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harukamitsuki · 4 months

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Okay... I am currently back on my Voltron bullshit and continuing my rewrite of Voltron. And I'm constantly reminding of HOW MUCH I HATE LANCE.

Don't get me wrong. I am still treating Lance fairly in my fic, making sure he gets screen-time and a proper character acr and stuff.

But by GODS. This man pisses me off so much and that's only made worse by his stans. I was scrolling through Keith's tag here on tumblr. I also have Kl@nce filtered out. I cannot see a single post without at least three pages of scrolling and then it's only ONE POST. AND IT'S STILL KLANCE BECAUSE IT HASN'T BEEN TAGGED CORRECTLY.

Anyway. Onto the actual things I hate about Lance and not just his fandom.

Lance is a fucking asshole. I mean that on the deepest level. Let's go through it chronologically because I cannot rank it from least to most assholery, because some things are on the same level.

1 - Allura wakes up from the cryopod and Lances catches her. She's confused and dazed and the first thing you should do is ask if she's alright. Oh, but Lance is above that. Instead, he flirts with her. Karma given immediately as she calls his ears hideous and puts him in a submission hold, which is why I kept that scene in my fic, but that was still wrong. I know it was played for comedic effect, but that doesn't make it not canon. It's canonically accurate that if you've awoken from a coma, Lance's first instinct is to flirt with you if you're pretty.

2 - Literally throws Hunk into the middle of a battle. I get that Hunk was supposed to leave the Lion anyway, but just shoving him out when there are lasers everywhere and Hunk has no protection? Yeah. So much for 'best friend'. Add on the fact that Lance never really treats Hunk like a friend. At all.

3 - Okay. Season 1 Lance isn't bad outside of those two examples, even if he has his dumb moments, so let's jump to Season 2. Starting shit with Keith for no reason. People can go 'oh, Keith obviously did something to him at the Garrison' but he DIDN'T. The writers themselves confirmed that Keith did nothing to Lance, he just started shit with Keith all the fucking time. Like accussing Keith of wanting Blue and cutting him off when he tried to explain what was actually happening, even though Lance is the one who was outraged initially that Keith had Red. Or how about Lance getting up in Shiro's face and screaming his head off about how Keith would rather kill people than listen to them, as if he knew Keith at all after bullying him the entire time.

4 - Okay. This one pissed me off the most and is the biggest reason I'm making this post. The fact that Lance used Shiro's death/disappearance against Keith. Keith outwardly expresses his lack of desire to become the leader and accidentally let it slip that Shiro wanted him to do it. To which Lance is all 'convenient that you say that when Shiro's gone'. What. What the fuck. Stans really say that Lance is precious but how the hell are you justifying that? A blind man could see how much Keith loves Shiro, and Lance has the fucking gall the say that Keith is USING his death/disappearance for a position he doesn't want? He didn't even apologise for it. He just told Keith to suck it up later on. This is one of the reasons I hated Lance as the Red Paladin, the others being explained in an earlier post of mine.

5 - Oh, yeah. We're not done. Because after Keith, it's Allura. Allur@nce is probably the worst ship that could have happened, apart from Kl@nce. If you wanted a straight ship, how about what was canon for the past Voltron series? Kallura? Anyway. Yeah, Lance treats Allura like a prize instead of a person. He's posessive in a way that he has no right to be because they were not together. He glares at Matt for flirting with Allura, something he only does once. He gets mad at Lotor and tries to stop them from spending time together, EVEN THOUGH LOTOR IS HELPING ALLURA AND BONDING THROUGH ALTEAN THINGS. HELPING HER KEEP IN TOUCH WITH ALTEAN CULTURE. In Season 8, he literally yells that it should be Lance and Allura?? What a fucking weirdo?? You can't claim that you're destined to be with someone without being together. That's not how healthy relationships work. That's how a stalker's mind works. Lance is constantly flirting with Allura throughout all of Voltron and she never once reciprocated until Season 8 where it's so obvious that Lance is just a rebound but the writers wanna make it so that it's 'true love' and they want Lance to be happier than anyone so they just gift her to him like some sort of trophy. Lance didn't care about loving Allura, he cared about winning her. At least Lotor actually cared for and respected her. I still don't like canon Lotor, but that's mostly because the writers didn't want to deal with gray morality. Cowards.

1 - Honestly the worst example of a leader. It's shown from episode one. Now, there is the argument of learning to become one, but Lance just never learns? He's never facing the consequences of his actions and, if he is lectured, he ignores it. Keith actually takes lessons to heart and tries to improve and he does. If Lance became the Black Paladin, the universe would have been doomed because he can't get over himself for a single moment to even bother listening to anyone else's advice.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons why Lance is an asshole. Now to make the Lance stans really pissed.

Reasons why Lance would have been a terrible leader and could never have been the Black Paladin.

Remember episode one? Remember how the hydraulic stabiliser was out in the simulator and Lance still tried to push on, even though Pidge and Hunk advised him not to? Totally great leadership qualities there. There's nothing better than a leader that refuses to listen to you. 'Oh, but Keith is stubborn and didn't listen--' yes he did. He's stubborn and unrelenting at first, but he eventually realises that they're right.

Remember episode three? Remember when Lance bragged about kicking, which made Voltron fall, then proceeded to try it again and failed again even when Keith advised him not to? Yeah. Lance does not make good decisions and does not listen to any advise. Even from the leader's right hand man.

Remember Season 1 Episode 12? Remember how they were waiting for Shiro and Allura to get back and then Keith saw someone taking quintessence so he decided to follow them? Remember how Lance said no and was ignored but did nothing more to stop Keith? He has no authority and no charisma to keep anyone at bay. Pidge herself mocks Lance for being the pinnacle for leadership. Sarcastically. Because he's far from it.

Pidge doesn't respect Lance as a leader, Keith never would considering Lance treats him like shit, Allura can't take Lance seriously with him hitting on her every ten seconds, and Hunk is always questioning Lance's decisions. If nobody respects you, you cannot be a good leader.

2 - Easily distracted. Yes, it's a very popular headcanon that Lance has ADHD, and I agree with that, but that doesn't make it okay. And he's distracted in the easiest ways. Just shove a pretty girl and he'll instantly get distracted and lead the entire team to doom. Remember Nyma and how easy it was for her to steal the Blue Lion? How he didn't even warn anyone that he was taking her out for a ride because he didn't want anyone contesting his conquest? Yeah.

Don't get me wrong. It's fine to have ADHD or get distracted easily. Monkey D. Luffy from One Piece is a great example of a leader who gets easily distracted, but the second he sets his mind on something, he blocks everything out. Lance just doesn't have the capability to do that, nor do I think he'd be able to learn how to.

3 - Gets jealous really easily. As in. Really fucking easily. He's jealous of Keith from the get-go, starting a one-sided rivalry that he's constantly on the losing side of because Keith doesn't care. He gets jealous of Matt when he flirts a bit with Allura. He gets extremely jealous of Lotor for having actual chemistry with Allura. He's constantly jealous and a good leader is only ever in competition with himself. A good leader will only strive to become better for the sake of the team, not to say that they're better than someone else, much less if they're someone that you are in charge of. It's a horrible trait to have.

Jealousy in and of itself is not a bad thing. It's when that jealousy overrides your logic and controls you, instead of you controlling your jealousy: which Lance struggles with a lot. And getting jealous over anyone who even looks at your crush is a very bad thing to do because you do not own your crush. It's okay to be jealous, but not posessively like Lance is. Not to the extent of trying to scare off any potential suitors.

4 - Nowhere near as skilled as Keith or Shiro. Sure, the writers may claim that he is better, but the proof is in the pudding. Keith and Shiro are fucking unmatched. I've defended Lance's skills in a previous post, but I also said in that post that, while he is skilled, he is nowhere near Shiro or Keith's level. I mean, Shiro was the golden child of the Garrison and set so many records. He was known as the best pilot. Keith beat those records and his flying capabilities are always, always noted. I haven't heard a single character comment on Lance's skills, other than to point out how bad they are. Keith was the only one who could have flew through the astroid field, he was the only one who could fly into the Marmora base which was in a blue star surrounded by two black holes, he was able to fly a Galra jet just by pushing the right buttons and knowing what the do, and he's the one who unlocks the warping abilities of the Black Lion. Shiro was able to connect with the Black Lion far before anyone else, able to see through Black and connect with Black to the point of his soul being saved by her.

Lance hasn't done anything spectacular. And, no. He was not 'done dirty'. He was given almost everything he wanted except the Black Lion. The writers claim he's the best pilot, but have not shown it at all. In my eyes, Keith and Shiro will always be the best.

5 - Selfish. Again. Nothing against being selfish. It's perfectly fine to be selfish, so long as it doesn't actively harm others. But for a leader? You should be as selfless as you can be. The team comes before you. And that's exactly what Lance isn't.

Lance is selfish and that's okay, but it's not leadership material. The whole reason Black rejected him is because he wanted the position out of selfish reasons. When he enters Black, he says 'Come on, Lance. You can do this'. In other words, he wants to pilot her because he wants to prove himself. He wants the acknowledgement. He wants the title of the Black Paladin and leader. Black accepted Keith, both at the start of Season 2 and Season 3, because he piloted her for purely selfless reasons. For Shiro.

Lance wants things for himself. Keith wanted things for Shiro. It was only after Shiro came back, (or so they thought), that Keith started focusing more on himself. Even then, he put everyone else before him. He distanced himself from the team so that Shiro could pilot Black again, and he was constantly risking his life for the Blades.

Lance just... isn't the type. He has put others before himself, but he expect things out of it. He expects a parade and acknowledgement. Nobody knew what Shiro went through to rid Zarkon of his connection to the Black Lion. Nobody knew what Shiro went through in his imprisonment because he doesn't want to burden anyone with that. Nobody knew what Keith went through to save Black and Shiro from Zarkon. Nobody knew what Keith went through when they were all mad at him for missing an attack. Lance doesn't withold that sort of stuff. The only thing he doesn't talk about is his insecurities, which he ends up spilling to the mice and Laika (the Yupper) anyway.

6 - Last one. Promise.

Nothing fucking happened. While Keith was gone, nothing of importance happened surrounding Voltron specifically. There was the Lion mind meld and Lotor joining, but all that served to prove was, with the mind meld, if Keith was there, he would have heard Shiro. And with Lotor joining, all it proved was how immature Lance was.

The second Keith gets back, things start happening again. Lotor gets outed as cruel and manipulative (still an ass-pull, by the way), Shiro gets outed as a clone, and so on. If Lance was leading, they all probably would have died ages ago. I'm talking Season 3 Episode 2, ages ago. Because Lance just isn't cut out for it.

So. Yeah. Those are the main reasons I hate Lance and why Black Paladin Lance is an awful idea. Screw the people who believe in it. It is awful.

Like I said, this won't affect my treatment of Lance in my rewrite, because I can fix those issues that come up. I don't have an issue with Season 1 Lance, it's later on that gets problematic. I just hate people building Lance up by bashing all the other characters, then claiming that Lance is the most traumatised, sad character when SHIRO AND KEITH ARE RIGHT THERE. NOT TO MENTION ALLURA, WHO LOST HER ENTIRE SPECIES, AND CORAN WHO LOST EVERYONE INCLUDING ALLURA AND NEVER GOT TO SAY GOODBYE TO HER.

Fuck. I hate Voltron so much but I can't help but love it.

#vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron lance #vld lance #lance mcclain #anti lance #anti lance mcclain #anti klance #technically #i hate lance so much #i honestly cannot stand him or his fans #i promise i wont make him a horrible person in my rewrite just bc i hate him #i do have issues with other character but lance is the worst offender #anti black paladin lance #anti bp lance #black paladin keith truther #anti allurance

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

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The House’ll Burn Down | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @asherlockfandom

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy picks a fight with the wrong person and in return reeps the consequences that get hurled both to his face and through his suits.

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2475

A/N: I was a bit stuck on this one at first but I think I like how it came out. I hope you do too. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

The bell to the store rang, signifying that someone had entered the shop. (Y/N) dropped what she was working on and hurried out to the storefront so that she'd be able to greet whoever it was that had entered.

She was met with a man, who was wearing a rather nicely fitted three piece suit, standing at the counter. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly as she approached the counter.

"Yes, my suits should be ready," the man responded, clearing his throat after he was finished speaking.

"Ok, I will go retrieve them for you," (Y/N) nodded her head, "what name are they under?"

"Shelby," the man responded. (Y/N) nodded again before leaving the counter to go into the back room.

She pulled the correctly labeled suits off of the racks and then returned to the front. After checking the prices and adding them up, she asked him for his payment.

"Oh I don't pay for suits," he told her with a slight shake of his head.

"Excuse me?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised out of shock. Was he being serious?, she thought to herself.

"My suits are on the house, or the house burns down," he told her, his deeply mysterious attempt to be threatening almost making her want to laugh.

"Listen, sir...I don't know who you are, or why you think that you can threaten me into allowing you to take these suits for free, but I won't let anybody, not even the King, take the things that I've worked very hard on and deduce them to free merchandise," she told him, her eyes wide and angry as she spoke.

"I don't think you understand because it seems like you're new here..." the man started, looking her up and down with a stony expression, one that she didn't waver under, "but I am a very powerful man in this city. So powerful, in fact, that what you may think I am threatening you with, I am actually promising you that I will do."

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows in an incredulous nature, finding it hard to believe that this man was talking to her like he was mightier than God himself. She crossed her arms over her chest and held his stare for a few moments before finally speaking. "I guess the house'll burn down then, because I am not letting you take those suits for free. The previous owner of this shop may have allowed it, but I most certainly will not. I know the value of my work, and I will hold every person's purchase up to that value. If you don't like that, then you can kindly leave and take your business elsewhere...but I guarantee that you won't find someone who's able to do the level of work that I am."

The man had nothing to say in response to her statement, so the two just stood in their place and stared at each other for a few moments. (Y/N) wasn't about to give up her ground. She'd fought hard to become the respectable tailor that she was today, and she wasn't going to let this man walk all over her reputation. If she started giving this one person his things for free, she’d surely have her entire clientele wanting the same treatment.

After a few more silent moments, the man reached into his pockets and pulled out a small roll of banknotes. "I'll get you your change," (Y/N) said, pleased that she'd won the battle with him.

"Keep it," the man brushed her off, even though there was way more than the required amount wrapped up in the roll.

"What's your name?" (Y/N) asked then, a slight hint of curiosity present in her voice, "so that I know who I'll be wary of when orders are placed."

"Thomas Shelby," the man answered as he then grabbed his suits and turned to exit the shop, "and believe me, Miss (Y/L/N)...you will need to be wary of those orders," he told her, his last ditch effort to be threatening, or so (Y/N) perceived it as.

"Oh I will be," she responded back in a sarcastic tone, glaring at the back of his head as he turned again to leave the shop. She let out a huff of annoyance as the bells dinged again...customers can be so hard to deal with sometimes.

A little over a week later, Thomas Shelby returned to (Y/N)'s store. "Can I help you with something, Mr. Shelby?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised slightly as she came out of the back to meet him at the counter.

"Yes. I need you to answer me a question," he responded, the tone of his voice telling her that he wasn't too happy at the moment.

"And what may that be?" she asked him, keeping the same airy tone as before.

"Why are the measurements of this suit incorrect?" he asked his question then, holding up the suit that he had brought with him for her to see.

"I don't know what you mean..." (Y/N) trailed off, a shocked look on her face. Of course, she knew exactly what he meant...she just wanted him to spell it out for her. She was having quite the fun time getting a rise out of him.

"I specifically asked for the trousers to come to my ankle...these stop several inches above it," he laid out his complaint, motioning to the article of clothing for added effect.

"Ahh, I see," (Y/N) nodded her head as she also looked at the garment in question, "well, you were insisting that I do your work for free, and I figured that if you wanted it to be like that; I'd do work that doesn't require a payment in return," she explained the reason behind her intentional alteration to his request. Tommy sent her a look of astonishment, one that made her chuckle.

"You think this is funny?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised.

"I do," she answered him, not cowering away from his intimidating tone.

"You must forget who I am," he continued, not letting her carelessness for the situation waver his bravado.

"Oh no," (Y/N) shook her head, "I know exactly who you are, Mr. Tommy Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. You run the ruthless razor gang here in Small Heath. Yeah...I asked around about you, and I quickly found out how you use fear tactics to get what you want without having to give monetary compensation in return; even though you are more than well-off enough to give back to the city. You told me last time that your suits were on the house, or the house would burn down, and I told you that you could go ahead with your decision...so tell me, Mr. Shelby...why hasn't my shop been set ablaze?" she ended her monologue in an innocent tone, her eyebrows raised in intrigue as she leaned against the counter to get a closer look at him.

Tommy took a few minutes to respond. He didn't expect for this to happen. He didn't expect for this unknown woman to be such a thorn in his side. His mind wasn't coming up with something to do, and it infuriated him. So he held her gaze and tried his best to keep up his menacing look as he spoke in a low tone, "just do better fucking work, eh?" he told her, his eyebrows raising to accentuate his statement.

"Or what?" she countered, still not finished with the fight, "will you go to someone else? Oh, maybe that no-name tailor on the North Side?" she continued in a mocking tone, pausing to hear his answer. She smirked when he didn't give one. "That's what I thought...you won't go anywhere else because you know that my work is the best in town. And it'll be even better for you, if you fucking pay me," she ended her statement with a serious look, showing him that she wasn't going to be submitting to his wishes without a fight.

The two held each other's stares for a few more tense moments before Tommy broke away, deciding that he'd be the one to leave the situation. He was not normally one to back down from a fight, but he was sensing that this would be a marathon rather than a sprint. So he stepped away from the counter and began walking towards the door.

(Y/N) didn't let him leave without one last word though. "Next time you come in here to pick up your suits, make sure you ask for me...I will not let you intimidate my employees into submitting to your demands," she told him as she once again glared at the back of his head while he left the shop.

"Miss (Y/L/N)," Trevor, one of the shop's workers, called for (Y/N) as he entered the back room.

"What is it?" she asked as she looked up from the project she was working on.

"Mr. Shelby is here. He's asking for you," Trevor responded, motioning his thumb to the front of the store then.

"Tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"It's Mr. Shelby though, Miss (Y/L/N)," Trevor disagreed with what her decision was.

"And that means that I should drop everything I'm doing and wait on him?" (Y/N) raised her eyebrows, "I've got to finish what I'm working on and then I'll come out and see what he needs," she then explained her plan to him.

"Ok, Miss (Y/L/N)," Trevor nodded his head before he went back out to the storefront.

(Y/N) focused on her project until Trevor came back in again. “Is he waiting?" she asked him.

"Yes, he's waiting," Trevor answered with a nod, "I'm not waiting out there with him though," he added as he then moved over to start organizing the racks.

(Y/N) only chuckled at his statement before she began putting the final touches on the jacket she'd been tailoring. Her task took her several minutes, and once she felt that she'd done her best work, she placed her tools down and stood from her station. She then took a deep breath and composed herself before going to deal with the customer she'd so affectionately been calling the 'thorn in her side'.

"Mr. Shelby..." she greeted him with as much as a smile as he could muster, "what can I do for you today?"

"You say that you are the best tailor in Small Heath, but yet my jacket that I picked up yesterday is missing its liner," he outlined his complaint, showing her the problem then as he held up the jacket in question.

(Y/N) bit on the inside of her cheek to try and stop the pleasurable grin from forming on her face. "Well, Mr. Shelby, this is what you're going to get if you..."

"Stop," Tommy cut her off before she could finish her statement, "you're going to say that this is because I insisted that my suits were on the house, and I don't need to hear it," he told her, his tone letting her know that he wasn't in the mood for her sarcastic comments.

"You want my best work, you pay me full price," she stated, her eyebrows raised to show that she was also serious.

Tommy held her stare for a few moments before he looked away with a sigh. He then reached into his suit jacket and produced a stack of banknotes that were fastened together with a band. Without a word, he placed them down on the counter between him and (Y/N).

“What’s this for?” (Y/N) questioned with a slight tinge of shock in her words, “I was expecting a matchbook and some gasoline,” she then added, wanting to get yet another dig in at the man who had been causing her many headaches since she’d met him several weeks ago.

“Drop the snide remarks, would you?” Tommy asked her, getting a little annoyed at the fact that she was still ragging on him. “That’s for my suits…for past payments and future business,” he explained the reasoning behind the large sum of money that was sitting on the counter.

“Why?” was what (Y/N) asked next. She had to admit that she felt slightly saddened by the fact that he was waving the white flag on this little war they had going on. She was only just getting started with him.

“Because I have more important things to worry about than if my suit is going to come out looking right. I can’t keep going into business worrying about if I’m going to be dressed like a buffoon or not.”

“Huh…” she trailed off, looking down at the money as she took in his statement. “Well, Mr. Shelby, this is rather nice of you to do,” she then said, looking up at him again as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Good, now I better be getting the same level of attention on my suits that my brothers are getting,” he stated, his eyebrows raised slightly.

“You will most certainly be getting the same attention now,” (Y/N) assured him with a nod.

“Good. Thank you,” Tommy also nodded, feeling more at peace now that one of his unnecessary problems had been cleared up.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) echoed his gratitude as she motioned to the money between them. Tommy nodded as he glanced down at what she was referring to. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Shelby? I’d be happy to assist you,” she then asked him, her voice taking on the polite tone that she used with all of her customers…the one that she would now use with him, too.

“I’m ok for now, Miss (Y/L/N),” he declined her help before he then stepped away from the counter to go to the door.

(Y/N) looked down at the money as he exited the shop, and she had to pinch herself to see if that had actually happened. The banknotes were still present after she did, so she picked them up and brought them right back to the safe in the back room. There was no way that she was going to let all that hard earned money sit out in the front register. She went back to her work once it was stowed, a smile on her face as she started the next project. Her persistence had paid off…not even the ‘king of Small Heath’ was able to keep standing up to her. She considered that to be a major victory in her book.

CHECK OUT PART 2 -> HERE!

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @easilyobessedbutflighty @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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pcm-vandermeer · 4 months

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OC Interview Tag

Ooh so excited to do this! Thank you very much for the tag @winglesswriter 💙

I will be answering for Christopher, the MC of Far Beyond The Moon.

Are you named after anyone?

[exhales] Maybe after a grandfather that I didn't get to know? My mother never talked much about our family. Maybe I'll skip this one.

When was the last time you cried?

... Can I skip this one?

Do you have any kids?

Yes! Allison just turned seven. She's just the best. [smiles]

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

When I do say something ironic or sarcastic, people tend to not understand me correctly right away... so I try not to. It's too awkward.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Whether or not they're friendly.

What is your eye color?

Blue! Couple of baby blues.

Any special talents?

I used to play the piano. I don't know if that counts as a talent? [laughs] I do still play the guitar from time to time. And I used to sing.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings! [lying]

Where were you born?

Westfield Hospital, Massachusetts. It's the nearest hospital from my hometown Hillsburg.

Do you have any pets?

Sadly no! I would love to have a dog, but I don't have the time. I volunteer at Helping Paw – I don't think you've heard of it, it's a tiny dog shelter just outside of Hillsburg. We've got some amazing dogs there.

How tall are you?

6'1. I'm told I'd be taller if my posture wasn't this bad.

What was your favorite subject in school?

English, if I had to choose, I guess. Loved the theater club though! I was even in a high school band! [laughs]

What is your dream job?

Tough question! I'd love to have my own shelter someday. But the job I'm working right now isn't too bad, so I don't think about... dreams, I guess. Aw, man, that sounds depressing! [laughs]

Oh my god, that was such fun!! I've only ever answered as the author about the character, so this was very different. Let's tag a few people, but no pressure!

@mikathewriter, @verba-writing, @alinacapellabooks, @tryingtowritestuff24 + open tag for anyone who wants to do this!

#authors of tumblr #writers of tumblr #indie author #lgbt fiction #paranormal romance #eldritch romance #writeblr #booklr #mentally ill characters #queer characters #mlm #gay #far beyond the moon #tag games #fbtm #*

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cupofcappuccy · 1 month

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What if. Now hear me out. What if you wrote D. Like idc who you write him with I just wanna see how you interpret him into writing /nm

@atomic-rattz (sorry for the tag)

spent the last two days writing this. I already set the plot for chapter two :3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY DONNIE!! I HOPE U LIKE THIS

This is from DNA's pov btw. Oh and if I remember correctly... big mama turned DNA into a turtle. So this is after he escaped. And one more thing is that I based DNA & Mari's characters on how you two rp-ed them

(Next part is in the reblogs 😭)

Word count: 1403 words

Threat.

No one was in the area, so it was most likely safe from any threats... If he excluded himself anyway.

DNA didn't know where he was going, or what he should be doing. The only goal now was to avoid everyone, especially humans. And if there was somewhere that people don't usually go to is shady alleyways and sewers. So he kept dragging his wounded leg to an alleyway, clutching his side in a pathetic attempt to stop the bleeding.

How he managed to escape was something he'll overthink about 'til he passed out. Although sleep wasn't much of an option when this place reeked of spoiled food and garbage, and also dead rats too... Great. But who was he to complain? He barely escaped from Big Mama's claws and her goons. Ungrateful dum dum...

DNA relaxed his back to the wall and let himself slide down onto the ground, as harsh as that was on his carapace but oh well. He out a gasp at the tension releasing from his sore muscles. His side was still hurting so damn much. If only he could find something to wrap around his waist...

D took a moment to let his head rest against the brick wall, his neck felt like it could snap in half if he didn't. The only thing keeping him from blending into his surroundings was the blood drying on his skin and shell. The stench of it was far worse than dead rats.

Honestly, it was pathetic how he got himself into this mess in the first place. She turned him into a... A freak. He lost his identity, humanity. He felt like he'd lose his mind eventually too. But that'll never happen; he won't let it happen.

And as much as he loved to degrade himself further- his stomach wouldn't allow it right now as it demanded food. God, he was hungry.

DNA reached with his shaky hand for the can of cheeseburger lying next to a dead rat, poor thing couldn't even get to it before starving to death; or maybe it got poisoned by it. When D saw nothing in the can, (dead bastard ate it all–) he threw it at the dead end of the alleyway.

It hit something, or someone. they didn't do anything, just whined to themselves. Well, that didn't help with his self-loathing at all. He felt guilty for getting someone involved with his temper tantrum. He muttered a few curses and hit his head against the wall, a bit harder than he intended. Maybe he should do it again but way harder. That would put him into sweet unconsciousness... probably.

D could still hear the quiet muffled voice, like they were trying to hide from him. Their sniffles outed them though, anyone with ears could hear that nasty shit. He still felt bad for throwing the can at them, it wasn't intentional or anything, He wasn't trying to hurt anyone this time. It still hurt them though, but he shouldn't care much. But then again, it's his fault for losing his temper. And the person was obviously in the middle of a breakdown already before he assaulted them with a can.

With a sigh, he crawled his way further into the alleyway. He could somewhat make out their features... It was another turtle, a smaller turtle. Their skin was a much bluer shade than his. Webbed hands, and smaller claws compared to his. Maybe they were a mutant too? Or a yokai? Was this Big Mama's doing? The shorter turtle was covering their eyes with their hands; speaking damn near incoherent sentences about oh, so being okay. Their knees pressed up to their chest as if trying to make themselves smaller than they already were. What a sad sopping cat. Pathetic, really.

DNA cleared his throat to get their attention. They didn't look up, understandable. He snapped his fingers right in their face. That was just impolite, so maybe he'll have to be vocal and try to speak to them?

He was hesitant at first. His voice was a bit raspy since... But he has to try and calm them down. Maybe they could then help him get some medical attention. D still had some business he wanted to take care of.

1/2

#asks #Also ik D attacked Mari when they first met #But I can dream

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sysmedsaresexist · 2 months

Text

Mod Quill with some feelings tonight as I scroll the syscourse tags in the usual pits of despair with a bag of popcorn and too little free time. As always, that show I sometimes stumble upon and leave running in the background while I do laundry is on, 24/7 it seems like. The TV station really loves running that particular producer’s re-runs.

I watch for a little bit, but the main character is just… painful to watch. She constantly pushes people away in some sort of way to get her goals each episode — but the series has never ended. It just is the same exact plot line each episode. It gets spicy sometimes when there’s a recurring plot line, or a story arc. They’re all a little… circular sometimes though. She gets sassy too, but that’s few and far between nowadays.

This latest arc, she’s clearly blue.

…

Okay so now that I’ve rambled enough on this metaphor about Sophie-

Her latest bait for trying to hurt a clearly traumatized person is just as painful to see as it always is. Just... god forbid she do something to actually further plural acceptance. I find it so ironic how she peddles that goal to her followers — The Future is Plural, right? — while consistently and actively working against it. She consistently tries to bait people who are against her in an attempt to prop herself up higher, never realizing that all the outside world is seeing is her stomping on others.

Blue-Bubonic is very clearly fragile, at least in my eyes. I haven’t forgotten their (pronouns unsure, but please feel free to correct me) first foray into syscourse. And yet she sees it as more acceptable to continue needling them -- and taunting that fact and touting it as a badge of honor -- in order to... do what? She's said she's painting herself as a villain, she's being the Bad Guy, but genuinely, how is that helping plurals? How is this helping further her goals?

She is quite literally attacking her own with this and further aggravating an already clearly traumatized individual. And she constantly does this. From my perspective, it must almost be fun for her, and if I remember correctly, she's admitted it's fun. She revels in it. I can't condone people who sit and just... soak in other people's misery. I have literally been working on overcoming some doubts of mine today due to harassment I received, simply because I said I thought people deserved better than literal death threats. And here she is, just... spreading negativity for negativity's sake. How is that helping anything? Isn't it just putting more negative into the world?

The worst part is, I agree with her on so many things. I have to restrain myself from reblogging her posts to my real blogs (you’re welcome, SAS, this blog isn’t real anymore, you’re free) simply so I can avoid syscourse there as much as possible. I’m also scared too. I’m scared of her. I’m scared to reblog something, both because her eyes might be on me if I do, and because the entire system community on tumblr that touches tulpamancy with a 5 foot pole is watching too. Every single action I do is not only scrutinized by her; it’s scrutinized by the community.

I just… wish there was a better way to spread positivity. I wish there were more The Plurality Of… posts, ones that aren’t written with the direct correlation of “let’s stick it to those anti-endos!” I would love more plural headcanons with the goal, “let’s uplift all plurals!” I try to do this as much as possible, but I’m one man.

I see her with her 😈 rightful anger (and I do believe she is justified in that anger, please don’t think I am saying she shouldn’t be angry, she has gotten so much shit that was undeserved, something I regret deeply playing any part of in the past, and something I want to apologize for now again)… I see her with that anger, and I just wish there were a way to help. I wish there were a way to turn that negativity away. I’ve managed it! I’ve managed to escape it in little ways. What am I doing that’s so different? It’s not because I’m a DID system and she’s not — lord knows I’ve had my fair share of harassment for my existence. It’s not because we’re different syscourse stances — I’m as pro-endo as they come in everything but label. Hell, shocker of all shockers, I’ve come to accept I have willed-to-life alters, so I can even relate to her way of existence, at least to some degree.

And yet, I feel so different from her. And it’s sad to see someone you agree with, someone who you know is just doing their best, causing so much harm for the things you also believe in.

…

So I turn off the TV. And I try not to watch. But in my head, my stupid writer brain gets the monkeys and the typewriters out. And it goes to town.

In my head, I’ve written a story where I sit down with her. Sometimes it’s discord, sometimes it’s via tumblr asks back and forth, and too often to count it’s some nebulous cafe somewhere where I’m drinking hot chocolate and she’s drinking some sort of white chocolate coffee. Not sure why that’s what I imagine, but it makes sense to me.

And I just… talk to her. Like a person. We set aside syscourse entirely and have a proper sysconversation. We talk about plurality and our feelings about it; we talk about how my disorder impacts me in similar and different ways to her tulpamancy; we even discuss how this very fanfiction-like-dream is, in a way, plural in of itself, because i don’t control what she says, not willingly. I guess she got her dream, an anti-endo (in a way) with a Sophie introject (in a way).

And I laugh, and she laughs, and it’s good.

And then I go online and see the latest callout post about why Sophie is a bad person. And I sigh, because I know they never work, and I personally know how traumatizing it is to have a callout post detailing everything you’ve ever done wrong.

And then I write up this, feeling like a hypocrite. But I want her to know, I’m not trying to paint her as evil. I don’t think she is. I think she’s just… a person, trying her best, and this is me publicly saying I disagree with her methods.

I hope the show reaches a final season soon. Maybe a spinoff series will get made. Crossover episode when? I vote for Sophie Through The Looking Glass as a sequel series name.

#sophiecourse #shit quill says #Mod Quill #look I’ve got a lot of feelings and Mod Dude said my words were good #❤️❤️❤️ Sophie coffee date when? 🤷‍♀️😈👀

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damnfandomproblems · 7 months

Note

This is the person who wrote fandom problem 3657 about gn!readers

Love how everyone assumed I hate gn/nb!reader fics rather then taking five seconds to think and realize that I hate the fact no one tags them -_-

I'm not mad that people are making gn!reader fics--make them all you want, if if makes you happy then hell yeah keep doing it--I'm mad that they won't show and ounce of consideration and just tag the fucking thing as a gn or nb!reader! I have to fight every goddamn day to get people use she/her for me because people will constantly undermine my gender and use they/them instead as a way to advoid fully calling me a women, so yeah, they/them pronouns being used to refer to me in any way is triggering because they are used to constantly to misgender me!

I am not asking people to stop making gn!readers, I am asking people to tag them! How the hell does me complaining about people not tagging their shit correctly in anyway make me a bad guy?

"Oh you're a loser!" HOW!? I JUST WANT TO BE ABLE TO READ X READERS WITHOUT GETTING SUICIDAL BECAUSE NO ONE WARNED THAT THIS WAS OR TAGGED IT AS A GN!READER!!!

WORSE YET SOME PEOPLE WILL PURPOSEFULLY TAG IT AS A FEM AND/OR MASC READER BECAUSE IT CAN "be read either way" or "it's gn so it's technically both"!!! How the hell am I suppose to avoids those!?!?! Why should I be expected to magical know and avoid those fics rather then the writers being expected to just tag it as a gn!reader???

"Oh but how do you keep reading so far in if it causes you dysphoria" a causally use of they or them is fine, but once I realize that's all that is being used, I feel like stupid idiot who just been misgendered for the past X minutes that I was reading and was too fucking dumb to realize it, and that is what makes me dysphoric! It's the realization itself that cause the dysphoria, not the actually reading of it!

I lost count of how many times i went into a fem!reader x fem character tag only to realize that it's actually a gn/nb!reader x fem character fic and get so upset (because y'know dysphoria is inherently a nonsense but extreme uncontrollable feeling but go off on how I'm over reacting, it really helps /tone tag:fuck you), and have to go on a walk so I don't hurt myself because I despite looking into the fem!reader tag, blacklisting nb/gn!reader tags, I still got some prick decided to post their gn!reader fic untagged and unwarned in the fem!reader tags because its "inclusive"

Guess transfems who have dysphoria over being misgendered with they/them pronouns constantly shouldn't be reading x readers though, my fucking bad. how dare I want people to just tag their shit correctly though, so lame and selfish and weak of me. So fucking lame and childish of me for not feeling included in these 100% amazing "inclusive" fics and wanting them to be tagged

Fuck all the pricks who help confirmed my beliefs on how fandom refuses to accept "undesirable" queers. God forbid not every trans person is comfortable with they/them

Just fucking tag your gn/nb!readers, I'm not a bad person for wanting that

And in advance, double fuck you to anyone who still wants to agrue about how inclusive gn!readers are and that it isn't a big deal when they're untagged because they're so super duper inclusive even though they are often dysphoria inducing and unavoidable when not tagged. shit in your hand and swallow it asshole

Posting since this is a response to a previous problem.

#fandom problem 3657 #response to previous problem

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pixiemage · 3 months

Text

My Fate Is In Your Hands - Entry 4

[ Entry List ]

[ Previous | Next ]

[A/N: This is a story entirely guided by you guys, by the readers. Be sure to vote at the end of each entry! ALSO, if you'd like to be added the tag list, please let me know and I'll be sure to add you next time!]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

➤ Right? Left? Unclear! It’s a tie!

Jimmy can’t make up his mind and stands there in the actively burning ship like an indecisive fool. He stays there for SO long that the fire overcomes the part of the ship he's in and a piece of heavy metal interior panelling dislodges and falls on his head, squashing him instantly. He respawns in the Sheriff's office in a panic and has to make the trip all the way back to the spaceship, by which time he's beginning to wonder if he should have just asked Pixl for help instead. Hopefully the pilot survives without him! :D

[...just kidding. But honestly, you’re lucky I love you. I’ll give you the better option despite the tie, as a treat. I might not be so kind next time!😉]

➤ Right

Jimmy turns right and clambers over rubble, ducking under hanging hoses and wires and being ever-mindful of his wings. He’s not sure where the cockpit is exactly, but he’s fairly sure he’s going in the right direction. Before long he’s rewarded for his quick deduction work when he comes across a damaged door. It’s just as white as the rest of the ship with a red stripe running across it, and it’s jammed halfway open by debris and fallen supplies from a nearby storage locker. It takes a few minutes to try and clear the mess, and a bit of brute strength with the pickaxe from his inventory for Jimmy to pry the door open far enough for him to get inside.

The cockpit. He guessed correctly after all.

The cockpit is in just as much ruin as the rest of the ship. Sparks fall from torn wires in the ceiling, and the control panel is missing a large chunk off its right side. The front window is shattered and broken glass litters the ground like ice crystals. There’s a lone sturdy chair mounted in the center of the small space…and though Jimmy had expected to find the pilot there, that’s not the case. There are unfastened buckled straps hanging free from the seat, and Jimmy almost wonders if the pilot had gotten out of their own accord…

Jimmy's eyes fly wide and his breath hitches as something catches his eye in the corner of the room. There’s a person. There, half-buried beneath rubble and too close to fire for Jimmy’s liking, is a person. Someone in a white soot-tarnished spacesuit is trapped and seemingly unconscious in the corner of the cockpit, and the moment Jimmy spots them his pulse skyrockets. Oh gods.

He darts forward in an instant, keeping low to avoid the growing smoke, and he begins prying heavy panels of metal and tangles of other debris off the stranger on the ground as carefully as he can. He has to cut away a few cables with his pocketknife to finally pull them free, and the moment they are Jimmy loops his arms around their torso, all but dragging them out of the rest of the mess to the only clear spot he can find in the tiny room. He moves quickly, almost frantically, rolling the stranger onto their back to check for vitals.

Their helmet is broken. His helmet is broken, Jimmy realizes, eyeing the pale face behind the broken glass with ever-mounting concern. The man he's looking at has narrow, pointed features and he looks human enough, though Jimmy has had enough experience with human-ish people on the Empires server to take that observation with a grain of salt.

(And the man had crash-landed out of the sky in a spaceship of all things, so for all Jimmy knows, he could be an alien. He shoves the thought aside to ponder later.)

More importantly, it looks like some of the glass from the helmet caught the pilot's face on impact, tiny cuts just barely bleeding...though there could be more he can't see. It’s difficult to know how extensive the damage from the crash is while the man is sealed in his spacesuit, but moving him without checking first could do more damage. Jimmy squares his jaw and takes a breath. He can't waste time. He has to make a choice, and fast.

He could pull the astronaut from the wreckage first, injuries be damned. The fire is still roaring around them, and though the cockpit seems stable for now, Jimmy isn’t sure how long that could last. But at the same time, the fire isn’t spreading fast, and he can’t possibly know how injured the pilot really is without taking the time to check. Trying to haul him out of the ship without stabilizing injuries first might make them worse…and might even cause the astronaut to respawn. (If he even can respawn. It’s a painful thought.)

Jimmy’s fingers fidget at the helmet’s seal, pondering whether he should be taking it off yet or not.

Does he stay or does he go?

[Tag List] @firefly124 @mellioops @beaversuenightly

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

#Team Rancher #Solidaritek #ESMP 2 #Trafficshipping #Tumble Town #Pixiemage Writes #Fate Entires #MFIIYH #Jimmy Solidarity #SolidarityGaming #Empires SMP S2 #Empires SMP #Moon Big #TangoTek

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ethereal-faeri · 1 year

Text

boo! bitch i'm a ghost 👻 [act 2]

♡⃕ WE'RE HOME 😭❤❤❤ [airport scene]

— ten years after, y/n l/n is finally returning to japan. and ten years after midoriya izuku ghosted her. uraraka is guilty, bakugou is expectant, and well, their friends are just waiting for the awkwardness to subside. will there ever be a chance for the two?

♡⃕ chapter warnings — cursing because dzuh,,, and only fluff i think,,,

♡⃕ author’s note — lol hello [as if i didn't update for months] <3333 im really sorry because i really hadn't had the motivation to do anything for this ADLSJASKD but this was commissioned by the lovely blue @johnnysactualgf ily babe <3333 i planned to finish the rest of the chapters before updating but here's a bonus chapter that should've been uploaded a few weeks ago but i never had the time to format it correctly so AHDKJAS have this ily all

reminder! again, set in act 2 when y/n and hela went home to japan and met up with the gang !

and if you want to tip me/commission me, buy me coffee !

♡⃕ taglist. OPEN ; send an ask or reply to this post to be added! [bold cannot be tagged]@tsumushima @zoppzoop @lumpiang-toge @yumeyooa @starlessnyx @ugh-tsumu @mellowknightcolorfarm @oikawasbuttcheeks @shotoful @aizameow

taglist continued in the reblogs! let me know if you changed your user!

"touchdown japan," you whispered as you and hela went to go get your luggages. it's been, what, ten years? so much seemed the same but you knew that everything had changed since you left.

"it's so weird being back in japan," hela said, thanking the guard for their help with your luggage.

"right, i swear, if i didn't have to go back, i won't." you exhaled, knowing the truth.

hela pointedly looked at you. "your life is all here, y/n. your friends are here, bakugou–is here. i know you."

you made a face at her mention of bakugou's name, grinning. "shut up."

truth be told, you weren't that dense. back at UA, while you were pining over midoriya (barf), you knew about bakugou's feelings but didn't really think much about it until after graduation and you left to go to america. by then, it was too late to confront him, and by now, you were just used to not thinking about it, you guess. he never really said anything and then, before you knew it, it's been ten years since. besides, it's fun to mess with him and your friends!

hela, on the other hand, was only the one to know about you knowing and was the one to realized you returned the blond's feelings at some point of you moving on from midoriya…well, he was there, it wasn't hard. but, because of this, hela couldn't stop teasing you about him. however, now is not the time to think back about your relationship with bakugou. not when you'd be seeing midoriya in a few days, it's not the fucking time, y/n.

snapping a picture of each other, you tweeted it with the caption, touchdown. knowing how fast news circulates, especially in social media, you hurried with hela to meet your best friends. you couldn't help but feel nervous, though, at the thought of seeing bakugou that your heart kept thundering. because, for the first time in ten years, you'd be seeing one of your bestest friends and someone you admittedly had feelings for before. god, was this terrifying.

you grinned as you saw them holding a placard with your and hela's names, laughing as a pink blur ran, barreling into you. you choked on your laughter as mina crashed into you, hugging you tight. "y/n, i missed you so much!"

tears sprung in your eyes as your hands wrapped around her torso. "i missed you too, mina."

hela was right. ten years was too long. you laughed wetly as the others crowded you and hela, welcoming you back. kaminari and sero kissed your cheeks once mina let you go, making you grin widely as you hugged them. you also missed kirishima's toothy smile as he hugged you, then kissed your forehead and pat your head.

bakugou…well, bakugou was hanging back, staring at you. his heartbeat fastened its pace, fuck. it's been ten year, but he knew that it was still you, it will always be you. he finally breathed after a while, watching silently as you exchanged tearful welcomes with the squad. he caught hela's eyes, who looked knowingly. he scoffed, finally avoiding her eyes.

your eyes traveled to bakugou's form, a smile forming once more on your lips when you saw him. you let them introduce themselves to hela as you approached him, tapping his shoulder because he wasn't looking.

"hi, kats." you smiled sweetly, bakugou couldn't help but curse inside as he looked at you, pretending that he wasn't affected by seeing you again in person. "i missed you."

his ears reddened as he huffed. you chuckled, opening your arms to invite him to a hug. he rolled his eyes but opened his arms as well, enclosing you in a hug. warm. you could vaguely hear your friends taking pictures, but you couldn't care less. he breathed you in, his hug tightening as he whispered, "i missed you too, clown-ass."

"not that i want to interrupt whatever this is," bakugou glared at kirishima, who gestured towards them and laughed. "but, we got company."

many civilians were staring, their phones on you two. you grinned, waving as bakugou glared, pulling you quickly. "get their luggage, shitheads. let's go."

you're finally home. now, to face midoriya.

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happi-tree · 1 year

Text

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

read on ao3

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

once (‘cause i know you had a long night)

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

They’ve just gotten out of combat at the Eleven-Seven on the edge of town thanks to yet another harebrained plan - this one in particular involving about 27 Large Swig™s’ worth of slushies, an ungodly misuse of pretzel warmers, and mentally begging the forgiveness of customer service employees everywhere.

Lincoln Li-Wilson stands over a puddle of goop, cleated foot planted firmly where the chest of the latest of the Doodler’s acolytes used to be. He smudges some flecks of dark, slimy sludge off his face with his shoulder.

God, that’s gonna be a pain to wash out. At least he didn’t wear his favorite jersey tonight.

Link can feel the final dredges of adrenaline coursing through his veins and knows that it’s only a matter of time before he crashes. He can’t let that happen yet, though, not after this tough of a fight. He brushes himself off and looks around the abandoned parking lot, trying to make out the forms of his friends by the hazy yellow-white light of a distant streetlamp.

Scary stands a short distance away, brandishing her knife and stabbing into the remains with extreme prejudice, targeting anything that still moves. Other than the bloodlust in her eyes and a broken nail, she doesn’t look too bad.

Normal looks a bit worse for wear, swaying a little on his feet. Even so, the air around his palms coalesces into a foggy white energy as he makes his way towards an injured Hermie (who had decided to tag along, for some reason that Link doesn’t particularly care about).

That leaves Taylor. Link knows he’d been injured pretty badly - a blow to the head, if he remembers correctly - and his anxiety only increases the longer it takes to find his silhouette in the blackness of sun-off.

Then, a pained wheeze sounds off from somewhere to his right, and Lincoln jogs over to the source of the sound, and -

Oh, fuck, he’s barely moving.

Taylor is lying flat on his back, his cane knocked a few feet away. His clothes seem to have protected most of his body from road burn, but his left cheek is pockmarked and raw from where it likely scraped against the asphalt.

Most worrying of all, though, is the gash on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow.

Link remembers Grant telling him that head wounds bleed more than others, once, but that doesn’t help the turning of his stomach when he sees the pavement slick and puddling around Taylor’s head, his face coated in red from temple to jawline.

Taylor isn’t even trying to get up, and from the cloudiness of his faintly glowing eyes, Link wonders how much of the pain he’s really registering.

Link waves a frantic hand in front of Taylor’s face.

“Hey,” Link says, voice pitching high as he searches his friend’s face for some sort of recognition. There is none.

“Taylor, hey, c’mon,” Link prods, shaking Taylor’s shoulders gently with trembling hands. Wetness pools at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks it away to keep his vision clear. “I’m gonna heal you, but you gotta stay awake, okay?”

Finally, Taylor’s eyes seem to focus, pupils dilating unevenly but staring at him nonetheless.

“Well, mus’ not be dead yet,” Taylor slurs, raspy and dazed and sounding almost awestruck.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean!? Link thinks.

“What?”

Taylor cracks a delirious grin, blood pooling into the corner of his mouth. “‘f I die, ‘m going t’ hell… n’ there aren’t any angels like you down there,” he explains through half a facefull of blood.

At any other time, that kind of line would fluster Link out of his mind, but as it is, all he can feel is frustration and fondness and desperation and worry and that goddamn adrenaline.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Tay,” Link says.

Link doesn’t really register what he does next, but quite suddenly his mouth tastes like copper and his hands are cradling the back of Taylor’s head.

He inhales the scent of iron and pulls away from - from where he kissed Taylor, directly over the horrid gash on his temple.

The boy beneath him hisses in pain, and Lincoln nearly drops his head to the asphalt again.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

“Uh, Link?” Taylor prods, tapping him in the chest, voice completely devoid of the slurred syllables from seconds ago. “Earth to Lincoln? You okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah?” Link says, entirely unconvincingly. “Are. Are you okay?”

“Mhm!” Taylor chirps, and god, is Link glad that he sounds much more like his regular self. He barely restrains himself from pressing another kiss to his friend’s forehead out of sheer relief.

Looking down at the boy below him doesn’t help to suppress that urge much. Taylor’s pupils appear to be evenly sized, now, but they’re large and blown out, the black almost completely eclipsing the dark reddish brown of his irises. The whites of his eyes are still glowing that faint goldeny color, a few shades richer than the far-off streetlights. And while some of Taylor’s face has traces of blood, Link’s unconventional Lay On Hands has wiped most of the gore away, revealing skin painted red for a completely different reason. Now that he thinks about it, Taylor’s entire body feels even warmer than usual, and Link wonders what on Earth that could possibly mean.

“Uh,” Taylor says, “you can let go of me now.”

Link practically jumps back as if electrocuted, clambering away from the boy and back to his feet.

“Ow,” Taylor hisses, rubbing the back of his head from where it had hit the asphalt.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Link says, waving his hands before extending an arm out to Taylor.

Taylor accepts the help, and Link can’t help but register the way that his smaller, warmer hand fits against his palm as he hoists his friend up.

“No worries,” Taylor responds. “Thanks - I think my sword-cane fell somewhere over -”

“I got you,” Link says, scooping up the item and pressing it into Taylor’s free hand.

“My hero,” Taylor sighs fake-dreamily, and the adrenaline kicks up the pace of Link’s heart again, blood scorching through his veins and rushing to his face.

Okay, maybe it’s something other than adrenaline, but that’s for Lincoln to unpack later.

“Come on,” he says after he gives Taylor a final once-over (and tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the place where he kissed him). “Let’s go help the others.”

#without further ado: gay ppl part 1 of (hopefully only) 4 :DDD #the plan is to link the following parts all together after the summary blurb instead of doing a reblog chain i think. we'll see #this concept has been plaguing me for months thank you oakvale server for bearing witness to my madness w these guys #part 2 coming. within the next week hopefully!#dndads #swiftli #fic #happi scribbles #oh. uh. title and chapter titles from paper rings by taylor swift btw!!!

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maaradag · 9 months

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massive, rambly spoilers for the new WILTY christmas episode underneath

First thoughts after finishing: oboy, both Lee and David going THROUGH it. Bet Rob was feeling all good safe in his host chair.

The guests were Victoria Coren Mitchell (whee!), Naga Munchetty, Alex Brooker and Melvyn Hayes. I'll admit I had to look everybody's names up except VCM.

Alex Brooker's lie has been available as a clip on the BBC website for a couple of days now, so nothing new there. Delighted by the fact that Victoria's (unbroken?) streak of guessing correctly on this show continues

So for me the show proper started with Victoria's card, which oh my god, holy shit, this was worth the wait.

David looks like he wants to sink into the floor, but for me, as Lee says: "If it helps in any way, I'm absolutely loving it."

I mean this is golden. Victoria starts trying to explain David's underwear philosophy, before turning to David and checking if she's not you know, revealing too much information on national television. David who has already spent the last few minutes looking like this is his worst nightmare, reassures her that no worries, "this is dreadful". All the while Lee is clapping his hands delightedly.

(BONUS Sweet moment!. Naga patting David on the shoulder, in an attempt at reassurement, cringing too hard to be very reassuring)

I don't know who Melvyn Hayes is (I'm not British, so my bad I guess) but his small comments here and there really brought it up a notch. Could have been annoying but it was really funny.

Other nice quotes from this round:

Victoria (to David, having revealed much about his underwear habits): I'm so sorry. (Then she laughs a bit more)

David: thE biBLe AnD fifTy SHadEs oF grAy

Melvin Hayes: I'm excited! (everybody cracks up)

This was FINALLY the resolution of Lee's quest to find out what David wears underneath his clothes.

(If only I still wrote fanfiction, and if only I could ever manage to write RPF this would segment would surely inspire me. Just putting that out into the universe before going back to hiding beneath the covers)

Have some pictures of David going through it:

BONUS: Lee being a smug bastard

The Melvin Hayes story did very little for me, as previously mentioned, no clue who he was before this, and the people he mentions are people I've heard about before but also know very little. Glad everyone seems so delighted by it though.

To contrast the previous picture have a happy picture of David and Victoria being pleased by Melvin Hayes story

THIS IS MY (Feat. a Celebrity Guest whoohooo)

Yet another person I don't know who is, but Patti seemed famous and Lee was all over her which turned out to be quite funny.

Victoria's sounded familiar by any rate, like I heard it before. Delightful story anyhow, her delivery of "better still, you can be in it." killed me.

Naga with the slow reveal of it being Lee that they hadn't recognized. Wonderful! Lovely! No notes. It's great that the story wasn't true because then the digs at Lee, and the Jimmy whatshiface of it all just became the marks of a good liar

(looked it up, the guy's Jimmy Nail. An English singer-songwriter apperenly, according to google).

David used his versatile tool to make decent stomach growls. Colour me impresssed.

Last round is a classic Lee round, in which he gets an herculean task and we watch him try to reel it in. (Alex B turns out to be quite the generous laughter which is great.)

Tag yourself I'm Alex, losing it.

#wilty #would i lie to you #don't think I'm gonna tag the people let them be free #this was a long ass post #maybe i should reconsider getting a dreamwidth account #blasting out words like i'm Barry from hidey hide's whooper #(that will make sense if you see the ep)#possibly #mine

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

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That One Angsty Fic (Moon Boys)

Summary: It doesn’t always make sense, but some days are just bad ones. Sometimes you’re your own worst enemy, and it takes losing a battle with yourself to see that. Marc, Steven, and Jake are able to see it, even if you can’t at first.

Author’s Note: This fic was originally supposed to end differently. Writing it was therapeutic for me, and the ending was also supposed to be, but revelations in therapy and changes in medications have made things different. Just… it exists.

Content Warning: ⚠️ Mental illness, sensory overload, anxiety and panic attacks, self harm ideation, self harm (cutting), suicidal language/suggestiveness, kinda graphic depiction. Other stuff I don’t know how to tag, just generally take caution. Hopeful ending.

Word Count 7.3k

Sometimes rabbit holes are hard to climb out of.

Sitting at your desk alone, waiting for your boys to come home, it was easy to dig yourself deeper. The cars on the street below you were too loud. The overhead lights were too bright and the draft from the windows was far too strong. The inclination to sink into your own thoughts was hard to resist, especially since you didn’t realize you were doing it.

Today really fucking sucks. I feel like I can’t do anything. I can’t eat right, I can’t sleep right, and I certainly can’t do my schoolwork correctly. I’m overdue on returning a library book and I haven’t scheduled that very important meeting with my advising professor. Everything is working out and my life is going dandy right now, but holy fucking shit do I feel like a massive failure.

They always say to reach out for help. The professionals say “you have people who love you, they want you to come to them.” God if that isn’t further from the truth. Sure, my mom told me she was proud of me yesterday, even after I told her I can’t graduate with honors like I planned to do. Sure, my friends tell me all the time that I’m funny and smart, but they’re just being nice to me. They don’t like making fun of people. Maybe my grandma cried the other day over the phone because I’m the only grandchild who calls to ask how she’s doing, but I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.

I’m the bare minimum. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the barrel. I’ll never live up to my potential or to the expectations of the people that I love.

I don’t even think that I’m enough for Steven anymore.

If I’m not enough for him, then I really have nothing at all, don’t I? There’s no question either, if I’m too much of a fuck up for him, I’m certainly not good enough for Marc or even Jake. Hell, the way I’m performing right now, Jake Lockley probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

Rabbit holes are hard to climb out of, especially when you’re alone.

There wasn’t anything in particular that made today worse than any of the others. By some metrics, in fact, it was a very good day. You had gotten an A on your midterm exam. You’d found a twenty-dollar bill inside of your coat pocket. Hell, someone had even left your favorite dessert in the break room, and you’d gotten to eat a serving of it between class and work. It should have been a good day, but it just wasn’t.

That’s the thing that people don’t understand about being ill. It’s just that: an illness. It doesn’t matter how much you eat healthy, or how much you exercise. It doesn’t matter how much meditation you do or how much you write in your diary or how much you pray to God—sometimes a day is just going to suck. It’s not rational, or even understandable, but that’s the truth of the matter. Sometimes sick people just… feel sick.

Steven understood that. So did Marc, and so did Jake. If there was anything in this world that they did understand, it’s that sometimes a person can be their own worst enemy. They understood that it wasn’t your fault, and they understood that some days were harder than others. The compassion that you couldn’t have for yourself? Well, they somehow always managed to have it.

You were convinced, though, that they wouldn’t have it today.

This has to be the final straw for them, doesn’t it? They’re going to come home and the dishes won’t be done, the laundry will still be dirty, and there won’t even be dinner on the table for them to eat. I’m going to have to tell them I don’t have a reason for it. I didn’t get it done only because I’m lazy and the lights were too bright. They’re going to laugh at me. They’re going to hate me.

Steven Grant is going to hate me.

I think maybe that’s what I deserve. He's so much more than me, isn’t he? They all are. They’ve been through so much, and yet they’re so strong and so wise. Steven is so kind. But look at me. I’m not… any of those things, am I? I’m all the wrong things. Too big, too awkward, too stupid. I’m not enough for him. I’m not enough for any of them, and I think maybe today they’re going to realize that. I don’t know if I can handle that.

It was half-past seven now. Steven would be coming home from his shift any moment. Or someone would. Whoever was fronting tonight didn’t really matter. It was all going to end the same way, you were convinced. You moved from the desk, tired of the weight on your back, and curled yourself up on the floor of the study. It wasn’t exactly a screaming and crying kind of panic, but it was still panic.

Why can’t I just do more? Why can’t I get up and get all of these chores done, right here and right now? Nothing’s stopping me. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done all of this a million times or more. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Why can’t I just get up and do it?

It wasn’t just that, though. How much easier it would have been if it was, but it wasn’t.

Why can’t I do anything right? I can’t even be sad right. Why can’t I cry? Maybe they would understand if I was crying. God, what if they yell at me? I don’t know what to do if they yell at me. Please don’t yell at me. Just get up and do the damn chores. Just do something. Do something.

They’re going to yell at me.

This is all so pathetic. I’m being dramatic, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I feel like I’m ready to explode or implode or just wither away. I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I can’t stop it, though, and it makes me feel like I’m insane. I feel like I’m out of control. I want to feel in control. I want to be in control.

I want to be in control. How do I take back control?

You heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall, instinctively curling in on yourself a little bit more. You had memorized the sound and usually it brought you a warm and welcoming feeling. Today, though, it only made your pounding heart sink deeper into your chest. You braced yourself resignedly for the yelling and anger, or at the very least for the disappointment. Honestly, you didn’t know which one of them was worse.

It was Marc Spector who walked through the front door of the apartment. Admittedly, you couldn’t tell that he was at the front just by his body language, but luckily the boys were used to announcing themselves as they came through the door. It made things easier, and they knew that it comforted you.

“Hey, baby,” he started, the keys clinking in his hands as the door latched shut behind him. He was the only one who called you that. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but we got distracted on the walk home. Why’re you sitting in the dark? Are you here?”

You didn’t have the energy to answer him. Well, you had the energy, but you didn’t have the confidence. That, and you couldn’t really find your voice under all of the panic. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth, and you were nauseous. You feared if you opened your mouth, it wouldn’t be words that came spilling out. Marc ventured further inside and finally spotted you, hugging your knees in the space between the desk and the wardrobe. He tilted his head and widened his eyes in concern, and you could feel the heat on your face.

“You okay?” He furrowed his brows when you didn’t answer him. You could only look up at him, breathing slowly around the lump in your throat, and you wanted to bury your head right back into your knees when you saw the look on his face. Of course he was going to be concerned, and you were going to have to tell him he had no reason to be. It didn’t make sense for it to be so difficult, though. Why couldn’t you just make yourself speak up? It was the simplest thing.

“Did something happen?” His voice was low and little, and you managed to shake your head at his question. Some other feeling was fighting the paralysis now that he was here, but it wasn’t a good feeling. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. “No? Well, are you hurt?”

Again, you shook your head. It was technically true, right? You weren’t hurt. You couldn’t really even pinpoint what was wrong with you. He pressed his lips into a thin line, surveying your body for any signs of damage. He found none, so Marc brought his hand up to touch your arm and you instinctively cowered away. You felt guilty as soon as you did it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of the pressure on your skin.

“I don’t know how to help, baby.”

That was what made the tears start to slowly stream. You didn’t feel the need to sob or choke, just to press your nose between your knees and hide your face from him as it contorted into a crying mess. For him to understand, you knew that you had to say something. It was just so hard to get anything out.

“I didn’t do the dishes,” you mumbled. Your admittance confused him and he moved to sit down across from you. You fought back a sob that tried to erupt from your throat. Hearing it out loud, you could understand how your words didn’t quite clear things up for him. “I didn’t do the laundry, either, and I haven’t made dinner.”

“Okay?” He almost laughed, but he could see anguish that you were in, so he stifled it. Marc waited for you to explain yourself further. It became clear you were having trouble with that, so he began to think meticulously through his answer.

“I’m sorry.” A sob broke around your words, but they were still unmistakable. His face twisted again into confusion and something that looked like offense. You hoped it wasn’t that.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. That was a hard question for you to answer.

“I should have done it by now. I should have finished it all. You should be able to come home to a clean apartment and a warm meal, and I said that I would do it. I should have done it.”

The self-inflicted misogyny aside, he was shocked by your statement. Marc understood the mindset of having to please your housemates. When he was a child, skipping his chores meant more than just a few words of disappointment from his mom. But this wasn’t that. Marc had never, never yelled at you before, and he certainly didn’t expect you to do all of his housework for him. You were partners. You shared the responsibility.

“Honey, they’re just chores,” he tried to explain. He couldn’t imagine exactly where you were coming from, but he’d talked you down from enough panic attacks to at least know where he should start. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, and we can order take-out for dinner.”

You felt stupid. He wasn’t even mad, and you’d made such a big deal out of all of it. Of course he wasn’t going to yell at you. Marc would never yell at you. None of them would. You should feel relieved now, right? But you didn’t feel relieved. You just felt stupid.

“You with me?” He peered into your eyes with nothing but genuine softness. You couldn’t resist that look, not even in the state you were in. So, you pretended for him.

You nodded.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Marc took your hands into his and helped you to your feet. Your limbs were stiff from sitting like that, and your chest was heavy from all of the worry. He gently led you over to the couch, coaxing you to sit down and pulling a throw blanket from the shelf under the coffee table. You shuddered as he opened it and tossed it over you. He noticed that you were shaking.

“I’m gonna order dinner, okay? You need to eat something.” Marc moved to pull his phone out of his coat pocket. You didn’t really feel hungry, more nausea than anything filling your gut right now. “I think that you’ll feel better after that.”

You put on a brave, numb face for the rest of the evening. Well, for the next little while, at least. Marc ordered one of your favorite meals for dinner, making sure to buy so much that you would have leftovers. He wasn’t too great of a cook himself, so he was used to ordering out after a long or busy day. When the food finally came, you nibbled at it just enough to prove to him that you were trying. It tasted pretty good, but you couldn’t be sure you would keep it down, and the thought of swallowing just made you shudder some more.

After a while, Marc had decided that you looked calm enough. He let Steven take control of the body once he finished his meal, the tiring day having weighed on him, too. He made sure to warn his alter to keep tabs on you, noting how you seemed to be having a particularly rough day. Steven had no problem with that, as he was more than happy to give you his attention no matter the circumstances.

He didn’t exactly know what he was getting himself into.

When dinner was done and you’d convinced Steven that you really couldn’t eat any more, he packaged the rest of your food in heat-safe boxes. He also did the dishes, which he meant as a gesture of affection. Steven didn’t realize that his simple act of service would send you farther down the spiral.

Now you felt guilty. Not only had you failed to do the housework you’d promised you would, but now he was picking up your slack. To you, that was just unacceptable. I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, you thought. Maybe they were just dishes, but they felt like so much more than that to you. They were a symbol of your failure, a symbol of all of the good things that he was and the bad things that you were, and why you could never be deserving of him.

The familiar urge started to bubble in your chest. You knew you should have said something the minute you felt it, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to, not in the middle of the spiral that you’d already begun. It always started as a spike of energy, an ironically paralyzing energy, and a buzzing in your skin. From there, it would grow and evolve and mutate into something else. It was an urge to self-destruct, to punish yourself and gain control. It didn’t make any sense, not in the slightest, and it surely didn’t make sense now, but such was the nature of being ill.

It didn’t have to make sense. It just had to be.

You felt the heat draining from your body as you watched him pass the plates from the sink to the drying rack. The shivering was only beginning, and you knew already that nothing would help you get warm. Not a blanket, not a hug, not a piping hot cup of tea. This was the kind of chill that ran further than skin-deep. The sensation grew outward from your chest. It made you want to press your palms into your eyes and scratch at your skin until it was raw. A lump was starting to thicken in your throat, your saliva becoming too thick to swallow.

I can’t believe I’m letting them baby me like this. I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. They must be so tired of coddling me like this. I wonder if they think I’m too sensitive. They must think that. I am too sensitive. It’s a matter of time before they get enough of it and kick me to the curb. It must be. I just wish I could stop. I have to stop.

Steven was turned away from you, intently focused on the task at hand. He didn’t notice how you had gone pale. He had a chore to complete. He wasn’t one to leave a dish half-washed, so he had to meticulously scrub each plate until he was sure it was clean.

He’s even better than me at this. What else do I have to offer him?

You pulled yourself up from your seat at the table, making sure to drag the legs of the chair against the wood just enough to alert him to the movement. You shuffled over to the couch as he finished up at the sink. When you clicked the power button on the TV remote, it flashed on to reveal some old sitcom you weren’t interested in seeing. It would look normal, though, when Steven dried his hands and emerged from the kitchen to join you. He would think that you were okay, and that was a good thing. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t okay.

“Can I join?” Steven meekly asked as you scuffled to one side of the couch to make room for him. He was wearing a soft expression that made you feel like he saw you as fragile. He looked away from you as he sat down. “I think I might stay up a bit tonight. I want to read this new book I got about Neferefre.”

“What is that?” You prompted him, knowing you were opening the conversation to a classic Steven Grant infodump. If you looked interested and you got him to start talking, he wouldn’t even notice how much of a mess you’d been today—and how much of a mess you were now.

Steven began his little spiel. The man he spoke of was apparently one of the pharaohs of Egypt, a prince who ascended to the throne and died young. You watched his face light up as he told you about the man. It wasn’t uncommon of him to lose himself entirely in his little stories about ancient Egyptian history. He would speak for hours if you let him, which was a relief, because you certainly didn’t know how to fill any gaps of silence. Steven’s eyes widened and glistened as he went on, touting knowledge to you that would impress even the most prestigious academics of the subject.

His smile was such a pure and innocent thing. Steven was proud of himself, as he very well should have been, and he was happy that someone was here for him to share his knowledge with. It put into perspective for you just how much you didn’t compare. He was a living, breathing encyclopedia. A life-long researcher who would pour his heart and soul into the subjects he loved. In contrast, you were just going through the motions. You had reached your last semester of your undergrad, but you had no passion at all for your major anymore. Maybe you would get some fancy latin honor at your graduation, but you were by no means a good student, and you sure as hell weren’t an expert on the subject.

Why can’t I just stop myself from spiraling? Why can’t I just be someone that he deserves?

It was getting to the point where you were afraid that the feeling in your chest was going to start boiling over. Your skin was on fire and you were covered in a thin layer of icy sweat that did nothing to calm you. You wanted to curl into a ball and rip out your hair. You wanted to rock yourself back and forth with your head between your knees, and you wanted most of all to take yourself apart piece by delicate piece.

The urge was almost overwhelming. You had managed to hide this part of yourself from them for your entire relationship up to this point. Marc had his suspicions about your behavior in the past and Steven had noticed your sensitivity and lapses in communication, but neither of them had ever been there with you when you had an episode of self harm. You’d been in recovery when you first started dating them, and you’d only broken your clean streaks on occasions where they weren’t around. They didn’t really know what to look for and they didn’t know how close to the edge you really were.

You were very, very close to it.

Steven blinked at you confusedly. He’d asked you a question, apparently, and you’d failed to hear it over the pounding thud of your heartbeat inside of your ears. There was no denying that you’d spaced out while talking to him, no pretending your mind wasn’t clearly somewhere far away from here. He raised his eyebrows at you as you widen your gaze and pressed your lips together, pulling yourself back to him.

“Sorry, I just have had a long day, love,” you tried to deflect his unyielding inclination to peer into you. Steven Grant was a caregiver, an innate protector of those who were mentally vulnerable, and you certainly fit that category right now, but you would be damned if you let him baby you. Or, god forbid, worry about you. “I wanted to hear about your Pharoah guy, but I think I’m too tired to take it all in.”

You hoped he would ignore the fact that, despite your words, you seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. The last thing you’d ever want to do was make Steven worry. You hoped to God that he couldn’t see the panic rising within you, stirring up the familiar frenzy in your limbs and enticing you to have a rendezvous with your razor in the bathroom.

He scooped you into his arms, pressing around you with a calming strength that almost touched the chill underneath your skin. Your body was half-limp as Steven encased you in a sturdy hug. He nuzzled his face into your neck and he breathed you in with an exhausted sigh.

“It’s alright. I’ll talk about him later.” Steven hummed into your skin, no doubt just as tired as Marc had been. “I’m sorry about your long day. It’s okay now, though. You can just relax with me.”

Guilty. Stupid.

“Okay. Thank you, baby.” You swallowed hard and dipped your head into his chest. Steven’s grip around you was strong, but casual. To him, as far as you could tell, you appeared to be doing just fine. A little tired, a little shaky, but overall just fine. That was a good thing, right? You were glad to not be worrying him. But some primal part of you was screaming to tell him you needed his help. You suppressed that part—it was bound to make things worse for you both.

There was silence for a little while. The television droned on, drawing small, breathy laughs from Steven and smiles from you in response to his laughs. The beating of his heart against your ear served to chip slowly away at your unease, dampening the pounding in your head. The pressure in your chest released bit by bit. The unspeakable urge fizzled out from your hands just a little. You finally were starting to feel like you could breathe normally, when a stray thought drew Steven away from the telly.

“When you did laundry today,” the words shot hot iron spikes through your ribcage. You froze in place, “did you happen to see my green button-up? The one with the stripes. I was going to wear it tomorrow to the museum holiday party, but I couldn’t find it when I looked this morning.”

How could you respond to him? You’d have to tell him it wouldn’t be clean in time for the party. You hadn’t washed it. You had not even touched the laundry today, in fact. You’d come home from work a few hours ago and plopped right down at your desk, wasting the evening away instead of doing the chores that you’d promised.

“I’m sorry,” you began. His lips turned downward into a puzzled grimace. “The laundry isn’t done. I don’t know if your shirt is in there, but if it is, it’s not clean. You won’t be able to wear it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His face remained as puzzled as it was, now tinged with disappointment as well. You couldn’t live with his disapproval, no matter how much your body and mind seemed incapable of performing correctly.

“But I can go wash it right now! It will be ready by morning if I start a load—”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s late, and it’s just a shirt. I can wear something else to the party. God knows Donna won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit anyway.” He bore an uneven smile and grazed the back of your neck with his hand, pushing your head back down to rest on his chest.

The coil around your heart re-tightened.

You laid in his arms as long as you could manage to sit still. Soon enough, the shaking of your bones and the pounding in your chest was so strong that it would be noticeable if you continued to sit in his grasp. So, with a shy cough and a fake, lopsided smile, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid! You couldn’t believe the way you were behaving. Why couldn’t you just be normal for one single day? Why did you have to worry your boys, why did you have to be so miserable, and why did your heart still threaten to beat right out of your chest even though Steven had held you in his arms and told you everything was okay? Stupid. So fucking stupid and pathetic and whiny and stupid.

You could feel the ice trickling down your spine, sinking into the curves of your ribs and clenching your muscles tense. The heat of your anger—at yourself and at the world, but mostly at yourself—did nothing to warm the deep chill in your bones.

Be fucking useful for once.

The sound of the electricity was too loud, the light coming under the door too bright. You banged your open palms against your head, curling them into fists and pounding harder when the noise only grew more irritating. Your breathing was rapid and empty, silent tears streamed down your face. Your knuckles drummed against your skull forcefully, over and over and over again, until the action was automatic and numb.

Stop being a burden. Stop being stupid. Steven has been through more shit than you ever will have gone through. You’re a useless fucking partner to him. Stop wasting space.

The dull knocking against your head wasn’t nearly enough. The seething inside your bones demanded something more. Something urgent and strong. You grew tired of the motion and lowered your hands, leaning into the dizzying soreness at the sides of your scalp. Your heart began to calm, unbeknownst to the agony in the rest of your body.

Stop wasting space.

You clutched the vanity. Your now-raw knuckles were white and the room was spinning. Maybe if you’d eaten more, you’d feel the need to throw up.

Stop taking up space.

The way that your hand rose to the medicine cabinet made you feel like an observer inside your own skin. For a passing, ever-so tiny moment, you wondered if this was what Jake felt. What Marc felt. Was this what Steven Grant felt when he wasn’t in control?

No, surely not. This was you taking control.

You weren’t one to show yourself mercy. Even in something like this, where mercy was a severely relative term. The thoughtful thing to have done would have been to grab your razor from the shelf, or taken one of Steven’s replacement razors from the pack beside the mouthwash. A sharp, unyielding weapon for a clean, quick punishment. You didn’t want to cut yourself open, though. That would be too generous, too easy.

You didn’t want something smooth, something to leave pretty and even stripes in delicate skin, like guiding lines on an empty notebook sheet. No, you didn’t want to cut yourself deep. This was visceral, personal. You wanted to rip yourself apart.

From the top shelf, you grabbed the old and rusty scissors that you had left in the bathroom for your spur-of-the-moment haircuts and for cutting tags off of new clothes. They were dull and awkward and hardly able to cut warm butter at this point, which is exactly what you were going for.

Stop. Being. Stupid.

You didn’t know if it made you feel better or made you feel worse, but it made you feel. Digging the blade into your skin, jabbing the open edge into your thigh after pulling parallel strokes on your forearms, it made you feel more in-control than you had all day. It was intoxicating. It was all-consuming. Before you knew it, you had fallen into a trance of sorts and the repetition was only halted by the realization that you had to breathe eventually.

A sharp breath in. Pain. A slow, shaky exhale. Stupid. A stifled cough, a desperate sucking in of air. Useless. A wheezing huff, like a deflating balloon.

Tired.

The blade slipped away from your hand and clattered unenthusiastically onto the floor. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as there could have been. Your teeth chattered, and now, despite having barely grazed dinner, you feared that you might up-chuck. A low groan tumbled out of your lungs as you crouched over the toilet bowl, thick red streams trickling down to the creases of your skin. You heaved once, then twice, then the vague remnants of your dinner were out of your stomach and the pressure against your chest forced a cry from your lips.

You sighed, flushed, and slumped into a weak puddle on the tile. There was a knock at the door.

“Darling?”

No. No. No no no nononono. What did I do? Your mind was racing and your heart had re-started its blunt assault on the inside of your ribs, but your limbs were like jello. Your tongue was like sand. He can’t see me like this!

“You sound like you’re sick. Was it the dinner, love? Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

He can’t see me like this. I can’t do that to him. But you couldn’t move, either. You could barely keep your eyes open. You tried to yell at him to go away, but your lungs were too heavy to muster more than a hoarse whisper. That was if you could even get your lips to part.

Guilty.

You could hear Steven’s breath rattle on the other side of the door. “You’re worrying me. I’m going to open the door now, yeah? Don’t mean to pry, of course, but sure as I don’t, you’ll have hit your head on the sink or something and be out cold—”

He’d turned the knob on the bathroom door—the stupid old thing never did lock correctly, you’d been meaning to get that fixed—and pushed his way inside, only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he saw you.

Your pale and shaking hands clenched your knees, blood lazily tricking into your elbow’s crease and tapping the floor in a steady drip. It wasn’t nearly an amount of blood loss to be worried about, but that didn’t matter to him. There was blood dripping onto the floor, and it was coming from you. Steven’s color drained from his face as he watched the forming puddle for a moment. He didn’t move, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, and his hand still lingering on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he gathered a shaky breath and broke his gaze away.

“What happened?”

His voice was whining, panicky. You could see sweat beading on his forehead as he knelt across from you. He trailed his hand up your arm, looking for the incisions that were causing the flow. His fingers were careful not to touch the long, parallel slits that ran up toward your wrists. You heard a breathless whimper leave his lips as he pulled your arms up, revealing the jagged, shallow puncture wounds in your thighs that looked just as bad.

“Darling, what happened?” He was more urgent now, his voice louder and demanding. “Are you hearing me?”

He grabbed the nearest towel from the shelf under the sink, wrapping it around the wrist closest to him and pressing the other one underneath. Steven’s breathing was shallow and his eyes danced rapidly between your forearms, your thighs, and your face. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes focused on him. It was all that you could do to keep them open at all. He continued pleading with you, but his voice was distant in your head.

Tired.

“What have you done?” You didn’t know if his intention was for you to answer. “Why did you—what did you do to yourself? I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t…”

His breath was quickening. You tried to pull your head together, to ignore the pounding in your skull and force your eyes to work. Weakly, you wiggled your fingers. If they could move, perhaps the rest of you could as well. Your tongue was as heavy as lead in your mouth, but you forced it up anyway. The wheezing breath you drew caught his attention immediately.

“I’m sorry.” The tears that had welled in his eyes began spilling over, painting his cheeks as he tried desperately to blink them out of the way. Steven wrung a towel under the sink as you drew another gasp. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Why?” He scoffed and you shook your head. The dull thump in your head was winning out. Words were failing you. Apparently they were failing him to, as he couldn’t muster much more than “I don’t understand.”

You had done this enough to know it would take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. Nothing was deep enough for stitches, though the divots on your legs would threaten to scar for sure. Steven grew more distressed, though, as the seconds ticked forward and the wounds refused to wipe clean. Firm and steady pressure seemed to be too slow a solution and panic was painted plainly on his face.

You felt the need to explain to him. You had to make him understand.

“I had to do it.” He held his breath as you began to speak. Steven looked terrified. “I deserve this. It feels… right. I had to. I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You don’t deserve this. Why would you deserve this? Is it because of the laundry? You can’t have done this because of a load of clothes…”

“Not the laundry,” You breathed, interjecting. “It’s everything. I’m not good enough. I can’t do anything right. I’m a waste of space. I have to stop taking up space. Your space.”

“You're not.” He uttered immediately. Steven seemed to be choking on his next words. He stared at the blood soaking through your bandages. “You’re not… you’re…”

He pressed his eyes shut and your voice was loud in your head as you let your own heavy eyelids flutter closed. He’s finally getting it, isn’t he? I’m no good for him. This is the final straw.

More trouble than I’m worth.

Stop wasting space.

You resigned yourself to the damage you’d done to him. The three of them were better off without you here. You’d leave them alone now. They’d kick you out and you’d move back in with your mother. At least she was used to being disappointed by you. You could handle her disdain, but not theirs.

So fucking tired.

“You’re not a waste of space.” His voice broke you away from the deep crevice in your mind that you’d sank into. “Mi Tesoro, how could you ever think that about yourself? You are plenty good enough.”

Jake unwrapped the wounds that Steven had dressed so haphazardly. If medical training was a contest between the three of them, Steven was certainly in line for the bronze, while Jake could perform surgery with kitchen utensils if prompted to. They had finally stopped bleeding, but the cuts needed a layer of antibiotics if they had any chance of healing right. Especially considering the rust on that gross pair of scissors.

“I scared him.” You didn’t need to elaborate. The absolute mess that you’d made of yourself had thrown Steven into a panic, sending him so far back in the headspace that Jake Lockley was forced to come out to take the reins.

“Yes, you did. But he’ll be alright.” Jake’s voice was steady and smooth, and he was finished with your bandages before you even realized it. “You’ll be alright, too. Just try not to mess with these.”

“You’re never going to look at me the same. Any of you.”

“Maybe that’s true,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t matter. You can’t scare us away that easily.”

He lifted you by your shoulders, helping you stand against the bathroom wall. The floor was riddled with blood and towels and bandages, and your shirt and pants were far from clean. Jake was careful not to put pressure on your wounds as he supported your weight. You started toward the living room.

“I would guess that you’ve done this before.” He guided you step by step to the couch. You say gently against the cushion, curling back into a ball as your eyelids gave up altogether on staying open. “But not since I’ve met you. Why did you start this again tonight?”

“I deserved it,” you repeated. There was no other way to explain it, or rather, no explanation you had the energy for. “I needed it.”

“We’re going to talk about this later.” He knew that you didn’t have the energy for a conversation right now. That didn’t mean that he’d save his ultimatum, though. Just because you couldn’t talk didn’t mean he couldn’t. He placed a blanket over you, leaving for a few moments to grab some water and painkillers. Plus, a package of crackers that he would force you to nibble on later.

“You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it. There’s nothing you could ever do to make you worthy of something like that. I can’t speak for the other two, but I’ve never met someone so loving, so wonderful. Eres la mejor persona que he conocido. There’s nothing you’d ever do to make you deserve that.”

Silent tears slipped down your face as he continued, and his voice wavered as he spoke. You assumed, though your eyes wouldn’t open, that we was fighting tears as well.

“You really scared us, but we’re not angry at you. We’re not scared of you. We just can’t bear to see you hurt yourself. You know that you can’t be in pain without us hurting, too. We’re scared because we don’t know how to help. You have to tell us what’s wrong, so we can make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”

“But I need to.” I need to hurt. How else am I going to stay in control?

“No, chica, you don’t.” The cushion shifted underneath you, indicating that he’d sat down beside you. “You need help. Not this. Nothing good comes from this. We don’t want to see you like this. Not ever again.”

How else am I supposed to stay in control?

“Please promise me you’ll talk to me about this, alright? I want to hear all of it. I want to know why this is happening.”

“I don’t want to bother you.” Sleep was weighing on you by now. Thoughts drifted out of your lips without restraint, but they threatened to cease altogether as your limbs grew heavy.

“You won’t bother me. This bothers me. Nothing that you could say would bother me. I want to hear about everything. Every thought that leads to this, you say it to me first.”

There was a pause that almost let you drift off completely.

“That goes for the others as well. We all want you to talk to us. No matter when, no matter where. Okay?”

I can’t put this burden on them—

“Promise me!”

You pried your eyes open one last time. Jake’s gaze was pleading and tears were streaming down his face. He looked plenty burdened already. He was right. Nothing could be worse than this. You couldn’t ever hurt them more than this. And now that the urge had come and passed, the dull ache in your arms and the stinging in your thighs was a sore reminder of how little it was worth it. Not to mention the pain in your head.

“I promise.”

Sometimes, when you say something out loud, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. It helps to keep you in check, and it keeps you from being your own worst enemy. If nothing else, it gives you perspective and keeps you from forgetting your voice. And before you ask, no. I’m not okay, but I am in therapy and on medication. Take it or leave it.

p.s. I started this fic obviously in a bad mood, and then I wrote most of it when I was no longer in a bad mood. For that reason, it may be gibberish. Don’t think of the reader as yourself. That’s probably unhealthy. Thank you to my beta readers, @moonmoonboys and @rmoonstoner

#moon knight #moon boys #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight angst #angst #masterlist

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robiinurheart33 · 3 months

Text

Thanks for the tag @sergeantwoods !! I went a little crazy on the questions lols,,,

1. how many works?

Honestly no idea lmao (if ur talking on ao3, I don’t have an account there, but I’ve been thinking about it.) (14 wips atm)

2. Total word count?

Again, no idea LOL! My actual works have been around 1K ish per post? So id say in total maybee 10k?

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Currently, COD. I wanna expand more soon though, so stay tuned in the far, far future

4. top 5 fics by kudos?

I’m gonna list down my fav fics of all time (multi fandom) if im reading this correctly

1. Anything by buzzcut_season really. Their writing is spectacular and made my heart clench on so many occasions. My personal GOD of writing fluff. And the person that got me through the hells of teenage puberty.(for the record, i am still in puberty lmfao) my firsts in the tag tooth-rotting fluff and the magics of slow burn. (Sk8 the Infinity)

2. Neon Void by sugarpastels. The creator is here on Tumblr with the same user so if you wanna check her out go ahead!! FANTASTIC writing, villain Leo au with heart pounding scenes that leave me dizzy. A fic has never made me breathless and needing to pace around my room more than this one (special shoutout to her sister as well who is writing a mutant mayhem fic that unfortunately didn’t get added to the list but is still super well written!!) (ROTTMNT)

3. Anytime You Need Me by thirteenbullets. I really don’t need to elaborate more. Character analysis + fluff + non sexual intimacy + long fics… it’s the perfect series for me. I felt like a stuck gold when i read this. (COD)

4. The Eldest Brother by dEBB987. Classic 2012 x 2018 crossover, but it doesn’t have ooc and is just such. A. Fun. Read. Made me giggle and kick my legs more than one occasion and good family feels all around. (TMNT)

5. Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis by a_platypus. Old Leo comes back to the past after the events of the movie to readjust to new life. The right amount of drama with the perfect amount of slice of life. This fic actually gives the old turtle a break but also not letting go of the teenage angst and everything that comes with seeing your dead friends young and alive again. Would have been higher on the list but it’s not completed sadly. The author does write for COD as well though, and it’s worth to check it out! (ROTTMNT)

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes!!! I love love love it when people comment and try to interact if possible.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably the panic attack Ghost fic. Haven’t written much angst if im remembering correctly. I’m a major fluff person

7. fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh god i really haven’t written a proper fic at all helps. I’m frantically swiping through my robs ramblings tag and just realising most of the ghoap stuff i write is about their undying dedication to each other. Jesus. Happiest ending is probably one of my blurbs cause every time i try to write actual fluff i overheat and explode.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Nope

9. do you write smut?

Nah. I don’t think ill ever write smut honestly not because im asexual its just that I don’t think I can write one accurately if that makes sense. Also im a minor I don’t think im allowed to do that

10. craziest crossover?

None yet

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully not, but if i have i would take it as a sign that I’ve made it as a writer. Unless it’s more popular than the actual post in that case burn it with fire.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

Unfortunately and fortunately no. I would LOVE to collaborate, don’t get me wrong. But i would get so anxious about not disappointing the other person or procrastinating and motivation and all the works and just. Yeah I don’t have the mental capacity for that rn.

14. all time favourite ship?

Ooooooh

ghoap, renga, ineffable husbands, solangelo (Off the top of my head rn)

15. what’s a wip that you want to finish but doubt you will?

THE SECOND PART TO DRUNK SOAP. OH MY GOD I NEED TO GET IT DONE ITS BEEN 2 MONTHS

16. what are your writing strengths?

I would say making everything just too dramatic and emotional

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. I can barely talk irl how am i supposed to write witty banter

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Love it. As a bilingual myself i love seeing diff languages it’s like a bonus secret for that language user

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles. That was when i was in my “i think this is so cringy of me and i hold myself back because of it” because wow. I reread some of it recently and it’s horrible it will stay and rot in my notes app. Although i will say it’s so nice to see how far I’ve come in terms of writing and just posting publicly in general

20. favourite fic you’ve written?

The drunk soap one and the Ghoap one where they’re on stakeout together. I didn’t like the second one initially, but i think slaving over it worked. I love how I managed to balance the quietness and mutual respect and fondness of each other.

If you couldn’t tell, i had a lot of fun answering these questions haha

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations!! You know more about me than the average online follower 👏👏👏

#my asks are open too so feel free to drop a question or just anything in general #robs ramblings #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghoap #ghostsoap #langa hasegawa #reki kyan #sk8 the infinity #sk8 renga #rottmnt #fic recs #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

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purpleamethystsblog · 1 year

Text

🪬I WILL TAKE BACK WHAT'S MINE (Part 6) 🪬

CW : Violence / Swearing / Character dead (not Reader)

Pronounce : She / Her

Gender : Female ( Cause it easy for me to write and I don't really write English fanfics often like other. )

Note : This story might not follow the original game storyline.

Tag : @khalhaimdad @akemiixx01

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

<< Part 5 : Part 7 >>

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

Venti know.

Mean, he ever seen you before. It's happened when you first come to Mondstadt. He thought you're just a normal traveller.

But it's turn out that you are the most wanted criminal and the leader of Rebellion. He doesn't know why. Because he didn't saw you do anything to harm peoples or Mondstadt.

He want to convince his Creator to stop, but he afraid that Geo Archon will hunt him down like he did with the peoples who didn't accept in our Creator.

Archon of war and the oldest of all sevenths. Mean that he is the strongest Archons.

“ And I should crush you in to a pieces, should I? ”

It has been reported from villagers, that they found a group of rebellion around Guili plain. And Zhongli immediately call him for back up. Most of the rebels group are Vision user. And one of them is a Fatui Harbinger too.

Zhongli is infront of him. And Venti is stand behind ready to charge at rebellion group if Zhongli... No, MORAX give him a signal.

“ Oh~ what a surprise, I thought you all died. Hmmm, what an aura? Are you tried to mimic our Creator? How amusing.... ”

You frowned your eyebrows, what an idiot he can be? You don't know why he such a stupid or too blind to realise real or fake.

“ The ages of your isn't help to develop your brains at all? I'm pity for you, Morax. ”

No, something is wrong. You think Zhongli doesn't a person who had no reason. But it might have something that corrupted his mind or his brains.

Yes, you can say that his action make you frustration. But it might be some reason to make him like this. And you sure 80% of the reason is from that impostor.

Wait....if you remember correctly. If that gods who betrayal to the Creator and got kick out from heaven to human world...

That Impostor has a chance to be their descendants, right?

You think you can piece together some stories. Although still not sure, plus there is no clear evidence yet.

“ Stop zone out! ”

You heard Flowey scream at your ear, you flinched. And turn around to scold at him.

“ Stop playing around! Protect your grace at all cost no matter what! ”

All of your acolytes stop infront you like a human wall. You close your eyes and focus on your power. And after 3 seconds, golden shield is appear on your acolytes who come to front line to protect you.

Your shield might be not strong as Morax's shield. But you sure that it can absorb some damage and decrease a chance of injured for a bit.

Remember, your power is not fully awaken, yet.

🪬

Lilith was afraid.....

She knew, someday, she might lost everything. Even though she tried her best to keep it.

Even though, she cooperate with "ABYSS ORDER". She still afraid.

To take down the "CREATOR GOD" It's not an easy thing that anyone can do.

"Your highness, we have a message that Morax is meet with Y/N."

The abyss mage is appear from thin air, now she stayed in her chamber. And doesn't allow everyone to come in.

She can't let peoples know that she had collaboration with Abyss order.

“ Are you sure that potion will have a long affect on Morax? ”

🪬

It wouldn't be wrong to say that your side is currently at a serious disadvantage. Because peoples on your side is less more than hundreds person. Different from Zhongli, who ever once is a god of war. And there are hundreds of troops as reinforcements as well.

You and Albedo is agreed to retreat, but it need a chance or some unexpected incident first.

[ If you heard me, Flowey. ]

[ Yes, I heard you. Your grace. ]

[ Find a way to delay Morax. We can't fight him! We should retreat ASAP. ]

[ Yes, as your wish! ]

Now, the first creature that you created with your own hands is showing its effectiveness for everyone on the battlefield. You believe in the living flower that you created will save your group from this dangerous situation.

“ You think that your friend little flower can save you? How pathetic! ”

You heard Morax speak contemptuously, but you didn't bother to pay attention to him. You are confident that Flowey is not powerless despite not being skilled enough to win fight. However, Flowey is capable of creating opportunities for you and other members to escape more smoothly.

As Morax was about to attack you, numerous vines suddenly emerged from the ground and intervened, obstructing both Morax and his soldiers, causing them to pause and attempt to destroy the vines.

"Now, this time!!"

You shouted, as Albedo, Diluc, Rosaria, Childe and the other adepts quickly protected the weaker ones and hurriedly led them to escape. You and the men stayed behind to cover their retreat.

Flowey continued to create vines relentlessly, some of which attacked the soldiers to obstruct them, while others wrapped around them to immobilize them. The Pyro Vision user began to launch attacks, as fire was a weakness for a plant like Flowey, and Flowey was well aware of this.

However, Flowey refused to back down, even if it meant being burnt down to ashes. It would do everything in its power to protect its master until the last time of it life.

“ Thanks for creating me, thanks for welcome me to this world. Your grace. ”

“ TIME TO TAKE OFF! ”

While you were retreating, suddenly you felt the scorching heat in the air. You turned around to see flames rising violently like hellfire. The attack with familiar wind strings was reacting with the fire, making you scream out loud with a heart that was almost shattered.

"FLOWEY!!!!"

Albedo also turned around to look back. He was no different from you in being caught off guard. But he saw that this was a good opportunity to retreat. He reluctantly pushed your plan to move forward.

"Don't let its sacrifice be in vain."

He knew that parting was painful. He himself had a bond with that flower, not much different from you, as someone who had taken care of it during the time when it had not yet to survive in this world. Albedo also saw this flower as a child of sorts.

If it can. He wanna help it too. He know that, Flowey was your first creation and you really love it.

But if he jump in to help it. Maybe, the two Archons will kill him immediately, and all your efforts may ruined because of him.

Childe could only mourn its sacrifice in his mind silently.

The important thing now is. He had to inform Fatui about this matter as soon as possible.

🪬

The battle has been going on for a long time, with the Fatui stationed nearby and in Liyue, coming to support your side to ensure your safe escape. And it coincides with the fast arrival of the Fatui's messenger carrying important order from Tsaritsa to Childe, the 11th Harbinger is fully aware of the situation and the current important mission to convince you about going to Snezhnaya.

“ Your grace, can we talk for a moment please? ”

………

“ Is Snezhnaya really welcoming me? ” You asked Childe, furrowing your brows in suspicion. It would be good if that were the case, but you know that the Fatui, known for their cunning and deceitful nature most in Teyvat.

“ How can I be sure that the Archon of your nation isn't just luring me into a trap? ”

You asked earnestly, looking into Childe's eyes for reassurance. The tension was palpable, and he could tell that even the divine creator might not believe in him.

Childe thought for a moment, and a genuine pang of pain struck his chest.

“ If you don't believe my words, I'm willing to swear on my own life. ”

Childe said with a strained voice. He didn't know what else he could do to make you believe. Clearly, his plan to kidnap you had backfired. He surely that if he do, you will hate Fatui and Snezhnaya immediately.

Childe tried his best to persuade you with his words, hoping to sway you in any way possible.

[ FATUI ] is a name that everyone in Teyvat was agrees is an enemy. Few people trust the Fatui, and it's rare for the Fatui will not deceive anyone. It's clear that all of your followers doesn't likes the Fatui, especially the 11th Harbinger. Your decision will have consequences, whether they are good or bad depends on you. And as you're discussing this, you realize that someone has been eavesdropping.

‘ I must make the right decision on this... Whether everyone's lives will be saved or lost depends on my decided... ’

You exhale softly, acknowledging that this decision is incredibly difficult.

“ You know that all my members don't like Fatui, right? ” You ask Childe for sure, want him to aware what he was doing and saying now. Childe nodded, he knew that no one like Fatui and he don't care.

“ And everyone in here is my followers, I want to tell you something, I'm not the kind of person who rules people with a dictatorship. But I will rule the people more democratically. by choosing to listen to the opinions of the majority ”

Childe know immediately what you meant in your words. His expression was obviously gloomy. Because he already knows the result of the answer.

You turn around and walk away, signaling for all of your followers to gather in front of you. You stand on a big rock, crossed arms, on your left side is Albedo and Diluc. And your right side is Childe who is still standing in silence.

“ Is anyone interested to go to Snezhnaya? If we travel to Snezhnaya, we will be protected by the Fatui, and the 11th harbinger will accompany us on this travel. What do you guys think about this? ”

People instantly whispered to each other. As you said, no one trusts Fatui.The expressions on everyone's faces were obviously worried.

“ I think. Maybe, the enemy of our enemy is my friend. Why don't we try to trust them first? ”

Albedo spoke up amidst the chaos and confusion of the members. As soon as he finished speaking, everyone fell silent.

The whispering returned again. You caught a fleeting sense that they were considering possibilities and safety, and it was an oddly reasonable survival strategy.

Childe's expression remained calm, but he could feel a glimmer of hope emerging from the negotiations. It seemed that some people were swayed by Albedo's words, judging from his gaze, some of them were thinking along with Albedo's speech.

However, there were some who did not agree with Albedo's words, and Diluc seemed to be that person. This could be because he had a worst history with the Fatui. And Rosaria, who was not an easily trusting person, just like Diluc himself.

But they don't speak, yet. They are waiting to hear your decision. For them you are their leader now. If it's not a better choice or they didn't see it fit, they will oppose to you, and they believe that you will listen their reasoning.

“ No one can go anywhere... The journey of all of you has come to an end now, especially the one who most dangerous for an eternity like you... Y/N. ”

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

<< Part 5 : Part 7 >>

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

When this story end? Idk, but I want to write a new one. What would you guys think about Horror!Reader or Creepypasta!Reader.

Sorry, but I like to hurt and Kill characters 😂😂

Maybe I will draft it and public to Tumblr to see y'all reactions. The one that got more notes, I will write ^^

Oh! If you want to be on my tag list, you can tell me on the comment! I will add your blog to my tag list next chapter!✨

Btw, I don't know why but I think Zhongli isn't the people who have no reason. I try to write but, nooooo I can't. I should find something more reasonable to my make sense.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #cult #reader being villainess later #reader is antagonist #reader will being killing spree later #reader will have no mercy later #sagau #sagau impostor au #purpleamethysts

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