#and kit has been rambling longer than usual… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thaliaisalesbian · 1 year

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i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 5: sitting as usual

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

She doesn’t know how Steve manages to stay awake all the way to the Byers’ house. It takes them at least an hour and a half to get there.

It feels so much longer. Maybe it was; even if she had a watch on, Nancy wouldn’t be checking it now. Because they keep stopping to make sure he’s not going to bleed out. They have to. Jonathan uses one of their stops to wrap his jacket around Steve’s torso, pulling it as tight as he can. He ties the sleeves in a knot right above the wound.

Nancy thinks she would have screamed, if someone had done that to her. But Steve is either out of enough that he doesn’t feel the pain, or he doesn’t have the energy to do more than mumble.

Which he’s doing an awful lot of.

The rambling mumble he keeps up is actually calming, in a way. It makes it easier to know he’s still alive, for one, and he’s talking about the kids, everything he knows they like and don’t like.

At least, she’s pretty sure he’s talking about the kids. It’s hard to tell. Half of it is too quiet to hear properly, and slurred on top of that. She’s too terrified, too worried, to pay much attention to what he’s actually saying.

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are waiting in the yard with the first aid kit when they get there. Joyce and Hopper are just getting out of their cars, parked haphazardly in the yard. Nancy wants to collapse when she sees them; she barely registers that Will, El, and Max are joining the huddle with the others. She does collapse when Hopper lifts Steve up and carries him the rest of the way into the house.

“We’ll come get you when you’re allowed inside. If your parents start calling and asking where you are, you’re going home. I don’t care if you’ve seen him or not.” Joyce takes the first aid kit from Mike and gets the door for Hopper while he addresses the kids.

“Is he dead?” Dustin asks, staring after them, and, god, she’s too tired for this right now. She can’t handle the kids’ questions and fears when she hasn’t even started to handle her own.

“No, he’s not dead.” She says. “He was still talking to us.” Not coherently by the time they’d gotten here, but he’d been talking.

“Hopper said we shouldn’t be inside for this part.”

“Hopper’s right.” Jonathan sits on the ground, ignoring the blood on his clothes. She’s covered in it, too.

It doesn’t look good.

What if they were too late?

"But we want to see him!"

"Not now." Jonathan glares. "Mom and Hopper have to clean him up first."

"That's a lot of blood." Will points out quietly.

"He'll be fine." Nancy comes far too close to snapping for her comfort; she doesn’t want the kids to catch on just yet that she's not sure Steve will make it this time.

"Nancy, Jonathan? If we could get a little help in here? I'm not exactly big enough to help move Steve." Joyce's voice comes through the door, and they’re both reaching for it before she finishes her sentence.

Jonathan has proof on his clothes, all over his body, of how much blood Steve has lost.

Of how bad the injuries are.

It doesn’t prepare him for how pale Steve is, or the amount of used gauze and bandages on the floor.

How much blood can a person have in their body?

Jonathan tries to remember, but he can’t. But Mom and Hopper’s faces aren’t grim enough for this to be… they’re not going to tell them he’s dead. He’s not dead.

“What do you need?” He asks. The kids are trying to get in, but Nancy is already locking the door behind them.

They don’t need to see Steve like this. Jonathan’s not sure he wants to see Steve like this; bloody and barely-alive. Not when he’s always thought of how he looked on that night, bursting back through the door to save them, swinging the bat like he was planning to hit a grand slam.

Steve’s hand had been warm when Jonathan had grabbed him to pull him away. Since then, he’s had the on-and-off thought that he wants to know if Steve’s hands are always that warm, or if it was just because of the adrenaline rush.

Nancy brushes her hand against his when she turns away from the door. He wants to hold onto her, but they’re both tacky with drying blood.

Of course, a lock won't stop El if she really wants to test it, but something makes Jonathan think that she won't. At least not right away.

“We really do need help moving him, and I thought you’d both like to change.” Mom manages a half-smile.

“How bad is it?” Nancy’s voice is as steady as she holds her pistols, like she’s prepared to be told Steve will die tomorrow.

(He doesn’t know how she manages it. Right now, his heart is in his throat and he can't get any words out past it.)

“He’s not going to be doing anything for a few weeks.” Hopper says. “If it gets infected, we'll have to take him to a hospital, but Joyce and I did our best. He’s not actively bleeding out anymore. Once we get him into bed, I'm calling Owens.”

A non-answer.

continue reading or finish on ao3

“How bad?” He has to swallow three times before he can repeat Nancy’s question. What if he doesn’t wake up again? “We’re not the kids, Hopper, you can tell us.”

“Honey,” His mom says, softly. “I think he’s lucky to have any flesh left on his right side at all. I don’t know how you got him here alive while walking.”

“He was awake.” Nancy whispers. “The whole time. He kept mumbling, something about the kids. And—Jonathan, you didn’t see the wounds, but he was bitten in the Upside Down too. On his legs. He walked on those for days.”

“He climbed trees, too.” Jonathan adds. “He was sleeping in them.”

“We can rehash that later.” Hopper says. “For now, let’s put him in one of the bedrooms.”

“Mine.” He says immediately. “My bed is big enough.” When he’d outgrown his mom, she’d given him the bigger bed. “And it's the closest.”

His mom—she has the least amount on her of all four of them—goes to change the sheets and clear a path first, while he, Hopper, and Nancy try to figure out how they’re going to carry Steve without bumping him into walls, or waking him up, or dropping him.

Somehow it’s harder than him and Nancy carrying Steve from the lab all the way here.

It takes a few minutes, but they work it out.

“Go shower up, you two.” Hopper says. “Joyce and I will handle the living room mess and the kids.”

“Just don’t take too long, okay?” Mom winks at him, and he knows he’s bright red when they leave the room. He knows she trusts them, and of course they’d never even think about anything like that while Steve is maybe dying on his bed.

“I know she’s joking, but I honestly can’t even think about that right now.” Nancy leans her head on his shoulder. “We have blood everywhere.”

Jonathan feels like scrubbing his skin raw until he doesn’t see Steve’s blood on his hands ever again, but he thinks that’s going to take a while, so he settles for washing Nancy’s back clean for her before she does his.

“Do you think Steve would fit in your clothes?” She asks, pulling on one of his shirts and a pair of pajama pants that she keeps here. “I have a few here, but he certainly doesn’t, and he’s going to need something to wear.”

“It might.” Most of his stuff is a little big on him, it would probably fit Steve. His pants might be a little short, but that will just make checking his ankles easier. “I don’t think putting a shirt on him is a good idea right now though.”

“The kids are going to want to see him.” Nancy takes his desk chair, watching Steve’s chest as he breathes.

They’ll break down his door if they don’t get to, probably. Especially after they locked the door, kept them out.

“Yeah, but what if he starts bleeding again?”

“Just put a blanket over him.” His mom’s in the doorway, holding a trash bag. “We’re not going to be able to save your clothes.”

He tosses their ruined clothes into the bag, trying not to think about how much blood is on them.

“Do we need to take him to a hospital now?” Jonathan’s not sure they can, honestly, because of the nature of the wounds. They don’t have bears around here, and even if they did he doesn’t think this looks like an animal attack.

They also might not be allowed to see him if he's in the hospital. His parents will have to be notified, and then they’ll be in charge, they’ll be free to move him somewhere far away if they want to.

“If things get really bad, we will.” His mom answers. “You know I went to nursing school for a couple of years, and Jim has done field medicine before. He’s trying to get in contact with Owens right now.”

“How much worse is ‘really bad’?” Nancy’s got her arms wrapped around herself. He’d hug her if he thought she’d accept the touch right now.

“I don’t know, honey.”

He looks at Steve, almost as pale as his sheets, torso wrapped in bandages with drying blood still visible on his upper chest.

“What about his ankles?” He can't let himself think about what will happen if Steve dies. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep in his bed again, knowing his friend had died there. In this room, probably. He’ll have to move in with Will or take the couch. Seal it off, only to come in when he wants to regret everything he never said all over again.

“We took a look at that too; cleaned them up a little and rewrapped them.”

“Why can’t we see him?” He can hear Dustin from here. The kid’s always been the loudest of the bunch, but he’s not sure he’s heard him this distressed in a while.

He doesn’t catch Hopper’s response, too busy staring at the blood and thinking about how close they came to really losing Steve this time.

Because he was willing to sacrifice himself for them. Again.

He'd hardly talked to them, but he’d still been ready to die if it meant they escaped.

Jonathan had had to practically shove Steve behind him to keep him from using himself as a human shield.

He thinks about Steve’s face, the way he’d pulled that cocky mask back up so quickly when he’d overheard the conversation he and Nancy were having that day.

There’s none of that now, wasn’t any of it in the Upside Down, just a certainty and a protective edge that made the kids feel safe, that made him feel like everything was going to be okay, even if he didn’t know how or when.

It’s not something he’s felt often when dealing with the Upside Down.

He slides past his mom to the bathroom, soaks a washcloth until it’s dripping, squeezing all the water out multiple times to give himself an extra minute.

He probably uses too much force to get the blood off. He wishes Steve would complain. He’d be awake, at least.

When he’s done, Nancy covers Steve with a blanket and sits on the edge of the bed carefully instead of going back to the chair.

“Jon,” she’s staring at Steve still, making sure he’s still alive. “We need to tell him. I can’t—We can’t lose him. Not like this.”

“I know.” He sits opposite her, finds Steve’s wrist under the covers, feeling for his pulse.

It’s there. A little slow, maybe, but it’s there.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” She admits, “He looked like he was going to cry, and then it was just— gone. He was back to being an asshole and it was like nothing ever changed.”

“He heard the wrong part of that talk,” Jonathan agrees. It’s on a loop in his mind, everything they could have—should have—done differently. He could have caught Steve’s hand again, pulled him in to tell him the truth.

Right now, Steve’s colder than he was the last time Jonathan held his hand.

“Steve?” El’s peeking around the door, eyes wide, and suddenly all he can hear is the way she screamed for him before Nancy had gotten her through the gate.

“Come here, El.” Nancy might be thinking the same thing, because she tucks El into her side. “He’s going to be okay, see? Joyce and Hopper know what they’re doing.”

“I know.” She says. “It is still scary.”

“You’re right, it is.” He knows it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the kids figure out El’s slipped away from them, before they come in demanding to be allowed to sit around him and wait for him to wake up.

For now, they’ll keep this odd, almost grief-like, quiet for just the four three of them.

<- 4 6 ->

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spaghetticat3899 · 11 months

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The Sona Selection

This post is just gonna be me rambling about my sonas and shite, if you’re interested, look under the cut. Some in the image above are no longer used, I just am too lazy to make a new drawing of them all. Toyhouse pages are linked of you’re also curious enough to look at those for some reason, lol.

Skullcandy (she/her)

The edgelord herself. As can be obviously deduced (probably), I made her when I was 12-ish, and for whatever reason I’ve never been able to get unattached to her, no matter how many times I’ve tried to replace her. I guess she’s here to stay, lol.

She’s an “irradiated raptor”, which is some sort of radioactive creature that might’ve been a ferret at one point. Her head was based off a ball python’s, just because I find their faces cute. The rest was made up on the fly. In earlier designs, she used to have tiny crystal wings for some reason, but they’re no longer in use. She’s incapable of dying via physical injury, a blessing or curse depending on who you ask (mostly just an excuse for gore art).

Loid Bimac (he/they)

This little octo dude I can’t stop drawing. Sleep-deprived, always moving, might be a little feral. I made him sometime in 2022, originally starting out as a xeno design I scribbled down once in class. Eventually I redrew it and started using him regularly. Before his creation, I used Hachikō in place of myself a lot. He’s a California two-spot octopus, having little eyespots on his shoulders he’s kinda insecure about. His earlier design had more suction cups on his hair which I got rid of for ease and simplicity, which is why some older art of him has five suckers on his front tentacles instead of three. The finger color gradient is completely optional and I add it whenever I feel like it, it’s never consistent. His beak is weird because my teeth are kinda like that (albeit, a lot less noticeably.

Kid (any/it)

This weird goat chimera that took way too long to finalize a design for. They’re a bizarre thing, usually around a little jackalope by the name of Kit (a friend’s sona I designed for them). Their scales and horns are iridescent, based off an emerald jewel wasp. Their arms can become bat-like wings for absolutely no reason other than I said so. The innermost toe can twist back and forth and behave like a foot-thumb, the two other toes forming a hoof. The maw is based off thylacoleo, just because the teeth are funky. The tail has a stinger hidden in the fluff just because. Honestly a lot of their design is “just because”.

Saturn (she/they/he)

I wish I had a higher quality image of them because this is from an Aggie/magma canvas so it’s very fuzzy. Just a little hyena sona vaguely based off the planet, Saturn. Nothing much to them.

Dani (she/her)

A sona I made sophomore year of high school I use every once in awhile. She’s an opossum, not a rat. Not much behind her either, she’s just here, lol.

—————————————————————————

Alright, that’s all, here’s a picture of Sunny my sister took awhile ago.

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fluffy-critter · 1 year

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#crosspost #busybee

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retainermcga · 2 years

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Alexander's Motorcycle Diaries Episode 9 - Test Object into Test Subject

Bdsm / sexual Royal Psychology

"Alexander & Angelina on behalf of everyone at the Global Live Security Agency I want to apologi." "Neither of us accept apologies. New plan guys. I am sending orders we refuse to risk time reversal with Eternia ordering mission delay" Declared Angelina as she decidedly holds Alexander's hand in public for the first time.

"We at the GLSA need to address the swimsuit." "OH really asshole." Inserts Alexander with pause accepting his dominion will provide more words "triplicated test object event cycle kiss, swimsuit, lunch. Your dialog on approach identifies lack of preparation to both logistically and ethically introduce the topic. Now I am sending orders: We will change the test object into a test subject game test object game adancing our Royal Psychology."

A cell phone rings louder than usual. An agent places the phone on the conference room table. "This is a live call whom is speaking?" A loud first bite of the apple is heard and impressively loud chewing commences from the amplified phone volume as though eleven security and sound tests are being performed. "This is MOM Man or Machine. Response: Alexander is wrong as well. It was kiss, swimsuit off swimsuit on. His silent dialog further ordered us into position to takeover screens and begin training."

An agent screams out "Jesus christ someone call this outfit a wambulance!"

MOM responds "thank you for your resignation. These screens are popping onto a pornogrpahy set my operations has been planning this all day. Belladonna is on set available verbally say hi"

"Hey everyone it's a beautiful day in my neighborhood." A pithy cross reference to the Mister Roger's double bird meme training kit.

Alexander speaks " MOM when will the split screen turn on."

"As soon as you announce the test subject object or movement I will post the determinators. This is why we still held the live meeting and began with sending orders."

"Hey there cowboy you ready to whip this pawgs ass"

"I got whips and ropes I am out of jokes until I've given you pokes ten times tiffany into infinity."

Alexander mentally grabs the mic and speaks "her hat, her boots, and her knee high socks."

The screen populates three weeks delay, about 7 months delay, 329 days delay.

"The hat will be on her head while she is receiving head and we will see if she goes 8 seconds while giving head producer directed pussy licking following foreplay." Came over the conference line

"Enhencement if she takes the time to prop the hat or toss the hat end level." Spiked Alexander.

"Next Level is the boots make it through to hogtie or if her and the boots hang ten during her first anticipated cum from pussy licking. Or are they foreplay to reveal the knee high socks Alexander respond."

"I am starting with a gamble on this ramble with Belladonna onset and hogtie on the board I anticipate there is a good whipping warm up. Obviously to tie the bitch you need to remove the boots. That strap is worth a new Atlanta Hustle interplanetary connection line. The boots up in the air while cowboy whistles her along is the motorcycle are we no longer riding doubles on a side by side unqualified as quantified by the word motorcycle. If she takes them off during foreplay then we have a good rig. If they hold all the way into the hogtie and we win the gamble these will be Union grade Harley Davidsons."

MOM ends the orders "Atlanta Hustle third line will open with 360 variables the system accepts the Harley Davidson to Wynn wager."

The screen populates SOCKS values stars, stripes, Peanuts are black magic.

"Split this between Alexander and MOM."

"If it's Peanuts there will be three sock change designs no visual of performer changing clothes wil be noticed. Corporate licensing confirming this is for the riding gear necessary for the retail Harley Davidson motorcycles."

Belladonna "we made it to control - my ass can fit on the back of his, ready to play win."

"From the cue card: The performers were given three knee high socks to choose. Which is when we get into the video of the video of our body control test subject test object verification of certainty of outcomes."

Alexander closes with "stars means we have the rig. And stripes means new rig equals new design, Peanuts is a scale of opportunities and resources into two Harley Davidons at retail should we achieve excellence in Royal Pyschology and actual magic."

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considerablecolors · 2 years

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alright i'm back again with another fic from @teethworm 's werewolf au, this time with a splash of chimera curtwen thx to @the-buttspie

typical saf & werewolf au angst warnings apply, plus a small instance of self harm, stay safe!!

enjoy! (also on ao3 as usual :D)

Owen's not sure he even remembers what started it, this time, but he's not sure it actually matters, because once again, he and Curt are standing in the living room of the cramped flat Chimera has provided them with, fighting.

They've been arguing back and forth for about twenty minutes now, and all because Owen had dared to suggest that-

"You enjoy it, Curt, honestly, stop acting like you don't-"

"I don't enjoy what we're doing," Curt practically spits. "I hate it! I- goddammit, Owen, I'm haunted by it!"

Owen closes his eyes and takes another sip of the tea in his hand, chuckling.

"What?"

"Nothing," Owen says smoothly, an amused glint still in his eyes.

Curt growls. "What, Owen?"

"It's just..." Owen sets his cup down, thinking. "In my experience, there are many things that can haunt a person. It can be a thing you regret, certainly. But sometimes-" He pauses, looking at Curt curiously- "Sometimes, it's a thing you miss."

Curt swallows, uncomfortable. "I don't know what you mean."

Owen smirks. "Sure you don't, love." He crosses his arms. "I've seen the way you act, after an assignment. You're unhappy, sure, but I don't think it's the killing that makes you unhappy. I think it's the fact that it took you this long to realize the right thing to do.

That's the wrong thing to say, clearly, because Curt's head snaps up towards Owen's, glaring. "It is not the right thing! Chimera isn't the right thing!"

Owen scoffs. "And why do you say that, love? Because the A.S.S. told you to? Tell me, Curt, when's the last time you actually thought for yourself?"

"Fuck you."

"Not an answer, is it? You're their loyal little guard dog," Owen drawls, "And that's great, really dear, but do you know what happens when a guard dog gets too protective and starts attacking everyone that glances at him the wrong way?"

Owen leans forward, baring his teeth.

"They get put down."

Curt's face splits open, full of hurt, before closing up again. "Well," He hisses, "At least I lasted longer than you did."

Owen snarls, ready to retort, but just barely manages to force himself to walk away, storming into the kitchen before he says something he really regrets.

By the time Owen feels calm enough to come back in, Curt's turned. It's not that big of a shock, really. Curt's always been emotionally inept, and ever since The Incident, it seems like he's only gotten worse.

What does give Owen pause, however, is the blood on one of Curt's front paws. Owen looks closer, then jerks back, catching site of the bite mark.

"Oh for Christ's sake, now look at what you've done," He huffs.

Curt's head tilts down to look, as if just realizing.

Owen hurries over, grabbing Curt's paw, but drops it immediately when Curt whines, softening. "I'm sorry," Owen frowns, "I know it's not an intentional thing. But you've got to be more careful, Curt, honestly! This is the second time this week. I thought you'd gotten better at noticing before..." Owen gestures vaguely.

Curt looks away, not bothering to reply.

Owen sighs, picking up Curt's paw again. "It's alright. I'll... Take care of it."

He reaches behind the couch, pulling a first-aid kit out and opening it. For a few minutes, it's silent, Curt's typical rambling missing due to his transformation. Still, Owen's used to treating wounds amidst chatter, so he finds himself filling it.

"I wasn't trying to be harsh earlier," Owen murmurs, not looking up. "I'm... I'm sorry if I came across that way. But I just- I still know you, Curt. Trust me, I know a lot's happened these past few years, but I still know you- and bloody hell, I hate it when you act like I don't."

Curt huffs, glaring up at Owen.

"Huff all you want, but we both know that I'm right." Owen looks at Curt determinedly. "I know you, Curt, and you're a man defined by his morals. If you decided mint chocolate chip ice cream was wrong, waterboarding and the guillotine wouldn't get you to eat it. If you were really as against Chimera as you like to say, you wouldn't be doing it. You would've shot me on that staircase and been done with it."

Curt whines, pawing at Owen. "I'm not saying I wanted that to happen! I'm just saying that I think A.S.S. taught you to do certain things, and then taught you to feel bad about doing them when you shouldn't."

Curt fixes Owen with a look.

"I'm serious! How is what we do any worse than what anyone else does? Honestly, what's so evil about Chimera? What's terrible about trying to make a better world?"

Curt hits Owen's head with his tail.

Owen rolls his eyes. "You can get peeved all you want, but I've asked you that question a million times and you've never been able to answer me. Just admit it- the only reason you're so against Chimera is because they're against the A.S.S., and you still can't admit that they've been treating you like rubbish since the moment you joined them."

Curt growls, biting Owen's arm just harshly enough for it to leave a mark.

"Ow, fuck!" Owen bolts up, glaring.

Curt glares right back.

"Fucking Christ, fine! I'll shut up and let you be a prat, then!"

Curt huffs, swishing his tail moodily.

Owen glares at Curt for another minute before groaning.

"I just-" Owen thuds back onto the couch beside Curt, silent. After a few minutes, he glances over at Curt. "I just don't want this to be as hard for you as it was for me," He murmurs. "Realizing things about the old agencies, I mean."

Curt flops his head onto Owen's lap, ears drooping down. Owen reaches a hand down to pet him.

"Curt... You know we're going to be okay, right?" Owen hesitates, then continues. "I know everything's rather shit right now, but we'll be fine. We've got each other, after all."

Curt whines, ears drooping further.

"We'll be just fine," Owen murmurs, unsure if he's reassuring Curt or himself. "You'll see."

#spies are forever #tin can bros #werewolf curt #werewolf au #cc writes #cc speaks #spytuals

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misschifuyu · 3 years

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Hi! Can I request chifuyu angst where he breaks up with his s/o to keep them safe. If possible angst to fluff pls 🤧

- hello there bby !! here is your little dose of chifuyu angst ♡ ;;

Wait for me

characters: chifuyu matsuno

genre: angst, a little fluff at the end

warnings: none..just real sad vibes ;;

Right when you received the phone call, you knew something was up.

Chifuyu was never one to ask if he could come over to your place, he'd usually just show up; the fact that he had asked you over the phone, a slight shakiness to his voice, you figured that he had something to tell you, or that something had happened.

Either way, you couldn't stop yourself from pacing around your room as you waited for the familiar knock on your front door. You were anxious, worried even, as to what could possibly have happened. It was unusual for your boyfriend to ever be so nervous about anything, so you could only think of the worst.

You made a mental reminder as to where the first aid kit was, just in case you were met with a badly beaten up Chifuyu at your doorstep.

Rambling thoughts were quickly cut off by a soft sound, loud enough to hear it from your bedroom.

It was him.

Stabilising yourself, you took in a deep breathe and headed towards the door that you were unsure you even wanted to open.

Your hand wrapped around the handle, and without holding back any longer, you pulled open the door. Before you stood none other than your beloved partner, in one peace, to your relief. In fact, it didn't even look like he had been in any sort of trouble.

Dressed in some casual clothes, he looked as though he were picking you up for a date like he would do any other day. So, what was the reason behind his nerved voice?

"Is everything alright?"

You didn't want to prolong your question, eager to know why he had acted so strangely merely a few minutes ago over the phone. Looking at his eyes, you could tell that he wasn't his usual self, though.

His gaze seemed...off. It wasn't that he was tired, nor did he appear to have been crying. There was just something to it that didn't sit right for you. Sorrow, maybe? It wasn't happiness, that was for sure.

"Can I come in?"

His attitude confused you even more as he spoke up. It was a low voice, and he turned his eyes down as he asked you the peculiar question.

"Of course, you know you're always welcome, Chifuyu..."

As he walked passed you, in complete silence, you followed his stride with your eyes. You were starting to get even more worried now. Was he sick? Why hadn't he just asked you to accompany him to the doctor's if that were the case?

Shutting the door, you noticed from the corner of your eye how he suddenly came to a halt, just by the sofa the two of you would always lounge on during his free days.

"Y/N, I'm breaking up with you"

Your heart stopped. The world felt as though it had come to a sudden stop, an overwhelming feeling of dread filling up your senses.

Hand tightening around the doorknob, you stood completely still. It was as if you body had shut down, unable to move as you processed what you had just heard.

Surely it was a trick your ears were playing on you, right?

Noticing the sudden silence that fell between the two of you, Chifuyu turned around. Now, his eyes were inarguably filled with sadness.

He wasn't crying, but you could tell he was trying his best to keep his composure. He was practically shaking on the spot as he met your eyes.

So, you had heard him right.

"...what?"

Your voice was small, a squeak even as you managed to let out a noise. The words had hit you like a boulder, and you were looking for any signs of sarcasm in his face as you waited for an answer.

But, to your dismay, he didn't look as though he was going to take back his statement.

"I...I don't want us to be together anymore"

Heart almost in your stomach, your hand slipped off from the cold, metal surface, falling to your side as you turned to fully face him. Your lips were slightly parted, and you were sure you looked rather pathetic, but you couldn't care less. You had other concerns in that moment.

"But...why? I mean, I thought we-"

Your strangled voice was interrupted by his own, a clear strain to it as he spoke up towards you.

"I just came back from a meeting with toman, and word has gotten out that the two of us are dating. There's no telling how long it'll take for other gangs to start targeting you; I can't have you put into that kind of dangerous situation"

It was now your body that started to tremble. Just the simple mention of other gangs sent shivers down your spine. You knew how strong toman was, but there was no telling the kind of other organisations that were out roaming the streets.

The fact that Chifuyu was involved with all of that mess had been something that always frightened you.

It was anything but a safe occupation to take up on, but you'd always push it into the back of your mind, being reassured by him that everything was alright.

But it seemed that that was no longer the case.

"Believe me, I don't want to do this to us. I love you, with all of my heart...but you know how some of the guys can be out there. Even if we faked a break up, someone would find out that it was a simple cover up, and I don't want to know what they would do in that case"

A small hiccup escaped your lips, feeling as tears started streaming down the sides of your face. You couldn't believe that something like this was happening, especially so soon after your one year anniversary.

But other than sadness, you also felt rage. Rage over the fact that other people would do such a thing for the simple satisfaction of seeing their rivals fall. Attack innocent lives of those that were connected to the enemies without a single drop of remorse, and simply brush it off as a task all gangsters had to do.

As you drowned in the mixture of feelings, you didn't notice Chifuyu approaching you with slow steps. It wasn't until he brought your hands away from your face and took you into his arms that you felt his presence, engulfing you in a hug.

You could feel his own chest spasm as he started to cry, and you were glad his face was behind yours.

The sight of him crying always broke you into a thousand pieces, and it was heartbreaking, even as you tried your best to comfort him each time. It was a sight you never wished to see from the boy you loved.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I have to do this to you Y/N, I really am...but, please, I don't want you to get hurt because of me. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if that ever were to happen"

Sobbing into his chest, you held onto him as though you were going to lose him if you let go. In reality, it was what would happen.

He would leave through the same door he came in from, leaving you alone, just as you had been before you met him.

But it would ensure your safety. And that was what he wished for, above everything else.

"When this is all over, and things calm down, I promise I will come back for you. Please just wait for me until the, and I swear I will make it up to you"

Although your tears didn't halt their streaming, you slowly started to feel yourself come to acceptance.

You knew he wasn't breaking up with you because he no longer loved you; in fact, it was that exact reason that he was doing this in the first place.

And you were more than determined to wait for him if you had to.

Weeks, months, perhaps even years if the circumstances were to be so; as much as it took to get him out of such a situation, away from those who only wished to harm you.

Knowing that he would be waiting for you, too, at the end of that time period, was more than enough to give you the courage to be patient.

If it was his love you were to wait for, you could come to terms with the cursed reality the two of you were destined to remain in for the time being.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo manji revengers #tokyo revengers chifuyu #chifuyu matsuno #chifuyu x reader #angst #tokyo revengers x reader

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

midnight murmurs

Iwaizumi x Reader - Scenario

a/n: Iwaizumi rattles off some late-night thoughts to you while you’re “sleeping.” little does he know your eyes may not be open, but your ears are still catching quite a few of his one-sided conversations.

warnings: some language

wc: 1.5k

dedicated to: @star-puff, because your Iwaizumi fluff had me riding a high for like 2 whole days & we all need him in our lives

---

Incoherent whispering. Soft, short rambles. Maybe he was sleep-talking?

At least that’s what you thought when you first heard Iwaizumi’s voice over the gentle hum of the ceiling fan and against the muted song of the cicadas buzzing outside of the bedroom window.

But as the nights passed, you began to hone in on the contents of Iwaizumi’s mumbling.

His words were… pointed. Holding an air of quiet confidence and trickling ever so gently into your ear like a lullaby. Sometimes it had to do with his day. Other times it was about how cute you’d looked that morning, still fast asleep while he was getting dressed for work.

But whatever the topic is, you’ve grown used to the conversations that he’s been having with the back of your head.

And here you are again. Lying stiff as a twig by Iwaizumi’s side and listening intently to his voice.

“I wish you’d heard what Shittykawa did today…” He rasps softly.

“...Even though he’s all the way in Argentina, literally surrounded by beaches and resorts, he still hardly takes a day off. That dumbass sprained his ankle and kept practicing for another hour.” Iwaizumi sighed, his thumb barely skimming the surface of your forearm.

If you’d actually been asleep (like he’d thought you were), you’re sure you wouldn’t have felt the brush of his fingertips. It was too delicate. Too careful.

Honestly, you’re just glad he still holds you this tenderly. Especially late at night when you’d least expect his affection. After all, you’ve not had a chance to cuddle with him in a while.

Iwaizumi had been getting home later every single day for the past few weeks and for good reason. He felt obligated to stay with Japan’s national team into the darker hours of the night as the Olympic games approached. And you admire his dedication. You’re so proud of him for chasing after his passions and it would never dawn on you to undermine his career by holding your relationship with him over his head.

But this usually meant that, by the time he cracked the bedroom door open, you two would only have a few moments to share some words and a quick kiss before tucking under the covers. You, of course, missed his voice. And he longed to hear yours.

However, as you closed your tired eyes, Iwaizumi’s would remain wide open, body and mind relentlessly processing through another intense day. You’ve never said a word to him about his shifting and deep sighs, worried that he might feel guilty for keeping you awake with him. Yet still, you feel Iwaizumi’s exhaustion in the way his weary arm drapes around your waist. There’s a tautness, a sort of tension, there.

So you do your best to remain completely still in his hold, hoping that your outward calm would bring him some inward peace. That your steady breath might lull him into a state of rest. That you could be the anchor to his rocking boat, like he’d always been for you when your life got windy and overwhelming. But even with your best, silent efforts, he stayed alert and somewhat unsteady.

That’s when the whispery words would start… and you soon came to the realization that he was talking to you.

You hear the rustle of his hair as he runs a firm hand through it. A small smile adorns your lips as he continues his line of thought, Iwaizumi’s breath wafting across the back of your neck.

“Y/n, he’s such an idiot and he won’t listen to me anymore… maybe I’ll get you to text him tomorrow. You’re so good for him and… maybe a little nicer than I am.” Iwaizumi admits.

There’s a pause and you wonder if that’s it. If that’s the end of his dialogue for the night… but there’s more this time.

“And, God y/n, I missed you today.”

The confession shakes you. Your chest tightens as you try to take it all in.

You’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear that.

Those words were reserved for the most... intimate of moments. For trembling tears or reunions after long distances or maybe hot, heavy kisses after a frustrating day. But, as a general rule, you hardly ever heard those tender remarks out of the blue. After all, Iwaizumi is a man of actions and not so much a lover of words.

So this is new, to say the least. You’re dumbstruck. Your heart is beating far faster than it should be - especially since you’ve been dating him for over a year now.

However, it wasn’t just the words that stunned you. His tone was different too. Where there usually would be, there wasn’t an ounce of embarrassment in Iwaizumi’s voice. It wasn’t rushed; not bashful or heated like some of his past devotions and confessions had seemed.

Tonight’s Iwaizumi is perfectly sincere. No, not just sincere. Fond.

Fond and maybe a tad wistful. Vocal inflection isn’t exactly Iwa’s forte, at least not when it came to sweet words in passing. So this is a historical moment in your book.

Thus, you let your cheeks burn a little longer and shut your eyes a little tighter in order to hear his next words.

“And I miss your voice.” He adds, tone dropping into what seems like… longing.

Iwaizumi pulls you a little closer into his bare chest, the rise and fall breath now pushing up against your own back. He’s really pushing it now.

It feels wrong listening into a conversation when the words are meant for you, but at the same time they aren’t. Who wouldn’t be conflicted? He had clearly trusted that your closed eyes and barely moving figure meant you were deeply asleep. That you couldn’t possibly hear a word he was saying.

I mean you had to say something, right?

So you inhale quietly, preparing to insert yourself into the one-sided discussion.

“...I wish you’d said something sooner, Iwa.”

You almost startle yourself with your own voice, the once soft atmosphere of the moonlit room, turning frigid.

Iwaizumi’s whole body goes stiff, arms frozen in place. He holds his breath and the gentle tickling of air on your neck pauses with it.

You shift your head to look back at him, his eyes already peering into your own. He was red. Beet red. Enough so that you could see it in the dim light of the room. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of his neck and arms, embarrassment flooding through every inch of his body.

“How… how long have you been listening to me?” Iwaizumi whispers, voice wavering almost as though he doesn’t want to hear your answer.

You blink.

Should you only tell him about tonight?

Or would it be better to let him know that he hasn’t had a single midnight conversation this week that you hadn’t listened in on?

You opt for honesty, knowing that he would probably be able to tell if you were lying anyways.

“Everything from this past… week?” You say shyly, slinking away from him, but one of Iwaizumi’s strong arms holds you in place.

His head falls back to his pillow and the other arm covers his eyes. As many times as he’d slipped up in front of you, he’d really done it this time. You must think he’s so strange. Why was he always doing stuff like this? Of course you would hear him.

I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut, Iwaizumi thinks, his body still being flamed by an internal furnace from all the other embarrassing things he now remembers rattling off to you in your ‘sleeping’ state.

“But I liked listening to you.” You cut in quickly, sensing his discomfort and attempting to smooth it over with gentle words.

“And we… don’t get to talk much lately. So I- I just didn’t want to say anything because… I like the sound of your voice. You’re actually very soothing, Iwa.” You’re still sleepy, so the words come out choppily... but considering the circumstances, it wasn’t the worst recovery.

If it weren’t for the blushing male in front of you, you would probably feel just as flustered by the whole situation. But somehow, you kept your cool, too focused on calming Iwaizumi down in his flushed state.

“...Y/n?”

“Yes?” You breathe out.

“Just… just come here already.” He takes his hand away from his burning face and turns toward you.

You’re immediately pulled snug against him, your front meeting his chest, legs twining around his toned ones. Iwaizumi has a hand behind your neck tucking you into the crook of his neck as he hides his face from you, chin resting softly atop your head.

“I’ll call Oikawa tomorrow.” You joke, breaking the tension.

“It’s shittykawa.” He corrects. “And please forget about everything I said.” His tone dropping, turning sour.

A humored sigh leaves your lips.

He feels your mouth smiling faintly against his collar bone, which only sends him further into this embarrassed affection for you.

You were really something.

Never making him feel bad for running late hours. Letting him crawl into bed with you way past midnight when you could easily demand more time from him. Listening to his rambles, some more crass than others, consciously without judgement.

He’d found a treasure in you. A golden, shimmering treasure that didn’t need light to be seen. You shone even under the pale, underwhelming moonlight that peered through the window blinds.

So Iwaizumi finds himself pressing a few soft kisses onto your forehead. You plant a couple lingering ones on his neck in return and he squeezes you even closer into him.

And just as the two of you begin to drift off, you decide to top the night off with a cherry of sorts.

“Iwa?”

“Yes, y/n?” His voice at a whisper, once again.

“I’ve missed you too.”

---

Do Not Repost

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @kit-tea, @theworldupthere, @sugasugawarau, @randomesk-yuku, @ideshine, @macaronnv, @anseoo, @aprettyfruit, @bbakougo, @bloom-uwu, @spikertrash, @iguessimastannow

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list - blogs in bold could not be tagged)

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #haikyuu fluff #hq #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi scenarios #aoba johsai #seijoh #oikawa #oikawa tooru #sneezefiction

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shysneeze · 3 years

Text

How they react to you getting hurt:

description: how various harry potter characters (Harry, George, Fred, Neville, Hermione, Luna and Ginny) would react when you are hurt

warnings: injury mention but not really described, brief mentions of food, generally just concern etc

(A/N: this was requested a bit ago and i can’t find the request now but sorry it took so long!! i’ve never done preferences before so it’s kind of headcanon-esq, but hope you enjoy anyway)

harry:

Harry has been the one in the hospital wing bed before, felt the itch of the thin bed sheets and heard the creak of the bed springs that with ache with the smallest movements.

However, seeing you in the hospital bed is a whole other kettle of fish. It doesn’t matter how minor the injury, a concussion from quidditch? a bad dose of the flu? He’s sitting by your bed side tapping his foot anxiously, even if you’re awake and rambling.

When you notice his concern, it will only take a reminder of his own injury-risking behaviour and he gets rid of the hypocritical lecture he’s been planning in his head.

But he’ll be very gentle with you, all soft kisses and quiet conversations until you’re back to yourself again.

George:

George is no stranger to the occasional injury, usually by his and Fred’s own inventions, so i low-key think he has a mini first-aid kit on him most of the time. Just some healing paste, some plasters and tweezers (his broomsticks are older than a lot of his teammates, i just know he gets splinters okay??) that rattle around in his pockets waiting to come in useful.

So if you get hurt, he’s actually pretty helpful. He’ll be very gentle when he touches you in fear of hurting you more, and sometimes his tongue pokes out just a little if he’s concentrating really hard on cleaning up a cut or something.

Whether it’s minor or hospital wing worthy though, he’s cracking jokes to cheer you up and only feels himself stop worrying once he hears you laugh again.

Fred:

If he witnesses it happening, he’s very quick (and sometimes dramatic) to come to your aid (you once got a paper cut and her held your finger into the light for inspection for at least five minutes).

If it happens at the hands of someone else, an accidental shove in the hallways or a jinx, he’s planning revenge instantly, which is when some of the more harsh pranks tend to come into action.

If it’s a hospital wing sort of injury, he’s sneaking in contraband snacks while Pomfrey pretends not to see it happening. He insist on keeping you company until he is certain for sure you’re alright, even if you’ve told him a million times already.

Neville:

Neville worries in a subtle way that onlookers might not always notice. Chances are, you’ve assured him already that you’re fine, and he knows you well enough than to keep asking, no matter how much he wants to.

So, he gets a little clingy. Not so much that its concerning or annoying, but walking that little bit closer on the way to classes, goodnight kisses that last just a little too long and worried glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

Chances are you’ll wake the next day to find he’s concocted some natural remedy from some plants. A burn in potions? babes is waiting the next day with aloe vera. Bad cut? Did you know that sphagnum moss is an excellent antiseptic?

Hermione:

Hermione tries her best not to show you she’s worried but she’s already thinking of the millions of spells and potions that can help.

She trusts Madam Pomfrey, she really does, but something takes over when you’re in the hospital bed, and suddenly the urge to ask the school nurse every question under the sun takes over.

“Are you sure that potions is best? i heard that-“

“Miss Granger, i know you are worried but i am very good at my job,”

Once she’s calmed her nerves though, she’ll read your favourite books to you, even if you’re unconscious or sleeping, just so you know she’s there.

Luna:

Luna is another one who just happens to carry first aid materials with her. It doesn’t matter the injury, she has an obscure potion and plasters with little flowers printed on them.

She drives Madam Pomfrey mad when you’re in the hospital wing because she begins to bring random magical objects she claims have a healing effect to them, but it’s just like a dusty old hand mirror or a pretty looking rock she found in the lake (it always works which is what stresses Pomfrey out the most).

She likes to keep you company, and will talk about everything and anything until you’re eventually falling asleep, and then she’ll wait until she’s sure you won’t wake before leaving, because she doesn’t want you to wake up alone.

Ginny:

Ginny gets a bit over protective, it’s in her genes. I like to think she doesn’t even notice herself doing it until people are smirking at her at the breakfast table when she’s subconsciously loading your plate with food, or refusing to let you do the “heavy” lifting and carrying all your stuff to and from classes, even the ones you don’t share.

One hundred percent will shout at anyone who happens to accidentally hurt you, often scaring first and second years when their jinxes stray a bit far off target and hit you by accident.

Having to pull her aside and promise her you’re really fine, (and explaining that “I love you but if you make me drink my orange juice with straw at breakfast one more time, Ginny Weasley-”), but you know she just wants to make sure you’re okay in the end, and letting her spoil you for maybe just a little longer.

#harry potter preferences #ginny weasley x reader #luna lovegood x reader #hermione granger x reader #harry potter x reader #george weasley x reader #neville longbottom x reader #fred weasley x reader #harry potter imagines

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overwatch-does-stuff · 3 years

Note

You mentioned that you wanted to ramble about characters' powers/kits and how they relate to their characterization, so you know I'm going to ask you to talk about Torbjörn 👀 Oh and Bastion too if you're up for it! ♥

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD!

Look, I get. . . very emotional about Torbjorn's old kit. It perfectly encapsulated him as a character and while the rework better balanced him, it gutted how his playstyle represented his personality and ideals.

Torbjorn's kit was all about defense. It makes sense, him being in the defense category, so what makes him different? Well, it was that his defense was not just that he preferred to stay in one place, but that he was protecting the entire team while doing it. His turret can kill enemies, yes, but it's more useful watching sightlines and distracting enemies long enough to give the other defenders a chance. His gun has both long-range and short-range capabilities and he has a larger health pool, meaning that he can help the team poke from afar or get right down in the fray, jumping to a teammate's rescue if needed. His ultimate was best used defensively- powerful enough to stop a regular push in its track singlehandedly unless the enemy also threw a couple ults back.

And finally, most importantly, I want to mention armor pack.

He was one of the few DPS who had an ability that could support other teammates instead of himself, and that means everything. Torbjorn is not a leader, not like Soldier 76. Instead, what his support ability showed was his moral core of titanium. He built all of his weapons with the idea that they would protect others, but he also physically armors those around him. His craftsmanship protects them on every level. And that's the core of his character- an engineer who wanted to use his tools to defend the innocent. Of all of the high-ranking Overwatch officials, Torbjorn is the only one who hasn't given up yet on that dream. Sure, he's a bit more jaded than he was, but he never gave up on protecting the world. He never gave up, and his ability to build armor for his team in the middle of a fight from the literal scrap of the fallen surrounding them reflected that.

. . . and then he got reworked and he was given generic bursty abilities and the function of protecting his team was removed. Count me mad about it.

---

With Bastion, something's always bothered me. In The Last Bastion, Bastion is terrified of their own abilities. Switching to sentry mode is frightening and exhausting for them. Contrast this in Overwatch 1, where Bastion can switch between recon and sentry on the merest whim. Something doesn't add up.

However, the community recently received an update about Bastion's rework that I think will fit them more narratively, while also reflecting their newfound friendship with Torbjorn.

A common theme in new Bastion's kit, weirdly enough, is distance and avoidance. The sticky grenade can bounce of walls and around corners; their primary fire has longer range and is no longer fully automatic; their ult can be fired on the enemy from across the map. (The only thing that contrasts this is sentry mode- and I'll get to that one later.) What these all mean is that Bastion isn't usually going to be directly in the line of fire, and when they are, they have precision weapons, not crowd control.

Bastion models were built to put as many bullets out on the field as possible, to kill as many humans as possible. But our Bastion is frightened by that kind of destructive capability, and these upgrades for Overwatch 2 reflect that. Clearly, Torbjorn retooled them with these preferences in mind. Bastion may still be fighting, but now their style is controlled; no longer all-consuming carnage, but precise targeting with as little stray fire as possible. The ability to physically distance themself or stay out of sight of the main battle could also make them more comfortable in a field as well, lessening the effects of their PTSD and the chance that they get triggered into a full episode.

Sentry mode is a very deliberate contrast to all of this. Sentry mode is violent and even more aggressive than it was in the first game, given that Bastion can now move during it. It's useful for when distance and poking fails, used to initiate pushes and take new positions. However, as a cost to this aggression, it's an ability on a cooldown. This is what struck me the most narratively upon seeing their new kit. Sentry mode is something that is very taxing on Bastion, I think. It's a reminder of the worst part of themself, a reminder of a past they're desperately trying to outrun and a future that so many have predicted for them. It's whispers of lethal programming, it's a ruined battlefield, it's a destroyed nest. It's the loss of self-control. Let me make it clear that Bastion does not like sentry mode- but that they're willing to enter it to fight for what they believe in, most particularly for the safety of those that show them kindness. But there's only so long they can do it for lest they get lost in the memories.

To sum it up- Bastion's Overwatch 2 kit looks like it reflects Bastion as The Last Bastion, the individual who's forging their way through the world in the present. Their tools have been personalized through their bond with Torbjorn to better fit them and prove that they aren't limited by what their model was built to do. And that makes me very emotional. Here's hoping Overwatch 2 shows Bastion's progression from being hesitant to fight to stepping up to protect the people they care about.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch bastion #bastion overwatch #torbjorn lindholm #sorry I didn't have as many words for torb as I did bastion but the robot brainrot is real #and torb's new kit is less than stellar :(#drinking game: take a shot every time I say 'reflect' lol

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flourgirl · 4 years

Text

Study Buddies

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: When your friends can’t make it to an outing with you, Peter offers to accompany you instead. However, he gets caught up on a mission right before he has to meet you. When he shows up in the middle of the night to apologize, you’re more preoccupied over the fact that he’s all bloody and bruised.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, with lots of pining and a little bit of angst. Mentions of violence. One swear word.

A/N: This is my first time posting a fanfic! Please be nice :-)

“And with heart shaped bruises And late night kisses, divine” -Toothpaste Kisses, The Maccabees

Peter watched as you picked up your phone and read whatever it was that made the smile he loved so much fall from your face. “Is something wrong?,” he asked, causing you to look back up at your favorite study buddy. The sunshine from the skylight made his eyes look especially golden from his seat at the library table you had scattered your notes and textbooks across.

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged, sliding your phone back into your pocket. “I was supposed to go to the carnival tonight with some friends, but they all cancelled on me just now.”

“Oh,” Peter said, seeing how disappointed you were. “Well, you could always reschedule, right?”

“Nope. Tonight was the last night,” you sighed, returning to the problem set that you two had been working on all afternoon.

Peter’s heartbeat quickened as he thought about how he could make you feel better. For someone he saw almost everyday, your relationship had never seemed to go past going over your calculus homework or cramming for a quiz in chemistry. “Y/N?,” he asked, “Uh, maybe, I mean...if you want to...Maybe I could go with you to the carnival?”

You immediately perked up and looked at him, your signature smile returning to your face. “Are you serious?,” you giggled, causing the worry to settle back into Peter’s stomach.

“Well, only if it’s okay with you. I don’t want to intrude on your plans and I know I’m just the guy you study with and not actually your friend or anything so—”

“Peter,” you started, grabbing his hand to stop him from rambling to death, “I would love to go to the carnival with you.” He smiled with relief, and you both returned to working on your homework. You thought to yourself about how much you liked how his brown eyes twinkled when he was happy.

“Oh, and by the way,” you said, squeezing his hand in reassurance, “We’re definitely friends, Peter.”

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

By 9 p.m., you finally accepted that Peter had stood you up. Go figure, you thought to yourself. It was silly to think that his offer was anything more than his usual kindness. He was never going to like you the way that you liked him.

Sulking to another episode of Gossip Girl, you perked up when you heard your doorbell ring, hoping it was Peter. To your disappointment, it was just your roommate, who had forgotten her keys. Returning to the couch, you snuggled into the throw blanket, falling asleep to Blair Waldorf’s terrible life decisions.

A crash on your fire escape startled you awake. Checking your phone, you saw that it was nearly 2 a.m., which meant that there was either a very confused bird outside or somebody was trying to murder you. Your anxiety decided that it was the latter, and you scrambled towards the kitchen to find something, anything, to protect yourself from the threat that loomed outside.

“Y/N?” you heard a voice whisper. You crept closer towards the sliding glass doors, clutching the frying pan in your hands with all your might. Who on earth could be trying to meet up with you at this hour?

Relief washed over your body as you pulled back the curtains to find Peter. Even if he had stood you up tonight, it was still better than a murderer. Well, only slightly better. You set the pan down, eyeing him with your arms crossed as he shivered on the cold metal of the fire escape. “Listen, I can explain. Just, please, let me in,” he pleaded, sounding exhausted through the glass.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized that he was covered in scrapes and bruises, and you rushed to pull the doors open, dragging him inside towards the couch.

“Oh my god,” you huffed, “What the fuck happened to you? Did you get jumped? Do I need to call the cops? Jeez, that looks like it really hurts,” you rambled on and on, already on your way to the bathroom to rummage for a first aid kit.

You found the white box with the red cross on it under the sink, rushing back towards the couch to get a good look at Peter’s injuries. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for missing the carnival. I know how much you wanted to go and I just want you to know that I really wanted to go too.”

As much as you were upset with him, it was obvious that he had a good excuse for showing up. “Peter. It’s alright. Just tell me what happened to you, okay?”

He turned his head away from your hand, which was gently cleaning the scrape on his forehead. “I can’t,” he muttered.

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. I need to know what happened to you.” He said nothing. You sighed in annoyance. “Fine. But come back here and let me finish cleaning you up. I don’t want you to get an infection.”

Peter scooted back towards you, reveling in how pretty you looked in the dim glow of the TV and how warm your hands felt against his skin. He couldn’t understand why or how a girl like you could want anything to do with a loser like him.

He thought about how you had first approached him at the end of a chemistry lecture and asked him if he had wanted to study. He remembered how shocked he was to see that you even knew that he existed. You didn’t need his help. You aced every quiz and exam that was thrown your way, so what was the catch?

It was until you started applying more rubbing alcohol to one of his cuts that he winced and snapped back to reality. He looked at you, seeing your brows furrow with concentration as you worked to make him good as new. You smoothed your pièce de résistance across his cheek, a Mickey Mouse band aid, and your hand lingered against his face for just a little longer than necessary.

It was at that moment that Peter decided to kiss you. By the time you had processed that his lips were against yours, he pulled away to stare at you, immediately regretting his actions. The worry in his expression was obvious, and he started to apologize to you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve asked you first, because consent is super important, but also because I’m pretty sure you would never kiss me in a million years because you’re so pretty and smart and I’m just the dork from your classes and—”

You shut him up with another kiss, running your hands through his soft, messy hair, resting your forehead on his once you had pulled away. “You sure do ramble a lot,” you laughed, looking at his brown eyes and dopey grin. He was utterly speechless, which was just another thing about him that you found unbelievably cute.

Coming out of his daze, he pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Y/N,” he started, reluctance creeping into his voice, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?,” you asked, worried that he had changed his mind about being more than friends.

“I’m Spider-Man.” Your eyes widened, everything suddenly making sense. The way he always ran out of classes and study sessions. The way he carried your books around as if they weighed nothing. His unusually close relationship with genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist Tony Stark. He was Spider-Man.

“WHAT!?,” you whisper-screamed. He laughed, pulling you into a perfectly distracting kiss.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman #mcu

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiances, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 8

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/abuse/rape + abusive families

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Eight: Sisterly Love

Son of a bitch. Son of a fucking bitch. He had everything Lucien had ever wanted and then decided to fuck it all over. And for what? Because he was too much of a privileged idiot to care about anyone other than himself? Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Lucien’s knuckles were bleeding, but it was safe to say that the poor tree seemed to be faring worse. The Autumn male had walked into the woods until a healthy distance was between him and the manor (and all beautiful, flower-growing females within it) and then he had begun his search for the largest tree he could find. The trees in the human lands were nothing special, especially not compared to the endless auburn forests of Lucien’s home Court, but it wasn’t too long before found a red sequoia that had a thick enough trunk for his needs. It was a solitary tree which Lucien guessed was at an equidistance between the Manor and the home which he and Tamlin had bought for Nesta and Elain before going under the mountain. The home in which Elain had been stolen from. Another thing to be furious about.

After shedding his jacket and tying his hair back with a strip of leather, Lucien had begun to brutalise the tree. His hits were neat, and he moved with the trained precision of a courtly solider. He hadn’t learned to fight like the Illyrians, in cold camps, throwing punches as though they were a lifeline. Lucien had been trained to fight within duels which had rules and manners. It had been Eris who had taught him, the only one of his brothers who’d even bothered to speak to him, and that was mostly because their mother demanded it of her eldest.

When Lucien was little more than a kit, Eris had taken him into the endless forests of Autumn where they were hidden from the prying eyes of their father’s guards. It had been Eris who had given him his first sword, Eris who had taught him how fighting can happen via the mouth or palm. That to cut into someone with your words could be just as effective as the edge of a blade.

Eris had never lowered his guard, had never been kind, had never praised Lucien, but he had helped him when no one else would. Even if it were because he, like Lucien, couldn’t resist the pleas of their mother. The two of them were sensitive to her, particularly as Lucien had gotten older and this somehow catalysed their mother’s mind to unfurl like a ball of yarn. Eventually she’d been declared mute to the court. She wasn’t, of course, but their father didn’t want the courtier’s hearing of her nonsensical ramblings of wyverns and sunlight.

But even as Lucien hit the bark with enough force for it to splinter and fall to reveal the lighter spongey wood beneath, it was evident that he was not entirely an Autumn soldier. Going to Spring had meant there was also something beastly in the way he fought. The flames that licked up his forearms didn’t heed to ideas of conformity; those were wild and untamed. It made sense his fighting style was not truly Autumnal considering he had never honestly fitted in there. Well, he didn’t truly fit in anywhere. It was like he was not made of one Court, or one blood, but rather something messy and diverse.

Right. Left. He hit the tree with enough power to send shudders rippling through his bones. Right. Left. Above the beating of his fists he could hear his breathing, even and undisturbed, even after two hours of relenetless beating he had not yet broken into a sweat.

Unlike the Illyrians, for Lucien, fighting was about control. It was about taking something that was not disciplined and sharpening it into something dangerous. The Illyrians were brutal and raw, they fought with emotions, Lucien fought to bury his.

Right. Left. It had been some time now and Lucien could begin to feel the tree moan. He’d beaten through a large chunk of its mid-section so that it was now in danger of toppling. He needed to stop but, he couldn’t.

Right. Left. Just a little longer, he just needed to get his bottomless anger towards the boy under control, so, a little longer and then he’d turn back. His flames still begged for release despite their unleashing that morning. It had always been that way; his fire had been the one true thing to protect him from his older brothers. Even when he was a child, barely tall enough to meet his mother’s knee, he’d responded to his brother’s teasing with undisciplined spurts of light.

It had been a problem. He didn’t remember much of it, just that his unnaturally strong display of power had sent his mother into a nervous spiral. Eris had appeared, again, to deal with him.

Lucien had been trained by a strange man who he could only meet after the sun had gone down, and he had to meet him at the astronomy tower of the southern houses. The man was quiet and painfully old, especially for a fae. Old enough that there had been grey hairs in his mane of chocolatey hair. He’d wheezed his words as he taught Lucien to suppress elements of his powers, and Lucien had hated him mainly because he would dress in these strange white cloths that were bundled around his torso and legs, making him look like a babe.

That’s how Lucien had learnt to lock and compartmentalise his powers, which appeared to him now as circular panels. The outer most layer being the most trivial of tricks: heating up cold tea, warming the sheets on a chilly night, lighting lanterns with a wave of his hand. Below that were the displays of strength, such as the flames on his arms. Then there were the layers of the affronts: streams of fire, explosive sparks, even the fire runes he’d learned which he could mark on the floor so that when an enemy crossed them they would turn to ash. Down and down it went like the skin of a snake, the animal of his mother’s blood house. The inner most layer wasn’t a layer at all, but what he’d been taught was the heart of his power. When Lucien closed his eyes and focused, he could see it, glowing in his chest. A ball of pure, golden light that thrummed with raw power.

The lessons had ended abruptly, before Lucien was even tall enough to meet his mother’s shoulder. Just like that, the old male was gone, and Eris had appeared instead.

Lucien was weary. There was no reason for Eris to speak to him unless he’d done something wrong. That’s how it went for everyone, and Lucien could never understand what he did exactly to provoke them all. Sometimes it seemed reasonable, when he wandered too far from the grounds or was found reading forbidden books. Other times he didn’t understand why the beatings came, such as when his brother’s had pulverised him when he was on the forest trails looking for flowers, apparently males didn’t care for flowers, apparently his misdoing was worthy of a broken femur.

Lucien was on time, wasn’t he? He was always good with time, he could read the sun, moon and stars as though they were a second language. He’d come back to his room after dinner, dressed in his night clothes and laid in bed pretending to sleep whilst counting to 1000, then he rolled on his back and looked out his window and waited till the moon was hovering over the oak firs, then he would sneak out.

But he must have done something wrong, right? Because when Lucien had climbed the steps to the astronomy tower and entered the room in which Dracon was usually pre-seated and waiting with a soft smile, there had been Eris instead. He was standing behind Dracon’s empty chair and holding onto it’s back, looking bored as he glared at the telescopes.

“Dracon isn’t going to come here anymore. Your lessons are done.” Eris was a full grown male now, all of Lucien’s other brothers were close behind but there was something still unfinished about their scruffy hair and cruel eyes. Eris had the grace of a full grown fae male, and Lucien silently wished that he could be more like him, all elegance and cunning grace. Not the meaty bulk of Travis or Ruadiridh.

“Have I done something wrong?” Lucien couldn’t help but ask in a small, quiet voice. If he were to be beaten, he had developed a small routine to distract himself, to pull himself far away from his body so that he couldn’t really feel the hurt as it happened, only after did he feel the pain. Eris looked irritated by his question, and Lucien pushed himself against the tower door.

“Have you? Is there something you wish to tell me?” Eris’ eyes blazed as he looked at him. Lucien shook his head furiously. “Good.”

“W-where is Dracon?” Lucien stammered and hated himself for it. Stammering in front of his family was like offering a pork chop to a starved hound. He waited for Eris to pounce.

“Gone. He’s not coming back,” Eris said instead in a cold, emotionless voice. Lucien’s hands shook with disbelief at his luck.

“Gone? I-Is he okay?” Lucien was pushing his fortune. Never before had he tried to ask one of his brother’s so many consecutive questions, but something about the moonlight was making him reckless. That, and the tiredness of his brother’s stature. Eris was barely a grown male, and yet he seemed as old as father in his worry.

“No,” Eris said, and his face turned enigmatic as he looked down on his littlest of brothers. Eris seemed to assess him for a moment, taking in Lucien’s cropped auburn hair and browning skin. His face turned cruel, cold. His eyes turning into dark stones that gave away no emotion. Lucien steeled himself for his brother’s insult, but it still rattled him all the same.

“No, Lucien, he’s not coming back. He’s dead…and it’s all your fault.”

***

Right. Left. Right. Left.

Eris. Another thing to be angry about.

It had taken years of living with Tamlin for Lucien to begin to understand that the way his family had treated him was abnormal. That true brother’s taught each other strength and friendship, not how to practice mental mind games so that Lucien could escape his body whilst they cut him up and put him back together.

Right. Left. He’d been out for so long that he’d over run his time. He was supposed to meet her at 10.

Right. Left. The drumming of the blood in his ears was so loud that Lucien didn’t hear the slight ‘pop’ of a figure winnowing behind him. Nor did he turn quick enough after hearing the raw yet feminine battle cry.

“You bastard!” A small yet strong form collided into him, sending him back against the mutilated tree trunk. Lucien didn’t even fight back, not when the braided crown of pale brown hair told him all he needed to know.

“NESTA!” Lucien looked above the wildcats crown to see Feyre, dressed in simple black shirt and pants, reaching out for her wolf of a sister.

“You stole her! You ripped her away from us you-” The following language Lucien had not heard in a long time, and yet it was certainly not the first time an angry female had called him such names. Lucien just leaned back against the tree as Nesta’s small, yet sharp arm dug into his guts, and she pressed a blade to his throat.

Just for the hell of it he cocked his head and smirked, trying to look unbothered and arrogant – because doing so made him feel like he had some form of power, even though he was clearly at the Archeron sister’s mercy. God, this really shouldn’t happen as often as is it does.

“Nesta I have told you time and time again that Elain left of her own volition-” Lucien felt a pang of pity for his friend as she sighed and rubbed at her temples. Feyre was a new mother, and it seems that it’s not just Nyx that has needed babying the past few days.

“And I’ve told you that I don’t believe a word of it!” Nesta snarled. Lucien just glared down at the female before taking in her fitted Illyrian leathers, the new ropes of muscle that curved across her thin and sharp body, even the siphons on the back of her hands, glowing violet. Lucien snarled.

“Who the hell taught her how to wield a knife?” Nesta’s returning grin was nothing short of feral.

Nesta had always reminded Lucien of a blade, or something worse, something infinitely sharper and more dangerous. She held herself like a queen, one whose cruelness may have been on par with Eris’. She was taller than Feyre and Elain and was all sharp edges and bones. Feyre had been lither in her figure, after building muscle she appeared more cat-like in her grace. Elain…

Lucien couldn’t dwell on Elain’s figure for too long, or at least of what he imagined of it through her long skirts. All he knew is that she was shorter than her sisters, with a softer jawline and a bigger chest that was often bound and hidden from sight. Right now, Lucien really couldn’t be thinking about how he imagined her to have a hefty swell at her hips, or how her thighs might look spilling out from the top of stockings, or the…Lucien mentally slapped himself.

An erection right now would get him stabbed in the throat.

“Get off me,” Lucien growled, wrenching his hands up and pushing on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite Nesta clearly having been honed into a warrior, he still did not push hard, he could not find it within him to act aggressively towards a female, not even one with a knife to his throat.

Not after his mother.

“You will take us to her,” Nesta just growled, standing agonisingly straight and glaring at him with ice in her eyes. Lucien wasn’t convinced her powers had completely vanished, and a small shiver ran the length of his spine at being so directly under her focus.

“No, he will not,” Feyre just sighed, running a hand over her head.

“What are you doing here hellcat? I don’t remember inviting you,” as Lucien spoke he shot a glare at Feyre who just sighed for a third time.

“She figured out Elain was gone and has been tearing the Night Court down ever since. I thought if perhaps Nesta could come and see that there’s no danger then maybe my people might be saved of her wrath.”

“Poor Night Court,” Lucien cooed, brushing down his pale drawstring tunic and fitted brown pants.

“Have you two lost your minds?” Nesta just scowled, her fury now turning (thankfully) to her sister. “Elain is not safe in the mortal lands, are you forgetting how the humans treat the fae? What about the one human who may have a particular reason to not want to have her around.”

This is why he couldn’t despise Nesta. Despite all she had said and done. Because at the end of the day, Nesta had a fierce loyalty that Lucien not only admired, but could see within himself. Perhaps there would never be a day where they could consider one another as friends, but they both were bitter, both believed the worst of people and weren’t easy in trusting. But beyond the apparent mess of a relationship between them, they’d both go down fighting to protect Elain.

Not to mention they were the two first in line to shiv the Nolan boy.

Maybe that would be the thing to tie them together, planning a secret mission to infiltrate the Nolan manor and slit the boy’s throat whilst he slept. Nest might actually respect him for a night.

“I don’t know what the hells’ going on, but Elain is vulnerable and the only place she can be thoroughly protected is in the Night Court.” Nesta seethed, her glare feeling like steel.

“Elain’s vulnerable?” Lucien asked in a low voice. Feyre’s note, the one which Elain had arrived with had been incomprehensible with the rainwater. What if there had been a message informing him of Elain’s safety? What if Elain was in fact seeking asylum in the mortal lands. Lucien swore at himself internally. When it came to his mate there wasn’t much else he could do but protect her, and even that he seemed to fail at.

“She’s no more vulnerable than the rest of us,” Feyre shrugged with a roll of her eyes. “There’s some concern with the Cauldron reaching for Elain but she hasn’t had a vision in two years, and she knows to notify us if that changes.”

“But yeah besides the threat of Koschei there isn’t too much to worry about,” Nesta sneered, folding her arms protectively over herself. It was a tell of hers Lucien had picked up on. For a female who was full of steel and wit, her body language said that she was guarded and well…lonely.

Elain leaving must have hit Nesta hard, Lucien realised. He’d noticed how Nesta treated Elain, almost protecting her too much after the Cauldron, as though by taking enough care of Elain she could make up for what she failed to do for Feyre. Elain leaving randomly, in the night, without notifying Nesta, must have re-awoken that feeling. Nesta’s drive to protect, as though she wanted to protected her sister from the pain she’d been through.

That’s where Nesta was wrong, Lucien couldn’t help but think bitterly. Nesta had ultimately infantilised her sister, had refused to let her walk without holding her hand, how she had in some twisted way trapped Elain on a leash.

I care for you, I protect you, I provide for you. You must love me. Please love me.

When Elain had strayed too far on that leash, Nesta had recoiled, she’d gone of the edge. If Nesta couldn’t overprotect her sister, then she wouldn’t protect her at all.

Lucien ultimately felt sorry for the viper. Again, because he saw so much of himself in her. Lucien didn’t know how to love in small quantities, he had to devote himself fully, to everything.

Love or death. Lucien physically shuddered as the phrase stumbled through his mind. It was a stupid, stupid promise he had made when he was young and full of hope. A stupid, violent, costly promise.

“I promise you Elain is safe within my protection. I would give the whole speech about how we could make a bonding pact over my protection of her, but I know you know I’m being serious.” Lucien picked at his nails, still leaning against the tree and tucking his leg up. The image of boredom.

“And do you really think you’ll be enough to protect her?” Nesta seethed, whilst Feyre looked him up and down curiously.

“If you want to have a little wrestle in the mud Nesta, just say so. I’m sure you’ll find me more than capable of handling myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt you’re capable of handling yourself, given it’s all you’ve got.” Nesta sneered, evidentially agitated by his taunts. That’s where Nesta needed training, Lucien couldn’t help but think, and for a moment he realised he sounded like Eris. Eris would take one look at Nesta and roll his eyes – “You wear your emotions like a fool. You’ll never be good enough to be a courtier. One look at you and everyone could tell what you want. It’ll be your greatest, most haunting weakness.”

“Rather scandalous, Nesta, I must say. You thinking about me handling myself? I thought you had a mate-” Nesta roared and charged for him. Feyre threw a casual shield between the two of them which the hellcat promptly bounced off. Lucien just focused on staying relaxed. When he was relaxed, he was in control.

“Children please!” Feyre barked, holding a palm up to both of them. Lucien just chuckled as Nesta seethed and Feyre sighed. “Surprisingly, we’re not just here to engage in pitiful threats and stupid insults, we did actually have a matter at hand to discuss.”

Fear coiled in Lucien’s gut. He’d almost forgotten. With the rhythmic almost meditative training and the distraction that was Nesta’s fury, he’d been blissfully unaware for a moment of why he’d called the remaining Archeron sisters to the mortal realm. Lucien stood straight, pulling on his jacket and tying his cuffs.

“You said it was urgent?” Feyre said softly after a moment, still maintaining the shield between himself and the hellcat.

“And private, if I recall,” Lucien flickered his eyes to the viper.

“I can send her home if you’d like.” Nesta went to complain but Lucien silenced her.

“It’s fine. In fact it…it might be better for you both to hear it…” He was getting nervous, he knew it. Turning into the male that he became whenever he went to the Night Court. But they were on his territory now. God, how ironic was that.

“Is it…is…are you okay?” Feyre looked alarmingly concerned, even Nesta’s anger seemed to have settled into a soft simmer.

“I’m fine,” Lucien said quickly. Too quickly.

“Elain…” Feyre trailed off. And Lucien sighed deeply.

Then he began. He told them both of how everything had been fine between himself and Elain (promptly skipping over their minor capture in an Ashwood trap) and there had been no problem till last night where, after talking about Graysen and his new engagement – Feyre gagged, Nesta swore – Elain had dreamt of a memory and had unwittingly sent that memory to Lucien.

“So…what’s the problem?” Nesta probed, her anger now having well and truly given way to a steely determination. Feyre’s shield had even dropped.

“It’s the dream isn’t it – what was it?” Feyre asked. Lucien hesitated.

“I…I don’t know if I can say.”

“Oh no, nuh uh,” Nesta clipped, “You did not drag us across Prythian, tease us with something threatening our sister only to back out now.” Lucien sighed as he glared at Nesta because, well, she was right. He’d called them for a reason and that reason was he didn’t know what to do. The bond forced delicate information of Elain’s to be forced into his lap, but he didn’t yet see himself as someone with the clearance to deal with such things. But that didn’t mean they should just be ignored. Elain needed someone. She needed her sisters.

Right?

“The dream was a memory, and it was of her and Graysen, they were running through some woods. They were engaged and…and…” Lucien grimaced.

“What?” Feyre asked, her concerned High Lady voice coming out. Lucien just looked at her, at them both. What he was about to tell them, well, it was going to change things.

“The two of them were enjoying each other’s company and I did all that I could to not intrude-”

“What? You just stood there and watched as they, as they…” Nesta glared at him, disgust in her eyes. Fury coiled in Lucien’s gut.

“I assure you Nesta if there was a way for me to stop witnessing as my mate was lain, spread and taken by another man, I would’ve found a way out.” The words were cold, harsh, and both Feyre and Nesta recoiled slightly. They had mates. They understood.

Lucien took a deep breath and tried again.

“That wasn’t the problem. I would not have have called you if that was all,” he began, now finding he was unable to look them in the eye, “They weren’t…they didn’t actually do anything besides some mild fondling. At some point Graysen began to force himself on her, after she refused several times he got angry with her-”

A sharp intake of breath from one of the sisters made Lucien wince.

“It was then that he began to…manipulate and coerce Elain into giving ‘consent’” Lucien used his fingers to form brackets around the word. “Graysen wouldn’t stop until Elain agreed to meet him in a barn near a Eucalyptus-”

Another gasp had Lucien looking up. He regretted calling them immediately.

“Look, I don’t know how human judicial systems work and legislation differs between the Courts, but in the majority of the Courts’ eyes Graysen could justifiably be trialled for rape.”

Both sisters froze. Nesta turning to ice, her features somehow becoming more pointed and severe. Feyre looked…emotional. Her hands were shaking as she brought them to her mouth.

“Rape?” Feyre eventually gasped.

“It…it does differ between courts. In Autumn, no, it wouldn’t count. Spring legislation hasn’t been updated in centuries given how underdeveloped the Court has been with its weak bloodline, so it’s a no there too.” Lucien knew laws of Spring. He’d researched them endlessly after Calanmai. “I used to assume the Night Court was the same but, given Rhysand’s stance on sexual assault survivors I’d believe that yes, Graysen could be charged. All other Courts, Summer, Winter, Dawn and Day could all put him on trial. The exact charge is generally defined as forced or non-consensual sexual contact. It was coercion, and therefore not consent.”

Lucien had felt lifeless as he spoke. He had to. He had to take all his emotions and bury them in the deepest recesses of his mind. If stopped to think even for a moment about the fact Graysen could be charged for raping Elain, the air started to leave his body and he felt as though he’d start to have a panic attack. He hadn’t had one of those since before he met Jes.

“I don’t know if she…if she…”

“She did,” Nesta said in a cold, unfeeling voice. Her eyes were glazed and far away.

“She came back in the morning, and I found her in the gardens, she wasn’t wearing shoes and her dress was buttoned wrong and she was just wandering. I…” Nesta’s voice broke and she cleared her throat, still not looking at anyone. “I took her in for a bath and she was fine, after that. It was like it took her a moment to be convinced that she had enjoyed it. After that, she was glowing and happy. Graysen always seemed to make her so happy…”

Lucien cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I…I brought this information to you because I didn’t know what the human standards are for any of this. I don’t know how the humans would prosecute-”

“They wouldn’t,” Feyre said solemnly, a hand still covering her mouth, “Human judiciaries don’t really do…rape…the only time people are trialled and convicted is when it’s wealthy women of a certain bloodline who were clearly raped in a brutal way with a direct witness.”

Fury once more coiled through Lucien’s gut. Elain had been taught to expect this. She’d been taught that Graysen touching her like that, talking to her like that – she’d been taught that that was love.

“I see,” Lucien grappled with the beast within, “I…the bond between Elain and I has shown me this, but I feel it is not yet my place to-to-”

“We understand Lucien,” Feyre stepped forward taking his hand, and Lucien found himself leaning into the touch. As pitiful as it was, he needed Feyre to take over, to take this information off his hands for the time being. He just couldn’t – he didn’t know how – it wasn’t his place and yet –

“She’s our sister and we’ll find a way to deal with this, to broach the subject with her and find how she feels.” It was as though Lucien could see Feyre switch from concerned sister to High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre the Cursebreaker. Lucien could only nod at her solemnly.

“Lucien,” Nesta started and as he looked at her, he could practically see the internal war raging on inside those icy eyes. He just waited until she found the words. “Thank you…” She spoke at last. Lucien nodded, and that was that.

Nesta went to speak to her sister when she paused and looked down at the siphons on the back of each hand, glowing a violent shade of purple.

“I-shit…I was supposed to be back in time for training.”

“Go,” Feyre said, still holding Lucien’s hand, “We’ll talk later.”

Feyre and Nesta seemed to share a certain sisterly stare with one another, almost as though they were conversing without speaking. Eventually Nesta nodded, and with one more steely yet grateful look at Lucien, she winnowed away.

Feyre turned to Lucien.

“Thank you, Lucien, for telling us about this. I know you’re trying your hardest given the circumstance.”

Lucien nodded. Yes, the circumstance being that despite him and his mate having not truly accepted the bond, nor having truly struck up any kind of relationship, the bond has deemed it appropriate to reveal to him incredibly intimate and difficult scenarios of Elain’s life without her knowledge nor consent.

“Thanks,” was all he could mutter, though he truly felt he did not deserve her praise. A small silence settled over the two of them and when Lucien looked up again, Feyre was giving him a peculiar stare. She seemed almost…amused.

“What you were doing with Nesta, teasing her like that-”

“Sorry,” Lucien interrupted, “I understand I may have overstepped my bounds I-”

“No,” it was Feyre’s turn to interrupt, “No, that’s not it. I just meant to say that well, for a second there you seemed like the old you.”

Lucien cocked his head.

“The old me?”

“You know, the git who was horrible and snide to me for weeks on end even though he was High Fae, and I was an enslaved mortal,” Feyre was grinning as she spoke, her hands resting on her hips in a very motherly manner.

“Oh,” Lucien nodded, “That old me.”

“Is it her or being here?” Feyre asked outright and something in Lucien’s chest stumbled before he sighed, deep and long. Now that Nesta was gone, he could relax with Feyre. She was like Vassa or Jurian – as close as a friend as he had.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “She’s…I mean she’s…”

“Mhm,” Feyre grinned knowingly.

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. Feyre burst out laughing, and when her laughter had rung out into the forest a slightly awkward silence stilted the conversation.

“It’s not…” Lucien grimaced, “It’s not perfect though. I felt her through the bond when she found out Graysen had gotten engaged. It wasn’t…she…”

Feyre shrugged as though this meant nothing.

“I suppose she’s entitled to respond a little poorly. But I understand what you mean. You have it difficult Lucien, don’t doubt that for a second. Most mates get a chance to fall in love before the bond even makes itself known.” Lucien frowned.

“No, it doesn’t. It’s common for mates to feel the bond upon first seeing one another-”

“Yeah, yeah, when I said most mates I was talking about myself and Nesta, you know, the only two examples of a mating bond that Elain knows?”

“Oh,” Lucien nodded.

“You know how it is for us, we used to be human. When you’re human falling in love isn’t something that has anything to do with fate and attitudes towards casual sex are, you know, only positive when you’re a man which – not important – what I’m trying to say is that for Elain, Graysen was a big deal. Falling in love was a big deal. Having someone choose to love her with their own Mother-gifted violation, was a big deal.”

“I know,” Lucien said softly, “I’m not trying to take that away from her. I just…as much as Elain had certain customs growing up, so did I. It’s not exactly usual for two mates to ignore a bond for two years. Rejecting? Yes. Ignoring…not so much.”

Feyre, to Lucien’s surprise, nodded.

“Like I said,” she began, “You two have it tough. I don’t think either of you are necessarily at fault. Elain hasn’t just been ignoring you these past two years, she’s been healing, finding herself. You’ve been incredibly patient but at the same time, you’re allowed to be upset at the way things have gone.”

“Right but-”

“Lucien, I love you, but everything you’re saying right now is exactly what you need to be saying to Elain,” Feyre half-laughed as she squeezed his hand.

“Right, right…” Lucien nodded, and Feyre finally let go of his hand. Though, the loss of her touch didn’t take away any of the weight of his discovery, that still hung over him like a black cloud. Feyre moved back a few paces before giving a quick shake of her body as two giant leathery wings protruded from her back.

“Rhysand says I need to keep using them,” she smiled at him, “Though I think once I get past Spring I might just cheat. Don’t tell him though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucien laughed, holding up his hands.

Lucien watched as Feyre prepped herself for take-off, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

“Feyre wait!” He called, just before she took off.

“Yeah?” Lucien paused ever so slightly.

“I did the right thing, telling you, about what I saw?” Feyre cocked her head and seemed to genuinely consider his question.

“I don’t know,” Feyre answered honestly, and something inside Lucien shuddered. “These kinds of things are sensitive, and each individual reacts differently. I would bet that Elain doesn’t understand that what Graysen did was wrong, she certainly wouldn’t consider it as rape as in her eyes she technically said ‘yes’”

“But-” Lucien growled.

“Yeah, I know, don’t worry. It is rape. I know. But in her eyes she gave herself willingly and…” Feyre’s eyes became dazed, “Just think about what this will be like for her, to find out the one person she loved most in the whole world didn’t just turn into a bad guy when she turned fae but was a bad guy all along. Imagine finding out your first love had raped you and you’d never even realised.”

Lucien shuddered and for a terrifying moment, he wondered if he might cry. With Ianthe he’d known. Every step of the way he’d known, and he genuinely didn’t know if it was better or worse to be ignorant. If he could be oblivious to what had happened in that cave, would he choose to be?

Elain’s choice had somehow fallen into his lap and in some way, this meant she had no choice at all. To tell her nothing would be making a choice, as would be telling her what Graysen had done. It wasn’t fair, for either of them.

“You better get going,” Lucien said after a moment with a quick glance to the sun placement, “Rhysand might think I’ve kidnapped you again.”

Feyre tipped her head back and let out a joyous laugh that filled the forest with magic.

“Oh Lucien,” she clutched her ribs, “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, and…” she suddenly looked nervous.

“What?”

“Promise me you and I will still be friends, no matter what happens with Elain, promise me you’ll stay.”

Feyre was looking at him with so much shy hope that Lucien couldn’t help but nod without even considering her question. Without another word Feyre took off into the skies, steering away from Lockhart Manor as to not accidentally cross Elain’s line of vision.

Lucien watched her go with a heavy heart.

Tag List:

@ladyelain @chloepereyra @exiledelain @bow-dawn

#elucien #fffaf #elucien fic #elucien fluff #elucien fanfiction #elain #elain archeron #elain x lucien #elain archeron x lucien #pro elucien #pro elain #pro lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #elain/lucien #lucien/elain

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soniaxdixon · 4 years

Text

The New World; Series

Okay so this is my first time writing a fic and obviously will be my first series but I’ve just rewatched TWD for like the 17th time and my obsession with Daryl has reached new levels. I hope that it isn’t too shit and that you guys actually read/like it. Thank you in advance for baring with my average writing but I mean, how else will I learn? Anyway, enjoy!

Sonia x

Set pre to early season 1, back story for when the world ended.

Part 1 of ??

Summary: Y/N Grimes is Rick’s younger hot headed sister. When Rick gets shot and falls into a coma, Y/N’s world ends. Y/N Finds herself at a quarry near Atlanta with her nephew carl, sister in law Lori and her best friend Glenn where she meets her new family including the equally hot headed redneck Daryl Dixon. Over time Y/N and Daryl begin to form a friendship, finally allowing one another to open up to someone and maybe finding someone they can actually love.

Warnings! Slowish burn but the feels are there from the start, swearing, some gore (hardly in this one) and merle being a bit of a dick as usual.

Words: 1428

Growing up a Grimes wasn’t always the best, especially being hot headed but having Rick as a brother made everything a lot easier. He was always able to calm you down, like he was the only one who knew how.

The day he got shot felt like a piece of your heart being ripped away, never to be replaced, never to be healed. That was the day your world ended.

When the world went to shit you were wishing he was there guiding your every move.

You scrambled through your one bedroom apartment, haphazardly shoving clothes into bags, anything and everything you thought you might need. Medicine, first aid kits, anything you could use as a weapon, anything to keep yourself alive. Ripping open the drawer near your front door you grabbed your keys and drove like you had nothing to lose. Racing through streets, running red lights, you watched as the world crumbled before you. People looting stores on one side of the street while on the other side the monsters ripped into the people you once new. Normalcy was now a memory. Normalcy was not normal anymore.

Swinging around a corner you barely put the car in park as you leapt out and barrelled into Lori’s house.

“Lori! Carl!” You yelled as loud as you could, your voice being drowned out by the sounds of sirens, helicopters and king county shattering around you.

“Lori! Where the fuck are you?” At this point you were screaming.

Carl came running around the corner throwing himself at you, tears in his eyes as you both fell to the floor hugging each other. Knowing he was safe was all you needed.

You held carl’s face in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in the garage with Shane, packing all of our camping gear. I’m scared Y/N”

“I know you are baby but we will get through this. I promise.”

You got up and let go of the boy, racing into the garage and catching Lori’s eyes, she ran and embraced you.

“Thank God you’re okay” she said, still holding you tight.

“I don’t know what to do Lori. Everything is happening all at once, how will we get Rick through this, how will we get through this?” You rambled looking between Lori and Shane.

You watched as their expressions dropped, Shane’s eyes looking at the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. Lori’s eyes filled with tears as she grabbed your hands.

“Rick’s gone”

The words hit you like a freight train as you collapsed to the floor, your own knees not being able to take the weight of the words that she spoke.

“I went to the hospital to get him out, he wouldn’t wake up. I tried Y/N I tried.” Shane was explaining what happened in the hospital but the words washed over you, your brain refusing to comprehend the things he was saying.

————

All of this felt like years ago at this point. A distant memory. Rick was a distant memory.

You woke up in your tent as the morning light began to enter the space. Sounds of people chatting quietly outside filled the air as you forced yourself off the ground, pulling on your black jeans, a grey t-shirt and your boots. Looping your belt around your waist and making sure your knife was easily accessible.

You fumbled around with the zipper of your tent still half asleep, stumbling out and greeting everyone with a small smile.

“There she is” Dale said with a charming smirk, “any longer and we would have sent Carl to come and jump on you.”

You chuckled at the remark, “It’s like 6 o’clock, calm down old man” you retorted, earning a hearty laugh from Dale.

You made your way over to Lori to see if she needed any help with breakfast but she and carol had it under control. “Smells great, you making your famous Sunday pancakes, Lori? Don’t forget to actually mix the batter” You said, obvious sarcasm in your tone.

She pushed your arm playfully as you reminisced the many clumps of flour you had eaten in the past, forcing a smile every time with a fake compliment “they’re greeaatt”

You sauntered over to T-Dogg who was sitting on top of the RV keeping watch.

“Mornin’ Y/N”

“Hey T”

You made it half way up the ladder before you were halted by an unfortunately familiar voice.

“Now how the hell did ya manage to squeeze that ass in those jeans, God damn.” The Southern drawl of the older Dixon brother had you fuming before you even turned around.

“Man don’t you ever shut up?” T-Dogg yelled from the top of the RV.

“What the hell d’ya say to me?” Merle retorted but before anything could get heated between the two of them you dropped off the ladder and made your way over to Merle.

“Keep it in your pants you redneck prick.” Your harsh tone really getting the message across as Merle put his hands up in surrender but still made it known that his eyes were on you the whole time you walked away.

Your best friend, Glenn made his way into the middle of the group announcing that he wanted to make a run into the city to look for some supplies. He said the last time he went in, he found a department store that had everything from clothes to food and looked as though it wasn’t overrun or burnt down. A few of the group members volunteered to go including you but Shane was quick to shut that idea down.

“No way in hell am I letting you go into the city.”

“Last I checked, you’re not my babysitter, Shane.” You quickly responded

He shot you a glance and you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t worth the argument, plus, after you had volunteered, Merle did too and you did not want to deal with that headache for however long the run took.

Within an hour, Glenn and the others were packed and ready to go into the city. Glenn came over to you and you pulled him into a tight hug.

“Don’t get eaten, please.”

He chuckled and let go of you, nodding. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“No promises” you smiled and waved as he and the rest headed off towards the city.

You looked to your left and saw the younger Dixon brother watching as his brother went off on yet another run. You could see worry in his eyes but you knew he would never show it properly. He’d probably be called a pussy by Merle for showing the slightest ounce of care towards anything. You didn’t realise you had been staring until you heard his voice.

“What the hell r’ya lookin’ at?” His words came across with more anger than he had intended

You blinked quickly and looked away. Your cheeks flushing a slight shade of pink as you struggled for words. Something about this man made your mouth run dry and your stomach flip.

“N-Nothing, sorry.” You quickly walked off but Daryl’s eyes remained trained on you, squinting as you walked towards the sunlight but still remaining focussed on you. He couldn’t figure you out. You were so harsh towards his brother, so easily set off by the slightest thing. If someone said the wrong thing you would mercilessly attack them with words and yet with him, you could hardly speak. You couldn’t be around him for more than 5 minutes.

He thought about you for a while, he didn’t understand why you were on his mind but you were. You had never even held a conversation and yet the only thing he could think about was you. In a similar way, the only thing on your mind that night, was him.

You made your way to your tent stealing one last quick glance at Daryl who was making his way up the RV for night watch, he locked eyes with you for a second and you smiled, a small smile but enough to make daryl nod at you in return.

The simple gesture made your heart jump as you hastily pushed your way into your tent almost falling over.

Changing into your pyjamas the simple interaction played over in your head as you climbed into your sleeping bag and drifted to sleep.

Just like that, another day was over in this new world and another one was ready to begin.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x you #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fic #twd fic #daryl dixon x grimes reader #y/n grimes x daryl dixon #series #twd series #twd fic series #daryl dixon series #daryl dixon x reader series

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sdr2lovemail · 3 years

Note

Okay! I’ve got a little bit of time. I was going to write all my ramblings into a word doc but 1. That takes forever and the tumblr format will eventually force me to get to the point 2. How do I share those lol

So! Pt.1 Story starts as usual setting wise; Freddy’s malfunction leads him to collapse on stage and at this point it can be assumed it was because whatever Vanny’s virus did to the others Freddy was unaffected by it. So Kit is called in to help do repairs on Freddy because I find it hard to believe that he didn’t sustain some damage falling like that. It takes a bit longer than preferred seeing as there was a recent purge of employees without any explanation and she either slipped through the cracks or it’s actually cheaper to not make more robots to… fix their robots. Something something. Kit doesn’t question it, she’s just happy to have a job that keeps the lights on and her favorite ice cream in the fridge (😏)

It also gives her an opportunity to connect with her friend Vanessa who works nights. They’ve fallen off after attempting dating in the past and while it didn’t end on bad terms they certainly weren’t the best. Kit does a checkup on Freddy, does a few cosmetic buffs as needed and then not so smoothly seeks out Vanessa. They haven’t spoken in so long, maybe they could start over? That is, until Vanessa almost bites her head off grumbling something about a lost kid running around backstage.

She could just go home, now that Freddy was doing better and on recharge. She didn’t doubt Vanessa’s capability to do her job, but maybe she could stick around too? Just to give her some backup if needed of course. Vanessa doesn’t seem to care so long as they find him and quickly. Kit makes the decision to stay, and the doors lock for the evening.

That’s part one! I’ll be writing up part two shortly as I refresh myself with the game so things kind of match up. Also I know it’s canon that ghost can possess things in this series so like- why isn’t that being used more? I’m using it. Mostly because if peepaw william can hang around why can’t Michael?

I'm putting the second half under the cut! My comments will follow after!

Pt. 2! Kit and Vanessa search for Gregory and at some point they’re both able to fall into regular conversation again. Almost like they’re still friends. Vanessa apologizes for being so distant, just the stress of her job getting to her, and a rise of recent headaches that cause her to black out and find herself in places she doesn’t remember going to. She brings up her therapy sessions and how she’s not actually sure if she’s getting anywhere with them. She feels foreign in her own head, and while she doesn’t mean to be snappy and ill tempered that’s just become her norm now. Kit listens and does her best to comfort her. She confesses that she’d been nervous to try and talk to Vanessa, but she’s glad she did. Vanessa says she misses her and they walk in content silence for a bit (and maayyybe almost hold hands) until Vanessa suddenly turns cold again and says she has to go and to keep looking for the kid.

Kit is caught off guard by the sudden change in attitude but only does what she’s told. She’s not sure where to look, but she passes by the security desk and doesn’t think it’ll hurt to grab a pass so she isn’t actually stuck here since she didn’t think all of her choice through. Why are certain places such as exists prohibited to people under a certain level? No idea! Who thought of this. Well it doesn’t matter! Because there are no passes. Not one. Strange, and frustrating. Kit doesn’t have her phone on her- she deposited her bag in the break room when she decided to search for Gregory and she doesn’t have a walkie-talkie either so she just has to run into Vanessa again to ask her what’s up with the missing security passes.

In the meantime, the hunt continues! Kit roams around a bit more, noticing that more things are starting to be weird around here. Like- why are the animatronics out of their rooms? And why are they so… off? Kit can’t really explain it. She tried to talk to Chica, the friendliest of them outside of Freddy and she only kept repeating the command given to her to find Gregory. Okay- so she’s got a name for the trouble maker. Kit leaves the animatronics for now, finding that trying to gently get them to go back to their rooms lest they scare the kid further results in them getting pretty antsy. She considers sending them all down for a checkup in parts and service until a commotion sounds from the superstar daycare.

Rushing over, Kit has no time to celebrate finding Gregory, at least she assumes that’s who the scrawny kid kid is reaching for a flashlight and another pass before the lights suddenly go off with an ominous fwwshh. It takes only a moment for Kit to adjust to the dark, but only half a heartbeat to heart the noises of distress torture the voice box of the daycare attendant. Dumbfounded, Kit doesn’t take this an an opportunity to run like she should. She knows that Sun didn’t care too much for turning into Moon, but now it sounded like he was in pain.

As everyone knows what happens when you turn off the lights, Sun changed to Moon. However, his demeanor was totally different. The nap time animatronics was normally grumpy seeing kids awake as it went against their coding to let that slide, but this time he was nearly aggressive. Scrambling to hit the switch, Kit felt dread pool into her stomach as the manual switch produced no results. From the kid’s fazwatch around his wrist a voice gave instruction on how to power up each generator again. Sounded good, she’d help do that then once that was done integrate the kid on what on earth he thought he was doing here after hours!

That is, of course when she caught him. Looking to the side Kit noticed the space occupied was now empty. And a raspy, growling laugh sounded a foot away from her head.

Pt. 3 is next! Probably will take a bit longer since I’m heading back home from work, but I’ll just copy paste from my notes when I’m done

Okay first note, Mau you would make an amazing fic writer. Second note, stop trying to push mint chocolate chip propaganda! Third note, Vanessa <3

I LOVE the tension between Vanessa and Kit! I really wanna know how their relationship will progress! Will they get better to be with each other again? Will they decide that they're better separate? Will they never get closure as 1 or both of them die???

The way you incorporate your oc into the story is just [chefs kiss].

Your way of writing is also great! I would love to see more!

#mod vamp speaks #mau moon

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Seven

It had been two days since she arrived at the Burrow for holiday.

Within that time Hermione has done her absolute best to avoid the entirety of the family. Well, specifically a certain gangly, freckled git.

Most hours she didn’t spend reading, the guilt was gnawing at her for being such an awful, unappreciative guest. She’d avoid meals when she could, but in the event she couldn’t evade Molly, Hermione would eat as quickly as she could before excusing herself.

Ginny, like her mother, was very perceptive and quickly caught onto what was happening. Oftentimes the girl would peel whatever book Hermione had been latching onto away from her hands and practically force her down the steps. And in the event Ginny successfully got Hermione to the living room, she’d just sit idly and watch the family interact, never interjecting herself.

Harry had stopped by from time to time, thankfully he never pried her from the bed, but surprisingly, he did make her talk. He knew, probably from Ron, of what Harry phrased as her ‘ridiculous’ plan to stay out of his way. When the conversation started turning to anything Ron, or even worse, Lavender related, she’d excuse herself and venture out into the garden.

And besides the three parties mentioned, no one really bothered her.

Fred and George did their best to get a laugh from her on the occasion she was downstairs. Mr.Weasley would greet Hermione warmly and ask if she’s heard from her parents.

She hasn’t. Not since the day after she arrived. They had sent a brief letter informing their daughter that they arrived in France, they loved her, and that they would write soon. Despite their silence, Hermione still wrote them everyday for any answers.

Bill, Charlie, and Fleur had just taken to small talk, but Hermione usually halted it, never allowing herself to get invested in conversation. Something she’d usually do.

And as for Ron, well, some nights Hermione swears she hears his loud, familiar steps shuffling outside the door as he whispers with Ginny. But, whenever the door opened, it was just Ginny and Ginny alone. These instances always disappointed Hermione for some silly reason.

Now, on the night before Christmas Eve, something she dreaded so much knowing she’d be unable to evade Mrs.Weasley’s insistence she join them, she sat in the garden.

Normally this is where she’d retreat if Ginny or Harry had taken to pestering her from the camp bed she was now seemingly glued to. Or often the contents of her prized book were too heavy, and the fresh air eased her. But tonight, she came out for a different reason. That reason being, the sight of her trunk had begun to make her sick.

Inside it held hope. Something she had lost months ago.

When her parents originally agreed to let her stay at the Weasley’s for Christmas (not under the pretense of a possibly dying Arthur), she was ecstatic. Immediately she began searching for the perfect gifts.

For Molly, she had found a lovely welcome mat with small embroidered stars around the thick lettering. It would look perfect on the front steps.

For Arthur, a Muggle alarm clock. It was both practical and for him, fascinating.

She had picked up a broom cleaning kit down in Diagon Alley. Harry was attached to his Firebolt, so Hermione figured he’d appreciate it. In addition, she had a picture printed of him and Sirius from last Christmas. The brunette just hoped she wasn’t over stepping with that one.

For Ginny she had gone with a few hair clips similar to the ones the ginger told her she liked over the summer. That and of course, a book on the best female quidditch players who ever lived.

Hermione had been perusing a Muggle shop before coming to the Burrow over the summer, and there were the perfect gifts for the twins. A Muggle joke book along with a bag of whoopee cushions. They were harmless, but would surely keep the pair thoroughly entertained.

Ron had informed Hermione early on about Charlie, Bill, and Fleur joining them for Christmas, so she was able to pick something up for them. For Charlie, she decided to go with something practical being this would be the first time they would meet. A few bottles of dittany (known to help burns and scratches from Dragons) along with a baby picture of Noberta, was what she had gone with. Bill and Fleur, being newly engaged, Hermione had gone with a joint gift. She had struck gold when she found a brilliant take on the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts shields combined. Something to remind them both of where they came from.

And as for Ron, well, now she was afraid her original gift may be too personal for where they stood right now. She had gotten the idea from a talk they had back in fourth year, when he was fighting with Harry...

“Where have you been?” Ron asked Hermione as she entered the common room. His tone wasn’t accusatory, just worried.

At this, she flushed red, “I was uh, talking to Harry.” At this he made a noise of disgust, “well I wouldn’t exactly call it talking.”

And for the briefest moment Ron paled, imagining the pair of them snogging.

“What do you mean?” He barely managed, fumbling over his words.

“Well,” she blushed again, “I mostly yelled and he well, he just stood there.” Hermione admitted sheepishly.

“Why’d you yell at Harry?” Not that he was opposed to the action.

And just like that she’s fired up again. Her hair crackles at the thought, “it’s completely unfair the way he’s treating you Ron! And I’m not going to let him get away with it.” She tutted.

He stared at her in amazement, “but you told me you didn’t think he put his name in.” He pointed out softly.

Hermione squirmed, “I don’t think he did, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat you the way he is. I suppose you tried to speak with him Ron and though I think he told you the truth, he didn’t have to be such an-” she paused, “he didn’t have to be so rude about it!”

“Bloody hell! You were about to swear.” The smile on his face only grew.

“No I wasn’t!” The brunette quickly defended, “anyway, he doesn’t understand it Ron. You’d think he would, you two are closer than I am to either of you.” Her voice dropped.

The smile he was wearing soon slipped, “that’s not true Hermione.” If only she knew...

At this, she remained silent, eyes trained on the fire.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Ron whispers after a moment.

Finally, her brown eyes meet his and she sighs, “Ron I know you better than you think I do.” If only he knew...

At this his face scrunched in confusion, imploring her to elaborate.

“You don’t particularly care if Harry actually put his own name in or not, you just care that he’s making you feel second best.” She whispered, worried he’d react in red hot anger.

Shocking them both, he merely gulped, “yeah, I suppose you’re right.” He admitted.

“Oh Ron,” she said sadly, “I don’t know how it feels, being an only child, but you have to know when I think of you, I think of you alone.” Hermione confesses bravely.

“What do you mean?” He dares to push her for more.

“I don’t think of how Bill may be a brilliant Curse Breaker, or how Charlie is bravely taming Dragons, I don’t think about how Percy was Head Boy and expect you to want that too. Even the twins, whenever you make me laugh, I don’t compare it to how much they make me laugh. Ginny too, she may be brilliant at Quidditch but that doesn’t make you any worse.”

He stares at her in shock, she takes this as confusion and goes on.

“What I mean is Ron, is that you’re you, Ronald Weasley, and I don’t want you to be anyone else. I don’t expect you to be like anyone else, alright? If I wanted to be best friends with any other Weasley I would, but I’m not, amI? Am I even making sense?” She rambles, desperate for him to speak.

Catching his breath, Ron nods and faces her, “I think I know what you’re trying to say Hermione.” A small smile finds its way across her face, “it’s just hard, when you’ve never had anything of your own, part of you feels like them. Does that sound mental?”

His mind flashes to all the robes, books, bed sheets, and toys he’s shared with his siblings.

In Bill’s old shoes, he feels like he has to be braver.

Whenever he’s reading one of Charlie’s old Charms books, he feels like he has to be daring.

In Percy’s robes, he has the sudden urge to make sure everyone’s doing what’s right.

When his Mum gave him a mixture of Fred and George’s old quilts, he felt like he had to make his dormitory laugh whenever he was nestled underneath them.

Even Ginny, his youngest sister, whenever he shared the family owl with her, Ron felt like his letter had to be an inch longer than hers.

“It doesn’t sound mental Ron.” She assures, and the look in her eyes conveys nothing but understanding, it warms his heart.

He huffs quietly, “Harry, I mean, he was my friend, and now, everyone’s gonna go around and want that too. And he’ll probably let them because what am I next to someone like Cedric Diggory?” He admitted.

“Hey,” her hand fell atop his knee making him look at her with wide eyes, “you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen Cedric Diggory’s.” Hermione gave his knee a small squeeze.

And the action, the expression on her face, it all felt so sincere. So real.

Bravely, he grabbed her small hand from where it was resting on his leg and held it snugly.

“Thank you for yelling at Harry, it must’ve been wicked.” He teased with a light laugh.

A chuckle moved past her lips, “that’s not exactly the word the first years who watched would use.” She said blushing.

Ron beamed even more at this, imagining a feisty Hermione scaring away little first years as she took her anger out on the chosen one.

“Ron, I just wanted to let you know,” she’s looking away, suddenly feeling shy, “that if you’d have me you know, I’m yours. Just yours.” It’s nothing but a whisper, barely heard over the crackling fire.

The breath leaves his mouth so fast, it’s like a dementor’s kissing him. Quickly, he berates himself for allowing himself to think she means as anything more than friends. He’ll take it anyway. He thinks he’d take anything she has to offer.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah I’d definitely like that.”

A grin etches its way across her features as she twines their fingers together.

They sat like that the rest of the night. Not letting go even when Dean and Seamus eyed them from nearby.

It wasn’t a grand gesture or declaration of love, but it was the start to the possibility of something more. And as Hermione spent the remainder of her night holding his hand as they talked in hushed whispers, Ron realized she could’ve been anywhere else. But instead, she was here.

And for the first time in Ron Weasley’s life, he felt like the first choice.

When recalling that night on the common room couch, something always stands out in Hermione’s brilliant mind.

The fact that Ron said he’d never had anything that felt like his own. So with that in mind and the ever growing feelings the witch had blossomed for him, Hermione decided on something bold.

It wasn’t exactly an ‘I love you’, but it was personal to him, and if he had cared that much about her to read into it, well he might figure out how important to her he really is. The fact that she’s cataloged just about every interaction they’ve had in the past six years.

Wanting to convey as much without spelling it out, she had found a lovely oak whittled Wizarding Chess set. And in the box that held it, she had gotten ‘Property of Ron Weasley’ carved on the top.

She’d even preemptively written the card:

‘Something to call yours, Happy Christmas Ron.

Love, Hermione.’

She had signed plenty of letters to him with those four letters, but part of her hoped that the note coupled with the gift may wake something within him. The possibility he feels the same way.

However, she knows now that isn’t the case. It can’t be. Not when Lavender Brown will be waiting for him when they return to Hogwarts.

So here she is, out in the garden, the Weasley’s garden no less, her precious book thrown aside, contemplating on whether or not she should give the gift.

The selfish part of her says no. Hermione tells herself he doesn’t deserve anything from her after how he’s made her feel.

Her morals scream otherwise. They’re telling her she’s the one who expected anything more than friendship from him and that she’s stupid to get so upset because he didn’t feel the same.

Weighing her options, Hermione makes the quick choice to just give him the damn thing. One last act of friendship. A goodbye of sorts.

She closes her eyes in pain, she just wants him happy, even if it kills her. And if that means distancing herself from him, then so be it.

For the smartest witch of her age, she sure is oblivious to the fact that inside, only meters away, Ron is feeling the exact same way.

...

“You know I don’t like how she just sits out there. She’s so far away.” Ron comments boldly from his place on the couch.

“Ronnie, she’s not that far, you can see her from the window.” Fred says.

“I don’t think he exactly meant physical distance.” Bill commented over the book he was reading, making the room laugh, as Fleur elbowed him harshly.

He blushes, “shove off! The lot of you, I just mean that things aren’t exactly safe.” He points out.

Ginny scoffs from the couch, “please Ron, the wards here are almost as tight as the ones at Hogwarts.” She points out.

Bill speaks again, “yeah, Dumbledore himself helped put them up. He came by here with Mad Eye over the summer while we stayed at Grimmauld place.”

Ron sighed, “you still don’t know, I mean, look at Charlie. He just waltzed on up.” He defended. Harry seemed to agree, but said nothing.

“Well to be fair Ronnie, I know exactly where the Burrow is, I reckon You-Know-Who and his followers could care less about where a bunch of pure bloods live.” Charlie pointed out.

“Technically, we’re blood traitors.” Ron commented.

They ignored this, “anyway, there is an apparition line, why do you think I walked up from the pond? That’s where it ends.” He reminds.

“Still it’s rather close and look at Hermione, she’s not far off from the pond at the edge of the garden.” The youngest Weasley boy says peering out the window again, watching as the witch reads that same damned book soundly under a tree.

The twins began to laugh, “you sound almost as paranoid as Harry over there.” Fred teased causing the dark haired boy to give him a small shove, but a grin played on his lips no less.

“Ickle Ronniekins just wants his girlfriend inside so she’ll finally talk to him.” George reminded.

Ron opened his mouth, no doubt to say something nasty to his brothers, before Bill stopped him, “even if someone did apparate we’d hear it first Ron.”

“Yeah,” Ginny chimed in, “we heard Charlie the other night.”

“Exactly.” The eldest Weasley agreed.

“Ron if you are so worried you could always go out there too, no?” Fleur suggested with raised brows and a mischievous smile.

At this Bill proudly kissed her cheek as the room erupted in snickers as the blonde joined the fun.

“Yeah Ickle, listen to the last, why don’t you go sit with her? Unless...” he began knowingly.

“Unless what Fred?” George asked his twin.

“Unless little Hermione would rather be taken by death eaters than spend time with Ronniekins.”

“That’s not even something to joke about Fred!” Ron boomed angrily, suddenly feeling faint at the idea of the likes of someone like Malfoy’s dad anywhere near Hermione.

“Alright.” Charlie said standing, “Ron, don’t you have reading to do or something?” He asks his heaving brother who looks like he’s about to pounce on Fred.

Surely, this calms his breathing, “right, reading.” He says gruffly, quickly exiting the room.

“Honestly, he’s so sensitive.” George mutters to his brother.

The room is still tense. No one speaks for a few minutes, and it’s Ginny who breaks the silence. Her eyes are wide as a somewhat amused smile strikes her lips.

“Wait, did you just say Ron’s reading?”

#ron x hermione #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #ron weasley #hermione granger #sixth year #hp fanfic #hp #romione fanfic #romione

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