#aND he was struggling with the front wing the entire bloody time!!!

[ricciardover]

P15 ON HIS FIRST RACE BACK RAAAAAAAA

[callsign-rogueone]

the beginning of the end

Liam Mairi x reader (Spark!!)

words: 1.0k

🏷️: happy threshing everybody! I realized that it was today and decided to post this scene that I’ve been struggling to find a place for. the title kinda sets the tone for this one and is a major hint… this is not going to be fun for anyone involved. no book spoilers (pre-fourth wing). murder, blood, one mention of puke but it doesn’t actually happen, typical threshing activities, some girlfriends make an appearance, and so does bestie Bodhi, Garrick and his wisecracking, Liam smells like sawdust, Spark needs a hug. crappy formatting because I’m posting from my phone. will fix later xoxo

“I’ve been waiting for someone like you.”

You freeze, your eyes settling on the dark blue mass reflected in the boy’s sword. He looks shocked even in death, and you realize that he’d likely been distracted by the sight of the dragon behind you while you delivered the killing blow. The bastard deserved it, anyway.

But what do you do now? You wrack your brain for any sort of advice from Kaori’s class, but it all blurs together. Don’t show fear, you can’t show blues fear— or was that greens? No, don’t look reds in the eye… fuck. You’re not supposed to even breathe in a blue’s direction.

But if it’s talking to you, that must be a good sign.

Why it chose you remains unclear.

“You have anger in your blood, girl. I like that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You sheath your sword, slowly turning to face her and immediately regretting it. She’s as terrifying as Sgaeyl, but she’s so much closer to you than you’ve ever been to her or any other dragon, either.

“Hold still.”

You don’t have time to respond, your jaw dropping in a scream as she brings a leg up, slashing at your chest. Your entire body seems to burn, skin set ablaze with pain, and you sink to your knees, gasping for breath. Warm, sticky blood pours down the front of your shirt, the metallic smell overwhelming your senses. 

You’d probably throw up if you had eaten anything in the last twelve hours.

“Get up,” she orders. “Don’t make me regret this decision.”

You gasp and choke as you rise onto one foot, then the other, keeping your fists clenched at your sides — if you touch your neck, or seem affected by it at all, she’ll probably think you’re weak.

She sticks her leg out — the same one that has your blood still dripping from its claws — silently ordering you to mount. You try to keep your weight off of your right arm, but it’s impossible — it requires all of your limbs at work to climb up.

Thankfully she doesn’t try too many twist and turns as she gets you back to the flight field. It’s already hard enough to stay seated with your vision blurring at the edges and your heartbeat feeling too shallow, too uneven. The cold air pushing against the wound is agony, your shredded flight jacket doing hardly anything to cover it.

You slide down less than gracefully, focusing on not vomiting into the gravel of the flight field.

None of the professors comment on the blood soaking your shirt and crusting over your skin as you approach the dais, looking entirely unfazed.

“Tuilfeargach,” you state to the scribe, gritting your teeth, and Kaori’s eyes widen. “Is something the matter, Professor?” You ask with a calmness that makes his skin crawl.

“No. Not at all,” he rasps, clearing his throat.

Bodhi’s jaw drops as he sees you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, “are you-“

“Just a scratch,” you say firmly enough for him to drop it — something in your eyes tells him that it isn’t up for debate.

Dinner that night is remarkably tense. All of your friends have been chosen, and made it out of the forest alive, but nobody seems too happy about it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to mend it?” your friend asks softly. She’s been eyeing the bloodied bandage all evening, hardly touching her food.

If she did mend it away, you’d probably just earn yourself a set of new, deeper cuts tomorrow. And you’d rather not spend any more time at the healers. They’d sewed it up, but before that they had to spend a good fifteen minutes tweezing out the tiny pieces of cotton from your shirt that had become embedded in the three long wounds. That was worse than the stitches.

“Smart girl,” she appraises, and you flinch at the voice speaking directly into your mind. You still aren’t used to it. You don’t think you’ll ever be.

“Sgaeyl marked him, too,” you deflect, nodding toward the cut bisecting Xaden’s eyebrow. 

“Yeah, but she didn’t maul him,” Garrick argues. “You look like you were attacked by a bear.”

“I find that comparison insulting.”

“Well, it looks badass, at least,” Bodhi offers with a sympathetic smile, changing the subject. “What do you guys think your signet is gonna be?”

Thankfully someone else answers, and the conversation lightens — one of your friends wants to be an ice wielder, another a magnetist, which leads to a debate about whether or not that‘s a thing.

If anybody notices you rise from the table with your half-eaten plate and disappear, they’re smart enough not to say anything.

You drag yourself through the shower and then to your new room, which is a considerable upgrade from the endless row of bunk beds that you’d been in prior. Your reward for surviving and bonding a dragon, you suppose. You’d rather be there than here, if it meant you wouldn’t be in so much pain, and stuck with such a bitch of a dragon. But to do it all over again, like the few cadets who weren’t chosen will have to… you don’t know what’s worse. At least you’re still alive. That’s more than you can say for the boy you’d crossed paths with. Have they found his body yet?

You kneel down, dumping everything out of your bag to find what lies at the bottom. You’re flooded with relief that the soft cream-colored sweater is still there, undamaged. You pull it over your head, biting your lip to hold back a sob as you put your arms through, stretching your stitches.

The sleeves are too long, the cuffs extending past your fingertips. You lift one up to your face, taking a few shaking sniffs. It’s faint, but it’s still there: sawdust.

That’s the last straw — you curl up in the corner of your new, larger bed, and cry for the first time in three months; raw, body-shaking sobs that send waves of pain through your chest.

When you’ve run out of tears, you work your way under the covers, pulling your knees up toward your chest and drifting into a warm, black sleep.

[sitp-recs]

Hey, again love your recs! I'm completely in love with Drarry because of these lovely stories. Wondering, an recs with a rugged Harry/ Draco ( as in manual labour), and always sweet and smutty is always a win. I appreciate your time, thanks a bunch!

Thank you anon, I’m happy to hear that! Ohh very interesting ask, here are some E-rated fics for you. You might also enjoy this list with buff!Draco 🫡

Hot Metal by @bafflinghaze (E, 5k)

Harry Can’t Deal with the vision of Malfoy hot and sweaty at work in his blacksmithing forge. Meanwhile, Draco is entirely perplexed with Potter’s odd behaviour.

Heart to Hearth by @jtimu (E, 7k)

It should perhaps not have been a surprise that the repairman on his front step came not with coveralls and a toolbox but instead with a sardonic stare and a raised eyebrow. Harry stood in his open door and shut his mouth with an effort.

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

Hippomancy for Beginners by khalulu (E, 11k)

When Draco desperately insists on becoming a Centaur Liaison, he doesn’t know what he’s getting into, especially with that annoying hero-turned-hermit Harry Potter living right at the entrance to the Forbidden Forest. Not to mention foreign unicorn women, slavering three headed beasts, bitter brews, unexpected friendships, and the consequences of a very cocky vocabulary.

Voices From The Fog by noeon (E, 13k)

After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

One Floo Over the Lovegood’s Nest by Nattish (T, 14k)

Harry is not terribly surprised that there are magical plumbers, chimney sweeps, and pest control men. He is surprised that one of them is Draco Malfoy. And that he’s bloody hot in a jumpsuit.

Phoenix Repair Services by carpemermaid (E, 20k)

Draco hires a suspiciously private wizarding handyman to fix his kitchen when he returns home to find it destroyed. He expects a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and a pudgy gut to show up. Instead, he gets Harry Potter—with a utility belt and a charming smile—who is more attractive than he has any right to be.

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore (E, 21k)

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something?

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 77k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

[the-nysh]

Oh Meryl.....:') This will be a longpost commentary on the events of Trimax vol5 & 6 primarily from her perspective, so let's get into it!

Alright, so remember the foreshadowing in Meryl's line about seeing Vash's 'entire enigmatic past' from Trimax vol3?!

Well in Trimax vol5 all that becomes true! When getting 'touched by an angel' directly connects her to Vash's memories through contact with his feathers, she gets a front row seat to personally SEE, feel, and experience ALL the worst pain and trauma Vash has endured over his functionally immortal lifetime of horrors!!! Bearing witness to just how heavy a burden of sorrow and torment he's suffered carried with him that she's always wondered about; now she knows the full context of everything.

From witnessing his lone struggles as a younger child first learning how to use a gun, grinding through all his bloody mistakes, losses, and failures, to the worst calamity that he, as a transformed nonhuman 'gun' himself, became capable of unleashing on the planet: the terrifying destruction of July itself.

As Vash regains his lost memories of July through a meltdown of grief, regrets and revelations of his own (how firing his power inadvertently killed everyone he knew and loved), all at once, his pain while reliving those horrors of the past resonates to become her pain. (Remember this for vol6!)

And just to grab a mic to reiterate, Meryl is only a normal human woman here, with no special powers or superhuman training to prepare her how to handle any of this! (This disaster exceeds her realm of expertise!) She’s also the only one who gets to see, understand, and resonate with the entirety of Vash’s pain and feelings on such a direct, private, and literally mind-melding intimate level of connection. (Linking the human with the inhuman/monstrous.) So of course she’s terrified! Being thrust into such an unprecedented dangerous situation, witnessing inescapable horrors beyond human comprehension, AND by getting a very real demonstration of Vash’s power (on the verge of exploding out of control) and his transformed inhumanity RIGHT UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL!  

So it’s truly a testament to her mental fortitude and resilience that she didn’t just break from the information overload or succumb to the level of despair and terror right there--no, she bravely keeps her wits about her, and despite everything she remains on Vash’s side, shooting first to defend him (aiming right for Legato using the gun she picked up from Zazie's corpse) as the one who breaks the multiple-way stalemate between all their enemies instead! GO MERYL!!!!

(It's why this moment's probably one of my top favorites in the whole manga!!! ;o;) Cause the entire time, even while under severe mental distress, crawling through the rubble with his powers and feathers surging everywhere, Vash had kept her safe and physically unharmed within his wings, and then her first action upon surfacing was to take charge to protect him in turn!! I love it; cause even during such a dire emergency and all the mental stress she's put under while in the heat of the moment, her faith and dedication (to fight without hesitation at his side) still aim true~

And even after Legato critically pushes the crisis from bad to worse, to the point Vash is provoked into almost firing his Angel Arm in feral-retaliation to stop him (holy foreshadowing of their future duel!) with Meryl literally stuck in the middle of all this chaos (while shocked, powerless, and terrified--bless her heart) as Vash struggles to regain control of himself...

(Note: even Wolfwood was blown back by the surging energy, but with Meryl literally RIGHT THERE under Vash, it's amazing she didn't get hit being that close to him.) ...she STILL doesn't run away from him once the dust settles, and is in fact the first one to approach him in concern to ask if he's ok after...

(So whew, a relieved round of applause for Meryl remaining strong in the active face of so much strife!!) The immediate aftermath of this whole experience gives her the tangible proof and perspective from Vash to understand and fear that Knives--as his twin in power but having the actual intent to destroy the world behind it, is fully capable of ending humanity's future.

Of course, the experience doesn't also leave her unscathed without any lasting mental scars to cope with...as Trimax vol6 so graciously shows us how things will always Get Worse before they can get better...

Where sure enough, she's already having difficultly sleeping with night terrors and loss of appetite--it's honestly no surprise the terrible experience has given her symptoms of ptsd she'd be made of something unbelievably superhuman if she weren't affected, and consulting with Wolfwood unfortunately doesn't offer her anything (helpful) she doesn't already know...(cause at this point, she's literally seen more of Vash, especially the amount suddenly exposed to all at once, than Wolfwood could possibly know how to advise her on. He's still struggling with plenty of his own fears vs loyalties towards Vash himself.)

Only that he stresses the importance she weighs her options now to make the decision to quit her job while she still can (a choice and the freedom to 'get out' that Wolfwood comparatively doesn't have under direct orders from Knives) to remove herself and Milly from getting further involved with Vash--specifically the life-threatening danger he poses as a living weapon (despite his best intentions and character as a person!) set to explode with the firepower to raze the world--if Meryl values her life.

But truly, how does Meryl feel about that? What does she value and care for more, that'd be most important to her--her life or her job? Is following Vash (surveilling him for 'risk management') more than just a job to her at this point? What about her feelings towards him as a person--the man she already knows, vs her need to reconcile with the truth (that he's not even human!) that she didn't know until just recently. Is the level of imminent danger and risk she's putting herself into, now that she fully understands how dire, truly worth it (for him) this time? And if she still truly cares for him, does it even matter what he is? Despite any pros or cons and conflicting feelings about it, which will ultimately remain the stronger reason compelling her choice to stay?

Whew! She has many things to evaluate and consider going forward, especially if she wants to continue at his side. (And as Wolfwood stresses, continuing puts Milly at risk too, so that's even more weight/responsibility to balance on Meryl's shoulders.) Including processing the very nature of her fears--to identify what it is that truly terrifies her (is it truly Vash or something else?) before she can hope to face or overcome them. Before this biggest hurdle tips the scales to debilitate her resolve or outright prevents her from continuing her job at all. For now, she thinks and relates back to the firepower she gained when she first fired a gun...

And ah, HERE IT IS, she recalls what's scared her the most from her own past memories: "I gained the power of death at my fingertips. It was terrifying." Cause the first time she ever shot a person and realized the weight of the power she holds, she hated it. Shocked, collapsed, paralyzed, coming undone in the streets, closing herself off from others, regretting her action terribly... It was all too much. (Sound...familiar to the guilt and regrets of someone else we know? Meryl's shooting style is also notably non-lethal...because she too doesn't like to kill! When her first time wielding 'death' with her Derringers upset her this badly that she needed to adjust to be able to continue her job that required arming herself with this type of power...)

So remember when she resonated with the pain of Vash's memories? Seeing when he first struggled learning how to use a gun too, and all the blood and loss that accompanied it? However...his experiences didn't just end there, with only his first time shooting a person.....cause the first time he shot his real power (without him knowing what would happen) he caused the destruction of an entire city, killing everyone he loved in it! He didn't just 'gain the power of death at his fingertips,' he literally BECAME it, armed with the power to end the world. Hating and regretting his action so terribly, the catastrophe traumatized him with amnesia and led to a full-blown meltdown in grief and despair once he finally remembered. With Meryl there, witnessing and feeling all of it along with him. (His pain became her pain; his trauma became hers...)

That the sheer magnitude of wielding that kind of terror, as an intrinsic, inseparable part of himself (unlike a handheld gun you can choose to put down; he can't), let alone carrying the fear of it going out of control again if he's not careful, is indescribable. And if Meryl can now understand the gravity of that in relation to her own gun experiences (when the memory of firing her Derringers was already enough crushing weight for her to fear) then as the peace-loving person she knows him to be, who's always tried his hardest not to kill anyone, the crushing multitudes she knows he must feel now upon recovering his memories filled with so much death unleashed by his own hands must be unbearable. Feeling precisely just how much MORE terrifying and overwhelming the burden must be for him. It makes her wonder HOW can he still even bring himself to pull the trigger?!

Just look at Meryl's collapsed posture, it's the same she felt in her own past experiences...only this time it's directed in relation towards him--almost expressed in his place for the crushing weight he must feel. She's outright screaming/crying/bawling for him in empathy for the pain he must feel every time he's forced to fight and shoot someone with so much baggage behind it. Oh Meryl....:') (This is probably the strongest we've seen her cry for him...and it certainly won't be the last she cries in concern to relieve the pain of his burden.)

And Meryl, watching him fight on regardless, becomes struck and speechless for another reason, as she realizes how much his incredible strength and fortitude allow him to push past his unbearable pain to continue his job: "I felt...his determination is even stronger than the regret he carries."

Which is true, for the same stronger feeling that compelled him to stop at nothing, despite being on the verge of total collapse bearing his regrets of July, when he grit and forced himself to continue on his mission to save her from the Dragon's Nest. :') This is how he does it; how he continues to fight for what's important. (And yes she was that important, as the thought of losing her like his loved ones at July, is what fueled his determination back then to keep going.)

However, the struggle is never easy, as Vash, for his own part, masked behind his new goggle-edged glasses and kind Rem-like smiles 'as usual,' has not been coping well behind closed doors at all. (That Meryl could even sense an air of unusually 'off' distant/detached/avoidant behavior from him that she asks Milly about it.) We see him immersing himself in thousands of rounds of (non-lethal) target practice til his hand bleeds, and when drilling that level of focus + exposure isn't enough to take the edge off, he visits a church during service to hear a sermon on forgiveness...only for him to deem it hopeless there's no possible release from his sins when he can't even forgive himself, and there's even evidence he'd been drinking in not-quite-so savory (healthy or responsible) ways--unsettling even Wolfwood that something's uncannily off with him. (All being different attempted coping methods to drown out and escape the pain of his past regrets, but even Vash knows it's impossible now to forget...)

So all it takes is one slip-up when he's depressed off his game for everything to tumble into a trainwreck... Where Meryl seeing him block a bullet with his powers (instead of his usual self-aware dodging?) triggers all that terror to come flooding back into a panic attack.

Where it's truly unfortunate (and oh it hurts...) as an accident, something involuntary--a messy, instinctual reaction completely beyond either of their control. Cause Meryl didn't anticipate her ptsd to manifest and incapacitate her like this! that a single flash of his feathers would remind her of Everything--of all the worst horrors those powers are capable of when unleashed, the weaponized death and terror it represents, and the very moment she felt and experienced all of it while trapped powerless and panicked to do anything... No no no, returning to that headspace is horrible; it's all still too fresh to relive and TOO MUCH trauma for a human like her to bear; she couldn't help coming undone in the streets in a far worse way than she's ever had before (and I don't blame her.)

And Vash didn't mean to publically out himself as a nonhuman 'monster' to everyone either, when tensions were already high following Knives' mass murders for them to link the same culpability towards him, while he's still struggling to get a handle on his newly awakened powers too--ohshit indeed when they suddenly manifest and the truth breaches containment freaking everybody out in a witch-hunting mob of scorn, fear, misunderstandings, and hatred. (Ouch...)

What's more, Vash probably didn't even know Meryl had seen his memories, or had been affected by his trauma to such an overwhelming degree--since the transfer happened more as an autonomous side effect of his powers activating rather than anything he purposely intended....(once again, unintended consequences beyond his control; he never meant to cause any of this harm!!) So from his perspective he probably doesn't fully understand how to interpret her distress (apart from the crowd's?!) or know what to do to help. Cause reactions from strangers are one thing to bear, but if he sees her reaction to him--and his nonhuman display, as anything like theirs...then it's so much worse cause it's Meryl, who's known and been with him since the beginning. She's someone important he cares for...and now she's hurt and visibly scared from yet again another mistake he can't undo. ohno ohno he knows he messed up...

(Plus poor Milly has no context to understand what's wrong, or why Meryl's so upset either, since she'd been knocked out during the later parts of the Dragon's Nest to know what happened. So now she's alarmed and concerned trying to process why everything's suddenly gone to shit, anchoring Meryl the best she can, while shaken by the pain and cruelty Vash endures in such a situation masked with a smile...)

Despite the stones thrown by the crowd (nooo~) Vash's first priority concern is to run straight over to check on Meryl...

*And here's where I scream bloody murder* Cause that single flinch--from reaching towards her with that arm too, probably hurts him more than any of those stones thrown at him in hatred and revulsion that he's a monster. Cause to him it probably reads as a perceived rejection from Meryl (noooo~), and the amount he's hurt from realizing he's the one who hurt her this way....ohhhhh his crushing guilt must be heart-shattering...;A;

But there's no time, as before Meryl's even ready to speak or clarify how she feels, the choice she previously had on whether she wants to leave or stay is taken from her as Vash is the one who's forced to leave her instead. :')) The only thing Vash can do is repeatedly apologize as he runs away he can't even say goodbye--Wolfwood has to say that for him...and admit to Wolfwood how much he 'really feels like crying.'

(And once again poor Milly, left with no other explanations, can only read how much his pained empty mask of a smile has broken...)

What sucks even more, is knowing how much Meryl had already empathized with his pain (she could already feel that strongly for him!) and being in no condition to explain herself or her fears to him, once her panic subsides, she's bound to feel that much more terrible with guilt from realizing how her reaction (especially her flinch) had unintentionally hurt and pushed him away....leading towards a bad result she simply couldn't help and had no power to change...what a disaster.

But is someone as usually brave and tenacious like Meryl going to let that be the end of it? Broken on a disastrous parting and painful misunderstanding (she never meant to 'reject' him!!!) she literally had no say over? What of her brand of determination--especially towards what she feels (and decides) is most important, becoming stronger than the pain and regrets she carries? (Just like Vash! Can she find it within her to continue, or start over, inspired just as he does?)

Her struggle now becomes finding that strength (even a driving belief) to tentatively (re)build that trust and acceptance between them towards recovery. To endure, fight, and conquer those horrors to bridge (reconnect) the gap between the human and monstrous that separates them. (Especially if she truly cares and wants to do it--for the sake of what Matters, for what'll make the effort Worth it.) It'll be huge and seemingly insurmountable for any other person bearing the same strife she carries, but you can do it Meryl, I believe in you~~

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is heart!

This is going to be a two part thing :)

(751 words.)

Remus is the last one to the hospital wing.

Sirius, the bloody idiot, managed to get himself hit over the head with a bludger, and Remus' heart is still in his throat at the memory of the boy falling from the sky. He spent the better part of ten minutes fighting to get through the people in the stands, the moment he watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team crowding around Sirius. The rush does nothing other than make him incredibly out of breath when he arrives.

Madame Pomfrey is checking over him, James and Peter turning to Remus at his arrival. Another person looks up, sat in the chair beside Sirius' bed, and Remus freezes for a moment.

Sam.

Sirius' boyfriend.

They haven't been together for very long, but Remus knows Sam doesn't like him. He takes every available opportunity to shoot Remus a glare. Not that Remus blames him. He knows it must be weird to have your boyfriend's ex hanging around all the time, but Remus has tried his best to be respectful. If anything, he's been holding back. That's all he and Sirius seem to be good at, since they broke up. Even if they're trying to be normal.

It doesn't seem to matter, though, Sam's face dropping at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, and Remus almost involuntarily arches an eyebrow. Just in front of Sam, Peter rolls his eyes at the question, and James just shrugs.

"Really? He's my friend and he fell thirty bloody feet, I kind of need to be here," he answers simply. He doesn't expect Sam to laugh, though. A breathy, almost derisive laugh escapes him, and Remus really isn't sure how to respond to that.

"Please, you're hardly friends. Everyone can see you two avoiding each other." That hits Remus, twisting his gut in an awkward, painful way. James catches the look on his face, turning to Sam.

"Oi, watch it," he warns him, and even Madame Pomfrey is watching Sam carefully.

"Just because we're in a... weird place right now doesn't mean I'm not going to show up when he gets hurt," Remus states plainly. Sirius has been there for every single full since Remus forgave him for what he did, even if they struggle to talk after.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by Sirius. He's starting to stir, a grumble escaping him. Everyone's heads snap to him, Peter reaching out and pulling Remus slightly closer to the bed. Sam's focus is straight back onto Sirius, and it's clear to Remus that he's not about to wake up. It's definitely a good sign that he's not entirely unconscious, but his eyes aren't about to just... open. His voice is different when he's sleep talking. Lower.

Sam just doesn't know that yet.

It's obvious that he's trying to form words, everybody watching in silence.

"Mmny... R'mus," there's a slight frown on his face as Remus' heart stops.

Oh.

Maybe he's just hearing things.

"Remus," his name leaves Sirius' lips again, and everybody seems to freeze.

A few agonising moments pass, Remus' brain moving at a million miles an hour as he tries to quash the warmth spreading through his veins. Eventually, after what feels like hours but is probably only a few seconds, Sam pushes the chair away from the bed, stands and storms out, head down. He barges past Remus with his shoulder as he leaves, but it really doesn't matter to Remus. He's a little distracted by the unconscious Sirius, who's somehow searching for Remus in his dreams.

It's enough to push Remus closer to the bed, carefully reaching out and brushing a few hairs from Sirius' face. There's a deep purple bruise across Sirius' temple and over to the edge of his eye. The serenity that crosses his face when Remus touches him warms him immeasurably.

He knows he's still in love with Sirius. Honestly? Loving Sirius is the same as breathing for him at this point. It comes naturally, a constant in the back of his mind, impossible to forget.

Sirius doesn't need that burden dropped on him. They're not together anymore, and Remus is doing his best to accept that.

"Please don't tell him," he says simply, tearing his eyes away from Sirius and onto James and Peter. "About what he said."

That seems to baffle the other two marauders, but Remus throws them a pleading glance. It's enough for the two of them to nod.

"Okay."

-

Part 2 here!

[oneshotnewbie]

Part four of rabbit hole (Special Victims Unit) please? It's so good, you got me hooked up and now I need the whole series or else I will eat a 🛌

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of domestic abuse, blood and gaslighting. The plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subjects, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Taglist: @Marvelfan0573 @technotic-prophecy @setsuna1415

---

A loud, sadistic laughter from the kitchen drew your attention and you gave up on trying to rip the cord on your tied hands with your already bloody fingers. The weight of shoes on your old rattling wooden floor caused a vibration throughout your body and shivers started to cover your body in distress.

He made his way to you- slowly like a predator about to ambush it´s prey. In his right fist he held your phone that was smeared with your own blood, the display cracked from hitting the ground as he waved it in front of your face. "I managed to disable the location tracker. Funny that you´re still using your deceased dog´s birth date as your password."

You looked at the phone, and watched it light up with worried phone calls from Olivia. But after the initial surge, the notifications slowed to a trickle and the messages began to flow after another. You watched intently, trying to read each and every message to soak up any personal information you were left with.

Henry has set the phone up out of your reach, where you were powerless to reply but always able to read what was being sent. He turned the phones volume all the way up, resulting in torturous pings every time a message was being delivered and watched you cry.

Soft sobs stole over your beautiful lips and your entire, battered body trembled from the suppressed sounds. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see all the chaos in your apartment that was making your heart clench painfully.

"Please" you tried the impossible and humiliated yourself by begging him. "Let me go. I´m just giving you trouble."

"You don´t understand. You never understood me." For the first time ever, his enraged gaze turned sad and he really seemed to believe the madness he was spouting. His mood changed suddenly; that was his gift and you hated the ability to go from aggressive to lovable in a second. "I love you, Y/n. Even when you make mistakes. I hate myself for hurting you after punishing you- even then I love you."

You narrowed your eyes and tried to follow your ex-husband´s logic while trying to put your pain on the back burner. It no longer frightened you, maybe because the fact that you were still alive seemed like a sign after everything that had happened to you in the last few hours. Perhaps the level of cruelty that a woman could endure was fulfilled.

"No man who loves his wife does what you are doing."

"I´ve changed Y/n. I´ve been in therapy with a shrink who wasn´t that bad. He usually doesn´t take cases and if he does, only special ones." he said, rolling the words tenderly and carelessly off his smiling lips. "I´m just a habitual offender, according to him, when it comes to hitting my wife."

-You don´t hit her, you kill her. And with the beating you break her soul without which she is nothing more than a lifeless shell- you pondered to yourself and noticed how you struggled with your consciousness.

"No, you´re sick. An asshole eaten up by an inferiority complex. You´re trying to break my wings because you can´t take the fact that I don´t want and need you anymore." With that statement, which you didn´t manage to articulate properly due to the agitation, the fear came and with the fear the sub-machine gun in your chest started again.

"You bitch-" he yelled, threads of saliva flying into your face from afar as he ran towards you in a rage; grabbing you hard by the throat. Henry pulled you forwards with force and the cable around your wrists bursted from the pull as he threw you onto the ground, back first, and you screamed out as the slivers of glass pierced your back.

You gasped in his arms, unable to take a single breath- his fingers pressing into your thin and pale skin, already imprinting red fingertips on it. You had seen your ex-husband angry countless times, often to the point of incandescence. But you had never seen the aggression flash so intensely in his eyes. You may have hit a sore spot in him with your statement, which made him start to doubt himself.

Your bloody fingernails clawed at his hands, scraping the surface of that skin to convince him to let go, but he squeezed even harder, banging your head onto the floor countless times. The kicking and scratching of your legs in the shards was in vain. The ground beneath your feet, which you hoped to one day stand on again, began to crumble and you lost the strength to fight.

You were too weak and powerless. And you were more scared than ever. But you were ready to die; closing your eyes in faint, clenching your lids so tight you thought they would never open again and stopping your attempts to escape- you had braced yourself for the worst of pain, including death.

But then his sweaty and shaky hands began to pull away from your bonded skin, leaving you with no air to pass your crushed windpipe. A short and forced cough escaped your throat and was drowned out by a sonorous one that caused you even more pain.

Wordlessly, Henry fixated himself on the smeared blood on his knuckles and ran his fingers over it playfully before moving up and stepping over you like you were nothing but garbage bags standing in the way.

"Your death is not my aim and killing you is not my desire. I punish your ignorance and selfishness in leaving me." he clicked his tongue to confirm his reasoning. "Yes, that´s worse than a quick death if I let you live and you have to walk through this shattered life."

His real pleasure, after countless humiliations, was to kill every last glimmer of hope in the individuals he tormented.

You lay there, your eyes wide open and still gasping for air as he disappeared into the kitchen to get duct tape to tape your mouth shut. He must have had enough of your talking.

Stuck in your own apartment, you couldn´t think of an answer to the question of why you existed and you cursed God for putting you through this experience twice. But most likely, God didn´t exist- no valid, all-powerful being could condone what Henry did and probably would do to you.

---

Tired and drained, Olivia opened her eyes and stared sullenly at the phone gripped tightly in her hand. Immediately and without hesitation, she unlocked it half asleep, looking hopefully at the display; waiting for a message from you.

"Damn it." a heavy sigh escaped her dry lips and her shoulders sagged. Thousands of messages she had sent within the last evening had arrived and been read, but there was no confirmation for her that you were fine.

Her pale hand clutched the back of the couch she was lying on. She hadn´t heard from you since the incident two days ago- your connection remained silent. Since you´ve known each other, there hasn´t been a day that you haven´t spoken, which also made her suspicious.

The brunette took a deep breath, rubbed her eyes and threw the phone on the table. Her gut still spoke volumes and told her to be sure that you were fine so she got up and got ready to check in with you to see for herself that you were okay.

Arriving at your apartment in less than half an hour, she lifted her slender hand and knocked briefly. For a moment, when the silence weighed heavily, she longed for an answer. Heavy footsteps, mixed with an unclear clinking under them, approached the wooden door and when it opened carefully and only a crack, she took a deep breath and wanted to say something, but the sentence got stuck in her throat.

"Oh hello." the iron look of the almost black eyes looked dull at the woman in front of him, registering who he was looking at and nervously brushing the tousled and unwashed strands of hair out of his face. "Benson.. am I right? What do you want?"

"Captain, yes. I want to speak to Y/n." her voice was harsh and broke through any silence the hallway had to offer. Her legs were planted firmly on the floor and she spoke with an authority that made him increasingly uncomfortable. "She is very busy at the moment. Can I tell her something?"

She smiled mischievously as her gaze rose from the floor. "Yeah.. tell her that the violent suspect from out recent case soon gonna be a dead man." she spoke dryly but loudly, certain that you were held by him in your own apartment and knowing that you had heard and understood what she was trying to tell you.

Olivia wanted to free you from your living nightmare immediately, but she couldn´t do anything against him alone; risking your and her life on top. She didn´t know what danger awaited her if she tried to break in alone. Nor did she know what condition you were in.

[youmissedone]

Catalina knew it was late. She knew that she shouldn’t just show up to Carlos’ dorm like this, especially when she had no idea if Umbrella had given him a mission tomorrow. She knew it was wrong of her to expect him to hold her, call her by her nickname — she only let those closest to her call her Cata — and tell her it would be alright. She knew all of those things, yet here she was, knocking on his door.

The moment he opened the door, she practically collapsed into his arms. Catalina was drenched in blood, yet she wasn’t wearing the usual revealing outfits she wore on missions. No, she’d swapped the low-cut dress and glamorous makeup for a neutral look, a black off-the-shoulder blouse, leggings, and flats… but she couldn’t find the words to explain why she was bleeding in her casual clothing.

Catalina just looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears, and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I thought we were doing the right thing, that we were going straight after years of hell, but… we were wrong. I was wrong.”

She’d never expected her investigation into Umbrella to lead to this. She’d fully believed the corporation was good, and although their espionage and paramilitary departments were a bit out of place, it wasn’t as if she’d never taken on a shady job before. But when all the evidence had been presented in front of her… Catalina couldn’t deny it any longer. After a mission gone wrong — the target had gotten violent with her, and then Umbrella had berated her for what felt like forever — she just needed some comfort. Yet even now, she thought she was putting Carlos in danger. What if Umbrella didn’t want them to be together? What if they were still testing her after that failed mission?

“Mi amor…” she lifted her hand to his cheek, practically unable to look him in the eyes. Her heart raced in her chest, and she placed her other hand on the back of his neck to ground herself. In that moment, it was easier for her to switch to her mother tongue. “He hecho cosas terribles, pero pensé que estaba ayudando a otros. Estaba equivocada.”

It’s not fair, she wanted to cry. That made her sound like a petulant teenager, though, so she kept it to herself. She wasn’t making logical sense, but she was struggling to breathe. How could they do that to her? Make her believe that they were in the clear when they were really going and making things worse for everybody? She felt disgusting and lower than low, and not just because she was covered in blood.

“Can you just hold me? Please?” Her voice broke on that last word, and she started sobbing into him. She would’ve kissed him, but she felt awful, and she didn’t want to get the blood all over her boyfriend, too. “Carlos, I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

{I’m thinking this could be pre-Raccoon City incident?}

__________

Carlos startled awake the moment he heard the knock. The dorm room he was in had three smaller rooms and a common area, and at this hour, everybody was in bed. Nicholai was passed out drunk, he knew, and Yuri was a really heavy sleeper. That left Carlos to wander out of his own room in nothing but sweat pants and go to the front door. If it was anything important that required their attention, then he’d tell them, but otherwise he’d handle it himself. He didn’t know who would be knocking on their door at this hour, since this entire wing was usually quiet by this time of night.

The moment he opened the door, though, he was greeted by a thoroughly bloody Catalina, who then proceeded to crumple into his hold. “Woah, woah... what happened?” he asked in shock with no small amount of concern as he caught her. He drew her inside and shut the door, in case this was... well, something that shouldn’t necessarily be seen or heard by others, or by the surveillance cameras. Clearly something had gone wrong, or at least not as expected, from the cryptic answer she gave him.

Scooping her up, he carried her to the tiny bathroom so he could check her for injuries. “Where are you hurt?” he asked, hoping she could tell him so that he could address all this bleeding. Instead, she seemed to just want to be close to him, hanging onto him as she confessed to doing terrible things but thinking all the while that she’d been helping people. He could see the disillusionment in her eyes. “It’s okay, Cata,” he said calmly. “Take some deep breaths for me.”

He wanted to hear what had happened, and he was really worried about her for a number of reasons, but he could also see that she was in shock or afraid or... something, and that pressing her for answers currently was probably not the best thing to do. “Shh... it’s okay...” he said, rubbing her back. When she asked to be held, he nodded. “Sure. Come here,” he whispered, drawing her into a protective embrace. When she spoke again, his brow furrowed. “Can’t do what anymore? Missions? Or working for Umbrella?” He had a bad feeling about all of this. Something terrible had happened, and he had the sudden feeling that things were never going to be the same again...

[papercranepoets]

This is also part of the first chapter or could be a second chapter xx

“Helloooo… Hermione?” Ron snaps at her face then turns to his side, “Mate, I’m not sure what the bloody hell has gotten into her.”

Hermione comes to. She’s confused. She’s… dreaming? Unconscious perhaps?

“Hermione, why don’t you drink some water, yeah? You started to sway and then went nearly catatonic,” Ron shoves a glass of water on her face.

That’s when she looks at him. This doesn’t feel like a dream. This feels unnervingly real.

Ron is dead, she reminds herself.

“Ron, give her a minute,” Harry says softly.

Hermione whips her eyes to his. He looks so young, but he’s the same Harry she knows. Ron and Harry look so concerned. She barely notices; she can feel herself being watched.

Hermione turns slowly to the front of the table and makes eye contact with those ice gray eyes. Draco is bewildered, she thinks. Zabini and Nott are obnoxiously reaching around him to clink glasses. Draco’s expression changes and his face goes as pale as Nearly Headless Nick. Hermione feels his fear, too. She’s uneasy. She’s unsure what is real. Draco bolts up and practically runs out of the great hall.

“Hermione, hello????”

“Huh…what?”

“Do you need to go to the hospital wing? What is going on with you?” Ron shouts, annoyance now laced in his voice.

“Oh! Ha, I think I just studied way too late last night and need to head off to bed.” She stands up and begins to start for the door.

“It’s lunch??” Harry laughs.

Ron picks up her tote carrying far too many books. “Don’t forget your bag. If you don’t make it to dinner, we’ll check in on ya.”

“I’d love that. I’m fine though, really.” Why is she playing along? She’s not even sure if this is real. Everything feels so real. Fear strikes her again and she’s doing everything in her power not to bolt out of the great hall. Where is Malfoy?

She takes off sprinting the moment she reaches the entrance. Hermione runs up the stairs and winds up on the fourth floor. She’s still running. She’s not even looking for Malfoy.

This is real. Running feels real. I’m not asleep. Was it the time turner? What did Malfoy do? How am I here? How is Ron alive?

Hermione’s head spins. Hot tears stream down her face and she hasn’t even realized she has stopped to hyperventilate. She almost falls to the floor when she hears wood breaking against the wall in a nearby classroom. Hermione flings open the door and takes in a true breakdown.

Draco — in the ten minutes since leaving the hall — has physically destroyed almost all of the chairs and desks in the room. She is suddenly calm and very aware of her surroundings. Hermione pulls the door closed and casts a quick locking spell and muffliato.

He’s screaming.

“WHATTHEFUCK! NOT AGAIN! NEVERAGAIN!”

He has probably had the same thoughts about the time turner.

His eyes are red. His breathing is so heavy. He takes a chair over his head and breaks it against another desk.

How strong is he? This is insane. She muses. It’s not as though the chairs are cheaply made; they should be much more difficult to break.

“Malfoy.” She says roughly but she’s not yelling.

“This is not happening again!”

Malfoy begins to hyperventilate. He hasn’t looked over to Hermione, yet.

“Malfoy.”

He looks up, meets her eyes, and charges to her. Her wand was already out and she casts a stupefy.

———

Once she has bound Draco and fixed the classroom, she renervates him. He scrambles and then realizes he is bound by magic around his arms and legs.

“What the fucking Hell Granger!”

“How is your energy still this high after destroying this entire classroom?!” She’s exasperated.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

Hermione just looks at him. His eyes are panicked. He begins to hyperventilate again.

“Why - are - we - here - again” his words are choppy. He can’t catch his breath and tears are beginning to form in his eyes. Hermione can see he is scared. She takes steps closer to him and sits face-to-face. He is still struggling with his breathing.

She touches his leg and he doesn’t flinch away. Hermione breathes in for five and out for five. Both hands are on his knees now. He is beginning to copy her breathing.

Her heart aches. This is how her mom used to calm her down when she was little and having a panic attack. Tears start to form in her eyes now.

“Hermione.”

“Stop calling me that.” She’s been annoyed since he called her that in the forest.

“Granger, what has happened? You had a time turner, but how the fuck is this possible?”

She’s not sure.

He continues, “Where are our other selves?” Hermione contemplates this. How is it even possible that she woke up as her younger self? This is not how time turners work. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, a frown creeping down her face. If this isn’t real, it certainly feels real? When she inhales deeply notes of pine reveal themselves. Hermione is reminded of her mother again; she’s next to a tent and fingers run through her locks, plaiting her hair.

“You look so young Granger.” Draco barely whispers.

She slowly opens her eyes to look up at him. Malfoy looks so young. There are dark circles under his eyes still, but he has a bit of roundness to his face still. His eyes pierce through her again. Her hands are still on his knees and he is so much calmer now.

She’s confused as to why he’s allowing her to touch him and is suddenly conscious of the feel of his crisp pants and sharp knees. Unknowingly she has looked down to her hands. A throat is cleared and he pushes away slightly.

“Malfoy, I don’t believe this is a dream. I think my time turner somehow has brought us back to our Hogwarts days. 5th or 6th year I’m guessing”

Hermione looks at him again. It’s sixth year. He looks exhausted. Ill, even. Body reacting to the stress of being tasked with killing the most powerful wizard in the world. Hermione paid him attention that year, worried about his well being and consumed with guilt because of it. She had never held hate and empathy in the same place for him until that year, when she noticed bruises around his wrists the first few days of term. She couldn’t even imagine what had been going on over the summer.

“We’ll have to avoid our other selves,” Malfoy starts. It seems he is still confused, mind grasping at anything to make sense of what happened.

“No,” she conjures a handheld mirror and unbinds his hands, “take this. Look at yourself. We woke up as ourselves. I’m not sure how that’s possible, but we did. You look 16 maybe 17. This wouldn’t be the case if we had time traveled normally.”

“Are we dead and just living out our last moments? Did we kill each other?” Draco looks into Hermione’s eyes again.

She’s silent for a long while.

“Neither of us seemed to want to kill each other.” Hermione finally adds and his eye brows scrunch together. “It’s time travel. This all feels incredibly real. I don’t know how it’s possible but it happened.”

She stands to look out the window. “I think it’s starting to get warmer out” She notices her appearance finally and gasps. Of course she would look different, but it’s shocking nonetheless.

“As I said, you look very young, Herm…”

“Don’t call me that” she interrupts.

“Can you unbind me… and help me find my wand?”

She abides. “I have your wand of course.”

She hesitates to give it to him.

“Granger, you just said neither of us seemed to want to kill each other. You’re the only one I have here. The only one who knows what is to come.”

“Malfoy… you've been on the wrong side for almost 6 years… we know what's about to happen this year.”

He doesn't answer. “I should kill you, Malfoy.” She looks at him and he looks hurt.

“Hermione” he sounds desperate? She stares into those icy eyes and he must recognize the pity on her face because he slams his occlumency up so hard that his body stiffens. Where was that 30 minutes ago?

“Why the fuck do you keep calling me that?” She snaps.

“Hermione, I don’t want to kill you. I have never wanted to kill you. You’re contradicting yourself.” His voice is almost monotone, devoid of the desperation she heard when he was flinging chairs.

Hermione laughs. She continues to laugh hard. A laugh so hard that it morphs into a cry. Suddenly she is back to Ron’s concerned face in the great hall. She hadn’t seen him alive in years. A sob escapes her and it’s her turn to break down. He just watches her face, blank stare and pursed lips from the occlusion she knows he’s using.

She cries for a few minutes and pulls herself together. “I cannot go through this again and we cannot jump forward. Traveling to the future is not possible. It never has been, and it never will be.”

“Herm…” again with the fucking first name!?

“Don’t call me that! What the fuck!”

“…Granger, I'm afraid right now. You’re the only person I have in this moment.” Draco said not breaking eye contact, but still holding his occlumency up. She wonders if this is because he is close to losing control again.

“We know that's not true. You were just sitting next to Nott and your other death eater pal.” She’s being petty. Her entire mood has changed from reasonable and understanding. Him continuing to call her by her first name angers her. He hasn’t earned that. He didn’t earn her comfort earlier. She doesn’t care that he’s right when he says they only have each other right now.

“Blaise is not a death eater… Blaise wasn't even alive… Are you gonna sit here and tell me that you have anything in common with Potter right now? Do you even feel like Ron is real? That he is actually here?”

Hermione looks up again “no,” she breaths.

“I think you’re the only other person here stuck in a body thats five years younger, having lived through the horrors of war… torture.”

“Torture you didn’t stop.”

“Herm… Granger. We both know I would have been killed if not on the spot, pretty soon after. Let’s not be daft. Aunt Bella does not care for me. She does not care if I live or die. She would have seen me as a blood traitor.”

“Would you have seen yourself as a blood traitor?” It’s like being in her 16-year-old body had slipped her into that same mentality. She is confused with Malfoy’s treatment now, but she remembers seeing the fear and anguish in his eyes when she was tortured. She remembers his hesitation in rejoining Voldemort after the battle at Hogwarts.

“No.” He says this with conviction, allowing his occlusion to lift.

“Why were you still fighting for them?”

“I do very much care for my mother’s life.”

As tears dry on her face she resumes looking out the window. She’s going to allow the two of them two days… two days to… grieve? Freak out? Then they will jump into research. Then they could plan. Insurmountable misery could be prevented. This may be a blessing. Or maybe they wake up from this. Maybe they’re dead. Time would tell.

“Malfoy… we are all we got in this moment.” She concedes and hands him his wand. Hermione isn’t really sure why she trusts him. Without occlumency, his eyes have never lied to her, though.

“What do we do now?” He asks, tucking away his wand.

I wrote a first chapter of something. I wrote two chapters after this, but I’ve never written before, and I want feedback before I go further xx

——

The wind stings Hermione's face and she can feel the crackle of magical energy in the air. The air is crisp and revitalizing as it moves through her body. The sounds of screaming are muted as she concentrates on the sound of footsteps behind her. Passing by a body used to induce bile; she can’t smell it anymore if she wants to focus. They’re in an opening somewhere in the Forest of Dean. It’s impossible to register how cold it is when this much adrenaline is running through your body. Any moment could be her last, but she can’t think about that or she may falter.

Hermione’s face is glamoured and her black hood is up to conceal her identity, though she is sure her fighting style may give her up to others. She is one of few order members who uses unforgivables. Hermione can cast quickly, but doesn't waste her energy on anything unnecessary. She is graceful in her use of magic and choppy, anything but graceful in how she moves around. Hermione is Harry’s closest confidant — the mudblood bitch daring to use unforgivables against those who deserve to have magic — and should anyone recognize her, they’d use her against him. Of course Harry doesn’t mean to have so many vulnerabilities. He loves too fiercely, protects his friends so wholly, that it blinds him to what is necessary. Hermione is not blinded to what is necessary. No one puts up a fight to her methods anymore, especially and surprisingly Mrs. Weasley who had lost too much to not feel vengeful.

It’s been five years since Voldemort stormed Hogwarts. Five years of war and loss. There have been lulls, but she prefers the constant fight. She doesn’t have to think too deeply about the pain of losing Ron two years ago when she is taking out death eaters.

A green flash soars close to her face. She narrowly avoids death over and over again these days. She looks in the caster’s direction and sees special snakes with inlaid diamond eyes melded into the death eater mask. The design on the snake was intricate and had it not signified high rank within Voldemort’s army, she would think it was beautiful. She has already cast back a flippendo that they have avoided using a tree as cover. Hermione sets the oak ablaze.

This same death eater tears Ginny down to her left. Interestingly they didn’t cast an Avada. It was wordless; Ginny isn’t up yet so it wasn’t an expelliarmus. Hermione has cast a missed avada herself and begins to defend Ginny from the three death eaters behind them. There’s no need to waste energy or risk using spells that do not kill. Two death eaters go down behind them with swift cuts across their abdomens. The cuts are too deep to heal. Out of the corner of Hermione’s eye she sees dark liquid seeping into their robes. Her heart twinges, but she is not blinded to what’s necessary.

She cuts the third death eater behind them off with a quick avada.

Hermione starts to help Ginny up after casting another missed spell at the original caster when Percy runs to assist instead. A green spell hits at Ginny and Percy’s feet and she doesn’t know why but she snaps and takes off after the death eater. Hermione shouldn’t have been thinking of Ron during this encounter. It was too dangerous and she’s realizing she is completely off her game. The potential of losing Ginny and Percy she realizes is what set her off as she runs full speed casting at the death eater. Maybe she is blinded. She’s wasting energy. She’s pissed. She wants this death eater hurting then dead.

They descend into the forest, weaving between the trees. The death eater in casting behind themselves as Hermione expertly avoids being hit. They run casting for a while before her target stumbles over a root. This was enough for Hermione to tackle him to the ground. In the fluster of falling he knocks her wand to the side. Before he can flip to his back out of the compromising position, she grabs his hood and hair underneath, slamming his masked face into the ground.

“Fuck!” The metal had to have hurt. Good perhaps his nose is broken. She can smell the metallic sting of blood.

In his brief pain she reaches for his wand. This allows him to turn to his back and pin her down. He’s too big; this was bound to happen. His legs bracket her hips and she’s noticing how far away they are from everyone. It’s only them. Her arms are pinned.

He’s injured as indicated by a gash in his side and his breathing is labored. He hasn’t even done anything, yet. Her glamour is definitely not in place anymore and she grows anxious that he is contemplating using her to get to Harry… to bring to Voldemort. She plants her feet and bucks her hips causing him to fall forward. Hermione knows she’s lucky this man is injured; there’s no way an experienced death eater would have been taken by surprise. Hermione struggles on top of him jabbing her wand into his throat. She rips his mask away.

She gasps.

The electric white streak of hair is a tell tale sign. He seems stunned that she pulled off his mask. His face is bloodied.

“Hermione.”

The last time they made eye contact was when Voldemort beckoned him back to their side five years ago. Malfoy with his broken nose looked exhausted, but his eyes were piercing. She was frozen to his gaze. She was reminded of how she locked onto those icy gray swirls when she wasn’t even sure she was still alive. When his own blood tortured her so thoroughly that she had to hold onto his eyes to stay sane.

He didn’t stop her suffering and she knew he probably didn’t care or perhaps had no other choice, but he just watched her. He had nothing on his face at first and then she could just see his eyes. Fear sweeps over Hermione as she jabs the wand in deeper.

“Hermione.”

“I’m going to kill you.” She doesn’t cast anything.

He scrunches his brows together and searches her face then takes in more of her. That’s when he sees the time turner. In the disarray of their physical altercation, it has fallen from under her top. They grab it at the same time and she hears a sickening crunch under their hands.

Everything goes black.

——

[haechvn]

When I Had The Chance

Pairing: Shuri x F!Reader

Warning: Angst. M!rder. Dark!Shuri. Glory. I think. A little Smut. Shuri is sick of this shit.

Summary/Request: can you write the reader getting hurt by Namor and Shuri being mad?

Word Count: 1.05k

Author’s Note:Takes place weeks after Wakanda Forever so beware of spoilers. Anon, I hope you don’t mind but I made this a bit darker than I originally was gonna write. Ahhh. Our baby is a little bit evil. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Taglist :  @melodykisses, @blackhottie25, @tonakings, @coalmistyy, @szalipcombo, @prettyluhlaiiii, @yelenabelovasgf, @callmeoncette, @clqrosmgc, @beautybyfire, @homelessmicechild

Her panther claws were covered in blood that clearly wasn’t her own. Shuri launched the dismembered head down on the floor of the throne room, blood from the body part making a nauseating trail as it rolled and rolled until King M‘Baku’s foot ceased its movement . You could hear a pin drop. The room filled with council members and the Doja Moilaje was eerily quiet and still. Never in a million years would anybody have guessed that Princess Shuri would ever commit actual murder, let alone walk around with the proof.

Tattered and bloody wings were found where the sockets for eyes are meant to be, scratch marks littered the entire face of the creature and if you were to just quickly glance, you wouldn’t be able to recognize that the head belonged to none other than Namor, the King of Talokan.

“How many more people,” Shuri taunts, stalking slowly toward the King, glaring at him with eyes filled with nothing but rage and fury, “do I need to lose before this Bast forsaken council chooses to do something to stop this madness? Why do I have to lose and you all don’t?!”

Earlier that day, you had been helping the River tribe watch the waters when Namor attacked. After a far too many conversations with Namora, he concluded that yielding to Shuri made him powerless and weak, striking Wakanda when no one expected it. Having previously met you alongside the Princess, he stabbed you in the same place he did her, knowing the injury would be much more fatal for you and that it would draw the Princess out. He was correct but that mistake is what cost him his life.

The Princess of Wakanda is unrecognizable, eyebrows pointed downwards, jaws clenched beyond measure and her cornrows messy, looking as though one was ripped from her scalp. Chest heaving up and down, Shuri could not control her rage or her running mind, everything moving around her at one hundred miles per second.

“What is the reason for this nonsense,” the Merchant Tribe council member cried out, slamming her staff into the ground demanding an answer. “Do you know the danger you have now put Wakanda in? Eternal war with Talokan just because he hurt your girlfr–.”

Her grating voice stopped as she started grasping at her throat, dropping to her knees in front of the Princess, convulsing in anguish and trying to cry out for help. Her blood seeping through her hands as Shuri watched her choke on the vibranium ring she had thrown at the younger woman. The struggling halted as she fell onto hard ground. Good riddance.

Stepping over her body, Shuri continued her speech. “I don’t believe you all wish to end up like her do you? But after all, you would rather sit on your high horses and watch me die trying to save this country before you step in to help me! Now you will all pay the price for your sins.”

She began hitting herself mercilessly with her black panther suit still intact, mimicking the movementsn and shouts of a mad gorilla. Okoye cried out for the Princess to stop, confused by her overly aggressive gestures but Shuri had already blocked out all the voices around her a long time ago. They went to her mother’s funeral and placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort but that is all that she was given. When she needed them most, she was shunned as the “child” they still deemed her to be. She has seen too much to be considered a child.

It’s a true metaphor really. She had been beating herself up for the longest time for allowing her mothers’ killer to walk away breathing. The same way her coward of a brother did, she thought. She wanted to be different. She wanted to make things right but she couldn’t do that with the council not letting her make her own decisions. Well they are going to hear her now.

Building up enough kinetic energy, Shuri made her way to the middle of the throne room and body slammed the clay red ground, causing an explosion to occur, knocking everyone and everything in the room out of their seats and off their feet. Glass from the decorated cleaning began crashing to the floor as the wall of the palace shook, knocking down the Dora that stood up above from their posts. Screams of terror and pain was all she could hear and that, that brought a smile to her face. She could get used to this type of power.

Standing up and regaining her posture, she begins to yell at the top of her lungs with all of her might.

“From this moment on, I recant my decision to place Lord M’Baku as ruler of Wakanda and I,” whipping around to make sure all of the injured could hear her cries, curls covering her eyes only showcasing her sinister smile, “daughter of T’Chaka and Ramonda, am now the sovereign ruler of this land. Queen of Wakanda! Ready your troops. We invade Talokan at dawn!”

“You like how this feels, my princess?,” slurping you up like a madman, Shuri drove her tongue so deep inside of you, you swore you could feel her touching your heart. “Namor really thought he was going to take this sweet creamy pussy away from me? Hmm. Not on my watch,” she purrs stroking your clit with her index and ring fingers at super speed. She just wanted to bury herself in you and flee from all the problems of the outside world so she brought out an updated version of her vibranium strap, your favorite, and fucked your brains out until you couldn’t take anymore.

After she reached her climax, her anger started to wear off. Who has she become? Feeling the tug of your lips on her neck, she easily snapped out of her intrusive thoughts. She is the Queen of the most powerful nation on this planet and she has given everything but she will be damned if she has to lose you too. Nothing and no one will get in her way and if that means eternal war with the sea, then so be it. If she was able to kill the Takolan God with her bare hands, then his disciples were next.

[comfortbucky]

I asked for the doctor!bucky andd you don't have to write but I forgot to ask... He is like a really busy doctor and it surprises the female reader that he is going to do her stitches... Wanda is his assistant. He has to give you a pain numbing shot in your cut and he comforts you when you scream and writh in pain... Thanks xxx

𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆｡˚

pairing: doctor!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of bloody injuries, medical settings, stitches, needles

A/N: omg i’ve never written for doctor!bucky before so i’m excited hehe :) thank u for ur request! // i changed around who was administering the numbing agent and doing the stitches btw i hope u don't mind, just made more sense in my head for bucky to be able to comfort her if his hands are free!

hope u enjoy! <3 sorry if this isn't that good asjdfhaldf

Y/L/N = your last name

also let me just indulge myself and sprinkle some of my own experiences in this bc a couple months ago i literally slammed my head into a wall and cut my eyelid😃nothing bad enough to get stitches but i do have a scar💗

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Y/N! Come quick!”

Y/N was digging through her dresser for a sweater when her roommate, Darcy, called out for her. She lifted her head up and spun it without thinking, completely forgetting that her dresser was situated in the corner of her room, slamming her head into the wall.

Her ears started to ring and she bent over in laughter, her natural response to pain, as tears threatened to fall down her face.

“Y/N?” Darcy was met by silence, Y/N struggling to respond, her body overcome with laughter so hard she was inaudible. Concerned that Y/N had knocked herself out cold, Darcy peeked her head around the corner of Y/N’s doorway, to find her hurled over, a hand over her left eye, drops of crimson blood on the ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Y/N lifted her head, calming down from her fit of laughter, and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, this would happen to me,” she replied chuckling, taking a tissue from Darcy to put pressure on her cut.

Carefully making her way to a mirror, Y/N grabbed her phone on the way. She stared at her reflection and slowly removed the tissue from her face to examine the extent of her injury. It was steadily bleeding, most likely a bad sign. Y/N placed her tissue back over her cut and reached for her phone and Facetimed her friend Matt, an EMT.

“Hello- What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hi Matt,” she replied, shooting him a grin through the screen. “Slammed my head against the wall, by accident.”

“I would hope so,” he sighed. “Let me guess, you’re wondering whether you should go to the ER or not?”

“You know me so well, Matty.”

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Y/N removed the tissue and felt a warm liquid trail down the side of her face.

“No.”

“Go to the ER, please.” She groaned.

If there was one place in the world she despised, it was a hospital. But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to convince either of her friends otherwise, and dragged her feet as she reluctantly followed Darcy to her car.

It was a normal night in the ER, which meant a fury of organized chaos. Bucky found himself needed in 6 places, all at the same time. But this was an environment that he had become accustomed to, almost finding comfort in the madness of it all. Although the ER was bustling with patients, there weren’t any injuries that were very severe, mostly just broken bones and lacerations. Simple enough to the point where Bucky felt like he was operating on autopilot mode. Going through the motions of whatever task he needed to do, but not anything more than that. He felt numb. For the last several years of his life, the hospital was all that he knew. Bucky kept himself busy with work, leaving him with only a small social circle and his cat, Alpine. It was enough for him, but he never really felt complete. Which is why he threw himself into his work, drowning out his inner thoughts about a missing piece he never thought he’d find.

“Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 25.”

Bucky took a quick sip of his coffee and sighed before heading off to see his next patient. Wanda appeared from around the corner and started walking with him.

“This one’s a simple laceration, just might need stitches.” Bucky nodded in response to her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

She was one of the select few who he considered a friend. Which was a little odd considering he was an attending and she was only a resident. But she was a good student, a fast learner, and one of the only residents he was ever willing to work with. He took her under his wing, fostering a friendship by spending time together in his office, reviewing various medical cases and files.

“Alright, you up to do them?”

Wanda came to a halt, Bucky taking a couple steps before looking back at her, tilting his head, waiting for a response.

“Y-Yeah, yes!” She stammered. “T-thank you, Dr. Barnes.” He nodded his head and turned back around to continue walking, Wanda close behind.

Y/N was sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a blood-soaked tissue over her left eye. Her leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had developed from a young age. The adrenaline had worn off, forcing her to feel a throbbing pain, her eyes brimming with tears. She avoided crying in front of people whenever possible, so as soon as Darcy left to grab some coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, she let the floodgates open. The sound of footsteps approaching made her freeze and she used her sleeves to sloppily wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

A firm, but somehow also gentle, voice called out to her before the curtain was pulled open to reveal a tall man with dark brown hair, a stubbly beard, and stunningly blue eyes standing next to a woman with blazing red hair and contrasting green eyes. Y/N’s gaze was immediately fixated on the man’s eyes, unable to look away for a moment, before she realized she was staring. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

“Y/N, you can just call me Y/N.”

The man nodded and set down his clipboard at the end of the bed before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Barnes and this is Dr. Maximoff.” The woman gave a slight wave as she began charting on a computer. “Can I take a look at your eye?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her anxiety rise as the doctor pulled some gloves on and approached her.

He pulled over a stool to sit on and carefully removed the tissue that Y/N had been holding in place to assess the injury. While Bucky looked at her cut, he stole a glance to study the rest of her face. He couldn't help but take note of the pained look on her face, her eyes still watery and her button nose red from crying. It was the first time in a long time that he felt a twinge of pain while looking at someone's injury, that he felt practically anything at all during a shift. She felt his warm breaths on her face for a moment before he pulled away and replaced her bloody tissue with some gauze.

“Do you mind if she takes a look as well?” Y/N nodded again. Bucky got up from the stool, allowing Wanda to take his spot and assess her eye.

“So it looks like you just need 2 or 3 stitches, very simple procedure.”

Y/N felt her entire body tense up at Wanda's conclusion. She could barely stand sitting in a hospital bed alone and now she was about to get poked and prodded with needles. Bucky noticed and attempted to ease her worries.

"We'll administer a numbing agent, so you won't feel any pain, just pressure at the site."

She looked up at Bucky, who had a kind, tired expression on his face. It looked like he was having a long night and she didn't want to make his job any more difficult than it probably already was. Y/N gave him a small nod and Wanda started to gather the necessary supplies.

She laid back in bed with Wanda and Bucky sitting next to each other on her left. Her hands were folded on her stomach, eyes shut.

"You're gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip to try and distract herself.

Wanda proceeded to administer the numbing shot and Y/N squeezed her hands tight, whimpering in pain. Bucky observed the pained expression on her face and placed a hand on her forearm, reflexively rubbing his thumb in small circles. When Wanda pulled the needle out, Y/N slowly fluttered her eyes open and was greeted by Bucky's warm smile. A blush crept to her cheeks and she turned her attention to the ceiling. Immediately, Bucky realized how unprofessional his action was and removed his hand. He had no idea what had come over him, but he'd never felt so drawn to someone like this before.

"Now I'm going to do the stitches, okay? You should just feel a slight pressure." Just as before, Y/N shut her eyes after Wanda spoke and gripped her hands tight. She felt the pressure that Wanda was talking about and couldn't help but squirm at the feeling. Another wave of anxiety rushed over her and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Wanda removed the needle and quickly turned to Bucky, a panicked look on her face. He gave her a reassuring look before speaking softly.

"Y/N? Do you think you could hold still for just a little longer?" She opened her eyes, brimming with tears.

"Sorry, I just, I hate needles." Y/N fiddled with her hands as she kept her gaze up, trying to avoid the tears from escaping. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight.

"What do you think would help you relax?"

Thoughts ran through her head as she tried to find a solution to relieve her anxiety. Y/N thought back to when she was young and chuckled, remembering a stuffed whale that she got at an aquarium, that went everywhere with her.

"This is stupid but, when I was a kid, I would carry around this stuffed animal around and it helped to hold it whenever I had to get shots."

Bucky thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to regret the words about to leave his mouth.

"You could hold my hand."

Y/N and Wanda both looked at him with surprised expressions, regret instantly hitting him.

"If you're comfortable with it," he quickly clarified. Y/N felt the corner of her mouth curve into a smile as she nodded.

She laid back down and Bucky took her hand in his. The instant transfer of heat soothed Y/N and she shut her eyes to allow Wanda to get to work.

When she felt the pressure on her eye again, her hand automatically gripped Bucky's tighter, and he squeezed it back to help calm her. Y/N focused on the callousness of his hands, how his hand seemed to fit into hers perfectly. Suddenly, she was thinking about his eyes again, those glimmering blue eyes. Blue was always a calming color for her, reminiscent of her trip to the aquarium where she got her beloved stuffed whale. As she felt Bucky's thumb gently rub the top of her hand, she realized that her whale could never provide as much comfort as he did.

Bucky felt a sense of pride as he watched the tension in Y/N's face disappear. Suddenly, he found his eyes wandering, looking at the loose strands of hair on the right side of her face, the rosiness of her cheeks, how she glowed. His heart started to palpate and Bucky realized a flame had kindled inside him. He was feeling again.

"All done!" Wanda chirped, stepping aside to let Bucky check her work. He smiled at her patted her on the back with his free hand.

"You did good." Wanda beamed and thanked him, walking away to complete her charting.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, still feeling the warmth of Bucky's hand in hers. He greeted her with a tender smile and slowly helped her up, placing his other hand on the small of her back.

"See? Wasn't that bad after all," he grinned, releasing her hand. Y/N's smile faltered, missing his touch, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "Call me Bucky."

The pair stared at each other in silence, enjoying each other's presence before the PA system snapped them both out of their trance.

"Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 16."

Bucky sighed, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

He turned around and was about to pull the curtain open when he paused, turning back around to face Y/N, scratching the back of his head. It took one look at her face and Bucky knew he didn't want to let her go just yet.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She beamed up at him and Bucky felt his knees go weak.

"I would like that very much." He chuckled in disbelief and smiled.

Bucky had finally found his missing piece.

[nagipops]

hi!! i think the ask box is open right now but what about a fem! reader that was kinda adopted by all the hashiras when she was small, and on her first mission, she gets turned into a demon? and like they're all conflicted but it's kinda sad how the reader wants to die because she was turned :( if you can't write it it's okay! i love ur works sm <3

SWEET NOTHINGS, BITTER ENDINGS PART I.

SUMMARY: in which your overwhelming tenacity leads you to suffer a demonic fate.

WARNINGS: blood, profanity

A/N: thank you darling! this got a bit long so i’ve split it into two parts— the second part will be posted very shortly! link to part two

“(Y/N)!” Giyuu barked. “Get back!”

You steadily held your nichirin blade in front of you with both hands, staring down the towering demon in front of you. Three veiny arms sprouted out from each side of its body, taunting your group as its flaring yellow eyes locked onto yours.

Clutching the handle of your blade tighter, you panted heavily to control your breathing, clenching your teeth. “I’ve got this!” you hollered back, your knuckles turning white.

You heard a clink of metal and the whirling of a sword as a short purple-haired hashira stepped in front of you. “It’s too dangerous.” Her typical honey-sweet voice was darkened with concern and anger. “Please, (Y/N).”

You were shaking with anger, and... envy? All you wanted was to be strong. To bring home a kill on your first mission. To not be seen as a child anymore by the nine pillars who had taken you under your wing when you were just a baby.

I’m not a kid anymore, you wanted to scream. I want to show you what I can do.

“Go,” Giyuu commanded, casting a glance at Shinobu before briefly locking eyes with you. “We’ll handle this.”

Biting your tongue, you glared at the demon for a moment longer before turning on your heel and retreating to the rest of your squad.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Mitsuri wailed, throwing her arms around you. Over her shoulder, you spotted a fuming Obanai glaring daggers at you; whether he was jealous of the pink-haired girl draped over you or angry at your reckless actions, you couldn’t tell. “We were so worried about you!”

“No, we weren’t,” Obanai hissed. “What you did was idiotic and careless. You were putting everyone in danger.”

“Iguro-kun, always so protective!” Mitsuri giggled, patting you on the head before releasing you from her surprisingly tight hold, her expression growing serious. “Tomioka and Shinobu might need our assistance. (Y/N), go find Sanemi and see if he needs help. Iguro, come with me!” She quickly flounced off with a seething Obanai in tow.

Huffing a sigh, you entered the mass of trees behind you to search for the white-haired hashira.

Lofty, swaying pines loomed over you as the sounds of battle crashed throughout the forest. A flock of crows frantically flapped out from the canopy, shooting into the sky as their noisy caws rang through the air. Frigid winds whipped all around you as you hunted down the wind pillar.

A piercing clink of metal, not unlike the noise of a nichirin blade, sounded from your left. Sanemi? Cautiously drawing your sword from its sheath on your hip, you slowly made your way to the source of the noise.

As you neared a small clearing, the sound grew louder and louder, but you still could not locate any hashira or any demons for that matter. You spotted a thick tree to your right and fled over to hide behind it while you scouted out the area.

The clinking continued, and as you listened more closely, it seemed to be coming from...

Above?

Your heart went cold as you realized you didn’t hear any human voices around you.

At all.

You slowly slid your gaze upwards, not daring to move a single muscle.

And there it was. With a rotting arm clutching a chipped, bloodied blade, carving out the remains of a tattered corpse, three feral red eyes piercing through the dark shade and locking onto yours...

A demon.

Fear pooled instantly in your stomach as you felt bile rise in your throat. The putrid stench of rotten flesh and blood nearly made you hurl on the spot, yet your horror kept your nausea at bay.

Were you going to die here?

You felt your terrified breaths grow shallow as the demon above you licked its lips, tossing the corpse down in front of you with a thud.

“N-nemi?” you whispered in fear, praying, praying to the gods that this wasn’t one of your brothers. You quickly studied the corpse and your surroundings, searching for any sign that this bloodied body wasn’t him. You searched for his sword hilt, his white hair, his signature haori, but the darkness of the deep night made any hint or clue futile.

Glaring at the bloodthirsty demon above you, you were petrified with fear. Your heavy feet were locked into place. Your thumping heart nearly burst out of your chest. But you stared the beast down with all your might, slowly reaching your blade out to the corpse in front of you in attempt to retrieve the scrappy remains of what was left of it.

Inch by inch, your gaze unwavering with the demon’s bloodshot eyes, you dragged the body closer and closer to you until it was just within arm’s reach. Steeling yourself, you swiftly grabbed the body and darted away.

You had no time to check whose body you were holding. All you knew was that you had to—

“Kff!”

All of a sudden, your back hit the ground. Hard. With the wind knocked out of your lungs, all you could see was black. You felt your blade slip out of your grasp as your spine seared with red-hot pain. Once you regained your senses, you opened your eyes...

Oh, shit.

Impossibly sharp fangs loomed over you, dripping with foul saliva that oozed onto your heaving chest. Crazed yellow eyes speckled with pumping red veins latched onto yours, a rotting jade-colored head thrashing back and forth as its piercing claws pinned you to the ground. Its breath was the most vile scent you’ve ever smelled in your entire life, reeking of blood and flesh and who knows what else.

And it was just mere inches away from your face.

Stifling a wave of nausea, you swiftly pulled your knees up to your chest and pushed, kicking the demon backwards by its torso as hard as your body would let you.

Darting over to your blade which had fallen to the ground just a few feet away from you, you picked it up and pointed it at the snarling demon who was picking its burly body off of the forest floor.

“You!” you shouted, wiping your slimy face on the sleeve of your uniform. “I’m not scared of you!”

The demon responded with a warbling noise, something that sounded like... laughing?

Your nerves set on fire. Oh, that’s it. You would end this vile monster right here, right now.

“Leaf Breathing, Second Form: Whirlwind of Fronds!” Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, you felt cool winds start to whip around you, picking up speed as leaves and needles rapidly gravitated towards you as though you were a magnet.

Now!

Growling with fury, you charged at the gremlin with all your might, the swirling flurry of foliage honing in on the center of its chest. Each leaf transformed into sharp, miniature daggers, piercing through the demon’s grayish skin and buying you just enough time to move in close. Wielding your blade with both hands, you raised it above your head before forcefully slicing downwards with a roar, aiming for the neck.

But your opponent was nimble, and it barely dodged its head out of the way, landing you a clean shot down its shoulder to its flank. Shit, the arm can just regenerate itself, you cursed, quickly angling your sword laterally for a slice through the neck as the demon howled in pain.

You slashed your sword as hard as you could, but instead of cutting through soft flesh, you were met with thick, gnarly bone. The demon had raised its other arm in defense, keeping your lethal blade at bay. Struggling to push back against the sturdy bone, you gritted your teeth as you attempted to release your sword from its muscle.

But the demon had already beaten you to it and whipped its hefty arm outwards to shake you off, hurling you across the clearing.

“Hkk!” You landed straight on your back once again with a heavy thud, but you noticed that your blade was still lodged into the creature’s arm. Perfect. Even though single nerve in your body was screaming in pain, even as your limbs trembled as you shakily picked yourself up off the ground, you would never back down from a fight. “Hey, ugly! Let’s finish this!”

The demon howled furiously, clamoring to rip your blade out of its arm.

“Third Form: Drill of Needles!”

Hundreds of thousands of pine needles descended from the midnight sky at your command, whirling into a tight cone while speeding towards the neck of the monster. You heard the earsplitting drilling of flesh and wood followed by a deafening groan and huffed in triumph as the pent-up exhaustion began to release throughout your body.

You nearly hit the ground for the third time when you caught some movement out of the corner of your eye.

Oh, hell no.

There was the same demon, its bright yellow eyes even more furious now, perched high up in a tree.

“B-but...” your mind and vision grew hazy as you noticed the gaping hole in the demon’s chest, with its neck still intact. I missed? You cursed sharply at the sight of your chipped blade thrown carelessly on the ground a great distance away from you.

What do I do? Giyuu, Shinobu, what do I do? Mitsuri? Obanai? Is anyone there?

Your felt your body begin to admit defeat, your legs shaking as they threatened to give out from underneath you, your heaving lungs burning and aching for rest.

The corpse.

Where was the corpse? The same one that got you into this mess?

Sanemi?

You struggled to keep your vision trained on the demon high above as your body started to wobble in exhaustion. “Hey,” you slurred. “Come out here! We’re not— kff! We’re not done yet!”

A snarl sounded from over your shoulder as the familiar stench of rotting flesh flooded your nose once again.

This time, you plummeted to the ground face-first, hearing your nose crack in the process. But your body was too drained for you to properly register the pain.

You were so numb.

Groaning, you slowly rolled onto your back and gazed into the eyes of the demon hovering above you hungrily. Its arm that you had sliced off had already fully recovered, while the other arm choked your neck with an iron grip.

Your vision was nearly white now, your oxygen supply running low as blood trickled out of your neck where the demon’s claw had pierced the skin.

Die. Die. You were going to die. On your first mission. Without a single kill under your belt.

Forcing a smirk onto your face, you squeezed your eyes shut as you endured the pain as best you could. “Hey, now— hck... If there’s anything that Sanemi taught me... it’s that humans... always get the last laugh...” You cracked open one eye, staring straight into the demon’s yellow orbs.

“Noxious... nectar...” you gasped out one last command, watching the bloody pinpricks dotted all around the demon’s greying skin transform into purple specks of poison. The monster thrashed around, violently clutching its head at the pain seeping through its entire body. You watched as your first and last kill take place right in front of you as your vision began to fade.

But not before the demon’s deadly blood dripped into your open wounds.

link to part two.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[sp00kworm]

Iron Lake

---

Pairing: Qene (Male God [Bird Creature]) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Wound Descriptions, Blood

---

Ore was rich in the valleys once. The entire hillside was covered in small mine shafts for digging up iron ore for smelting in the iron works, and that lead to several settlement villages between the city and the ocean. Your family had lived on the final reaches of the valley, towards the sea, for many generations, until the collapse. The men worked as miners, and the women worked the farms. Your own family, however, had moved on long ago. When the iron ore ran dry, and the mine shafts began to collapse, the village was left to the farmers and creatures which plagued the woods and hills. You looked at your sturdy cottage and the barns surrounding it as you sat on top of the newly built dry-stone wall you had just finished. It had collapsed with a recent bull charge and you’d spent a long time building it back up higher so he couldn’t get at your cows. A few heifers were too young and now steered clear of the wall, wandering along the other side of the field. You didn’t blame them. The bull was a neighbour’s, and rarely did he have the beast under control. Smoking a pipe called you, but it was a habit that was best left alone living so rural. You patted your nearest cow and fed her a handful of weeds before taking your bucket and heading to your chickens, which were clucking around the few ewes you had.

 The chickens ran on small legs as you shook the feed bucket, and you grinned as you leaned over to toss them some food. The ewes were slower to move and trotted over as you headed to their small food trough and hay basket. You shovelled more hay in from under the shelter and locked the gate before filling their feed and water troughs. The chickens were back following you around as you tapped their own feed buckets again and herded them back into their coop. They happily ignored you closing the caging in favour of the food you had put in their own trough. Whistling, you took all the buckets and closed the gates to the fields, heading back towards the small storage and utility shed to put everything away. The wind rushed over the long grass at the top of the hill and you paused to look up as the sky rumbled with the beginnings of rain. Sure enough, as you looked to the herd, they were heading back to the shelter. There was rain on the way. You tutted and made sure to put everything away before rushing to cover the chickens and make sure the sheep had their own shelter with their raised bedded platform.

 As you finished checking on the cows, the heavens opened, and you rushed for your small porch, sprinting under the cover as the rain came lashing down, soaking your shirt and bottoms through. The cotton clung to you as you shuddered by the door, watching the grey clouds blur with falling water over the top of the mountain in the distance. It was colder now, and you opened your door to stoke the fire and dry your clothes. You grumpily tugged your wet clothing off and hung it in front of the fire before you rekindled the embers and wrapped yourself tightly in a heavy blanket of white wool. The rain thundered on the roof, and you warmed your toes before pulling on a small pair of moccasins and peering through the glass in your windows. The animals were huddled together out of the rain as it gave the grass and small crop garden you had a good soak. It was miserable. You perched yourself on the small table and watched the weather with a hum.

“And I had so much to do today too.” You lamented quietly.

 The rain was white noise after a while, and the clouds rolled over head, still full of rain when you peered back up at the sky. You jumped as a great screech sounded overhead, inhuman, furious and in pain. It sounded again with the thunderous boom of a weapon, and you jumped from the window at the flash of gun powder in the far distance, over the mountain top. Your home shook with another screeching wail as the flashes stopped and the clouds rolled again, the wind howling through the unsealed stone cracks in your cottage. There was another boom of thunder as the cries of the creature paused for a moment. You prayed they hadn’t just shot at a dragon. Dragons were harder than steel plating and bullets or canons did very little damage to their interlinked scales. Fury would follow an injured dragon, but there was no hiss and boom of burning flames. Another ear-piercing screech followed down the mountainside, as a great black figure soared into the clouds and disappeared overhead. It’s shadow hung over the top of the hill as it zipped down through the valley before it screeched again and plunged from the sky, spinning in a mass of glorious golden brown and tawny feathers before it plummeted into the muddy cow field in a mass of feathers, dirt and blood.

 The cows mooed violently before trotting out to investigate the lump, the younger females hanging back under the wooden shelter. You watched the feathers float from the sky, shellshocked, before you rushed for your damp clothing and pulled it all back on. You threw on your hooded cloak and rushed out into the rain and wind. The cows called as you rushed to the fence and thumped at their flanks harshly, batting their tongues away from the creature’s wounds. It hissed, feathers brushing upwards as you dared to touch its giant body. It was huge, easily over twelve feet long, the long tail feathers crumpled under its cut legs. It had a great talon missing from one of it’s feet, and blood thrummed from the wound. You rushed to its head.

“Oh, my Sun…” You cursed as you looked at the burning orange eyes that peaked out from the great, fluffy crown of feathers. A beak opened as it hissed again, another, weak scream of upset. A threat, you realised as it’s feet moved and talons slashed at the floor.

“Don’t!” You pushed it’s shoulder as the orange bled to black and it turned onto its other side, flopping over in its attempts to push itself back onto its feet.

 “You’re killing yourself!” You screamed at it as it flexed its wings and black blood spewed from its mouth. You gasped at the cavern in its side, bleeding black tar and red blood over its beautiful, soft feathers. It screeched again, madness taking over as it thrashed to get itself upright and managed, shaking on its swollen, bleeding foot. The wound to its torso was heavily bleeding, and blood poured with the stress and movement, revealing the two-inch diameter iron ball wedged in between its ribs.

“Stop!” You screeched again, putting your hands on its wings before two hard arms extended out of the feathery chest. The clawed hands snatched at you, lifting you high to its bleeding black eyes as you gasped. With a small scream, the creature reared its head back and paused as you covered its eyes, small hands encompassing its blackened gaze. Its wings sagged as it’s beak opened to let tar leak from its gullet.

 “You’re going to die if you don’t let me get that bullet out of you!” You shouted up at it, clinging to its face, “Let me help you, please.”

The bird-like creature sagged, its wounded feet giving in as it paused to retch blood up once more and placed you back on the floor with a croak. The croak bubbled with tar and blood as its feathers shifted and it looked up at your little cottage. The wind shifted and blew violently, soaking the both of you with more, icy rain.

“I will not fit.” It whispered deeply, as though its voice was being carried to your ears on the wind itself.

“You can…talk…” You commented, stunned for a moment as it opened its mouth, “There’s a barn to the back. I used to keep the horse in there, but its empty now.” You reasoned as you opened the gate and coaxed the bleeding beast through the rungs. It cried out as its claws got stuck in the cattle grating, the wound from the missing toe tearing and bleeding over the wooden slats. The creature followed, feathers dripping from its body in a bloody trail as it struggled behind you, croaking and wheezing as you heaved open the doors to the horse barn and opened the door to a stall.

 The creature flopped into the stall, its burning eyes dripping with tar as it wheezed, wings ruffling as it struggled to keep the gapping wound in its chest off the stone floor. You rushed to kick over a great barrel of sawdust to mop up the blood before disappearing back into the howling wind and rain to grab what little medical supplies you had. A crow squawked by your window as you rushed into the front door, his beady eye following you before it hopped into the house and cawed again, louder. Cursing, you grabbed your old sheets and shoved them into the large cooking pot with the rest of the water from the well. The fire was roaring, and they would soon be clean enough to wrap the wounds. The poultices were a little old, but they smelt fresh and clean, of mint and lavender, and you grabbed the jars and your needles and some fine thread. It would be a botch job at best, but it was all you could do for the creature. You also made sure to grab something for the pain, grabbing a bottle of dragon fire whiskey as you grappled the cooking pot of boiling sheets and shouldered the other supplies. The crow followed you out of the house again and cawed, but you paid it no mind, even as more small birds flocked with it under your porch and in the fields.

 The creature was wheezing against the floor, barely breathing, when you returned, and you cursed as its eye opened, devoid of any honey colour, just filled with black. Its eyes rolled and closed.

“Try and stay awake. Please. I need you awake to stop the bleeding.” You scrubbed your hands and hung the sheets to dry as you looked at his chest again, eyeing the iron ball wedged under his bottom rib, mashed in with broken feathers and splinters of stone. With a shaky hand, you took hold of your small set of forceps, usually used to help cows calf, and soaked them in the boiling water before you dared to ease them under the plumage and grip the bullet. The creature screamed but didn’t lash out, and so, you committed, heaving the bullet down, and out of its chest with a rush of tar like goo and blood. It croaked against the stone and you reached for the fresh water and salt to rinse the sharp pieces of feather and stone away before you plucked the broken feathers around the wound away and eyed the wound for any other artifacts. It was clean. You jumped as one of the creature’s leather skinned arms appeared from out of the feathers of its chest and reached for the large bottle of whiskey you had brought. It hissed and pulled the cork free with its beak before pouring the strong alcohol into its gullet, grumbling, and croaking after with the burn.

 “That much will knock you out good.” You promised as you stroked its feathery chest and pulled out your needle, sterilising it in the boiling water before you threaded it, knotted the end, and got to work, suturing the wound closed where you could, as tightly as you dared. The bird creatures’ skin was dark underneath its feathers, leathery to the touch and tanned. You closed the final part of the wound and tried not to slip too much as you knotted the end with blood slick fingers. The tar was gone, no longer leaking from its eyes and mouth. Quietly, you listened to it breathe, wheezing softly against the floor. You took hold of the mint poultice and applied a layer with honey over the wound to soothe the raw, sore skin. Wings shuffled as you reached to tear apart your sheets into large strips to wrap the wound. It cried as you returned and eased its chest up enough to reach around, duck under its arms and wrap the whole thing tightly. You pinned it before letting it rest as you cleaned and wrapped its foot, wondering if the toe would need cauterizing as you left it be, snoozing in an alcohol induced sleep. You made sure to pile hay around him for the night before you closed the doors tightly and looked at your cottage.

 The crow from before cawed again from your small porch, fluttering about the floor before it landed by your window and watched you as you hauled your supplies back inside.

“What’s brought you here?” You asked, “I don’t have any seeds for you!” You shouted as it followed you into the house and settled itself over the top of your fire, seated in a small handkerchief on your mantle place.

“Fine. Make yourself at home then.” You scoffed as you looked over at your cooking pot and poured the water out of the window. You were drenched through to the bone and you shuddered as you stoked the fire again and stripped off your clothing. You hung it by the fire and sniffled as you dried off and then wrapped yourself back in your large blanket, content to snuggle into your large armchair and warm your toes by the flames. It was soothing to hear the rain slow to a patter against your roof and the soft cawing of the crow nestled in front of you. Your eyes drooped as you snuggled into the blanket and forgot about the creature laid in your barn.

 A great squawk in your ear woke you up, and you jumped awake violently before the crow stomped over your lap and jumped up and down on the arm of your chair. You looked at it in confusion before pushing the blanket away and shuddering. It was cold. Using the blanket as a shawl, you stoked the fire again, throwing some more kindling and then logs into the embers to get it going as the crow fluttered into your kitchen and snapped at the crumbs on the side. You huffed and pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds before you put a small handful in a bowl and watched the crow go to town.

“You’re a weird little thing.” You commented before going to get dressed in the small room you had to the left side of the cottage, leaving the crow to eat and hop around, so long as it didn’t decide that your floor was a good place to poop.

 The crow was still on the countertop when you returned, watching you through one, beady black eye, as you walked towards it. It flapped in protest as you stood in front of it but didn’t squawk or fly away. It stared back at you, its head turned and tilted up to see you properly.

“Are you here for the creature?” You asked, no louder than a whisper.

In response, the crow flapped again and gave one short, loud honk.

“Hm. I don’t think I trust you just yet.” You scolded gently before you offered your hand to the crow. The corvid pecked a finger before stepping onto your hand and skipping up your arm, hopping as it went along your sleeve, its beak holding itself up when it slipped against the cotton.

“Come on then. Let’s go and see how our house guest…well, our barn guest, is doing.” You tapped the crow’s beak and headed towards the door. You both looked up at the morning sun and smiled, thankful for the sunshine. The crow flapped again and spread its wings to soak in the rays before you turned to head around the back of the cottage where the barn was.

 The rain had washed away most of the blood, leaving clumps of muddy feathers around the rocks and fence posts as the evidence that the creature had passed through. You stepped over a puddle and heaved open the barn door. A great rumbling croak sounded as you stepped inside, leaving the door open a little to let the morning air in. The creature’s feathers dragged against the piles of hay and the stone floor, as it struggled to raise its head. When it managed to get high enough, one, burning orange eye peered over the top of the stall, eyeing you as you approached the wooden gate.

“Good morning.” You uttered as it flopped back against the floor with a sad, long croak. The crow on your shoulder squawked again before fluttering down to the great beast and moving from the bottom of its tail feathers to its hooked beak. It opened one giant eye and huffed before looking at you again and opening its mouth.

“Sustenance.” Its great voice rumbled before closing its eyes again, struggling to swallow as the crow pecked gently at the loose feathers on its face, pulling them free before it tapped its beak against the other and flew up to the side of the stall.

 “Food?” You asked, “Well, I have some but certainly not enough to feed you. You’re giant, if you don’t mind me saying and I don’t know if I could feed you.” You confessed, holding the top of the gate as the creature hissed lowly and dragged its great claws along the floor.

“I will hunt.” It rasped.

“NO!” You grabbed it’s shoulder, gently pulling it back down, “You’ll open all of my hard work. You, sit there. And you,” you pointed to the crow, “you’re coming with me.”

The crow nodded and fluttered out of the barn. Before you could turn to follow, the giant bird-creature rustled its feathers and its leathery, clawed hand appeared, holding your waist to keep you in place.

 “Thank…you.” It hissed, “I am… Qene.”

It’s name was hissed, a long pronunciation of E’s which made you wonder just of what race is was. If it was a fae, it would not have told you it’s true name, lest you bind it in contracts. You introduced yourself quietly and it nodded, slowly, exhausted still.

“I am…God of the Valley. Wind, weather and bird.” Qene rasped, “He who…controls the mountains.”

“A…God?” You whispered as the creature let go of your waist, “A god in my barn and…”

Qene huffed and collapsed again in his hay bedding.

“I’ve got questions but let me feed you first. What do you eat?” You asked.

Qene raised his beak from the hay to speak, his voice like a small thunderous rumble, “Meat. I hunt…deer and elk. Anything to then give back to the…” His eyes closed slowly, the orange disappearing behind his eyelid before he fell back asleep.

“I guess a chicken might have to do…or maybe I can get a deer from Thriskar.” You pondered as you followed the crow out of the barn and went for your bag and a bow.

 Thriskar scoffed at your request, “A deer? A whole one?” The orc sniffed before he carried on skinning the buck he had strung up outside his small home, “What the fuck do you need a whole…” he smirked then, suddenly, as though he had been told the funniest joke, “Do you have company over? Wanting to impress?”

With a snort, you were quick to flip your middle finger up at the orc, “Yeah, fuck you. I need it for pickling and smoking. I want to not live off my cows again this winter.”

“Well, you’re in luck then.” Thriskar commented, rolling his eyes as he wiped the blood from his hands and pointed to the young buck hanging in his shop, “I caught that yesterday. Should be drained enough for smoking now if you want it.”

 “How much?” You asked, sceptically.

Thriskar grinned as he tapped the counter in his shop, perching himself, leaned over the counter, before he tapped his lips, “A kiss and four bronze, or seven bronze if you’re feeling less generous.”

“You’re the worst.” You commented as you handed him the seven bronze coins, “I should be able to carry it before you offer that too.”

“Here.” Thriskar laughed as he pulled the creature’s pelt out and tied the deer in a sling like fashion around your back, “You should get it back now.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t make a habit of it okay? I won’t give you the skin for free in future!” he warned as he saw you out of the door and down the path back towards home.

 The crow squawked overhead, and you saw Thriskar look up and shake his head before the crow landed on your shoulder.

“Well done. Now he really will think I’m a witch or something.” You scolded the crow as it hopped from your right shoulder, over to your left.

“You don’t need me for that. He likes you enough to want a kiss, doesn’t he? Does that affection not prove anything?” The crow squawked.

You felt your back go cold, “How…can you…”

“Talk?” It asked, “I am…omnipresent within my children.”

“Qene?” You asked as the crow eyed you.

“Yes…” It rasped tiredly, “I wanted to ensure you would be safe.”

“I’ll be fine! There’s nothing but pesky fae and annoying goblins, and they know not to mess with me. I like salt, iron and flowers too much.” You smiled. The crow’s head turned again before it let out another squawk and shook its wings and head violently, as though it had been released from some kind of spell.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine that was lots of fun, huh?” You asked as you stroked the crow’s head and carried on along the path.

 Home was a great greeting of farm animals. The chorus was loud and upset, as they had expected their food early in the morning and now it was almost midday. You heaved the deer off your back and onto the porch. The cows crowded the gate as you went to retrieve a hay bale with a pitchfork. There was a lot to tend to before you could give your guest the food he needed. The cows were happy for their filled hay and you were quick to give the sheep and chickens their food before you dragged the deer away from your little crow friend, and towards the large barn on your back. You opened the door and peered inside. Once again, Qene lifted his head, just high enough to see over the top of the stable door, his burning orange gaze looking directly at you.

“I’m back.” You smiled, “And I got you this!”

“Meat?” Qene droned over the top of the stable, “Deer…. No innards.”

“We don’t tend to eat the insides…the intestines are for sausages though.” You told him as you opened the door and laid the deer over the stone floor.

“Sausages?” Qene rasped, his head tilted as his feather’s rustled, and he pulled himself along the floor, his beak opening.

 Spit dripped from his beak as his tongue extended, pointed and tanned like his skin. He licked at his beak before he took a great chunk out of the hind of the deer.

“Thank you.” Qene rumbled as he threw his head back and swallowed the chunk of deer, “This…will help.”

“You’re welcome.” You smiled as you reached to pluck one of his feathers from the floor, looking at the now dull brown colour. When it had been attached to his face, it was shiny, golden and beautiful.

Qene ripped more from the deer and noticed you spinning the crushed feather by its quill, “They do not live once they are detached…True power flows through them, but they cannot be removed with it forcefully.”

“What kind of power?” You asked as you sat by the stable door, “I’ve…Well, I guess you are a God.”

Qene scoffed, “It is why I took a bullet to the chest.”

“They’re after your feathers?”

“Yes. Fools that they are.” Qene snorted again over the carcass, “Even if they have no value when they are forcibly plucked.”

 You decided not to press the issue, and simply sat as Qene ate, intrigued by the way he plucked at the meat, tearing it all from the bones before smashing open the bones for the marrow inside, his tongue licking at the blood and goo before the bones were then crushed and eaten.

“We really should change your bandages.” You offered as the God finished crunching the brains inside the skull.

“There is no need.” Qene grumbled as he swallowed the last pieces of his meal, “This will be enough for me to heal fully.” His eye turned on you again, “And soon I will be out of your hair.”

“What do you mean you’re almost healed?” You scoffed, “Let me see.”

Qene chuffed and opened his bandages with a swipe of his claws, “See for yourself.”

You shuffled through the hay and looked at the exposed wound below his ribcage. Except, now it was no longer a gaping wound, it was a healing wound, scabbed over where you had stitched it, the flesh filling the line quickly, and moving by the second.

 “How is that happening?” You asked in fascination, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I am the God of this valley. God of the Iron Lake valley. I am not…held by your mortal deigns.” Qene rasped, his voice growing in strength like a thunderstorm now that he had eaten, “But I would…like some more of that Dragon Fire Whiskey, if you have anymore?”

You looked at his feet and noticed his toe had not grown back, but was quickly snapped from your revere as you smiled and laughed, “More whiskey? Its only just past midday but sure. I’ll go and get the rest of the bottle for you, since you’re a God and all that.” You turned to stand and opened the stall, “Does it even have an effect on you?”

The God huffed and opened his beak in something that looked like a smile, his claws tucked under his head and his wings blanketed over his body, “Not greatly, but it is strong, so I can feel the effects for a moment.”

“So, when you chugged it for the pain…”

“It did not help for a long time.” Qene confirmed, “But I am grateful for your help. Without you, I would have gone mad and destroyed much of this place in my agony.”

“Well, you’re welcome. It’s the least I could do after what other humans did to you. Now, let me get you that whiskey.”

 Qene’s feather’s rustled in the valley winds, and he raised his head as he stepped out of the barn, his claws dragging on the floor before he spread his wings and let the wind run through his feathers. A few final dead ones fluttered away on the wind, browning as they disappeared up the hills.

“It feels like an eon since I felt the wind.” Qene rumbled as he flapped his wings and stood tall to look over the fields and up to the mountain, “I will now no longer burden you.”

“I…I’m glad you’re well, but…” You looked at the mountain again, “Won’t they be waiting for you?”

“Waiting for me?” Qene rumbled, his head tilted to peer down at you, “They may be, but my home is my own…”

“Why not stay here?” You asked as the small crow cawed and landed on your shoulder, “They won’t look for you here.”

“And why would you want this?” he asked as he dipped his head, “I am not of your kind, nor am I a welcome guest. I fell into your home.”

“But you are also a welcome one now.” You smiled at him, “I don’t mind you being here. You even helped me get those hay bales out of the barn.”

Qene’s eyes looked to the mountain with longing, “My home…”

“You can go and see…but if you want to come back then…”

 Qene lowered his beak to your head, pressing the top to the top of your skull before he looked you in the eyes and licked at your cheek, “Silly human. I…” he rumbled, “I will see my home, but I will return…for visits or for…If my home is not inhabitable.”

You reached up to his face and carefully stroked along Qene’s feathered neck, the golden feathers soft and pretty, “Come back when you want.” You smiled, “Maybe you can replace the whiskey you drank, huh?”

Qene laughed, his beak open and eyes closed, “Perhaps…Or maybe I can bring you something better?”

“Something better?” You asked.

The God nodded his head, “I will bring you a feather, if I return, and weave it into your hair.”

“To what end? What does that mean?” You stroked his neck.

“That you are chosen by me, by the valley god…” he confessed, “That you will be my priestess.”

You laughed softly, “I don’t know about being a religious figure but…”

“You will be mine?” Qene rumbled, his wings flexing.

“Maybe I will, Qene.” You promised before the God flexed his wings and pounded them three times, lifting from the field and into the air.

 The crow on your shoulder rubbed its head under your chin, “I will be here. My eyes see everything.”

“I know, Qene. Good luck.” You whispered to the crow before the shadow in the clouds disappeared back towards the mountain.

 Weeks past with warm weather and pleasant breezes. The mountain was silent, looming in the distance over the valley, and you tended to your animals and small vegetable patch. Thriskar came for some milk and eggs, looking at the sudden brightness to your animals and farm.

“It is like a God has touched this place!” He commented over a cold glass of milk one day, crunching carrot sticks between his teeth as he looked at the farm. His comment made you wonder just where Qene was. Since he had left the farm had been brighter, fuller of life, but quiet and Qene had not spoken through your crow companion for a long time. You were beginning to think something had happened, and often you went to bed after leaving a bottle of whiskey on the porch. This night, you did the same, placing the bottle out on the porch with a small candle in a holder, before heading to bed.

 The next morning you opened the door and stood over a single, golden feather. The feather glowed in the early morning light, bright and brilliant, burning with power. The whiskey was uncorked, and the candle blown out. You rushed for both items, grabbing the feather, and clutching it close before you rounded the corner and thundered into the barn. Qene’s orange eye slowly peered over the top of the stall.

“Hello, little bird.” Qene rumbled before he pushed open the gate, “It has been a while.”

“Qene!” You rushed to the bird creature and hugged him around the neck.

Qene raised his neck and hung you before he gripped you around the waist and smiled, clucking softly with a purr before he placed you back on the floor, “I have missed you. My home is gone, destroyed and trapped. I…I searched for somewhere, but I have ended up back at your doorstep.”

“So…You’re here to stay?��� You asked gently.

He nodded his head, “If I am welcome. I will make a home here and…I would like to know more about you.”

 You looked up at the eagle face. His eyes were covered by golden and brown feathers, and you reached up to push them away, staring at the orange eyes of the God.

“You were always welcome.” You cooed before kissing the top of his beak.

“Thank you, little bird.” Qene cooed back as his leathery skin rubbed against your own, “The whiskey was a treat.” he chuckled.

“You’re going to have to give me some way to buy more! It’s so expensive!” You scolded.

[minor-solemnity]

Never Gonna Give (You Up) pt.2

(content warning: some smut)

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure.

Riddle is unusually quiet as you lead him away from the party. His eyes are focused firmly on the ground, as though he’s worried that if he doesn’t watch his step, he’ll stumble. You watch him out the corner of your eye, taking in the slight sheen of sweat, the way his skin, save for the raw acid burns on his chest, is even paler than usual, his pinched expression. “You know, I’m surprised you’re not screaming bloody murder,” You say, trying to keep your voice light and casual and not like you’re about to start panicking over the state of his chest. “I always thought Slytherins were a bunch of posh crybabies.”

You suppose it’s good to know that Riddle is not so injured that he can’t summon up the strength to glare at you. “And I always thought that Gryffindors were meant to be chivalrous and honourable but the way you looked when Slughorn asked you escort me to hospital wing suggests otherwise.” He snaps and you feel at once both indignantly angry and… guilty. You feel guilty. And you hate it.

“Oh please, you’d be as annoyed as I was if the roles were reversed. Because of you, I won’t be able to meet Beaufort and having her as a character reference is essential if I even have a hope of becoming a curse-breaker. You know as well as I do what’s waiting for me after Hogwarts otherwise.” You say, all the sorrow and frustration you feel over your missed opportunity leaches into your voice and the grip you have on RIddle’s arm tightens without you meaning to. You’re not wrong either, wizarding society is still of the collective opinion that witches if they’re from a good family should be married off as quickly as possible, and if they’re not, are looking at jobs in retail and teaching. Particularly intelligent and insightful witches might be lucky enough to go into research and academia but generally, any witch wanting to do something a bit more exciting with their life is shit out of luck.

Riddle shoots you a surprised look like he hadn’t expected your response. To your own surprise, he doesn’t have a quippy retort ready to skewer you with and you walk the rest of the way to the entrance hall in stony silence.

You begin to move towards the staircase intent of getting him to the hospital wing as quickly as possible. Your reasons are twofold: firstly, with any luck, once he’s under the care of Madam Montague, you’ll be able to return to the party and hopefully be in time to at least make yourself known to Beaufort; secondly, Riddle, as much as he’s trying to hide it, is clearly in a great deal of pain. The slight tremor in his shoulders has turned into full-body shakes and his eyes, usually so sharp and erudite, are clouded in pain and have a far-away look to them. It’s unsettling to see him so vulnerable. You’ve spent so much of your time at Hogwarts wishing to see Riddle cut down to size but now you’re witnessing it, you find that you’re really not enjoying it.

“Come on, let’s just get to Madam Montague,” You mutter, trying to pull him along but Riddle won’t budge. In fact, he begins to stumble in the opposite direction towards the dungeons. “What are you doing? We have to go to the hospital wing! Riddle, you’re hurt—”

“I’m not going there - I have… I’ll be able to fix this if I can get to my dorm.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you can’t possibly fix this yourself.” You exclaim half exasperated half pleading. He fixes you with a glare that would be a lot more intimidating if, at that moment, he didn’t sway violently on his feet and you weren’t forced to steady him by looping both your arms over his shoulders. Riddle sags into you, his body pressing against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. The way your stomach clenches at the close proximity is entirely inappropriate.

“Just go back to the party, that’s clearly where you’d rather be,” You think he might be aiming for scathing but something horribly vulnerable has crept into his words. “Beaufort’s probably still there.”

The fact that Riddle is allowing you to leave, to enjoy the rest of your night, to maybe secure a job is… You feel… Odd. Confused. Sad. Sad that he thinks that you’d leave him to stumble back to his dorm on his own. For the first time since you’ve known him, you wonder if he’s ever had someone to rely on before. If the air of self-sufficiency and aloofness is something that comes naturally to him, or if it’s something he’s had to learn.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can barely stand up by yourself; I’m not going to leave you to potentially faint on your way to your dorm.” When you disentangle yourself from him and resume your journey and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat that you will not for the sake of your sanity interpret as disappointment. “Like you said: Gryffindors: known for our chivalry and honour.” And he must be delirious because he actually laughs.

The Slytherin common room is exactly what you imagined it would be: dark, luxurious, refined, and so unlike the cosiness of the Gryffindor tower. Thankfully, Riddle’s room is empty when you’re finally inside. He pulls off his ruined dress robes, leaving him only in his trousers. You avert your eyes out of respect for his privacy and not because the sight of his lithe torso is at all appealing. He manages to get to his bed and starts rummaging around in the chest of drawers beside it, leaving you standing in the doorway, entirely unsure of what it is that you’re supposed to do next.

Jar in hand, he more or less collapses onto his bed. Wounded as he is, he still manages to look outrageously good. The low light from the candelabra casts him in a muted, golden glow, adding colour to his complexion and softening the wounds on his chest. You swallow thickly and internally berate yourself for having such thoughts because this is Riddle, and even if he weren’t your sworn enemy, he’s still injured and hurting and that should be your first priority.

You watch as he struggles to open one of the jars for a second before you make up your mind. Summoning every shred of Gryffindor bravery you possess, you walk towards him, ignoring the look of sheer surprise and alarm that settles on his face as you stop in front of him. “Here, just let me— let me help,” You murmur, your breath catching in your throat because this feels… This feels intimate and new. You’re fairly sure that whatever happens next, your relationship with Riddle has been changed irrevocably. The seconds tick past and you just watch each other. The air seems to thicken around you and the atmosphere grows charged and tense with something that you don’t have a name for.

Slowly, he nods and you gently manoeuvre him so that he’s lying on his back, propped up by his pillows. Next, you reach for the jar that he’d been holding, unscrewing the lid and scooping some of the clear, jelly-like substance into your fingers. There’s an awkward moment when you try and figure out the best way of reaching his chest before you grit your teeth and straddle his hips.

Despite his current state, Riddle still manages to look far too smug for your liking. He raises an eyebrow and smirks up at you from your perch on his thighs. Despite the furious blush that creeps up your neck and along your cheeks, you manage to keep your voice steady as you say, “Don’t make this weird, Riddle.” He starts to chuckle lowly before it’s cut off by a gasp as you start to rub the salve on his wounds.

Your fingers brush against his chest and you find yourself entranced by how warm his skin is, how he tenses under your hands as though he wasn’t expecting and isn’t used to gentleness, how his breathing slowly evens out as the salve does its job and the burns start to scab and heal. A slow, curling heat wraps its way around you, making your heart stutter and your blood thrum in a way that is so deliciously intoxicating that you don’t even notice that your hands have travelled down his chest and are now skimming his sides, edging lower and lower to the waistline of his trousers.

You’re brought back to reality when he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, his dark eyes glitter in the dim candlelight and a slow, easy smirk curls his upper lip. He moves his free hand to your waist and he watches you closely, taking in every twitch, every shiver, every sharp, stuttering intake of breath. “So, I should go and let you rest…?” You hate the way it comes out as a question, the slight upturn in your voice revealing the nerves that tangle and twist inside you.

“That would be sensible, yes,” Tom agrees, even as his hand slides up your waist and along the curves of your breasts.

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure. He responds immediately, let’s go of your wrist to tangle his fingers through your hair, drags you closer until the spaces between you are taken over by the feeling of his body, firm and solid and sure beneath you. His other hand slips under your dress robes, gliding up your thigh and pulling the silky fabric up until it’s bunched around your waist and his hand splays across the swell of your arse, exploring and gripping and kneading. Every part of you that he touches is on fire and pleasure curls inside of you like bonfire smoke: rich and thick and all-consuming.

A moan escapes you as he rolls his hips against yours and he tugs your hair sending small shockwaves of muted pain and pleasure tingling down your spine. You pull away from him to catch your breath and for a moment you just stare at each other. His eyes are nearly all pupil and there’s a delectable flush spreading across his cheeks and there’s something else as well. It’s the way he’s looking at you, you realise. Turned on and hot and wanting, yes, but under all that… there’s something like awe in his eyes.

That alone is enough to make you reach down and start tugging at his belt, hands fumbling with nerves and then he’s kicking off his trousers and you’re pulling your robes above your head with a frantic kind of desperation that would surprise you if it wasn’t so fucking obvious to you now. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference and you have never been indifferent towards Riddle. Your clothes land in a haphazard pile at the foot of his bed, and suddenly his arms are around you and he’s flipping you over and pressing against you, grinding down as he sucks a bruise along the underside of your jaw before trailing kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud of one nipple. “So good,” He whispers into your skin, “Always knew you’d be so good for me.” And something inside of you sings at the admission, at the implication.

The franticness of earlier fades into something slower, though no less intense, and you take the opportunity to snake your hand down his body and curl a fist around him, stroking long and slow, revelling in the way he feels in your hand: heavy and hot and thick in. You are rewarded by a quiet, broken gasp and his fingers and tongue caressing every part of you he can reach. His fingers slip between your legs and you’re already so close to edge that all it takes is a few clever strokes and you’re tumbling into the ravine, back arching, toes curling and you’re dimly aware of him tensing above you and then he’s falling right along with you.

In the moments following, anxiety and uncertainty begins to creep through your afterglow, and you shift against him, unsure if you should gather your things and leave. You start to push yourself up but are stopped by a hand on your shoulder. Tom (because you should start calling him that, anything else feels like an erasure of what’s just happened, and despite the worry, you don’t want to erase this) gently pulls you back down, tucking you against his side as he runs his fingers through your hair. The anxiety fades and you fall asleep with your head nestled in the crook of his neck and his arm curled around your waist.

***

In the three weeks since Slughorn’s party, you’ve made several appearances in Tom’s dorms. There had been one particularly embarrassing moment when Abraxas Malfoy had walked in, rolled his eyes and muttered ‘finally. But also, gross’ before he'd made a speedy exit after Tom had threatened to poison his favourite peacock. 

You still argue and you’re still horribly competitive; you’re fairly sure that those aspects of your relationship with Tom are dyed in the wool by this point. But now he edits your essays and you bring him coffee when he spends too long in the library. You eat breakfast together. It feels good. It feels natural.

It’s over one breakfast on a nondescript Friday morning that the letter arrives. Tom passes it to you along with a mug of tea and you frown at the unfamiliar handwriting. You scan it quickly and your curiosity quickly turns into disbelieving excitement. “Christella Beaufort wants to meet me.” You whisper, eyes wide, hands shaking. “She says that she’s sorry she missed me at the party and that she’s available to talk the next Hogsmeade weekend. I… Tom, this is… How…?”

“I may have written to her explaining the situation.” He says, entirely casual, as though he hasn’t just made every wish you’ve ever had come true.

He really only has himself to blame when you lean over the Slytherin table, fingers wrapping around his tie and ruin a lot of people’s breakfasts by dragging him into a kiss.

(part 1)

[vivianweasley]

Winking and Rolling Eyes (Fred Weasley X Reader)

Summary: You and the Weasley twins are best friends but you and Fred just couldn’t stop bickering. It’s all fun and games until you see him flirting with other girls. Why can’t he just stop being so mean to you and maybe finally see you as a potential girlfriend? Friends to lover

Pairing: Fred Weasley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fred being mean? a little bit of angst, blood (Umbridge’s quill), mention of food

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: For some reasons, I always pictured Fred to be the kind of guy who would be mean to the girl he likes just to get her attention lol. Tell me what you guys think about this!

Please do NOT repost my work or translate it on another site without permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

1995

Your head was always filled with weird random questions. For example right now, you were sitting in the Great Hall contemplating over why do some people tease and taunt the person they love, instead of actually showing their affection like a normal human being. What’s the reason behind this kind of action? And more importantly, why are you guilty of this too?

But what made you more confused was, when exactly did Fred and George become so bloody popular??

They were walking pass a group of Gryffindor girls now. The girls were blushing and some were even fixing their hair. “Hi Fred! Hi George!” 

“Hi girls!” George replied with a cheeky grin and Fred even winked at them.

You couldn’t help but rolled your eyes. You and the Weasley twins were best friends since the first year, but this year they became so popular, attracting many girls’ attention. You weren’t surprised. They were great beaters and their pranks were epic. Not to mention how bloody attractive they were. Of course they were going to attract people’s attention. Unlike you, who were just an ordinary girl, sitting in the corner and always daydreaming.

“What are you thinking about?” George’s voice pulled you back to reality.

“Y/N you know, if you keep rolling your eyes like that, one day they might never roll back.” Fred opened his eyes wide, looking like he was trying to scare a kid with a ghost story.

Yet you rolled your eyes again, “if you keep winking, one day your eyelids might fall off.”

“Y/N that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Like you ever made any sense!”

“We’re going to Hogsmeade. Do you wanna come?” George broke off your childish bickering.

“Sure!” You just ran out of chocolate so it was a perfect chance for you to go to Honeydukes and restock.

“Ugh I don’t wanna go with this woman. She rolls her eyes way too much.”

“Just shut up!”

You have no idea what Honeydukes was thinking. Why would they put their products on such a high shelf. Apparently, the girl next to you were having the same concerns. She was standing on tip-toe, struggling to reach high, but she failed to even touch that bag of sugar quills.

But someone next to her reached out and grabbed that bag of sugar quills for her.

“Your sugar quill.” Fred bent over a little and handed that girl her sugar quills in a really dramatic way.

That girl was blushing now, “Thanks!”

“Oi Fred, while you’re at it, I want one too.” you asked. It should be easy, since he was still standing beside it.

“Help yourself, shorty.” But he smiled at you mischievously and just walked away.

Watching him disappearing in the crowd, you rolled your eyes and reached for your wand, “Accio!”

And things like that kept on happening.

Fred and George were banned from partnering in potion class, since students’ cauldrons tend to explode mysteriously whenever the twins were partners. You and Fred were also banned from partnering, because your cauldron also tend to explode whenever the two of you were partners.

So today, Fred was partnering with a Hufflepuff girl in potion class and you were sitting behind them. You swore to Merlin that Fred was flirting with that girl the entire class period. 

That you endured, but what really got on your nerves was when you heard him saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on the fire, or else the cauldron will explode just like Y/N’s.”

You felt like all the blood in your body has suddenly rushed into your head due to anger. Last time when you asked him to keep an eye on the fire so you could read the instructions, he replied, “Can’t you do it yourself?” You got mad at him and didn’t pay attention when the fire was growing tall, causing your cauldron to explode.

Now you felt like your temper has exploded, and unfortunately, your cauldron exploded with it.

“Miss (Y/L/N), does your cauldron have a problem or do you have a problem?” you heard Snape’s cold monotone.

“I’m sorry professor.”

You glared at Fred. He was trying so hard to hold back his laughter that his face was flushed. You looked at him and you looked at your now messy table, you couldn’t help but rolled your eyes. Merlin, maybe he was right. Maybe you did roll your eyes way too often.

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

Then strange things started to happen. Many girls started to wave at you too. And you soon realized the reason behind this.

One day, a Ravenclaw girl came to you. It looked like she was hesitant but she still managed to get the question out, “Are you...are you Fred or George’s girlfriend?

“What? No!” You were just confused. Why would she assume that? Has she seen how Fred treated you? Who would treat their girlfriend like that?

“Great!” She let out a sigh of relief and then handed you a small box, “Could you please give this to Fred for me? Thanks!”

“Sure?” She ran away after you took the box, leaving you there with your feet glued to the floor and having no idea how to feel about this.

Curiosity was urging you to open that box and see what’s inside, but your conscience stopped you. Judging by her blush and the pink wrapping, it was probably a love letter or chocolate or something of that sort.

You didn’t know why, but you suddenly didn’t want to help her anymore. A part of you even urged you to throw the box away, but at the end you still delivered the box to Fred.

“Blimey Y/N, didn’t know you fancy me!” He took the box and gasped dramatically.

“No idiot, this is from another girl.” You slapped him on his arm, “I sort of just became her wing-woman.” 

“Aww Y/N, don’t feel discouraged. If you ever need a wingman, George can help you with that!”

“What about you?”

He opened his mouth but no words came out yet. You were sure that he was probably going to tease you again, but you just didn’t have the energy to do this with him today. So before he could say anything, you spoke first, “Never mind, George is probably more reliable anyways.” And you left.

“Where are you going?” You heard him yelling from behind.

“My bed! It’s tired being a wing-woman.”

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

Then life went back to normal. You would still hangout with the twins and help them with new prank ideas. You and Fred were still constantly bickering whenever you two have the chance. It was just that more and more girls came to you asking for help to deliver gifts to the twins. Even a Beauxbatons girl came to you once. Guess everyone was just trying to find a perfect date for the upcoming dance.

After deciding to stay as far away as possible from Fred during potion class, you actually became friends with a Gryffindor boy. His name was Finley Laurent. He was tall and you could always see a smirk on his lips. He was also really funny and you two hit it off right away.

You two went from studying in the library together, to going on Hogsmeade dates. Before the Yule ball, he asked you to be his date and you agreed to it happily.

The Yule ball soon arrived. You did your makeup and hair and you put on the dress your mother sent you. You were so excited about this, in fact you even went downstairs early to wait for your date.

But instead of Finley, you ran into the twins first.

“Blimey Y/N, I should’ve asked you to the dance! Didn’t know you could look this...tolerable!” Fred exclaimed teasingly.

You rolled your eyes, “Thank you for your ‘kind compliment’, but I already have a date!”

“Y/N! Are you coming with us?” You heard Angelina’s voice.

“No, Y/N already has a date. She doesn’t want to hangout with us anymore.” Fred said bitterly, didn’t give you the chance to talk, “Let’s go!”

The twins walked away with Angelina and Lee was waiting for them at the entrance. You realized that they were going as a group. You were suddenly regretting your choice now. It would be so fun going with them. 

Wait, what were you thinking? Did you want to hear Fred making fun of your dress or the way you dance for the entire night? You were sure that going with Finley would be just as fun.

You waited at the entrance for at least twenty minutes. It looked like everyone who was attending the ball has already entered the ball room. You finally decided to walk into the ball room alone. Did Finley bail on you? Was he sick? You had to admit that you were slightly annoyed but you were still worried about him.

But as soon as you saw the truth, you’d rather know that he was sick.

He was dancing with another girl. They were dancing and laughing together and the picture looked so great. So great that it suddenly seemed like you were the one who’s barging in now.

You could feel all of the blood in your body boiling as you walked over to him. “Care to explain?” You asked as politely as you could.

“Y/N...” He was surprised to see you suddenly appearing in front of him, but the words he was about to say sounded pretty well-prepared, “I’m sorry, Y/N. This is my girlfriend. We were in a fight before, but we got back together right before the Yule ball. I didn’t know things would turn out this way...”

“So am I just a backup plan?” Your brain still wasn’t fully able to process the situation right now that you felt almost like a bystander. You didn’t know what to think and you didn’t know what to do.

It was clear that he didn’t know how to face this situation either. Even the girl next to him was feeling ashamed of him. She just lowered her head and didn’t look at any of you.

“Oh baby you are here!” Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice. You turned your head stiffly to look at the source of the voice. Tall, redheaded, freckles, deep brown eyes. Your brain slowly began to piece together the name of this person, Fred Weasley.

He held your hand and he looked like he was sorry, in his own dramatic way. “Baby, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault! I should’ve never argued with you! Will you please forgive me?”

You squinted your eyes and stared at Fred all confused. 

He squeezed your hand lightly, hinting you to just follow his lead.

“What’s going on here?” Finley finally managed to say something.

Fred suddenly let go of your hand and his left hand snaked around your waist to pull you closer to him, “It’s my fault to even let you have the chance to invite my girlfriend to the dance, but mate, haven’t you realized yet?”

“Realized what?”

“No offense, but can’t you see that you’re just a less-handsome substitute for me?”

Now it was Finley’s turn to be so angry that he couldn’t speak anymore, but Fred was right about one thing. You finally realized why Finley felt familiar to you. 

Maybe he was indeed a less-handsome version of Fred. They were both tall. They both have freckles. Merlin, even both of their names start with the letter “F”. But Finley’s smile was nothing compared to Fred’s. Fred’s smile was always so confident and cheerful. Even though you probably would never tell him, but his smile would always light up your day and make you feel just a little bit more hopeful on a bad day. 

“Let’s go!” Fred grabbed your hand and you two ran away before Finley exploded.

You two eventually went to the Gryffindor common room because Fred had a bucket of ice cream hidden in his dorm. The sweetness of ice cream healed your wounded pride and calmed your temper.

“Thanks, for having my back today.”

“Merlin, Y/N! Didn’t know you knew the word ‘thanks’.”

You slapped him on his arm and he acted like he was suffering a mortal wound.

“It was nothing. Anything for my best mate!”

“Best mate my arse!”

You couldn’t sleep that night. What was keeping you awake wasn’t the wrong you’ve suffered tonight, but the sound of Fred calling you his girlfriend.

You knew he was just saying that to get on Finley’s nerves and you felt ridiculous that this scene was playing on repeat in your mind. You just couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the warm fuzzy feeling rising up in your heart, spreading through your whole body.

It was terrible, but you found yourself becoming the girls that you would usually roll your eyes at. You were falling for Fred Weasley. Or you’ve already fell for him a long time ago, but you’ve only realized it today.

But what’s even worse was that you knew you would never have a chance with him. Merlin! Just think about how he treated you. He was always so mean to you and he was treating you like you were just one of his friends, not a potential girlfriend. You just felt hopeless.

So you’ve decided. You have to kill your feelings for him before it grows.

Or at least, before he found out.

1996

Under Umbridge’s control, everyone’s life was just miserable. Especially the twins who were natural trouble makers. You have tried to persuade them to lay low during a time like this, but they thought a time like this was exactly when people needed their products and laughters in their lives.

You joined Dumbledore’s Army with Fred and George. In Dumbledore’s Army, you met Ernest Macmillan, a Hufflepuff boy. He was a nice guy and you two became friends immediately. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a soft personality, nothing like Fred Weasley. Great, you thought that was a good sign.

Fred was still the same. He would still tease you when he saw you hanging out with Ernie.

“Y/N, what are you trying to do to that poor boy!” or “Ernie, you gotta be careful. This woman’s cauldron would always explode mysteriously. Maybe one day you will explode too!”

You would always roll your eyes at him when you heard him saying something like that. You were both graduating this year. How could he still be this immature?

Unfortunately, Umbridge still found out about Dumbledore’s Army and everyone in the army suffered from that torturing quill.

After finally leaving her office, you sat on the bench in the hallway. You stared at your bloodied hand that read “I must not disobey”, tears started to well up in your eyes.

Ernie was sitting next to you, “Are you alright?”

You saw the same scar on his hand and you just couldn’t hold your tears anymore. You started crying. When will days like this finally end?

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held up your wounded hand. He tried to alleviate your pain by gently blowing air on it. “The pain will stop in a minute. I promise you.”

You closed your eyes and rested your head on Ernie’s shoulder without realizing that not far from here, Fred was staring at your direction.

So you didn’t need him right now. That’s perfectly fine, he thought. He just turned around and left, with his right hand covering up his wounded left hand. But what if he needed you?

A few days later before curfew, Fred came to you and brought you to a deserted hallway. You were still wondering what he was trying to do, but he waved his wand and a few fireflies appeared and started flying around you.

The light in the hallway was dim, but the fireflies were lighting up your face. It felt like the stars have suddenly came down from the starry night sky to dance around you. It was cliche to say, but you felt like you were in a fairy tale.

“When did you learn to do this? It’s brilliant!” It was rare that you wanted to compliment him without making fun of him first.

“Y/N, I fancy you.”

Your heart probably skipped a beat, maybe more than one beat. Was this what you were always dreaming of?

But your smile soon froze on your face. He’s Fred Weasley for Merlin’s sake! The guy who was probably joking about 80% of everything he ever said.

So was this just another prank? You were pretty sure you saw him flirting with another girl yesterday and how can you forget the way he always treated you! You thought the answer was pretty clear.

“Hahaha,” you laughed sarcastically, “Very funny Fred, but I’m not that stupid. I know you too well.”

“What?” He was still trying to pretend like he was confused.

“I bet George is hiding somewhere now, waiting to see my reaction. Where is he?” You walked pass Fred and began to search for George.

But you heard him said, “So am I only a joke to you?”

“What?” Now you were confused.

“Never mind, just forget I said anything tonight.” And he just walked away.

Not long after Fred’s gone, George showed up just as you expected. But he looked so disappointed with his brows furrowed.

The air between you two were making you panic, but you still managed to sound indifferent, “What’s wrong with Fred? So his prank didn’t work. What’s the big deal?”

“Y/N, he wasn’t joking.”

“So you are also part of this prank? Please, I saw him flirting with some other girl yesterday. I’m not that stupid.”

“He only did that because you were around. He just thought that you look cute when you are mad at him. It’s childish I know. I told him that you might misunderstand it, but you know him, he’s just like that. The more he likes you, the more he’s gonna make fun of you.” George sounded so serious, “You should know. You two are just the same.”

“I...” you were speechless, George’s words blew up in your mind like someone has casted reducto there.

“Don’t try to deny it. You are too obvious. You are both too obvious.” George continued, “I don’t know why he’s only telling you this now. Maybe because he panicked after seeing you with Ernie. Maybe because we are going to leave Hogwarts soon.”

“What?? What do you mean by you are leaving Hogwarts???” You couldn’t keep your cool anymore. You were all already graduating this year. What were they thinking?

“Fred was going to tell you tonight. We both thought our future lay outside the world of academic achievement. And now with Umbridge in charge, we just can’t stay here anymore. Not even for a few months.”

You immediately grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to run towards the Gryffindor common room. You still couldn’t quite process what was going on. Your head was a mess and your heart was beating like crazy, but there was only one thing you were clear about.

“Where are you going!”

“I need to find him!”

You two managed to get into the Gryffindor common room before curfew. Fred was standing there, looking surprised that you showed up with George.

You weren’t someone who liked to share too much about your private life, but you just couldn’t see anyone else in the room anymore now. There was only one person in your eyes and one person on your mind. You walked straight to Fred and just blurted out, “I fancy you!”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. And now he’s playing dumb? You grabbed his collar and  pulled him down, smashing your lips together. Everyone in the common room was cheering now.

You finally let go of him and he grinned, “Are you trying to prank me?”

“Sure, if you say so.”

“Alright,” he smirked, “I dare you to prank me everyday.”

“Challenge accepted.” You smiled, as he pulled you into another breathless kiss.

2000

“FRED WEASLEY!” You knew shouting wasn’t right, the entire Diagon Alley probably heard you now. But your brain went blank when you saw the empty cake box.

You spent the entire afternoon yesterday trying to bake a cake for Molly’s birthday today, but the cake disappeared now. There was only an empty cake box with some cake crumbs left, telling you that the cake wasn’t just a product of your imagination. You knew George would probably ask you about it when he saw a random cake. But Fred’s different, so you could easily pinpoint the suspect now.

You didn’t have the time to bake another cake. You were leaving in five minutes and you’ve already changed into your dress.

“What happened!” Fred walked out of the room, still fixing his tie and looking all innocent.

You waved the empty cake box at him.

“Oh...” he laughed awkwardly, possibly trying to act all cute to make you forgive him.

“FRED WEASLEY, what is you problem!”

“Merlin, we are gonna be so late!” He grabbed your hand and apparated you two into the Burrows before you could say anything else.

“Oh dear, you two are here!” Molly jumped when you two suddenly appeared, but she was also very happy to see you. “Y/N dear, what’s that in your hand?” She pointed at the empty cake box that was still in your hand.

“Oh...I baked you a cake yesterday for your birthday, but Fred ate it all.”

Fred grinned at Molly, “But I can assure you that the cake was delicious! This woman’s cauldron may explode, but her cake was brilliant!”

You couldn’t help but rolled your eyes.

He pulled you closer by your waist and winked at you, “Love, if you keep rolling your eyes this often, maybe one day they might never roll back.”

“If you keep winking this often, maybe one day your eyelids might fall off.”

Join my tag list!

[giorno-plays-piano]

Last one, I promise. MonsterHunter!Bucky or Steve where you’re the rare creature they’re after. You don’t have to write any of these, I just feel like you would appreciate these 💕 keep up the good work giorno, I’m so proud of you bb❤️

Thank you for your requests, hun! I haven’t worked on other ones, but I’m happy to present you this story 😌❤ Hope you’re going to like it!

Daughters of Persephone

Pairing: monster hunter!Steve Rogers x vampire!Reader

Warnings: yandere-ish Steve, kidnapping, death of minor characters, mentions of torture and suicide, gore (a severed head), general vampire stuff.

Words: 4109.

___________________

Suddenly waking up in the middle of the night, you fell down your bed, desperately trying to turn on the small lamp on your bedside table and reaching too far, soon ending on the cold floor. Trying to get up, you hit your head on the table and moaned. Saints, what on Earth was happening? You barely realized you were laying on the floor in the dark, but you knew for sure you were woken up by someone's agonized cry.

Who was that? The closest rooms to yours belonged to Iriya and Alice since mother lived in the north wing in a room she once shared with her late husband. Who screamed? Was it Iriya? Why was she screaming in the middle of the night? Was it just a nightmare? You had no time to think, finally standing up and rushing to the door, abandoning the idea with the lights: window curtains in the corridor had never been kept closed, so you would be able to see something thanks to the moonlight.

Hurrying to the point you ran barefoot, shivering in the dark - the floors had always been cold despite mother doing her best with all those expensive carpets - you reached Iriya's room and banged on her door, hoping it was just a nightmare.

'Iri-"

Before you called her name, the door opened by itself, and you froze in fear: Iriya was always closing her door at night, explaining that it all started when drunk Alice mixed the rooms and then woke her up with her angry shouting. Why was the door open? Was it better to go find mother rather than go there all by yourself?

No. What if Iriya needed help right now? You couldn't risk it.

Nervously getting in, your fists clenched painfully, you peaked inside your sister's room only to find her beheaded, her body laying on her spacious bed, Iriya's head on the carpet with her face caked in blood, her mouth open as if she was still screaming, pleading for help. Despite total darkness, you could see the white bedsheets soaked in her blood, the rich crimson fluid seeping through the fabric and dirtying the floor. You felt the bile rising in your throat, almost throwing up and barely containing yourself.

Iriya was dead. She was dead.

You were horrified to the point you could hardly move, your hands trembling as you wept, then getting on your knees and trying to reach out to Iriya's head but failing to do so - you didn’t have the courage to take her head in your hands, blood spreading further and almost reaching your long cream-colored nightgown Alice always mocked you for. You needed to run and find help. The murderer was still in the house, you were sure.

The thought of burglars breaking in had crossed your mind before, but you had never imagined some madman to get into your house and kill your poor older sister in such barbaric, horrible, revolting way, cutting her head off as if she was a character in some sick videogame. Why would anyone do this? How could they murder a harmless young woman sleeping in her bed?

You needed to get to Alice. The murderer could already be there.

Letting out a loud cry, you got back on your feet, hanging on to the large dark jacaranda drawer with nice thin metal legs - mother had it customized specially for Iriya on her 20th birthday. Thinking what would mother say once she saw her daughter with her head chopped off, you covered your mouth with your hand, unable to hold your tears. How could it happen? Who could commit such atrocity?

"Alice? Alice!" You could see the light coming from beneath her door.

Kicking it with all your force, you prepared for the worst, ready to jump at whoever you saw, but the only one there was Alice herself standing close to her desk. She was holding a revolver in her hands.

"Alice, Iriya-" You muttered, unable to say your sister was dead out loud and just pointing to the corridor with your shaking hand. "Iriya, she..."

"I know." Your other sister said through gritted teeth, her eyes still on the revolver she was holding. "It's not like I'm deaf."

You always had a hard time understanding her even when she was perfectly sober and in a good mood. Alice was strange: she reminded you of girls in Nirvana's music videos, either pretty angry or too energetic for you to keep up with her. She had been drinking as long as you could remember her, always silently protesting against mother's lifestyle and probably having a grudge against her and you. When you asked Iriya if you'd done something that upset her she just brushed it off, saying the youngest sister had always been a little monster in the family.

Now she looked like a monster, too.

"It wasn't you, right?" You whispered, holding your hands against your mouth. "You didn't do it to Iriya, did you?"

"Of course, I didn't!" She shouted angrily but shut her mouth as she saw you trembling, all of a sudden her expression guilty and grim. "Sorry, it's too late to explain. I don't have much time."

You nodded eagerly through tears, holding the door and ready to leave, "We need to run!"

You didn't miss a dark chuckle escaping Alice as she smiled at you bitterly, bringing the revolver's barrel to her head, her hand not shaking the slightest bit. "No. I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time, and now is my chance."

Your head was spinning from shock and confusion. Iriya's chopped head, her bed full of blood, Alice pointing the gun at herself... Was everyone mad? Were you mad? Was it some nightmare you were seeing in your sleep? It felt damn real.

Seeing your horrified expression, your younger sister lifted the corners of her mouth, a broken smile on her face. "I'm sorry it turned out that way, but no one of us has been given a chance. This is how things have to end."

"Alice, please-"

"I have a full magazine. I know it sounds terrible, but after I'm done you have to shoot yourself, too. Believe me, it's the best you can do."

Before you opened your mouth to ask for an explanation and demand her to stop, Alice had pulled the trigger right in front of your eyes, blood and something that reminded you the insides of her brain smearing the wall to her left. While you screamed louder than you ever done in your entire life, her body landed on the floor with a loud thud, the left side of her head completely destroyed as you stared at the bloody mess, red liquid gushing out of the deep wound.

You felt like you were losing your sanity, crawling to her and cupping her head, unable to believe your eyes. She couldn't do it to herself. She has never seemed suicidal! What would she end herself like this? What did her words about some chance meant? Was it really her who cut off Iriya's head?

Wrapping your hands around her shoulders, you tried lifting her suddenly heavy body, crying and demanding your sister to stand up and stop pretending. It just couldn't be true. This madness couldn't be happening.

"Please, please!" You kept weeping, your nightgown soaked in her blood as her head laid on your lap. If body wasn't warm and heavy, you could believe it was all a nightmare, a frightening dream you saw, but Alice's empty eyes staring at you were making you painfully aware of your insane reality.

You cried so hard you missed the heavy steps of the intruder, realizing someone's here only when he opened the door and came in as if he weren't bothered by you screaming at all. It was a tall, wide-shouldered man in his thirties, his hair shining like gold in the bright light of Alice's room, a sharp blooded knife in his hand - the one he used to cut Iriya's head off. You reacted surprisingly fast, reaching out to revolver laying on the floor close to your sister's lifeless body, and tried shielding her as if it mattered, as if she didn't take her own life minutes ago. Your head was hurting, your thoughts mixed up: you barely understood what was happening, but you knew this man wasn't here to help, standing in the doorway with a stony expression on his handsome face while you pointed Alice's revolver at him, your hand shaking.

Who was he? What did he want from your family?

"Go away," you cried, hoping he wouldn't get closer. "Go away! You won't have her!"

You clenched the fabric of your sister's black tee, barely seeing the figure of the intruder as tears were making everything seem blurry.

The man was silent, staring at you with a blank expression as if he weren't interested in cutting off Alice's head and then murdering you, too. He made no attempts to come closer, although he didn't leave the room either, simply standing on his place and not moving an inch while you struggled to keep what remained of your sanity. Could you ask your mother for help? Should you yell so she'd hear you? Would it be better to challenge the murderer yourself since your mother certainly wasn't a super soldier to deal with someone like him? No, no, you couldn't shout to catch your mom's attention. Even if she'd hear you from the other side of the building, you couldn't let her end up just like your darling sisters. You needed to shoot the man.

But as you kept your gun aimed at him, you slowly realized you couldn't do it despite him clearly being a culprit of this madness. It just wasn't in you. You weren’t made to kill other people. Maybe that's why Alice told you to shoot yourself? Maybe she knew you couldn't protect anyone even if you had a gun in your hands?

"Please, don't touch her." You pleaded him, your hand aching from holding a heavy revolver for so long. "She didn't do anything bad. Please, please just go."

"On the contrary." The man suddenly said, and you froze on your place, frightened to the core. "She was the epitome of bad, but it wasn't her fault. Can’t blame the both of you for what your mother has done.”

“Mother?”

Looking at his blood-stained black pants and leather boots with dry blood on them, you opened your mouth but didn’t utter a word, watching his grotesquely big figure relaxing against the wooden frame, a silver cross hanging from his neck, drops of blood on the shining metal looking like dirt. Oh God. He didn’t do anything to mother, did he? He didn’t kill everyone in the mansion, did he?

Wailing like a wounded animal, you kept your gun aiming at the man, praying for him to just leave, vanish, let you call the ambulance and police, let anyone come and help you. What did he wanted? Money? Mother kept them in the bank like any other human being. Did he want her jewelry? Her collection of antique service? He didn’t have to kill your mother and Iriya for it, they would give him anything willingly if he didn’t hurt anyone. Who was this lunatic? Did he do something to Alice, too? He did, undoubtedly. She wouldn’t commit suicide just like that. She might have had issues with alcohol, but your younger sister had never been suicidal.

... however, well, considering you barely remembered what had happened before your fall from the bridge, she might have been.

“Sorry, little girl.” The man suddenly said, landing on the floor and dropping his knife as if he weren’t planning to attack you - you were much doubted it, though. “I know it’s not your fault. You’ve been for how long with the family? Around three months, correct?”

Still shielding the dead body of Alice with yours, you whispered, tears still falling down on your nightgown wet with your sister’s blood, “What are you saying?”

A dry chuckle escaped him as if he knew you were gonna reply exactly like you did, his left cheek resting against his hand caked in crimson fluid, but it didn’t seem to bother him much as he rubbed his skin with his dirty fingers, smearing the blood.

“I’m saying your darling mother adopted you when her second daughter had committed suicide just like Alice. Couldn’t stand what she had to do to stay alive after she was turned, you know?”

Gritting your teeth, you felt the rage raising deep within your chest: the bastard had the audacity to mock your family and you after he had probably killed everyone but you in the mansion. He probably tried to make you drop your revolver and finish you off as fast as he could and run before the police arrives - if anyone was going to come at all. You lived all by yourself with no one but a cleaning lady coming once a week to help you take care of the mansion; it was Friday evening, and people would start wondering why both Iriya and Alice stopped attending university only after a couple of days. Police will probably discover your bodies only when they start to rot.

Clenching the gun in your hand, you pointed it directly to the man’s head, ready to pull the trigger. If you were gonna die or lose your sanity tonight, you had to make sure you kill the murderer of your family before. You could do it. You had to!

“I won’t make it difficult for you.” The man said calmly, seemingly unafraid of your gun. “One day you woke up here with no memories whatsoever, and that creature played a role of your loving mom, saying how she’s scared about you after some incident has happened. She forbade you to leave the mansion because it was doctor’s orders purely for your own sake. Of course, she said something about a rare genetic decease and forced you to drink your medicine before every meal like your sisters, didn’t she?”

Yes. Yes, she did. Although she refused telling you what had happened to you, later Iriya confessed you jumped off the bridge because of some bastard you loved once you figured out he only dated you because of your mother’s money. Of course, they destroyed all your photos with him and anything he gave you so nothing would remind you of that despicable man. You didn’t question it. You didn’t question your mother’s decision to make you study at home just so she could keep an eye on you. It was reasonable: what mother would leave her daughter unattended after a suicide attempt? Naturally, you didn’t question her words about the genetic decease running in the family thanks to your blue blood ancestors marrying within a family. In the end, both your mother and sisters were taking the medicine every meal.

How did he know that? Was he spying on your family?

Oh. A silver cross, a knife made with something that look a lot like silver, cutting the heads off... this madman thought he was a vampire hunter. He was a lunatic who had murdered your family because he decided you were vampires!

“Are you mad?” You shouted angrily at him, unable to believe someone would go so far for something so stupid. “Do you think mom gave me blood, and I couldn’t figure it out?”

“You think she’d give you pure blood to make you freak out?” The man grinned at you, and you felt nauseated: he was fucking insane. “Of course, she didn’t. She diluted it for you and added some supplements, sweeteners and artificial flavors.”

“You lost your mind.”

“Huh, you wish, little one.” He cocked his head to the side and took off his cross, you raising your gun and almost firing it at his sudden movement, but the stranger did nothing else, throwing the cross closer to you. “If you doubt my words, just take it. It’s pure silver. Your mother didn’t stand it, did she? Probably said something about it bringing bad memories.”

Yes, she did, but thinking it was because she was a vampire who could burn herself with silver was ridiculous. What, now all women wearing gold were considered monsters?

“Why would I do that?” You said, your damp from tears cheeks finally becoming dry. “What if you put some chemical on it?”

“Then it would burn me, too.” Showing you his hand, he proudly demonstrated you his fingers that looked perfectly well.

Maybe you were really going mad, but you had touched the cross laying close to Alice's arm and immediately regretted it since it stung as if it was hot as a frying pan on the stove. What was that? Why did it hurt? Unable to believe it, you grasped it in your hand and cried out, dropping it and bringing your hand closer - a large burn was spreading out on your skin, bleeding on the floor, your blood mixing with your sister's. How did it happen? What was that?

"See? That what happens when a vampire touches silver," before you opened your mouth, the stranger continued, "and no, vampires aren't scared of sunlight or garlic, that stuff is straight from the novels."

Crying from pain, your hand shaking, you still didn't lower the revolver despite your other hand already starting to hurt from having something so heavy for a couple of minutes. No, it couldn’t be. He tricked you, surely. Vampires didn't exist! Besides, how would mother get so much blood to feed all of you? It's not like some truck was delivering you blood packs from the hospital every day! And, of course, you had never seen any other human being coming to the house other than a family doctor treating you and a cleaning lady. Where would the blood for your medicine come from?

"Your mother has a nice dungeon with a few iron maidens, little one."

Bullshit. It was all bullshit! Did he expect you to believe your kind, intelligent, loving mother who donated money for building a school in the village would kill innocent people? It was outrageous! From the day you woke up after the incident she had been nothing but a caring parent, always worried about your wellbeing and willing to give you everything you asked for. A week ago you joked about getting some super expensive haute couture dress for your graduation ceremony, and the next evening your mother invited you to her cabinet with her laptop open to show you the designers she found suitable to make you a dress. A woman like her just wasn’t build for murdering others.

The man snorted, “I can show it to you, actually.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You whispered, your other hand now clenching the gun, too. “If you won’t leave, I will shoot you, and no jury would convict me after they found out you cut off Iriya’s head.”

“I wouldn’t be violent if I could neutralize her any other way, but Iriya had accepted her vampire nature a long time ago. Alice, on the other hand, ended her own life. I didn’t do anything to her; it was her own choice.”

“It’s a lie! If she really hated us all for being vampires, why didn’t she do anything? She had a gun, she could shoot us!” Desperate, you yelled at the man seemingly unfazed by your behavior and waiting calmly when you’d get back to your senses - if it was possible in a situation like this, your sister’s body long cold on the floor.

“I bet she wanted to, but, you see, Stockholm syndrome is a funny thing. After 5 years in the family she grew to love her mother and sister, this always happens at one point or the other. I think she probably loved and pitied you, too, since she couldn’t prevent her mother biting you.” There was no pity in his voice, but you could see something compassionate in the way he looked at you, a girl who had no idea who she had become or who she was before that, getting mixed up with dangerous creatures feeding off humans like cattle. “Bet she was scared of the mother, too. But when the opportunity presented itself, she decided it was enough and shoot herself before I came for her head.”

His words were scaring you because it was all making sense now: her addiction to alcohol mother could do nothing about even with all her money; that attitude of hers as Alice had always been unhappy and never agreed to anyone; her constant desire to be left alone and locking herself in her room...

“But why would mother bite us in the first place? What would she need daughters for?” Getting overprotective to prove all this wasn’t true, you asked him.

“All ancient vampires like your mother were human once. They have the need to reproduce as much as we do, but what they don’t have is a physical ability. So, at one point they want to adopt a human and turn them into a vampire, raising them like their own. I’d find it sweet if only they weren’t making more blood-sucking bastards killing people.”

“I DON’T KILL PEOPLE!”

Your deafening scream could probably be heard even in the garden, but you didn’t care, your aching hands gripping the revolver with 5 more bullets in it. You had done nothing wrong in your entire life! You didn’t hurt anyone! You didn’t break into someone’s house to cut off people’s heads! You were just a girl who had now have to live on her own after all your family was brutally murdered by some lunatic thinking you were vampires. It was him who was a true criminal, not you!

“Sorry, little one. I know you don’t, but it doesn’t change the fact you will have to sustain on human’s blood, and then I will have to take care of yo-”

Unable to listen to him anymore, you moved your hand a bit to the left, and the revolver fired, bullet getting into the wooden drawer, a poster with Alice’s favorite rock band hanging on it. “Just move once more and I’ll shoot you. I swear I’ll shoot you! Get out and leave me alone!”

But before you had time to react, the man had disappeared from your sight, and the next second you felt his hot hand on your throat, the other one forcefully taking a gun out of your arms as you screamed, crying and shaking beneath the stranger who felt even heavier on top of you than he looked. Why was this all happening to you? What have you done? Would he cut off your head just like Iriya’s?

“Mama! Mama!” You shouted, crying, his grip suffocating you. Knowing he would have no issues murdering you, you had nothing better but to plead for your mother’s help even though she had been most likely dead. “Mama, p-please... argh... hh... mama...”

If you could look into his face, tears not blurring your vision, you’d see Steve’s expression distorted with what seemed like guilt or maybe empathy when he was slowly, but surely making you lose consciousness, his knife laying on the floor far from you. Did you think he got pleasure from murdering little girls like you? Well, he might have been happy while killing the creature calling yourself your mother, but not the daughters, never the daughters.

You had finally fainted, your body now close to your sister’s. Unlike her, you were still alive, and watching your lay beneath him, unarmed and harmless in that nightgown covered in blood of your beloved ones, Steve thought he may have leave you alive - you really were new to the family, it couldn’t be more than 3 months since you had been bitten. Maybe there was something he could still do. He heard Tony found a way to stop the turning mid-way.

Anyway, keeping a pretty girl like you didn’t seem too bad. You certainly wouldn’t like waking up in his lair, but it was still better than ending up with your head cut off, wasn’t it?

Grabbing your revolver with a couple of silver bullets, Steve showed it into his pocket and carefully lifted you up, his knife in its sheath. Carrying you like a bride, both him and you drenched in blood, the man quickly disappeared in the corridor, heading to the dungeon beneath your mansion. His job was done.

_________________

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[tom-riddle-haunts-me]

Not a new chapter but a mini fic I felt like writing. I'm a little stuck with the "main story", so I hope you'll enjoy this little drabble. I'm warning you, this shit gets sad and ugly.

Abigail 🐍✨

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Tw: angst, gore, blood

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

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It Hurts

"Who are you?"

"What do you mean, Y/n? It's me, I'm... I'm Tom"

"I... I don't know you"

Tom stepped back. Locking eyes with you had never felt so terrifyingly unreal to him.

"Y/n..."

Why you? Anyone. Fate could've taken anyone away from him, but you?

"Oh, Mr Riddle!"

Dumbledore. He would've helped him.

"Professor! Y/n is actin-"

"-our biggest disappointment."

Another step back.

"Who is this, Professor?"

Your voice echoed heavily in his ears, crawling up to his brain and piercing through it like a long blade. A thin, cold metal string slowly lacerating his cerebral matter, a wicked torture that left behind nothing but an even colder nothingness and blood, too much blood. Tom could feel the thick crimson fluid run down his neck, anxiety taking hold of the sticky substance and guiding its goopy drips around his own throat, suffocating the tired wizard.

"Y/n, it's me, IT'S ME."

"Who are you?"

The sound that somehow managed to reach Tom was muffled and eerily calm, almost lifeless. It wasn't your voice. The figure standing in front of him, that was you, he knew it, but he was hearing something else rather than your voice. It was painful listening to such an abomination.

Grotesque. Putrid. Writhing. Cruel words pooling around him.

Far, far away.

"Who are you? Are you okay? You look pale"

As your hand reached his face, Tom couldn't bring himself to melt into your touch as he habitually would. Couldn't you see the blood?

"He's about to die, Y/n."

"Oh... Alone? Like this? I'm sorry"

"Y/n I'm... I'm not dying"

As the teacher withdrew your hand from his face, panic tightened the pressure around his neck. Oxygen was struggling to flow through his lungs, his organs protesting as they were starting to feel the lack of air.

It hurt.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

"Okay"

Words were failing the usually composed wizard, hopelessly stuck in his guts. His eyes were fixated on his dearest friend, the only person in the entire world who could make him feel something else rather than just anger and bitterness. His loneliness felt a little warmer with her, his thirst for power a little less cruel, his fears a little more bearable. Sitting under their dead tree by the Black Lake was something that brought comfort to him in times of distress, still, it was hard to believe the ones staring at him were those same eyes, the e/c gems that he got used to see smile every time they were to meet with his. In the mean time, your hugs were crumbling into mere memories in the back of his mind and Tom felt powerless for the first time since forever. Now the orphanage would be cold and desolate again, silence would come back to fill his empty room and days.

He needed to stop. Stop thinking, feeling. He hated that. He hated you. He was embarrassed with himself for he shouldn't have perceived such stupid things.

His pale hand traveled to his petrified face.

Tears.

Rotten fury exploded in his stomach like an erupting volcano, resulting in an aberrant sickness disturbing his already devastated self. Now nothing had to matter, not anymore. Not your giggles, not you nervously playing with your hair. What would happen to your smile, the one you had promised was only his, had to be none of his business. Letting it go should've been easy, he knew far too well how to block out anything useless to his goal. His exhausted mind slipped to your now blank eyes, your toneless voice.

You body, barely covered by the white dress you were wearing, looked consumed by a melancholy he couldn't define, deep buried in your eyes, flat and washed-up as much as the pale fabric flowing around you.

His chest stung.

"Tom"

Dumbledore's skinny hand found its way to your shoulder, like a caring parent, yet it had an ugly something in it.

Tom thought about your tone, your real one. He thought about the times it had reassured him, soothed his nerves down. That one time it had slightly raised with boldness to defend him from Dumbledore himself. Your promises. They flowed back like a swollen river. The darkness in your eyes when you declared that you were to come for whoever ever dared to wrong him, now gone. How, how he would've liked to tell you about your beauty. Harmless to sight, dangerous to the reckless. Just like a rose.

His rose.

Twisted sparkles in your eyes, shadows that still felt warm and pure. Innocence.

Horror.

Terror drowned his heart, need overwhelming his confused mind.

Where were you?

Uncertainty danced under his skin.

Not enough. Was he? Evil could never bloom into a rose. Its fruits would rot and fall into darkness, dragging down every little drop of light they'd ever reach.

The hand that was touching you, he hated that. And now, now it was rotting, the meat melting right onto your oblivious self.

Bones.

"Yes, Y/n?"

His tears kept on running dow his face, the skin under the salty guilty stinging while stretching into the smallest, surrendered smile.

You had no idea who he was, didn't you?

Time slowed down in the most excruciating way right before Dumbledore's skin began to shed off of him like a used robe. Dirty, now useless, distressed.

Large wings spread through the thick air of the Dark Forest, Lady Death herself raising up behind Y/n, her delicate face was now painted with a content smile and peaceful tears, mimicking his own.

"It hurts"

Before Tom's mind could gave birth to any sort of though, the Hooded Dame slid back, his beloved rose obnoxiously secured to Her chest in a possessive way. And at the same time they backed away, the ground faded unhurried into nothingness. An abyss was now opening its jaws under Y/n's beaten body, and it started to swallow her whole in slow-motion.

Tom stood frozen, the cruelty of his condition giving him all the time in the universe to process Y/n's flesh breaking into bloody, gruesome chunks, her organs easily finding their way out of her abdomen, down, into the merciless void with a dreadful, wet moan.

Tom threw himself in the emptiness of your end, reaching for the parts of what his delirious mind hoped could be sewed up together again. Was is it losing you that drove him crazy?

Or did the seed of madness just finally bloom in his now blood covered hands?

When did they got stained with crimson?

"Why didn't you save me, Tom?"

"Tom?"

"Tom"

"Tom!"

<TOM!>

The Slytherin's dark eyes shot open only to find e/c ones stare right back at them, red and swollen by tears still freshly oozing down s/c skin.

<What the FUCK, Tom! I couldn't wake you up!>

You felt so broken to his ears. So stressed to his eyes. As your finally sweet tone caressed his hearing again, Tom still found it difficult to move. Reality was just starting to settle in, his brain still processing the gruesome images that'll be now forever carved in his mind. You were screaming at him, but he couldn't hear you.

He looked to the left.

His diary.

Tom was in his dorm room, again, his soulmate straddling him in the most innocent way.

Crying, shaking.

Were you angry at him?

<Malfoy came running in the common room and he was in panic and then I was in panic cause he told me that you wouldn't wake up and kept on screaming so I dashed here and I panicked again and what the fuck Tom, bloody hell I- >

Tom did not have sufficient energies to keep his cold act up. Time was not wasted, and his arms laced around you as fast as possible, bringing you as close to his chest as they could. He'd probably crush your bones at a certain point, still he knew none of you cared, not when you were squeezing him the same way.

<Don't you dare do it again, Riddle. You scared the life out of me.>

He was not aware of his muscles being that tense until that very moment. The second your skin collapsed into his, everything was swept away, like smoke in thin air. The room was empty, the clock on its wall claiming the dead of the night to be the time your scene was playing.

<Malfoy went to Black and Evergreen's room>

You didn't really need to say more. Your body just slipped on the mattress, right beside Tom, letting enough space for his worn out frame to curl up to it. Your fingers began to play with his locks, actually unusually sweaty and almost dry, nothing like his usually silky ones. You'd swear you could feel his shattered mind under your fingertips, if only it was possible you'd seek for its scars and heal them one by one.

If only it was possible.

<Y/n?>

Tom's breath slowed down gradually, just like his heart rate, lulled by the quiet tone you were humming.

<Yes, Tom?>

The clock was almost too loud, you were afraid its ticketing would disturb him. Was keep staring at it enough to silence the noise?

Drowsy murmurs left the young wizard's lips, falling in your lap like dead petals but failing to reach up to your ears.

<Come again?>

You bent over, just a little, at least enough to trace out his confused mutters. It reminded you of your days at the orphanage, when you both were too young and scared. It brought your mind back when Tom used to tell you his secrets, when you were his one and only. When he was still just Tom.

<What... What does it feel to jump into the void?>

H/c hair gently fell over your shoulders as your head found rest on the wall.

Air was cold against your now wet cheeks.

"Can we save him?"

"Yes, but we won't"

The steady rhythm of Tom's chest raising up and down told you he was finally long gone into a gentle slumber, safe from himself.

<It hurts>