#domestic tyrants

[winged-cries]

[samw3000]

Flourish

Curedof You and your torment Pulling my hair outMy Hero Induced in mePanic attacksAnxietyNo longer your plaything victimI’ve snatched the pedestal A figment placed under your feetNo shame to carryLiberatedRejuvenatedPrevailedI continue to thrive© 2024 Samantha Williams. All Rights Reserved. My poem is inspired by Alice, Darling (2022). I finally watched it with Dee, yesterday. What do Mark…

[softquietsteadylove]

you know the *really* spicy fic just written? Can we have some aftercare for that please (I just kinda want more detail on that part)

Gil wrung out the cloth, making sure it was soft to the touch, and a perfect lukewarm. Cooling to overheated skin but not so cold that it wouldn't be useful.

Thena was curled up on the couch.

The ego in him was a bit pleased to see her satisfied to the point of exhaustion. But this wasn't about him congratulating himself for being a good lover. This was about Thena.

He crouched next to her, starting at her delicate wrists. He dabbed the cloth against her skin, still faintly red from where he had kept her bound. They had never experimented quite like this before. But he had a good feeling that she enjoyed it too.

Gil ran the cloth over Thena's body lightly, wiping away the sheen of sweat she had developed. He would get some water and a snack into her next, but this came first. It reminded him of when she was in Sersi's poison ward and he had given her a sponge bath.

Thena didn't exactly like recalling that time, or that specific event. But he thought there was something kind of beautiful about it. He hadn't had any ulterior motive in it, he just wanted the woman he loved to be comfortable.

"Hm," Thena hummed as he turned her over to wash her back.

"It's okay, Princess," he whispered. She squirmed the lower down her back he got. She would probably develop some bruising there shortly. He would ice it and apologise on his knees if she wanted.

He then moved to her legs. He bit back a smile; she had never been at such a particular point of pleasure before. He ran the cloth up her legs. They were faintly sticky, she wouldn't like that. He made it up to her thighs before he paused. "Honey."

Thena cleared her throat at him, keeping her thighs together and slightly crossed so as to hide herself. She was roused from her sleep and glaring at him with all the strength she could muster (it wasn't much).

He chuckled. His wife was willing to go to such lengths with him, but as soon as the cold, hard light of day hit, she was somewhat shy. He ran his fingers up the back of her calf until he could slip his palm into the back of her knee. "Come on, Sweetness."

"I am capable of doing this myself," she grumbled as her legs - so devoid of strength that it took nothing for him to open them again - unfurled.

"I know," he mused easily. He moved his eyes away from his precious target and to hers. She squeezed her eyes shut as he wiped away the most significant evidence of their latest foray. He balled the cloth up in his hand and left a kiss below her naval. "But I like doing this for you."

Thena gave up scolding him, flopping back again as he moved back to the bathroom attached to his office. "I recall I have a rule about lying around naked in the office."

Yes, but she was so much better at it than he was. He came out again, having also given at least his upper body a quick and lazy wipe down. He retrieved his shirt, long, long forgotten in their excitement.

"No one is still in the office, are they?" she asked, sounding half asleep as he got her arms through the sleeves and let him button it around her willowy frame.

"Nope, I gave everyone the evening off. Everyone on our floor, at least," he smiled, undoing the first set of buttons he had done up. She huffed at him but he gave her a little peck. "I like seeing your cleavage, Ice."

"Insatiable man," she chided.

"Yeah," he moved his ring to the right hand again, finally scooping her up to settle her on his lap. His hand tilted her head so he could touch the tip of her nose with his. Himself from even just two years ago would laugh at him. "But I'm your insatiable man."

"Hm," she denied him the thrill of more playful arguing, settling against his chest again.

"I love you, Thena," he cooed, kissing along her cheeks and all over her face. The cloth had worked; her skin no longer felt sweaty.

"Love you too," she purred in reception of his affection. She said it far less than he did, but he was always fine with that. When she did say it, he knew she meant it.

She meant it when she kissed him goodbye in the mornings, or parting with him after a stolen lunch together. She meant it when she made it clear to his enemies than an enemy of the Tyrant King's was an enemy of the Ice Queen as well. And he knew she meant it when she let him take care of her after a crazy hot fuck session.

"I've got sushi and tteokbokki and pierogies all on the way," he continued to nuzzle her. He liked cuddling her, especially after being intimate. Sometimes Thena would hit her limit and squirm away from him, like a cat reluctant to accept cuddles.

"You spoil me," she sighed, still letting him cling to her. She truly was exhausted.

He ran his hand over her leg, soft and smooth, although he was pretty sure she would shave if not tonight then tomorrow. "You gonna be able to work in the morning?"

"Of course," she countered, and then immediately yawned and discredited herself. "It is almost as if I recommended some restraint."

Gil grinned, "I did use restraints."

She slapped his chest.

He captured the hand lazily sliding down again and moved it back to his heart. Feeling his heartbeat for herself settled her, like a lullaby. "I'm sure you can move a few morning meetings if you have to."

She puffed through her nose. "You just want me to show up for my investors meeting still glowing from all this."

So they could see his wife in all her beautiful glory and know that she was very well taken care of as a married woman?...no, of course not.

"If you're glowing then it must be because you're the light of my life," he schmoozed. Thena laughed, always amused by his silly and downright corny compliments. He always had plenty more.

She didn't even flinch at the knock on the door. "Go."

"Yes, ma'am," he kissed her cheek again, slipping away to retrieve the food delivery. He cracked the door open and leaned over to drag it inside. Not a soul was there, but he knew how Thena felt about anyone - even a security camera - seeing her at her most vulnerable.

Thena managed to sit herself up, but even the way she was leaning back spoke to her level of physical exhaustion. Gil frowned; maybe they did overdo it. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, unpacking the food on the coffee table between this and the other couch.

He blinked as Thena slumped forward, laying herself over his back and looping her arms around his neck. He turned his head but she nuzzled the back of his neck. She muttered something in Russian, which she knew he wasn't good at! "Hm?"

Thena turned her face so she could speak more clearly. "I said you are a good husband."

Nothing could make him happier than hearing that. He patted her arms locked around him and bent his head to kiss her fingers. "Glad to hear it, baby."

"Hm," she concluded, slipping backwards again. "Now, will you stop delaying?"

"Yes, Ice Queen," he chuckled, turning and holding up a rice cake with his hand under it. "Open up."

"You don't have to feed me."

"Aw, c'mon, it's like old times!"

"You feeding me while I was poisoned should not be 'old times'," she huffed, at least leaning forward to accept the bite. Her eyes lit and he could see the hunger she wasn't fully aware of make itself more known to her.

"Well, you can think of this time instead," he suggested, which she ignored, as he would have expected her to. He offered a piece of sushi next.

"Are you not going to have some?" She eyed him from his position on the floor, moving food from the table to her mouth.

He grinned. With them both of the same mind, she moved from the couch and he pushed the table out more. She settled on his lap again, letting him reach around her. She took another piece of salmon roll for herself and then offered him a bite over her shoulder.

"You ever think," he began, before she put her fingers on his lips to make him chew and swallow before speaking again. He gulped. "You ever think about how ourselves from two years ago probably wouldn't believe it if they could see us now?"

Thena smiled at least at the amusing idea. "I believe if you had attempted to describe this scene to my past self I would have littered you with knives until you had more holes in you than a fine sourdough."

Ah, so romantic, his Ice Queen. He merely kissed her cheek, waiting for his next bite, "same here, probably."

[woundgallery]

Louise Bourgeois, from Album, 1994

"This 1994 autobiographical work, titled “Album,” is comprised of old family photographs along with texts by the artist. It is based on a slideshow-format film Bourgeois created in 1983 titled “Partial Recall.” This film was presented in the lobby of The Museum of Modern Art, New York in conjunction with the artist’s 1982–1983 retrospective there. Many of the images in that film appear in “Album,” and much of the book's text comes from the film's voice-over narration by the artist.

“Album” documents aspects of Bourgeois’s early life. The artist, born in 1911, had two siblings: an older sister called Henriette, and a younger brother, Pierre. Until she was six years old, the family lived in Choisy-le-Roi, France in a large home that accommodated the family’s tapestry restoration business, near the River Seine. When World War I broke out, her father enlisted. His wife visited him at various encampments with the young Louise in tow. After the war, the family moved to Antony on the banks of the Bièvre River. They chose their homes with proximity to rivers since the water was important to the process of tapestry restoration. In the early twenties, an English tutor named Sadie Gordon Richmond was hired for the children, but also became the father’s mistress. She stayed in the house for ten years, causing Bourgeois great distress and memories that lasted a lifetime."

-- MoMA

[valentinsylve]

Fuck/Marry/Kill Babylon 5 characters -- go!

[shardofhope-fanfic]

In not sure im raising a rat anymore. This little shit will lay in the food bowl every morning to try and cut off his brother. Despite his small size, (his brother, the freak of nature that he is, is twice the size of a normal rat his age. Jazz is a runt) he is absurdly brave, and will run out the cage if given the chance.

Im convinced hes some sort of enchanted dragon, while his bigger brother is aware of his true nature

[chocobothis]

Handsome but Head Empty.

Absolutely no brain cells.

[thetentaclecommander]

Domesticity

Domesticity Rated E; domestic fluff, sum smut, sum murder, surrealist sections, adult/heavy themes with a soft and cuddly paint Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Nemesis/Jill Valentine Chapters: 6/? CW: Nemmy is really trying to be a good dad and partner (whether he succeeds is another thing entirely), psychological trauma, implied/referenced torture, smut, the CTNW tag is there, tonal shifts on a dime, surrealism (full tag list on AO3) Summary: Arc 3.5 of the Devils Saga. Takes place before On a Devil's Wings where they settle into their homestead.

This is for everyone that wanted a 'fluffy' domestic scenario between these three from me. Well, you get a bunch of them (and a bit of not). I sorta ...did it?

How typical of me *snort*.

A 'fluff dump' fic where all those pesky things like flirting, normal affections (well as normal as a broken soldier and a lab-made Frankenstein'd war machine with a mile-long mean streak can be >.>), kids being kids, roughhousing, uh not keeping it in the bedroom stuff, communing with nature, murdering trespassers with extreme prejudice, and roasting marshmallows under the stars get to happen in these whatever drabbles. You guys asked for this rot, so you shall receive (I secretly like happy things ʘ‿ʘ). ________________________________________________ Excerpt from Domesticity: A Family Unit-

The kitchen's screen door was open; the room was warm and filled with the activities of chopping, peeling, mixing, and creating from scratch today’s dinner. The small child near Jill decided to stay in, and moved about with excitement in grabbing the various spices, washed vegetables freshly picked from the greenhouse, and even being trusted to chop up some of them with her smaller and way less experienced hands. When Sia missed a few portions of a large carrot or when her small fingers looked to be too dangerously near the blade, Jill would tilt her wooden spoon against the metal loop of the pot lid. With her larger more experienced and callused hands, she gently adjusted the child’s into a safer position. Cooking was both a skill and an art, but it was also just a soothing hobby that was also beneficial for their bellies. Her girly girl would have to learn someday how to feed herself. She doubted her father was up to the task either. Jill didn’t expect Nemesis to learn cooking though – he seemed sated in just eating what he caught right at that moment. She had put a curb to that though – Jill insisted that since they all were to be a family here, they should act like it. This included sitting down to eat together. The male had at first gave her quizzical looks, unsure what a group meal was for. Jill wondered if the Tyrant ever had sat down to eat with others before. He seemed to like going off alone a lot even if it wasn’t guarding the territory. When she insisted and he sat with them, he had dragged a back haunch of a doe with him and had simply started tearing into it, flinging blood and other sundry fluids everywhere. Her annoyed glare caused a hairless brow to rise in answer as if asking her, ‘What?’ This led to the ‘plated and cut up meat only’, and ‘eat slowly when in the house’ rules. This had Nemesis huff in slight annoyance, but those rules held.

…………….

A water bucket, some damp cloths, and a mop were on standby as Jill and Sia had started to clean up after dinner. The two passed dishes from the table to the sink and coordinated in cleaning each dish, pot, utensil, and cup then placing each away to dry. The table, chairs, and general eating area would be next. Nemesis was also pulling his weight – as heavy as it was – and was cautiously wiping down the walls up along the ceiling where the other two could not reach. A tentacle wet a cloth and reached up high, wiping off the blood splatter delicately off the wallpapered walls. He had decided to be a bit of a brat and continue eating with little care and was now saddled with the tedious task of cleaning his own mess. He tried to grumble out of it but Jill literally warned him not to be messy and this was what he got for his hardheadedness.

It was for the best as he was rather clumsy with the dishes anyway. (Continue reading Domesticity on A03)

[lonelypond]

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance. 

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 6

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The news of the rebellion made headlines, dividing public opinion. Some supported it, despising the tyrant king, while the majority dismissed it as futile, knowing the king's power was insurmountable.

However, the rebellion news quickly died when a new announcement captivated everyone's attention: the princess of Veridian was getting married to her personal guard.

It was a fairytale come to life. The official story painted a romantic picture of childhood friends whose bond blossomed into love as they grew older.

This narrative enchanted the nation and international media, drawing interest from all corners. People saw Bucky as incredibly fortunate—a commoner rising to become a royal consort, a prince. Suddenly, both of you were thrust into the spotlight.

You were accustomed to attention, but this was more intense than ever before. Now recognized by everyone in the country, Bucky found the newfound scrutiny overwhelming.

Since the wedding announcement, you and Bucky had been constantly busy with interviews and photoshoots. The flashing cameras and endless questions left Bucky feeling numb inside, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his captured comrades.

Flashback Start

You had asked the king to show mercy to the rebels. Bucky vividly remembered the scene. Leonard was in the glasshouse, a place of enchanting beauty that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. It was a gift for his wife, your mother. The tyrant king had made it as beautiful as a painting.

One of the birds, an eagle, landed gracefully on Leonard’s shoulder—a symbol of wild freedom now tamed into domesticity, much like Bucky’s transformation from an idealistic rebel to a figure constrained by duty.

Leonard, his face a mask of composed authority, offered the bird a snack. “Sure,” he said, his tone icy and detached. “No more bloodshed since your wedding is coming soon.”

The way he said it lacked genuine comfort, but at least he had promised. "Thank you, father," you said, bowing before leaving with Bucky.

Flashback End

His mind replayed Leonard’s smirk as he promised no bloodshed. He clenched his fists, the weight of his comrades' fates heavy on his heart.

“Bucky!”

He snapped out of his daydream, looking around in confusion. “Huh?” He saw you, the royal tailor, and the tailor's assistant staring at him. Bucky had been too immersed in the harsh reality that the tyrant king knew his plot. He still hadn't had the chance to visit his comrades who had been caught.

“Are you tired?” you asked, coming closer and touching his forehead. Perhaps he was tired; since the royal wedding announcement, both of you had non-stop schedules, constantly talking to the media.

Today, Bucky was meeting the royal tailor for the first time to be measured for the wedding.

“Your Highness, we are honored to be part of this occasion,” Sergio, the senior tailor who the royal family always chose to make their clothing, said as he bowed his head. Since King Leonard's reign began, Sergio had only designed for the king and you. Now, there was a new person, and it was for a special occasion.

You nodded. “I’ll leave you three alone.” You took another glance at Bucky, noting his dazed expression.

After the door closed, the tailor started measuring Bucky’s body. “You have a wide shoulder, sir,” Sergio commented, running his measuring tape across Bucky's back.

Bucky didn't know how to respond to the compliment, feeling awkward and out of place.

“It’s fit for someone carrying a big burden,” Sergio added, his voice low.

Bucky flinched. Did the tailor know something?

Sergio continued measuring, his movements precise and professional. “I’ve been here since before the king was born. My only advice is to keep your head down.”

“Democracy is dead,” Bucky muttered, the weight of his words heavy with resignation.

“It died for me the moment we servants had to wipe the blood spatter from the castle walls,” Sergio whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bucky's throat tightened, his tongue feeling like lead. The tailor’s words struck a chord, a stark reminder of the brutal reality he was facing. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself as Sergio continued his work, the room filled with a tense silence.

The assistant worked quietly, taking notes and handing Sergio various tools. Bucky’s mind raced, thoughts of his captured comrades and the looming threat of Leonard’s wrath gnawing at him.

He forced himself to focus on the present, to endure the moment, knowing that every step he took brought him closer to his goal of freeing you and the country from the king's tyranny.

After Sergio finished measuring, he looked Bucky in the eye. “Remember what I said,” he whispered. “Keep your head down.”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “Thank you,” he managed to say, strained but sincere.

As the tailor and his assistant left, Bucky stood alone in the room, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the upcoming battles.

But it seemed like the battle had come sooner. From the window, Bucky saw you in the garden, walking together with Duke Cassian.

You were wandering around the garden, trying to clear your mind. This was what you wanted, but why didn't you feel butterflies in your stomach? Bucky's attitude made you nervous, filling you with doubts.

Was this what people meant by cold feet before a wedding?

"Having second thoughts?"

You jumped as Cassian's voice broke the silence.

"Why are you still here?" you asked, a bit startled.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't leave until my uncle says it's done."

Both of you fell into an uneasy silence until he finally broke it. "I knew from the beginning it wouldn't work. In your eyes, there's only one person."

You scoffed. "It's obvious."

"But I kept my hopes up. If you need me, I'll be wherever you need me," Cassian said softly.

You shook your head, unsure of how to react to his vulnerability. "What exactly made you agree to this, even though you knew from the start it wouldn't work?" you asked, searching his eyes for answers.

"My uncle," he admitted, going quiet before forcing a smile. "You know my situation."

Right. You knew his story. Even though he held a duke title, his uncle, who was the illegitimate son, was the richest in his country. Both of you shared the same fate. The puppet master of your life was your father, and for Cassian, it was his step-uncle.

"If it doesn't work out with you, my uncle will find another princess from another country," Cassian said, resignation in his voice.

You stopped walking, a sense of hopelessness washing over you. "Will we ever get out of this?"

"If my uncle dies," Cassian answered without hesitation. "Can't you see we already share the same suffering? There's a connection between us."

Before you could respond, Bucky appeared between you and Cassian, his presence imposing. "Cassian," Bucky said, his voice steady but cold. "It's time for you to leave."

Cassian nodded, sensing the tension. "Of course. I'll see you later," he said to you, then turned and walked away.

Once Cassian was gone, you turned to Bucky, concern etched on your face. "What did my father say to you?"

Bucky's jaw tightened. "Nothing I can't handle," he replied, trying to sound reassuring but failing to hide the strain in his voice.

You reached out, touching his arm. "You can tell me, Bucky. We're in this together."

He took a deep breath, looking into your eyes. "He just reminded me of my place, that's all."

Your doubts grew stronger with every word. "I don't want this to be a marriage of fear and obligation," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Bucky took your hand, squeezing it gently. "I love you, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you," he said, his voice filled with determination.

But the look in his eyes told you there was more he wasn't saying. The seeds of doubt had been planted, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As you walked back to the palace together, the weight of the situation pressed down on you. You wanted to believe in Bucky, in your love, but the shadow of your father's tyranny loomed large, casting a dark cloud over your future.

👑👑👑👑👑

On the wedding day, Bucky stood in front of the mirror, his eyes locked on Veridian's royal army uniform. The intricate embroidery, the gleaming medals, the carefully tailored fabric seemed to shimmer with an unspoken weight. His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat that matched the anxious tremors in his hands.

He was dressed in the very outfit that marked him as a symbol of honor and responsibility, but today, it felt like a shroud, heavy with expectation and fear.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. "This is the day we've been waiting for," he murmured to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words were meant to be reassuring but came out hollow, a weak echo of the tumult within him.

Every inch of the uniform felt like a reminder of the stakes at hand—the promise of a new life with you, intertwined with the shadows of deception and conflict that loomed large.

As he adjusted the gold-braided epaulets on his shoulders, something caught his eye. A single envelope lay on the table beside him, its presence an anomaly in the otherwise pristine room. Bucky picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly.

The envelope was plain, but the ominous red strokes that marked it were anything but ordinary. They looked like fresh blood, the stark color vivid against the cream of the envelope.

With a sense of foreboding, Bucky slid his finger under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The words written on it were clear, but it felt like a dagger to his heart. “TRAITOR.”

The word seemed to pulse with a menacing energy, the red strokes bleeding through the paper as if tainted with a sinister intent. The simple, accusatory message sent a shiver down his spine. His mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. Who had sent this? How did they know? And most importantly, what did it mean for the ceremony about to take place?

His breath hitched as he looked at his reflection, realizing that today was not just a union but a stage for something much darker.

The uniform that had once symbolized his hopes now felt like a prison. The looming threat of betrayal overshadowed the day that was meant to be filled with joy and celebration.

With a clenched jaw and a resolve hardened by the weight of the message, Bucky tucked the letter back into the envelope and straightened his posture.

He knew that whatever lay ahead, he needed to face it head-on. Today was the culmination of years of waiting and planning, but it was also the beginning of a new chapter fraught with danger and uncertainty.

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[mochinomnoms]

Riddle + Yuu’s telepathy for an hour+ Floyd next to him= Why is Riddle looking like he is about to have another Ob?

He now know Floyd is into him, more wild if Floyd has the same 18+ thoughts as Jade. Riddle’s hair is becoming white and his cheeks go as red as his hair because Floyd is also thinking of the most domestic scenarios with him.

He can’t catch a fucking break.

Worse if Yuu and Jade are there. Holy fuck Riddle will die.

When you begged Riddle to let you test your new power and transfer your telepathy over for just a class period, he was just trying to be a good friend.

And he was mildly curious how your mind reading powers worked. He was under the assumption that you had to choose a specific person and listen into their thoughts for it to work. Which made your predicament with Jade all the more humorous to him. If you were so bothered by it all, then why did you listen in?

My cute little Riddle~ Aaaah, you're so bright. So red. I love your red hair, your red cheeks when your mad. Should I call you Goldfishie again? To piss you off? So you can yell at me with those pretty gray eyes and voice? Aha, maybe I should~

I think I should beg for the Prefect's forgiveness after this. I am so, so sorry. I didn't realize how bad it was.

Riddle had no clue how you handled the influx of noise, color, and feeling bashing into your head all day. It was like having a horn ringing straight into his ear while a truck's headlights flashed right in his eyes.

Even worse than that? He could make out the singular, most irritating noise, louder than the rest.

My little goldfish, my little tyrant, my little Riddle~

The bane of his existence. The enforcer of Octavinelle. Currently, the third-tallest student at Night Raven College.

"Uh, Riddle?"

Riddle took a deep breath, closing his eyes and turning towards Silver with a polite smile.

"Yes, Silver?"

Silver opened his mouth, closed it again as he paused, and opened it again.

"Are you alright?"

Cute little goldfish~ So bright and red~

"Yes." Riddle ignored the heat pooling under his face. "Why do you ask?"

"You're incredibly red right now. I think even your hair looks pink compared to your face."

Riddle made a strangled sounding noise as he buried his head into his arms and hid against the desk.

"Riddle?" Silver sounded concerned, and Riddle could sense his hands hovering over him, like he wasn't sure if Riddle needed a pat on the back, or to be left alone.

"I'm fine, I just need a moment—"

"Little Goldfishie~"

Riddle bolted up, his head nearly smacking against Floyd's chin based on the way the teal-haired man felt backwards.

"Wow! Cool it Goldfishie!" Aw, he's so cute! "Just tryin' to say hi~"

The image of himself in Floyd's arms and lap, nuzzled up against each other as the other contentedly played with his hands flashed in his head.

My goldfishie! My little red tyrant! My Riddle! Mine, mine mineminemineminemine—

"NO I'M NOT!"

The room went silent, everyone looking over at the group of three. Noticing that Riddle and Floyd were interacting, everyone shrugged and resumed their conversations after a moment.

"Uh, what?" Floyd looked and sounded confused. Now that Riddle was paying attention to him though, he could make out a soft look in his eye.

Aw, are you red 'cause you're sick? Is my mean little mate sick?

Mate? Mate?! MATE! OH GODS NO!

Do I gotta take you to the nurse? I can do it! Anything for my future mate! Aha~ I love my mate, I'll take such good care of you.

Riddle was met with another image of Floyd and himself in another...sweet scenario. One where Floyd was watching him sleep in with one of the most tender looks Riddle had ever imagined on Floyd's face. As he slept, Floyd played with the coral colored ring on his left ring finger.

"Nothing! It's nothing! I'm fine!" Riddle scrambled out of his chair, face still warm and his stomach nauseous.

"I think I'm just feeling a bit feverish, I think I will step out for a bit—"

"You want someone to take ya to the nurse?" Floyd asked, while Silver nodded along. "I can take ya, come on Lil' Goldfishie—"

"I DON'T NEED AN ESCORT!" Riddle shut his mouth as soon as he opened it, some of the other students giving him a look for his volume.

Aw what, come on! Floyd frowned, though it breifly was hidden by one of Floyd's lazy smiles as he shrugged.

"Whatever you say~" Floyd cooed, his eyes following Riddle as he rushed out of the classroom. Riddle could feel his entire body heating up, like Floyd knew that he knew.

Once he was out of the classroom, he near bolted to the nearest bathroom. Locking the door behind him, Riddle turned to look at himself in the mirror.

He was indeed his characteristic shade of red. Instead of his usual angry expression, though, was one of fluster and breathlessness.

Riddle let out a small, high-pitched whimper as he turned for the faucet for some cold water, splashing it on his face. He looked up at the mirror again, cheeks still bright red, and let out a whine.

I will never make light of you again, Prefect, I promise.

[theoihalioistuff]

The ways Zeus is characterised in ancient sources is ~ fascinating ~ to me.

The overbearing patriarch of the Iliad who keeps his godly family in check with constant threats of abuse and domestic violence. The conciliatory diplomat of the Odyssey, acquiescent to the desires and honours of his fellow deities. The ideal king of the Theogony, commonly elected, virtuous alloter of good and evil. The frightened tyrant, the cruel tormentor of Prometheus Bound. The all-encompassing orphic entity, who swallowed down and brought forth and is the entirety of the cosmos. The enigmatic, ambivalent, and sometimes undignified figure who refuses to appear on stage. The embodiment of righteousness, of majesty, the ultimate good, the promoter and dispenser of justice, the adulterer, the rapist, the upholder of oaths who perjures himself in the name of "love".

Above all the mastermind, the constant plotter, whose plan and will [Διὸς βουλή] permeate greek literature from epic to philosophy, whether it be synonymous with fate or not.

This is why I generally dislike simplistic takes on him. Sure, almost any way you choose to characterise him will probably have a sourced basis, his multifaceted "identity" almost guarantees it. But the massive loss of complexity is so disappointing imo.

[bonefall]

Clear Sky Killed Bumble; Gray Wing's Desperate Defense

The "analysis" I've seen out there is beyond bananas. We are out there on state-of-the-art exploratory vessels, sailing the 7 seas into brand new lands, discovering new kinds of fruits to compare to the absolute lack of sanity people are displaying.

Clear Sky definitively killed Bumble. Gray Wing does not want to believe reality.

While some try to argue this death down to "negligent homicide," that Clear Sky essentially beat her unconscious and left her in an unsafe area where she got killed, that's so unlikely I'm confident in saying it's wrong. The evidence shows that Clear Sky tormented her to death with a ferocious, sadistic beating which caused her to bleed out, which is second degree murder, and used the smell of a fox and Gray Wing's blind adoration to lie his way out of consequences.

There's not a lot of ambiguity in the evidence that is presented. There is fox scent but no fox bites, and the preceding chapter provides a comparison between the wounds on Misty vs the wounds on Bumble. Clear Sky's story is so convoluted that not a single part of it makes any sense. Quite frankly it's only been topped recently by the "I can confirm this woman is evil because she snored her evil plans in their sleep" fib of ASC.

In either case, Gray Wing believes neither. He does not believe this is Clear Sky's kill in any way.

This moment is an excellent example of how Gray Wing continuously prevents anyone from taking any action against his dear brother's violence until it is too late. By convincing the moor cats to all calm down when they're rightfully furious, and treating the lives and perspectives of native cats as lesser, Gray Wing becomes complicit in some of the harm this tyrant manages to carry out.

To shield a person from the consequences of their own actions is enabling, regardless of if it's direct or indirect, wittingly or unwittingly.

We are going to go over the whole of the 26th chapter of DOTC Book 2: Thunder Rising, from Bumble's death scene to Gray Wing's downplay of it. A meticulous, step-by-step analysis.

Leading-up context

The Scene

The Immediate Response

Incredible suggestions that have been made that I had to read with my own eyes

Leading-up Context

Let's start from square one by introducing the cast, with the assumption you have not read DOTC or are just vaguely aware of it due to its reputation.

Bumble is a kittypet who regularly visits the woods without issue. She is a small supporting character in the first book, The Sun Trail, whose purpose is mostly to be a friend to Turtle Tail, who is the future wife of the main POV character, Gray Wing.

As the two girls become closer friends, Gray Wing becomes more controlling of Turtle Tail and more hostile towards Bumble. This culminates in Turtle Tail leaving "The Settlers" to live with her friend over the winter. All is idyllic until the humans adopt a third cat, known to the fandom as Tom the Wifebeater because of what happens next in Book 2; Thunder Rising.

Turtle Tail becomes pregnant, but notices that her roommates are keeping some kind of secret. She begs Bumble until she reveals that humans tend to take kittens away when they're old enough to be weaned. Turtle Tail leaves to return to the wild, and Tom the Wifebeater begins methodically torturing Bumble over the next month as punishment, leaving scratches, bruises, and "dried blood" all over her when the humans are not looking.

When Bumble tries to seek help from the moor cats, Gray Wing is frustrated that the battered woman has interrupted his walk with his new wife. It is stressed that Gray Wing hates her for taking his love interest away, and he believes she is too fat and clumsy to live in the wild. The leader of the moor cat settlers, Tall Shadow, has a hard time throwing Bumble out, until two outsiders, Wind and Gorse, who are trying to get accepted into this group themselves, take the initiative and drag Bumble back to her domestic abuser.

Gray Wing is biased against Bumble. This is a fact. He explicitly does not like her.

Shortly afterwards, the forest cat settlers, led by Gray Wing's brother Clear Sky, experience a fire and begin to expand their borders. They are already known as a violent group, their leader is a manipulative liar, and Gray Wing himself was once viciously mauled as Clear Sky sat by and watched.

Yes, Gray Wing is aware that Clear Sky sat there and watched, too. He called out to him and Clear Sky did nothing as Fox, a man who knew full well that this cat was his leader's brother, was shredding him.

Gray Wing doesn't want to believe his brother is a bad person. This is also a fact. He explicitly feels guilty when he has thoughts otherwise.

On-screen, through the POV of Gray Wing's nephew Thunder, we see a native woman named Misty slaughtered by Clear Sky for her land. Her children are taken, and her body lays unburied and rotting for two days before Wind Runner and Gorse Fur (sporting new names at the request of the moor cats) find her.

They describe the wounds they found on the corpse in detail and make an accusation,

Now, before this point, Wind Runner and Gorse Fur have been doing everything in their power to endear themselves to this group. Gray Wing himself trusted them, because they've taught him methods for living here, caught and shared food, and even saved the life of his other brother, Jagged Peak, when a burrow collapsed on him.

But now his xenophobia towards them is coming back-- because they're calling for action against his brother. He's only ever uneasy about them when they seem to have an ounce of influence over his group.

Turtle Tail's conclusion is completely sound, and if it hadn't been for someone else, would be correct. Clear Sky DID move to kill the children-- he was stopped by his underling, Petal. Turts was able to understand what Clear Sky was going to do without seeing it firsthand.

The crowd is shocked and furious, for logical reason. They ARE in danger. Clear Sky IS escalating his violence and expanding his territory. It's starting with the native population, and the moor cats are able to understand and predict what will happen next.

Except Gray Wing.

The Scene

While investigating ONE confirmed murder, as there is no reason to doubt Wind Runner and Gorse Fur except for conveniently xenophobic ones, and TWO suspected murders of children, the patrol hears the sudden shriek of a cat in pain.

Bumble is found bleeding to death on a previously unclaimed patch of land, at the very center of a circle of trampled grass. There is the reeking smell of fox, and under that, there is the scent of Clear Sky.

Her wounds are described in great detail,

Completely consistent with the way that the wounds were described on Misty. Nearly word-for-word.

The only evidence of fox is the smell. No one heard it bark, there is no note of it bounding off, there are no bites or wounds consistent with those of a canid. They were described exactly the same as Misty's.

Slits are cat claw wounds. Not fox bite wounds. She was not being bitten, she was cut all over her body, prominently down her belly and sides.

Unless this fox shapeshifted into a cat and then meticulously created wounds consistent with the ones left on Misty, Clear Sky did this.

Where did the fox go? Probably came to investigate, maybe licked at the bloody cuts expecting a meal, and then was scared off by Bumble suddenly waking up and screaming. It's possible, but unlikely that the patrol's clamor scared it off, considering they didn't see or hear any fox noises.

There are also signs of a struggle-- and Bumble was not able to fight in the condition she is currently in. It's most likely it was the struggle from when she was being tormented and trying to get away, unless there was a fight with a fox while Bumble was still unconscious and she was dragged to the middle of it, for some reason.

However, a fight with a fox is still unlikely, as the patrol was able to hear the whimpering of a cat in pain as they approached but not the furious sounds of a battle with a large predator. If there was this whole epic brawl with a fox that trampled the grass around Bumble, why was there only a single shriek?

Gray Wing, expert on the smell of Clear Sky's armpit, confirms it's his brother. His whole world spins when he realizes his Dear Brother is involved in this, feeling horror and disbelief.

(Also note that Gray Wing implies Clear Sky's involvement is the prophetic bad thing his adopted son mentioned in the previous chapter, not the shredded woman dying in front of him lol)

The rest of the group is able to acknowledge reality, coming to the obvious conclusion. Clear Sky is expanding his territory, including the very patch they're standing on. He has been violent in the past, even against other settlers. Misty was slaughtered in a way consistent with the victim dying in front of them, so he is killing cats who stand in his way. Gray Wing's immediate, literally DESPERATE response is first to jump to Clear Sky's defense.

Gray Wing asks Bumble directly if it was a fox, and she is too weak to answer... until she finds the strength, as a domestic abuse victim, to blame herself for the way a cat beat her bloody. She thinks it's her fault for hunting here, because she was hungry, not thinking straight, and stupid.

I have seen this described as Bumble "making a defense of Clear Sky." I will leave it up to you, the reader, to determine if this sounds like Bumble is trying to say he's not guilty of hurting her or if it's the sort of infamous self-blame that domestic violence victims lapse into after a furious thrashing.

When Clear Sky returns to the scene of the crime, he cuts her off while admitting he did assault Bumble, then glares at everyone to challenge a fight.

Gray Wing swoons over him like he always does.

I have heard it said, without examples, that this is normal because this happens all the time in Warrior Cats. That it's a normal thing to be standing next to a domestic abuse victim who is bleeding out and watch her murderer daring all of your friends to do something about it, and admire how brave he is. That, again, without any examples, this is just something that every character does when the Villain of the Week exists in front of them, so it's not even special that it was Gray Wing's first response.

If you believe that, I have a bridge in London to sell you.

Desperation is under all of Gray Wing's feelings which immediately follow. His voice "cracks" when he has to ask if his darling brother did this. He wants to scream when he takes his sweet time answering. He shrinks under Clear Sky's gaze, because he reads that he's "accusing him of betrayal."

But somehow, that FIRST response for him to fawn over his brother is not part of that, because in unquoted books of other arcs a hero has admired a villain?? Context doesn't exist because in some other book the same emotion was described maybe. Incredible.

No mention of how casually he brushes off this sight that makes his eyes show "guilt and horror," either. No talk of how he made a little ""joke"" about how no one greeted him nicely at a tortured woman's deathbed. Almost like he was caught red-handed and the wounds don't actually unsettle him as much as the crowd's reaction.

Even the glare-- Clear Sky is trying to get Gray Wing to do his bidding. He wants him to protect him, be his flying monkey, and control his furious people.

So at the next opportunity, Gray Wing jumps to his defense again. Second time in this exchange.

FIRST he was described as "desperate." Now he takes a deep breath and BRAVELY licks that boot.

Turtle Tail steps forward and posits the obvious truth. Clear Sky is going mad with power, doesn't care who he hurts, and is completely capable of doing something like this to Bumble. This was already done to Misty, and even earlier, Clear Sky stood by and watched as one of his minions savaged Gray Wing in a similar way.

The whoooole crowd can see this. It is Gray Wing, and Gray Wing alone, who prevents there from being any consequences for Clear Sky's actions.

He hypocritically believes that attacking Clear Sky for the murder of Bumble would make them all "no better than he is" when he had no qualms about coming to blows over the exile of Jagged Peak much earlier. "Attacking Clear Sky for Murder" is morally equivalent to "Actually Doing Murder."

This is only for Bumble though, a "foreign" woman he does not like. He did not believe this for Jagged Peak, and he will not believe it later when he watches Clear Sky strangle Rainswept Flower to death. They are worth physical consequences.

He even physically shields him.

"he stepped between Clear Sky and his own cats, not sure which of them he was trying to protect." It's Clear Sky. Bumble's life means nothing to Gray Wing, so he is trying to protect Clear Sky from the fury of the angry mob he has earned by killing her and Misty.

He CANNOT let there be any doubt. Not even from himself. His brother must be protected at all costs. To that end, he is trying to make some kind of opportunity for Clear Sky to escape accountability.

If you are "neutral" in the conflict between victims and their abuser, you have taken the side of the abuser. If you provide opportunities for a perpetrator to escape accountability, you are an enabler. If you allow a suspect to escape the scene of a crime, since every cat in these books seems to be a lawyer the minute anyone wants to react to violence, you could be charged with accessory fleeing and eluding-- a felony.

Before you try to say this is all in the noble pursuit of peace, let's not be dense.

DOTC is not committed to non-violence for any other tyrannical leader. Especially not One Eye, even believing that an underhanded ambush that breaks the terms of a duel Clear Sky set is the good and righteous thing to do. Killing him was the correct action, as it was with Slash in Riverstar's Home. Outside of DOTC this logic is casually applied to Brokenstar, Tigerstar, Scourge, Hawkfrost, Darktail, and Ashfur-- with only Leopardstar and Blackstar being "exempt" for following an evil ringleader.

Gray Wing himself has no moral dilemma about One Eye or Slash, either. Nonviolence is not his goal.

It is Clear Sky, and Clear Sky alone, who the narrative of DOTC will conclude "deserved" a million second chances. That torturing Bumble to death, slaughtering Misty for her land, and countless offscreen cases of attacking natives didn't push him past the "fundamentally evil" threshold into an irredeemable monster, as is the case with Slash and One Eye later in this arc.

The difference between Clear Sky and DOTC's other two tyrants, to me, is obvious. Clear Sky is the POV's brother and a member of the in-group of The Settlers. The lives of his victims, as mostly "foreigners" and entirely women, are worth very little to the notoriously xenophobic and misogynist writing team.

If the moor cats had shredded Clear Sky right here and now, dozens of lives would have been saved. The First Battle wouldn't have happened. Justice would have been served for Bumble, regardless of if the cause of death was 2nd degree murder or negligent homicide. He wouldn't have smacked and beaten any of his other victims.

Gray Wing prevents this, giving Clear Sky an opportunity to tell a lie.

(He even whines about the idea of Wind Runner challenging Clear Sky about boundaries, the whole thing that started this incident in the first place. This is the perfect time to start arguing about boundaries, actually, when he's in the middle of establishing new ones.)

In the past, I'd been too charitable to this exchange. This lie is obscene and anyone who believes it is ignorant. No frills, no bells, you either can't think critically or just didn't want to so Clear Sky can be innocent or Gray Wing can seem "reasonable."

Clear Sky's visibly eager to start his story, "glad of the chance" now that he's had time to concoct a story. He could have explained earlier but didn't, sizing the group up and glaring at his brother to crack a whip, asking if they believed he was capable of it, so he could gauge what he can get away with.

"New part of my territory" = Freshly annexed land he has violently conquered, confirming the patrol's fears of expansion.

"I wanted to give her a warning, just a little cuff" = No one leaves his territory gently. Confirmation he thrashed her, downplay of how severe.

"How was I to know she would faint?" = Bumble is visibly emaciated, and he's blaming her for not being able to stay conscious through the whole beating.

"I could see her paws twitching, and I knew she would come around" = He would not care, Misty's body was unburied for two days.

"So I left" = Leaving Count: 1

Pauses, wincing, because this is another act. Every time he's putting on a little show for other cats, he takes dramatic pauses and plays up his pain and regret. Seen earlier in this book.

"But heard a fox bark" = no barking was heard by the patrol, only a cat's shriek.

"And ran back" = Was apparently so close that he could hear barking the patrol didn't, but so far away that a fox had time to cut her to ribbons, AND this was so long ago the patrol wasn't close enough to hear the fight? Returning Count: 2

"But I was too late" = Wounds inconsistent with fox attack. Leaving Count: 2

"I was going to get help" = There is no medic in proto-SkyClan. When Jagged Peak broke his leg, they had to borrow Dappled Pelt. What help? Who?? Even as he says this, Frost's wound is going completely untreated. If Clear Sky was going to get help, why wasn't he telling Cloud Spots to do something when he got back?

"But then I heard you all arrive" = He left to get help but was still close enough to hear running? Just abandoning his noble quest to get that "help" he apparently has? Returning Count: 3

Not a single part of his story adds up. EVERY aspect of it has a problem, in that it's either deceptively worded to downplay his abuse, doesn't line up with who he is, or just doesn't make logistical sense.

It's not JUST a lie, it's a BAD one.

Even worse, Clear Sky is a known liar at this point. He does this when the truth would not benefit him, like earlier in this book when he fibbed to Thunder about why he abandoned him right in front of Gray Wing's face. The story doesn't make sense and there's not even any reason to give him benefit of the doubt, because he is known to be dishonest.

He's offended when Turtle Tail calls him on being full of baloney, and once again shoots a sharp look over to his flying monkey, expecting Gray Wing to dance on command and defend his honor like always.

But Gray Wing seems to be perfectly capable of being "wise" when it would directly benefit Clear Sky.

I have seen the question begged, "if he's such a bootlicker then why he no verbally bootlick a third time in a single exchange?" and I would tell that person to read the text because it says why. Right there. Here, I've underlined it. So you don't miss it again.

If Gray Wing licks that boot again, THIRD TIME, in front of an angry mob who wants to skin Clear Sky alive, they will lose patience and make the clearing look like Bruce's Eating Dome. So he shuts the fuck up and gives his ungrateful brother the chance to indignantly slip away, even though he desperately wants to cry out and tell him how shiny and lickable those boots are.

"What can I say?" Nothing. "I'll only make things worse" Correct. "If I don't let him leave now there will be a fight" im literally just quoting the text verbatim

He is NOT doing this because he does not believe him, NOR because he doesn't want to defend him. It's because this the best way to protect his brother from consequence.

And then Bumble uses her dying breath to apologize for ever hurting her friend, showing Bumble is still just blaming herself for everything, with Turtle Tail still repeating the same malicious excuses that were used to deny her asylum from domestic abuse.

"I wish you could have found happiness, even though I was unwilling to help you. It sucked to learn that our shared wifebeater started wifebeating you, but we didn't want you in our camp so really this was unavoidable."

I've voiced my ire before, gone on long rants about how angry this exchange makes me and even campaigned for more recognition of the misogyny in this subplot. The fact that the last words Bumble hears are just more excuses from a person who could have done something disgust me, and I think I'm right to feel that it's vile that this sits unexamined in a book for young readers. But it doesn't change what happened.

She senselessly died in intense pain and despair, for the crime of existing. All that's left to say is that I wish Bumble could have found a better friend.

But ultimately, Turtle Tail is another woman in the notoriously misogynistic arc of DOTC. She's just a supporting character for Gray Wing's conflict, and he's got some opinions about what, exactly, is making this so sad.

He doesn't give a fuck that this woman he hates has been murdered after slowly starving to death, for months, since he watched her be dragged back to a domestic abuser. She "stole" his romantic interest for a few months, after all.

It's stressed he "never especially liked Bumble" at her deathbed. It's not JUST "the death of a kittypet," a group of people he is bigoted against. It's about his piece of shit brother.

It's about how HIS REPUTATION HAS BEEN TARNISHED.

"It changes the way my cats think of Clear Sky," THAT HE IS NOW A KNOWN MURDERER, "and that changes everything" IT'S GOING TO BE A LOT HARDER TO DEFEND HIM NOW

This is completely consistent with Gray Wing's behavior into the rest of the chapter, and even the books beyond.

The Immediate Response

Gray Wing explains what happened to the other moor cats. He has to hide his actual belief that Clear Sky didn't actually do anything wrong so that the moor cats don't dismiss him for the biased, brother-obsessed little minion he is. He admits how he really feels about Bumble's death to Turtle Tail at the very end of the chapter-- so what he says here is a lie.

Not a delusion. A lie. He withheld the full truth of his bias when questioned. If he's honest about his conflict of interest, this group will trust his judgement less. He has a goal; to prevent his cats from retaliating.

Wind Runner is, again, the one who is rallying the other cats into action. She's seeing that Clear Sky is murdering innocent cats, possibly even her friend considering how much she knew about Misty, and that this will only escalate. Gray Wing doesn't like that.

So when Tall Shadow starts suggesting the things he agrees with, like how Bumble's life was less valuable anyway so this is no reason to start a fight with his Dear Sweet Brother, and they should all just sit on their butts until no one's angry anymore, he decides she "deserves" his support.

It's a political move.

"After all, she was only a kittypet... omg why are you so mad?? I didnt mean it like that, all im saying is that we should just calm down ugh dont be so sensitive" -Tall Shadow, channeling your racist aunt

If Gray Wing can get the other cats to waste their time on useless half-measures, like more patrols or perhaps writing a strongly-worded letter, he can make them feel like they're doing something when they're actually doing jack shit. Wittingly or unwittingly, this is a measure to stall the inevitable, making them miss their chance to strike while the iron is hot.

He's either an idiot or he's subconsciously acting from a place of loyalty to his brother. Bias resembles the former but is born of the latter, and either way the result is the same.

After this, there's a brief conversation where Tall Shadow makes it clear that there is absolutely no reason to be mistrusting Wind Runner. They both agree "when this is all over" she's a good cat to have around-- they just don't seem want to listen to her now, when she wants something done about the sadistic lunatic next door.

Gray Wing's talk of "working together" is laughable. His idea of "working together" includes the cat who just slaughtered two people for existing on his newly annexed land, who long ago stopped listening to reason. Tall Shadow herself starts preening and announces that her response to all this is that Clear Sky must absolutely be stopped by some cat.......................... so she'll think abt it.

tomorrow maybe. we'll put a pin in it. set a little reminder on her phone or something.

(the genius plan she comes up with in the end is a nonsequitor babble about how rocks don't exist to be sat on, so clear sky should just stop conquering all the land or something. he listens intently and then throws her into a tank of piranhas.)

But anyway, it's time to smooth things over with Turtle Tail, who had been struggling with that uncomfortable truth that the moor cats, and Gray Wing specifically, were also culpable in some way for the slow, painful death of Bumble.

He'll fix that with a big display of affection.

"Don't be mad at me it's nobody's fault :) She wouldn't have been able to cope so it's inevitable she wound up dead :) I'm sorry you're hurting bc i like you, not that i give a damn that your friend was shoved into a blender and shredded alive after starving for months :) Thanks to you I am now ready to lead this clan directly off the side of a cliff." -very endearing conversation i assure you

It works because Turtle Tail is not allowed to maintain her own opinions as a girl in DOTC. Obviously. Her husband licks her ears and tells her that he likes her and that's the end of any examination that they have any responsibility here. god forbid she re-examine her feelings towards the writers' favorite in light of how much of an ass he made of himself at her friend's deathbed.

Just in case it slipped your mind though, once again it is made clear that Gray Wing is reacting with leisure because he does not believe (or care) that Clear Sky killed Bumble. No, not even in the negligent homicide sense, that Clear Sky's actions allowed Bumble to die through beating her unconscious and leaving her alone in an unsafe location. He does not think this was something to blame Clear Sky for.

He believes that the fox did it-- he was lying earlier when he said he "didn't know what to believe." He does. He didn't reveal his bias when he was being questioned, because he wants to prevent the moor cats from fighting Clear Sky over Bumble's death.

Also note the sneaky little turn of language Gray Wing makes there. In denial of Turt's claim that "innocent cats are being slaughtered," Gray's counter is Bumble alone before the pivot. The patrol was originally about Misty's murder and her missing kittens as Clear Sky expanded his borders-- but Misty's apparently not an "innocent cat" who's been slaughtered. She's absent from that category, implied to be part of Clear Sky's hypothetical "good reason" for expansion that Gray Wing needs to get to the bottom of.

Bumble's murder is denied. Misty's is implied to just be collateral damage for the unknown plan. He's unbothered about the death of either one.

Gray Wing: "No one else can get to the bottom of this! theres only ME! I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN STOP CLEAR SKY"

Also Gray Wing: (leaps in front of an angry crowd to defend his brother. cries that he doesn't believe hes capable of such terrible violence. actively prevents anyone else from doing anything about him)

Anyone with a vague awareness of DOTC knows how this ends. Gray Wing is going to lead them astray with his bad judgement, so purposefully delusional about his brother that they will have to dig a mass grave at Fourtrees. Gray Wing thinks he's a *~special boy~* who is the only one who can truly get through to his brother, and maybe he is, but not before dozens of people have to suffer and die for it.

This is enabling. To enable is to directly or indirectly support another's harmful actions, such as addiction or abuse. He did it here, both during and after Bumble's death, giving Clear Sky the cover to escape consequences for his actions and halting any attempts to do anything concrete. Because of him, Clear Sky never pays for what he did to her.

In the book 3, Clear Sky denies all wrongdoing, and in Bumble's last mention in book 4, her torture is described in passive voice. A terrible "happening" which seemingly couldn't have been avoided. No one is held accountable. Not the moor cats for turning her away, not Clear Sky for her killing, and even Tom the Wifebeater is redeemed after being given a chance to live in a clan for not being "soft" like his female victim.

All so sweet, beloved little Gray Wing never has to confront that he let a killer get off scot-free because the uncomplicated childhood memory of his brother as a lovely good boy was wrong. That he was so consumed by spite that he smugly watched Bumble get dragged away from the only people who could have helped her. That he was complicit twice.

Incredible suggestions that I have had to read with my own eyes

fucking ✨Bonus Round✨

"If clear sky fought bumble, why bumble leave no scratches?" I'll let you sit there and think about why the DOMESTIC ABUSE VICTIM did not fight back against a large, violent man who was beating her. I'll give you a minute. I'll play some jeopardy music.

"he's quote 'horrified and guilty' at the wounds which means he didn't make them himself" Clear Sky has a repeated habit of "blacking out" when he butchers women (Rainswept Flower, Willow Tail). He's also a liar and an actor, even according to his own account he'd seen these same wounds before when he came back a second time. Most importantly, what fucking part of "horrified and guilty" implies he didn't make those himself, does a toddler not look "horrified and guilty" when it spills chocolate milk on a couch and its parent sees it? Does that mean the toddler didn't do it? If you wouldn't accept this logic for a toddler why the fuck will you accept it for a suspected murderer?

"Maybe Clear Sky fought the fox off?" He doesn't actually say that, it's just implied during his lie when he says he showed up too late, but it's hypothetically possible. Even if he did fight this fox off, he must have still mauled Bumble because she is covered in claw wounds, even if he doesn't remember it because he "blacked out." There's also still the problems of Bumble being in the middle of the trampled grass, the patrol not hearing the sound of battle, his framing that he just tapped her and she passed out, and him apparently running to get help he does not have. Occam's Razor still suggests the solution is that this fox was scared off when Bumble screamed, with Clear Sky just using the convenient smell to lie his way out of consequences

"How'd Clear Sky get fox scent on him?" Probably from showing up to the crime scene that absolutely reeks and prowling around like an axe murderer, which we saw him do. Bumble had no fox bites and no one heard a fight. did you know that if you stand in a sewer you smell like shit

"Gray Wing just doesn't want to think his dear sweet brother could ever do such a thing :("

"What if the Erins are just so incompetent that they created a crime scene completely inconsistent with the very true and real story that Clear Sky told, it just happens to look like a lie on accident, they unwittingly made him a liar earlier in this book because they forgot the events they previously wrote, and don't know anything about a type of predator that appears in nearly every entry of warrior cats and happens to be one of the most popular animals of all time" what if i tripped and fell and a shawarma with extra tahini sauce fell into my mouth, followed by an apple slice, and 3 litres of water. should i continue my fast or has Allah fed me.

All of this is why I am adamant on saying that Clear Sky killed Bumble by beating her to death. In order for this to have been the cause of a fox, you'd have to take a liar at face value and ignore every other detail. That's what Gray Wing does, described on the page as "desperate to believe in his brother's innocence."

Unfortunately, this will also not be the only time that Gray Wing's obsession with his brother and shockingly horrific judgement will put other cats in danger or get them killed. It's just the most deliberate example, and thus imo the most upsetting.

[alygator77]

❖ cursed by color — satoru’s new look ❖

❀ summary. satoru gojo faces a challenge no amount of cursed energy can prepare him for—his daughter’s makeover. with pigtails, polish, and plenty of giggles, satoru finds himself utterly powerless to resist her antics.

❀ contents. pure fluff. pre-established relationship. you're both sorcerers. domesticity. satoru being the best girl dad.

❀ wc. 2.7k

As you push the front door open, the first thing you hear is giggles. Not just any giggles—those giggles. The kind that signals trouble or, more likely, your husband being roped into something ridiculous by your daughter. Toeing off your shoes as you walk in, you turn the corner, curious to find out what mischief is happening now.

And there, you are met with Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in the world, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table—completely at the mercy of your daughter.

“Hold still, Daddy! You’re gonna mess it up!” she scolds with all the authority a four-year-old can muster.

“I’m trying,” Satoru whines, his head tipped back against the couch. “But I’m starting to think I’ll be stuck like this forever.”

Biting your lip, you suppress a laugh as you step further into the room.

“Oh, and what’s going on here?”

Satoru’s head swivels toward you, a grin instantly spreading across his face.

“Ah, my love, you’re just in time to witness history in the making. I’m being upgraded.”

Your eyebrow raises as you take in the sight of him—each finger covered in glittery pink nail polish.

“Upgraded, huh? Looks more like a full-on makeover.”

Proud of her work—your daughter beams up at you.

“Mommy, look! Daddy said the glitter makes him super strong!”

“Did he now?” you glance at Satoru with a smirk. “How much stronger are we talkin’ here?”

“Like, a million times stronger!” she declares with a big smile, capping the nail polish bottle like a professional. “All done!”

Satoru lifts his hands, admiring the sparkling polish with a mock serious expression.

“I’m practically invincible now.”

Ah, but—your daughter, isn’t done. Jumping up with excitement, her eyes gleam with a new idea.

“Daddy! Daddy! Now I’m gonna do your hair!”

Satoru freezes in panic, eyes darting between you and your daughter.

“Uh, my hair? I’m pretty sure it’s perfect as is, don’t you think?”

But before he can protest, your daughter has already dashed off to grab her hair accessories.

“y/n! Help! I’m being held hostage by a tiny tyrant,” he pleads, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes.

But you just grin, crossing your arms.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of stopping her. Besides, I’d love to see what she comes up with.”

“Traitor…” Satoru mutters under his breath as your daughter returns moments later with a plastic comb and a handful of colorful hair ties.

“Sit still, Daddy!” she demands, climbing onto his lap and tugging at his snowy white hair with enthusiasm.

Satoru winces but stays obediently still, his lips twitching between a grimace and a grin.

“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your masterpiece.” He flinches as she accidentally tugs a bit too hard. “Ouch. Careful, sweetheart. Daddy needs to keep some of his hair please.”

Too engrossed in her ‘hairstylist’ role to notice his plea, your daughter starts gathering little sections of his hair, combing it carefully, and securing them with bright pink and purple hair ties—the pigtails are uneven, sticking out at odd angles, but she works with such determination—her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“There!” she announces, standing back up to admire her work. “Now you look perfect, Daddy!”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of resignation and amusement.

“Perfect, huh?”

Stepping closer, you pretend to give his new look a serious evaluation—his hair is pulled into several lopsided pigtails, each one accented by colorful clips and ties.

“Hmm, I don’t know... It’s close, but I think something’s missing sweetheart.”

Satoru narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“What do you mean, ‘something’s missing’?”

Giving him a playful grin, you pretend to study his face before snapping your fingers.

“Ah, I’ve got it. Makeup. A look like this just isn’t complete without some makeup.”

Satoru’s eyes widen in horror as your daughter gasps excitedly.

“You’re right Mommy!”

“No, no, no—” Satoru starts to protest, but your daughter is already darting toward your room, her giggles echoing through the house as she searches for your makeup bag. He drops his head back against the couch, groaning. “y/n, why would you do this to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

You plop down next to him on the floor and tap his nose teasingly.

“You’ve handled curses. You can handle a four-year-old stylist. Stay strong.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy!” your daughter chimes in, running back as she triumphantly holds your makeup bag. “You’re gonna look soooo cute!”

Satoru lets out a resigned sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Alright. Do your worst, kiddo.”

As your daughter starts unpacking the makeup bag, he mutters under his breath to you.

“Just so you know, I expect full compensation for this. Something involving chocolate cake.”

Chuckling, you reach out for his hand and interlock your fingers—offering him a comforting squeeze.

“Oh, you’ll get cake. Maybe a crown too, after this.”

“Great,” he sighs dramatically, “I’ll take the cake in exchange for my dignity.”

Your daughter, too focused to even notice your banter, pulls out a tube of bright pink lipstick.

“Okay, Daddy, pucker up!”

Sighing dramatically again, he puckers his lips for your daughter, who eagerly leans in to apply the lipstick with far more enthusiasm than precision—half of the lipstick ends up on his upper lip, and the other half, somewhere closer to his chin.

“Beautiful!” your daughter announces proudly, standing back to admire her work.

Satoru tries to glance down at his lips, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Beautiful, huh? Uh… should I be concerned that I can’t feel where half of this is?”

You cover your mouth, trying not to burst out laughing.

“It’s very... abstract.”

Before Satoru can comment, your daughter is already moving on—she pulls out the blush, her face scrunched in concentration as she starts swirling it onto his cheeks. The rosy color quickly turns into something more akin to a deep flush.

“Um, I think you’re using too much—” Satoru tries to say, but your daughter shushes him with a stern hand wave.

“Shhhh, Daddy! I’m the artist, remember?”

She dabs even more blush on his nose for good measure, and you cover your mouth again— trying to stifle your laughter as Satoru glares at you through squinted eyes.

“y/n, this feels personal.”

“Oh, not at all,” you exhale—grinning, “but I’ll admit, it’s a great look.”

Your daughter continues, switching to mascara—she fumbles with the tube for a second, and Satoru tenses, his eyes growing wide as she holds it up like a delicate weapon.

“Now for your eyes, Daddy!”

He blinks, sitting up a little straighter, and your daughter, eager to get closer, stands up on Satoru’s lap—wobbling slightly for balance. But as she leans in, her footing slips, and she topples forward, the mascara wand making a beeline for his face.

“Whoa—wait!” Satoru blurts out, instinctively pulling back, catching her mid-fall just before the brush nearly pokes him in the eye. He holds her steady as the brush grazes his cheek instead.

“Jeez, kiddo,” he chuckles, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. “Let's not get too close with that thing. I still need my vision for exorcising curses.”

As he pats her head gently, your daughter giggles, scrambling back up—completely unfazed by her near-miss. She quickly regains her balance, waving the mascara wand again with renewed enthusiasm.

“Oops, sorry, Daddy! I’ll be more careful this time!” and without skipping a beat, she leans in for another attempt while Satoru sighs in playful resignation—a grin curling upon his lips.

“Okay, artist, but one smudge and I’m calling a redo. I have standards, y’know.”

You pull your knees into your chest—watching them with adoration.

“Hmm, I thought Infinity was supposed to block all external threats,” you grin, raising an eyebrow. “Guess it’s no match for a determined toddler, huh?”

Satoru laughs softly, watching your daughter carefully swipe the mascara across his lashes. As his gaze lingers on her, his smile softens—his voice lowering as the playful banter fades, leaving behind something more heartfelt.

“Mm, well… infinity can handle most things, but when it comes to her?” he glances up at you, a gaze full of warmth and affection as his voice dips lower—he offers you a small shrug. “And you? I’m powerless.”

Warmth floods your chest as you see the love in his eyes—it’s moments like this where he’s just Satoru—not the strongest sorcerer, but the man who adores you—the man who would do anything for his two girls.

“Well,” you murmur, a small smile curling up your lip, “powerless looks good on you.”

You hold his gaze—an unspoken intimacy in the air, and your daughter, blissfully unaware of the tender moment, finishes her masterpiece with a triumphant flourish.

“All done, Daddy! Now you look soooo pretty!”

Satoru blinks a few times, adjusting to the feel of the mascara on his lashes.

“Oh yeah? Am I ready for a night out?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, still holding onto that playful grin.

“Forget the night out—you’re ready for a photoshoot,” you quip, quickly snapping a picture of him before he can react.

The moment the camera clicks, Satoru’s eyes widen, and his grin falters.

“Wait—did you just...?” His tone turns from amused to mock-horrified as he realizes what you’ve done. “Oh no, no, no. Give me that phone, y/n.”

You hold the phone up just out of his reach, smirking.

“What, you don’t want the world to see the ‘prettiest’ sorcerer in all his glory?”

Satoru lunges toward you, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“You’re not keeping that!” he declares, and before you know it, he’s trying to snatch the phone from your hand.

You squeal, spinning away from him as you clutch the phone tightly to your chest.

“Oh, come on! This is gold!”

Satoru reaches out, his hands grabbing at your waist as he tries to get closer.

“Nope, delete it!” he insists, laughing as he playfully wrestles you for the phone.

You twist away again, giggling as you evade his attempts, dancing just out of his reach.

“Oh, but it’s too good to delete! You’ll thank me later when this becomes your new profile picture.”

“Like hell I will!” Satoru laughs, lunging again, this time managing to grab your wrist. He tugs you closer, using his free hand to reach for the phone. “Come on, y/n, hand it over. No one needs to see me with pigtails and mascara.”

You’re both laughing now, the playfulness escalating as you try to wiggle free from his grasp.

“But you look stunning! This could be your big modeling break!”

Just as Satoru tries to make another move for the phone, you hear an excited giggle from behind you—before either of you can react, your daughter’s voice rings out.

“Dog pile on Daddy!”

Satoru lets out an exaggerated groan as your daughter climbs onto his back, clinging to his shoulders with her little arms.

“Ahhh! No, not you too!” he cries dramatically, the grin never leaving his face.

Your daughter bounces excitedly on his back, giggling as she tightens her grip around his neck.

“Mommy! You too! Dog pile on Daddy!”

You can’t resist the pure chaos unfolding in front of you—the joy in her laughter pulling you in.

“You asked for it ‘toru,” with a grin, and a playful lunge, you tackle Satoru to the floor, landing on top of him with a light thud.

Satoru stumbles under the weight of both his girls, dramatically flopping onto the floor as if utterly defeated.

“Ahh! Nooo! I’m down! I’m down!” he cries, laughing so hard his eyes squeezed shut.

Your daughter squeals with joy, her laughter infectious as she bounces on his chest.

“We got him, Mommy! We got him!”

“Yeah, you did,” Satoru groans, still laughing as he reaches up to dramatically shield his face with one hand. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

The three of you are laughing uncontrollably now, tangled together on the floor in a mess of arms and legs. Satoru—still pinned beneath you and your daughter—finally rolls over onto his back, pulling you both into his chest as he catches his breath.

“Looks like you’re officially outnumbered, Satoru,” you tease, holding your phone up to show off the photo of him—his hair a colorful mess of pigtails and clips, his lips bright pink, and his cheeks dusted heavily with blush.

Satoru’s eyes widen in mock horror when he sees the picture.

“Betrayed by my own family... I should’ve seen this coming.”

Before you can respond, your daughter leans in to look at the picture, her eyes lighting up as she gasps.

“Daddy! You’re soooo pretty!” she declares with an enthusiastic smile.

Satoru’s faux horror softens immediately as he laughs, pulling her into a hug.

“Pretty, huh? Well, I guess if my favorite artist says so, then it must be true.”

“Guess you’re not just the strongest anymore—pretty’s your new title,” you grin, propping yourself up on your elbow as you rest your chin in your hand.

Satoru narrows his eyes playfully at you, but there’s a mischievous glint forming in his gaze—grinning, he leans back as if an idea has just struck him. His voice drops to a teasing murmur as he turns to your daughter.

“But you know...” he begins slyly, his grin growing wider, “since my little artist did such a great job on me, maybe it’s Mommy’s turn next.”

You shoot him a look, instantly suspicious.

“Oh, don’t you dare.”

Satoru’s smirk deepens, clearly reveling in your mock hesitation. He pulls your daughter closer, his hand gently running through her hair, adding a touch of tenderness to his playful plotting.

“It’s only fair, right, princess?” he asks conspiratorially, glancing down at her with that warm, affectionate look that always gets her excited. “I say it’s time for Mommy to get the full makeover treatment.”

She gasps, clapping her hands together in delight.

“Yes! Mommy’s turn! I can make you look soooo pretty, Mommy!”

You sit up, laughing nervously as she squeals—your hands up in a surrender.

“Wait, wait, maybe we should—”

But it’s too late—your daughter is running towards the nail polish, and Satoru leans back on his elbows as he watchers her go—looking far too pleased with himself.

“Looks like you’re not getting out of this one,” he says smugly. “You’re in good hands,” he continues, nodding toward your daughter as she eagerly collects nail polish and clips. “She’s a pro—you’ll look ‘soooo pretty,’ just like me.”

You groan in mock defeat but smile nonetheless.

“Oh great, the prettiest sorcerer title will soon belong to me.”

Satoru sits up, chuckling softly as he glances over at you. His eyes find yours and the world seems to slow—his expression softening in that way that always makes your heart flutter.

“You’ve always had that title,” he murmurs, with a tender smile. “No contest.”

A warmth creeps up your face as his gaze holds yours—you can feel the sincerity in the way he looks at you, like you’ve always been his everything.

Reaching over, he gently brushes his knee against yours in a simple but affectionate gesture.

“I love you, you know that?”

His voice carries the weight of those words, and you lean in—unable to stop yourself from pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I love you too.”

Satoru sighs lightly, the sound barely more than a breath as his arm wraps around you—drawing you closer against him. His hand moves in slow, soothing motions along your arm, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin.

Together, you sit in peaceful contentment—like nothing in the world could disrupt this moment—wrapped up in the easy warmth of each other’s presence as your daughter hums happily in the background, carefully arranging her colorful collection of nail polishes and hair clips.

Satoru’s voice, barely above a whisper, breaks the quiet but not the peace.

“As long as I have you two,” he murmurs, “there’s no curse I can’t handle.”

a/n. yeah... fuck ch 271. i needed some satoru comfort so here you guys go :')

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red Masterlist

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Overall Warnings: Forced Arranged Marriage, Domestic Violence, Runaway Bride, Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a No No), Miscarriage (Reader is Unaware Until Event), GORE.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Total Word Count: ~120.5k

Legend:

❗ = Explicit Sexual Material

🩸 = Blood

☠️ Chapter One

☠️ Chapter Two 🩸

☠️ Chapter Three

☠️ Chapter Four 🩸

☠️ Chapter Five

☠️ Chapter Six

☠️ Chapter Seven

☠️ Chapter Eight

☠️ Chapter Nine

☠️ Chapter Ten

☠️ Chapter Eleven

☠️ Chapter Twelve

☠️ Chapter Thirteen

☠️ Chapter Fourteen

☠️ Chapter Fifteen

☠️ Chapter Sixteen

☠️ Chapter Seventeen ❗

☠️ Chapter Eighteen ❗

☠️ Chapter Nineteen

☠️ Chapter Twenty

☠️ Chapter Twenty-One ❗

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Two ❗

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Three

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Four

���️ Chapter Twenty-Five

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Six 🩸 🩸 🩸

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Seven 🩸

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Eight

☠️ Chapter Twenty-Nine 🩸

☠️ Chapter Thirty

☠️ Chapter Thirty-One

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Two

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Three

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Four 🩸🩸 🩸

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Five

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Six ❗

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Seven

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Eight

☠️ Chapter Thirty-Nine

☠️ Chapter Forty ❗

Date Published: 11/13/23

Date Completed: 8/30/24

Last Edit: 8/30/24

"Red Haired" Shanks