#I am very much mentally hinged do not fear

[vtmgremlin]

Baldur's Gate has over taken my life

So here's a long ass rant about Astarion because I love him so much my heart bursts with love and joy for this man (Everything will be spoilers under the cut so if you have not completed the game make sure you DO NOT read this LOL)

So...I'm not someone who usually rants like this on my blog but it's my blog and well free will is everything so let's go : )

What I really want to talk about is about how much the trauma and his abuse must have warped his mind...over 200 years of it, I can barley comprehend the past 23 for myself but 200 years

Like no wonder he treats everyone a certain way, no wonder his first reaction is to "go hurt someone", perhaps it maybe was in his nature beforehand(?) but we don't know and I don't think he really recalls either! (other than the fact that he was a magistrate all those years ago, which to me, is still kinda funny to think about hehe, but thats most likely because he wasn't the person we meet in BG3)

And thats the thing, once you help him over come the black mass and you enter the cutscene with him and he shares his old grave to you- I almost assumed that maybe it would have been old family members besides him...but no, just himself. Who was Astarion before his embrace? I suppose it doesn't matter anymore since after that moment he resigns that life and proclaims his past self long dead but...the mind does wander at times.

It does make me sad, how it seems as though he must pick and I suppose it's just me being jaded with the idea that one must sacrifice happiness to do the right thing- when idk the idea of having your cake and eating it too it something he deserves after again- 200 YEARS- of horrid abuse

This is NOT to say that I approve of him becoming evil lord 9000, but rather a catapult into the last option you get to say to him at the end of it all with his final cutscene where he asks you "What do you want?"

There is an option where you can suggest that the both of you continue to search for ways to let him walk into the sun together again and if you choose that well he does seem delighted and exclaims if there is a chance he will seize it no matter what (and that it will lead to more adventures together hehe).

My idea was that what if...it was actually a road to having him regain his humanity, you know? Bring him back to life as our dear evanessence would say- and I don't mean that he must sacrifice something to have this and he must suffer more blah blah blah I MEAN SERIOUSLY!

It was a sorta "final adventure", the gangs all here and somehow it becomes more than just that for our beloved vampire man (because of course it does), but at the end of the day, after possibly IDK saving the world for a second time perhaps LMAO- he gets to finally be rewarded :,))

He fought and fought hard, began the road to self acceptance and love, to slowly heal himself with the help of your BG3 character..to finally be rewarded to breathe air again.

To eat again, to feel the blood rush to his cheeks again- his heart pumping again. More than just walking into the sunlight without harm, but to be able to gain from it. To be alive again...

I could rant more and most likely will later but, I love him so much LOL him standing up to Cazador, his abuser, the way he did, I was shaking because the idea of being able to do such a thing to my own is just unthinkable...he deserves much love :, ( and is worthy of so much patience and understanding.

I am going to draw alot of him and Vyhann, who is my Bard BG3 half-elf, together and just in general if y'all aren't happy with that I understand LOL and anyways if you've read this far my god I would apologize but you've done this to yourself skdjfnskdjnfjdf

[pisboy]

Ngl I am feeling complete and utter despair rn

I was on vacation a couple days before I got word the front door to my house was blown open by the wind

One of my cats came when called but Tib is still missing

Drove 2 hours home in a panic, been wandering and calling for him to no avail

My worst fear is finding him tomorrow out in an orchard in coyote viscera (childhood cat trauma).

I barely let them outside under supervision bc them getting loose and into danger of dogs and coyotes is always on my mind

I should have bolted that fucking door. I told myself to ask my sister to check it because of a hunch but i forgot

I can't even distract myself with Tumblr because I'm following 100000 cat blogs

I feel sick. I feel utterly nauseous because the only reality in my mind is my cat is gone forever because I didn't double check if I locked a door. Open for 2 days. Fuck.

He should be here by now if he could hear my voice. If he was nearby

And through my open window I hear coyote howls in the distance

I feel so numb and brain wired and exhausted from a day of walking around a city and then in the dark around my neighborhood. Voice hoarse from calling

My cat who returned was one I rescued from my back yard. She's smart outside and already knows it but Tib is quite skittish and I adopted him from a different town's rescue

So much of my happiness and mental well-being hinges on this cat. I feel so numb. So tired. If I have no luck searching tonight I only wish I could be knocked out asleep and able to rest instead of cycling thoughts and getting nothing out of laying here

I feel so much guilt. I haven't processed my blame to the people I asked to check on them every night (which is why the door was left open for multiple days instead of possibly just a few hours) and I feel like I don't deserve to relax for a second

I feel angry I feel impotent I feel guilty I feel very very nauseous

I am too numb to cry or scream or do anything

[ginnymoonbeam]

Was chatting with friends about The Eighth Sense and what we expect from the ending, which got me onto a broader ramble about genre and expectations. For me, a key defining feature of BL is that whether the ending is "good" or "bad" depends on whether a couple is happily together at the end of the story. (Going forward, I'm going to use up/down instead of good/bad or happy/sad to describe endings: in brief, an up ending fulfills hopes while a down ending realizes fears. I like these terms better because they don't imply value or a specific emotional state in the audience - they go purely to story structure.)

For a BL, an up ending requires that the characters be together at the end. Other queer stories don't, necessarily - a queer coming-of-age story might have a romance that changes the protagonist but ultimately ends, and the story may still have an up ending. A BL can also have a down ending (which makes it different from genre romance, where it has to have an up ending or it isn't a romance.) 180 Degrees Longitude Passes Through Us is a queer story that isn't a BL, because from pretty early in the story it was clear that an up or down ending was not going to hinge on whether In and Wang got together. (Whether the ending of 180 Degrees is up or down or neither is a question for another day.)

Back to The Eighth Sense. Here are some examples of primary genres The Eighth Sense isn't, although it takes elements from them and they could have been the primary genre with some shifts in narrative emphasis. It isn't a coming-of-age story centering Jihyun. If it were, we would know more by now about where he comes from, what has held him back thus far from expressing himself/living boldly/being the adult he's becoming. We would have had more intense ups and downs around those questions, and we would be set up with some key symbolic trials for him to pass at the climax of the story.

It isn't a trauma recovery story centering Jaewon - although that's a very strong secondary genre. If it were the primary genre, we would be leaning much more heavily on Jaewon's POV, or that of other characters witnessing him. As it is, Jihyun and Jaewon are given about equal POV time, and I can't recall a single other character whose perspective we enter at all. (That right there is a big clue that we're in a romance.)

The relationship between them affects Jaewon's mental health, and Jaewon's mental health affects the relationship, but you can tell which one is primary by which came first. We got signs of Jaewon's struggles very early, but we weren't grounded in them - they were hints and mysteries, not a starting point. We were grounded, from the first meeting, in the mutual attraction between Jaewon and Jihyun. We knew exactly what that was about, and we started assessing other pieces of the story in light of how they might impact the growth of the relationship, rather than assessing the budding relationship in light of how it might hurt or help either character.

All of which is to say: The Eighth Sense is structurally a BL, and I don't see any way to an up ending that doesn't include Jaewon and Jihyun at least beginning to come together (again.) And I do think we're set up for an up ending, because the story is at a down point now at the 3/4 mark. So I for one am going into tomorrow's episodes fully optimistic.

[funeralprocessor]

ꙮ

I always feel so disjointed from everyone else because of how shitty and turbulent my life has been. My early life was super abusive and just sort of broke me in a lot of ways to the point I never bothered to have ambitions. Or dreams. Or Identity. Because I was definitely going to kill myself *eventually* right? it felt inevitable for basically the entirety of my life I remember and I was in the environment that made me that way, around the people who did. until I was in my early twenties

Then I was basically homeless for a bit, at least surfing some very unstable and unsavory couches. When I eventually stabilized I still wasn't much of a person. I still was sort of consigned to suicide as an inevitability because nothing felt worth anything. I felt like there was no hope for me. The people who kicked me out were basically it as far as family went so beyond my very tenuous social network I had *nothing*and was in the middle of Appalachia. The bad part.My hometown had a landmark with a racial slur if that tells you anything

Anyway, all of that to say I wasn't exactly in a great place mentally,physically or geographically, and I'd done basically nothing with my entire life. Not just in terms of actual progress or potential I wasn't living up to or whatever but like no life experience. Very few friendships, no romance and some unresolved issues that made even contemplating it feel like drinking nuclear sewage, I'd never gone anywhere or done anything. I had no skills or talents beyond apparently being *very* good at running tabletop which isn’t a particularly viable thing to hinge your existence on.

I was terrified of expressing myself in basically any way because I didn't want to appear cringe or gay or whatever else would get me mocked. I  had learned long ago to survive by leaning into largeness and perceived intimidatingness but also making myself small and beneath notice. Someone you don’t notice but don’t want to mess with if you do. But it sort of dovetailed with my dysphoria and my trauma and my horrible nightmarish body image issues (thanks mom) and mutated into this debilitating anxiety and disgust and shame towards myself and especially my body.

I felt like this hollow shell of a person that didn't really experience the world so much as go through the motions so people assume they do, and I lived like that for a long, long time. I didn’t go to college until like 25-26, and only once I was out of that environment was I able to even begin to unravel the knotted mass of scar tissue and thorns that is my psyche. I was basically held together by stress and tension, so I had to fall apart to begin rebuilding. I didn’t really make any headway on the gender thing until I was fucking 30, not because it didn’t hurt but because everything did and it was so hard to distinguish one thread of agony from another.

I feel incredibly old and harrowed and also like I’ve barely lived. I relate to no one, belong nowhere. Among my younger friends I feel like a decrepit ghost, something haunts the discord servers and groupchats to mournfully observe the living but never to be like them. People my own age talk to me about their achievements and their attachments and I try my best to hide that I am naught but the palest shade compared to them, a void where a life would have gone in a kinder world. I want so desperately to live but I don’t think I’ve ever actually done it and at this point I fear it’s too late.

[just-kiss-me-you-fool-hehe]

thinking back on it now, I’ve always felt so guilty for being a person that lies, one bc it’s bad but more than that I hate feeling like I’m gonna get caught in a lie at any moment and I’ve had enough cringe moments in my life that I think I managed to forget, like how is it that if I think back now, I don’t remember a single cringe thing from school??? like I can’t think of a single story to tell anyone from high school, is that strange?

but anyways all I was trying to say is that I felt like I need to lie to keep up, bc my genuine authentic self who didn’t know what a bunch of stuff was would just feel anxious that I was less than and that I had to make up for it by trying to seem like the “cool” indian kid so I wouldn’t be like the “other” indian kids who weren’t cool

but like why did we have to be lumped together, why couldn’t I just be me

I spent so much of my life idolizing people bc other people liked them? I spent so much of my childhood, looking around and observing so I that I could do exactly what everyone else was doing

and that is a really hard muscle to turn off when you’ve done it for so long, like how do you come to terms with the damage that has done to your own personhood and how much of me was lost along the way bc of everything that happened

well I say everything, but also nothing really happened??

I think everyone uses this muscle but being forced to use it under duress for fear of social death, I truly feel like my brain forced me into a jail cell and said you will fit in

the crazy thing is I recently heard a few people (including otter man from hinge !!!) who said they were glad they went thru the stuff they did bc it made them who they are today and I genuinely never thought about it that way

like I am a very thoughtful and emotionally present and friend and person and I am sooooooo observant and I love to yap

and so I guess there’s no point in loooking for a person that no longer exists! I am me and that’s how I was meant to be, even if there are alternate universes, I think the things I had to deal with growing up were relatively all right, I had loving parents and a good childhood and a supportive community and a culture that brings me so much joy and an amount of wealth that enabled me to be living large now and an amount of intelligence to make it happen but also to engage with the world

all this to say I walk around the LES just looking at people longingly, and every time my brain is thinking damn I wish I was this cool person with cool style or damn I wish I was this other person who is at an art gallery viewing being like it would be fun to have their life but honestly when will I stop having this envy for other people that I don’t knows lives? In some way it’s hard being in New York bc it really is true what they say that this city has some hugeeeee personalities and it’s crazy bc you always think like that’s not a big deal bc having the most financially savvy or best artist doesn’t make a difference to you but actually even with that it’s like the BEST personalities come here

and one hand it’s so fun to be around it all but on the other hand it feels so overwhelming like you can always be striving and there will be a funner hotter funnier richer cooler version of you and you have to make peace with that

and you know what’s crazy, it’s insane to think I’m still not over it, that after a couple years of being in therapy and figuring out what the cause is I actually haven’t made that much progress on improving on it

it’s almost as if just going to therapy isn’t enough, you kinda have to have the mental hutspa to be present enough to decide that you 1. need to be present 2. that you’re gonna use your brain for good and then 3. think about improving your life but don’t just forget about it in a couple weeks

don’t let the whims of the wind affect what happens in your life, be a more active participant in deciding that you want to be different and they just stay awake, that is the hardest thing !!! not falling asleep at the wheel as soon as the going gets tough

it’s honestly insane how little thought and brain power you need to use to skate thru the world, I feel like I’ve been awake for maybe 10-15% of my life and the rest of it is truly on autopilot/brain off

if my goal is just to get eyeballs I could journey for that but I don’t want that to be my goal

I still sometimes feel on the outskirts of society, and like two white guys who have not noticed that I’m even here, and I really do think if I white girl was sitting here they might have looked, it just makes me feel a little invisible esp when I see Indian men with white women bc it feels like I’m not even in the running, no consideration for me

so being single actually feels really hard on my psyche bc it really puts me back in that place where my entire personhood is up for judgement, and the thing is who is watching me?? like why do I feel pressure to be a certain way, but it’s bc it feels like you might meet your person anywhere, at an event, on the subway and you should do your best foot forward but what if I just wanna be me and not have to win by getting the most eyeballs on me all the time

I wanna have creative pursuits and health goals that I actually work towards

ok and one last thought, the pithivier was bad like damn is it all cheese??? nah I didn’t pay 20$ for a pastry with cheese in it

It’s crazy and fucked up that being yourself is actually the solution.

[ilovehotnights]

so basically does anyone even fucking like me

time to whine time to shine time to rhyme. I love my brain because of the stuff that comes out of it, and I also hate it in equal measure for the very same reason. I always leave the hang or sign off the group chat and wonder if anyone even fucking likes me. My therapist says I'm codependent and I have toxic shame. But my life is honestly fab so idk where that even comes from, would like for it to crust up and fall off like a scab—revealing the true and awesome me that lies underneath. Is that my problem? That I believe that under the shit there lies a great, shiny person, a person who cannot be embraced until they can reach their true and beautiful potential? I'm so bored of the way I think. I just want it to go away and I can choose from a list of all quality traits that a person can have and live the rest of my life with those traits, rather than having to learn from that ones I have and evolve naturally. Can AI do that? My kids won't have toxic shame that I pass down to them because by the time I have my test-tube baby in 20 years I'll be able to choose for them to have no mental illness or hang ups and they will be smart and not have trouble focusing their energy into the things they care about, it will come so naturally to them. And there will be no toxic shame that talks them down for pursuing their passions on a daily basis. I know I am capable of change though for god sakes my whole life has changed in a year. Crazy is last year I didn't want a boyfriend and now I want one so fucking bad. That means I will have to wait another year to get one if the universe is doing what I think it's gonna do. Which again, it never does. Anyways, my ex has a girlfriend. Boooooo. Lame af. But hope they're happy and I mean it. I want to keep doing my thing though. As much as a boyfriend sounds nice, I'm not fully cooked yet. And tbh, when I have a BF I become so focused on what they think of me there is no room for me to pursue what I care about. What I care about is another topic that confounds me. When I think about what I want to be there is currently 2 camps. 1 is song writer. The other is writer. The other is singer songwriter.

Idk if this stuff is out of reach, I fear that it is and that's why I have never tried. I used to write poetry in HS and then I took a hiatus for 10 years to focus on being a codependent girlfriend and then slut for a few months. Being both of those things should have given me fuel artistically but my heads so far up my ass, and so deep in my instagram feed that I don't do anything creatively for pleasure now. I have been saying this for years. Part of me truly believes living with my parents and being alone for awhile will open me up artistically. I don't hope that I'm sad, but I hope that if I do get sad, instead of scrolling hinge while listening to tiktoks about how men are ruining the world, I could write a creative story or a poem or draw my cat doing something cute. Or plan a trip. And instead of listening to how all men suck I should go up to the guy I can't take my eyes off of at the grocery store instead of pretending I don't see him every time he looks up at me. I should probably also just have fun. and stop being so hard on my every move and others, because I think I want to have fun for awhile and. want to welcome that into my life more and want to welcome new kinds of people into my life.

Online dating is such a trap. It's a numbers game ad you have to participate to get dates. I am so tired. I just want to meet him inn real life. i would like a slow burn exciting fun amazing beautiful relationship with someone who is really inspiring to me.

But anyways, probs won't happen. I just DO NOT want to meet someone in Houston. I am not getting stuck there again. If I was to meet someone there he would have to be there impermanently and have plans to move somewhere badass after.

[magsmapsmtl]

Gilded Cage | November 14, 2014

[...] Some might like to think of it as having demons, and others would agree in saying that my right brain is just fighting with my left. What is to be made of both sides losing? 

(CW: Mental illness, self deletion)

Well. Here I am. Between a rock and a hard place. Between myself and the world. Between my head and my heart. Seemingly opposite agents and yet…

Here I am. On the fence between objectivity and subjectivity. Between justice and forgiveness. Between the past and the future.

It’s a funny thing when you come to the realization that, your whole life you've been trying to stay balanced, but never once fought. When you fell, you took a while to get back up because you believed you deserved it.

Fighting isn't something I do. I know what I believe in, but I hardly recall ever having to fight for it because I simply did not possess the time or patience. I didn't always know my worth, and at times I would allow myself to disappear to allow others to thrive. Now I'm getting a better feel of my worth as a person, but somehow, I still find myself not fighting for anyone. I used to expect people to get it the first time around or leave me alone. I didn't have time for second chances because I never wanted to be that person again, the doormat taken for granted. When it even came to my own life, I was neither hot nor cold. For the longest time I only feared dying as opposed to death itself: if I was sick, I prepared for the worst; if I had eaten something questionable, I assumed I lived a good life. And for the longest time, I had already contemplated how I’d take my own life, if it ever came to that; only the universe knows…

I've always made it a point in my more personal art to show my inner dualities. But not this time.

This is my lived reality.

Some might like to think of it as having demons, and others would agree in saying that my right brain is just fighting with my left.

What is to be made of both sides losing?

For the first time, I truly feel like I'm fighting for something, because I finally said to myself “I deserve this. I deserve a chance at things being okay.” So far I've lost all the battles, and the war may becoming to an end soon, one way or another. It’s made me see just how much balance I lack.

I am the sole entity responsible for my survival. I am the only one who can weigh me down while still hinged to my anxiety. My arms, weak from carrying the ball chained to my leg, represent my psyche dwindling in the midst of maintaining sanity. Should the ball over the edge, I have two choices: prop myself back up while letting myself suffer from misplaced anxious weight, or let my entire self go while my neck is still chained to what is supposed to keep me from falling into the void.

I never pick fights. But here I am fighting just to get my ass beat again. I'm used to not coming out victorious.

But I’d very much like to stay alive.

"You don't have to be afraid You don't even have to be brave Living in a gilded cage The only risk is that you'll go insane"

[sundrop-writes]

I feel like Fred was EVERYONE'S childhood crush lmao. I mean I did want his brother REAL BAD, but Freddie, I'm here, I'm home, I love youuuu

i love skimming through the content warnings and catching the little surprise tools for later -> I love how the content warnings aren't even warnings for you, they're little surprise treats

"Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it" so am I actually (congrats Fred Weasley for making it to the very select list of men I'd call daddy) -> I was slightly hesitant to put Daddy kink in this fic, but I just couldn't get it out of my head and it felt so fitting for his character (and it's been so long since I have written a fic with Daddy kink and I wanted to so badly) so I am SO GLAD that he is one of the select men that you would call Daddy!!! (perhaps in a later fic, Ron will also make that list...?)

(i actually forgot this had smut in it KSKSKSK i was so focused on the ANGST and self made suffering) -> that is hilarious but also so understandable omg. I do this sometimes when I am writing an angst/smut fic lmao

"It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl" this entire first big paragraph goes so hard -> omg thank you!!! it's about the unbearable passage of time and also how quickly trauma and a dark world mentally ages a person

"and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard" the prank rivals to lovers story we've been hoping for <3 | "So - on with your revenge, it was" I love these two so much -> her immediately being like "it's time for a taste of his own medicine" is THE REASON HE FELL IN LOVE. Fred Weasley wants someone who will match his Prank Freak. she pranked him back and he immediately was picking out their future kids' names in his head

"the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" this is such a funny prank idea -> FUN FACT - I got this idea from a Canadian kids TV show that used to come on YTV when I was younger called Prank Patrol. it was one of those shows where they set up elaborate pranks to goof people and filmed in in the reality tv style, but they also had a segment in the middle of the show where they showed you fun easy DIY pranks that you could do at home, and this was one of them (though I think that they recommended putting the singing greeter in someone's bedroom door hinge so that it sang whenever their bedroom door was open, and not in a book, but it functions the same way)

"You had a crippling fear of heights" which is a surprise tool :3 that'll help us out in a minute ("help" us out i guess) -> I will never understand people who only write Reader characters that they personally can relate to, because I absolutely do not have a fear of heights, and I find it so interesting to explore things like this through my writing. and it makes for good plot

"because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were" he'd also look Delicious playing -> edits of Quidditch Fred from POA - he was SO DELICIOUS !!!!

"planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist" this gives me the same giddy feeling of someone holding me by the waist to get by behind me -> Fred Weasley is a PDA man and nobody can convince me otherwise, and he would find any excuse to slip PDA into his everyday life (he is the man who puts his hands on your waist to gently move you out of the way to walk by you and his hands are so big and warm that it's BUTTERFLIES every single time)

"Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it" nothing could make me believe all the Weasleys weren't making bets on how long it'd take them -> I did not even think of this, but they FUCKING WERE. especially Charlie and Bill, who only met Y/N like twice, they immediately saw the chemistry between her and Fred and they were like "yeah, this is gonna be a thing" (George wasn't allowed in the betting pool because Fred tells him too much)

"I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” // "Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway" -> I always have so much fun writing angsty arguments omg

"Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you" the unbreakable curse of liking the "Funny Guy", he's Still funny even after a fight/breakup (it's almost humbling in a way) -> THIS IS SO TRUE. like imagine all the times that Fred came into the Apothecary and he was purposefully flirting with her and making dumb jokes, and she couldn't help but to laugh, and every single time she laughed, he held onto hope that they would get back together because he was like "that laugh is mine. she still loves me"

"In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud" oh 🥺 -> all those hours of being screamed at during Quidditch practice are gonna have his life !!!!!

"He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse" hey Sunny it's me knocking, let me in I just wanna talk 🔪 oh this ? don't worry about that | "Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!” 🔪 Sunny I'm coming in -> reading this literally made me BURST OUT LAUGHING omg. cause I know if you showed up at my doorstep with a knife it would actually be to cut me a slice of cake <3 you'd never actually hurt me baby I know it !!! (also you think I PLAY AROUND when I write angst??? HUH)

"You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream" YEAH !!! -> this is what happens when the Weasley twins get hurt !!!!

"He couldn’t possibly be talking about…? No. No, he wasn’t" im hitting both of you on the head with one of those rubber squicky hammers -> again HILARIOUS. and they both need it

"You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before" im screaming and crying and ripping the wallpaper off the walls -> I feel like I have never seen a fic explore Fred's sadness? like yes, he's a joker, but he's capable of sadness. like the man have complex emotions. let him have some negative emotions!!! I really enjoyed exploring a more serious side of him with this

"I can’t lose you. You almost slipped out of my hands.” 🎵 waaaaaar is oooveeeeer 🎵 (kinda, maybe, yes ?) -> this was one of my favourite parts to write !!!! the rare emotionally distraught Fred Weasley, you tear me apart in the best ways!!!

"If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours" I AM RIPPING MY OWN HEART OUT OUAT STYLE, MORE BLOODY MAYBE -> AGAIN I HAD WAY TOOOO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS HAHAHAHAHA

"You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you" YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH !!!!!! I looove a good intense kiss scene 🙂‍↕️ -> me too? kiss scenes are sooooo underrated!!!! I am thinking "Your First Kiss With X" with the Harry Potter characters like I did for Titans??? I feel like they need it??? the world needs it!!!

"his bedroom had some silencing wards around" 😈 we'll put it to good use 😈 - PERCY HAD NO CLUE WHAT HE WAS GOING HAHAHAHA

"Did you miss it, darling?” He asked... with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips" 😳😳😳😳😳 -> this such a last minute addition to the fic and I am so glad I did because Fred FUCKING WOULD

"Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried" are they identical in every way i wonde- *a gunshot sounds off* -> listen... this will be addressed in a different fic, but... they are. they are

"When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?” 🚨🚑🚨🚑🚨🚑🚨🚑 -> again this was so much fun to write mwahahaha

“Go on, good girl.” *holding the tmi jar very close to my chest* stop spilling all my secrets -> okay but.... this was also intensely self indulgent

"perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year" and you KNOW they have not gotten with ANYONE in that time (only the company of their own hand for a whole year) -> YES EXACTLY!!!

"Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” oh noooo what a nightmare (he's a fucking liar btw, the panties are under his matress) -> how did I not even CONSIDER THIS??? OMG!!! HE ABSOLUTELY HAS KEPT SOME OF HER PANTIES OMG

"Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration" *punching the wall* he's such a dork -> in the BEST FUCKING WAAAAY

"soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly" i am foaming at the mouth -> a muscled man who has super tight abs = sad, dehydrated. a muscled man who has a fat tummy = WHAT A MAN WHAT A MAN WHAT A MIGHTY GOOD MAAAAN YES HE IIIIISSSS

"his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did" INSAAAAAAAANEEEEE -> this was inspired by the fact that I literally JUST read the chapter in Philosopher's Stone where Harry gets his wand and I was like THE LORE. THE LORE lmao

"but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound" siblinghood is so real -> George is so fucking obnoxious and we love it so much

I am so glad that you liked the fic!!!!

The Way You Miss Me

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.

Use my body against me - and all of our history.

I hate the way you miss me. 

Summary:

Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.

And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.

So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.

Word Count: 18,500

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).

For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.

A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.

...

Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated. 

It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world. 

These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you. 

You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple. 

Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures. 

You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together. 

But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone. 

Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.) 

You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks. 

So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all. 

And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited. 

You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again. 

By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it. 

You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk. 

From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way. 

Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley. 

You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’. 

You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go. 

This left you with only one glaring problem. 

You had a crippling fear of heights. 

It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it. 

The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely. 

When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were. 

Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved. 

But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.  

Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again. 

When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear. 

You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was. 

But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds. 

You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension. 

“You alright?” Fred asked you simply. 

“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it. 

You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up. 

So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet. 

This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. 

Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy. 

And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.  

“Y/N,” 

He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling. 

“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,” 

Of course. Just as you had predicted. 

“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-” 

You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly: 

“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-” 

“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.” 

Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever. 

“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?” 

You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body. 

Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side. 

“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.” 

Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward. 

“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.” 

“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him. 

You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. 

And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.) 

Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed. 

This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said: 

“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.” 

This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore. 

Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you. 

But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up. 

He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes. 

The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you. 

It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together. 

So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping. 

You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face. 

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him. 

Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you. 

What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up? 

What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious? 

“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second. 

“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-” 

“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true. 

He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you. 

“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply. 

Your insides became heavy. 

You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned. 

It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it. 

It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it. 

So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread? 

“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next. 

You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face. 

“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly. 

“Why not?” You argued gently. 

You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George. 

He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him. 

Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind? 

“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed. 

He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way. 

“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words. 

You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say. 

“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?” 

Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him. 

“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-” 

“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again. 

‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’ 

“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.” 

He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left. 

But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him. 

“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears. 

You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry. 

You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye. 

For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate. 

So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started. 

“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.” 

With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug. 

You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now. 

You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley. 

You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again. 

It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis. 

The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys. 

You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart. 

But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak. 

It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. 

According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort. 

You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now. 

“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him. 

“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone. 

You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you. 

Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing. 

“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?” 

“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?” 

His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you. 

You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold. 

“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-” 

“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?” 

Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play. 

“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you. 

“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.” 

It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry. 

Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of. 

The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup. 

Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him. 

Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight. 

But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off. 

It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair. 

It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking: 

“Good?” 

To which you replied: 

“m fine.” 

The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off. 

When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes. 

Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life. 

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-” 

“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-” 

“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead. 

Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one. 

They were targeting Fred. 

That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred. 

“Y/N-?” 

“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!” 

You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what. 

You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud. 

You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect. 

You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did. 

You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life. 

Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death. 

He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes. 

It was only you. 

He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.  

He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse. 

He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight. 

You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you. 

As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you. 

“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!” 

“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.” 

Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet. 

His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer. 

He had to pull you up. 

“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-” 

He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely. 

Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you. 

Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care. 

The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground. 

Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state. 

Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs. 

You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” 

Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred. 

But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air. 

You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear. 

“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.” 

Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him. 

“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise. 

He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt. 

You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat. 

Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head. 

“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly. 

Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch. 

It was a horror show. 

The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch. 

“Georgie?” 

There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart. 

But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified. 

“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly. 

At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief. 

“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked. 

“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line. 

You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed. 

“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively. 

Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death. 

Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply. 

“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?” 

Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh. 

“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.” 

You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane. 

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly. 

“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist. 

When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here. 

“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.” 

It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves. 

“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off. 

“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.” 

… 

You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process). 

Mad-Eye had been killed. 

You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed. 

You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer. 

When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet. 

Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside. 

Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors. 

“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs. 

He couldn’t possibly be talking about…? 

No. 

No, he wasn’t. 

You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion. 

You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there. 

But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him. 

The sight you saw made your heart ache. 

Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off. 

His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night. 

“Freddie?” 

You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long. 

“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness. 

It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before. 

You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed). 

You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world. 

He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears. 

“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him. 

You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could. 

“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.” 

Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought. 

It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now. 

“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.” 

A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you. 

“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.” 

“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?” 

Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-? 

“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…” 

He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out. 

“I can’t lose you.” 

The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear. 

You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself. 

“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.” 

He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself. 

His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done. 

You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before. 

“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.” 

He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively. 

You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling. 

“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.” 

So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up? 

Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you? 

A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining. 

“I let you go once before.” 

He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up. 

“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.” 

“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew. 

“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours. 

You had missed him so damn much. 

Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out. 

When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare. 

He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.) 

Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival. 

He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him. 

He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them. 

“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once. 

All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length. 

And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-

He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away. 

“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.” 

You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate. 

Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging. 

“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock. 

All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.) 

You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long. 

“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips. 

You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger. 

“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent. 

“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled. 

As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried. 

During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way. 

Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair. 

Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something. 

You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger. 

Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him. 

“Fuck, darling, shite-” 

You quickly became drunk on the feeling. 

Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles. 

The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft. 

“Goddammit, please, please, oh-” 

You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely. 

You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue. 

“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-” 

Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. 

It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks. 

He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first. 

He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling. 

Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh. 

“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?” 

You moaned loudly at this. 

You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak. 

“I need you, pretty girl.” 

He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time). 

“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-” 

He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet. 

“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own. 

He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers. 

“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone. 

“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims. 

“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point. 

“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver. 

You hated that he was right. 

You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself. 

“Go on, good girl.” 

You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well. 

“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra. 

“Oh darling, if only that were true.” 

He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this. 

Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long. 

“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-” 

“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee. 

His words caused you to choke on another moan. 

You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return. 

You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel. 

“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes. 

Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it. 

He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes. 

“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with. 

“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.” 

He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights. 

“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-” 

Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year. 

“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-” 

“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,” 

You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you. 

Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer. 

Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back. 

He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest. 

The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you. 

“Freddie,” 

You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell. 

“Good?” He asked, smirking at you. 

“Yes, but what about-?” 

You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him. 

The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it. 

He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes. 

In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world. 

As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.  

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,” 

You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too. 

But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was: 

“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!” 

“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-” 

Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words. 

Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.) 

“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-” 

“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.” 

He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue. 

You were close. 

Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours. 

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?” 

His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response. 

“Good girl. Come on,” 

He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long. 

“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-” 

His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again. 

“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat. 

As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt. 

“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips. 

“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-” 

He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt. 

“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-” 

He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. 

“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him. 

It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe. 

When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you. 

“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.” 

“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer. 

It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted. 

When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back. 

You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“My things are in Ginny’s room…” 

You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her. 

Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there. 

Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely. 

He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job. 

“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes. 

“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing. 

“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.” 

You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate. 

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,” 

You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted. 

“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,” 

Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you. 

“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness. 

You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier. 

He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you. 

Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed. 

When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking. 

It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind. 

“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream. 

“Goodnight, Freddie.” 

… 

You wondered if all of it had been a dream. 

Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred. 

You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir. 

“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again. 

Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning. 

“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells. 

“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck. 

Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled. 

“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed. 

You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness. 

“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up. 

When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.) 

Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves. 

“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper. 

Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before. 

“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?” 

You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great. 

“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-” 

An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good. 

“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-” 

“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there. 

“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught. 

You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in. 

“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.” 

“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” 

“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored. 

You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill. 

“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him. 

“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?” 

“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned. 

Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen. 

“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.

...

A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!

[dionysianfreak]

looking for a second opinion here. for about a year, year and a half maybe? i think year and a half... i have been worshipping apollo and artemis. now, it took a lot of convincing for me to do this; i was interested in witchcraft, vaguely interested in paganism, and apollo basically had to slap me into realizing the path i needed to be on.

i feel like i have not stabilized my worship of them enough yet... if that makes sense? my worship can sometimes be intermittent as my mental health and workload waxes and wanes, and i've put many other facets of my practice on the wayside telling myself i need to get myself "better" at worshipping the twins. i have not so much as prayed to any other deity...

but lately, the signs from athena have been very very strong. since i was somewhat afraid, i said a few weeks ago that i was honored but didn't believe i was ready for her presence in my life. now i feel that may have been the wrong choice. i've erected a small (very, very small) altar on my bookshelf for her, and when i say small i mean two little owl figurines, a tea light, and a little cup. but i haven't poured libation or lit the candle yet. i'm still very nervous about forming a relationship with any new deity, as i worry that i haven't strengthened my bonds with artemis and apollo yet.

while i don't expect anyone to look inside my mind and my relationship with the theoi and know exactly what to say, i was wondering what you thought on the matter. i don't want to jump gungho into expanding my practice when it can still sometimes be overwhelming simply to give attention to apollo and artemis and i worry adding another deity to my life will be too much. yet at the same time, i love athena and am very honored that she wants to be present in my life. do you have any kind of two cents?

situations like this are a very good time to remember that sometimes things just aren't that serious. i think that abrahamic religions have cast a sense of urgency into religious air; the idea that we must bend over backwards for the Gods if we decide to engage with Them. that engaging in religion is a devotion of EVERYTHING, your way of life and being. it is the idea that we must commit hours of time and commit ourselves in some way. this is a very fear-based idea because it hinges on the idea that Gods are angered or turned off when this standard is not met. in reality, especially in polytheist religions, this is the opposite of how most engaged with the Theoi. worship was intertwined with daily life and it was often casual or exchange-based. the Gods aren't these "big brother" commanders who come and need your everything. the Gods are supporters who are there to guide and protect you whenever you need.

if we put it into perspective, the Theoi are undying beings forming relationships with beings whose forms are painfully temporary, whose time is severely limited. we only have the time we are granted to experience things as humans. that's a whole lot of stuff to fit into a speck in time. the Gods don't care if our worship slows, or if it's few and far between. that only means that we're indulging in or working hard to exist in the world They've given us. in my opinion, living the life we were given and appreciating it is the most sacred form of worship out there.

so, don't worry about your worship being intermittent. dont worry about not having a strong enough relationship. don't put pressure on yourself to commit to anything. don't put pressure on yourself to fulfill every word the Theoi speak. if you'd like to wait for Athene, then tell Her so. if you'd like to worship Her, then being to do so. She is an extremely patient and level-headed Goddess in my experience, so a change of mind shouldn't be a problem especially if you feel the other choice is best. it's good to remember it is NEVER disrespectful to tell a God no, and especially not disrespectful to communicate that you changed your mind. hell, if you decide again that you want to wait then just tell Her ! if it becomes too much, spread your worship out more. having a shrine period is an act of admiration that the Gods will appreciate always.

so tldr; it isn't that serious. you can worship whatever you feel like, whenever you feel like, as often as you feel like. the Theoi aren't going anywhere and are here to support and guide the earth & its inhabitants. I'm sure Athene will be overjoyed that you changed your mind, and I'm sure the twins adore every moment you spend thinking about Them. you should always worship in the way that's best for you in the way that brings you the most joy and comfort.

all you ever need to keep the Theoi happy is a love for Them and a drive to give to Them, even if reality gets in the way sometimes. i wish you so much luck and an abundance of comfort with Athene, She is a wonderful WONDERFUL Goddess

[creacherkeeper]

im getting a little too in my family feels today and so INSTEAD of feeling those im just going to ramble for a second about why i fucking love paladin!aelwyn because. im. just like this i guess im coping leave me alone

cw for discussions of child abuse, maladaptive coping, drugs and alcohol, self harm, destructive tendencies, basically everything we see in canon and the implications

aelwyn is ... SO interesting to me because for as much of her interiority as we see, as much of her as we think we understand, as much as i could ramble about her character for hours, we know ALMOST NOTHING about her in actuality?? (besides ... one key thing)

(this is like 2k and probably incoherent someone please stop me)

okay. listen. almost everything we see aelwyn do in s1 is maladaptive rebellion against her parents and home life. the drinking, the drugs, the partying, perhaps some of kalvaxus (though i dont think we fully understand how much of that was forced on her as well, kalina WAS watching her when she was talking to adaine about it). you can say like, oh aelwyn is a party animal, she's impulsive, she makes risky decisions, she's bitchy and rude, and its like. okay but IS SHE ACTUALLY. because under her parents thumb she had an EXTREMELY limited amount of freedom, and usually when people are suffering from very little control over their life, they WILL act destructively over the tiny bit they can, either harming themselves or their environment or people lower than them in the pecking order, because in a way, that feels like a reclamation of autonomy. saying "you have so much power over me but can you stop me from hurting myself and destroying what you havent managed to claim yet?". its just like, kind of what human brains do and frequently has little to do with a persons actual personality or impulses, its just. desperate brains trying to control SOMETHING because autonomy is a fundamental human need and when thats taken away we get. very bad off. (this is one big reason eating disorders are SO common with abused kids.) so i think a lot of the s1 aelwyn we see is like. this is a very desperate, abused teenager "acting out" in the only way it is possibly somewhat safe for her to do so because, on a psychological level, the self destruction is weirdly the only emotional tether and its either this or just dissociate all the time (something we do see she has problems with in canon)

and yes, she did treat adaine horribly in s1. she fully did. obviously what we get in canon is what happens but a moment thats interesting to me is in episode 1 where adaine has attacked aelwyn several times, who either does nothing or just bounces it back, when she says "i never cast spells at you" and siobhan immediately retcons it and says "yes you do, all the time" (i havent gone back and watched this bit so i might be wording this wrong). obviously its an improv show and the canon is built between performers as they go, but that was interesting to me. that brennan hadnt intended for her to have fought back in that way. she definitely feeds into the emotional abuse from their parents and participates in all the toxicity there, but we know in canon that she did that because of overwhelming fear and self preservation. and that her self hatred because of it just fed back into the cycle and made her feel like she wasnt good enough to even try to break free from it. this is very common in golden child/scapegoat sibling relationships where the golden child SEES what the parents are capable of and becomes a participant in the abuse out of fear for their own standing. in any way siding with the scapegoat child not only directs abuse at themselves as well, but frequently makes things WORSE for the scapegoat because the parents will take out the challenge to their power on them even more. so, if aelwyn DID ever try to defend or help adaine when they were small, she would have VERY QUICKLY learned that made things worse for everyone. and just. sectioned that part of her brain off, as she's done with so many other things. (and i dont think im reading too much into the forest scene with the abernants to say their parents were VERY QUICK to turn abuse towards aelwyn if she stepped out of line even a little. like, you dont flinch when a hand moves unless. you know. dont need to say it just something to think about. as far as we saw in canon, she had done everything they asked of her leading up to the forest, and we DONT KNOW what happened in it but we do know brennan specifically called out how in broken spirits she was when adaine was summoned, even though they did the ritual to avoid all of the nightmare bullshit)

(the house party is literally a whole separate post but i think its fair to point out that 1) she was super under the influence when that was happening which DEFINITELY is in no way an excuse for her behavior but worth remembering when trying to analyze that 2) her losing that fight did canonically have DRASTIC consequences for her and even if she didnt know exactly how that was going to turn out, i think she knew how bad it might be. and she did not know adaine or any of the bad kids were going to be there in the first place)

all that said, it feels in some ways counterproductive to say that aelwyn is an extremely devoted and protective person (yes we're getting to the paladin shit i know i've been rambling a while) but i think that thats strangely ALL WE ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT HER. because we've established that her self-destructive and abusive behavior in s1 is almost entirely psychologically scripted for her by her parents, we dont know how much of her villain shit in s1 was LITERALLY UNDER THREAT OF DEATH because we know at least killing the oracle was and we dont know how much of the rest of it was mandated by either her parents or kalina other than that she probably was under orders not to tell adaine the truth, and we know participating in all of this caused extreme self loathing in her that she refused to show to anybody and was too terrified to act on in any way

so, like. what does that actually leave us?

here's what we do know about aelwyn:

- of all the schools of magic, she went into abjuration

- the entire bbeg plan from season 1 hinged on aelwyn's complete faith that her level 1 sister was the most prodigious diviner in the world

- right after (?) the house party, she locked her memories where only adaine could find it with a note basically saying "theres so much bad blood between us but i know only you could find this"

- she desperately wanted to protect adaine and the fact that she was too afraid to do so made her hate herself (and her knowing that adaine now knows this is the turning point in their relationship)

- despite everything, even in the nmk forest, she still loved her parents

- the SECOND she is shown genuine love and affection and care from adaine, and adaine says whatever you do, i am here with you, all her actions from there forward are just about protecting adaine from their father, very nearly at the cost of her own life

- with what she probably thought were her last words (and would have been if adaine hadnt given her the tincture), all she wanted to communicate was how to help adaine and the bad kids, and how despite everything she had always believed in her

- at five levels of exhaustion, unconscious, she used her first spell slot after nine months of torture to build a shield around adaine

NOW we get to paladin!aelwyn. because, once everything is stripped away, the abuse and the control and the maladaption and the threats and the torture, EVERYTHING we ACTUALLY can glean about aelwyn's personality and inner core is that she's protective and devoted. and of course classes arent locked by personality, but that just screams paladin to me. its her WHOLE THING. adaine even says "wizards dont have heals, we dont care about other people" and of COURSE that isnt true for either of them, but? mechanically? aelwyn chose the wizard school that DID let her protect, and DID let her help, but i dont think, at this point, going forward, thats really going to be enough for her (and we could also talk about the parallels between them, how often adaine uses her portents to help other people)

i think a lot of the different reads on aelwyn come from this fundamental disconnect between her actions and displayed personality vs who she actually is and what she actually wants. and i think there are very different interpretations of what thats going to look like for her going forward. but i think, for a girl who's most hated characteristic about herself was her self preservation at the detriment of others, her perceived selfishness, and her fear ... isn't choosing to be braver and more selfless and more protective and shedding that self-preserving instinct for the betterment of others ... and MECHANICALLY being able to act on all those things ... the logical next step? i think its going to be a LONG TIME before aelwyn can love herself, but what other way is there to try? if adaine loves her, and adaine believes she can be better, isnt being better because she trusts adaine kind of a form of self love? saying, i dont believe in myself, but i believe in the person who believes in me, and maybe, in a roundabout way, thats the same thing. she was never able to TRY to be better before, because trying to improve even a little, even when people arent watching, when a harmful force has so much power over you and your actions ... like, the mental dissonance is honestly TOO much to even try, thats WAY more terrifying than letting yourself be bad, to the point where thats psychologically impossible for a lot of people. but now she actually has space and freedom and CHOICE and she CAN embrace the instincts she always had to shove down, she CAN be the person she knows her sister needed her to be

i dont know, i think theres an inherent love letter to yourself in wanting to be better and wanting to improve, even if you justify it by saying its for someone else. and now aelwyn actually CAN improve, and thats probably going to be extremely awkward and scary and there will be set backs and backslides for sure. but. i dont know. i think she wants to make up for lost time. because she never wanted the time to be lost in the first place. and if a protector is who she always wanted to be, whats stopping her from being that now?

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

I wish you would do a fic during world war 2 timeline where the reader is running away from germany to switzerland and faints in the middle of a small stable. Maybe a certain Swiss comes along in the morning to let his goats out to graze when he sees you???? (Sorry! I am not good at this and I am simply dying for this man right now ugh)

I don’t think this is quite what either of us had in mind Lovely, but... I sense the potential for a series here, but I doubt I would ever get around to writing it. If so, I feel this is how part of it would play out. Hope you like it!

*

​You couldn't run anymore.

Your legs felt as if they were laden with lead, the effort of moving them only emphasized by the sharp ache that kept piercing your senses with each step.

You were well past the border now, you were certain of it. Even if you hadn't completely made the crossing just yet, your ascent surely had left any pursuers at least a few days behind you.

For now, surrounded by forest as far as you could see, you decided it was safe enough to rest, even just for a few hours.

The moon was scarcely a sliver, barely peeking through the clouds, and you weren't going to risk a light.

You weren't foolish enough to fear the fey from the fairy tales your family had fed you throughout your childhood, but you weren't so naive to believe monsters weren't real. Tragically, it seemed you were damned to know just how real they actually were.

You wandered for maybe another hour, relieved to find a quiet stream and, next to it, a ramshackle old barn. You prayed it was abandoned, dared to hope when you noticed no animals nearby, no recent signs of life.

There was a hole worn through the roof, several in the floor of the loft, and what had likely once been a vividly decorated door barely clung to its hinges; you found a warm wave of attached contentment for its ruin.

You barely remembered falling asleep,  barely remembered checking every possible exit for easiest accessibility. You did recall thinking how warm the hay was around you- hidden as you decided to make yourself in it- and the silent hope that any rats would leave you in peace.

Morning came with a gentleness that lulled you into a false sense of security. For a few moments, you simply watched the dust play in the sunshine, let yourself listen to the various birds darting between the exposed rafters, inhaled the scents of pine and hay and goa-

You felt your whole body stiffen in your panic, mentally trying to determine which of the six exits would be easiest, which would-

"Wouldn't bother; you won't get far."

If you had been scared before, the sudden presence of a male voice absolutely petrified you. Your heart stopped, your eyes frantically seeking out the source of sound, even from underneath your pile of hay.

"You could try going west from here, but you don't seem the climbin' type."

You let yourself process his words, recognized some sort of strange calm radiating from them, a detached sort of bluntness. It was- odd.

"Then again, appearances can be deceiving. That's what Lilli's always telling me; for all I know you're even more a mountaineer than I am."

Higher peaks to the west then? You really did make it past the border.

Would also explain his accent.

"I would say south, but they're pretty strict on sending people back to wherever they started from, no matter what they're sending them back to."

So you couldn't go south, and there was no way you were going to risk north or east again. West, perhaps, but you didn't have the right equipment, and you'd be damned if you would risk traveling through a pass, and God only knew how far you still were from France.

Other details of your surroundings were starting to register- the steady rhythm of milking, the scrape of hooves against the wooden floors, the smell of toast and jam drifting in through the window nearby. You could hear the flap of clothes hanging on a line, let yourself imagine the older farmer who was casually telling you how best to avoid capture.

Even in later years, you never would be able to explain what exactly possessed you to leave your little nest, never could quite explain how his odd form of detachment gave you a sense of security.

Whatever the reason, you were soon descending the ladder into the main part of the stable, shocked to discover the farmer- who you had guessed was likely in his 40s or 50s- was maybe only a handful of years older than you, speaking softly to his goats as you crept closer, stopping several feet away, head hanging in defeat.

"Where can I go?"

You didn't see him startle at your voice, missed the surprise and curiosity in his eyes when he got his first proper look at you. You were not at all who he had been expecting, and that fact alone changed everything.

"Who says you have to go anywhere?"

The casual wording, a dismissal woven almost entirely into an invitation, had you once more facing your host, confusion etching itself clearly across your features. "I'm sorry?"

If he was at all fazed by your presence, by your past, by anything- He really was making it a point not to show it. He shrugged at your unspoken question, a half shake as he continued milking the little black and brown goat, attention turning to the task at hand. 

"You don't have to go anywhere." There was a pointed pause for a moment, and then he was turning to you again, something resembling concern in his eyes. "Unless you- Sorry, I shouldn't assume. Are you meeting someone?"

The sincerity, the concern, the compassion- It was one of the few glimpses of Humanity that you had seen in what felt an infinity, and you could have been knocked over with a feather for how weightless it made you.

But sobriety was swiftly restored, a bitterness to your words as you felt a familiar wave of grief, of longing, of pure, unadulterated anguish. There were so many connections severed, so many people you would never see again, either of choice or-

"There's no one who'd miss me."

You could have been mistaken, but you were quite certain you saw a flicker of anger in his gaze, so swift and unexpected that you forgot all about it in the next moment. "I'm sorry."

You knew he meant it, even if his tone still carried a hint of that detachment. You knew he was apologizing for more than your isolation, for your fate, for not being able to offer you more than he was.

It was a kind gesture, but the platitudes of strangers are a passing comfort at best. He seemed to realize this even as you did, overcome by an abrupt awkwardness that almost immediately endeared him to you.

He was grumbling something incoherent, a redness tinting his ears, eyes directed somewhere beyond you as he collected himself. Finally, he sighed, turning to you once more.

"Lilli should still have some breakfast warmed up. It won't be much but you're welcome to it. We can try to find you some new clothes later; I'm sure you want a day or two to rest up."

You nearly protested; he was being too kind and almost too welcoming; you-

His very pointed glance at your leg- which you had forgotten all about- and the makeshift bandage (made of an old scarf and your mother's formerly favorite apron) immediately silenced any arguments you may have utelized.

With a wince, you nodded in agreement, silently vowing to yourself to not stay any longer than you needed to. He was too good a person- and Lilli, too, though you had yet to meet her- for you to risk putting in danger.

Just for a few days. *

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

I watched your latest video and I am so so proud of you!! To write over 10k in a single day (more like afternoon) after being in a writing stump is truly amazing. Congratulations! 💕

thank you so so much for this message!

(lil ramble ahead, CW for discussions of anxiety & mental illness)

just a little disclaimer: this discussion is based on my own experiences, which means your experience/the experiences of others may differ.

honestly, I’ve been feeling a little conflicted about that video because I really don’t want to make it seem like it was easy for me to hit that many words in one day (I know it may have looked like it was easy, but I was genuinely in shock that whole day LOL). Writing 10k in a day was a huge experiment that was made to challenge my anxiety disorders which do affect my creativity (not to actually write 10k, but to set a goal high enough that I’d have to expose myself to being comfortable with being uncomfortable while drafting instead of letting my anxiety control my process to “protect myself” -- so, this experiment would not have worked if I’d set a more “manageable” goal like 2k words since my brain sees that and is like oh! I can definitely write that over the course of 24 hrs so I’ll definitely overthink for you etc).

I know when people produce a lot, it can seem like the opposite of struggling, and because this is how my mental health problems manifest, I sometimes find it difficult to phrase why a 10k day was so important for me--not because of “productivity” or “word count” but because it allowed me to write without fear for the first time in YEARS! I know people may look at my YouTube videos and see that I’m always writing/always making videos/doing things that look “productive.” To be fully transparent, though, “productivity” for me is, a lot of the time, a product of mental illness. I was SO tired of this, so I made the autonomous decision to topple this idea on its head: yes, I would create a LOT in 24 hrs (because I LOVE to and I’m not going to let anxiety take away something I love) but those 24 hrs would not be comprised of “toxic productivity” to help me cope, but just straight up fun (<< 10k day definitely achieved this). I could show myself that creating doesn’t have to hinge on fear-based, perfect production, but enjoyment-based fun times (with “productivity” being a byproduct of joy - not what I was looking for in this experiment, but what society would see as someone being productive; I see it as me being happy!). The word count was a necessity for this.

I actually had no idea how much my anxiety dictated my creative processes until a few months ago. The experiment wasn’t about HITTING the word count at all, but instead, about not letting my anxiety hyper-dictate how I wrote that day (I kind of needed reverse psychology to even be primed to let go of my anxiety; the word count goal allowed for this). I know the normal reaction is to wonder how a person could ever achieve that/be like “I could not do that” which I totally get because me!!!!! same!!! I am usually a very slow drafter and that’s fine! but idk?? I’ve been feeling a little muggy lately because I’m not sure I was clear enough on why I was doing it--not to celebrate the word count or even hyperproduce, but to push through my anxiety and feel actual joy writing again!

sorry to ramble here, haha, these are just thoughts I’ve been culminating while reading the comments/replies/reblogs etc. I’ve been anxious the last few days about the experiment’s reception because the video was more meant for myself to show myself that the Rachel who does have to deal with more adversity than her past self can still be joyful and love things. The intent was certainly not to make people feel bad about their own processes.

All that’s to say I just really appreciate this message because I wasn’t sure if I’d made a mistake sharing (because I definitely don’t want to make others feel bad about their outputs, etc; y’all know I adore your writing processes, no matter what they are). But my 10k day was a really important day for my mental health and gave me hope for the future (which I didn’t realize I had lost!). So I appreciate you taking the time to send this! Thank you!

[karoiseka]

Forgotten Home

Spoilers for End of 5.0-takes place 5.1-2 ish. ((This is finally digging into a bit more of Karo’s backstory.  I really took my time with this one, and am very proud of it.  Hope you enjoy!))

The Twelveswood felt different. That was the only way Karoiseka could describe it.  The First was saved, and she was back on the Source again, giving an update to the Scions still here, but had felt a pull to the woods just to the South of Camp Tranquil.  The forest giants of years past had given way to a younger growth bordering Thanalan, the warm air from the desert colliding with the cool shade under the trees.  She could feel Ardbert's curiosity at what they were doing there, paired with her own.  The paths she had walked most of her life held an extra forgotten meaning that was clawing its way back into her memories. This wasn't just a hunting trail, like so many others, there--beneath the tall oak--she could remember her first hunting kill with her new larger bow, a gift from-- 

There was almost a physical pain as the forgotten memory surfaced, almost an Echo manifestation, and she could see a snapshot of the moment, Seirlait--her Da--proudly standing nearby.  Her heart ached as she saw his face in her mind as clear as it had been that day. As clear as it had been when she had waved good-bye to them-both her fathers- a smile on her face as they headed out to help with the preparations for the clash at Carteneau as she stayed to look after the cabin.  How? How had she forgotten them? Da and Pa both, the memories assailing her senses as feet tore along the trail heading to a destination her mind had not reconciled yet. 

There- that tree had been so good for climbing.

The little stream that held such wonders to the small child she once was. 

That clearing holding the best herbs for the evening stew to be cooked over the fire.

Tiny fingers weaving a flower crown, placing it triumphantly on Feophaux's (Pa’s) head.

The boughs of a willow creating a curtain to play hide and seek in--learning more skills from both her fathers. 

The perfect reading nook nestled high in the treetops with just enough light.

Eyes unseeing of the present, Karo lived in the flashbacks of her past as every step closer to- closer to home.  The word burned in her mind as a beacon, blinding her to all else. Was this what she had been seeking all these years? Wasn't that the Rising Stones?  Hadn’t she found her other home in the Crystal Tower on the First?  She vaguely remembered in her unforgotten recollections the Highlander and Duskwight, eyes full of grief as they watched her escape the cabin that she had lived in after the Calamity--and before she now knew again.  The pain in their voices as they pleaded with her to remember them, and the anguish when she told them to stop calling her their daughter.  She left shortly after, headed to Gridania to find her own way, adrift with scant more than the short bow she had been teaching-reteaching-herself to use, and a small pack. 

The Calamity.  It had to have been the catalyst of the memory loss, for she could see clearly now that nothing but muscle memory and a vague sense of what felt right were all that had remained from before that fateful day.  Now she wondered what had changed again, even as the sheepish feeling from Ardbert guided her to an answer.  The shock of living through the initial seventh rejoining of souls must have triggered the amnesia in the first place, her mind blocking the trauma of the moment.  The acceptance and welcoming of Ardbert's soul to her own had healed all those splintered parts, even those that were unknown to her to begin with.  It had taken time to come back to her, and a slightly longer stay on the Source than she had taken in a long while, but now that the trickle had started, the dam was broken--her mind filled with all that she had forgotten.  Ardbert ensured that they didn't stumble through the frantic rush she made down the trail--not caring about the tracks she was leaving in her wake. 

Malms later, her feet stopped and past and present collided as her eyes saw again. The small cabin was sealed tight against the elements, and the overgrowth in the garden and clearing spoke of no one having tended to them for at least two years. The Bard fell to her knees, a low keening sound filling the air--she vaguely recognized it as her own voice, grief overwhelming her.  The run, much less the mental exertion, had taken a huge chuck of energy from her, and Karo wept, broken at the sight of her childhood home--empty.

As the sun crawled across the sky, Karo slowly took in the details of the clearing.  Not much had changed in the years since she had left.  The garden was overgrown, but the perennial plants fought for their place among the weeds.  The archery targets were still affixed to the surrounding trees, all at different heights, some now hidden from the growth.  Bluebells covered the small meadow, and she remembered stubbornly throwing the seeds all over instead of planting them in neat rows in the flowerbeds because they were her favorite and she couldn't see the flowerbeds from her bedroom window.  Looking carefully, finally pacing forward on shaking legs, Karo noticed that the cabin was carefully secured--just as it had been every time they had left for their summer journey.  The only thing that concerned her was that it looked as if they hadn't been back in at least one winter--maybe even two or three--not even passing through during the warmer months. 

Digging into her newfound memories, she spun and headed to the tree that was surrounded by the most bluebells.  The archery target there was still attached to one of the lower branches, but the Bard still had to climb a bit to reach it.  Fiddling with the back of it, the small compartment made itself known, and the prize ended up in her nimble fingers.  The front door key.  Jumping down, she forced herself to walk fully around the house, checking for any breaches that could mean that the house wasn’t secure, or that someone or something, was residing within.  Not finding even so much as something that would let a draft in, she braced herself and headed to the door.

The key slid into the lock, and only needed a slight bit of jiggling to get it to turn, the door itself stiff from disuse and the hinges creaking with the rust buildup.  Karo was hit with the sweet smell of dried lavender, vanilla, and sweet cedar; all the smells she remembered that hearkened to what home meant.  The curtains being drawn left the main room in shadows, the light from the doorway streaming into the air laden with the dust she had kicked up by entering.  The cabin was one main room split with partitions into areas for cooking, dining, and leisure.  There was a bedroom for her fathers off to one side, and a small bathing chamber on the other.  The tiny loft above the bath area had been hers to claim, curtains creating a small wall for her privacy.

Leaving the door open for the light, and to air the place out a bit, Karo started to open the curtains to let in more natural light before she looked around for any clues to where Seirlait and Feophaux had disappeared to.  Absentmindedly, she headed to the kitchen sink, and ran the tap for a few moments, letting the components loosen up and water to come back through the pipes since it had obviously been a while.  Grabbing a rag, she wet it with the first bit of water that came through, and wiped down the counters, removing the thin layer of dust that had gathered.  A quick peek at the pantry showed that beyond some items that kept for seasons, naught had been left.  That was normal enough, so she continued on to the all-purpose room.  The large fireplace on one end was one of two in the house that provided most of the heat in the winter, as well as some basic charms.  The wall was lined with books of all types, and one of the racks of shelves was full of supplies for writing, and hooks for instruments that had obviously gone wherever their owners were.  

Karo’s attention was pulled to her left, for there, lying on the table near the fireplace, was a folded piece of paper, her full name carefully written across it.  Hands shaking, she picked it up carefully, blowing dust off of it as she broke the seal on the back and started to read.

Dearest Karoiseka,

If you’re reading this, it means, we hope, that you have found your way back home and that beyond our wildest dreams that you have finally remembered all that occurred prior to Carteneau.  

After you left, we continued on best we could, despite missing you dearly.  We know that we had spent a long time at Carteneau helping to clean up and transport people all over Eorzea, but we had not anticipated you not remembering us at all or anything from your childhood.

Some time after you left, at least a year, we started hearing your name out of Gridania--how you were a bit of a local legend as an adventurer.  You had cleared out several dens of evil, and were becoming beloved by all that crossed your path.  Incredulous, we followed any scrap of information we could get, hearing about the Scion, Primals, and Garlean forces and your role in taking them down only made us fear for your safety.

Then came the accusations from Ul’dah.  None of which could be true.  Word of you dropped off except for hushed whispers, before rushing back in a whirlwind of fantastical stories of you bringing the Dragonsong War to an end in Ishgard.  We even made the trek to Mor Dhona hoping to catch a glimpse of you, but left before we did--partially because we feared you still wouldn’t recognize us.  We heard that you were part of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn there, and even talked with an Ironworks engineer who said he had worked with you before.  Knowing you were safe among friends eased our hearts for a bit as we headed home.

Another year passed and the uprisings in Ala Mhigo are now all that the city-states are talking about.  The Scions are said to be helping with the organization and negotiations , so we have decided to pack up for this year and help.  I know not if we shall cross paths while there, or if you will ever see this, but we must do what we can to help.  Not only for those that live there, but for you as well.  Knowing that we can hopefully take even a little of the burden off of your shoulders is all that we can hope to do.

We love you, and miss you, and pray that you stay safe and healthy through it all. 

~Da an Pa

A hot tear splashed onto the paper in her hands as Karo put together the timeframe that they had been gone.  They hadn't yet returned from the liberation of Ala Mhigo--and they had left near the beginning of the conflict, well over two years ago.  Considering they had taken almost five years to return from Carteneau, she shouldn't be much surprised.  They were probably helping courier refugees back home, and the wounded to the respective city-states.  She paced the length of the room, worrying for their safety throughout the conflict as well.  It had been extremely wide-spread with the Garlemald forces targeting anything and anybody they even thought were helping the Resistance.  She had seen it time and time again from the small villages and hamlets throughout the region in the aftermath as she tried to ease her own guilt from not being there for them and tried to help with the smallest of tasks from anyone who asked.  She knew logically she could only be in one place at a time, and that the forces she had been helping were the same.  If they hadn’t done what they had, there was a chance the country would still be occupied even now..

Had she seen them though? Walked right by with unseeing eyes?  Had they greeted her, only to get her strained public smile in return and a generic platitude--all that she could muster?  Had she passed by their graves not knowing who lay there?  She had talked to so many people all over the broken country, her mind raced, but all the faces were a blur.  She had spent plenty of time in Doma as well, not counting for all the travel back and forth, during that time-paths may have crossed, or may have been missed without even the chance of happening.  

Karo wasn’t sure how many times she re-read the pages, and wasn’t fully aware that she had curled up in the large armchair until the evening light hit her eyes streaming in from the still open door. Blinking blearily, she stood and lit a couple of the candles to provide some light in the growing dark.  The house had electricity, however, she didn’t feel like finding and turning on the generator quite yet.  She closed the door, and got a glass of water from the tap, scrounging for some trail rations that were still in her pack from earlier.  The Bard didn’t remember relinquishing her bow and pack at the door, but old habits die hard, and they were neatly hung by the door on the pegs meant for that very purpose.

Tucking the letter safely in her bag she cleaned up the small mess she had made and went to the washroom to clean her face of the salt-crusted tears that had dried there.  Not a thing had changed, towels and soap stored neatly away in the same places they always had been.   The vase on the sink, usually filled with wildflowers picked during the day, was empty for the time--and she longed to fill it and keep the room cheery, but knew not how long she would be there herself.  Responsibilities still loomed both here and on the First, her comrades bodies still laying still in the Dawn’s Respite.

As she climbed up to her loft, not much had changed since she had last been up here.  When her memories had first escaped her, she had stayed down in the main bedroom, not realizing that it wasn’t her’s.  The loft she had never quite gone up the ladder-like stairs, and so it remained very similar to when she last called it her own. The bed was made, but with an additional sheet covering it all to keep the dust off, ready to be used at a moment’s notice.  The hope that lived in her parent’s hearts nearly broke her own, as she caved to exhaustion finally, Ardbert’s comforting presence allowing her to drift off to sleep when she thought it was the furthest thing from her mind.  

On the morrow, Karo would write her reply and leave it where she had found her own letter, secure the cabin once more and return the key to it's hiding place.  She wouldn't forget again now that her soul was healed, yet her obligations would keep her busy, she knew.  When she had time, she would ask her various contacts, hoping beyond hope that someone has news, and if they didn't, that her note would be read, and that they would return once more to the Rising Stones, asking for her proudly by name. 

[lokidrabbles]

Sweet-Scented Alien (Loki x Reader)

Loki has another difficult night and the reader takes care of him

A/N: Another Loki has really bad nightmares one shot! I know I kinda go all over the place with this one, but I tend to have a lot of ideas for Loki’s POV. However, I hope you all can enjoy! As always, Gender Neutral Reader!

Warnings: Suggested smut, but not really

The same nightmare continued to torment the Asgardian prince. The destruction of Asgard, the loss of his parents, and the Titan’s enormous grasp around his neck would resume like a broken record until a morbid snap in his neck would shove him awake into the real world.

He gasped for air as his body jolted him awake, frozen in place while his mind still processed the tangibility of his surroundings. He would instinctively reach to feel the back of his neck, an effort to make sure it still remained in tact. He still remained in one piece, and he considered himself unworthy of his blessings.

The mad Titan still lingered somewhere out there, in search of Loki, in search of unimaginable power. Loki had the fortune of being able to stay out of the Titan’s radar for this long, but the possibility still remained. He was out there, and Loki hid himself away like a coward, here with you, exposing you to the unimaginable danger.

Tonight’s was especially vivid, and he couldn’t imagine such a brutal way to be permanently discarded of. He quickly dug his nails into his forearm, making his pain evident for him to fully bring himself in focus. He attempted to stabilize his breathing, but his efforts remained futile for now. He avoided wanted to wake you up, but you were always sensitive about these things, and as if on cue, he felt you shift and slowly turn towards him.

“Hey, Loki. What’s wrong?” He heard you say softly.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” He responded hastily, but only to still catch his breath.

“You’re shaking. Did you have another bad dream?” He sensed your concern grow, feeling you sit upwards against the backboard of your bed.

It was difficult to admit he did. Not only did he detest seeing you worry about his well being, as that was his obligation to you, but he detested how vulnerable he appeared in front of you. He’d dread at the possibility of being perceived as weak, someone incapable of protecting you, all because of a dream.

“Please, I don’t need you to hold my hand constantly over this.” He responded, intending for it to come out as disconnected as he could.

“Loki, you’re literally shaking.” You said as a matter of fact. Loki soon felt the touch of your palm over his cheek, relishing in the warmness you provided. “You’re freezing too.”

Adrenaline rushed through him at the though of his body temperature dropping dramatically. You weren’t jesting about something this, and he knew his mental and emotional vulnerability must have triggered some part of his frost giant biology to act defensively. He needed to gain control ASAP, before something worse appeared.

“Err, I think I should just rest somewhere else, just so I won’t continue waking you up anymore. Perhaps, that couch in your living room?”

“What? Loki, don’t be stupid. I want you to stay here with me, especially if you had another nightmare like that.” You said while tugging at his forearm, seemingly disregarding his unusual coldness.

You were a fool, but his heart fluttered at your clinging. “Very well. However, I am a little apprehensive about resting. I honestly will stay up for the remainder of the evening.”

“Guess I’m staying up with you too.”

“You really mustn't stay up. You don’t enough rest for your human body as it is, no matter how much I lecture you about it.”

He could see you roll your eyes within the darkness. “You have to let me take care of you Loki, that’s part of the deal we had.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Uh-huh.”

Loki felt the covers flying off of you as you rose up from your bed, padding gently across your floor. You made your way into your bathroom, flicking the lights on and beginning to rummage through your belongings.

Loki squinted at the sudden brightness, peering off the side to catch a glimpse at whatever you were doing. “(Y/N). You must come rest.”

“I will.” You exclaimed from afar. “But I got something for you first.”

Damn. “Stop with the foolishness. I told you I’m fine.”

You didn’t respond, and Loki could only hear you still rummaging. He focused his hearing to catch anything pertinent, before he would justly stomp into that bathroom, pick you up, and toss you back into bed. This was his own issue to deal with after all and he still cringed at the idea of having this mortal, this human, willingly tend to him.

His ears perked at the sound of a squeaking hinge, and then of running water. Oh no.

You slowly stepped out, your pajama sleeves rolled at the way up to your elbows. Your hair was still a mess, and the circles under your eyes suggested you definitely had not gotten enough sleep this night. But still you stood there, and even in your most dullest appearance, Loki still thought you were lovely.

“Okay, start getting naked.” You said through a yawn.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m drawing you a warm bath dummy. You’re sticky, and maybe you can relax more if your body warmed up too.”

The act of kindness was too sickening for him. Loki was a frost giant, and although he always maintained good homeostasis over his own biological temperature, he would always be naturally a bit colder than most aesir or humans. It wasn’t something to be saddened about, it was simply how he was. And yet, with your best efforts, you still desired to provide him with relief, even if it probably wouldn’t have any effect on him at all. It was all charming, and Loki had grown very unused to having someone mend his perceived suffering. Again, he felt his heart flutter at the notion.

“You cannot be serious.” He said flatly, a small piece of him hoping you’d still pester him about it.

“Come one, you’ll feel much better. And then after, I promise I’ll go back to sleep, deal?”

“Hmm. You strike up a difficult bargain, human. But very well, if it will get you off my back and get you some rest.”

You provided Loki with two thumbs up, sealing the verbal agreement. Loki groaned, pushing himself off the bed and beginning to discard his clothes. From the corner of his eye, he could see you leaning on the doorway into your bathroom, blatantly ogling at him and his bare body. Not that Loki really minded. In fact, he felt some sense of pride at how easily you’d become distracted at his nude form. Which of course meant you wouldn’t have eyes for anyone else.

“You’re staring.” He said teasingly.

“Guilty as charged. Now come on, before I start getting any more ideas.”

Loki  trudged behind you into your bathroom, a heavy scent filling his nostrils immediately. It was sweet and nutty, and he immediately identified this scent as your own. There would be days, special occasions, where you would bathe in this sweet almond scent. He thought it was purposeful, for he would be unable to keep his hands off of you, rejoicing in the intoxicating smell gently coming from your hair and skin.

“You’re not getting nude as well?” He asked disappointingly.

“Good idea. But my tub is too small, and it wouldn’t be as fun as you’d imagine.” You reached over to grab his wrist, coaxing him towards your tub.

Steam began to tickle at his nose, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the ridiculous amount of soap and foam rising. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“Sure it was, go ahead and dip in.”

He sighed, knowing he had to oblige in fear that you would become upset at him. He carefully took one step in, shivering at the sudden exposure to the searing temperature. The heat would soon cool off as soon as he’d emerge his entire body in, but of course you didn’t realize that would happen. Nevertheless,  he slowly submerged himself (or as much as he could), enjoying the brief heat that engulfed his skin. He inhaled and let out a deep breath, sinking his hair into the bubbly water. The almond scent now fully took over his entire sense of smell, and he closed his eyes. He imagined this heat as your own, this smell as your own, covering him entirely.

You had perched beside him and your tub, seemingly not minding the water that had splashed over. You dipped a finger in, as if making sure the temperature was adequate enough for him. Another yawn escaped your mouth while doing so and Loki immediately took notice.

“You’re exhausted and you’re making it very obvious. Now, this was your own doing. I don’t want to be blamed for this in the morning.”

You waved your hand to dismiss his comment. “That’s not what’s important right now. How are you feeling?”

“A tad ridiculous with my knees protruding out like so. But yes, the water is quite nice.”

As sleepy as you were, he saw you beam with joy. “Good to hear. I’m hoping this means you’ll be more open to my methods here.”

“I’m only doing this so you’ll stop worrying and go back to bed.” Part of it was true, and the other part mostly involved still wanting to appease you.

“Oh stop it.” You said, playfully splashing some water at him. “Let me do this for you, it’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.”

That last part was hard to fully accept. Truly, he didn’t think he’d done much for you. Or at least, he interpreted it much differently than you did. He knew humans were very meticulous in their way of expressing love and care, and while he was no stranger to it, he was rusty about it. The closest thing that popped in his head was that time he carried you back home after you had gotten inebriated, but he was certain you didn’t want to hear about that again.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but that’s a bit of a stretch for my liking.” He said, dipping his head backwards into the water.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just not sure if what you say is true. I can easily go inside your mind and find out for myself. But even so, I doubt I’d believe that.”

“Believe what, that you haven’t done anything for me?” You asked incredulously.

“I suppose that’s the curse I carry. You know, still being apprehensive about all of this.” He knew it sounded harsh, to even question his relationship with you, but a big function of this relationship was his honesty with you. He knew you wouldn’t cast him away with these words, but there was a speck inside of him that would be terrified of the notion.

He saw your lips twist disapprovingly, and then you shoved a chunk of bubbles right into his face. “You know, for being insanely intelligent, you can be pretty damn stupid too.”

His brows furrowed, shoving away the soapy residue from his face. “Not exactly what I expected to hear.”

“Loki, I’d like to safely think that us sleeping together, having sex, sharing meals, dealing with our worst attitudes on a daily basis, and screwing around with Tony Stark should at least suggest something to you.” You said aggressively. “You think I’d just let anyone call me a stupid human with no discernible reason.”

He opened his mouth temporarily to spew out an argument, but promptly sealed his lips once he noticed how irked you had become. He often enjoyed irking you about several things, but this wasn’t the best way to go at it. He could tell from your approach and body language that you were dead serious about it, and he genuinely wanted to believe that.

“You really need to get it through your head that you matter to me, like a lot.” You continued, standing up and reaching over to grab one of your towels. “I really don’t know how else to say it so you can fully understand.”

“Perhaps, there is something you could do. You know, just so I can understand better.” He said lowly, almost muttering it.

“Oh, and what exactly is that?”

“I’m going to need you to come closer. Come kneel beside me.” He said, his voice low and sultry.

A smirk appeared on your face, following his words and perching next to him and beside your tub again. He lifted his upper body, lather and water spilling all across his chest and arms and leaned into your lips. He heard a quick ‘oh’ escape from you, satisfied at how quickly you had responded to his actions. In one swift move, Loki grabbed your forearm, and yanked you into towards him. You cursed and fell face forward into him and into the now lukewarm water, splashing and making a terrible mess of all things. Loki saw how your legs flailed comically and couldn’t hold back the irresistible grin decorating his cheeks. You must have flopped around for a good minute or so until you managed to hold yourself up by your arms, hair and clothes absolutely drenched.

“Ehehehe.” He sniggered, loving the absolute look of indignation you shot at him.

“God, why do you have to be such a dick?” You muttered, along with some other offensive words.

“That’s it. That’s all I needed, I fully understand now. Thank you so much for that spectacle (Y/N). I believe I can say with confidence that I truly enjoy being with you as well.” 

“You’re such a little shit, oh my god.” You lunged at him, making your best attempts to push his head underwater. “Why are you always making me fall for stupid shit?”

“Darling, please!” He exclaimed, grin still very present. “Please don’t end me in such a way. Not at least till you get rid of those soaked garments first.”

“No fucking way-”

“Ah, fucking? You’ve read my mind indeed. Well, if you are suggesting it.”

You groaned loudly, standing up, hair and clothes dripping wet. You stomped out in a fury, muttering things along the way which Loki could only catch as another clear ‘fuck you.’

He followed suit and rose from the water, tip toeing behind you while soap suds still fell from his bare body. The nightmare from earlier that evening would soon be long forgotten, and although Loki’s attempts at getting down and dirty with you wouldn’t be successful, there was something much more important at hand, something he’d fully come to realize with his little prank.

[visual-explorxtion]

Vinylic Taste [Carlos Oliveira x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: You’re trapped and alone in the midst of an outbreak, struggling to survive. In the depths of your despair, Carlos came to the rescue. Through your ups and downs, Carlos soon became your best partner and vice versa. But...you soon realise Carlos isn’t who he appears to be.

A/N: Are you reading this at night time? Good...Wanted to write a Carlos fic but also wanna try and write something different from my usual stuff. But also got super distracted by other ideas and this fic got pushed waaaay further back and kinda took a different turn from my original plan and 11 pages in, I panicked. Still in first person POV.

TW: Graphic depiction of Violence, Blood, Gore, Angst, a bit of horror (idek), prob not as graphic as you think but it’s still graphic, uhh language and bit of a Mind Break.

Words: 6.0k

How did things turn out this way? Blood seeped its way across the vinyl floor, forming a pool around my feet as I sat helplessly with my body shivering in fear. Chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked wide open, my blurry gaze fixated onto a man but I could only make an outline of them. Him; on his knees, lays a lifeless corpse in between them, all drenched in venous blood as the deep red colour streams down every rigid and curves of his face. The air is thick combined with the stench of iron and gunpowder. He stares at his hands, covered in liquid but not his own. He laughs- echoes through my soul and pulsated the room- never have I ever heard of something so harrowing and sinister coming from a human. If he even had any sanity left in him. Neck twists abnormally towards my direction, head tilts eerily as if it's only supported by a thin piece of string. A soft gasp left my mouth, throat scorched with fear and lips quivering. My limbs lay still no matter how much I tell myself to run. My sense of self is being sucked into his dark, endless gaze. The light behind his eyes had vanished, all that's left is a soulless carcass I no longer recognise.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

---------------

The thunderous rain came washing down my face, lowering my field of vision. The moisture trickles down from thick strands of hair and onto the rubble concrete in a light rhythmic pitter-patter. In the span of 24 hours, everything turned from just an average day in this town to be engulfed and corrupted by a fiery shitshow. Humans eating humans, without a hint of remorse. They have no emotions, no pain tolerance. Their sole purpose is to feed on anything that has a heartbeat. It creeps me out. Like somebody playing a joke too far to the point of no return. That's what I'd initially thought. In my struggle to keep myself alive in this godforsaken town, each bullet is scarce but every item you gather is expendable. As the gun recoils, a leftover shell would flicker out with each bullet piercing the head of the undead. A steady hand, steady trigger finger and steady breathing. One by one, I shot them down. The feeling of ambivalence surrounds my mind with every shot I take. This isn't right, they are...were...humans, flesh and blood.

The ringing in my ears grew louder with each squeezing action I take. The heat of adrenaline coursing through under my skin, my peripheral vision gradually disappears until I'm left with the image of head to head. Before I could react, my back was already on the ground. The backside of my head slams against the solid sidewalk with a loud crack, the noise echoed inside for a nanosecond. My self-defence mechanism kicks in- forearm struggle against the zombie's throat, it's jaw hinges wide open with blood oozing out as it frantically pushes it's deadweight onto me. Its skin texture is abnormal, like every part of them is set in stone. Why didn't rigor mortis happen? My fingers tremble, trying to grasp for the handle of my gun that's just out of reach. Muscles burn and ache as my defence is crumbling to its limit, teeth-gritting with every last strength that I have. I refuse to die like this. Not like them.

As my forearm grew tired- inching closer and closer to my face- I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look Death in its soulless gaze and let it consume me slowly in the space of darkness. The next moment, I felt liquid splatter across my face but the pain never set in. My eyes flew open and watched as the corpse lay limping on my arm and the rest drop dead around my vicinity. I grunt as I discard the corpse aside, inspecting it one more time for any sign of movement. Face frozen in place as blood runs dry from the temple. The sight of this made my stomach churn.

"Hey, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A muscular figure towers over me, fully equipped in tactical gear. One hand armed with an assault rifle and the other extended out towards my direction. His hand is all worn out, even though the gloves I can see his fingers covered in blisters and scratches. They have seen better days.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

I choked out as I accept his assistance. His grip heaved my weight without breaking a sweat but may have overestimated his strength a little. His aid offset my balance and my body crash-landed in his embrace. Even with me standing on my own two feet, he's still almost a foot taller than I am. Our eyes met for a brief moment but I immediately jumped out of his arms as heat flushed up my cheeks and I regain my composure. He chuckles.

"My name is Carlos, I'm with the UBCS and we're here to get you out of here."

The organisation doesn't ring any bells in mind, nevertheless, receiving help from a rescue team is better than trudging through this damned hell alone. I would be lucky if I could even make it out alive. But, this strange rescue encounter sends comfort to my mind and slowly easing off my anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm no longer alone with Carlos's presence next to mine. Either way, I shouldn't let my guard down even with the help I'm getting.

The rest of his team is gathered in the subway station, we've arrived just in time for the last train to bound. Every one of them is tattered and covered in rags, exhausted and in pain. I can't imagine what kind of hell they've fought through, compared to myself, it's nothing but a just a minor scratch. Carlos caught up with his crew while I took a seat as all my energy is drained from my soul. The cool metal sensation seeped through my jeans and triggered goosebumps and hair along my arm, I couldn't care less about the shock as exhaustion washes over my limbs. I've been beaten down mentally and physically enough for me to not realise the train was already in motion. The view from out the window is nothing but a fast pace blur of darkness. All that just happened felt so unreal- the gush of blood, the viscous touch of muscle fibres, so red yet so cold. Getting pinned to the ground by this...thing. Its strength is vicious and animalistic with a face that doesn't resemble a human anymore. And at that moment my mind went blank. What if, at that very second, nobody came to save me? What if, I just gave up? What if, I let its teeth sink into my neck? What if...I just died there and then?

"How are you holding up?"

Carlos appeared before me, interrupting all the trepidatious thoughts. A slow realisation sets in as my hands tremble in my lap. Immediately, I curl my fingers into fists to cover up the jitter from him. "Still holding" I swallowed and smile politely, hoping the lump in my throat won't betray me right now. He returned the smile and positioned himself in the seat next to mine. "You were brave out there. Fighting by yourself...not many people have the balls to do that."

I let out a quiet snort. "No, you saved my ass. I wasn't brave. I was just lucky. If it wasn't for you I would've..." A pause, "I would've become one of them by now." Tears tingled behind my eyes as I blinked several times to keep them at bay. Carlos catches my hands tenderly, unravelling my fingers one by one, releasing all the tension I took a grasp of and crimson liquid came dribbling out the crescent-shaped wound. The fear in my head numbs all my pain; unaware of the shallow cuts, the maroon shade stained the dents of my fingertips. He took out some bandages from one of his pouches and carefully bind them to stop the bleeding. "There. That should do the trick." he grins as I admire his patchwork. "Thank you." I returned the kindness and we sat in comfortable silence. Upon closer inspection, Carlos does look kinda cute. The corner of his eyes crinkles and smile line deepens whenever he laughs, not to mention, his voluminous mane is the centre of attention. It kind of reminds me of an Old English Sheepdog and that image alone made me giggle.

"Carlos, we have a situation." we turn our attention to another team member, dressed in the same gear as Carlos- except his appearance was more well-kept, clean-shaven. Carlos turns, face sombre, knowing the news that comes next won't be any good. "What's the status?"

"Charlie's comms are down. The situation currently unknown."

"And Bravo team's position?"

"They're en route to Charlie, but they've already lost half their men"

He ponders for a moment. "Alright, change of plan. We'll meet up with Bravo and rescue Charlie. Once we get there, see if you can call for extraction out of this city."

His colleague nodded and went off to relay the message to the rest of the squad. Carlos turns back and kneels down, looking at me in the eyes, he softly spoke. "Hey. We're gonna have to take a detour, but I promise you, I'll keep you safe." He paused, reading my reaction. "Are you okay with that?"

My gaze wanders around his nervous expression, but I simply smiled. "Yeah, it's better than being alone out there right now. And besides, I don't doubt your abilities to keep me safe." His face went blank for a few seconds to unexpectedly bursts into laughter as though my answer caught him by surprise. "Okay. We'll be getting off next stop. In the meantime, stock up on some supplies cuz we don't know what's out there. Talk to one of the guys and they can get what you need." Carlos winked before leaving me to psych myself up for what's coming ahead. Knowing the chaos that's happening out there, it's going to be a dirty fight.

Our clattering footsteps relay around the walls of the subway as the lights flicker in a retrospective beat. The place is bare and quiet. Too quiet, even. Not even a single croak or heavy breathing could be perceived. It is deadly silent. Why is it empty? With the city running amok, you'd expect people to be escaping this hell hole; or worst-case scenario, laying dead in this underground. But, nothing. Not a single body insight. That's what worries me. I could say the same for the rest of Carlos's team. Which means, whatever is waiting for us out there is greater than what we could imagine.

My knees are getting weaker by the minute, shuffling closer to Carlos as I grasp my gun tight. Fingers nervously fiddling with the indents of the grip; sucking in a cool breath of air and pulling my shoulders back, we press on.

The layout of the underground is intricate and labyrinthine- reaching an intersection every few minutes, but we haven't let our guard down. Turning the last corner, we finally arrived at the main plaza; still remaining empty but the place was already thrashed. Carlos signalled for everyone to spread out and search the area, while I linger next to him. My heartbeat is racing quick as ever since I stepped off the train with the rapid pulse stuck in the back of my throat. He gently touches my arm, worry flash before his eyes but I shook my head. 'I'm fine' I mouthed. He looked at me for a few seconds, unconvinced, but decided not to force it any further. This place is eerily bleak, what was once lively is now filled with desolation. Somehow there's a slight dread and sadness inside me. The noise of metal clanking took my attention away from my surroundings.

"Damn it. The exits blocked." He gave it another shot but the gate shows no sign of budging. A short, heavy breath escapes his nose. I examined his troubled look and spoke out, "I'll go look for a way to open the gate."

He was stunned. "No. I can't let you do this. It too dangerous-"

"Please, I insist. You've helped me enough so let me do this. Even if I am in trouble, you'll come to save me, right?"

Carlos's expression is tense; I can almost see his thoughts rotating, like clockwork, inside his mind. Considering and reconsidering my offer. At last, my words overthrows him. "Okay, but take this." He hands me a palm-size radio, all tattered and taped. "Anything you see, you radio in. And I mean that. If you see one of those things, do not hesitate to shoot. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I respond, sloppily saluting as I backed away to complete my new objective, continue to traverse down to the backside of the plaza. By the repetition of office doors, this justifies that I'm going in the right direction, but which one? The fluorescent lights blinked abruptly before returning to normal. Seems like the building is getting more unstable, with time quickly ticking away, I should hurry. And by some miraculous luck, I stumbled upon a door that catches my attention. 'Employees Only', this must be it. The door isn't locked but it took a great amount of energy to push a gap open, just enough for me to squeeze through.

Stacks of documents and brick computers blockade the door and next to it; a dead corpse that was once the employee of this place. He must have been dead for 2 hours- top, by the looks of it. The blood forms into a pool around the body and adheres to the sole of my boots. He took the quick way out. A blow to the head with his own pistol, laying dormant in his hand, now motionless in white. Crimson red liquid and shards depicted the blank wall, chunks frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry..."

Choking back my grief, I resume my search and in front of me is my mission objective. Monochromatic screens all tracking specific places of the building. Right on the bigger screen, displays Carlos and his men searching the perimeter. I radio in, "Carlos, come in. I'm in the control room. Hang on, I'll get the gate open."

"Good job. Hurry back and we'll get out-"

The building fades into darkness, heightening my sense of fear in this unfamiliarity. I draw out my gun and tightening my hold like it's my lifeline. My chest stiffens with each shallow breath I took, the effect of the blackout is developing claustrophobia within me. I heaved and the lack of oxygen in my brain cause me to hallucinate all my nightmares, but the image of Carlos flashed vividly in my mind. I took a deep breath and count to three. One...Two...Three... The emergency lights came on before my eyes and my anxiety reverts back to a sense of tranquillity. Talk about timing.

"Carlos? Carlos! Are you okay?" Please tell me he's okay.

No reply.

"Carlos? Are you there? I can't see you." I bit my lip, searching relentlessly on the screen for a trace of him. Just any sign at all.

"Yeah, we're okay. We've taken cover but it's pitch black out here, but...we could only see so much with our flashlight. See if you can get the power back on from your end"

Frantically, I pressed every button presented on the switchboard, nothing seems to be doing the trick. "Negative. I don't think I can do anything from here." All of a sudden, the floor began to rumble. And gradually it became stronger that shook the whole room, files and objects tumble to the ground until it subsides back down again, just like a tank passing by. "What was that?" I said in dismay.

"I don't know..." Coming from the other side of the line, a low growl and heavy footsteps. "But, whatever the fuck that is...It's definitely in here with us now."

In search of the monitor, I glue my eyes to the blurry image shown; even if everything doesn't seem out of the ordinary, my gut feeling is telling me otherwise. Still as a statue, they listened in closely to every motion IT makes. The sound is too quiet to be perceived. Out of the corner of the screen, something whoosh by. Its movements are too fast for me to catch but it's inching closer and closer to the lifeforms. With one swift swipe, it took a man down, and then the next. The claw marks on the wall...it stretches 10 feet wide from point to point, even looking through the screen, the blood is so vividly deep in hue. It crawls in close, but the team is still desperately searching.

It strikes! "Get down!" My voice is shaking down to its core.

They duck, but some did not make it. Their limbs severed; corpse dangling in half on the claw of the monstrous being, still clinging and screaming for their lives and then cease all at once. I shrieked out in horror. The size of that thing knocked the air out of my lungs. This being couldn't possibly be a human?! The zombie creation stood ten times its original size. The exposed skeleton is partially bound by its flesh- all swelled up and tainted, its tail bone morphed to a whip carrying a single-edge blade. Claws digging into the shallow pool of blood as the liquid cascade down the cracks of the marble flooring. The remaining squad open fire, bullets fly and ricochet off the wall. In the brief moment of spark, they lost sight of the target again.

"Shit, where is it?" I can hear the frustration in Carlos's tone.

Their flashlight drifts around the room as the tension sets in. You fear what you can't see, even more so if all you could see is darkness. The beast growls and encircles them, but the squad can't pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Intensity fills your gut as you watch the monitor closely, decoding its every move. After a beat, it leaps.

"Carlos, your 4 o'clock!"

He whips around at the speed of sound as he squeezes the trigger. The blast took impact greater than his expectation, every shot penetrated into its fleshy fibres while it screeched with a chalkboard sound. It struggles to keep a hold of itself up on the pillars as it collapses and tumbles to the ground. Without missing a beat, the team executes the behemoth until it turns into a bloody pulp, killing it with brute force. They inspected the pulverized mess further before they could ease off their defences. As if by command, the power's back on. My stomach turns into a knot. This is strange, but I pay no mind to it.

"Carlos, you alright?" I asked.

"Yeah...that was too close. That thing was too quick... We could've been killed here if it wasn't for you. You were our eyes when we couldn't see so...thank you." I could almost hear him blush at the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat it. Alright, I'm gonna get the gate open." I pulled the lever and watch the gate rise and retracted back through the screen.

"Got it. Now get your ass back he-" THUMP! Something's outside the door, trying to crank it open.

THUMP!

"Carlos? Carlos, someone's trying to get in here." my voice shivers.

"What? What do you mean someo-"

BANG! The door flew open. As an instinct, I drew my gun and aimed it towards them. A team of four heavily armed soldiers dressed in black armoury kicked in, almost like a SWAT team, weapons aimed ready. Without a second thought, I opened two shots on their thighs and calves to buy myself some time. They did not flinch, nor did it cause any pain to them. The unit moved in closer and closer towards my position by the time I made the first punch. My right hook collided with one of the soldier's throat and swiftly transitioned my elbow to another one in between the ribs. But all of that did not matter, my attacks took little effect as they soon surround me, putting me in a lock hold position, hands bound behind my back and dragging me away from the room. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating in my throat while I struggle to break free. Who the fuck are these people? What do they want with me? I don't want this. I'm scared.

"CARLOS!"

His name was the last thing that left my lips before the hooded squad inject my system with some form of liquid. My eyelids grew heavy, I fought back to keep myself awake but alas, the shroud of darkness consumes my mind, taking my soul to a distant world. The next time I wake up, the doors to the pandora's box had already open and it's already too late for me to stop it.

The snickering and one-sided conversation waver into my ear. I can't shift my body, still situated in darkness along with the effect of the drug. The icy metal clasp my limbs tight cemented on either side of my body and unable to produce any strength. The noises stopped and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah...you're awake. Good, good." The man sneered and carry on muttering in an absence. "You know, I was surprised by your...actions. You all exceeded my expectations. With this data you provided, we could improve on the flaws with our last experiment." He chuckled. "For now, my child, sleep. When you wake up, you'll be born anew again." His words became a slur in my brain, lowering into a hushed tone. Phrases repeat and distorting, just like an echo in an ice cave, cold and enchanting before my conscious slips away once more.

------------------------

"WHAT HAPPENED? HEY, COME IN. HEY!" The statics over on the other line holds its place. "FUCK!" Carlos's voice howls, the thunderous boom stunned the remaining of his teammates. His fists clenched in a fit of rage as he smashes the radio onto the bloodied floor. The radio explodes with shards flying across the hall, some splinters still clinging onto his hand.

"Carlos...umph..." Tyrell struggles, limping its way towards him as he compresses his wound. "The mutated monster...the lights and the locked gate...I don't think it's that simple." he sighs, pushing his glasses back up with his forefinger. "There's only one company that would create such a big experiment. Carlos, listen...you need to stop them."

Carlos shifts to look at him. "T, we still have to meet up with Bravo and we've already lost half of our men. There's no prediction of what's roaming out there."

Tyrell shakes his head, a stern look in his eyes. "No...You've seen what they are capable of, there's no saying what Umbrella might do to next. Go rescue them, I'll handle the rest." He waves him away, still clenched in pain but casually shrugs it off. Carlos conflicted for a short period but ultimately chose to listen to Tyrell. Tyrell gave him a quick pat on his shoulder before Carlos turns away.

[Umbrella's research facility]

The eerie sound of silence fills the whole facility. A silence that stayed constant in your ears, just like the tv sign-off tone. The uneasy feeling never left Carlos's mind as soon as he traverses through the isolated building, gun in position. Walls dressed in white, the distinctive chill in the air and corridors that lead to nowhere. Carlos grew impatient by the minute.

There, at the end of the hallway, lays a door just barely visible for the naked eye. 'Security Room, EMPLOYEES ONLY'. He breaches in; a vast space all clustered with fallen chairs and paperwork, the multiple screens project different rooms within the facility, some looked like its the cafeteria and another resembles a cool storage room with weird pieces of machinery scattered around the place. Yet they are all empty, except one. At the top left-hand corner of the display box, it presents various aqua chambers containing partially mutated humans and failed experiments. And in the centre of that screen, he saw his companion positioned upright on a surgical bed, unconscious and all tied up. But getting there might be difficult without putting up a fight as four heavily armed mercs all gathered outside of the laboratory. Carlos unclips his assault rifle and peeks, the ammunition is barely enough to fight four soldiers; hell, not even four zombies. At this point, every shot counts.

The build-up of sweat in his palm loosened his grip. He examines his hand; trembling and numb with uncertainty, what lies between him and his enemies is just one simple electronic door. Beyond that, someone important is there waiting for him, alive and afraid. Or perhaps they...no. That couldn't possibly be the case. He clutches the handle once more, on the count of three breaths, he bursts in. It only took a split second for bullets to fly across the room, landing hits in the enemies' calves and forearms. Carlos moves in closer before they could react, instantly killing a soldier with one shot under the jaw as blood and plasma spew out onto the ceiling. They return fire, only to hit their ex-partner's lifeless corpse. Carlos thrusts the body towards the two henchmen and staggers them to the ground, he flips; locking the remaining guy pressed up the wall with his entire body, they struggle but was immediately executed with a blow to the head. Blood splattered on Carlos's right shoulder but that didn't faze him. The sound of his assault rifle clicks empty as he saw the two crawling back up. "Tch." His tongue snapped as the gun launched across the room at a high velocity, knocking one in the face and stumbling backwards. Like a chain of effect, they’ve sprawled out on the floor once again. Stepping his right foot on their torso, his gaze shows pity as he ponders over them before pulling out his pistol from the holster.

"Hope you got friends on the other side."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The aftermath of those four shots lingers in the room. A mixture of gunpowder and blood made Carlos's stomach twist up in a knot, but he got more important things to worry about. The life of his partner was the only thing that occupied his mind. The final door slides open; revealing a skinny, middle-aged looking man in a fresh set of lab coat, stood in front of a worktable and unaware of his presence. Inside, those hydro chambers stood twice his height with flesh substance floating inside the liquid. Some are just a blob of meat and others have fully transformed into somewhat human-shaped, but all are deformed. Upon closer inspection, one mutated monster's eye pop open. Carlos flinched. He examined around and was shocked to find that they are alive, all of them. What kind of sick joke is this? Is this what I've been fighting? He wondered.

"Admiring my creations, I see. Do you like it?" The man asked.

"Is this what's been running the city into a shitshow? What the fuck is this pharmaceutical company hiding?" He looks around. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes! My precious little plaything. You're just in time to witness the beginning of my newest creation." The man chuckles, he pressed a button and the sound of machinery begins to whir. The glass cell shifts closer into the room, unveiling you in a comatose state, pretty as a picture. "They are sedated, for now. But soon, they will become humanity’s greatest invention and you will be the first one to witness it. Isn't that something?"

The blood inside him boils; the rage within could not be contained, white-hot magma erupting and coating every strain in his system. He pulled the trigger; the shots punctured through both of the man's legs as he knelt on the floor, screaming in agony. Carlos rushed to your side, unclasping any restrictions and carefully let you lean against the wall.

"Heh...what will you achieve by saving them...? The city's gone rogue...everybody's dead...and yet you couldn't save half your men. So...why bother saving them...the end is nigh!" His manic amusement shakes the whole room to the ground. But, the laughter was cut short and soon, it has been replaced by the clinking of a bullet shell against the hard deck and empty clickings. Gun drops as he struts towards the pathetic slob, straggling in the crimson liquid that's supposed to keep him alive. Well, not anymore. Carlos straddles on top of his weakened body, gaze bore into his soul. He wondered. How could someone like him still be alive? As the world burns and he gets to live? The ability to heal given to this monster and yet, he chose destruction. He must be purged.

The sound of his leather gloves creek as it made the first impact. The feeling of bone to bone seems odd to Carlos but...it excites him. With each hit, the pain pushes him even further, numbing and bruising. It felt right. He pants, the blood spews and paints him in a new shade of violence. The man weakly chuckles.

"The man who fights monsters have become a monster himself. Isn't that irony...?" He coughs, blood spilling out on the edge of his lips.

"Killing humans...how does that feel? Still want to play the hero and save them? With the world on fire and all those lives in your hands...you will only taint them. Lemme tell you a story...do you know what kind of flower blooms the brightest even in the harshest weathers?" Carlos looks at him quizzically.

"Snowdrops. They are the first ones to bloom long before spring comes around...the pure and innocent. At the beginning of time, Snow searched for a colour to borrow... The element admired flowers and their vibrant colours. One day, Snow asked and pleaded for one of the colours from the flowers, but the blossoms denied Snow's request; they felt Snow was too cold and undesirable. The snowdrop, however, felt sorry for Snow and offered it its own colour. It accepted the gift and the element itself became as white as an angel's feathers... To show its gratitude, Snow allowed snowdrops to bloom at the end of each winter with their own protection against the blizzard weather. From then on, Snow and snowdrops exist side-by-side as friends."

He heaves. "Like I said...irony... Their friendship is only a fabrication out of pity. Just like you!" The deathly cackle roams as he chokes on his own spit and blood.

Ears buzzed with white silence, his visions hazed with a red lens filter and heart palpate at an abnormal speed. Carlos felt every ridge of the handle on his knife and takes out his weapon, unhurried. The shiny metal pressed upon the wilting man's oesophagus- with only a little strength, it opened up. Blood spatter across Carlo's face, unflinching. His eyes darkened, tunnel vision focused on the crevice of the wound; there's friction on the thin layer of skin as the sharp edge glides slowly from one end of the neck to another. Carlos finishing him off with a fling of his blade, scattering red all over the wall. Both of his hands grip the handle tight; rising it high above his head, he paused for a moment to look at him one last time, then strikes down into the man's right chest in the speed of light. Pulverising his cardiac organ. He retrieves the knife and repeats over and over again with the red fluid gushes out with each stab until there is nothing left. A monster bathed in his enemy's blood. The man croaks in agony and over a few seconds, it stops. And so does Carlos.

The white noise has been replaced by his own rapid breathing. Thoughts are empty, his gaze quivers yet, he does not fear anything. He felt it...warmth. How did he not notice it? Is this how warm humans feel? He never realised this, this kind of feeling, it's something so different from killing a zombie. He looks down at his own two hands...so red. A smile crept along his face with the feeling of content. In a spark, he burst into a peal of harrowing laughter, vibrating the whole room.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

------------------------------

In my moments of wake, I find myself bestowing my gaze upon a beast gazing back at me with a musing look in his eyes. They're so dark and dire, almost like someone gouged out a part of him and replaced it with something so sinister. He snaps, now truly looking at me through the eyes of the actual Carlos, as if nothing happened.

"You're awake! Good, I was starting to get worried about you. We should probably leave and catch up with Tyrell. They should've called for the extraction by now." Placing his tarnished knife back into the holster, he made his way towards me. My fear of him vanished, he's just like the Carlos I met a few hours ago. Warm and caring. "Let's go." He said, both his arms shifts under my back and behind my knees, picking my weight up with ease. "Get some rest...I wake you up when went get to the rendezvous point." His voice is hushed and the sound of his heartbeat soothes out all my stress. By the time we left the room, I was already drifting between dreamworld and reality.

The sound of his footstep was kept at a constant pace, his movement rocked me side to side, gently without missing a beat. But the further he tread, the temperature in the air got colder and yet I could not feel the wind brushing against me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna fix something real quick." Carlos's body heat left my side and was replaced by the icy touch of a piece of furniture. The mechanical hum occupied my eardrums and everything sound muffled once again. Eyes weakly opened and the sight wasn't what I was expecting. What greets me was four walls made of glass entrapping my body as he stood and watched.

"Carlos...what are you doing? Let me out. Come on...this isn't funny, Carlos. Let me out of here!" I begged.

He shook his head, resting a hand on the glass in front of me, looking at me longingly. "I can't." His words were breathless.

"Why?"

"I made you a promise. And this is the only way for me to protect you...You would be safer here, nothing can hurt you." His thumb grazes something small in his palm. I looked up and saw a room that was surrounded by pieces of machinery and nitrogen tanks, placed accordingly in rows of four. Then, it hit me.

"Don't do this..." I cried. But, it was too late. His thumb clicked on the small device in his hand and soon, a strain of gas misted out from the tubings and masking the entirety of the glass cell, leaving me dazed and numbed as I crawl back to the shivering nothingness.

"I'm sorry...I promise I'll come back for you." His empty words circulated in my ears and through the air as he walked away, leaving me in the darkest den of Umbrella. Cold, afraid and alone; frozen in time without anybody knowing.

And there I was, still as a landscape; living on top on a snowy mountain at the beginning of Spring, as pale as Death herself. Bidding my farewell to him until next Winter comes; when a blanket of snow tops the upside of the greeneries and then, we shall meet again.

[valhallanrose]

Funeral Bell

Astoria’s foray into the labyrinth spawns more questions than they can find answers for on their own - but the journey to find those answers will be more disastrous than they thought. 

Astoria is nonbinary, and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably. 

Title: Funeral Bell by PHILDEL

2.2k words. No CWs apply. 

The quiet clicking of Astoria’s boots on the marble beneath their feet was deafening, punctuating the emptiness of the hall as their pacing quickened with every passing moment. 

When they were well enough to travel, Myrna had done the best thing she could think of - bring Astoria down the mountains to the first Prakran port in the valley she could find and board the first ship that would let them book passage to the Republic of Galbrada. 

The Whitethorn Citadel had long since been a friend of Myrna Canonach. They’d employed her for one task or another over the years, transporting artifacts and manuscripts that they feared might become damaged without the care of someone who would monitor their transport and the conditions they were kept in when traveling over sea and land. Though they paid her well for her work, they had always promised Myrna that should she need anything, their resources were at her disposal - all she needed to do was ask. 

And Myrna, with Astoria in her shadow, had deemed it time to call in those favors. If anyone could explain what had happened to Astoria, it was going to be the scholars at the Citadel. 

When they were granted audience, the council had made it clear that they only wanted to speak to Myrna, which left Astoria where they were now: standing out in the hall, pacing across the marble floors and wringing gloved hands nervously while the clock ticked by.

To them, it felt like Myrna had stepped inside the council room hours ago. 

Voices rose beyond the heavy wooden door, but the words were unintelligible - though Astoria could make out enough to tell that someone was angry, and odds were, it was about them. 

The clicking of their boots came to a halt as Astoria stopped outside the door, framed the archway as they looked down to their carefully gloved hands and tried to squash down the burning that welled up in the corners of their eyes. 

This had become the new normal.

Ever since they’d come out of the labyrinth, the welcoming smiles they’d always known had changed, hiding wariness and curiosity that made them feel more like an artifact on display than a person. They wanted to scream, to cry, every time a hand was laid on their shoulder and they were asked if they were alright, because the answer was a resounding no - I’m not sure if I’ll ever be alright - but they knew the answer that was wanted was one of strength, one of ‘everything’s fine, we’ll figure this out, I’ll stop at nothing to get answers’. 

They couldn’t stand being touched anymore, either. Every time they came in contact with someone’s bare skin it was like the world fell away and all they could hear was the roar of blood in their ears, the steady pounding of a heartbeat not their own echoing in their chest until they finally managed to break away from whatever spell they’d fallen under. The gloves helped with that - it reduced the chance of contact Astoria wasn’t prepared for - as did their clothing, which they chose carefully now to cover as much of their skin as possible. Even Myrna’s gentle hand on their shoulder made them jump, made them fear the trance until they realized that she too had taken to wearing gloves when trying to comfort their grandchild. 

It made them feel human, in an odd way. Respected. Cared for. Like someone was still listening when it felt like their voice was being drowned out. 

The hinges squealed as the door opened, drawing Astoria’s eyes up from their gloved palms to meet Myrna’s tired gaze - they noticed the irritated flush to her face and the way her hair looked ruffled from the way she ran her things through it when she was frustrated - and hesitantly took a few steps forward when Myrna beckoned for them to come inside the room and join them. 

The council, or the governing body of the Citadel, was made up of five members. Three of which currently sat at the raised marble slab, notes laid out on the surface - two men, one on each side, and a woman seated in the middle who had quite a motherly smile on her face despite the situation. 

“Hello, Astoria.” She greeted, setting her quill down to give them a slight wave. “You may call me Dorothea. How are you feeling?”

Like hell. 

“I’m okay.” Astoria folded their arms, hands loosely gripping their sleeves as they stepped a bit closer. “How are you?”

“Worried, I’ll admit.” Dorothea sighed, folding her hands in front of herself on the table. “Astoria...your grandmother has been kind in retelling what has happened, but we worry that we aren’t getting the full story. We need to hear it from you, to make sure that we are getting the full truth.”

Myrna scoffed behind Astoria, and Dorothea shot her a look, then turned her gaze back to Astoria with an expectant expression on her face. 

Please tell me this is the last time.

“I can do that.”

“Good.” Dorothea picked up her quill again and gave Astoria a nod. “When you’re ready.”

And so, Astoria began to speak, arms wrapped around themself for some sense of security and feeling like they were mere inches tall under the weight of speculative eyes. The sounds of quills scratching on paper, once comforting, was deafening - distracting enough for Astoria to lose their place a few times and need prompting to continue when they fell silent for too long. 

It wasn’t the labyrinth they were afraid of, not anymore. But every time they got to the part about the sepulcher...they couldn’t keep the tremors out of their voice, no matter how many times they told the story, and they carried through until the very end. Detailing the days after, fearing madness as they lie awake in their tent and try in vain to block out the heartbeats of dozens of colleagues and friends, staying awake for days until their body shut down and forced them to sleep - it made them realize how tired they were, physically and mentally, of living life like this. 

There was a long, long silence as Dorothea set her quill down, raising clasped hands to rest against her chin and staring down at Astoria with an unidentifiable look in her eye before she broke the silence by addressing them. 

“Thank you, Astoria, for your candor.” 

Astoria only nodded, watching as Dorothea’s gaze shifted to look behind her and address Myrna directly over their head. 

“Myrna, I believe the best course of action...would be for you to enroll Astoria here, allow them to remain here for the foreseeable future while we examine their affliction -”

No. 

“- it would be best if you do not stay, Myrna. We understand your concern for Astoria, but your presence might make them hesitate to share information with us -”

Not like this. 

“- of course they’ll be well taken care of, and you’re welcome to visit any time -”

“Please.” Astoria whimpered, Myrna’s head turning toward them as the words caught and died in their throat. “I don’t...I don’t want…”

Their voices overtook Astoria’s, no matter how many times they opened their mouth and tried to force the words out, but...none of them would even look in their direction. It made them feel so small, so insignificant, as if they weren’t even there no matter how much Myrna argued for them to take some time to consider, that there was no rush to make a decision right that second if they didn’t know what they were dealing with. 

It was too much. Too much on Astoria’s fragile heart, bearing the weight of fear and change and utter exhaustion, to not break when a hand pressed down on the scales and tipped them over the edge. 

The shout that ripped from their throat would leave them hoarse for days, tears streaking down their cheeks unbidden as they finally, finally, cracked under it all. 

“Why won’t you listen to me?”

It was like time...stopped. 

The room was silenced in an instant. Not a bird sang through the open windows, not a page ruffled in a gnarled hand, not a pen scratched across the wooden surface of a desk - complete and utter silence, as if they’d all frozen in place no matter what they’d been doing before their outburst.

“I am not some gods-damned object to be studied, dissected, and put back together solely for your own gains!” They ripped off a glove, wiping fiercely at their cheeks in an effort to try and hold some semblance of composure. “Not a single one of you cares about how I feel, cares about what I want when I didn’t ask for any of this. I want to stop feeling like I need to crawl out of my own skin when someone touches me, I want to stop feeling like a stranger in my own body, I want to stop feeling like I’m on the brink of losing my mind at any moment.”

Distraught, Astoria whipped the glove down to the floor, hair billowing around their shoulders and sticking slightly to the wet tear-trails on their cheeks as they looked back up to the three council members seated before them.

“You can’t just...you can’t just take that choice away from me.” Their voice broke, new tears spilling over and blurring their vision behind their glasses. “I want answers. I want them, so, so badly. But I want my life back. I want to know how to control this, not just be a source of information to be gawked at until you say I’ve given you all I can. I’m...I’m tired of feeling like this. I know it won’t go back to normal, I’m not so stupid as to think there’s a way my life will ever be the same. But I want to know that I can get close to it, and I want to know I can live my life in the world out there without being afraid of myself at every unknown turn.”

When they rubbed their eyes with the heels of their hands and managed to look at this fragment of the council - really look at them - confusion overshadowed their distress as they took a single step toward the trio seated before them. 

They hadn’t moved, once. They thought they were imagining it, seeing the same expression and same positions of their body right down to the place their quills sat on parchment, but...they realized with some horror that they weren’t imagining it at all. 

They realized when they looked to Myrna that they could see the slightest tremor in the hand that gripped the silver-wrought handle of her cane, see the way her irises darted back and forth and her hand was still outstretched, reaching for Astoria with that ever-comforting look on her face. Her arm hung in midair, fingers outstretched as she took a step toward her grandchild, but...locked in place, as if someone had captured her likeness in colored stone. 

And there was...a beating, at their fingertips, something they could feel through their gloves as if it was buried beneath their skin from the moment they’d come into this world. 

Astoria flexed their fingers, wetting dry lips with confusion muddling their mind - 

Canonach. 

Astoria’s head snapped up, searching the room for the source of the voice that had echoed in their ears, then looked toward Dorothea - her brow tipped slightly down, as if it was the only gesture of concentration she could muster as they realized it was her voice they were hearing. 

Breathe. I need you to breathe, and I need you to let go.

Let go? What could they possibly...

...no. They realized it, looking inward, that the pit they felt in their stomach was not a pit at all. There, as if it were coiled in their gut, they could feel the tension, the stiffness, like a spring stretched too tight and ready to snap should you give it a single turn more. 

Astoria took a shaky breath in, holding it for a moment before they let it out, and the spring unwound with a pace that made Astoria stumble back and fall square on their ass on the cold marble floor. 

Myrna, Dorothea, and their silent compatriots all collapsed like puppets with cut strings - gasping for air as Astoria sat numb on the stone. They didn’t register Myrna dragging herself upright with her cane, limping heavily as she rushed to Astoria and threw arms tight around their shoulder. 

They’d...they’d done that. Stopped them all in their tracks without even a second thought, the realization ice in their veins as Myrna pulled them in and whispered words Astoria couldn’t quite comprehend over the ringing in their ears. 

Astoria glanced up, finding Dorothea rising from her seat, seeing her expression twist into something between awe and fear for a single moment before they buried their face in the side of Myrna’s neck to try and avoid looking anyone in the eye. 

Why did it feel like every time they came a step closer to finding answers, they felt like they lost a piece of themself in the process?