Stella if they know about it) are like fucked and will most likely be killed by higher ups for putting everyone in danger. Idk seems more important than Blizto and Stolas sex life

(Also, if heaven and hell exist for a fact does that mean in the Helluva and Hazbin verse does that mean there are people in hell who didn’t believe in the Christan God? Also, what if they were good people? no wonder hells overcrowded)

It's fine if they did a villain of the week thing like the powderpuff girls but in PPG the villains came back! No matter how irrelevant or lame (unless it’s the cooties kid then sure also did that episode make anyone else uncomfortable as a kid?)

Now Villains that did comeback

Striker, Stella and Crimson or the S.S. Crim. as I call them

heh you know like a boat :)

So stella was obviously a villain from the start but she didn’t openly threat stolas till Western energy as well as Striker that was his grand entrance. So stella and striker were a threat and stella didn’t show back up still and pose a threat till like 4 or 5 episodes later. Striker didn’t come back till like what 7 or 8 episodes later lol and Crimson only had to wait 2 episodes to come back. Quickest we have so far honestly.

(also, we were rob of more robot Fizz I like the way they made his voice it was fun to listen to)

And the reason they came back is because they're popular! And favorites of the fandom and the writers and the creator

No one's making horny fan edits of the dork agents no one's putting the cherubs in their favorite characters list unless its Collon because Collon is cutest of the 3 so... they got that going for them

But other than that

They most likely aren't coming back and if they do color me surprised

The show keeps setting up problems and setting up major events then just not doing anything with them

Like?

If Helluva Boss slowed down then Western energy could have been a perfect way to wrap up Ozzie's, made a call back to Blitzo’s trip in Truth Seekers, and foreshadowed Oops.

Imagine

The episodes are

Ozzie's(the best episode) , Queen Bee, circus, (get rid of Seeing stars put it in season one or hold off) Exes and Oohs, then western energy

Give Stolas and Blizto some room to brood over what happened at Ozzie's

(throw unhappy campers somewhere in there if you have too)

Stolas moxxie and Mille just got done fighting Striker to save Stolas (so many s’ in one place lol) or better yet Blizto by himself saving Stupid ass I mean Stolas. Oops sorry

Because let's be honest the hospital scene was unneeded and Moxxie and Millie could have took Loona to the hospital. It wasn’t a bonding moment between Loona and Blizto it was a waste of animation and time.

Blizto (and the M&M’S) are fighting Striker having some witty banter back and forth. Striker playing into Blizto’s insecurity about the relationship with Stolas to the point the background of the cave is becoming goopy before fixing itself and they win agent striker as he flees to spouts “I'll get you my pretty and your little dog too!” setting up his return in Oops before one more cheap shot at Stolas maybe dropping a stalactite on Stolas or shooting Stolas with Holy bullet in a place that’s not fully lethal.

Have stolas think he’s actually going to die from his injuries to keep Stolas from passing out or to stay conscious or whatever have Blizto talk to him (if moxxie and Mille are there have them drive and Blizto is the back with stolas). Stolas is using what little life he has left to apologies to Blizto fully say he’s sorry for getting him in this situation, sorry he put in a situation he doesn’t want to be in for his business, sorry for being embarrassed at Ozzie’s, sorry for treating him like a play toy. Yada yada yada yada

Have Blizto be covered in the goop from his trip and have some of it drip on Stolas. The person he views as untouchable and clean being corrupted and stained by his goop.

Have Blizto try to reassure Stolas that he’s going to be ok and that he’s not going to lose him too. Have green flames subtly lick at the background and foreground as he stares at stolas slowly dying. He’s going to lose him but he’s not going to let what he has with Stolas slip from him like his mother, sister, Fizz, Verosika, etc. He’s going to save him like he couldn’t save his mom or Fizzarolli. maybe have the voices from truth seekers whisper failure, loser, and other demeaning things to bilzto.

Have Blitzo declare he isn't going to let Octavia go through what he went through with the loss of his mom. When they get to the hospital and help is on the way have Blizto about to say something to him like “we’re at the hospital everything is going to be ok” before his sentence cuts off and Stolas is unconscious and unresponsive. Have Blizto yell his name a few times heart broken and worried as the nurses and doctors whisk him away. And a single feather from stolas falls infront of Blitzo as he whispers “please be ok” or a soft sorry

But hey I’m not writer or showrunner so hey what do I know

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism

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kingmagnificoofrosas · 3 months

Text

Ok, it's time to deep talk even more about Magnifico! Part 1.

Since my analyses have gotten so much love, support and agreement, I feel motivated to continue 💙

In my first analysis I've touched up on many things, but something I want to deepen a little more is his trauma and his responses to it. Next to his character all in one of course.

After watching and rewatching and studying while making screencaps, I found myslef being heart broken for Magnifico even more. He's so horribly misunderstood it blows my mind. People are so freaking mean and ignorant it's insane!

We know that Magnifico was deeply traumatized as a young boy. Most people focus on themselves, their pain and their healing, but Magnifico instead wanted to make sure others will never suffer like he did. Please, let that sink in for a moment. His first response isn't to look at himself but to look at others. He lost everything and what does he want to do? Give! His first impulse was - I need to learn magic, so I can be strong enough to build a place where I can make sure people will never have to endure what I had to. Not "I gotta build myself a safe place so I can never be hurt again" like a little hermit crab hiding in a new house. No, he always looked what he could do for others!

This is one of the most selfless things a human being can do! It's not happening often but it's happening. People with trauma using their trauma as a motivation to help others.

Magnifico's determination to build a save haven for others despite his situation is freaking honarable!

He loves deeply! I did explain that the trauma Magnifico suffered heavily influenced and altered his thinking, his feeling, his actions and decission making.

He loves deeply but his paranoia and fear cloud it. What I mean is, some of his decissons aren't right but this doesn't make him evil! He's like a helicopter parent! His motivation to fiercly protect and keep save is purely love driven and initially right but because of his immense fear and paranoia it's becoming overprotectiveness and that is not the right way.

He never meant harm, he never meant to hurt. He was being too selfless in way. I heard another Magnifico defender say, he did too well.

And it's true.

Magnifico has given so much in his life. Matter of fact, he was absolutely right when he said he gives and gives and gives and yet people still aren't satisfied. And I totally get it! It's real life. People are greedy beings. Give them your little finger and they soon want your whole hand.

The people of Rosas live in total peace. They get everything they could ask for and more. Enough food, good homes they don't even need to pay rent for, enough money ... they get wishes granted every month. Sometimes even more! Magnifico mentioned in the past year he's granted 14 wishes, which means he did grant more than just one every month from time to time.

Magnifico is so much more than his handsome looks and his abilities. Yet, all people saw him as was that. A very handsome genie. Not the benevolent ruler that even made this flourishing life possible in the first place!

And I mean yeah, he said "I'd love to see you try and do my job!" And he's right again. I've never ruled a whole kingdom before and successfully at that! But I can imagine it must be darn hard! Certainly not a piece of cake.

People loved and celebrated him for what he could give and do! But what if he'd been just a regular king without any magic powers to grant wishes?

We see how the people of Rosas reacted after he told them about a threat. In the end they ask for another wish ceremony. And Magnifico snaps at them. He's clearly in distress even though he tries to appear collected and sovereign, and the only thing they care about is getting more wishes granted? Dude, give this poor man a break!

I can totally understand Magnifico having a nervous, emotional breakdown. Add it all up. He's constantly on edge because of his trauma, he always means well but the pressure of his ambitions and his duties as king are weighing him down further, he's constantly triggered, constantly irritable, no one gives a toot (Amaya included) which is like fuel to the fire in his soul, he feels threatened, he's terrified, he feels not understoond, valued and respected and furthermore used and exploited.

See how he make's the wishes spin around him faster and faster here? It's literally symbolic of what's going on in his soul at that moment.

Same as this one does.

The mirror is cracking, meaning his soul is cracking further. He's starting to break.

It's no wonder he loses his cool, really. Everyone would eventually break in such a situation.

Now, back to the whole wishes situation

Stop a moment and look how Magnifico looks at this wish/dream. He adores it, he appreciates it. (It's a happy family btw.) and someone who's as good in reading emotions as I am will see the ever so slight pain swimming along.

As king, it's Magnifico's duty anyway to make sure his kingdom runs well. That his people are safe and content, that there is order. And the whole decission making rests upon his shoulders as well.

Should he be in the leading position he is in? No. No, a person as deeply traumatized as he is, shouldn't. But the fact that he still tries is admirable! He's not in power because he's a power hungry, cruel, cold-hearted, selfish, narcissistic psychopath, like a villian is! He is in power and wants to stay in it, because he wants to protect others! He cares so much more about others, that he stresses himself to the peak of breaking mentally!

His trauma keeps him in this spiral. Trauma driven motivation > stress/trigger > trauma response > desire> action > trauma result/success or failure

Yes, he doesn't grant every wish because his trauma blurrs his judgement. He's so deeply into it that he cannot judge properly. Does this make him evil? Nope. It would be laughable how rediculous the hater's arguements are if it weren't so sad.

The arguement "Magnifico sees the dreams of people as a threat to his power so he steals them and makes people forget them."

🤨 huh?

I could slam my forehead even harder against something other than my hand. 🤦🏻‍♀️ The ignorance hurts!!! Like, have this people even paid any attention? Clearly not.

He never stole anything! Neither did he manipulate, play or lie to people. He left the decission to them. It was an open fact "If you want, you can give me your wish and I will keep it save and eventually grant it." And even if one doesn't give their wish, they are more than welcome to stay in his kingdoom and live a happy life!

Now listen. Magnifico's desire to keep the wishes in the first place isn't out of any bad or ill will! To say he keeps the wishes because he simply likes to be in control over people because of selfish, cruel reasons is a big mount of bullcrap. Look at how this man treats the wishes! Which by the way, to him, resemble his people!

Ah, yes, sooo evil and selfish and ill willed!

If someone sees this, the pure love in his whole bodylanguage, and still claims that this man is evil, actually doesn't give a damn about his people, and takes the wishes just because "powerhungry" has something really wrong!

Should he decide over other peoples dreams and wishes? Not really! This is a grey area. Back to his duty as a king. A king needs to care for his people. Magnifico takes this very seriously. Thanks to his trauma, a bit too much. This might be "not ok" but it doesn't make him evil. Good grief! Urgh!

He loves his people! He keeps the wishes because he thinks that it gives him a better opportunity to keep watch over them! Why does he want to watch over them and have the control? Out of fun? To satisfy his selfish urge to rule over others? No, because -

"Everything, everyhing I do is to make sure that never happens again!"

It's the very same stupid reason people have been villainizing Abuela Alma from Encanto. It makes me fuming mad that people ignor deep trauma and the mental issues that come with it and make such people out to be villains. Abuela treated her whole family unfairly, yes. She was harsh, inconsiderate, cold, stern, overprotective, insensible etc. But why did she act like that? Because she was hecking traumatized!

After she and Mirabel reconcile, she tells her family this :

"I'm so sorry I held on to tight, just so afraid I'd lose you too!"

Aha! Now taken in consideration that she is also deeply traumatized and I mean, pfff, she saw her home town getting burned, had to flee with her 3 newborns and see her soulmate get stabbed to death or even beheaded (we don't know) right in front of her eyes.

Her desire to keep safe was always good but her trauma blinded her to a degree.

A similar case were people have been villainizing a character for having trauma would be the case of Imelda from Coco. Her trauma of losing her husband and having to raise their daughter on her own caused her to forbid music for 2 generations! She was harsh too, and even though her actions concering this might have been wrong, she meant well. Everything she did came from the good motivation to keep her family from experiencing the crushing hurt she had.

Yet another example I've seen Magnifico defenders bring up would be Elsa! Elsa has been born with ice-powers because she's actually part spirit as we've learned in the 2 movie. She got traumatized as a child when she accidentally hurt her little sister Anna. Her response to trauma brings her whole kingdom in danger, even threatens to kill them by freezing them to death, and when Hans and his guards go to find and kill her, she defends herself and almost kills one of the guards. Yet, despite everything, Elsa isn't made to be a villain! She was supposed to be but in the end recieved love and appreciation, while Magnifico didn't?

It makes absolutely no sense.

Does trauma justify wrong actions? No! But it explains them and it certainly doesn't make someone a villain! Goodness gracious! 😩🤌🏼

Alma was obsessed with having the "miracle" controlled because she was terrified if she would lose that control, her past would repeat. She would lose her family.

Elsa abandoned her kingdom because she didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

Imelda forbade music because she didn't want her family to experience the hurt she did.

All of this Sounds similar, right?

Magnifico obsessivly wanted to stay in control because he was terrified that if he would lose that control, his past would repeat. People will get hurt and lose everything like he did.

He panicked as an unknown light flooded his kingdom and made the wishes rattle.

The very first thing that came to his mind was "threat." And this was ONLY because of his trauma.