#anyway the short answer is: she likes physics and a lot of things related to that

[celestialtrolls-moved]

What about astrophysics interests you uldina?

"I can correctly calculate how to launch myself into the fucking sun."

"Nah, it's actually just a good subject to merge things I have an interest in together. Good career prospects in a lot of fields too, but it's got real claws in the development of fleet technologies."

"Not that I want to work in anything that puts me too close to fucking glowies."

>You tap on your phone a couple of times, pulling up something from your classes.

"But yeah, the physics stuff can be applied to a lot of aerospace shit, and transport is kind of one of those things that I could see myself going into permanently, but on a planetary level."

"Not to mention that my course even includes programming, a lot of quantum theory, nanoscience, terraforming and climate change, maths, which I'm fucking baller at, by the way, an optional class for medical imaging-"

>You trail off.

"You know, just a bunch of fucking nerd shit. But I like it, so. Fuck off ig."

[scuderlia]

haircut!anon again: ok. wow. had to slam my phone down in my uni computer lab and wait until i could string together a coherent thought again. first off like au itself on back burner your MIND and the way you construct this narrative is INCREDIBLE and so raw adn true and pulling on the queer (as in deviant and as in gay) hair experince sooo deeply i feel soooooo deeply you are a magician. further. i was PICTURING max in braids and god fuck the tenderness of charles and max setting their mise en place and sitting together and braiding her hair before their prey comes in…. god. jesus. i can't stop re-reading the snippets. FUCK! sorry this isn't coherent thoughts after all. max and control and cutting charles' hair. fuck me uppp….

anon! i spent so long smiling like an idiot because of this ask, at this point you're basically my betrothed <3

but yeah, you get it. at the core of max and charles' relationship is truly their hounded devotion and acceptance of one another. the queer experience really is defined by those you hold close, and it's been interesting (for me) to try and thread that idea through this greater story about desire and hunger in a way that feels genuine. i've pulled on a lot of my personal experiences of being a young lesbian and being guarded about sexuality, but ultimately it all comes back to (like you mentioned) the idea of relinquishing some control and feeling comfortable enough with someone to let go of the safety of doing things alone.

i also love love love giving characters their own little rituals, and seeing as how max and charles both have a lot of emotional connections to their hair/haircuts/etc. the braids were an easy decision.

(more about max and her relationship to hair below the cut)

there's this really interesting article by Amelia Abraham titled 'What butch queer identity has to do with hair' that got put out by Dazed in 2022. it primarily covers a photography exhibition called Close Shave—which centers itself around butch haircuts and identity—but also goes into the cultural relevance of 'masc' hairstyles and their role in queer (mainly lesbian) expression.

i remembered and re-read it when i was in the early stages of fleshing-out max's character. i recommend the article to everyone, but especially people who are maybe looking to better understand the history of butch optics, and kind of where i'm coming from with some of max's characterization.

(see one of my favorite quotes from the article below)

While having short hair and identifying as butch don’t necessarily come as a pair, for butch people, haircuts can be transformational – getting your hair cut off brings you closer to your gender identity.

like I mentioned in the the answer to your previous ask, max's haircut kind of serves as a physical manifestation of her relationship with her father, and more specifically, how that relationship influences her feelings of shame (and eventually acceptance) towards her own sexuality.

part of the reason that max is so struck by charles saying she'd let her cut her hair is in large part because, for max, hair is incredibly representative of an individual's ability to control how others perceive and relate to them. by breaking the ritual with her mother, charles is essentially showing max that she not only finds comfort with her, but also trusts her enough to have her identity placed in her hands.

i could honestly talk about this forever... since body politics and queerness are things i'm just genuinely very passionate about... but i will save the innocent bystanders of this blog from having to read through all of that in one sitting.

(anyways, i'm so happy that people are as invested in this as i am... keep sending me long asks like this... if you couldn't already tell i'll take any opportunity to talk more about this au)

[callsign-rogueone]

It’s been way past 30 mins, but sending anyway just because I love you 💕

What’s your favorite thing about writing/what got you into writing?

-fw-gt

and this response is way past due lol oops

what got me into writing was my middle school friend introducing me to the strange new world of Dr. Who fanfiction. that was a very short-lived phase for me, since I wasn't really into the show, but the idea that I could write about other people's characters just... doing stuff was life changing. literally.

I've made so many friends through fic and fandom since then (love u all) and writing in already-developed worlds has really helped me with my composition skills! I'm very very slowly writing a fluffy but also deeply emotional romance novel on the side that we won't talk about (unless you ask, then I'll tell you everything. I'm actually in love with it, but it needs some spaghetti throwing and accuracy checks before it can go much further, hence why it's on the back burner lol)

my favorite thing about writing... I can't pick one, so here's two (you know how indecisive I am.)

I said this above but the community and the friends I've made!! the social aspect is definitely a big part of it for me. being able to talk about all this and play sandbox with y'all (see my last post lol) is so fun and has helped brighten each one of my days for the last six months (I started writing FW in January. that's wild to think about.) I'd been posting on this blog on and off with diff fandoms and random stuff for years, but nothing has stuck like fourth wing, and that's 1000% because of y'all. muah.

it's an outlet for me personally. this all started with Garrick and Angel, which I honestly didn't think would go anywhere. when I posted it, I told myself I would be happy if it got two likes, because I wrote it for myself -- Angel is me, just in a different universe. she's got chronic pain, anxiety, and a lot of the personality traits I have. and while I promise you I will never assign physical traits to the girls in my writing, since they're a reader insert, and I want all of us girls to be included and be able to "be" Angel, or Darling, etc., I'll admit that Angel is implied to be on the thicker side, since she's me, lmao. but I think it's still neutral enough, since gare is a giant, so he's bigger than any of us. love me a big boi. I want to feel small too, okay 🥺

anyway, the idea of having someone like Garrick be there for her through that all is helpful to me. it's a little escape from my current situation, a daydream of sorts, without pretending that I'm healthy or not in pain, but actually acknowledging that and making it part of the story, having Angel have a reason she's in pain all the time -- I say, as I'm laying here, answering asks because I can't sleep because of this mystery illness and the pain it's causing me right now lmao

similarly, and in a combo of both points: hearing from you guys that you feel seen in the girlfriends, or that my work cheers you up, that kind of stuff. seeing that y'all relate to the girls is heartbreaking sometimes, especially the ones that have been through the wringer (honestly, they've all been through the wringer, but you know what I mean -- the more anxious, insecure ones) but also it makes me feel like my thoughts are worth writing down and editing and posting, because people will see they're not alone, and can live that distant, "happy" scenario of a character they love helping them through things they're struggling with in real life.

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

that's all I have for now, partially because my brain is fried, but also because if I keep talking about this I'll cry.

just know that I love and cherish each and every one of you, you're nor alone, and our boys love you all too. and the girls (I've been neglecting them lately. oops.) anyway, muah (goodnight kiss). go get some sleep, because I'm not going to anytime soon.

[spikeinthepunch]

okayyy i finished the new ending in Lisa the Joyful so yeah, heres another long Lisa post. this will more so have a short list of what i did and didnt like of the game since i know opinions are often mixed. but ill have a long focus talking about the new content compared to the rest of the game. and will later go on about characterization and writing in detail.

Also while you can find a no commentary video for the new ending, almost all uploads skip an earlier portion of it, so I uploaded it myself! with timestamps.

TW for uhh the same triggers- sexual, physical, verbal abuse mostly.

SO OKAY. Okay.

The brief on the main game....

What I did like:

I like the general story. I enjoyed the horror of watching more and more joy mutants arriving, even some of the warlords being joy mutants already, and normal characters like the uhh shelf vendor guy being a mutant. additionally things like wearing a mask mattering. i think it was important to too still have some weirdos bc thats one of the key things in displaying the cycle of these men's behavior. music always good too of course. i enjoy Buddy's internal conflict too and i dont mind here characterization-- its just the pacing. I actually liked the epilogues a bit more than what the endings actually told us lol... tbh they carry more weight in terms of giving us information about the past. But the ones that hit hardest are the ones where Lisa tells Buzzo to mutilate her so her father wont want her anyways. and the one with Brad's father forcing him to drink alcohol and go with him to lisa's room (to presumedly watch his father abuse lisa).

What i didn't like:

the "original" endings (not the new definitive one) were weak and i am sure most feel that way. I think actually the issue for me is the choice... cuz playing with joy? well i think the "stay with them" makes sense as she gets more fucked up and unstable (and assume addicted). the joyless route makes me feel like i should fittingly take the "leave them" ending bc she is mentally aware enough to know she still hates what happened to her and wants to leave them behind. the choices of them feel conflicting to the routes you might choose but you dont think about it bc there is no consequence to taking joy! the pacing of course is a big complaint. cuz see i dont think the story or writing is horrible i just think it needed to be longer in order to expand on all those things rushed through. the ideas would feel good if the pacing didnt speed through it. the Yado epilogue is fine too but i think just left more questions than answers than the endings themself so i would have rather done without it imo.

As stated i will go WAY more into the characters after I talk about this new stuff. I will talk heavily about what happens in it too so feel free to read this later if you dont watch it... but you really should look at the new Painful and Joyful content as they also kinda go together.

NEW CONTENT..... kind of new ending, it plays directly into it. Unlike Painful where it doesnt alter the actual ending content. and i will go over the normal endings a bit more in relation to this bc of how it affects pacing etc...

So On one hand I like what it added and on the other hand it wasnt great-- which all plays into the games already existing pacing issues. Which is a shame. i liked collecting the items, the meaning of the statues (n the dialog being the same as the Painful one), and the exploration leading up to the warlord fight. I chose not to fight the warlords because they were so damn strong and I like that there was recognition for not fighting back. Idk if i feel like there was a good reason for them to be there but I think it at least gives more meaning to the warlords since they didnt DO that much in the game other than to be killed. Most had barely anything to say.

For the bigger Secret at the grave for Lisa-- I liked this a lot too actually. Getting to hear from the guys their thoughts about Buddy that is from the assumed context theyre already dead here (w how Sticky's death is mentioned esp) is just kinda nice. The further content with Berny and Dusty, where Berny tells him to fight harder and to treat girls with aggression.... yeah that hits. The cycle of abuse really just continues huh. The rest of it is fine, I feel like it does give some better commentary on character's thoughts but it is quite short, and is left on a more metaphorical note with the flowering skull and whatnot.

Now is the part I see more conflict on AGAIN and I dont blame people for being conflicted about it. I didnt mind the way Buzzo talked about Brad in the original-- I dont think that writing was an actual excuse to Brad, I think it was just Buzzo trying to blame himself instead for everything (the new contents dialog with the sticky/rick/cheeks also had good to say on Brad's behavior and not excusing it but talking about the abuse of drugs in the context of that). I did feel that the conversation wasnt enough in the original though, to fully imply that he was talking like that or to give a better conversation on drug abuse. Buuut here we are w the extended new dialog with Buzzo. I did like how he started getting more depressed and angsty about Lisa! And the comment "she would have loved it here" is interesting bc i feel the implication is that she would have loved being in a world where all these men are now gone. but let me move onto the rest bc like, that matters the most here.

woof okay. So Buddy goes off when Buzzo says that which i get. However this conversation falters in the same way the whole game does. Buddy gets a LOT of talking time here. And she kind of keeps going in a way that really doesnt feel plausible you know? The new stuff added more connection between her and Lisa but its not enough to make us think she should be defending Lisa. I think there couldve been a neat exploration of all this comparing to Lisa but Joyful doesnt have that time. While I cant claim it, Buddy's rant kiiinda feels like a rant from behind the scenes with how less in character it feels. Buzzo is made far more pathetic and I don't disagree with this realization that he'd dissolve into a little pathetic man, again the game just doesnt have the time to make it work better.

and dont even get me started on Buddy's inconsistent opinion on Brad... this is like, annoying and I mentioned it in relation to the ending choices. After this new dialog rant Buddy sounds like she is forgiving Brad/coming to realize things about him that gives her more understanding. And i think that is fine BUT the issue is that right after talking to Buzzo the game returns as normal and when she sees mutant Brad approach, she reacts with genuine upset at seeing him and comments how she never wanted to see him again :/

I know at this point there is no way they could have "salvaged" Joyful for this release-- that would be too much and I dont think itd be right to get rid of the old endings entirely (Painful didnt, nor did the new content change anything about it). Its a shame- some of it was good. some of it i think they just shouldnt have done (the end buzzo fight) because it just conflicted more/kind of highlights the pacing problems. if anything i think leaving out that buzzo rant would have made the rest of that feel like it did help the pacing because it gave a pause between the ending of the game. anyways.

CHARACTERIZATIONNNN

righto. i think i covered pacing enough so i will try and leave that out of every comment i make here lol.

So like, I dont have a problem with Buddy's intentions in the game exactly. Her actions in many ways make sense... at least I would say that its fine she is very violent. That is literally the main thing Brad taught her whether or not you look at the start scene of Joyful, it reflects in how she would always be told how dangerous the world is too. The pace of course, makes this all happen so fast.

And of course the biggest hit that I think turns off many is how much talking there is. I certainly love hearing more from characters, Brad was quiet because he was brad, yet no one else needs to be quiet too so i think thats fine. But with Buddy's life it seems like she should have been quiet until her mental state and mindset shifted due to her treatment and justification of violence. even in Painful she seems relatively quiet and Joyful takes place right after pretty much.

In terms of others-- Rando is fine, like hes not that bad. We didn't know him all to well and what we know of Dusty i expected him to be a nice kid, esp w the whole adopted thing. But his back and forth with Buddy was more annoying w how short the game was (doing things, wanting to run to the other place and being stopped for a scene at the campfire by force. repeat.) I did like the whole deal with his friends and later his death too. Buzzo so i dont completely hate buzzo minus the fast jump in the new content. but he was pretty unhinged in Painful and to see it completely drop seemed wrong. i do think it make sense he probably felt loads of guilt for brad... but we just again, didnt get enough time with these characters.

Other characters? Well i mentioned it above but the warlords did NOT get much of any character. Which sucks bc if those parts alone had been extended (their area being longer or more full of interactions) i think it would have helped the game too. In terms of the other antagonist, Bolo, considering he was new for this game I think he was just fine. His role was small in a good way and honestly when he did appear it was for good moments that worked. The whole scene with him, Rando, and Buddy where Buddy tries to save Rando was probably my favorite part lol? Simply bc i think it worked well for all of their characters. For all of them I think it was my favorite moment of characterization-- Buddy's choices to drop or hold him both work for her i think. And yikes, disgusting moment with Bolo. And I will be real, I think Joyful needed that. The game was short so i wouldnt have wanted more but, Painful had it uncomfortable and gross moments and I think that is important to an extent of really pushing the importance of narrative and experiences of Buddy (and reflecting Lisa).

uhhhhh yeah i think thats most of what I can say. iirc i wasnt around for the old kickstarter but Joyful was a stretch goal right? and i heard Austin isnt exactly happy with it either? its really really a shame that it was a stretch goal that felt forced. I get why it was a tempting goal for people but.... it just sucks bc its clear that is why this game turned out the way it did. i wonder often if him not doing much else with the series is simply bc joyful had to be the "conclusion" and its not one hes exactly happy with either. tbh the series could have just been Painful and it would be fine. but if Joyful wasnt a DLC i imagine it would have been likely we'd see a full fledged sequel instead and it sucks it had to go that way. i definitely dont hate the creator for it but itsucks for everyone that even the additions in Definitive cant fix what happened already with that game.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Thank you and I’m glad you like the requests / asks I sent so far. If I’m not doing the list one correctly, I apologise and will pick numbers from the list itself. Could you do the ever young and the ‘OC Ask Meme’ for your OCs from The Ever Young?

C

Of course I do! And I have no problem doing this, though the answers might be short, sorry. I'm so sorry about that but hope you'll enjoy anyway!

Send me a number and I will reply with what OC does what

1) Gets turnt up at a party on caprisun

Okay, if it wasn't Caprisun but actual alcohol, Mirror is the cheapest and easiest drunk while Brooklyn is the one who enjoys a good drink the most (and can hold her liquor the best). Caprisun though? It's super sugary and I've always seen Cat as the OC there that's most prone to sugar rushes...along with caffeine really affecting her, as a bonus headcanon.

2) Laughs a lot

I think this one is a three way tie between Amber, Dell, and Mari, all of whom are quick to laugh and smile. Mari and Amber are both just quick to find either the fun or the positives in a situation whilst the trickster Dell knows that laughter and smiles often can be used to great effect to endear yourself to others.

3) Will blare loud death metal music but is a cinnamon roll

Okay, death metal doesn't really exist in The Ever Young, but if it did, this is so Nina or Mirror, mostly because this girl behind the screen actually has a really huge love for metal (been listening to way too much Children of Bodom lately haha), and because I find it funny to have someone super small and cute and seemingly completely shy and innocent like Nina be into music like that. But then, she's a lot more than she looks in most aspects.

4) Likes hugs

Okay, this is easier to answer this way:

Even the suggestion of a hug makes Mirror panic and move as far away from you as possible. Unless she really likes you and trusts you, hugging Tea will end up with her stabbing you. Dell would let you hug them but there's a 50/50 chance something really bad might end up happening to you. Hugs with Lou end up with your wallet gone, just because they can. Cat hates hugs from people she isn't close to and Whisp hates physical contact of any sort from people she doesn't trust. Brooklyn has to be in the mood for hugs, even from people she likes and while Nina likes hugs, she is really bad sometimes at remembering how strong she is so hugs can be very painful from her. So only Mari, Marta and Amber are safe bets for hugs.

5) Will stab you if you take their piece of pizza

Okay, so this is just related to food in general and not just pizza but both Lou and Whisp know what it is to starve, to be completely without food. And because of that, both of them do have some food-related insecurities that do lead them to becoming rather territorial of their food, though neither one of them would probably resort to murder if you did take it.

6) Stays up too late and regrets it

Mirror doesn't sleep. Not for pleasure, at least. She is capable of passing out from pain or because of injury but she has no need to actually sleep, nor does she know the experience of being tired.

7) Lets their phone die

Okay, phones don't really exist in The Ever Young but if they did, I see Tea being the one who cares least for her phone and the one most likely to be perpetually on low or no battery.

8) Eyebrow Game. Strong AF.

Dell has the strongest eyebrow game. Like, their eyebrows are always great...even when they shapeshift, if what they shapeshift into has eyebrows, they even make sure to bring strong eyebrow game in that form.

9) Regrets decisions made 5 seconds ago

I think almost all of the characters do face this at least once during the entire storyline, but I think it happens most frequently for both Amber, who does things just for her own amusement without really thinking things completely through, and Nina, who , when upset, becomes just someone who acts completely on emotion and impulse.

10) Will punch you in the face, and you will thank them for it

Amber, Tea, and Mari can all do this and the person would have either asked them to or thanked them for doing so because of powers these women possess throughout the story.

11) Listens to gentle instrumental music but looks like they will kill you

Tea is someone I do see as enjoying just peaceful instrumentals during meditation or training, something soothing and calm in the background for her mind to absorb. Make no mistake though, not only does she look like she'll kill you, if you pose a real and present danger to her or those she feels the need to protect, she will gut you.

12) Makes flower crowns

I don't know why but there is actually a scene, because it popped into my head as something cute and light and charming in between some super serious moments, just kind of roughly written out, of both Nina and Cat chilling together in the grass and making flower crowns together for the others.

13) Makes non-funny puns

Amber loves to toss out really horrible pick-up lines to make others laugh and it's hit or miss on whether they succeed. Meanwhile Lou has a very dry and acerbic wit and a lot of their jokes tend to go over people's heads.

14) May or may not own 500 stuffed animals with all intricate plotlines and personalities

Okay, so it's not so much stuffed animals, but I do think Whisp is someone who made up lots of imaginary friends, fully fleshed out people with their own families and stories and personalities, to combat some of the loneliness she's spend a lot of her time in.

15) Has an obsession with dragons

Its' Dell. I don't even know why, it was just the first and immediate answer that came to mind and the only answer that feels at all right.

16 & 17) Doesn't blink twice when it comes to murder & will offer to kill someone for their friend

Okay, I am going to combine these two. And I'm going to be upfront before any of the story beyond the world-building even gets posted. Upfront and honest - The Ever Young is not a soft place. It is not a safe, secure, happy world where there are no real stakes in place. The Ever Young, at the point we go into the story at, is a powder keg, a land on the brink of all out war. There are no guarantees of safety or continued survival for anyone living in that land and even the most pacifistic of these OC's, if push comes to shove, would end up killing to protect either themselves but especially their loved ones.

18) Likes rocks

Mirror, for some reason not even she understands, seems to have retained a comprehensive and thorough knowledge of the various types of rocks and gemstones and the symbolism behind them. I mean, she can't remember anything about herself but she knows all that. I also see Marta and Cat both liking pretty rocks and gemstones, with Marta being prone to wearing jewelry made of them, particularly a necklace Kusakabe gifted her made of turquoise.

19) Knows how to bake a cake

I see both Mari and Marta being good bakers. And what's more, it's something both women truly enjoy doing and before things got so bad in The Ever Young, I like to believe the two women would meet up throughout their years growing up together to have baking dates, where they'd talk and laugh and enjoy each others company whilst making delicious treats.

20) Knows all the words to Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody

Okay, so again, I don't think this is something that would canonically exist in the world of The Ever Young, but if it did, the answer to this question would be Brooklyn and Cat both because nothing will ever convince me that all of HOMRA's boys don't know every word to this song and that they don't sometimes just spontaneously and drunkenly start singing it in the bar.

21) Has screen shots that will ruin lives

While not screenshots, because again, no cell phones exist in The Ever Young, both Whisp and Dell tend to trade in information and secrets and that's part of what makes both characters quite as dangerous as they are.

22) Likes being petty

Honestly, Amber does find some amount of joy in being a little childish and petty, maybe even instigating some petty revenge or prank wars, though she never becomes actively mean and cruel in those endeavors unless the person in question truly deserves it.

23) Will cut you

Tea is one of the most accomplished and well-known swordswomen in the land. She won't just cut you, she'll carve you up like a Christmas turkey.

24) Will get angry at themselves when they develop a crush on someone

Okay, Mirror struggles to really understand her own emotions and even more so, she struggles to feel like it's okay for her to have any of those emotions, especially towards other people, as she feels she would just be a burden or something unpleasant to them so the first sign of her liking someone would honestly scare her so much. I also think Lou, Dell, and Whisp have really hard times trusting other people fully and so, when they feel that attachment or attraction to another person, they do have some complicated and conflicting emotions because they are scared to let people get too close to them, because they all have been burned badly by people in their pasts.

25) Will fight someone twice their size

Nina? She isn't even five feet tall. Does that stop her from kicking ass and taking on a literal giant at one point? Most definitely not and she'll tell you it was one of the most fun experiences she's ever had, she had a ball going up against him.

[wandaxpietro]

How different would Pietro/Quicksilver and Wanda/Scarlet Witch be if they were like... born into a different sex(????) (Wait let me properly explain-)

Alright, since there are multiple universes or 'multiverse', there's definitely a universe where Pietro-was-born-a-girl and Wanda-was-born-a-boy.

So how different would Male!Scarlet Witch and Fem!Quicksilver be from their universe counterparts? What names do they go by? Would they still go by "Scarlet Witch" and "Quicksilver"? What physical and personality traits do/don't have in common with their main counterparts? What would be their dynamic or their relationship be like? What would be their view(s) on the world or everyone around them? etc etc

This is such a long-ass question/s and i'm sorry cuz I know this is gonna be a pain answering (if this'll ever get answered at all) but i wanna see if anyone else thought of this cuz this has been on m mind for weEKS- and btw! I am so sorry if this ask sounds "anti-trans" or "pro-cis" (eughh) this is not my intention, I genuinely just wanted to share this idea and wanted to see how other ppl take their views on the maximoffs

ok so first of all there's actually a canon universe where they're genderswapped (and magneto is also genderswapped) but i forgot which universe that is lmfao. i quite like its quicksilver design -- as in, it's pretty much unchanged, she's just a woman but she still has short hair and the same uniform style etc -- but i'm not too fond of its scarlet warlock (< i'm pretty sure that's what he's called? which is also a stupid name lol) design. it keeps wanda's long hair & general costume, from what i remember, but it adds a beard and chest hair and he's also super bulky (also from what i remember) which doesn't seem very fitting to me.

second of all, i've actually been thinking about this recently, too (for fic related reasons), but only about fem!pietro lmfao!

so, let's get my thoughts:

one thing i have a problem with with genderbends is names, actually, so it's funny you'd ask. there's no fun in me to "switch" the names around to similar sounding names of the opposite gender, it's weird to me, i just want the character name to stay intact, you know? i can deal with it sometimes, but that's only rarely. which is why i don't think about genderbends as much as perhaps i'd usually do, and if the name works as a genderbend still, then i just keep it. for my hypothetical fem!pietro exploration i honestly would just keep pietro. why does she have a boy name? who knows. who cares. lol. if you'd ~really~ want to change their names, the first ones that would come to my mind are petra and walter but i don't like those. not for them. i just don't! (though petra is better i guess. walter is pretty bad. sorry to anyone named walter i'm sure it fits you it just does not fit wanda).

as for code names, i think quicksilver works. i don't think she'd go by anything else, it's pretty unisex. scarlet witch obviously isn't unisex, but depending on how swag male wanda is he'd maybe go by it anyway. as i've mentioned the scarlet warlock is pretty bad -- warlock is not the female version of witch in any way lol -- and i also feel a lot of wanda's character depth would disappear without the added layer of sexism with the term "witch", but i guess that's just the way it would be with male wanda. the scarlet wizard is alright, i suppose. it's not the same thing, but again, there's not really any male term that captures what "witch" specifically means, and wizard is also unisex, so.

as far as personality goes, i think i'd keep as much as possible from the 616 versions. fem!pietro can still be impatient and grumpy and suspicious and love so much she breaks herself apart on it. male wanda can still be deeply good and compassionate, place so much importance on family, can still have a short fuse and fall into self-doubt easily, idk. some of the protector dynamic with pietro would get lost, i think -- while she would probably still view herself as her softer (< her opinion) brother's protector, she'd probably be less confident (not that 616 pietro is very ~confident~, but he doesn't shy away from confrontation, is what i mean) with taking up space after growing up as a woman, but probably not by a lot. other people would probably take her less seriously as her brother's protector though, probably; and i think wanda also wouldn't view her as such, even when he obviously would still treasure her a lot. their dynamic specifically would stay largely the same, i think. super close and super explosive, too, at times, but they know each other best. i don't see how their sex would change much about that, except that their experiences growing up would obviously be a little different like this. but -- despite what many marvel writers seem to think -- nothing about wanda and pietro's dynamic has anything to do with sexism (though pietro's need to protect wanda is probably something of a "i'm a man"; i still can't imagine fem!pietro would feel less strongly about this, especially her brother in this case is a bit different than that typical "man" picture), so that wouldn't really change.

as for their views of the world and the people around them; i think pietro would be more suspicious than he is in 616 (for obvious reasons), while also perhaps being less paranoid about wanda (not because pietro looks down on wanda for being a woman, but because a lot of the world does, and that would fall away in this case), but only slightly. i don't think wanda would change much in this regard. i suppose he'd be less suspicious, but they'd both still experience racism and bigotry growing up in europe, so i don't see that changing much. wanda still loves the world and its people with all his heart but can't be around them too much (introvert) while pietro also loves the world and its people but she's more grumpy about it. because she also hates them all (extrovert) lmfao.

last but not least! appearances. in my ideal world, fem!pietro is virtually unchanged. she has short hair (better for running), she is lanky, she has runner's legs, she has sharp features. male wanda is more difficult for me to imagine. long hair, probably, but i wouldn't mind short hair. a similar style of costume. no beard!!!! my god. he'd probably wax or something so no chest hair, either, idk. he probably paints his nails. he's very very pretty. beautiful man. not exactly tall but also not exactly short. either skinny (not a physical fighter) or chubby (not a physical fighter) or something of the like, but definitely not muscular. but he's obviously trained in hand-to-hand combat like 616 wanda, obviously. etc. also male wanda would be a very gentle dom to fem!pietro's brat i know it in my heart. she still feels like she has the world on her shoulders so it's nice to be able to lie back, etc. anyway i think that's all my thoughts for now lol

[mitskiesques]

as an eldest sibling yourself, do you prefer jinx or azula and why

short answer: jinx > azula. long answer well here it goes.

my first instinct is to say jinx no question. it's clearly an emotional response so where do we go from here??: relatability.

they both have very real struggles and problems going on so it comes down to what you personally see yourself more in. golden child vs underdog, rich ppl problems vs poor ppl problems, physical discipline vs creative intellect, sibling dynamic of competitiveness and rivalry vs sibling dynamic of protection and pseudo-parenting, aiming for perfection/fear of imperfection vs aiming for strength/fear of weakness (each that come from what their respective environments value btw), and so on.

since u asked me personally allow me to say this. the years have passed since atla came out and still i have to find a single thing about azula that i relate to on a personal level. not that azula isn’t relatable At All bc you take one look at her deranged superfans and you can tell there’s some projection going on there so she clearly IS relatable, she’s just not relatable To Me bc i have different problems different perspectives different personalities different experiences with siblinghood etc etc.

jinx though i see a lot of myself in her despite the fact that half her personality is also delusional little sister and the fact that half my personality revolves around my eldest sibling status and behavior. and that IS because jinx is poor and oppressed thus anything she does is a bit more justified not in my eyes but in my heart. i love azula and her dyke drama but she’s simply too much of a privileged colonizer princess (tm) to me and my personal sense of empathy and though she is an abused child in mental distress and obviously i feel for azula on a humane level there’s a taint to it that i don’t feel with jinx.

and it’s not about violence either bc jinx is literally a terrorist. but mostly i think it’s because her crimes and general Evil Deeds come from In General her status as a victim to the actions of people like azula. azula feels righteous in her murdering bc of imperialism, jinx feels righteous in her murdering bc she has been screwed over by these people since birth. there’s a political statement that i relate to within jinx’s character that goes beyond what caters to me on a personal level wrt my experiences in life i guess. i can’t really help how i feel about it my apologies to all irl delusional little sister princesses i guess.

from a more objective and actually analytical point of view: they’re both great tragic characters masterfully done and they manage to pull off most of the things they are each meant to achieve and still i do think jinx is slightly superior because jinx is more or less one of the most complex interesting and layered characters written perhaps... ever???? it's definitely not the right post to elaborate too much but where azula is clearly defined as a villainous antagonistic character, jinx has literally a double narrative as hero and villain At The Same Time. where azula is a straight up masterfully written tragedy, even in jinx’s full on corruption and revenge there’s a sense of triumph over her oppressors. it's not that azula is bad as a character it’s that azula is Very Good Very Solid character but jinx is just. mindblowing.

anyway. it’s a fair if a little obvious comparison to make. they are similar in some ways but the differences are just so relevant to their characters and so interesting to talk about as well even moreso than how they are alike so i felt like this mess of text and text and text was worth writing if anything to at least get it out of my brain lmao.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Bonjour!

Would our werewolves ever suffer from ailments which could affect their shifting? Perhaps being unable to shift into the wolf or not being able to change back? No longer hearing the wolf inside or losing their strength? Stress related or some AU sickness or magic?

How would you think each would handle it?

Sorry for the angst!

-🧁

hallo!!

what an interesting question. my short answer would be that: yes, yes this could potentially exist in this universe. it kinda makes sense to me for wolves to have specific illnesses that a human wouldn't have... things that could affect them not only physically, but also mentally as well!

as for how each would handle being sick... i'll leave some Thoughts under the cut.

Chris: regardless of the ailment, whenever Chris gets sick, he's GONE. he doesn't get sick often, but when he does he just becomes completely useless. can barely take care of himself. if he ever went through periods of not being able to shift it'll take him LONG time to recover. which, if it happens to be that he can't shift from wolf to human, would be very inconvenient. not only because he's got to work to maintain his flat, his house, and his life overall, but also because he wouldn't be able to be with his pretty girl, and that would be what would hurt him the most. on the other hand, if he weren't capable of shifting into his wolf form from his human form, he'd probably feel incredibly frustrated and inadequate bc at the end of the day he's an alpha and his wolf side is part of his pride as a werewolf, if that makes sense.

Minho: manages well enough on his own because he just... grew up taking care of himself. he'll be extra pouty if kitten is close just because he wants attention (she knows he's doing it on purpose, and he knows she knows, you know? lee know). anyway, minho already has trouble figuring out his instincts, so you could kinda say he's pretty much chronically ill on this aspect. unfortunately, this is a thing he carried over from his human self before being turned. he already had a condition, so it makes sense it affects his inner wolf, too.

Changbin: also becomes a bit useless when sick, but to a lesser degree than chris. will still be capable of going through with her day as long as his ailment isn't too serious, and will also heal fairly quickly if he follows doctor's orders religiously, but he'll be super whiny about it the entire time. cranky mood to the max. will snap at people often. not being able to hear his inner wolf or shift from either form would frustrate him, but it wouldn't be crippling.

Hyunjin: this boy is fuelled by spite, and something like being sick won't stop him. fuck everything and everyone, he's gonna keep doing his thing for as long as he can. he's passed out in inconvenient places before because of this mentality lol. heals quickly overall.

Jisung: hardly ever gets sick at all. he's been blessed with amazing health and antibodies. he does, however, tend to suffer from mental related stuff... will try his best not to burden anyone with his problems but will eventually open up to kitten or minho or chris about it.

Felix: hardly ever gets sick as well. his time living in the forest has prepared him for almost anything and made him immune to a lot of things because of it. will be able to push through just fine if he does get sick, though.

Seungmin: will keep any problems to himself. doesn't like it when people worry about him so if he's feeling bad he'll isolate himself until pretty mum figures it out and goes into his flat to pull on his ear. will suffer in silence.... i don't want to add much here because i don't wanna spoil anything i've got planned for seungmin hfdsljkfds

Jeongin: also doesn't like to burden people with his problems, but is definitely more open than seungmin. will also become a little useless when sick, and he'll need a lot of help from his pack mates to get better.

[lasats-are-lovely]

Hey not trying to be rude (really!) but it looks like you're into other things now... and I want to know if you ever plan on finishing your lazytown fics?

A fair question - I haven't posted anything related to LazyTown or updated any of my long standing fics in a minute 😅 to say the least.

I don't know if I would say I'm done with LazyTown in any sense though, despite the fact that I now post almost exclusively about star wars. I mean, LazyTown was the show and fandom that quite literally saved my life - and it was the reason I met my gf of nearly 6 years now (and future wife uwu), so it's always gonna have a special place in my heart.

Anyway, the "short" answer to your question is:

... the long answer though?

Probably not anytime soon. Probably.

It's not necessarily from a lack of interest, it's just that... I'm an adult™️, an adult with adult responsibilities that take a lot of my time, as well as an adult who is in a very fulfilling relationship. Whenever I have free time, I'm usually spending it either recovering from some bs at work or I'm spending it with my lady. Very little time for something as time consuming at writing.

That, and I haven't been in the best of health. Had a stress episode mid-2022 that has caused me to have long-term physical side effects that make me exhausted and mentally distant far more than not. I've recently started some medication that should help, and have so far.

I want to write. Don't go assuming that I've lost all interest in that. And there are a lot of projects, old and new, that I still very much want to work on.

Sunflowers on Purple Cake has only 2 more planned chapters - one full chapter, as well as an 'epilogue' of sorts. That absolutely will be finished because it's so fucking close to being done and it will bother me to no end if I leave it where it is now.

Lazyrinth though...

I gotta give you some backstory first.

The entire reason I wrote Lazyrinth was to impress my gf. I think it was something she had joked about, and my little gay-ass was all like "I could do it!" because I had it bad... and I mean, it worked. How could she resist me after I did something so crazy? lol.

I spent the time between our interactions writing it for her because I loved watching her read it when we were together (well, together in the sense of being together in a voice call, as we started our relationship over 2000 miles apart). It was something that caused me to fall even more in love with her.

For the first half of Lazyrinth's chapters she was actively reading it, as well as proof-reading it for me before I posted it for everyone else. She was my main audience - it was easy to find motivation when I could see the excitement for more in her eyes.

But as time went on, and we finally ended up moving in together, she found other interests... and as of now she doesn't really have an active interest in LazyTown or LazyTown fanfiction. And that means Lazyrinth too.

So... I've had a hard time having the motivation to write it when the main reason I ever wrote it, to get with the most wonderful woman I have ever known, worked so well that we were telling each other I love you before I even started posting the fic to AO3. And now that she doesn't even read it anymore...

It's not that the magic is gone. It's just... it feels a bit like it's served its purpose in my life. I've reread it about 100 times now, I've had it's entire plot in my mind for so long that it's not as interesting to me as it was before. That, and my writing has changed and grown a lot since I first started, and there are things I wish I could change about the story that is now too late to go back to.

My gf wants me to finish it though. She tells me that she remembers the late nights I spent shaking from excitement talking about the new ideas I thought of. She wants me to finish it because of how important it was to us and to me.

And a surprising amount of people want me to finish it too. I never expected it to get as popular as it did, and I especially didn't expect it to be popular enough that it would pop up in a ColeyDoesThings video. It's strange, because even though I have reasons to stop writing it, I have just as many reasons to finish it.

... and it will be a long time coming, but I'm gonna do it.

No timeline on when. I don't want you or anyone to have any expectations on when it will be done, because at this rate you'll be waiting until 2026 (knock on wood....) but as long as I'm able to write, I plan on getting it done. There's only, like 5 planned chapters left after all.

Though because of how wordy my writing is, that means there's at least 8...

[imaginarybestie]

Burning Questions for Other Friends

Dear P,

It is not just D that I'd write burning questions to. But also C, perhaps, since she is someone who gets the real me, more. Maybe K, sometmies, too, since she also might get the real me, in some ways, if not all ways. Maybe other friends too. Sometimes T, with all her deep wisdom and life insight and intelligence, creativity, high ideals, compassion, and the empathy, that I all attribute to her. Also maybe other writers who I love. Maybe other people from the online community that D and I frequent.

Maybe other family members, even though we are mostly pretty distant and don't seem to see eye-to-eye or really see the same world at all, in so many ways. Yet they might know me better and have certain things in common with me that might let them see certain answers, maybe better than I'd expect. They surprise me sometimes with some of their strengths, intelligence, wisdom, kindness, goodness, gentleness, sensitivity, subtlety.

So often, it feels to me like the world is just so very cold and delusional in so many ways, but then my family will do some little things sometimes that makes me feel they're different, and they give me some hope for humanity, for love, kindness, the chance of closeness and relating. Even though it's usually a very short-lived little ray of hope. And others besides my family also give me hope like that, sometimes, but I guess it's different with family because we have more in common in a few ways, and they're this stable presence in my life, unlike all the others who give me hope, but I don't know them well enough or have enough in common with them to really be attached to them that much.

And then there are family members who have passed away now, my grandparents and maybe others. They have a special kind of meaning and memories for me, and maybe I would ask them some questions, if I could ask their souls or the ideal imaginary friend version of them. Other saints, perhaps. Other famous people online whose writings or youtube videos I love, maybe? Hmm.

And best friends I had in high school, too, maybe. When I get in the right state of mine and emotion, I can really feel a sense of connection to them the way we used to be. Maybr they're not really the same anymore, and maybe I am not either, and yet, maybe there's still some kind of commonality between us, our personalities, values, interests. Or even if not, then once there was. And who they were then inspires me to connect with an imaginary friend based on that past them. Maybe sometimes an imaginary friend of how I wish they would have changed and grown over the years, so that we could have stayed close, instead of what really happened where we changed so much that we didn't have much in common anymore, it felt, and things fell apart.

Maybe even my husband, who I have a bad relationship with, to say the least, and do not feel very close to at all and don't trust. Some imaginary friend version of him that's based on the good things that still exist in him, and the good things that existed in the past but are no longer there anymore, too. And maybe the ideal him that I thought he was but he maybe never really was, because I thought he was better than he really was. I thought he'd also improve and grow over time and we'd grow closer, while what happened was just the opposite, in so many ways.

Now I see he is a narcissist, but it's mostly latent and I've learned to deal with it and be ok, most of the time. I need to depend on him for a lot of things, at this point, and I'm better off with him than alone, due to physical and mental health issues that make me unable to support myself or to get the help I need from supposed governmental aid or anything such as that. So anyway, those are a few ideas of friends I migth write. Also characters from books who I really love and who really come to life or teach me important lessons. Maybe I'll think of others later. But that's a start for now.

Love,

C

[phoenixfeatherquillwriting]

Eggplant for all OCs please!

Someday, tumblr might actually gain the ability to notify me when I have an ask.*biting angrily at my screen*

Anyway, Eggplant is “how are they used by others and how easily are they tricked into that?” Changing the question slightly based on the direction my thoughts went got me: “What is their Purpose where other people are concerned, in actuality, in their own minds, or both? And how do they feel about that?” I tried to do this for everybody but some of them refused to articulate their answer, so if there’s someone specific you wanted to see who’s not listed, please specify and I will go back to shouting OPEN UP at them.

Without further ado…

Aris: Her Purpose is her Brains. People want her for her smarts. Her ability to think up solutions to the problem of the day, build the latest and greatest technical solution, run diagnostics, remember and recite all relevant intel. This is true, to some extent, but in Aris’ own mind, that’s all she brings to the table. It’s formidable, to be sure, but leaves one lacking a lot of other things when seeking connections/relationships. She might be a little sad about this…if she hadn’t reached this conclusion just before the age of ten. She’s resigned; this is simply the Way Things Are.

J: She has something of a two-fold Purpose, depending on whose perspective we’re working from. The primary Purpose she was taught relates back to her position in the family royal line: she is nothing more and nothing less than a Vessel for whatever her people want her to be, trusting that she will do whatever is necessary to secure their best interests. Don’t look too closely at this, it’s load-bearing. The Purpose with which J is actually most comfortable/ where she sees herself as able to both do good and perform well is as a Social Connector! If life is all about who you know, well, J knows everybody (who’s who on any political or social scene, names and dates and contacts and how they all link back to each other eventually. All the better to be directed towards important causes and get things done!) If there’s two people who really need to get in touch to further their good work? J’s there as their middleman to arrange a meeting and smooth all the introductions into place.

Rissa: She can be a lot of things, depending on whose “hands she is in” at any given time. That is to say, Rissa tends to orient herself and her Purpose to an external force (a cause, an ideal, a place, another person) and then becomes a fine-tuned instrument towards ensuring the fulfillment of whatever the goal may be. In cases with another person, she will become (or try very very hard to become) their right hand, their rock, their most reliable load-bearing wall, their fixer, and their enforcer for whatever needs doing. You can see where she can lose her way if the hand guiding her isn’t careful and doesn’t actually have her best interests in mind, but those who do care for her know that Rissa absolutely thrives when she feels useful and needed and find ways to satisfy that need with her customary Acts of Service and Loyalty. If asked to define an independent Purpose, she would probably say something along the lines of bringing Justice, Karma, Balancing the Scales, etc. This aligns closely with both her spiritual practice (devoted follower of the god of such concepts) and helps her to deal with any misgivings she has about being viewed as the one who will put morals to the side and get the dirty work done when required (ends justify the means.)

Tavi: Like Rissa, Tavi is very externally-focused in her Purpose; hers revolving around the people most important to her. Her Purpose is, in short, to be the Protector of her loved ones. Sometimes, this means being a physical “tank” in a fight (a position in which she is by no means uncomfortable.) Sometimes it means using her wings to fly someone away from trouble as quickly as possible. Sometimes it means shouting down harsh words and reminding her person just how wonderful they are and just how highly she regards them. Sometimes, it means being the clown just to put a smile on their face (who cares if it’s at her own expense? Right?) The problem with this becomes any situation in which Tavi cannot Protect…she kind of stalls out and loses momentum. She doesn’t know what to do, and will lash out if pushed too hard.

[thejournaloffox]

20 July 2022

The conundrum of nectars…

Fox needs to learn how to readjust her speech centers so she can get her thoughts out without feeling rushed or cut short. She still didn’t have the right mix, and it frustrated her—especially because feeling as though she had to compress her thoughts made her drag her feet in exactly the rambling way she was trying to avoid in the first place. She found herself squeezing many words into short breaks, and Fox reflected that perhaps that was the essence of her overtalking: she sometimes needed to actually talk herself out before she became coherent.

In general, Fox was hard pressed not to get way too excited by how much she had in common with the Lion, and though she did love absorbing new knowledge and the thoughts of people on all their favorite subjects and what was going on in the world, Fox realized she craved taking a break between such nuggets to discuss what was learned—otherwise the thoughts piled up and put pressure on her social grace dams, and the first support strut to go was “how to dialogue with 99.9% of everyone who is not your father”, i.e. monologues. She had been raised to treat back and forth monologues as dialogues, which was sometimes taken by others to mean that she didn’t assign importance to the thoughts of others when Fox is just trying to relate.

Fox is used, Fox enjoys it and is marked, and now her tongue, face and throat burn… a lot

Will she get used to the stuff though? Of course, she knew she wanted to please the Lion, she wanted to learn all the things he wanted to teach her—and she greatly craved his pleasure, which was quite erotic to her. At the same time, she was wary of simply accepting such acts without pausing to actually give it some thought because they triggered unfortunate responses in her.

Fox had said it would take getting used to giving pleasure without reciprocation and being marked on the face. There was a component of physically overcoming her reflex to avoid such lustful nectars, and what she meant by “getting used to it” was that it was not something she had ever liked before for good reasons, and that it would take some inner exploration to find out if it was something she could overcome. Pun intended. Her conclusion is that she not only could but also wants to—the Lion was the first partner in her life she actually wanted to do that with. So why did it distress her so?

It occurred to Fox that there were some things she did not like because she had been introduced to it by inexpert hands, people who neither had the consideration to build Fox up to the experience, nor to what she went through with these acts. A lot of things, including the most basic form of sex itself, were not exactly pleasurable for her, a lot of the time it was instead uncomfortable, embarrassing or even painful. Some had at least done her the courtesy of attempting to arouse her before trying something, but it happened more than once that it turned out to be a bad experience for Fox anyway. Yet, each time she had performed her part well enough that the partner in question would continually ask for it, to the point where Fox felt pressured and unhappy.

Fox had assumed in her naive cub years that her happiness in such situations would be important enough to her future partners that if something turned out to be something she really didn’t like and didn’t want to get used to, they would take “no” for an answer. It turned out they did and didn’t—she rarely felt forced, but from that point on she was sometimes harassed into it, she did feel coerced. None of her partners had intended to force Fox, but they failed to note how uncomfortable she was saying no to something over and over again. She had tried allowing entrance to the Foxnethers, she had learned to give certain kinds of pleasure, she had tried drenching in nectars and she had groomed her Foxparts bare under such pressure—some things she adapted to, found her own reasons for enjoying or desiring them. Other things she found more difficult, or almost impossible to adjust to, partly due to her condition.

In hindsight, Fox should have actually said no in those situations where it felt wrong, but she did it anyway; only much later did Fox understand how these events had been varying degrees of assault. She didn’t understand that there was an actual problem, an imbalance of pleasure, that resulted in her crossing her own boundaries far sooner than she felt ready for—partly because none of it was designed to give her any sort of pleasure, partly because the partners in question felt entitled to her in a way that meant they felt free to emotionally blackmail her into giving more than she wanted to give them.

It didn’t always have a troubled ending, Fox did want to be more flexible, and in the present, Fox definitely wanted to be a source of great pleasures in all varieties. But what she failed to recognize was that her desire to learn should not come at the price of her consent—as a result of her attitudes, this part of her ended up feeling quite damaged and without a compass. Had she demanded the patience she had actually needed all those times, regardless of how disappointed her partners would have been—as they had been the times she had tried to ask for space—and had she been allowed to find her own way to desiring those things, she might have enjoyed herself a lot more, as would have those partners. They did not have the finesse of the Lion.

Fox undoubtedly wanted to be an excellent pet, and she was quite joyful to hear her Captor praise her in all manner of ways. Fox felt beautiful and wanted, desired for her uniqueness, and she very much craved to be taken and marked inside and out with the Lion’s nectar just as he told Fox he wanted to do while she was being used, but today her Foxparts were again under the weather. It was rough to have an actual allergy to contend with.

Fox was sure time would fix these turbulent emotions. She knew in her thoughts and felt in her gut that the Lion was very different than anyone she had been with before—he not only respected her boundaries, but he actually desires her enthusiastic consent. He also desires her pleasure and enjoyment of her performances. These facts made a world of difference. Once her body was rid of the trauma of past events, she was sure she would desire to pleasure the Lion in many ways she couldn’t imagine herself wanting before—she felt safe to experiment with him, and trusted that he was patient and understanding when there were hiccups and when she reacted in unexpected ways.

Fox may sometimes turn into a ball of tears, aching from the mistakes and hurts of her past, but every time it happens, Fox feels a little lighter, and closer to embracing the joy of such intimate acts. There were many forms of pleasure she was experiencing and learning with her Captor, including feeling pleasure purely due to his pleasure. In the past, when she was coerced she was also promised reciprocation that was almost always forgotten, as if she could only be touched if her partner was in a state of arousal (and as if her not being aroused in the reverse situation was normal) and they were never available when she wanted to be touched—but the Lion craved so much of Fox that she had no fears she would be left hung out to dry by him, unless starvation was the goal to increase her multifold, mind-blowing pleasure he would unleash upon her a little later. It would just take more time for her body to be convinced of the same; it remembered too much.

The future was certain: the Lion’s nectar would be craved in real time the same way she craved it in her fantasies, and her body would follow suit.

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

OC questions on forms of love, 1 & 2 (or one or the other) on the very first list, any oc. I am very curious about the exploration of these questions generally speaking 😅😊 forms of love are so interesting to me.

Guess who doesn't get app notifications that someone's sent me an ask? :'-)

(Questions from this OC ask list, "OC Questions on the Seven Forms of Love")

Answering for.... (*rolls dice*) Ellara Lavellan! She has a weird relationship with love because of her backstory!

Eros – Romantic, Passionate Love.

Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?

When Ellara was young, she had been romantic in the way children are; she dreamed of an exciting, loving relationship, and had a crush on a young hunter-in-training who was a couple of years older than her. He was so handsome, and was really skilled in skinning deer. As she grew older and began her training as the Emerald Knight apprentice, her role in the clan grew a little weird. In her canon verse, this role is a religious one, as well as martial, and is filled by someone chosen by the Creators to protect the clan. These assignments are usually given by sign or visions, and discussed with the Keeper as to their voracity. She was chosen by Falon'din to protect Lavellan in this way, given to her in an interaction with his avatar (a small fragment of the Creators' powers in the waking world). Her mother was similarly chosen to be the Hearthkeeper and head healer by Sylaise, so she had an interesting childhood in relationship to her peers. It set her apart, little by little.

Anyway. Because she knew that her life would be dedicated to Lavellan in this way, and because she was chosen by the god of death, she came to a realization in her late teens that she would probably not have the relationship of her dreams. Though she didn't advertise that she was chosen by him, word got around, and people saw her differently, and acted even weirder toward her. She still had glimmers of crushes, and still sorta believed in love and that she wanted that for herself, but tried her best to set it aside. Who would want a wife who was promised to the god of the dead?

In this verse, the Dalish have certain courting rituals. Chief among them are proving that you can provide for your intended beloved(s), and include things like crafting items, dedicating hunts, etc. There is a lot of community property among the clan that is crafted with everyone in mind (like weapons, tools, clothing, etc.), but this phase of the courtship creates personal property. This property becomes the permanent property of the recipient, no matter the outcome of the courtship. This phase is the most public of the whole process. Once all parties accept the engagement, they go to the Keeper to ascertain that they are not related enough to mess up bloodlines and the gene pool; there's a certain line of relation that is not acceptable to cross in order to maintain the health of the clan, but of course there is always the occasion where the parties involved ignore that. The Keeper and Hearthkeeper oversee and officiate the wedding, which are often held on auspicious dates.

2. How important is sex to them in a relationship? Do they see it as something essential to their happiness? Would they be able to remain in a monogamous relationship with someone they loved without sex?

Sex is not really important, though she does enjoy it. She's had a couple of flings at Arlathvhen (which I put as being every five years, not every 10), but seeing as Arlathvhen is only generally a month long, it's short-lived and casual. After she meets Blackwall and they develop a physical relationship, she does really enjoy that. Yes, she would remain in a monogamous relationship with someone she loved if the relationship wasn't sexual.

Ask me more questions about my OCs! Wardens: Ilya Surana (romances Zevran and Alistair [canon], romances Zevran [side canon]); Rhiona Cousland (warrior, romances Loghain) Hawkes: Adrian (mage, romances Fenris), Garrett (warrior, romances Anders); Inquisitor: Elara Lavellan (warrior, romances Blackwall)

[romione-trope-fest]

Choices

Today, we have a unique take on Fuck or Die. We'd love to hear what you think!

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

Title: Choices

Author Name: JohnMcHacker

Selected Trope: Fuck Or Die

Brief Summary: Ron Weasley is ready to finally fulfil the biggest fantasies of every young man on the planet. Hermione Granger has read enough out of books, and wants to see what the fuss is all about for herself. They’re both ready to take the next step in their physical relationship. But not like this – no, this wasn’t what they had thought it would be like at all...

This is my dark take on “Fuck Or Die”, a trope which I have always had reservations about. Happy ending, I promise.

Word Count: 14,122

Rating: Explicit (for triggers, violence, smut)

Trigger Warnings: Abduction, threat of rape and murder, discussion of non-consent, related angst, magical violence

Author's note: I'd like to note that I didn’t write this to render a personal opinion on certain topics through fanfiction, something which I dislike and actively strive to avoid. What characters say can be right or wrong or both at once, there is a wide breadth of complexity and nuance to most any topic, and truth often lies somewhere in the middle of two (or more) extremes of opinion. This fic ultimately came about as a result of a plot bunny I thought was meaningful and worth exploring, and that’s really all there is to it.

That being said – I hope you ultimately enjoy reading this. Many thanks to the admins for organising the fest, particularly @be11atrixthestrange for answering my queries. I'd love very much to hear your comments and feedback – especially important this time round, given the subject – so as always, do please let me know what you think! Follow me on AO3 for a tad more light-hearted stuff.

* * *

0. Prologue

Now

Ron Weasley’s wheezing breaths fill the room; thin, laboured gasping punctuated occasionally by wet, blood-flecked coughs.

Hermione Granger cradles his head on her lap, strokes his hair tenderly, the only thing she can do. All those brains, all that Hogwarts education, and the brightest witch of her age is completely powerless, completely helpless, imprisoned in a stripped-bare basement sans wand. Oh, for a thin wooden stick with a magical bit inside.

Neither of them are strangers to mortal danger. They’ve been through a lot of sticky situations, these last ten-odd years of companionship. They’ve faced time and again the prospect of sudden death; death in a forest, in a drawing-room, on a battlefield, and they’ve come through relatively intact. But this time – this time, it looks like it’s for keeps. And the clock’s running out.

Any moment now, their all-too-short lives will be finally forfeit. Death looms on the horizon, waiting for the sunset of life, and the patient shadows grow longer, creep closer, with every passing second.

Hermione’s thought it all the way through, with that big useless brain of hers. There’s only one chance, a slim one. And not much of a chance.

Take it, and there’s an infinitesimal possibility they live. A million to one, odds against.

Because even if they do try, it’s by far most likely that they’ll die anyway, and maybe not right away. Maybe painfully, wretchedly, in ways no-one should even have to contemplate, let alone experience.

But don’t take it, and those odds become a certainty, a certainty of the exact same horrible fate that awaits them as the other option.

Hobson’s choice.

Decide, Hermione.

* * *

I. Perfect

Twenty-two hours ago

Ron checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothed down the navy-blue Muggle sport jacket, and smelled his breath, his hands trembling a little. Tonight was a really big night, and he didn’t want a single thing to go wrong. Reservations at Campane di Parma, Hermione’s favourite Italian restaurant in Soho, check. Harry asked to please stay in his side of Grimmauld Place tonight, check. And... oh yes.

He pulled out the small phial of potion he’d bought that afternoon from the Knockturn Alley apothecary, where there was far less chance of George finding out – most of the Diagon Alley shopkeepers were his mates – and taking the mickey. It had two compartments and two necks, and the liquid glowed a bright blue and pink. His and hers, for double protection, see? Ron checked the expiry date on the label, and stowed it safely in his pocket.

“Jump to it, man,” barked the mirror, “good liberty time’s a-wastin’.”

“Cheers,” grinned Ron. And he left the Auror Office, waving goodbye to a couple of colleagues, and made his way down to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

*

Hermione examined her makeup in the mirror critically, patted her sleekly-washed-and-potioned hair in place, and fiddled with the hem of the tiny black spaghetti-strap number from H&M she’d changed into from her strictly-professional work clothes. Looking around to make sure the Ladies toilet in the Office of Wizarding Law was truly empty, she adjusted the décolletage a little. Just because she refused to play the game most of the time, didn’t mean she was entirely ignorant of the strategies – or that she thought it beneath her to play, when it suited her. And tonight, she was giving it everything she had.

She checked her handbag for the two carefully-forged ticket stubs to the evening showing of Cats, and smiled to herself. ‘I’m sorry I’m home late, Dad, Mum; Ron was hungry after the show so we stopped for kebabs and lost track of the time.’ Perfect. Plenty of time for... Hermione’s cheeks warmed at the thought.

“You look a treat, dear,” trilled the mirror.

“Thank you.” Hermione slipped on her long beige trenchcoat and belted it, covering up all that skin she was still shy of showing casually, publicly. I know I do – but only for my darling Ron.

*

Off to one side of the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium was a waiting area furnished with a low table and a couple of chairs and sofas. Ron perched himself on one of these, and tried not to check his watch too often.

It was two and a bit years now since the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been eventful years. Harry and Ron had joined the Auror Office. Ginny was making waves as one of the youngest and most promising professional Quidditch players in history. And Hermione was making equally large ripples, even in the none-too-placid pond of the Office of Wizarding Law – still struggling after all this time, with the Aurors, to bring every last fugitive of Voldemort’s regime to justice.

But Ron’s mind wasn’t on work right now. It was on his relationship with Hermione Jean Granger.

*

Hermione pressed the button to call the lift, and played with the strap on her handbag, thinking.

After dancing skittishly for so long around each other, when she and Ron finally accepted they could be a couple – everything just clicked into place. They were comfortable, and happy. Hermione found that being in a relationship with Ron was a lot like it had been being close friends, just that the thoughts and feelings they shared with each other now were even more deeper, even more personal than they had been before. Emotional intimacy – that wasn’t a problem for them.

Physically, however...

For some, that side of the relationship had come fast – she suspected that Harry and Ginny, for example, had lost very little time on that front. For others, it took a little while. Hermione was body-shy. She was more at home in books than in her body, and she’d taken some time just to get her head wrapped round the idea of having a boyfriend, let alone all that it implied in that way.

Oh, kissing Ron was wonderful, and just holding hands alone made her feel warm and sent frissons skipping up her spine, but for quite some time that had been as far as it had gone. And then... then there had been the summer after Hogwarts, just before her internship at the O.W.L. began, and then Hermione’s eyes had been opened to a whole new universe of sensation...

The lift bell dinged.

*

Three weeks ago, they had been at Grimmauld Place, remembered Ron.

Harry’d had a weekend shift. Hermione’s parents were conveniently on a short holiday up to the Cotswolds. Ron and Hermione spent the day rambling around London playing tourists, had a romantic dinner where she’d introduced him to Portuguese petiscos, and then ended up settling down on the sofa in front of the drawing-room fireplace with a bottle of elf-made wine and bowls of strawberries in cream, all the light orbs extinguished.

In the dim rosy glow of the firelight, playful pecks turned into deep kisses and then his shirt had come off, and then Hermione had taken her top off and there she’d been, all warm smooth skin and exciting curves held in only by a cute pink bra, and Ron was suddenly harder than he’d ever been all his life. And then she’d lain down full length over him, the skin of their chests touching everywhere but for the oh-so-soft places covered by her bra, and Merlin he was harder than he’d ever been...

And then she’d sat up and started looking for her blouse.

Ron thought it was because she’d touched him down there and blurted out, “I’m sorry,” flushing red.

But Hermione was pinkening herself, as she said, “Ron, I – I want to do this, don’t get me wrong, but not tonight. Is that alright with you?”

Ron had all but tripped over himself trying to reassure her. “Y-yeah, of course, we don’t have to, I’m sorry, I don’t want to push you into...”

Hermione took his hand and raised it to her lips, kissed it tenderly. “Are we... are we ready for this?”

Good question, he thought. Weren’t we just about to? Doesn’t that mean we’re ready? “I think so,” said Ron, a little uncertainly. “Are you?”

Hermione tended to ramble when she was nervous. “I just don’t want to feel like we’re rushing into this. I want us to be sure. And it’s not like I believe in the cult of virginity, that’s so old-fashioned, but first times are important, in fact I think with anyone it would be important, it’s a really big step in our relationship, and when it comes I just want it to be perfect and not have any regrets and...”

The first time he’d kissed her specifically to shut her up, Hermione had jerked back in surprise. This time, she smiled, and poked him with a finger. “Prat.”

“If you’re scared or unsure or anything, we don’t have to,” said Ron gently. “We can wait till we’re married – I don’t mind.”

Hermione stared at him, then broke out into a fit of giggles. “Good grief, men’ll do anything for – alright, alright, I know, you’re being serious, I’m sorry. It’s not that – I just don’t feel ready unless I’ve...” She seemed to flounder for the words.

“Unless you’ve done research, made notes, and wrote a four-foot essay,” said Ron with a grin. Hermione blushed. “Cheers, go on then.”

A few days later, Hermione had trotted into the study at Grimmauld Place, closed the door carefully in case Harry came by suddenly, and said, “So this is what we’ll do.”

Ron had listened in awe as she laid out the plan for them to make love as meticulously as she had revised for exams and plotted to infiltrate an enemy stronghold. She’d cross-referenced dates in her planner and projected her cycle – ick – and made a Checklist, of course. A potion to buy, and where to buy it for maximum surreptition. Dinner reservations. There was a deception plan for both sets of parents, witnesses ready to perjure themselves, and circumstantial evidence to back it up. Forged ticket stubs, accurate down to performance times and seat numbers!

“...and then we’ll come back here, it’s the most convenient, and then...” Hermione blushed, and said with a stutter, “t-then we’ll see how things go.”

“It’s a brilliant plan!” said Ron, and Hermione’d glowed with pride.

She was glowing now too, Ron realised, as she walked out of the lift and towards him, coyly buttoned up in her long beige coat – Ron knew this was a sure sign she had something slinky underneath. She smiled as she caught his eye, and then the smile turned mischievous, like they were sharing a private joke, which they were, an intensely private one, and Ron thought he could hear his heart pounding.

Tonight’s going to be perfect.

*

The night did start off well.

Inside the foyer of the restaurant, Hermione just a little shyly slipped off her coat, revealing her little black number. She watched, pleased, as Ron’s eyes widened, and he was obviously tongue-tied for a second before he pulled himself together and said, “You look...”

“Yes?”

“You look...” Ron gulped, “You remind me of the Yule Ball. Of the first time I realised how beautiful you really were.”

Hermione found herself basking in his admiration as they sat down, and smiled wryly at her own rarely-expressed vanity.

They ordered a starter of roast aubergine and mozzarella; linguine with scallops, prawns and mussels; and veal escalopes with wild mushrooms; and while they were eating, they talked about family, friends and work, as usual.

Ron couldn’t keep his eyes off her. As a matter of fact, he looked her up and down several times, and this made Hermione feel warm inside – she found she liked him to look at her in that way. Hermione in turn thought Ron particularly handsome and charming and attractive and... and so on. He seemed to stand out from the rest of the room, and she felt so inordinately pleased that he was hers that she stopped thinking about it, sat back, relaxed, enjoyed her food, and allowed herself another glass of wine while she chattered on.

“I’ve just about completed my law review,” said Hermione. “Who knows, maybe we can bring some semblance of real jurisprudence to the Wizengamot – I swear, sometimes it feels like wizards are stuck in the Dark Ages...”

Ron looked at her quizzically. “How’s that?”

Hermione explained. The Muggle British law was far more intricate and influential than the Magical British one. Much of international law, the laws of the former countries of the British Empire, and therefore what exactly was thought to be just, traced its roots ultimately to the Magna Carta. This included the very important principle that no-one could be imprisoned or penalised or harmed in any way by the rulers of the country without being first tried in court, and found guilty according to the Law. Upholding the Law fairly and without prejudice over the whims of anyone, even a king, or the Minister, or the Wizengamot, said Hermione, was the very foundation of human justice.

“The Minister of Magic and the Wizengamot is too powerful,” she concluded, taking a sip of wine. “Their powers in legal proceedings should be reduced.”

“But Kingsley’s the Minister of Magic, and he’s a decent bloke,” said Ron, “and it’s the Wizengamot you want to pass these laws. You’re asking them to use their power to take away powers from themselves? They’ve been helping us these past few years to unravel the mess Voldemort left behind, punish those who supported him.”

“It would be the right thing to do,” said Hermione. “If wizards had a proper law of criminal procedure, Sirius wouldn’t have been sent to Azkaban, and Harry wouldn’t have been nearly expelled for defending himself from Dementors. They would have been allowed to defend themselves better in court. In fact, if the Wizengamot or the Ministry was found to have prejudiced the trial even just a little, they would have been set free.”

Ron thought about that for a while, chewing slowly. “But Hermione,” he said, “you’ll make it harder for the Aurors to make sure Dark wizards pay for their crimes. We have problems making charges stick as it is. Kingsley runs a tight ship now and does make sure hearings are more impartial, it’s not like when Fudge or Bagnold were in power.”

“It looks bad, and it may result in a few cases where some Dark wizards get away with it, but it’s better than sending innocent people to Azkaban,” said Hermione doggedly. “Overall, it’d be better this way, Ron, you’ll see.”

“I dunno...” began Ron.

“Oh you’re always like this,” Hermione said with some asperity, “you never think my ideas are good at the start. You thought SPEW was a laugh, to begin with. I wish you would be more supportive.”

Ron looked hurt. “I am,” he said. “I’m just asking you to consider it from the Aurors’ point of view...”

“Oh, drop it. Let’s talk about something else. Have you heard recently from Charlie?”

They went on to less controversial topics. Ron was hungry; before he knew it, he found that he had finished his pasta and almost all of his mains before Hermione was halfway through hers. He opened the menu, muttering something about adding a side.

“You’re over-eating again,” said Hermione, rather waspishly.

“No I’m not, I’m just hungry,” said Ron. “We did anti-Manticore drills today, you have no idea how much that takes out of you.”

“And next week you’ll complain you’ve had to move your belt up a notch. At least order something healthy, like a salad.”

“Why don’t you try not running someone else’s life for them for one minute, Hermione,” Ron remarked, as he put away the menu and took a deep gulp of wine instead.

Hermione opened her mouth in a fury, but after a moment closed it and said nothing. She pushed what was left of her meal around her plate thoughtfully. Ron didn’t seem to notice this, or that her end of the conversation grew briefer and more monosyllabic.

He did notice however when she declined dessert instead of lingering over their meal, and hurried them through paying. Outside the restaurant, she turned to him and said, “Ron, I have, um, I have some things to think over. I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said, indicating with her chin down Oxford Street.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, holding out his hand for her to take.

Hermione kept hers in her coat pockets. “Alone.”

“But...” what about our plans, Ron was about to say, when he registered the stubborn jut of her chin and dangerously-flashing eyes. He was baffled; he could see that she was somehow angry with him, but couldn’t think of any reason why, but bafflement soon gave way to anger himself, and he said tersely, “Fine. See you,” and turned his back deliberately.

Hermione, who very deep inside wanted Ron to ask her why she was furious, stalked off. Halfway down the street she decided to Apparate home, and ducked into a side alley to do it away from Muggle eyes.

*

Hands in his trouser pockets, Ron grumbled to himself about witches and their awkward ways. Years of close proximity to Hermione and a couple of helpful tips from Twelve Sure-Fire Ways To Charm Witches meant he wasn’t entirely stupid; he could read between the lines and sense dimly what had happened. He wondered if he really could play the apologetic and understanding boyfriend, and run after her and ask exactly what he’d done and try to put things right. With a heavy sigh, Ron decided he could, and turned around and retraced his footsteps.

He caught sight of Hermione’s brown curls and beige trenchcoat far down the street, disappearing down a side alley.

He also saw the large, black-robed figure following her in.

Ron broke into a run, and his wand was in his hand before he was consciously aware of drawing, before his mind blanked into a blood-red fury.

“Hermione Hermione HERMIONE!”

*

Hermione was a veteran of the war, a founding member of Dumbledore’s Army, and besides Ron, Harry Potter’s closest companion for over a decade. You don’t get to be all these things without learning how to take care of yourself, without always taking notice of your surroundings, and always having a familiar little voice in the back of your mind grumbling “Constant vigilance!” The instant she was aware of the danger, her hand flew to her wand – ready in its pocket, no frenzied digging about in handbag for her – and she crouched down on her heels to make herself a smaller target, a spell already on her lips and a dozen more waiting in the wings.

She was also however just an instant too late, slowed by one too many glasses of wine, the emotional whiplash of the disastrous date, and the sheer surprise of being attacked in the heart of London, in a time of peace and on a jolly Friday night.

The last thing she remembered was spinning around and bringing her wand to bear on a bulky, robed figure. Then a flash of spell-light knocked her out.

*

Ron had sufficient presence of mind to stop just around the corner and send up a series of sparks, a coded Auror distress signal. Then he charged into the shadowed alley.

He was all that Hermione was, and more besides; he was an Auror, trained to investigate magical crimes, search the country for Dark wizards, and fight them if necessary to bring them to justice. Unlike Hermione, who hadn’t thrown an offensive spell in earnest for years, he had fought several Death Eaters after Voldemort’s defeat and regularly practised with the other Aurors. He was however panicking madly out of fear for Hermione, and the assailant was waiting for him.

With his Auror-trained reflexes, Ron batted aside the first two curses and shot back a Stunning Spell that nearly hit its mark. Then the shadowy figure made a swiping movement with his wand, and another human-shaped figure rose up from behind a large wheelie bin and seemed to lunge at him.

Another one?! thought Ron, turning his wand on the newcomer.

He managed to catch a glimpse of Hermione’s unconscious face hurtling towards him, the rest of her body flopping limply behind. Her head connected with his with the hard rap of bone on bone, and the world flared white with pain, and then again as Ron’s head hit the pavement.

He barely even felt the spell which finished him off.

* * *

II. Remember Me?

Seventeen hours ago

Hermione slowly woke, her head throbbing on one side, the pain increasing as consciousness returned. Disjointed memories crept back – dinner – wine – Ron – a hulking black figure down a shadowy Soho mews, spellfire.

The spiky jolt of panic flooded her system and she bolted upright, senses still whirling all in a daze as she stared wildly around her at the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar senses – some rough, scratchy material beneath her bare legs; chill, dank, rarely-used air; oppressive, confining silence.

A hand touched her arm and Hermione jumped with a shriek.

“It’s me, it’s Ron, it’s me,” he said quickly.

“Oh, Ron!” A brief burst of relief, for just a moment. You’re still in big trouble, a little voice warned, even if you’re not alone. Even so, Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck, and allowed herself to take a little comfort that he was here, with her. She felt him pat her on the back a little unsteadily.

But where was here?

Hermione drew back and looked around. She was kneeling on a bare mattress, no sheets or blankets, in her little black dress, the poor thing scuffed and torn and stained now – she noted these things matter-of-factly – no wand in the wand-pocket, of course. Ron was sitting on the bed, had an angry goose-egg of a lump swelling on his forehead, and looked stressed and grim. Their coats and shoes had been taken.

They were in what looked like a large disused basement room, empty save for the queen-sized bed and a couple of lumpy pillows, also devoid of pillowcases; a plastic folding table, but no chairs; a lidded office waste bin in one corner; and a small heap of rubbish in another corner. No windows, one thick wooden door. The floor was bare cement, the walls roughly-painted concrete stripped of wallpaper, and a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a dismal yellow glow on everything.

Hermione shot a glance at Ron, and knew what was on his mind: the cellar-turned-dungeon of Malfoy Manor, three years ago. She hadn’t seen it herself, she was busy being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, but Ron had described it to her, confessed to her the fear he’d felt then – which she saw now mirrored in the rising panic on his face. A panic which he tried to conceal, but she knew him all too well.

“Charming, isn’t it?” said Ron. He winced, and gingerly prodded his forehead. “I came to just about a minute ago.”

“What happened?”

“I think he Stunned you. Then he waited for me, and threw you at me. Your head scored a direct hit. Then he Stunned me too.” Ron made to touch the painful left side of her head, and Hermione instinctively flinched; he grinned sardonically.

Hermione got up and strode to the door, grabbed the lever handle, shook and rattled it. It didn’t budge an inch, of course. Silly girl. “You’ve had a look around?” she said, trying to sound calm. Trying to take control where there was patently none.

“Was about to, when you came round.” Ron got up and pressed his hands against the walls, closely inspected the door-frame. “Spelled,” he muttered. “No breaking that down.” He walked over every inch of floor, looked under the bed, sifted through the rubbish heap in the corner. Hermione just watched; gone were the days when she could still surprise her two best friends with what she knew, at least in the area of defensive and Dark magic. The Auror Office had made Ron the better of them at doing what he was doing.

Besides… Hermione was finding it hard to think properly what to do right now. Unbidden thoughts were rising in her head – vague fears, scenarios, imaginings – and she fought to keep them defocused, to think clearly on useful, constructive things. Panic was getting a grip on her, too.

“I guess that’s supposed to be the loo,” Ron said, looking down at the waste bin. His fists clenched and unclenched. “Right,” he said at last, “we can jump him when he comes in through that door. That’s... that’s the best we can do. What can you cast without a wand, Hermione?”

“Spell-Check Spell, that sort of thing,” said Hermione, trying to smile. “Not much call for anything more violent in the office. You?”

“We do wandless training, but the useful ones are really difficult. I’m only up to the Leg-Locker Curse,” said Ron. “Harry’s a bit further ahead, he can pull off a Stunner, only sometimes, but still... Fuck, I should have worked harder on the fucking...” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

Through the dread coiling around her heart and clawing at her throat, Hermione felt a wave of pity, and she put her arm around him. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. She smoothed his hair back tenderly, brushed her fingers over his freckled cheek.

Ron caught her hand, held on tight as a child clinging to its mother.

“Who do,” Hermione cleared her throat, “who do you think did this...”

“Wizards. Death Eaters, perhaps. We didn’t get every last one of the bastards – one or two slipped away to the Continent, or the States. We’ve got targets on our backs, you know that.”

“Could it have been random?”

“What, just picked you out to snatch off the street? No, he was waiting, I’m almost sure of it. He was planning this,” said Ron. “He must have been watching us for some time, and we – I never twigged.”

Bitter Ron was not a pretty sight. “It’s not your fault,” Hermione repeated. “It’s okay. We’ll think of something.”

He raised his head and looked at her with incredulity, seemed about to say something, then visibly changed whatever it was to: “I managed to get off some sparks. A distress signal the Auror Office will notice and recognise. They’re good, they’ll be looking for us even now. So we’ll just sit and wait.”

Sit and wait... for whatever their captor was going to do to them. Again, Hermione tried not to think about it.

“We should try and rest,” Ron said. “Be more prepared that way. We can take turns keeping watch.”

She understood. They couldn’t both sleep, they might lose an opportunity to escape. Every scrap of advantage, every fraction of a percentage point – seize it. “Makes sense.”

They agreed to switch every fifteen minutes. That was long enough for some kind of a catnap, and for the one staying awake not to lose count – their captor had taken their watches, they could only count the passing seconds in their heads. One to nine hundred.

Hermione lay down on the bare mattress, and tried to sleep. Beside her, Ron sat stiffly, his back not touching the wall. Her hand was warm in his – the only part of her body not chilled with fear.

*

Seconds, minutes, hours...

There was a loud pop, and they both jumped – Hermione, who was keeping watch, and Ron who instantly twitched awake. A large jug and a brown paper bag had appeared on the plastic table. Exchanging glances, Hermione and Ron got up and cautiously approached the table.

Ron uncovered the lid on the plastic jug. “Milk. What’s in the bag?”

Hermione pulled out a small loaf of Hovis sliced sandwich bread. “White bread. And nothing else.”

“It’s something,” shrugged Ron. He took a swallow from the milk jug. “Pass the bread, Hermione.”

“You can’t seriously be thinking about food at this time!”

Ron’s blue eyes were hard and cold. “We’ve got to keep our strength up, Hermione, and be prepared to fight or run for it. And the best place for food is inside you; you never know if they’ll take it away. Come on.” He offered her the milk jug.

Hermione took it slowly. She found she needed both hands to grip it, somehow.

The bread wasn’t so bad, each bite mixed with a mouthful of milk, but Hermione could barely taste it. Everything felt strangely flavourless in her mouth, she could have been chewing wads of cotton. Halfway through her share, her appetite gave out completely, and she pushed her last couple of slices over to Ron. He finished it off, along with the last of the milk.

Their captor, whoever he is – he didn’t forget us. He sent this. But – but that means he’s around. He’s aware. He could be coming. Maybe right now.

Hermione meant to sit, but found herself giving in to what she identified as some kind of infantile response; she curled up on the bare mattress like a scared little girl, drawing her knees up to her chin. The bed was positioned right in the centre of the wall agains which it abutted, facing the door, and she stared straight ahead, and couldn’t take her eyes off the steel lever handle.

Wordlessly, Ron joined her on the bed. He put his arm around her – his left, not his usual right, his wand-arm.

Hermione crept closer into the warmth of his body.

And so they waited, huddled on the bed and staring at the door, their hearts in their mouths.

*

The handle turned.

Ron had a second or so to shake himself free of Hermione, and gather himself, ready to spring.

The door swung back to reveal a huge, hooded, black-robed figure.

Ron leapt to his feet and lunged from the bed, his wand-hand pushing out. “Loco–!” But before he could complete the jinx, the figure raised its wand and he was blasted backwards, hitting the floor hard and staying down, pinned by an Impediment Jinx.

He couldn’t see any part of the person underneath the robes; he wore gloves on his big hands, and a balaclava with tiny eye slits. Ron assumed he was a man though, from the posture and build. The bit of flesh visible round the small eyes looked tanned, or perhaps florid. The figure lowered his wand, and turned his head towards Hermione, who was standing beside the bed, her eyes wide with fear.

Oh God.

“OI!” snarled Ron, echoes of Malfoy Manor screaming in his ears. “Don’t you – don’t you dare – YOU TOUCH HER AND I’LL RIP–!”

“Shut up, Ron!” snapped Hermione, but her voice wavered. “Please – you don’t have to – it doesn’t have to be like this. What is it you want? We can help you – we will help you – please...”

A sudden noise: a giggle, high-pitched, wheezy, and quite obviously straddling the borders of sanity. “Mudblood,” hissed the voice. “Lil’ Mudblood...” The voice was strangely familiar.

“Do... do I know...” Hermione’s words died in a terrified squeak.

“Yeah, o’ course. Remember me?” And then their abductor threw back the hood and pulled off the balaclava.

Ron swore filthily; Hermione uttered a choked shriek, and her hands flew to her mouth.

The head was completely bald, the skin red as a sunburn wherever it wasn’t blotched with patches of dark flesh, and the entire face was covered with a mass of puckered scars, but it was still very recognisably Vincent Crabbe.

“You left me to burn,” he said, and once again Ron was surprised by the softness of his voice. “But I didn’t. Not all the way. Remembered the counter-curse, in the end. And then I found this old cabinet what Malfoy did up. Got away unnoticed.”

“The war’s over, Crabbe,” said Hermione. “You didn’t do much – Malfoy’s free, did you hear – we can help you, I’m a lawyer now, we can...”

Crabbe looked down at Ron, then at Hermione. His stare began at her feet, and didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you know,” he continued in that soft boyish voice, “I’ve thought for quite some time now about raping you?”

What little colour there had been drained totally from Hermione’s face.

“CRABBE YOU SON OF A BITCH DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE I WILL–!”

“Silencio.”

Mad rage and horror was consuming Ron totally, but he could do nothing but struggle against the jinx and scream soundlessly. Helplessly.

“Please,” Hermione managed, “please... don’t...”

Crabbe shrugged, looked down on his gloved left hand. “I can’t, though,” said Crabbe. “The Fyrefiends – they ate too much of me.” He tapped his wand against his thigh, and it made a tinny, almost hollow sound. “Can’t do or feel much through these things.” He looked down at Ron on the floor.

“So you’ll have to do her for me. What do you say to that, eh?”

*

Hermione’s mind raced ahead as always, tallying resources, noting every word and movement in the room in hyper-focus, ransacking her vast memory and putting the bits and pieces together to come up with solutions. Offer help – appeal to better nature – hit him while he’s distracted – legal amnesty – money – beg for mercy...!

But all that blanked out in the blinding white light of horror that screamed in her mind the instant Crabbe gave voice to the fears she had been trying so very hard not to think about, ever since she’d woken up in this makeshift dungeon.

Ron broke through the Silencing Spell. “What I say is FUCK YOU you coward Crabbe, let me up and I’ll give you something to think about you fat fucking piece of...”

“I ain’t gonna listen to this,” said Crabbe, and Silenced Ron again. “Here’s how it works. I’ve spent a long time thinking about it.” He flicked his wand at the corner, and something black, spindly, and most decidedly Muggle appeared in the corner.

A video camera on a tripod.

That’s a really big camera, said the tiny portion of Hermione’s brain not gibbering. Look at the size of that lens, that microphone. It probably gets a really good picture. Great sound. It probably goes for hours and hours.

Crabbe reached over and gently pressed the red recording button. A little red light in the front of the device blinked on. “Muggles record moving pictures with this,” he enthused, for a moment sounding like any other teenage boy with a toy. “And I’ll be able to watch you again and again and again. Amazing what those animals can come up with, innit?”

He pointed the stiff fingers of his gloved prosthetic left hand at Hermione, leering. “You do it here on the bed, where the Muggle thing can see.”

Hermione found her voice. “We won’t,” she said, the words coming out in a squeak. “Y-y-you can’t make us.”

Crabbe’s smile was child-like, almost innocent. Like a firstie confident of earning points for Slytherin with a correct answer, he said: “Course I can. You’ll do it, or I’ll kill you. Do it, and I’ll hand you over to some people I know. They’ll probably set you free for a ransom. Wouldn’t that be nice? But first, I want my tape. Now, be quick about it. I need to go see some friends.”

He shut the door gently behind him.

* * *

III. Fuck Or Die

Nine hours ago

The moment the Impediment Jinx released him, Ron was up and charging.

With a bellow of fury he kicked at the camera; there was a flash and Ron was thrown all the way across the room, landing painfully on his side. The bastard’s thought of everything!

Blind rage overtook him; he turned his attention to the door now, rammed it with his shoulder, maybe he could break it down, hurled himself at it over and over again until his shoulder was agony and... and he felt hands grabbing his arm and tugging.

“Stop, Ron, you’ll hurt yourself, stop, stop!”

Hermione locked her arms around his. Ron gave in, gave in to the depression following fast on the heels of the anger, and sank to the ground, leaning against the bed. The damn bed.

They sat that way for a while, on the cold cement floor – not colder than the chills in their hearts. After what Crabbe had said, Ron was afraid of even touching Hermione, but she held on to his arm, and buried her face in his shoulder.

Time passed.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron said at last.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He tried to think of something to say, and blurted, “When did Crabbe get to be so smart?”

“Late bloomer.”

“Well done him.”

“Daddy would’ve been proud.”

“Five points to Slytherin.”

Hermione snorted, and Ron chuckled, which set her giggling as well, and in turn him – a crazy, helpless, haha-not-actually giggle.

Very shortly, the hysteria subsided. Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, and Ron met her gaze. He frowned, then recognised the calculating look. “What are you... no. Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s an option.”

“No!”

“He said... they’d ransom us afterwards.”

“Bollocks!”

“Ron, think rationally, please.” A little of the old didactic Hermione returned. “We were already planning on taking the next step, last night. You were prepared, right? You bought the potion like we planned, right?”

“I did, but I don’t have it, he emptied my pockets.”

“The point is, we would have done it, if – if we hadn’t squabbled.”

It seemed ages ago, though it was only last night – it must be about mid-morning Saturday now. Ron couldn’t even remember what they’d argued over. He wondered what could possibly have seemed so important then. “Yes, but that’s not the point. I’m – we are not going to let him hurt you, assault you in that way.”

“What’s the difference, really? It’s not actually… that, if it’s just you and me.”

Ron lifted his head slightly, and just looked at her tiredly. “Come off it, Hermione, you know the difference. There’s a body violation of a sexual nature involved, all the same. Voyeurism is a criminal offence, and it’s the same if you’re using a Muggle contraption, a Pensieve, or your own damn eyes.” Aurors, of course, had to be familiar with the criminal code, and Ron had applied himself to his chosen profession much more diligently than to History of Magic.

At any other time, this could have been the spark of another loud and spirited bickering session, but instead, Hermione just nodded, apparently in silent agreement.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re the lawyer, you know all this better than I do,” said Ron, a little more roughly than he’d intended.

She gave him a yes-I-do-know-Auror-Obvious-thank-you-so-much look, but it was troubled. “I was just thinking, what if it’s a way out, that’s all. Maybe if we give Crabbe his stupid tape, he might even just – I dunno – let us go.”

She’s getting desperate, Ron realised, and the thought nearly broke him too. More because his mouth took over for something to do than out of real consciousness, he continued talking. “I’m not sure I could do it, anyway. Physically, I mean. I’m just... not keen on the idea at all.”

“I thought we agreed that we would...”

“Yes, but not like this. Not here, not now. It would feel... wrong.”

“You’re right.” She managed a half-smirk. “And here I thought men were up for it anytime, anywhere.”

“Very funny.” Ron chose his words carefully. “D’you think all blokes just want to fuck? That all we care about is getting a leg over, anytime, anywhere, any girl? We make bad jokes about it, sure, but we don’t mean it. Deep down, we’re just like you. We want a real relationship – to make love to whom we want, when we want, how we want. Last night – last night was going to be important to me too, Hermione. It would have been my first too.”

Hermione was suddenly tense. She turned her head away from him. “You know, I always thought you and Lavender had... had sex.”

It was a question, Ron knew.“We could have,” he confessed. “It wouldn’t have been right, but we could have. Lavender and I – we were all about what felt good in that moment, and not about what was in our hearts. But no, no we didn’t. And I’m glad.” Glad that you would have been my first. But now I don’t think I’ll ever... Ron tried not to complete that thought.

Some of the tension eased out of Hermione, but she didn’t reply. Her head dipped down and she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

*

Once upon a time, Hermione’s thoughts had dwelt upon the subject.

In school she’d watched the teenage courting interestedly; Ron and Lavender, Harry and Ginny; and of course in short order all the girls had heard about Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini – the first of their year that anyone was sure had done it. There’d been a couple of giggly nights in the dorms, discussing the subject – though she had stopped participating in those, during and after Lavender and Ron. She’d found herself thinking about it, mostly purely academically – sometimes, curiously. In those days she had pined for Ron, but for as long as he had been with Lavender, in her dreams and fantasies her subconscious had not allowed his face to appear – only anonymously nondescript tall freckly ginger gits.

And then came the war, and then Ron, and suddenly the dream became an urgent and pressing question.

If Hermione hadn’t been an only child, it might have been easier. She might have had an older sister or two to laughingly talk her through things, or even just to watch and learn from. She didn’t even have a girl-cousin; both her parents had come from small families. Instead, all she had was a mother, and Mummy was a wonderful mum, but some things were really really hard to talk to her about.

Such as, when did you feel you were ready to have sex?

There’s no asking Mum that one.

And so Hermione had turned to the tried-and-true ways she knew, and scoured every book she could find on the subject. Returned from W.H. Smith’s with a stack of relationship and self-help guides. Subscribed to Cosmopolitan and looked up back numbers in libraries. Even bought a few Mills & Boons, telling herself it was research. She’d even tried the Hogwarts library, in case they had any particular insights on wizarding culture in this area, but all she’d got was a couple of rather iffy charms and an irritatingly knowing look from Madam Pince.

Hermione had found the guides generally useful but unspecific, the magazines gushing but hollow, and the novels – well, quite exciting, actually, she admitted. Wildly fantastic, of course.

But books – however explicit – only take you so far.

The past couple of years of slowly intensifying necking and petting with Ron had given her a far better preview, and she’d enjoyed it all. And lately it hadn’t been enough, her body was screaming for more, and three weeks ago she had very nearly just jumped Ron and gone for it. Why not? They were adults, and Hermione knew, if any accidents happened, what they would do. She and Ron had used the M-Word more than once, playfully talked about a house, children. In a real emergency she knew she could count on his steadfast loyalty. So she was well and ready, and she knew it.

For a moment, Hermione was lost in a daydream of what could have been the perfect night. Reflexively, she inched closer to Ron, and rubbed her cheek on his arm.

Then Hermione came back to her senses and back to this dirty, dilapidated, sordid dungeon, and their hopeless situation.

Not like this. Not like this.

No, they couldn’t give in to Crabbe’s perverted demands, could they? Ron was right. She definitely did not want to perform in front of a camera – the thought made her flesh crawl. Even without the camera, the fact that he was making them do it at a time when they didn’t want to, that was wrong too. It was a consent violation, even if it would be with Ron and not... Hermione shuddered.

And so they waited for Crabbe’s inevitable wrath.

*

Hours passed, but they weren’t in a mood to count.

Without warning, the door slammed open again.

Hermione and Ron scrambled to their feet, and backed away, but there was nowhere to go, really.

Crabbe lumbered in, big, broad, and implacable. The reek of alcohol preceded him. Where his face wasn’t discoloured brown, the skin was redder than ever with the flush of drink.

“Still ‘aven’t gone at it?” he growled.

Was there any point in lying, even to buy a few minutes? He could probably see the truth, without needing to check the camera tape. They didn’t look like they had. They didn’t look mussed enough, humiliated enough.

Hermione’s throat was dry and she couldn’t think, but Ron’s mouth took over, dripping with sarcasm. “What the hell did you expect? This place isn’t exactly what you’d call a romantic getaway. You keeping us shut in here isn’t exactly doing wonders for setting the mood.”

Crabbe shook his head sadly, and pointed his wand at Ron. “Crucio!”

Ron shrieked.

He fell to the floor and convulsed, back arching, eyes wide and rolling, every muscle straining and standing out as if trying to escape his skin, get away from supreme pain. He thrashed and flung himself this way and that, knocking over the table. He curled into a ball, spread his limbs like a starfish, beat his head on the ground. Blood burst suddenly from his nostrils, spattering the walls in a fine deep-red spray.

Hermione watched, hypnotised and horrified, as through it all Crabbe held the curse, a faint, casually pleased smile growing on his scarred face. Like he was watching his Quidditch team make a comeback from a hundred points down.

When Ron’s voice broke, when the agonised yells turned into thin whistling, and still Crabbe didn’t raise his wand, she screamed, “Stop it, stop it, please stop, please stop Crabbe I’ll do anything!”

Through her tears she saw him raise his wand and turn his head towards her. The smile was gone now. “They wouldn’t listen,” said Crabbe. “I tol’ ‘em, but they wouldn’t believe me. They laughed – laughed! They wouldn’t even bother to come and see.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll believe, if I show them on the Muggle thing. If I can’t, well,” he shrugged again, “I don’t have any more use for either of you.”

Crabbe pointed at her. “Clever Mudblood. Clever Her-mi-o-ne,” he said her name lingeringly, caressingly, and Hermione shivered uncontrollably. “You get him to do it. Make him do it, if he don’t want to. I’ll even leave you two be for a few hours. But do it, or you know what I’ll do. You hear? Fuck. Or. Die.”

* * *

IV. The First And The Last

Now

Hermione sank to her knees beside Ron’s too-still body, crying. She pulled his head into her lap, ran her fingers desperately through his sweat-slicked hair. “Oh Ron, please be alright, please...”

After much too long, Ron stirred, blinked. Coughed and licked his lips, smearing them bright red. “Not… fun…” he said hoarsely.

Hermione bent over him and wept, in relief or despair, she didn’t know which. Both, probably.

Ron’s wheezing breaths filled the room; thin, laboured gasping punctuated occasionally by wet, blood-flecked coughs. She cradled his head on her lap and stroked his hair tenderly, the only thing she could do.

After a while he shuddered, sucked in a deep breath. She drew back and tried to fan air towards him with her hand. Grimacing with every movement, Ron sat up, panting with the effort. His fingers trembled, and every now and then his legs jerked and twitched.

Nerve damage, thought Hermione. She helped him slowly, painfully, onto the bed.

Time passed, and Ron’s breathing evened. Hermione found her eyes drawn unwillingly to the staring lens of the camera in the corner.

“Forget it,” grunted Ron. He sat up, propped himself tiredly against the headboard.

“What?”

“Forget the stupid thing. Hermione,” he coughed again, “Hermione, I love you. It’s been… you are the most wonderful thing in my life. The very best.” Ron smiled, but his eyes were flat and dead. “I wish I’d had more time with you, of course, years and years, but...” He shrugged.

“Ron, what are you saying?”

“We won’t give that sick fucking bastard what he wants. It’s all a load of codswallop. He’ll just kill us afterwards anyway. Probably Crucio us to death, that seems to be his thing.”

She’d experienced the Cruciatus at Bellatrix’s hands, and it looked like Crabbe was just as skilled at that curse as that mad dead witch. The thought of dying that way sickened Hermione, but… she shoved that thought aside. “Don’t give up, Ron,” she pleaded. “We can… we can…” Think, Hermione, think!

Ron shook his head. “Can’t see any way out. We’re done. Sorry… curtains for you too. He can kill us if he likes. But we won’t leave him a remembrance to wank over. So let him kill us… be done with it…” He lay back, exhausted… resigned.

Hermione was silent for a while, thinking. Ron – death – Crucio – Crabbe… She looked around the room. A terrible thought crept into her mind. She tried to shake it off, but it stayed. So she steeled herself, and turned it over, took it apart, looked at it from all angles. Shook her head.

“Won’t work, Ron,” she said. “Think about it logically. Best-case scenario: maybe we can take him at his word. Maybe if we… give him what he wants, he’ll do as he says and hand us over to his friends, and they’ll ransom us.” She tried her best to lay out the scenarios dispassionately, like she was speaking in court. “Alternatively, if we don’t do it, he’ll kill us. It won’t be pretty. He might just send us off with a quick Avada. Or even the Cruciatus. I wouldn’t mind. I hope he does. God, I hope he does.”

Ron looked at her and said nothing, followed her train of thought intently.

She forced herself to say it. “Because what if he doesn’t kill us? Crabbe’ll get his friends to come round, eventually. Whatever we do, do what he says or refuse, the end is the same. I don’t believe in this ransom nonsense either. They must know they’d never get away with it. You, they’ll kill. Sorry. Me? They’ll find a use for me all right. The usual.” Hermione swallowed. “They’ll rape me, even if he can’t. After that, then they’ll kill me. If I’m lucky. If I’m very lucky. More likely, they’ll lock me up, and do me over, and over, and over, for as long as I…”

She couldn’t continue.

There is no real choice.

Ron lifted one fist and slammed it into the wall. A terrible keening sound burst from his throat, an animal in misery. In tones of utter despair, he said, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry I can’t… damn it!” He swore and cursed until he choked, and pounded his fist helplessly.

Hermione caught his fist, stilled the violence. She laid it gently down on the bed, kept her hand firmly on it. He never fought her.

They sat there in resigned silence for a while.

Then a thought occurred to her.

“Hey.” Hermione shifted so she sat in front of Ron, looked him in the eye. She smiled, and traced her finger down the freckles sprayed across his cheek. “Hey. Listen. I’ve got a… I want you to do something for me, Ron,” she said, almost brightly.

“Anything.”

“I want you to give me a memory,” said Hermione. “A sweet, wonderful memory.” Then she couldn’t stop the tears. “G-g-give me something to t-t-think about, something real I can remember, w-while they’re…” damn it, she was blubbering now, “give me my f-first, make it with you, don’t let them have that…”

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, God!”

She leaned in, kissed him on the lips softly, virginally. “It’ll be the only time in what’s left of my life that I’d… I’d actually have wanted it. That I’ll enjoy it. The first, and the last. Please, Ron. Give me that.”

*

How do you… how do you even...?

Ron could barely process it. Most of his mind was screaming static, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. A small voice in the back of his head said, She’s right you know. A much louder voice objected: But I just got my arse Crucio’d off me! The bits of his body that were still twitching and jerking and gritting his teeth as parts of him flared up in aftershocks of pain agreed enthusiastically.

Figure out how, damn it. It’s practically her last bloody request, can’t you even manage that, you stupid ginger pillock?!

He sat back, and thought.

People who don’t know Ron, or don’t play chess, think he’s unimaginative and stupid. They’re wrong. You don’t get very far in chess without being able to visualise the board, plan a few moves ahead, examine and discard alternatives, and put together complex attacks involving several pieces, all of that in your head and on a time limit. Ron can. This skill is next-door neighbours, mentally, to creative problem solving, what people call “intelligence”.

Hermione tried her best to hide it, but her body betrayed her. She was trembling with fear beside him. Every now and then she sniffled, passed the back of her hand over her eyes, and all too pointedly looked away from that fucking camera. He didn’t know much about women, but he knew this, and you didn’t need twelve bloody fail-safe ways to figure it out: in the mood she was in, there was no way what she suggested was going to turn out anything but a mess.

Still, he had to try.

How do you begin attacking a knotty problem – an enemy who’s taken the centre, and dug in with three pawns and all his knights and bishops? You don’t meet it head-on, you hit it from the flanks. Stall the advance, manoeuvre around the enemy, chip away at the roots.

Lull and beguile them, then take them by surprise.

He knew what he had to do. Ron took a deep breath, gathered all his strength and willpower – and smiled. “Come here, Hermione, love,” he said.

*

Ron’s smile, his expression, every line of his body, was so suddenly carefree it took Hermione off-guard. She hesitated, then leaned into his embrace. “I’ve a question.” He carded his fingers gently through her brown ringlets. It was what he always did when they were cuddling, he always seemed to be enormously fascinated with her hair.

“…go on.”

“You remember what we planned for our perfect night? How it would have gone, after dinner?”

The expression on his face was half-smirk, half-embarrassment, and all adoration. He looked exactly as he had when she had been laying out their plans for their big night. “Of course.”

“Hermione,” he said gently, “I want you to imagine, and believe with all your heart, all your big brain, all your body… that this is exactly what we’re doing. We’re having the perfect night we planned, and it is perfect. Forget everything else, this is what’s really real. I don’t care about anything else. This is all I know – that I love you, and I truly want you. Do you love me?”

“I love you.”

“Then if you’re ready, we’re going to enjoy ourselves as lovers do. This is our choice. That’s all there is to it. Nothing else.” And Ron closed his eyes, and touched his lips gently to hers.

* * *

V. The Real Choice

Hermione hesitated only a split-second. Then she pressed her lips and her body against him, planted her hands on his chest and pushed gently so Ron fell back, and Hermione was lying on top of him.

“This is what’s real,” she said, and Ron nodded.

Forget, forget, forget…

“This is real.” She forced herself to believe it.

There’s no surer way to think of something than to tell yourself to forget it, though.

So when Ron’s hand stroked her thigh and moved questingly up round her hip, easing up the short hem of her dress and setting the skin there tingling pleasurably, Hermione dove into the welcome distraction with everything she had. And it felt so good.

Don’t think.

She opened her eyes and saw Ron suddenly hesitate, and to forestall thought she grabbed his shirt and unbuttoned it as quickly as she could – with predictable outcomes; at least two buttons were dangling by a thread when was done, but who cared? At the same time she tried to shimmy out of her dress, just as he tugged, and the dress slipped off to present herself clad only in the black satin knicker-and-bra set she’d specially picked out.

Hermione became aware of the hardness nudging her lower belly. She pushed herself against it experimentally, and was rewarded with a thrill of sensation and a loud intake of breath from Ron. His eyes widened, and Hermione smiled shyly at the open desire in his eyes, drinking it in.

Every moment, every detail, Hermione recorded in her brain, focusing hard on every detail of expression, of perception, emotion.

She will need the memory in future.

But no… right now she wasn’t going to think about that.

When she positioned her legs across Ron – feeling that hardness nudging her there, on her lower-most parts – and he slipped off her dress, Hermione was well aware that this was the farthest they had previously gone. From here on out they were breaking virgin territory.

No room for indecision or nerves. Best get it done quickly. She reached up behind her back in a smooth familiar movement, unclipped her bra and let it fall, aware that for the first time, she was doing it in front of someone – in front of Ron – and he was watching intently.

Hermione couldn’t help closing her eyes. She listened though, and heard Ron say, sighing, “You’re gorgeous...” Then she felt his hands on her breasts, where they’d never been before, and oh god what was that…!

*

Ron had learned a thing or two, over the years, and more of it came from being with Hermione than any bloody book.

As he ran his fingers and palms across her breasts Hermione gasped and clutched at his shoulders, and he knew he was on to a winner. Circles, he made circles all around those impossibly soft smooth beautiful parts of her, and Hermione shivered and her back arched slightly, then more and more. Ron was enjoying himself of course, he didn’t know why but it made his pulse race to have her entrust her body to him, and he passed his thumbs over those deep pink nipples and felt her tighten her grip, and he chuckled.

*

Don’t stop, don’t think.

Pants and knickers off, quickly.

Hermione knelt on the bed and looked down, staring, and he was craning his neck to gaze at her too. She glanced up; it was clear that they were both equally fascinated, equally new to the sight, and the thought made her giggle. That helped. She took the plunge, reached out to hold him, and said “oh!” in surprise.

“What?” The tips of his ears were crimson.

“I had no idea. It’s so – strange. Soft and hard at once.” Right, she’d seen this next bit before – no, actually she hadn’t, Parvati Patil, red and brown like a rosy-cheeked chestnut, had only attempted her idea of the motion two or three strokes on a toothbrush handle and then the whole dorm had collapsed laughing…

Ron groaned. “Keep that up, Hermione, and this is only going to last five seconds...”

Hermione laughed, and reluctantly let go.

“Very funny. Let’s see how you like it...”

She liked it very much indeed, closing her eyes and pressing herself against Ron’s fingers. Very, very much. Now she wished they’d done this much earlier, they could have had so much more of this, Crabbe was coming to kill them any moment…

Forget, forget, FORGET!

To drive the sickening thoughts from her mind Hermione threw herself into the jolts of sensation electrifying her body, and perhaps it was that desperation that made the difference. She was determined to enjoy herself, and she concentrated everything, mind body and soul she had on the sparks erupting everywhere Ron’s fingers glided, and found that the more she did, the better it got.

Ahhh, I see…

Her body screamed for more. Looking down, she caught Ron’s eye and knew it was time. Hermione reached down and helped guide him, but – flying in the face of everything she’d read – the two of them somehow just couldn’t engage her entrance in this position.

“Maybe this way...” He quickly flipped them over.

Hermione landed with a breathless “oof!” and giggled. Ron gazed down lovingly at her from above, and she felt a surge of warmth and safety, nestled there in his arms. She reached down. “Okay, I’ll just… okay, try now.”

Ron kissed her, and stroked her side, and pushed slowly and carefully.

That didn’t mean entry didn’t hurt.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It hurt like a needle, a big needle, lots of big needles, and she couldn’t help a tiny yelp.

“Oh shit, Hermione, I’m sorry,” said poor Ron, his tone abjectly contrite.

She ignored him. Distraction, distraction… Hermione lunged up, pressed her body against him and searched for his mouth with her own, and in the process discovered that she could blend the pain with the pleasure from his touch that she had learned to enjoy, and she latched on to that and held on tight. Ron had frozen still so she moved herself experimentally, and ow it hurt again but yes, she could sense the underlying pleasure too, where his fingers had been, where now that part of him met that part of her…

And when she saw the strained look on Ron’s face she couldn’t help but laugh, and that helped loads.

“Are you alright?” he grunted.

“It’s getting better,” she said. “What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about my end...”

So like him. Hermione laughed again, closed her eyes, and thrust.

*

A voice very like Robards bellowed in his head: Hold on! Hold on!

Thinking of that crotchety old bastard helped to take Ron’s mind just a tiny bit off the smooth fiery liquid heat enveloping and squeezing his erection, and the incredibly sexy way Hermione clung to him and made small girlish grunts as she took over the pace. The contrast between the prim and proper Granger he knew and this intensely sexual creature beneath him, her mouth hanging open in a delicate O, was doing his head in completely…

The only way he was going to last, Ron decided, was if he sped things up on her end, and indeed, why not?

He braced on one arm – the bits that were aching from the Cruciatus complained, and that helped too – freeing the other to slide up Hermione’s side and on to one lovely breast, to caress and stroke and pull gently, and yeah that did the trick, Hermione’s back arched off the mattress, the stiff points of her nipples seeking for more, and he gave it to her.

Her mouth worked noiselessly, and Ron covered her lips with his, and swallowed her moan.

*

Too. Much!

You hug a friend with only shoulders and chest touching, in an A shape. Layers of clothes and underwear in the way. With Ron, before this they’d kept their pants on, but now they were skin on sensual sweaty sliding skin, connected everywhere from lips to legs, hell he was deep inside her, there was no way anyone could be more intimate...

His strained expression, his peculiar grunts, the rhythmic movements of him inside her… Hermione took it all in, every sense, and fed the inner fire with it. The weight of him on her, at once protective and deliciously domineering, even bestial; the powerful knowledge that she, Hermione, was making him want her like this, lose control like this… ummm!

Electricity all over, everywhere they touched, sparking off lips and breast and skin and grounding deep in her belly where his thick hardness filled her so full; and the jolts became a lightning storm, and Hermione Granger tensed every muscle in her body as the storm slammed into her with an intense fury she could never have imagined.

*

When Hermione came, she bit the back of her hand and tried to stifle the gasps welling up from deep inside. It emerged instead as tiny muffled whines from the back of her throat.

It was the sexiest thing Ron had ever seen and heard.

Now he could finally let go, and he did, allowing his body to take what it wanted. Hermione made more tiny squeaks as he thrust more urgently throughout the emptying spasms, and that fed the fire even more; he gave in to the animal urge and crushed that amazingly soft and smooth body to the straining cords of his muscles, Hermione finally crying out “Ohhh!” as he plunged down through the final waves.

Yes, oh yes, oh yes!

His body drained like never before, Ron let his arms give way and dropped down, managing to land on his side and not on her. Somewhat limply, Hermione turned, slid her leg over his – wincing slightly – and pillowed that gorgeous sweat-soaked mass of brown curls on his arm.

The girl he loved most in the world gazed back at him through wide flickering brown eyes, and a wave of affection overwhelmed him. Ron kissed her softly, tenderly, over and over again, forehead and cheeks and tip of nose, eliciting a tired giggle. In the worn-out wake of the tender brutality that just took place, he showered her with all his love, prolonging the dream as long as he could, making sure her attention was all on him.

Making sure that she didn’t glance over her shoulder, to the corner of the room where the hateful red recording light of the camera stared balefully.

*

Afterwards, as she lay all tangled up in Ron but too exhausted in a delicious new way to move, the fantasy slowly began to fade.

Hermione clung to the memory of the last few minutes with all her mental powers, extending it for as long as possible, reliving the glorious sights, sounds, sensations in as much detail as she could. But the passing world, the real world insinuated itself steadily. Black thoughts infiltrated the vivid colours, and the fear began to creep back in.

She glanced at the corner of the room, and the shame and despair nearly overcame her.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered.

Ron heard, and pulled her in so even more of their bare skin met, gently turned her head away and back to him, and that helped, but not enough.

“We’re still so young,” she mumbled into his chest. “We had the whole world, all our lives ahead.” Wizards live easily to well over a hundred, there had been every chance they could have celebrated a hundredth anniversary, surrounded by dozens and dozens of friends and family unto the fourth generation.

“Well... I guess it’s the same for Fred, and Tonks, and Harry’s parents,” said Ron gruffly. “Pretty unfair for them too. And unfair for poor George and Teddy and Harry as well, to have to live with it.”

“Yes...”

“But it can’t be helped, can it?” Ron continued. Hermione glanced up, he was staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused, perhaps remembering his dead brother, perhaps thinking about his own hopes and dreams – just like hers, soon to be prematurely dashed. “So much stuff is out of our control.”

Like falling terminally ill. Being run over by a drunk driver. Being kidnapped and raped and tortured to death. “Yes,” Hermione managed.

Ron shrugged. “But we do what we can, I guess. Stuff happens to us, and we can’t help that. But we can choose how we face it.”

And that’s the real choice.

Hermione thought about it, as she snuggled back into Ron’s shoulder, treasuring the warmth of his body and the comfort of his presence. We can surrender everything, let life control us, or we can take back control. Even if all “control” means is the ability to tell ourselves a pretty story, spin ourselves a fantasy in our heads. We might be so helpless that the only difference we’d make is within our minds. But that’s still an important difference; the ability to take the worst brutalisings that life gives out, and remain silently defiant, heads held high, to the very end.

I can live with that. I can die with that.

And so they waited, with fear and love and defiance in their hearts, for come what may.

*

Tap-tap-tap.

There was a knocking on the door.

They had been waiting for a while now, dressed and prepared, but even so, Hermione gave a tiny choking squeak, and huddled into Ron’s arms.

He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her protectively; he kept his eyes on the door, but couldn’t help them filming over with tears. Screaming in his mind was the thought that the next few moments could very well be his last alive, and this was Hermione’s last loving embrace, before – before the meaning of the word would be unspeakably defiled, her world plunged into wretched nightmare. Incredibly bloody unfair, but there it was. Ron stroked her frizzy brown curls tenderly. I love you, Hermione, he thought, I love you forever and ever, with all my heart.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “My darling Ron. Love you, love you, love you.”

Oh. Guess I said that out loud. Jolly good then.

There was a loud bang, and they both cringed. Brick dust puffed from the edges all round the frame. Then the door burst inwards, tottering crazily off one broken hinge, and a storm of noise entered the room as the enchantments surrounding it shattered.

“RON! HERMIONE! YOU IN THERE?!” A tall, scarlet-robed figure kicked at the door with incredible enraged force, so it broke free of the frame completely and spun crazily into the corner of the room, landing with a giant clatter.

“Harry!” Ron bounded to his feet. It can’t be!

Harry Potter stormed into the room, wand at the ready, green eyes flashing with fury behind his round spectacles. When he saw them, his shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank God,” he breathed. “You hurt?”

“Wand, Harry,” demanded Ron, snapping his fingers impatiently. “My wand, any wand, now!”

“Got ‘em here,” said Harry, fishing in his pocket, and pulling out two wands, Ron’s and Hermione’s.

Ron snatched his trusty willow-and-unicorn, whirled round, and snarled, “REDUCTO!”

The camera and tripod in the corner exploded into tiny shards of plastic and metal, no piece larger than a fingernail clipping.

“What the hell was that, Ron?!”

Tampering with evidence. Ron breathed out a sigh of relief. “What had to be done, mate. Merlin’s beard, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He tried to give Harry a hearty slap on the back and grin, but somehow his hands were shaking too much to do more than give him a weak tap, then his knees were shaking, and he had to go down on one knee, the tears streaming down his face.

Next he was aware of a soft, oh-so-gloriously-soft arm coiling round his shoulders, stroking his back, Hermione’s beautiful voice telling him it was okay, it was okay, a gentle kiss on the side of his face, and Ron clung on to her arm and sobbed harder and didn’t know why.

“Harry, he’s hurt bad, come on help me...”

Ron felt Harry put his arms around them both. “Oh, mate,” said Harry thickly. “Oh, mate, mate, mate...”

It’s over.

* * *

VI. A Funny Thing

There was at least one distinct advantage to no longer being at Hogwarts – the Healers at St Mungo’s were a lot easier to push around than Madam Pomfrey.

Which was why even though Ron and Hermione had been sequestered in the Helen Helbrede High Security Ward for “rest and observation”, Harry too was right here in the cosy little two-bed ward, sprawled in an armchair nursing a mug of tea and explaining how the Aurors had tracked them down and found Crabbe’s hideaway. As soon as the Healers were done checking them over, Harry had bullied his way into the ward and more or less stayed for good.

Ron lay propped up in bed, the thick blanket pulled up to his chest. On the bedside table sat the remnants of a huge fry-up Harry had smuggled in, and a half-empty bottle of post-Cruciatus healing potion. Hermione had her own bed, separated by a curtain, but she spent nearly all her time perched on the side of Ron’s bed, her arm round his neck. He could just turn his head and bury his face in her side, and breathe in the scent of her presence, always clean and freshly-scrubbed and unmistakeably her.

He found himself needing to do that often, to remind himself she was here, and safe.

“...so with that, finally we could narrow down from all the other scumbags and crazies who were going round saying they’d got you two, to this particular chap, a two-bit criminal who called himself ‘Victor’ and always went around masked, and then it was relatively easy to ask around about ‘Victor’ and where he stayed, and that was it. I put together a squad and came looking. I didn’t even know who the bastard was till we got that mask off him.” Harry drained his mug, and went to the sideboard to get himself more tea.

“What’s happened to Crabbe?” growled Ron. His voice was still crackly – would be for some time.

Harry’s back was to them, but they sensed him pausing for a moment, mid-pour. “Dead,” he said shortly.

Ron glanced up at Hermione; he thought he saw a flicker of cold satisfaction deep in her eyes.

Harry seated himself again and stared down at his tea. “He didn’t come quietly, and did his usual – shot Fiendfyre at us, Killing Curses. There was a big fight, and he ate a Sectumsempra right in the face.” He drank his tea and didn’t look them in the eye. “I’m not bloody sorry, are you?”

“Course not,” said Ron.

“Right.” Harry put the mug down much too loudly. “Need the loo, I’ve had too much tea.”

When the door closed behind him, Ron breathed out. “Well. Other than good old Snake Face, Harry’s never killed, did you know?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “Sectumsempra, Merlin. He… he must have been really…”

Ron shifted a little, looked up at Hermione, taking in the tightly-belted hospital dressing gown, severely scraped-back bun of hair, the uncharacteristic lack of life in those eyes. What with the entire clan of Weasleys and Hermione’s parents trooping in and out of the ward for the past day or so, and Harry’s hovering over them like an anxious governess – last night, he’d left only after the Dreamless Sleep Potion had knocked them out, and had hung around the whole day today – this was the first time they’d had a moment to themselves in the last twenty-four hours.

“Hermione, are… are you alright?”

She met his gaze. “There’s this weird… fluttering in my heart,” Hermione confessed. “I keep waiting for the nightmares to come, and dreading it. I wish I could drink Dreamless Sleep forever.”

That was it, then. Ron knew what he had to do. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?” said Hermione, looking baffled.

Ron flushed. “For what I did. You know. Don’t make me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll get us the very best from the Obliviator Squad. Dad knows Peasegood, he’s very good at it. We won’t remember a thing. It won’t hurt a bit.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?!”

“Hermione, it was horrible,” said Ron. He forced the words out, as much as he could: “Crabbe trapped us and made us – you know. You don’t want to remember that. I don’t want to remember that. This way, this way we can just… forget it happened. Not everything, just… just a couple of hours’ worth.”

Hermione reared back as if he had slapped her. Tears filled her eyes; she wiped them away with an angry cuff with the back of her hand. “Was it that bad for you? Was I really so utterly horrible at sex, that you so desperately want to forget, that you want to Obliviate our first time?”

What on earth is she saying? “It was bloody horrible for you, Hermione!”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that!”

“Because you’re hurting, I can see it! I don’t want you to force yourself to remember!” A small part of Ron said not to shout at her, Hermione had been through quite a lot lately, but he couldn’t help himself, whenever she raised her voice, he had to as well. “I’m thinking about you, Hermione!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” snarled Hermione, and then she launched herself at him.

Her lips plunged down on his, seeking, demanding, hungry;and after a moment’s surprise Ron responded. He deepened the kiss and felt her dive in with a growling “mmm” of pleasure from the back of her throat that thrummed excitingly into his. For one heart-pounding moment he was back there in Crabbe’s basement, dreading the future, desperately savouring every taste of Hermione knowing it could well be his last. Ron opened one eye and peeked; Hermione’s were squeezed shut in a frown of deep concentration, tears winking out the corners.

Maybe it’s the same for her. Maybe that’s what she remembers, too. How everything had become so clear when you thought there were only minutes left on the clock, and you reached out frantically for what you had wanted for so long, knowing it was about to be taken away...

When Hermione finally pulled back, she stared back at him almost defiantly, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. “You told me,” she said fiercely, “when we were in that – that room, you told me that it was real, really real, that it wasn’t because we were forced to, it was our choice – did you mean any of that? Did you really mean any of that?”

Realisation dawned. She really doesn’t… she really isn’t… “Oh, Hermione,” breathed Ron. “Of course I did. Of course I meant it.” He gently took her hands, and she let him pull her close to rest her head on his shoulder, lie half on him, half on the hospital bed – exactly as they had, after their first… “I’m…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” said Hermione in a kind of whimper. Her arm went round his chest, and held on almost stiflingly tight. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry. Not for that.”

“Alright, I… I guess I’m not sorry, then. Not about everything, just… y’know. Some bits. The other bits I – I wouldn’t mind too much.”

Hermione made a wet noise that could have been half a sob, half a giggle. “Honest?” she managed.

“As a Jobberknoll,” said Ron. “In fact, you were amazing, incredible, beautiful… I can’t find the words. I just wish – alright, alright, I won’t say it. But you know what I mean.”

He could feel her heave a sigh of relief. “Ron, darling?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sorry either. You were the sweetest. It was wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for a better… I don’t regret anything, okay? Nothing at all. It might sound odd, but… I really mean it.”

“…thank you.”

Ron guessed that this was how it was going to be, at least for a while. Even though they were safe now, the incident had left emotional wounds that would take some time to heal. Nightmares were guaranteed. They’d both be a big tangled ball of confusion over the whole thing, all pain and terror and anger and regret; mixed up with love, the memory of a tender and beautiful first time experienced amidst the depths of despair, and a glorious victory they had clawed back out of very near-tragedy.

Life’s a funny thing. It can never be perfect. You will always have to take the bad with the good. You’ll be wounded and scarred, broken. But that’s okay, because afterwards? You’ll heal. You might not heal all at once, you may seem to take forever, until you think you’ll never be whole ever again. And that’s perfectly fine. Keep your head high, and each day the hurt will lessen, even if infinitesimally, and know that someday in the future, maybe sooner, maybe later, you’ll be able to look back without heartbreak.

And maybe even smile.

Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand affectionately, she squeezed back, and he nearly laughed. He could almost pretend they were back in Grimmauld Place, or Heathgate, and they were just cuddling like any other normal young couple left on their own. Almost.

After a moment, Hermione sat up and pulled her hair out of its bun, letting it fall in waves down her shoulders and back, not looking at him. “Alright, so it wasn’t quite what we planned our first time to be,” she admitted. “Not the exact circumstances.”

Ron searched her face carefully, but saw she was smirking slightly. He relaxed. “I’ll say.”

“So maybe now,” and she flushed that charming pink that always made Ron want to kiss the spots of colour blooming on her cheeks, “maybe now we could try, you know, making love in a much nicer place.” She waved her hand vaguely around the room. “And absolutely, positively, without a doubt one hundred percent of our own free will, this time.”

Ron put one finger on her chin and gently turned her towards him. Hermione’s eyes met his; they shone brightly brown and danced with love and desire, closing as she offered up her mouth towards his.

“One hundred percent,” he mumbled against her lips, and grinned as he felt her reach for her wand and wave it around behind her back, whispering.

Then he decided to stop thinking for a while.

*

Harry washed and dried his hands, then made his way back to the Helen Helbrede Ward, walking as quickly as he could without shouldering rudely into people. He wished Ginny was here with him. Crabbe was preying on his mind a lot, and he craved like a drowning man for air the clarity, assurance and love he knew he could always rely on her to provide.

But that could wait. Right now, his best friends needed him.

He reached the ward, tried the door, and frowned as it refused to budge. He did a simple Unlocking Charm, and the lock still balked. Harry fought down a rising urge to panic – his gut was already twisting at the mere thought of his two best friends behind locked doors, given all that had happened, what Hermione had told him in blood-curdling frankness, the grim little bits of circumstantial evidence he’d been collecting from the scene of the crime – and he really really didn’t want to have them out of his sight and reach right now.

Harry chose a Revealing Spell from the arsenal of charms up his Auror sleeve. It told him the door was locked with what he recognised as a “Hermione Special”, one of those obscure tricks she got out of old spell-books in the Hogwarts library. He could probably figure out how to undo it, the Aurors had trained him brilliantly to deal with all kinds of security magic, but...

He cocked his head, thinking.

Perhaps what his friends really needed right now wasn’t him barging in to make sure they were safe, and mother-henning them quite as much as he desperately wanted to. Perhaps what they needed was some alone time, time to refresh themselves in each other, restore and reaffirm whatever needed to. He had an inkling just what was going on behind those doors, and well, people heal in the strangest ways. Or maybe not so strange, considering…

Smiling slightly, Harry turned his back to the door, clasped his hands in front, wand resting reassuringly in the firm grip of his right fist, and stood guard.

END

[lilxberry]

I Watched You Die} 6 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Language. Fighting. Terrible writing (this chapter was terrible.)

Words: 3,123

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: There’s some time jumps that aren’t stated but it’s still relatively easy to follow in that sense. Also, this chapter is more so a filler but nonetheless is related to the story.)

(A/N 2: Strucker and interactions with him are in German and a small interaction with Wanda is in Slovak as a substitute for Sokovian. There is some Russian in this but it’s quite easy to distinguish between the languages’ used.)

< Chapter 5    Chapter 7 >

_______________

Her head throbbed and her neck was stiff and pained from its lolled position it had been in hours on end. Even with her head tilted forward and down towards the hard floor beneath her, the light felt harsh against her eyes, a stinging, burning sensation appearing each time she cracks an eye open.

“Ah, I hope you slept well, Miss Romanoff.”

The familiarity in the voice caused Natasha to tense and she willed her eyes to open and remain as such. Raising her head, her eyes automatically lock on to the figure before her in which everyone believed was dead.

“How are you here?”

The man chuckled and began to take steps towards the tied up red head, his hands folded together behind his back, a smug look etched into his features. “It is quite incredible the technology we have within this day and age, yes?”

Her features twisted up into a sneer, glaring at the one of the few notorious HYDRA leaders they, the Avengers, had come to face. “Why can’t people just stay dead?”

Strucker rounded her body leaving her to look at the room they held her within; bland in colour but crowded with technology. “I believe you’re also not referring to only me now, are you?” He clicks his tongue. “Yes, Y/N. Our best asset yet. The twins were exceptional, yes and the winter soldier was successful until recent years, but Y/N is our best creation.”

His German accent is thick as the words pass into her ears and registers his words, but his next sentence as he leans down to whisper right beside her head makes her blood run cold. “Finding her on the brink of death was undoubtfully wonderful, on our part at least.”

The man chuckled as he straightened himself back out, standing to his full height before rounding her seated position once more to stand before her. “How are our previous assets, anyways? The updates Ghost gives are quite minimal in unnecessary data.”

Silence. Strucker tsked at her lack of response and spun on heel, taking one, two, three steps forward before coming to a standstill. “I suppose you’d like to know why we have you hear,” he called over his shoulder to her. When he was met with silence once more, he continued.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers have certainly been a right ganz schlimmer, a large spanner in our works. We run smoothly when you and your little friends keep out of our business. Perfectly running machinery. So, we’re simply removing the issue with our operation. You.” (Fucking pain.)

Slow and intimidating were his steps as he little by little made his way over towards a board of panels which, much like every other piece of technology was surrounded by people in off-white lab coats. His fingers danced over the multiple of buttons that littered the deck of the panel.

“You may not think so yourself but, we believe you are the strongest of your little band of heroes. No, not physically. Mentally? Yes. We also believe, if we break you, the rest of the team will surely follow in crumbling down.”

His eyes linger on one spot in particular on the panel, his finger hovering over it. “Now you’re also wondering why I’m electing to tell you all this. The answer is simple, really.” He pushes down on a button, resulting in the chair that Natasha is strapped to, to recline backwards, much like a chair in a barbers’, before laying her flat.

“You’re stuck here.”

Natashas’ head looks from left to right in a frantic manner as Strucker steps away from the lengthy panel of buttons and stalks towards her, his boots quietly squeaking against the cold, smooth floor of the room.

Above her is some form of machinery she could best describe as terrifying in appearance, harsh glinting metal and a mass of wires. Movement to both her left and right signify to her that people are beginning to close in on her and surround her. Panic rises in her body further as someone steps closer to her head holding what she believed was a mouth guard; something she’ll be biting down on.

She shakes her head in a desperate attempt to avoid the object but with no such luck. Someone had violently grasped her jaw in a bruising grip and forced the guard into her mouth. Strucker leans over her laying form and the evil grin on his face is purely sickening.

“Have you ever felt 450 volts of electricity surged through your body before? No? Oh, don’t worry. IT should be over before you know it.” He pulls back, making Natasha follow his with her eyes. Her protests are muffled by the guard in her mouth. “But, please, be mindful when it comes to the convulsions that follow. You wouldn’t like to break a bone, surely.”

Strucker walks towards yet another panel, this time with AMP and voltage gages along with other gages she couldn’t quite make out from her position. He places his hand atop a dial and nods his head once to one of the many people scuttling around the room. She feels something be attached to each temple and it reminds her strongly of the old school, brutal electroshock therapy that doctors used to dole out.

“Shall we move this along and see how long it takes until you break?”

Natasha spots your body stood stiff and squared near the door at the foot of the room, features lacking any show of emotion. Her eyes widened, and she desperately hoped that her eyes asked what she couldn’t.

‘Help me.’

Your being, unmoving and unchanged, is the last thing she sees before searing hot pain shots through her body. She bites down on the guard and releases and ear-piercing scream around it as her whole-body tenses and her back arches up, fists clenched tightly, and toes curled.

Her body falls limp for a short moment before the process repeats, over and over. Like an unending, destructive cycle.

_______________

The team had tirelessly put in every effort to find the missing ex-assassin. When Natasha had taken too long to return to the others, Clint did what was asked of him. He waited until the end of the following day when she had left before telling the others.

With no sightings and no communication from the Avenger, they were at a lost.

4 days had passed, coming close to 5, with no such luck in finding Natasha. Every member of the close-knit team had put in hours and hours on end into locating her; everything had been fruitless. The team had chewed out the archer for not mentioning anything sooner than he had but he had argued that he valued his word and believed Natsha would be fine, that she could look after herself.

They couldn’t argue with him on that.

“I’ve got nothing. We haven’t found shit and it’s been what? 4 days since anyone had last seen her?”

Their hopes in finding her were dwindling quickly, its rate in decrease sped up after the three-day mark. Stark groaned and leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Honestly, I blame Fury for making us use phones that I can’t hack. We’d find her a lot fucking faster if I could just get into it.”

“Language,” Steve muttered before releasing a lengthy sigh. As he went to open his mouth to respond, Tony perked up, this time looking extremely more optimistic than previous.

“HOLY SHIT!” He spun his chair to face the computer on the desk and began to rapid begin typing. The others watched him with scepticism before slowly moving to crowd the billionaire.

“You wanna explain to the class, Stark?”

“You know how I never listen to Fury?” He heard a collective of hums in agreement before continuing. “Well, when I was encrypting the phones we all use, I may have purposefully left out my location cloaking software.”

“So, you’re saying you can ping her location and you failed to mention this?!” Wanda exclaimed.

“One, ouch. Don’t scream in my ear like a damn banshee, Matilda. Two, I forgot. It’s not like we actually use it.”

The team watched in anticipation as Tonys’ fingers continued to rapidly tap at the keyboard. Moments pass by with bated breaths before a small red dot appears on a map that pops up. They stare at the bright red dot in a prolonged silence before Steve straightens out with a hardened face.

“Let’s move.”

_______________

“I don’t understand. Why San Fransico?”

The statement from Sam was what each of them wanted to voice but none did. Each step through the city was following that damn pinged location. The day before it had been in Washington, the day before that was Oklahoma.

They could be tracking a ghost trail for all they knew, certainly with how quickly the location seemed to switch between states so quickly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Update.”

“Location has remained the same. The Railway Museum is just one block away, sir.”

Tony rolls his shoulders before turning to look towards those who walk with him. He and Steve share a look, already knowing that this is more than likely a trap or mislead.

“Only a few of us will enter. Everyone else is going to surround the building, cover each possible exit. Buck, I want you with me, Sam and Wanda. Clint, you think you can take to a nearby building keep an eye on the roof and the main entrance?”

Clint nodded as Steve doled out orders for the group to follow. With the archers’ non-verbal confirmation, the captain continued.

“Thor, I want you to take the West side of the building with Banner. Pietro, you take East. Stark, I want you to take the back with Vision.” Everyone nods followed by them splitting off in the direction of the respective positions.

Dressed as civilians was helpful with entering the museum; they turned no heads when entering the building. The four inside had separated themselves, hoping to search the interior in record time rather than they be grouped up together.

The comms the team had donned before splitting ways crackled before Tony’s voice sounded through into each team members’ ear. “I’ve had F.R.I.D.A.Y. put the location on each of your phones, make it easier for you guys to know if you’re closing in.”

Simultaneously, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Bucky pull out their smartphones and allow the screen to open up correctly, a simple map of the interior showing a blinking red dot in the centre of the building.

The small team inside opposed to those outside slowly close in to the centre of the museum, covering all sides.

Adrenaline begins to heighten as they inch their way closer and closer. Emotions are running high and minds are swirling with possibilities and before they knew it, they surround the exhibit at the very middle of the building.

A large group being led by some guide moves on with their tour and reveals a lone person still stood there; hood up and phone in hand. Steve glances down at the phone in his own hand and sure enough, the dot hasn’t moved.

This is what they’ve been chasing.

With their head down, both Sam and Bucky who face their front can’t identify who holds the phone, Natashas’ phone.

Between the four, a look was shared and with a nod of their head in the figure’s direction, they begin to slowly close in once more. Wanda, Sam and Bucky slow to a stop, only a short distance away as Steve continues to stalk closer and with a few more steps, he’s stood behind the figure.

He reaches an arm out and clamps his hand down on their shoulder which begins to shake slightly as the person laughs quietly. The person slowly raises their head with a shit eating grin on their face and both Sam and Bucky tense, their jaws clenching, teeth grinding.

Wanda freezes up along with them as the figure slowly turns to face Steve; easily catching a glimpse herself.

“At ease, солдат,” your voice rasps. (Soldier.)

You hand moves quickly to clamp on to the blondes’ wrist and before he could react, you bring your head forward in a quick, whip-like motion, slamming it into his nose; a satisfying crunch is heard and blood already beginning to trickle out.

Twisting his arm, you land a hard kick to his ribs and send him back, him falling to the floor with quite the thud, even sliding across the floor a good foot or two. The others had quickly reacted, Sam and Bucky charging over towards you.

You alternate between the two as they dole out a choreographed offensive; punches, kicks, full body hits. The two had been going a solid minute and had done zero damage, even with Steve standing himself back up on to his feet and charging at you himself.

Wanda had dealt with the screaming and panicked public from the first sign of retaliation, giving firm orders to leave the building and to get a safe distance.

The second the first of the civilians exited the building in a rushed and yelling fashion, the team was on high alert.

“Someone talk to us,” Clint crackled through the comms, his sights down the length of the arrow he already has notched and ready to release.

“It’s Y/N.” Just that simple statement made the whole team know exactly what was currently going down. “They had Natashas’ phone. HYDRA put us on a wild goose chase.”

The grunts from Steve, Sam and Bucky brought Wanda’s head back into the fight at hand. The three were being easily overpowered by just yourself and she’s unsure how to proceed. With quick thinking, she uses her powers to push her teammates aside and away from you, the swirl of red like mist dancing around her fingers.

Your attention snaps from the three that had been thrown away from you to the little witch who stood off to the side. You roll your shoulders and smirk before stomping your way over to her aggressively.

You feel your movements slowly become restricted and it’s harder and harder to move forward. Wanda, with a struggle, brings to down to your knees before you could reach her and all you could do it look up at her with a devious smirk.

Tongue peeking out between your lips, you wet them and trail your eyes up and down the length of her body and the action makes her sick to your stomach. “Som ohromená, princezná.” (I’m impressed, princess.)

She takes step towards you, slow, precise, and what she hoped was menacing. “Where’s Natasha?” she spat between her teeth.

You chuckle darkly and shake her head, noticing how she lacked to remember to keep her distance. “You’re in no position to ask questions, little witch.” With perseverance, your left arm shoots forward, grasping her wrist much like you had done with the caps. Shocked, the moment forces Wanda to lose concertation and drops her magical hold on you.

You swipe at the opportunity and raise to your full height, towering over the Sokovian and delivering a hard right hook to the girl, knocking her unconscious the moment your fist made contact with her jaw.

Turning, you look at the trio of men who look at an unconscious Wanda by your feet with wide and worried eyes. You smirk once more as you pull Natasha’s phone from your pocket and wave it slightly before tossing it in their direction. “Keep it. I’m done with it.”

You take small steps backwards away from the four before turning tail and running, closer and closer to the back entrance.

“She’s heading to you guys at the back,” Steve rushes out, struggling to come to a stand and give chase.

“Understood, capsicle.” Tony and Vison both prepare themselves for your arrival, to burst through the doors and go into combat just like the four inside had done. But they waited and waited and waited. Nothing. “Uh, no sign of her. Anyone got eyes on the slippery bastard?” Stark reaches out to the others.

Sam and Bucky left Americas’ sweetheart and Scarlet Witch with the intentions of cheeking the inside of the building, running around the whole of the museum as the team converse.

“Nothing here.”

“Nope.”

“No clue.”

“Nada.”

“Zilch.”

The team’s response came in like clockwork and the entire team felt baffled. Where did you disappear to?

“So, she just evaporated? What the fuck? Are you sure no one has eyes on her?”

“Look,” Steve started. “As much as I want to find them and get some answers, we gotta focus on Wanda. She’s down.” He was kneeling beside her unconscious form and like a lightbulb being lit from a switch, Pietro was right beside his sister on the opposite side of Steve, absolute panic and concern shifting through his eyes.

Steve hears a sigh through the comms followed by Banners’ voice. “Let’s get back. It’s clear they’ve disappeared somehow, and we should focus on Maximoff right now.”

Steve shakes his head and moves to stand, Pietro already holding his twin in his arms. “Let’s go, team.”

_______________

“Wie ich sehe, können wir ihr Telefon nicht länger als Ablenkung für sie benutzen,” Strucker spoke as his back was turned to you, hands folded behind his back, looking at the painting hung on the wall with disinterest. (I see we can no longer use her phone as a distraction for them.)

“Sie werden sie nicht finden können, auch wenn wir sie nicht mehr auf Gänsejagd führen, Sir,” you respond, you own hands folded behind your back. Your eyes are trained on his form as he slowly turns to face you, casually rounded the desk to stand before you. (They won't be able to find her even if we no longer lead them on such wild goose chases', sir.)

“Hoffentlich nicht, Soldat. Es liegt an Ihnen, wenn sie sie finden.” His eyes look you up and down subtly, scrutinising you before turning away from you and striding over towards his desk. “Es ist jetzt zu heiß für dich, Ghost. Zu viele Leute werden dich nach deinem kleinen öffentlichen Stunt erkennen. Du sollst in der Einrichtung bleiben. Sie bewachen Romanoff und begleiten sie zum und vom Labor. Verstanden?” (They better not, soldier. It will be on your head if they are to find her.) (There's too much heat on you now, Ghost. Too many people will recognise you after your little public stunt. You are to stay within the facility. You will guard Romanoff and escort her to and from the lab. Understood?)

“Verstanden.” (Understood.)

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THIS WAS SO BAD LMAO

I just needed a filler honestly so, this will do for the time being

If you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual​ @iwazoomingouttahere​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ 

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch @anxiousgoldengirl @when-wolves-howl @whitelotus00 @anxiousgoldengirl @daniescady @unexpected-character @lgtftchan @mitch-cabello1097 @wlwfanfictionss @gottacamz​

(Those whose @ is in bold, I could not tag unfortunately.)

[celeste-clearwater-06]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please write something about how the Fellowship (+ Thorin?) Would help a s/o who's Disabled and Chronically ill. Like she has a lot of symptoms like chronic pain, chronic fatigue, difficulty sleeping, difficulty breathing at times, difficulty walking at times, higher sensitivity to the cold, difficulty talking at times, and anxiety, depression and executive dysfunction?

I've been really struggling with my chronic illnesses lately, namely my Autism, Anxiety, Sleep Apnea, a really bad Overbite, Raynaud's Syndrome, Asthma, etc, so I'd really appreciate an Imagine like this. I have a really weird disorder where one of my legs is longer than the other, and it's been causing me a lot of pain and difficulty walking lately, and people have been bullying me for it a lot too, so I could really use a Comfort Imagine right now. Thanks so much hun!!

It's no problem! I'm glad I can provide some comfort!! For each character, I'll use a specific struggling area, to make it a bit easier!! I hope I got these accurate enough, and of there are any mistakes, feel free to point them out!! You are strong, beautiful and so, so amazing!! Keep being you!! ❤❤

Help (The Fellowship// Thorin x Fem!Reader)

Aragorn (Autism)

Aragorn has known you for a long time, so helping with your autism is not new for him

He's particularly experienced in reading your emotions and meeting your needs, whether it's helping you out of stressful situations or calming you down, he's there 🥺

If there are large and boisterous gatherings in Rivendell, its almost guaranteed that you can become over-stimulated quickly, and Aragorn immediately senses this (spidey senses õoõ)

He's fast to find your hand and give it a gentle squeeze of reassurance

If that doesn't seem to help, he'll instantly stop what he's doing and take you out of the room

If you're someone who prefers lots of space and little physical contact, he is 100% respectful of this and asks if you'll let him touch or hug you (very much gentleman 😌)

If ever you're confronted by someone of importance, Aragorn is right by your side to ease some of the tension

Sometimes there are things you find difficult to say or get out of your system

The king seems to know exactly what it is and will help you out by saying it or asking you simple questions that you can easily answer

And he always reminds you, no matter WHAT

YOU ARE NOT STUPID 😤😡

You may struggle with some parts of your life, but every day, he's constantly telling you that you're very intelligent and kind

His patience is unending and he'll never let you think down on yourself

Overall, Aragorn is always someone and reminding you that it's all going to be okay ❤❤

Legolas (Anxiety)

Most nights, Legolas keeps watch (since elves don't require much sleep) and notices that you jolt awake out of the random

Now, most of the Fellowship notices that you're usually awake and ready to go before anyone else

But Legolas is really the one to address you first

You were a bit nervous to explain, since you didn't want to worry him or the great of the fellowship, amount the other disadvantages you have

He gently encouraged you, and finally, you explained to him your sleep apnea

Yeah, he was very concerned

I mean, his blue eyes widened with terror when you told him that you could basically die in your sleep if you weren't attentive enough 🙃

Legolas, from now on, sleeps directly next to you, or keeps extra careful watch over you at night

Because he could NEVER see his precious mortal friend become injured... Or worse 🥺🥺❤

The other members had noticed a change in his behaviors towards you as well...

Gimli teased him whenever he caught Legolas giving you some extra lembas bread or offered to carry you 👉👈

You really tried to assure Legolas that it wasn't a big deal when you were awake, since you're aware of your breathing situation

But still 😤

Legolas will always bring you comfort and take great care of you, and that will NEVER CHANGE

Because he loves you very much ❤🦋

Frodo (Anxiety)

Frodo is familiar with the feeling of great anxiety, seeing he had a stress-free life while living in the Shire and suddenly was forced to carry a piece of jewelry all the way to giant ass volcano

It's easy for you two to comfort each other and seek refuge in thoughts and feelings ❤

He's not super comfortable with the thought of you having a panic attack though...

Only because he's never had one

It starts to give him a panic attack whenever you have one around him the first time 😳-

Any time you begin to breathe heavy or hyperventilate, halfling boy is hot at your heels, rubbing your back and reminding you to breathe gently

(So many hugs, if you're up for it)

After you calm down, he's constantly checking on you, asking if you need anything etc.

Really, he just wants to know if he can help 🥺

And even with the weight and stress of carrying the ring, Frodo manages to cheer you up somehow

Samwise (Asthma)

Sam has never had to deal with asthma once in his life

He's very nervous when the subject is brought, afraid it might trigger something inside of you 🥺👉👈

But you just chuckle, assure him that it's alright, and you have ways of keeping it under control

And now, he wants to know everything about it, just to have the awareness in case something happens

Sam just wants to protect you forever, and this was a great way for him to start

He constantly reminds Aragorn that you'll need breathing breaks and will convince Gandalf to let you ride on his horse

He'll scold Pip and Merry if they are trying to drag you around and be silly, because as he says

"You'll rouse him/her/them up! We can't have Y/N gettin injured!" 🤨😠

Sam is MOM

As always, he's very kind and always makes sure your needs are met ❤🥺

Pippin and Merry (Raynaud's Syndrome)

Very confused halfings 🤔

Also extremely concerned!

You were eating one of the lesser pleasurable nights

It was cold and rainy, and a fire couldn't be started, not to mention the quiet arguments of Aragorn and Gandalf in the nearby woods

And Pip's eyes widened when he saw the tips of your petite fingers begin to pale upon hearing Aragorn mention Orcs

"What's wrong with your hands?!" He squeaked, pointing towards your now white-colored fingertips

You hadn't even noticed, nor felt, considering they were numb anyways

Merry looked over his cousin's shoulder and his eyes also widened, not with fright, but wonder

They were both fascinated with your condition, convinced that you were casting some spell Gandalf showed you

Although you reassured them it was just an extremely frustrating inconvenience that you had, among other things

So from then on, the disastrobus duo did their best to keep you out of the cold (and stressful situations!!)

As a distraction, the pair will tell you great stories of the shire, doing little dances and skits that always cheer you up 🥴

Sometimes, they can be a little rambunctious though...

Merry will pick up on this fact quickly, and nudge Pippin to get him to calm down

Even though it may not feel the best

They find your syndrome absolutely fascinating!! 🤔🤔

All in all, these two are always up for keeping your beautiful smile on your face and your spirits high!! ❤🌺

Boromir (Depression)

Throughout the journey, Boromir has always found an easy way to make you smile

After all, he himself has a fascinating way of brightening anyone's spirits

Yours included ❤

Boromir may not have great stories from The Shire, like Pip and Merry, but he sure has a lot of positive things to say

He'll often suggest sparring with the two troublemaking halflings, just so you can see him goof up and get knocked over 🥺

If the nights become cold and weary, he'll give you a warm hug or a nudge on the shoulder

And a few words of helpful encouragement along the lines of;

"Don't fret Y/N. You have more strength than you'll ever know."

"Let our spirits never dampen! We've come this far!" 😊

He's also an incredible listener

Boromir wants to hear what you have to say if you ever need to rant or get something off of your chest

And don't think for a second that he would ever judge you 😤

Son of Gondor sees past all of your insecurities and knows you for your beautiful, amazing self ❤❤

Gimli (Walking disadvantages)

As you travel across great plains and mountains, your limp doesn't go unnoticed by Gimli

It may take him a while to open up about it, since he's afraid he might offend you in some way

And once he asks you, you inform him that it's a difficulty that unfortunately cannot be changed any time soon

And where you come from, lots of people tease and bully you about it

He did NOT handle it well 😳

"wHAT BLUBBERING DULL-MINDED PIGNUTS-" 🤬

Although this Dwarf is short and a bit slow at times

He's fascinatingly strong 😳

And so, he makes it his duty to be your designated carrier 🥺

At first, your a tad skeptical...

I mean, he's only around 4 feet tall...

BUT HAVE YOU SEEN HIM THROW THAT HUGE AX AROUND?!

Gimli will happily carry you great distances when you need a break, and even longer

(Sometimes it's just to show off around the others-)

"Gimli, are you sure you don't want a break?"

"Aye lass! The strength of Dwarves is unending!" 😌

*struggling to breathe*

11/10, fantastic dwarf, will never let you down!!

Thorin (Executive Dysfunction)

Another Dwarf??

Absolutely

Thorin himself has trouble keeping composure with his time management (and sense of direction 🙄)

This means that he'll have an undying amount of patience for you and you only

There's just something about you that he fond of, and it fills in that little sassy, brooding place in his heart

Can also relate to you whenever you grow frustrated at the setback of your journey or lack of sleep

Is 100% willing to help you find your lost belongings (and once again, ONLY YOU)

Thorin will literally make the whole traveling party stop so that you can put something in your bag and make sure that you put it somewhere you'll remember

Always happy to give you extra gentle reminders of keeping your pack closed

The company is utterly SHOCKED with how he treats you

I mean, this man has always been extremely stubborn and hard headed

But when you show up, it's another person he can easily relate and share frustrations with

Also a master at organization?!? 🤔

The one thing he could do successfully was organizing the damn journey and traveling company, so ofc he's gonna be good at that 😂

Yeah, Thorin definitely has a soft spot for you

King under the mountain will never run out of patience and kindness for you 😌💙

Sorry these took so long!! I hope you like them!! ❤❤