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daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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The Promise of Us: Chapter 1

(I promise I really did try to stop myself from posting this and have patience but I just couldn't do it!!!)

You and the group, exhausted and starving, search for safety in the ruins of a broken world and find potential refuge in an overrun prison. Amid the constant danger, your bond with Daryl grows, though you remain haunted by the trauma of the last night on the farm.

You

You remember again what true hunger feels like after all this time—the gnawing, aching, painful twisting in your gut that threatens to distract you.

The third house of the day looms before you, a crumbling relic of a life long lost to the apocalypse. You tighten your grip on the knife, holding it up by your ear, moving silently as you creep through the back door. The mudroom greets you with the scent of mildew and decay, and the cracked tiles beneath your feet crunch softly, though the noise feels deafening in your heightened state. Snarling comes from somewhere deeper inside the house, faint but unmistakable. You can tell it isn’t the kind of sound that means the walkers have noticed anyone. It’s that idle, low growl they emit as they wait, like predators with no purpose other than to react when prey comes near.

Your heart rate quickens, but you stay calm, methodical. You’ve done this enough times to know better than to let panic creep in. Months of jumping from house to house, exhaustion clouding every move, not sure what lies around every corner. You learn to push down the fear after a while. It never fully leaves you, but it’s manageable now.

From another part of the house, you hear bodies thump heavily to the ground—silent but unmistakable. The thud is followed by a brief pause, then nothing.

Moving into the kitchen, you carefully step over the broken dishes, upturned chairs, and scattered garbage littering the floor. The mess seems like a reminder of how quickly life had fallen apart. People left in a hurry, abandoning everything in a desperate attempt to survive. You glance at the countertop where a calendar still hangs, frozen in time on a date that no longer matters.

The kitchen is eerily quiet, with only the occasional creak of the decaying house keeping you company. Taking a breath, you cross the room, your eyes trained on the door ahead. With your knife raised, you brace yourself and throw open the door, immediately jumping back, ready for whatever horror might come charging through.

Instead, your breath catches when a pair of familiar blue eyes meet yours, an arrow aimed directly at you. For a second, you freeze, heart leaping into your throat.

Daryl lowers his crossbow just as quickly, his lips curling into a faint, teasing smile. Scoffing, you follow him as he turns to go down the hallway. You stay close behind, eyes fixed on the back of his head, watching the way he moves with quiet precision, his crossbow back up at the ready. Always careful. Always ready.

As he leans into the doorway of what looks like a bedroom, you catch a glimpse of something unusual. A large bird—a magnificent owl—perches in the window, its enormous yellow eyes staring back at you, wings slowly spreading wide in an attempt to intimidate.

Without hesitation, Daryl raises his crossbow again and shoots the bird, the arrow landing squarely in its chest. It slumps forward, dead before it even knew what hit it.

“A meal is a meal,” Daryl says, already yanking the arrow free and pulling feathers from the owl’s body in preparation.

“Hear me complainin’?” you quip back, though the idea of eating owl doesn’t sit well in your stomach. At this point, though, you’re beyond picky. Anything that fills the gnawing void in your gut will do.

As Daryl works, the sound of a can opener interrupts the silence. You glance over to see Carl, looking young and exhausted, fiddling with the opener on a can of dog food. The others sit around him, watching him mess with it, looks of hollow resignation on their faces. Before he can get it open, Rick strides over, his jaw tight with frustration, and snatches the can from Carl’s hands, tossing it aside without a word. There's a strange tension in the air, the kind that always lingers after too many days without food, without safety.

The group’s exhaustion weighs heavily on you, making everything feel slower, more oppressive. You look around at the forlorn faces of those around you. Lori sits with her hand resting on her stomach, her head tilted back in momentary reprieve. Hershel sits nearby with Beth and Maggie at his side, while Glenn sits with his eyes cast down, his hand wrapped around Maggie’s. T-Dog stands at the window, his eyes scanning the outside world with quiet vigilance. As you glance at him, your gaze shifts past his head, and that’s when you see them—walkers, moving with their lazy, inevitable purpose, shambling closer to the house. T-Dog catches sight of them too. He turns back to the group, his voice low as he makes a quiet “psst,” a signal that instantly grabs everyone’s attention.

In a heartbeat, the atmosphere shifts. Instinct takes over. The exhaustion that had weighed on everyone moments ago disappears, replaced by the sharp edge of survival. Everyone moves quickly, grabbing what they can, the unspoken understanding that you need to leave—now.

Outside, the vehicles wait like lifelines, ready to go. You swing your leg over the back of Daryl’s bike, the familiar rumble of the engine vibrating through you as he revs it up. The wind whips through your hair as he takes off, his back solid in front of you, but there’s no time to relax. Not now. Not with so many so close. A few miles down the road, when everyone seems sure nothing is around, the vehicles stop and people clamber out. Carl immediately goes on watch towards the back, Beth taking to your right, Carol off to the front left.

Once everyone’s on their feet again, you find yourself standing by Rick and the others, a map splayed across the hood of the Hyundai. The sunlight beats down on you, hot and relentless, as Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog huddle around the car.

“We got no place left to go,” T-Dog says grimly, eyes scanning the map with no real hope.

Maggie is the next to speak up, her voice tight with worry. “When the herd meets up with this one, we’ll be cut off… We’ll never make it out.”

Daryl’s voice cuts through the tension, practical as ever, looking to Glenn, “What’d ya say, about 150 head?”

Glenn squints in the sun as he looks over, trying to calculate. “That was last week… could be twice that by now.”

The words hang heavy in the air as the group exchanges uneasy glances.

There’s more conversation around the map, tension rising with every passing second. Hershel points to a spot where a river cuts through the terrain. “This could delay the walkers some,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “Might buy us a little time.”

You shift your weight, leaning against the hot metal of the car as sweat trickles down your spine, soaking into your shirt. The end of summer has brought an unbearable heat in the day and cold nights, and the relentless sun beats down on all of you now. It makes everything harder—thinking, moving, even breathing. The heat feels like it’s closing in, amplifying the suffocating sense of being trapped, surrounded on all sides by herds of the dead.

Your eyes drop to the map, though the lines and roads are starting to blur. It feels like you’ve been running in circles, from one house to the next, never finding enough supplies, never feeling safe for more than a few hours. Every turn feels like it just leads you back to the same dead end—hunger, danger, exhaustion.

As a plan starts to come together, people split up and take a moment to relax by the cars, getting their things in order.

“Hey,” Daryl growls, his voice breaking through the fog of your thoughts. He’s looking straight at you and Rick, the two of you still hovering in front of the car. “While the others wash their panties, let’s go out and hunt.”

Rick and you meet eyes then, and you nod along, your stomach giving a sharp reminder of how little your lunch had done to fill the void.

“That owl didn’t exactly hit the spot,” you mutter, heading for the trunk of the car where your rifle rests. Your fingers close around the cold metal, and you feel a strange sense of relief. At least with a weapon in hand, things feel a little more certain, even if it’s just an illusion.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

The train tracks are rusted and overgrown, tangled with weeds and vines from months of neglect. Each step you take along the old rails echoes softly in the still air, the sound barely noticeable over the distant rustle of the wind through the trees. The three of you walk in silence, your eyes constantly scanning the woods, ever-alert for movement—whether it’s game or danger.

The forest feels endless around you, dense and shadowed, the overgrowth reclaiming what was once human space. There’s a quiet tension in the air, the kind that never really leaves anymore, always lingering at the edge of every moment. Your fingers brush against the cool metal of your rifle, ready for anything.

Then, the trees break suddenly, the thick wall of branches and leaves giving way to an open clearing. The sight ahead stops you in your tracks.

A large, imposing structure sits just beyond the clearing—an old prison. Its tall fences and watchtowers rise like dark silhouettes against the sky, but what immediately catches your attention is the movement inside. Walkers. Dozens, maybe more, stagger and shuffle aimlessly within the prison yard, their moans faint but distinct, even from this distance. The chain-link fences seem to hold them in, for now, but the sight is enough to make your skin crawl.

“That’s a shame,” Daryl grunts, squinting as he assesses the situation, his eyes scanning the yard filled with the dead. He tightens his grip on his crossbow, frustration clear in his voice.

You nod silently in agreement, the potential of a fortified structure like that being overshadowed by the sheer number of walkers roaming the inside. The idea of clearing it out seems impossible.

But Rick remains silent. His gaze is fixed on the prison, his jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimmer in his eyes—a twinkle of something…hope, maybe. Or determination. It’s the look he gets when he’s already starting to formulate a plan, even if the odds seem stacked against him.

You exchange a glance with Daryl, sensing that Rick might see something more than just a lost cause in the wreckage ahead.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

You press your weight against the fence, the chain link rattling under the force as you shove your knife through an opening, right into the skull of a walker. Its snarl cuts off abruptly as it slumps to the ground, but you barely register it. You’re already moving again, feet pounding against the ground as you run through the middle walkway between yard and forest. Daryl stays up front, his torn leather vest flapping in the wind, the angel wings on his back catching the light.

“It’s perfect,” Rick whispers, his eyes scanning the prison yard as you all pause, “If we shut that gate, stop any more from coming in, we can clear the yard.” His voice holds a quiet certainty.

“I’ll go,” Glenn offers, stepping forward, but Maggie immediately shoots him a glare, shutting him down. Glenn stands his ground, though. “I’m the fastest. I can do it.”

Rick’s eyes shift to Maggie, Beth, and Glenn. “No, you, Maggie, and Beth, draw as many as you can over there.” He points toward the far side of the fence around the corner, “Pop ‘em through the fence.”

“Daryl, head back to the other tower,” Rick continues, calling out names and assigning positions, while you stand quietly, waiting for your role. Steady adrenaline keeps you going, buzzing with something inside you. There’s no space for fear, excitement, or even hesitation. This is just survival.

Daryl catches your eye, his gaze quick and searching. It’s a silent check-in, a wordless connection. You give him a short nod, enough for him. Then, he’s off, running toward his position.

One by one, everyone scatters, moving to their designated spots—ready to lure, shoot, and take down walkers. You watch them go, your focus sharp, every movement rehearsed in your head. The gate is key. If it stays open, there’s no winning this fight.

Rick looks around, watching them all head off, and then his eyes land on you. His lips quirk up in the corners, eyes almost apologetic.

You breathe out a chuckle, half rolling your eyes at him, “I’ll run for the gate,” you moan sarcastically, realizing your fate.

“I’m right behind ya,” he chuckles, standing by the fence. It’s such a strange thing�� seeing him smile now. Like all his prayers are being answered today.

You hear the others calling for walkers, the sounds of knives piercing skulls and bodies hitting the ground inside the fence. Lori stands by the gate, her face tense as she takes a deep breath, looking at both of you for a moment, then pulls it open just wide enough to let you and Rick through.

You move quickly, quietly, gun raised, knife ready in your other hand. The air is thick with tension, but your movements are automatic now—practiced, efficient. You let your gun fall to swing around your torso by the strap to slash your knife through walker’s heads, a few finding you and Rick more interesting than those along the chain link fencing. Gunshots ring out nearby, and you see bodies falling, but you don’t let it break your stride. Rick is right beside you, both of you sprinting for the main gate. You hear a snarl coming up behind you, but when you turn to take it down, it’s already falling to the earth with an arrow in its head. You look up across the yard and see Daryl in the guard tower, his eyes on you. You throw him a quick nod again, thanks , and take off.

When you reach the inner fence, you quickly tie a cord to secure the entrance, your fingers working fast as Rick kicks down a walker that got too close. Without missing a beat, he pulls you toward the center guard tower, and you follow him up the narrow stairs, your breath steady despite the chaos below.

At the top, you finally pause, glancing down at the sea of walkers in blue jumpsuits. Their lifeless movements seem almost surreal from this vantage point. When you look over at Rick, you notice something that catches you off guard—a smile. A genuine, wide smile spreads across his face, a rare sight these days. He lets out a short, breathless laugh, almost disbelieving, and before you know it, the two of you start shooting down the walkers below, one after another.

One by one, they hit the ground. The smiles on everyone’s faces are priceless. For the first time in months–months, you hear laughter. A small part of you recognizes this rare moment of relief too, letting your tense shoulders fall in celebration. Daryl is waiting for you when you reach the bottom, moving toward you with a quiet kind of confidence. Without saying a word, he hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you close so that your head fits into the crook of his elbow. He kisses the top of your head, a gesture that feels grounding, steady.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

Later that night, everyone is gathered around the firepit, the orange glow flickering against tired faces, and you and Daryl are stationed on watch atop a truck that was flipped onto its side to block the gated entrance out of the field. Your legs dangle down by one of the tires, your rifle resting across your lap. You sit quietly, feeling the weight of the night but enjoying the quiet– just the rhythm of breathing and waiting. Daryl’s footsteps sound behind you, pacing back and forth along the metal of the truck, eyes sweeping the area, always alert.

You watch Rick make his rounds, occasionally catching sight of him when he passes through the inner fence. It’s almost mechanical now, his path well-worn as he loops around again and again. He’s passed three times already. For a moment, the space feels surreal—so much room to breathe, and yet the tension still lingers just beneath the surface.

A hand appears beside you, and you glance down to see Carol’s face, her eyes alight with a small smile. Daryl must have noticed her at the same time, because he leans down and helps her up onto the side of the truck with a grunt of effort.

“It’s not much,” she says, handing you and Daryl a few scraps of meat, “but if I don’t bring you anything, you won’t eat at all.”

You give her a quiet nod of thanks, accepting your share. The meat is dry, but it’s something.

“I guess little Shane over there’s got quite the appetite,” Daryl grumbles between bites, nodding toward the group around the fire. You immediately avert your eyes, your fingers tightening slightly around your lap. You try to drown out the conversation, forcing yourself to focus on anything else—the distant crackle of the fire, the rustling of the trees outside the fence—anything to stop the memories from creeping in.

You can hear the teasing tone in Carol’s voice, “Don’t be mean,” but as she continues, she gets quieter–serious, “Rick’s gotten us a lot farther than I ever thought he would. I’ll give ‘em that.”

Daryl grunts in agreement, chewing on his food.

“Shane could never do that,” she adds quietly, her tone shifting.

The name catches you off guard again, and your stomach twists, though you try to push the feeling away. You gulp down what’s left of your food and squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to stifle the wave of nausea creeping in.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asks, his voice low, though Carol doesn’t seem to notice the look on your face as she rubs her neck. But he’s not talking to you, he’s looking at her. You manage to open your eyes after the wave of uneasiness passes, and look up at them.

“The rifle,” Carol mutters, her hand gripping the side of her neck, “The kickback—guess I’m just not used to it.”

Daryl finishes licking the last of the juice from his fingers, then invites her over with a simple wave. He puts down his crossbow and begins kneading her shoulder, working out the tension in her muscles. You sit there, watching, feeling almost like you’re observing from the outside. His hands move with practiced ease, and Carol smiles back at him, teasing warmth in her eyes.

She turns her head, grinning. “Wow, Daryl, that was pretty romantic,” she says with a mischievous twinkle, “you hitting on me now? One girl not enough for ya?”

“Pffft…” Daryl rolls his eyes, clearly ignoring her, though a flicker of a grin crosses his face. He’s about to dismount the truck when he adds, “I’ll go down first.”

Carol, with a playful smirk, looks to you and winks, “Even better!”

A twinge of humor finally breaks through, and you can’t help the laughter that escapes you as you chuckle with her. Daryl’s face flushes brick red as he helps Carol down from the side of the truck, his hands gripping her sides briefly before letting go the moment her feet hit the ground. She heads off towards the group around the fire, leaving the two of you.

You go to get down yourself, but he stands in front of you, his arms up, waiting. “I got it,” you say, waving him off.

“I know,” his voice quiet, but his fingers twitch to beckon you down. You give him a small smile, and allow him to take you in his arms as you make your way down to the ground. His hands remain on your sides even when your feet find the grass below, and you find yourself holding onto his elbows for support, both of you lingering in that space.

There’s an unspoken moment between you, the air thick with something unsaid. You hang there, waiting for what he might say next, aware of the quiet tension settling in his features.

“You know,” he begins, his worried expression breaking into a small smile playing on his lips, teasing, “I’m still all yours,”

“Good to know,” you murmur back, not really sure what else to say, but your lips twitch up playfully at his flirting. The way he’s looking at you makes it a little easier to be present, even if just for a moment.

Daryl’s lips quirk into a grin, satisfied with your reaction, even if it’s brief. He shifts, moving to walk along the side of the truck next to you, the two of you side by side now.

“Can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m strayin’,” he teases lightly, his tone playful but gentle, almost like he’s testing the waters.

You glance at him again, another small laugh slipping out, even if you don’t fully feel it. It’s enough to lighten the mood, and for now, that’s enough. He takes your hand, his rough calluses a comfort you’d come to love scraping your skin. He tugs you forward, towards the group. Where you could hear Beth singing.

But since it has so ought to be

By a time to rise and a time to fall

Come fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be with you all

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・

Daryl

She hadn’t smiled in months.

Not a real smile, anyway. Sure, he’d gotten some laughs out of her, but they weren’t the kind that came from within– a true, belly laugh. It was more like a quick puff of air, almost like a scoff, like the sound escaped before she could even stop it. But those smiles, the ones that used to light up her whole face– Gone. He missed that. He missed the way her eyes used to shine when they’d tease each other, trading jabs and grins like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Now, her smiles never touched her eyes. They were always distant now, like her mind was a million miles away. And damn if that didn’t tear him up inside.

It had been months since they’d felt any real safety, and maybe that was part of it. Being on the run, never knowing if you’d have a place to sleep or if walkers would come through at night—it wore on everyone. Constantly watching your back could drain a person’s spirit, and he figured maybe that had something to do with the change in her. But deep down, he knew better. This wasn’t just about the lack of safety. This was about that night on the farm. What Shane had done. What she had to do. Daryl hadn’t been there in time to stop it, and even though she survived, something in her had changed.

Daryl wasn’t good with words. Never had been. And when it came to asking her what was really going on, he figured he didn’t even have a clue where to start. He didn’t want to push her—didn’t know if he should. But every time he caught her staring off into the distance, or going through the motions like she was just surviving, it hit him like a gut punch. Something was broken inside her, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

So, he did what he always did—he stayed. Quiet, steady. Right by her side. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being there. Being solid when everything else fell apart. He didn’t need to know the right words, not really. Words had never mattered much between the two of them anyway.

He wasn’t gonna give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

But damn, he missed that twinkle in her eyes. Missed the way she used to jab him in the ribs with her elbow, flashing him that teasing smile that made everything feel lighter. He wondered if that part of her was ever coming back, or if the world had taken it from her for good.

He glances over at her now, sitting a few feet away, the firelight dancing along her features, fingers idly tracing the edge of her gun. She looks lost in thought, far away from him, from the fire, from the group. He isn’t sure how to reach her, but hell, he was gonna keep trying, even if it meant standing next to her in silence for the rest of his damn life.

#the promise of us #the ruins of us #daryl dixon #daryl #twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #daryl twd #daryltwdixon

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elliespassagerprincess · 1 year ago

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requesting a fic of Ellie n reader running away and their lives kinda suck but they’re still glad cuz they have eachother and they’re away from their old environment and that’s all that rlly matters :) based on things to do by alex g!

things to do - (ellie williams x reader)

Hey anon! this is such a sweet idea! I loved writing this so much. Ily for this. I hope you enjoy it:)

This story is based off the song Things to do by Alex G. If you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open, feel free to leave one!

Warnings: toxic households (but there's a happy ending)

Summary: In which they got their happily ever after

Authors note: what?? me writing happy fics??? it's so rare but i love them. Also my surgery is in 2 days, so i'll be post all my drafts and requests over the next two days, so while i recover, so you guys have things to read:)

Thinkin' of things to do

Yeah, only the cheapest things left there for you

And the only thing I learned from you is that there's nothing left

To look forward to

I was asleep for days, and now you're the only thing

Keepin' me awake

The calculator will make the same mistakes

Yeah, I see it in its face

Ellie nervously sat under the tree waiting for you. She anxiously looked down at the plastic bag, silently praying that you'd like the snacks she bought.

"I'm sorry I'm late" you said breathing heavily as you ran towards her.

"Your mom was yelling at you again?"

"Yeah" you said as you sat next to her.

"Sometimes I just want to sleep, y'know? Like sleep without her waking me up and yelling" you admitted.

Ellie nodded in understanding because she too was experiencing the same thing.

Nobody understood the two of you like you understood each other.

You met Ellie when you were 14.

You remember she was sitting alone, and she was crying because she didn't have any lunch. You decided to talk to her.

"My mom also forgets to give me lunch money sometimes, but it's ok! I know where we can get something to eat" you said with a soft smile.

And the rest was history.

You and Ellie became inseparable because you both understood each other. You could comfort each other because you knew what the other was going through.

Whenever things were rough at home for you, you always went to Ellie. Or when Ellie need something to eat you'd always take something extra for her.

All you and Ellie were used to, was yelling, and constant fighting. But when you were each other there was none of that.

There was peace and unconditional love.

"Aw Ellie you should have" you said as she opened the bag to show you what she had got for you.

"Anything for you" Ellie muttered.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. And Ellie's mind wondered.

You were such a nice person. You didn't deserve the toxic environment you were in.

Both of you didn't.

Silent moments like these with you always made Ellie happy.

She wished she had more time with you.

She wanted to take you away from all pain. From all the yelling, and sleepless nights, she wanted to keep you happy.

There was nothing left here for her. The only thing that kept her going was you.

The light in her darkness.

You felt Ellies eyes burning into the side of your head. You swallowed the gummy worms you had in your mouth as you turned to her, raising an eyebrow you asked "what?"

Ellie went quiet for a while, until she said something you thought you'd never hear her say.

"Let's run away together"

Hold on tight to this time, this place

'Cause everything you know will be erased

You were born inside your head

And that is where you'll be when you are dead

You are just a boy you are no man and

Nobody you know will understand

You are just a boy you are no man and

Nobody you know will understand

"Ellie I can't just leave, my mom will look for me-"

"fuck your fucking mom! She doesn't care, can't you see? If we leave we'll be free, we can live in peace. Please let's go" Ellie sighed in defeat.

If you chose Ellie you would betray your family, if you chose your family you would lose the only person who kept you sane.

"Ellie I cant" you said quietly.

You felt the tears in your eyes.

Was this really good bye?

Ellie got up and she looked at you with sad eyes "I cant force you, but I hope you're happy here"

She started walking away but she suddenly stopped, she looked back at you without any expression.

"I'm leaving tomorrow night, if you change your mind i'll be at the train station"

She left. She left you alone.

You went back home crying.

You'd just lost the only person, who you truly loved.

You were so fucking stupid.

You walked into your house and you immediately heard your mother's nagging voice yelling: "fucking finally, come here! You need to fix the sink"

you ignored her and you dashed to your room, as fast as you possibly could.

You locked the door, and you heard your mother pound against the door.

She was yelling insults at you, as if you didn't have feelings.

She truly deserves the mother of the year award.

After a while, she left and you were finally alone with your thoughts.

Did you make the right decision?

Ellie sat anxiously at the station, she hoped you'd change your mind. That's you'd show up. For your freedom, and safety.

She'd hoped you'd come for her.

She bit her nails waiting for the train to come in, hoping Joel didn't notice she was gone. She heard the sound of the train pull, and with a sigh she got up holding the strap on her backpack in a tight grip.

You weren't going to come. This was it.

"Ellie!"

Her head snapped in the direction of your voice.

There you stood in all your glory holding a bag. There was a grin on your face.

With your bag in hand you ran to Ellie and she ran to you. The two of you met halfway, and Ellie held you in a tight grip.

If she held you any tighter, surely you would suffocate.

"I thought you weren't going to come" Ellie breathed as she still held you.

You pulled away first, and you leaned forward, kissing her.

Ellie didn't kiss you back at first and you almost wanted to pull away and die, but you soon felt her lips move. You felt her smile during the kiss.

As you pulled away you looked at her with a shy smile "I love you Ellie, of course I came"

A grin spread onto the girls face and before she could say anything the locomotive yelled "departure in 2 minutes"

Ellie grabbed your hand, and she rushed onto the train with you.

The two of you sat next to each other, your hands still interlocked.

"I love you too" Ellie finally breathed.

The train started move, and the nerves you and Ellie felt were finally falling away. You would finally be free.

"To our new life together" Ellie said before she brought you in for another kiss.

Welcoming you back home

The only one that you have ever known

Welcoming you back home

The only one that you will ever know

as Ellie opened the front door the smell of a freshly baked pie filled the air.

This was home.

She walked through the threshold of your shared apartment and she practically ran to the kitchen in search of you.

As Ellie entered she saw you standing with your back facing her. You were humming a familiar tune.

She walked towards you, you felt her arms wrap around you as she started singing with you.

This was home.

The two of you were each others safe spaces. Each others homes.

And Ellie hoped for the rest of her life that she would come home to you.

Home doesn't always have to be a place, it's a person too. And you were that person.

Forever and always.

The best decision Ellie made was running away with you, and she had zero regrets.

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keepswingin · 10 months ago

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Chan + crush

It starts out like anything else does, until it turns into something completely out of control. Which really isn't all that surprising when it comes to his life, because these kinds of things always turn into something big.

"Did the company tell you what to say yet?" Minho asks with a drawl that says he already knows the answer, lounging on the couch as soon as Chan enters their dorm.

He was originally coming over to theirs to drag Jeongin with him to get dinner, but he isn't all that surprised that it's Minho he sees first.

"What do you think?" he sighs, pulling the door shut behind him. He leans on the arm of the couch, weight sagging against it. "They're going to try and brush it off as an 'unsupported rumor'." He gestures sarcastically as he says it, causing Minho to smirk and roll his eyes.

"Try to sound less enthused about it," he replies, eyes drifting back to the television.

There's some show on about baking desserts. Minho's only half paying attention to it, Chan knows, more interested in hearing about things the internet has already raked through ten times over.

"They do realize that she had proof in her post, right? No one is going to believe that all of it is nothing but a rumor." He says it simply, mostly because they both know there's no sugarcoating when it comes to something as big as this.

He does know, and almost hates to admit that there's a small part of him that wished that the company couldn't just run this entire thing over and leave it for dead in the middle of the road.

She was more than that; they were more than that.

He knew exactly what he was putting on the line, and exactly in which ways they could move him around, but none of it mattered when she was the one it was all centered around.

"Did you know she was going to post?" Minho asks quietly, when the silence between them has dragged on for a moment too long.

Chan bristles, readjusting himself against the furniture and turning his eyes back to the television. The host is cracking eggs and mixing them in with just enough butter. Chan thinks back to the cake he had shared on his birthday, and the shy smile she had shot him as he had blown out the candles and made his wish. The shine of her eyes against the streetlight outside -

"No," he replies, very quietly. "I didn't."

They lapse into another silence. It stretches, long and thin. They hear Felix yell from down the hall, and Jeongin's following cackle of victory. The water squeaks as it's turned on by Hyunjin in the bathroom, and stays as a steady constant in the background as the host finishes mixing the cake batter.

"Are you glad she did it?"

Chan crosses his arms. Considers if sitting here with Minho would be better than attempting to drag Jeongin shopping, and face the paparazzi that is sure to follow. Dispatch is sure to already be having a heyday, he can't help but think with a small quirk of his lips.

His mind drifts, and he finds himself not answering Minho's question, instead tugging his phone free from his sweatshirt pocket. He scrolls through social media for a long moment, before opening up Bubble, and shooting a quick message that is sure to add more fire to the flame, and then he waits.

One minute, two. Her reply comes to him by the fifth minute, in the form of a screenshot of his Bubble chat.

channie: happily taken <3

He smiles as he watches her chat bubbles disappear and reappear multiple times, before finally landing one simple word.

happily?

He thinks this might just be the easiest decision he's ever had to make.

nothing makes me happier than being with you.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #skz #skz fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan #lee minho #skz fluff #stray kids fanfiction #keepswingin writes #mine #asks #nobody look at me

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strawwritesfic · 3 months ago

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Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 12]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #12: If you can't swim, tell me beforehand. Otherwise I won't notice if you start drowning.

Tommy took the scanners, but he didn’t do anything with them. He just thanked you for the box before he shoved it somewhere out of sight. Ellie didn’t care; Joel must not have either. Neither so much as tired to ask where he was going to leave them. But you hadn’t trekked around for an entire month with an aching arm nearly getting yourself killed—or worse—for nothing. You asked.

He didn’t answer, not really. All he said was, “I just need to figure out how to introduce them to people without having a riot on my hands. Don’t want ‘em thinking their vote didn’t matter.”

Needless to say, this did not reassure you. So what if they thought their vote didn’t matter? It hadn’t, had it? Did Tommy want his people to be safe or dead? You followed him around asking questions for days after your return. It was not as though you had anything else to do with your time. But somehow you must have managed to push even easygoing Tommy too far. He rewarded by letting you accompany Maria around Jackson.

She appreciated your company even less. You couldn’t aim a gun; you couldn’t use a knife; you could barely open a door. In a word, you were useless, and Maria didn’t have the time or inclination to baby you. The gesture might have been refreshing and appreciated, if not for what you ended up doing instead: spending a lot of time with Ellie. Whenever she wasn’t in school, she was with Maria, and Maria took every opportunity to ditch the two of you and let Ellie babysit.

One such afternoon, most of Jackson was empty. Winter would soon be drawing to an end, but the nights weren’t getting any warmer, and much of the firewood stock had been depleted. Every able-bodied villager not on guard duty left the walls to help gather more. Inside remained only adults ready to shoot at the first sign of danger, the children deemed too small to fell a tree, and you. No one would trust you with an ax.

Since the day was nice despite the chilly air blowing in from the north, Ellie insisted on staying outside. She didn’t have school—both of her teachers were out with the rest—so you got the “honor” of hanging out with her all morning, listening to her constant chatter about some friend of hers that got bit and where she’d first learned to ride a horse.

“Uh-huh…Uh-huh…Uhhhh-huh,” you found yourself muttering on repeat as the sun dipped in the sky. Where the fuck was everyone? Sitting in huffy silence in the woods would have been preferable to this torture.

“Are you even listening?”

“Uh…huh.”

Something popped loudly against the wall you leaned against. You sat up with a high-pitched “shit” to see Ellie sitting in front of you, her brow furrowed. “You know, losing an arm doesn’t make you deaf, bitch.”

“I told you not to call me that,” you said with a scowl.

Her eyebrows lifted. “If it’s the only way to get your attention, I’m gonna call you bitch.”

Clearly, Ellie was not in the mood to bicker. Or maybe she as and you weren’t. The cold seemed to aggravate your ghost limb. You sighed and tugged your legs closer to your chest. As you did, you took another look at your hand. If there was one positive thing you could say about just about anything, it was that the scarring from your burns could have been worse. At least it hadn’t ruined that hand, too.

“What the fuck did you just throw at me anyway?” you asked.

Ellie answered by throwing another. A tiny spark shot up from where whatever it was hit the wall. “It’s a snapper,” she explained. “Some kind of old-timey firework. Doesn’t do jack shit, though. I’m seeing if they’d make a good distraction.”

“Why do you need a fucking distraction? Can’t you just shoot whoever’s attacking you in the head?”

“If you’d been listening to me earlier, you’d know I’m looking into methods that don’t involve shooting things for, you know, when people can’t shoot.”

“I didn’t ask for your help, you little shit.”

Ellie blinked at you, then threw a second snapper at your face. It sailed by so close to your cheek that you felt the paper brush your chin there.

“Fuck!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said, rolling her eyes and tossing four more of the tiny white things at the wall behind your head. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about you specifically. Don’t take everything so fucking personally. God.”

“Who else needs shitty fireworks to take out infected, jackass?” you demanded. That only earned you another roll of the eyes. If you hadn’t been so exhausted from the morning’s chores, you might have attempted to backhand her. But Ellie, as always, knew she was safe.

“As I was saying,” she said as she lifted her eyebrows, practically begging you to interrupt, “we’re not gonna have bullets forever. It’s not like there are people making them anymore. The military’s practically gone, after all. Eventually, we’re all gonna be stuck without firearms. I figure, why sit around on our asses ‘till we’re forced to adapt?”

She had a point not that you were in any mood to admit it. “So I guess I’m just lucky enough to be your guinea pig?”

A grin flashed across her face. “And lucky enough that you’ll have an edge on everyone else when guns become useless.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered. Then you gestured at her small pile of snappers with your chin. “Where’d you pick those up, anyway? Tommy got those in storage too?”

“I dunno,” she said. “Maybe. But I snagged these on the way back here. They were in a garage. Joel says fireworks came in bigger varieties though. Maybe I can find some of those, or I can make them or—”

Ellie broke off, suddenly alert and looking at something to your left. Heavy footsteps echoed from the nearby doorway. You tensed, though you didn’t bother to look at who was making their way toward you. If it was anyone other than a member of Ellie’s family unit, you’d need to take off without warning. You wouldn’t put it past one of the other Jackson citizens to try offing you while your shepherds were away. A moment later, Ellie’s genuine smile answered your question.

“Done with the lumberjack business already?” she asked.

“I got some time off,” Joel answered. When you finally deigned to look up at him, you saw that he was carrying his heavy pack normally reserved for scavenging trips.

Ellie must have noticed that, too, because she perked up considerably. “Is Tommy sending us out?”

He shook his head as he adjusted the well-worn straps. “Nah. I just got a few hours off to do something I’ve been meanin’ to do for a bit. Might need some supplies if we run into anything, but I don’t think we will.”

“We? I get to come?”

“You’re the whole point, baby girl.”

Joel waved his arm in the direction of the closest exit. Ellie hastily crammed her remaining snappers into her pack, shoved one arm into a strip, and jumped to her feet. When Joel started to walk away, she followed.

“Field trip,” she said. “Cool.”

You watched them leave, relieved. With Ellie gone, you might be able to sneak in a nap before dinner. Or even sleep through dinner, depending on how late the two of them stayed out. That was one day where your desire for sleep was definitely greater than your desire for watery, bland meat and whatever canned vegetables Jackson still had left. Maria was busy on patrol and likely wouldn’t care to find you and ask you to better yourself.

These pleasant plans were rudely interrupted by Joel coming to a stop so suddenly that Ellie nearly walked straight into him. She took a wide step backward. Then he turned and stomped back toward you.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sitting,” you answered.

“Wrong answer. Get off your ass and come along.”

“Why do I have to go on your fucking errands?”

“You think anyone is keen on leaving you here alone?”

“What, because I’ll run off?” you demanded. “I came back with you two, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s the problem.”

Joel watched you for a long moment before thrusting his hand out in your direction. All you did in return was scowl. You were sore enough that the help was tempting, but not quite tempting enough. He didn’t really need to know how drained you felt after a morning spent following Ellie around and scrapping the decades-old graffiti off the inner walls. You shoved his hand away and got to your feet yourself. After another thirty seconds of staring, Joel rolled his eyes and marched off again.

You followed, but you didn’t have to be happy or quick about it. Both Joel and Ellie made it to the gates before you caught up. Once you did, one of the guards on the wall nodded. If you expected an explanation once your little group got outside, you were sorely disappointed. Joel led the way through the naked trees in silence, and for once Ellie didn’t seem to feel the need to fill that silence with chatter. At first, her uncharacteristic lack of yammering made you nervous, but then you remembered that she hadn’t got to leave the settlement since getting back three and a half weeks ago either. Stir-crazy was an emotion you could sympathize with.

Whatever was up with Joel, though, you couldn’t say. After he’d finished icing your hand, he’d gone back and reheated your coffee. As much as you’d wanted to throw it back in his face, it was coffee and you’d had to accept it and offer him a cup for “being nice.” Since returning to Jackson, you hadn’t seen him much outside of when he came to relieve Ellie from guard duty, but when you did see him, things were different. He wasn’t as much of an asshole, and somehow you didn’t like it. Worse was Ellie, who had taken up smirking on the occasions she found you and Joel together. You didn’t understand the smirk, but you did understand that it made you want to hit her even more than you usually did.

It was late afternoon by the time he stopped in a wide clearing. No movement. No sound. Not a one of the firewood-seekers were around.

“Uh…is this it?” Ellie asked.

“Yep,” said Joel. He watched her expectantly. What he was expecting, you had no idea. There was literally nothing there except a mostly-thawed pond. Ellie let out a gasp when she noticed this feature herself.

“Wait a minute,” she said, quickly backing away. “You’re not—You wouldn’t—”

“It’s time, baby girl.”

“Fuck no.”

“You’ve got to learn some time.”

“Not today.”

She was nearly to the trees; Joel started to go after her, slowly, with one hand outstretched. “It’s not that deep.”

“I don’t care. I’m not getting in that. I’m not going to—” While Ellie was busy protesting, Joel got close enough to snatch her. Ellie shrieked as he walked back toward the pond. “Joel! No! I said fucking no, Joel!”

“Sorry, kid,” Joel said in a tone that indicated he was really more amused than repentant. Though she continued to scream obscenities, he let her go. She hit the shallows with an impressive splash.

“Joel!” Ellie howled.

“What, you the Wicked Witch of the West now?” he asked as she glared up at him from the water. “You melt in water? You’ve never acted this way before.”

“Because getting in the water always had a point! And I had a raft! You want me to fucking…to fucking learn how to swim!”

He spread his arms out in front of him. “Ya caught me. Anyway, now that you’re all wet, you might as well get started.”

You’d never seen Ellie look quite as pissed off at someone other than you before. To his credit, Joel didn’t seem the slightest bit intimidated, or so you thought until you remembered that Ellie was a teenager and shouldn’t have been intimidating to anyone. Fuck, you were getting soft. Probably because the people that kept insisting on keeping an eye on you also insisted on constant displays of familial bonding while you were present.

Scowling, Ellie stood, peeled off her pack, and dumped it on the shore. A ghost of a smile tugged at Joel’s lips as he set his own pack next to it. She looked somewhat surprised when he waded past her into a deeper section of pond.

“I’m not gonna let you drown, baby girl,” he said. “We’re just going to do a few strokes.”

Suddenly her anger turned to nervousness so palpable even you could see it. “I, uh…”

“Come on. What’s going to happen if something happens to me? You want to get stuck out in the middle of a lake? Or fall off a building and drown? There’s not always going to be someone around to carry you.”

“I don’t want carried,” she muttered.

“Then do you want to die?”

“No. I…” She trailed away and shot an embarrassed look at you. Joel noticed this. He laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry. [Name] has to learn, too.”

“What?” you barked. Joel chuckled harder. “Oh, I don’t fucking think so. I took swim lessons decades ago.”

Joel nodded as though he agreed with your logic—then: “You tried swimming now that you only have one arm?”

You and Ellie froze at the exact same time for entirely different reasons: You because fuck you hadn’t thought of that; Ellie because now she had a rival she had a pretty good chance of winning against.

“You brought me here to make fun of me,” you said.

He shrugged. “I brought you here to make Ellie feel more comfortable.”

“Same thing.”

“If you want to look at it that way. ” He shrugged again before pointing toward where Ellie stood. “Now get going.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That water will be freezing. I’m not getting in in my clothes.”

“You want to go back and get your swimsuit?” Joel asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You fall in the water during a fight—or, I don’t know, just walking, you’re so graceful—you don’t get to pick what temperature it is or what you’re wearing.”

He had a point. Why did everyone keep having those today? You were losing ground every which way, and your hope for a nap was fading quickly into the distance. Joel rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his face before he looked for a moment at both you and Ellie in turn.

“You need to learn this. If you start drowning in the middle of things, no one is going to notice.” Joel kept his eyes on you the longest. Anger broiled just underneath your skin. It would take you the longest to learn, you knew. Ellie didn’t have to retrain herself to swim a different way.

“We do this here,” Joel continued, “I’m not going to let either of you drown. And we’ll go slow. Real slow.”

Ellie watched carefully for your reaction. It was thus: You rolled your eyes massively and dumped your coat onto the dry ground. Without saying a word, you tramped over to where she stood, took a massive, shuddering breath, and stepped into the water. It soaked you up to your hips. You’d been absolutely right before, too. The pond was freezing. As you shivered beside her, Ellie smirked and pushed deeper in.

“I’ll go first,” she said. “So you can acclimate.”

To get a head start, more like. Your teeth were chattering too hard to retort. But, hey. Things would warm up eventually, wouldn’t they? And participating beat the shit out of sitting around all day watching Joel and Ellie have fun.

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broodpeas · 1 month ago

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19/11

I guess it was bound to happen that because the end of the year is coming, I come back to this empty space and write something down. I had a post on Friday, about friendship and my continuous struggle with understanding and trusting people, but I decided that instead of writing about that, I'd get home and do a bunch of home chores. Once I got home, I sort of did that. By 8 pm, I was in bed, trying to desperatly watch a NBA game, trying to fight the dread of life that has become a constant.

In any case, the urge to write here is because a few weeks ago, I realized I'm turning 35 years old. It feels like a milestone, and in a way, it is. I keep counting and recounting the numbers of people who are not making it to this age, and I am surprised I will most likely make it. The cliché of writing this is not on me. People laugh nervously whenever I tell them I'm not sure I'm going to make it to 35, others give me a look of concern I always shrug off because I really don't understand why people bother asking how you are if they don't want an honest answer (pro tip: stop asking!).

Turning 35 means I'm noticing how tired I am of many things and how little I care about whether I please anyone but myself. It's not a bad selfishness, it's just that I already people pleased for decades and if I can take away something from therapy is that I can't keep bending myself to other's wills and tastes. I am not likeable. I am smart, just enough to roll my eyes when people say dumb stuff, and stay silent when people speak about things I don't know. I know that my opinion is irrelevant and I like silence and my own company. I feel like a soon-to-be 35 years old, and I am not confident nor do am I kinder with myself, I perhaps reached that there's nothing I can do about me and I've given up.

I am tired and wounded, but I guess I'm still alive and in about 12 weeks I'll be 35 years old, which to me is extraordinary, but at the same -thankfully- it really isn't. Paraphrasing Saachi Khoul, one day we'll all be dead and none of this will matter.

In the past year, I've managed to write around 500k words in what my sisters call a novel and I call a futile exercise on writing. It took me more than 20 years to actually sit down, day in and day out, and pour out my ideas to craft plots, peoples, dialogues into something- a Frankenstein of words that only make sense to me. It made me realize I really do love writing, and whenever I'm not writing, I am thinking about my writing, about what can I do to improve it, about what things I could write. I don't publish anything- I don't need to, I just need to write.

I open my document and I write 100 words, then 200, rarely get to 500. It takes me hours to write the words. I've written 2 versions, now revising the third. In September, during a Sunday shower, I realized I wanted to write a much more light, flimsy something, and I decided that I would once the third version is rewritten in full. Completing tasks is a big deal, and it angers me that I have to finish this, but that's also the idea: I like knowing that when I'm done with this, I will have something else waiting (and the satisfaction I actually finish a thing).

I have playlists for writing, songs I need to listen to, so I can (try to) achieve specific moods. I read and read again, books and I read authors whose writing styles I like and I spend hours dissecting them, which leads me to ask how can I write trusting what I know, instead of my academic style (that is much more deattached). Learning to not take a distance from what I write, from the things I want to say is difficult. It is the reason why I revise what I write, because I want to see if I'm able to be in the page.

I took a writing course -academic writing- that was supposed to help me to come up with an academic article. That never happened (well, a draft happened and nothing else) but the professor did tell me that I have to be present, not just for the conscious act of writing, but to make myself visible in the page. She said something on the lines of trusting your voices and defend your ideas, and yes it's scary, but it's also exciting. Writing like this lets you be vulnerable, tender, and it is very scary. And so, the struggle continues, in the most 2010 sense of it all.

Whenever I'm done writing, I realize that -like when I teach- I'm glad to realize that it makes me joyful. And, unlike teaching, when I write I feel complete. I like knowing that I get to be in my desk, sit in my pink chair (or purple sofa), drink a very sweet coffee and for a few hours, be with myself in the happiest form I can be.

There are places of my apartment and my workplace that I rarely go by. In my house is the living room. I rarely watch tv there, and I rarely go into my husband's office. I just don't find those spaces inviting. The same goes to my workplace, albeit the reasons are different: I have to in specific places because that's the way those places are designed.

How one inhabits a space is an idea I keep coming back to since 2020. It all started when, in a class, my professor of that time discussed about how weird it was for all of us to be in quarantine, and now we had to find places where we could do stuff those spaces were meant for, but not really. That made me think that we set up spaces to be livable, but we rarely live in them.

We decorate the spaces to reflect us. This is a theory, but to me is almost a fact: we reflect who we are through aesthetic and that reflects in the way we decorate (or try to) the spaces we inhabit. It's not just about furniture and pictures and carpets and chairs, it's something much more dense. It's how we make a space a place we can inhabit.

An aesthetic theory actually focuses on this, on the way we decorate our spaces not only from an utilitarian aspect, but from a livable perspective. I enjoy watching spaces that are impolute, minimalist, frugal. White spaces, or spaces with only one or two colors, that some describe as oasis or a refugee. The words to desribe those spaces feels like pepople can be in those spaces but can you live in them? The best example was when Architetcural Design did some editorial work on Kim Kardashian's mansion. A lot of people made jokes, I thought can the kids even play there? I don't think you can describe those spaces as cozy. Clean, simple, elegant, clear, rigid, squared, yes- cozy is a word that -I think- makes us think of spaces that are livable, inhabited by people.

Inhabiting our spaces depends not only in how safe we feel, how comfortable we are. As the internet has become this thing we can only access by seeing what others want to show us -whether we want it or not-, our inhabited spaces look very similar (at least from where I am, I want to firmly believe not a single soul fucks around the decoration of a Nigerian household). It also has to do with how much money we have to decorate those spaces, how those objects make those spaces ready to be inhabit. The reason why I don't spend time in my living room is because I have a sofa that my husband doesn't want to get rid off, a library that he also doesn't want to get rid off and I can't set up the tv the way I want because I'm too lazy (and broke) to put it in the wall the way I want it. It's not a space I want to be but my husband loves laying on the sofa (that cracks his back and ribs), and rise his head every now and then to look at the library and say "oh this is nice" (it's not, but marriage is about accepting if you can't change it, you gotta accept it). Inahbiting spaces is not an experiencial thing, it's also related to objects, to what things we put outisde, that we want others to see, that reflects who we are. Which is why I find so disheartening when the internet tells us that are our spaces should be frugal, minimalist, simple, almost bare.

Who can inhabit such lonely place?

Sometimes I feel the taste of tobacco in my mouth and I sigh. I miss smoking even though I know what it does. The last time I smoke I hurt my throat, which to smokes may seem impossible, but the sore pain I had I haven't forgotten it.

The other day, as I was walking by the street, a guy who was smoking literally blew the smoke in my face. He apologized and I said something like don't worry, but I remembered that scene from Friends, where Chandler goes to visit Rachel in her new office and he smokes the cigarrette of Rachel's new boss. It's hilarious, but honestly, I almost did that.

As I type this, I realize that what I wanted to write originally was about friendship and the struggle I currently have, trying to let myself be open to others.

But, just like I do with people, I will ghost the need to express my worries and fears. Taylor Swift wrote this song about how, during her longest tour to date, where she sings 44 songs for 3 hours, for over a year, she was able to mend her broken heart, get a fling (and get flung), get a boyfriend, and release a bunch of albums and win awards. She did it to prove (herself, I hope) she could do it, which I guess is the main message of I can do it with a broken heart. She's also turning 35, albeit in November.

I, too, can do it with a broken heart. I break my heart by not letting people in. Yet I live. I can do it.

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silly-len-fluffern · 2 months ago

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Anyway, here's the story I wrote (explained the creative process in last post) hope you enjoy it and if you don't hope you explain why so I can improve :} (It's kinda like a long story for me tho)

<-A soul under a dying sky->

“W-We- We could try- No- No, we- we need to- We-we can-” [Worried] stuttered, as they always do. When was the last time they have said one complete sentence at the first try? A few hours ago probably.

[Laughing], then, mimicking [Worried]’s concern, started mocking them “W-we-we-we-w—- Pffft! Ah!! I can’t say that with a straight face!!” and he starts laughing like some madlad, [Worried] notices and gives him a judgamental look, hmm, you don’t see those often.

“What?” [Laughing] snickers “Awwie, don’t look at me like tha-” [Worried] interrupts him “Y-you! The sky- The sky is falling! Why won’t you care?! Why d-do you act like this?! C-Can’t you just…”

They probably said a lot of other things, but [Laughing] wasn’t really listening.

“…we can save it!” [Worried] finally said. [Laughing] was taken aback, he was already daydreaming at that point “Hmm? Oh, yeah, right!…. sorry what did you just say?”

“…” [Worried] looked at him again, they decided it was better to try and save the world again.

“It isn’t dying, you know that… if we both try, we might be able to save it…” [Worried] states, concern in their eyes once again.

It’s normal for them to react that way, they basically saw the birth of this planet. They were there when its first microorganisms started eating and when its first flowers started blooming. But when will they understand that there was no life at all?

“Of course it isn’t dying, [Worried]! It’s already dead!” [Laughing] said, with a big smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.

However, [Worried] kept trying to cover the cracks with mud from the ground.

Lifeless water, constant rain that made both of their skins burn, a sun that didn’t welcome the world anymore, a single dead flower that’s still trying to survive.

“[Worried], stop.” They kept trying. “[Worried], the world is already dead, let it fall…” But they kept trying, while sobbing could be heard, it was from [Worried]. “[Worried]…” “not once…” They finally answered. “Not once?” “Not once did you look towards me without a smile.” “Hmm? Why, of course! You gave me my name, I shall honour it!” [Laughing] answered, it was true, he never stopped smiling since he heard the word. Guess he just liked it a lot. No matter the situation, he must smile. It feels nice. “I… I want to try. I wanna save the world...” [Worried] said. “Pfft, don’t waste your energy.” “……” “[Worried], why do you care so much anyways?”

A long minute of silence filled the intoxicated air.

“All there’s left is mud, rocks and a dead flower.” [Laughing] continued. “…and us.” [Worried] finished “We need to save this world, I don’t care how dead it is… please, just… help me save this world, help me save us…”

Could it be that, perhaps…? But [Laughing] shaked the thought away.

“…I don’t wanna be saved. Save yourself.” He chuckled “Go and try to keep a dead world for yourself, I could help you if that meant getting away from your foolishnesses.”

“[Laughing]…” [Worried] spoke, almost in a whisper, they were visibly hurted.

If they’re really… If what he thought is true then… Yes, but… what if it isn’t?

“[Worried]…” [Laughing] said, mimicking [Worried]’s tone of voice. “Oh, no! Please, help me save this already-dead-world that I should not try to save, oh!” He continued moking them, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

[Worried] just stared at him.

[Laughing] stopped. “What? You gonna cry?” They giggled. “Awwie! They’re gonna cry! How could I be so cruel?” He snorted. “Ahahaha! Oh, it’s really hard to say stuff with a straight face, sorry!” He continued laughing.

But they just answered with silence. They weren’t even looking at him, [Worried] was just trying to fix the world with mud.

That persistent thought came one again. It was harder to shake it away this time.

“Come on, [Worried]. You know you can try tomorr-” “STOP!” [Worried] yelled at the top of their lungs. Then they quickly went towards [Laughing] and grabbed him by the neck of his clothes. “WHY WON’T YOU CARE?! DON’T YOU REMEMBER HOW HAPPY YOU WERE WHEN ALL OF THIS S–T STARTED?! HUH?! DON’T YOU REMEMBER HOW HAPPY YOU WERE WHEN THE FIRST FLOWER BLOOMED AND WHEN THE FIRST FLOWER DIED?! WHY WON’T YOU CARE ABOUT THIS WORLD?! WHY WOULD YOU-”

[Laughing] was shocked- but he didn’t stop smiling, even if it was a really forced and sad smile. “…I”

‘But what if… oh, if there’s a deity, what if…’ [Laughing] thought ‘They were with hands in mud a few moments ago- Oh, then why-’ He started hyperventilating “[W-Worried]…” it was the first time the stuttered “[Worried], why- you were in the mud just now-”

[Worried] kept silent, they let go of [Laughing] as if they just remembered something.

“…y-y-y-ou…… you- y-you…” He couldn’t even start the sentence.

“I just noticed something, [Laughing].” [Worried] said “You do honour your name, you always smile.”

“…I-… but you-y-… b-b-but…” “Would you please continue to smile?” This time [Worried] smiled aswell with [Laughing].

“A-A-Ah… I…. I-I see…” [Laughing] tried to chuckle the feelings away, but he couldn’t… how could someone, no matter how crazy they are, react good to this? “…y-you… you’re not real…” He finally managed to say.

“Good job. Took you long to realize huh.” And for the first time, it was [Worried] who mocked [Laughing].

—

He floated lonely, nothing near him. But not once did his smile fade away. He saw a flower- delicate, cute, amazing… dead. But not once did his smile fade away. He tried to touch it, to feel its warm or its cold. He felt nothing. But not once did his smile fade away. No matter with how much force he grabbed the flower. All he did was hurt it. But not once did his smile fade away.

He was crying, he felt nothing. His clothes were clean and it sadened him even more. He was alone and the realization hit him like an angry friend. He cried and there was no one to react. But not once did his smile fade away.

—————————————————————————>

Anyway did y'all like it? Also, in what should I improve? Also also, unrelated note, would someone be so kind with me and tell me how tags work?

Welp, bye, I'll come back in a month probably.

· Silly Len

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elfwoodfae · 2 years ago

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Eowells x reader Nightcall Epilogue?

Hello, long time no see, I hope you at all doing good. I wanted to post this and say that it could be read as a stand alone but is in reality a continuation of nightcall. I hope you enjoy it and as per usual let me know what you think. This also felt like a safe space and piece to come back into writing after such an absence, I’m sorry and I hope you enjoy it.

It’s been a little too long since the last time any resemblance of emotion other than hatred or pain has crossed his mind. A mind so broken over time in a race he knows he will never win no matter how much he tries to fool himself with the idea that he will. He won’t, deep down he knows this, he has prepared himself for the inevitable outcome, and yet here he is, knotting the robe that will ultimately hang him, he is a dead man walking and he knows it, its a fate he accepted even as he lives through it, playing all the chess pieces the way they are supposed to be played, even if he now knows what moves he could have done differently. Some days, when he is in the mood he likes to write them down, make a list if you will of how he could have prevented the tragedy, his ending.

1. Y/n.

Or so he tries to convince himself, trying to silence the voices of the dead that weight on what’s left of his mind. The past coming to haunt him once again through what’s left of him, telling him how he knows he would do it all over again and again and again, how he would relive every second of the agony and suffering those past few years have been for him, locked in a cell, with the constant reminder of his failure dancing through his vision. Is not like Allen has made it any easier to deal with, or Cisco for that matter, their hatred transformed into pity over the years just serves him to pick on the wounds that will never heal, living in a constant state of rawness.

He tries every night to forget, to close his eyes and pretend he doesn’t see you, he doesn’t see the ghost of you looking back at him, your eyes void of life, he swears he can smell the blood, that he can feel his body burning from the speed, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the weight of your body as he held it, still warm, still there, your eyes still open but no life left in them.

It’s been 10 years, ten long painful years and he can still recall every damn second of that night, every moment, every mistake. The aftermath of a war that you had no business fighting, a war that belonged to him.

He remembers those first few years, when he would close his eyes almost nightly, revisiting a memory of you he had carved in his heart, the only place he had ever truly found solace, a place he no longer visited. As the years went by he visited it less and less, the solace became torture, a face he knew so well distorting into nothingness, and the more he went the less he could remember you, a final punishment for his soul, to not be able to remember what you looked like, and in the fear of never been able to see you again he opted to close that door, throw the key so far into his mind not even in death would he find it again. Or so he thought.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up with a strange feeling to his chest, he can’t place his finger on what it is, maybe anxiousness or tranquility, they sometimes feel so similar is hard to distinguish them. He notices how the bed feels, too soft to be the one on his cell and when he rubs his face against the pillow he feels it, that perfume that haunted his every breathing moment, the scent of live itself. Your scent hits him so unexpectedly his eyes threaten to water, his heart flutters so harshly it hurts, and when he finally snaps out of it and lifts his head he notices where he is. His house, the one he shared with you for such a briefly period of time but a time where he can’t even remember what it was like before you even came along, as if it had always been yours and he was just the guest.

“ I didn’t hear you waking up, I would have come back to bed sooner.” His eyes water this time and his heart threatens to kill him, he doesn’t understand anything, he doesn’t understand how you are here, smiling at him, looking at him with that sparkle in your eyes as you climb over the bed to him, wearing one of his white shirts you loved so much.

His silence is so intense, his eyes so sharp on you he can see the change in your expression, the worry taking over at his quietness. Before you can ask him what’s wrong his hand is already caressing your cheek, his fingers digging in your skin, near your hair as he grabs onto you and pulls himself up to sit up, his arms wrapping themselves over your form, his face burying in your hair. He feels your hand on his bare back, caressing it as you try to free your head of his hold to look up at him, wondering with your eyes what’s gotten into him.

“ I have missed you so much.’’ He says, not caring for a second how odd or out of place it could feel for you.

“ I have been here all the time, i didn’t go anywhere.’’ Your voice resonates through his mind, bouncing around every part of his brain.

‘’ No…”

“No?’’ You interrupt him before he can continue.

He realizes this must be a dream, a cruel dream he will wake up from, he will wake up back in the cell, such a cruelty of fate to tease him like this. Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he suffered enough? Paid the price of his mistakes yet he is living the worst of the punishment again, having you with him once again to be taken from him at any moment, at any point without a previous warning.

No. No, he is a logical man he knows what a dream is, he knows this is not one. He tries to pull himself together, to breathe, to feel, to think. He moves his hand and looks at his watch, it reads Saturday November 5 on the little date window. It hasn’t happened, nothing has happened.

“Eobard’’ your voice brings him back, your eyes look at him so fiercely, so determine, making the next few words that come out of your mouth all the more shocking.

“You did it, its all fine now.” And he has to wonder for a moment, it’s this death or paradise?

@mintchipcupcake

@yetanotherwells

@saltykidcreation

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@babyswan123

@uselesssapphickitten

@lawlerek

@reallystressedhoneybee

@i-dont-care-lol

@tacowells101

@wintersire

@steamjunk90

@dumpeetintofyre

#eobard thawne x reader #eobard thawne #reverse flash x reader #reverse flash #eowells x reader #the flash fanfiction #the flash #the flash harrison wells #harrison wells imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #eowells fanfiction #eowells fanfic

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crossbowking · 4 years ago

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More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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averytiredfanfictionwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Clan (Technoblade x demon!reader, Philza x demon!reader)

Word count- 2,210 Content Warnings- none that I can think of Ao3 link- right here.

My first post back in a while. I’m sorry about the absence to whoever might care- a lot of things popped up in my personal life that stressed me out, on top of my graduation fast approaching. But I’m back now, and this might not be the Karl or Ranboo fic that was promised, it is at least something. Those will both be coming within a week or two, I just need to finish up some stuff and then edit them. So follow if you want to see when I post those, or just reply on this post saying that you want to be tagged when I do post them. Enjoy! Reblogs are appreciated, as well as likes. So if you could just do both, that would mean the world to me!

Techno’s used to being alone. He lived the first hundred years of his life that way- until he met Phil. And then Phil left. And he was alone again.

But when he met Y/n, that all changed. He never had to worry about being alone again. Immortals are rare, and meeting another one is even rarer, but the two were inseparable. She never disclosed where she was from, or what the tattoos of strange runes on her body meant, and Techno knew better than to pry into matters that didn’t concern him, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about as she stared out the window with her eyes clouded over and memories of a past time playing in her mind.

When Phil came back, it was easy for the pair to fit him back into their lives. Even though Y/n had never met him before it was as if they’d known each other for centuries before then. The three easily settled into a calm daily routine and when they returned to their own houses in the little community they’d created for just them at night, they fell asleep having forgotten what life was like before they’d met.

The three gods never worried about what would happen when they were found. After all, they’re immortal. They’ve lived to see the rise and fall of countries, rulers, and everything else. Them of all people know that nothing is permanent. But none ever stopped to consider that what they had wasn’t permanent.

It started when Techno woke up in the morning. The arctic always lent itself to freezing mornings but this one felt colder than the others. It could be because he had expected to wake up with Y/n and Phil next to him on the couch, and was surprised that they would go back to their own houses. But it was much more than that- even if Techno couldn’t have known.

Phil and Techno looked in silence for any trace of Y/n around their community when the sun hit the middle of the sky and she still hadn’t shown her face. Any places she might have gone off to in search of quiet or a place to nap. But that didn’t appear to be the case and their search turned up empty and in vain.

Techno retreated into himself. He found the note she’d left when he and Phil returned from their search and he didn’t say anything, instead heading down to the basement in his small house and shutting himself in to work on ‘very important stuff’ as he told Phil. Phil didn’t believe him- Techno wasn’t exactly quiet in expressing the emotions he felt about Y/n leaving.

Phil wasn’t quite as emotional as Techno. He was more than two hundred years older than the pink-haired man. He was used to the constant ebbing and flowing of life, of the appearance and then disappearance of people. That’s not to say it didn’t hurt, but he knew that it’s the way of life. People come, and then they go. To stop it would be to disregard the nature of humans as a whole.

He was a little surprised when Techno came back up at the end of the night and, while silent, had refused to acknowledge that she’d even existed there in the first place. He ignored the building next to his where she’d slept and kept her belongings. Whenever Phil tried to bring her up, Techno would shut out the conversation and pretend he hadn’t heard him. It wasn’t healthy, and Phil couldn’t blame him because he was still young but he just wished he wouldn’t be so heartbroken to the point of refusing to acknowledge that she ever existed in the first place.

This went on for months. Almost a whole year had passed and the building that contained Y/n’s belongings went untouched. All the delicate keepsakes from past adventures, photos of strangers that neither of the men dared ask about, and the bookshelves lining almost every wall and so full of books from all over the world- it all gathered dust. Until finally she came back.

Phil almost didn’t recognize her at first. The tired weariness evident in the dark circles under her eyes and the dragging of her footsteps, but everything else was the same. The dark hair on her head now long enough to braid- much to his excitement- and the multitudes of runes covering her body, with the additions of quite a few now. One of the newest things though is the several piercings and jewelry that she’s wearing. The most prominent of which is the chain hanging around her neck, a medium-sized precious stone of unknown origin hanging off of it.

“Y/n…” Phil said, dropping the wood he held in her arms in favor of running over and embracing her.

She hugs him back, the feeling almost foreign to her now. But now that she’s back, she doesn’t intend on forgetting it again.

“Where’s Techno? I need to talk to you both.” Y/n mumbles into Phils' shoulder, and for a minute he feels the cold flush of fear at the thought of her leaving again.

“He’s inside his house. Here, I’ll take you there.” Phil can’t help but feel like he’s showing around a visitor. The community has changed quite a bit since she’d last been there but the dread-filled feeling that he gets at the thought of her leaving again, coming back to say that she’s leaving and never returning, is more than he could take.

“Techno. Where are you?” Phil calls out as he enters the house and the chill of the room makes him shiver.

“Downstairs.” A gruff voice calls back, followed by a grunt of frustration.

“Well, can you come upstairs real quick? We have a visitor.” The word is bitter on his tongue and the look that flashes quickly across Y/n’s face makes him wish he’d chosen a better wording.

“Fine.” The ladder creaks and then Techno is peeking his head through the hole that leads down the basement.

“Y/n. What are you doing here?” It’s not entirely a question, and Y/n winces at Techno’s harsh tone. “Why are you back now? What, was living out there not as good as you thought it was? Well, you can leave. We don’t want you back here. We’re doing just fine on our own.”

Y/n feels destroyed. She didn’t expect Techno to react positively to her return, but she didn’t expect this.

“Can I just tell you why I left?” She asks, and Techno snorts.

“Sure. Go ahead. Lay on us this wonderful reason.” Techno’s voice drips with sarcasm.

“There were some people I needed to find- had to find.” She says and Techno laughs.

“Really. That’s your reason. You had to go find some people so you left for ten months. You didn’t even think to tell us in person, instead, you just left a note. Hell, you could have taken us with you. We would have happily gone with you. I would have happily gone with you. I’d have done anything for you. But it appears that the feeling wasn’t mutual, since you barely bothered to leave a half-assed note telling us.” Techno shouts, having climbed fully into the room and stood towering over the girl.

“You don’t understand. This was not a trip you could have made. Neither of you would have been able to!” Y/n shouts back.

Phil backs away, settling into the couch on the other side of the room.

“What do you mean, I don’t understand. I understand perfectly. You abandoned us. You abandoned me. Well, you know what, I don’t want you back here. You need to leave. Get your things and leave. Right now.” Techno says and it feels like Y/n was just punched in the gut.

“What? Techno you’re not serious?” Phil’s astonished. Of everything he thought Techno would say to Y/n, this wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, I am. Now get out.” Philza protests and Techno starts yelling at him as he tries to shove her out of the house.

“My clan was killed! I had to find their bodies!” She shouts out over the two men and Techno stops pushing her.

“Clan?” He asks and Phil stares at her blankly.

“You’re a demon?” He asks and Techno looks back and forth between the two.

“Part demon, yes. My clan was killed and I had to find them. I needed to know who was left. And… I’m now the leader of a clan that doesn’t exist anymore. They were all dead.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, and the sorrow overwhelms her. She’d done a good job on the trip there and back of not crying, of ignoring what happened. But saying it out loud makes it real, and something inside her snaps with those words.

Suddenly the runes tattooed on her and the amount of gold jewelry she’s wearing makes sense to Phil.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Techno pulls her into his arms protectively.

Phil stands from the couch and joins them. The combined warmth of the other two hybrids is almost too much to bear, but Philza hugs them anyways. Y/n’s sobbing continues for a little longer, but soon it turns into muffled sniffles and the shaking of her body calms a little bit.

“It’s up to me now to find a new clan. Custom is that I have to either join one or find others to form one with. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here. Most of them require you to live with the group.” Y/n whispers as she pulls away from the hug.

“No. I won’t let you leave. Not for a second time.” Techno says stubbornly, and Y/n shakes her head.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. We’ll be your new clan. Even if you can’t give us the jewelry of your brothers and sisters like tradition dictates, we can still be your clan. Technically your clan doesn’t have to be other demons.” Phil smiles at her. Techno doesn’t know why Phil would know that, but he doesn’t question his knowledge either way. Phil’s lived a long life before he and Y/n came into the picture.

“You guys would do that?” She asks and he nods his head eagerly.

“Of course. We were already really close before- nothing’s going to be changing.”

“Yeah. What do we have to do to join your clan?” Techno asks.

“Well, we basically have to get married to each other. It’s really just an unbreakable promise to stay with each other and protect each other until we die. Soooo… forever. Are you guys sure this is what you want? Because once we do this we can’t go back.” Y/n looks at them in worry.

“Yes. We both want this. You belong here with us. Life was horrible without you here. I had to deal with Phil all alone. The full force of his attention was on me. It was a never-ending nightmare.” Technos voice is dry as he delivers the joke and Y/n laughs as Phil protests.

“Hey. You forget that I was equally as stuck with you. It’s not easy when you live with a piglin who never gets cold and forgets that not everyone is as lucky as him.” Phil says and Techno mimics his words.

“Whatever you say, old man. But Y/n, I’m a hundred percent serious about joining your clan. I never want to let you go again.” Techno says into Y/n’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it was so quiet without you here mate. And cold. So, so cold.” Phil wraps his wings around the two human furnaces and holds them close.

Even though he’s more than two hundred years older than the pair and knows the reality of life- that eventually they’ll get bored of each other or tired and leave- he finds himself wanting to never let go.

“Here, hold out your hands,” Y/n tells them as she pulls out of the hug.

The two men do so without hesitation, and Y/n places a ring in each of their hands. They’re heavy, made of an unknown metal to most who walk the earth and they’re burning hot to the touch as if they were just forged and taken out of the fire.

“But… you’re not supposed to?” Phil says and the woman shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter if my clan is made of demons or not. I’m still going to give you guys the rings signifying our bonds.” She says and Phil nods.

“Now… who wants to go and slaughter some orphans?” Techno asks, clapping his hands together.

Y/n shouts yes and drops her bag on the ground, running out the door. Techno hangs back a moment, pausing only to look at his reflection in the mirror- at the heavy ring on his tusk. It’s stopped burning and has turned into a comfortable warmth.

“Hey, you good mate?” Phil asks and Techno smiles.

“Never better.” He eyes the half-demon waiting outside in the snow, her tail swishing on the ground behind her.

“Good. Because now there’s no getting rid of her.” Phil smiles and they join the girl waiting outside, ready for whatever adventures lie ahead.

#dsmp x reader #dsmp techno #technoblade x reader #technoblade x platonic!reader #philza x reader #philza x platonic!reader #hybrid reader #technoblade x hybrid!reader #philza x hybrid!reader #technoblade x y/n #philza x y/n #lizzy writes

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binxiboo · 3 years ago

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The Instagram Incident

5SOS Masterlist // Full Masterlist

Ashton Irwin x Reader

You didn’t intend for this. You knew the guys knew that, but management were fuming.

The day started out almost like a cheesy rom com with Ashton waking you up with a rose in an effort to be ‘cutesy and romantic’ as Michael put it. He guided you—who was wrapped in the fuzzy blanket you slept with—to the dining area of the bus. It was here that you were greeted with a breakfast. The biggest breakfast he could fit on the miniscule table of the tour bus.

After you’d both taken time to eat and had fed some to the three other band members, who were complaining about being neglected, Ashton surprised you with the free time he had before rehearsal. So, you rushed off to get ready for a few hours of exploring the city you had arrived in for the day.

While you were waiting for Ashton to get out of the tiny bathroom you posted on Instagram about the surprise Ash had woken you up with. Any other time that wouldn’t have caused any issues, but you had accidentally tagged your location in it, and the bus was parked outside of the hotel you’d be spending the night in. Nevertheless, you had still managed to enjoy your day in the city, sightseeing, stopping in the park for a picnic, and Ashton buying you some jewellery you saw in a shop window—he’d also bought you a stuffed animal because your reaction to it was so adorable.

It was on your way back to the hotel that you both turned your phones from silent. This was a rule you and Ashton had adopted after your first date; both of you being distracted by every ping or flash of your screens. It was this moment you became aware of the shitstorm you had walked away from a few hours ago.

Ashton’s phone was full of missed calls from the band’s security manager and all three of the other band members. Your phone was full of texts from the other band girlfriends, and then phone calls, and the same from the guys themselves. After listening to their voicemails, you realised their intentions of warning you before your arrival. You checked your Instagram post, as they had instructed you to and realised your mistake. You removed your location tag instantly but the worse had already happened. As your beloved guided you around the street corner of your hotel, you saw the mass of paparazzi outside.

“Fuck, what have I done?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N”.

“Ash, it was solely my fault. It was my Instagram post. It was me who tagged the hotel!”

“But you didn’t do it on purpose, and you didn’t know that this would happen.”

No matter how Ashton tried to calm you, you still retained the guilt of exposing the guys’ whereabouts. Not to mention the earache you were about to receive from management. Plus, the defending argument Ashton was already planning out in his head that he was not about to be talked down from. It was safe to say that this was not a situation you would ever like to be in. But you were in it, and you were about to walk right into the most chaotic storm of your life.

Ashton shielded you from the paparazzi swarming the doors. You silently wished he could do the same once you had both made it through the doors. The head of the management team was waiting for the both of you, backed by a wall of unimpressed security guards.

You spent a solid hour on the edge of tears while Ashton defended you to the band’s security team. Their shouts of blames targeting you and your social media post were relentless; there were at least ten voices booming around the room and the only comfort you could get was Ashton’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand in attempt to keep you present. Speaking of your drummer boyfriend, Ashton had managed to calm down the army in front of you, at least enough to lower their volume, and began disarming the bomb that would send you home from tour and miles away from him.

Finally, the team were convinced that the ordeal was entirely accidental and you were completely unaware there was a location tagged on your post. You were, however, given a warning about future social media posts and issued instructions involving Ashton checking and future posts from here on out. Ashton wasn’t too happy about that one, but you were just relieved to be able to stay with him for the remaining shows.

“I don’t want you to have to wait for me to check your posts before you post them! I trust you, you made the mistake once, you sure as hell won’t repeat it in a hurry, why can’t they understand that?”

Ashton’s rant started as soon as you got to your hotel room. It would humour you how passionate he was about the ‘injustice’ against you had you not still been fighting back the tears produced at the start of the meeting. Once met with your silence Ashton looked at you, dead in the eyes. Just the eye contact you held with each other was enough to break you.

Simultaneously, both you and the tears fell. Ashton’s arms supported you as you sobbed into his chest. You were fine with the results of the situation; you didn’t care if your social media posts had to be monitored –if anything you were comforted by that practice – but the stress of the past few hours and the constant yelling for half of that was an overload for you.

Ashton softened under you as he led you over to your shared bed for the night. He guided to lie down, took your shoes off and began the evening of winding you down for the night.

#ashtonirwinxreader #5sos x reader #5SOS #5 Seconds of Summer imagines #5sos imagine #ashton irwin imagines #ashton x reader #ashton irwin x y/n

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Potions and Constellations // G.W.

Summary: The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

A/N: Professor George Weasley anyone?

Warnings: mentions of grief, missing someone, pining, mutual pining, post!war, fred is dead.

Word count: 4.8k

The job offer landed on George Weasley’s doormat on the second Tuesday in March. As he bent down to grab the thick, cream envelope, George knew immediately who it was from, having read the handwriting every summer from the ages of eleven to eighteen.

The letter then remained on the kitchen table for a week, going unanswered as George battled with his head and his heart. Teaching was never a profession George had wanted to undertake, but Professor McGonagall sounded adamant in her letter that he would make a worthy addition to the staff at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The war between his head and heart raged on and on. On one hand, he wanted to take the job. George was desperate for a change of scenery. The sight of the shop, no matter how loved it was, had become stale without Fred’s presence. However, how could he leave the legacy of his twin brother? How could he walk away from the walls that screamed Fred’s influence?

The decision is made by Ron. He stops by George’s flat two weeks after the letter first showed up. As brothers are wont to do, he nosed through the papers on George’s kitchen table before his eyes fell on the letter from McGonagall.

After that, a long and winding conversation took place between the two brothers who had grown closer after suffering the loss of a sibling. Ron explained that he would look after the shop; that George could always come back in the school holidays and the odd weekend to check in. The shop wouldn’t be the same without him, Ron admitted, but he made sure to tell his older brother that he would live to regret not taking the opportunity McGonagall was offering.

So that was that.

George replied that very afternoon; accepting the job that would start that September and offering his apologies for how long it had taken to reply.

----------

Over the course of the last four years, Molly has cried exactly four times. In one year, she cried twice. Once out of fear for her husband’s life, and then again over the lifeless body of her darling boy.

After that, Molly very rarely cried, feeling as if there was nothing else that could draw out her tears. That is, until George turned up at the Burrow holding the letter written from the new Headmistress of Hogwarts; the very one offering him a teaching position.

She had cried out of joy and out of fear. She couldn’t help but be scared for her son; returning to where his twin brother died. It took a different sort of bravery to return to such a place, but for George, she would be brave.

George moved to Hogwarts in the last week of August, wanting to settle into his quarters before getting to know the students he would be teaching. All through it, he thinks of Fred, wondering and wondering whether his twin resides with the ghosts of the enchanted castle.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on the though, not wanting to be disappointed when the ghosts return to school when the students return. Instead, George focuses on getting his classroom ready. Being asked to teach Potions was no small feat, and whilst he had little to none teaching experience, he felt confident he could pull this off.

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

It had been an age since you had last clapped eyes on George Weasley. It was completely possible in that time that he had grown another foot, towering above the students. His robes were just as colourful as the last time you had seen him; the fabric settling around him comfortably as if he was made for a teaching role.

Everything about him has changed, yet he still remains the same. The corner of his eyes now have the beginnings of wrinkles lining their corners; they become more prominent as a large smile breaks across his face, his gaze solely directed on you as George shuffles through the throng of students, stopping in front of your seat at the staff table.

“It’s been…” He starts, a breathtaking smile taking over his face.

“Years,” You finish, cutting him off in one breath.

He smiles, and your heart starts to race uncontrollably. “How have you been?” He asks, voice genuine, eyes bright.

You fiddle with the sleeve of your dark blue robes, representing your house in the sorting ceremony. “I’ve been good,” You murmur, casting your gaze across the Great Hall, taking in the faces of the new students who you would be leading through their magical education. “How have you been, George? I know you’ve had a rough couple of years.”

George frowns, nodding, “It hasn’t been easy, but we all came together as a family and helped one another.”

Silence falls between you both; minds wandering back to that fateful night all those years ago when the school suffered the worst of crimes. So many lost in such a short amount of time; so many lost and the school was still feeling their absence. More ghosts wandered the halls of Hogwarts now, each one becoming a guiding light for the students who were fortunate enough not to know a magical society divided by blood status and family names.

“How long have you been teaching?” George queries, shifting the subject away from the grief that still ravages his soul.

“Since the end of the war. McGonagall offered me the position once Hogwarts had finished reconstruction,” You answer, thinking back to the mild summer day that McGonagall’s offer landed on your doorstep. It had taken you less than an hour to decide; half an hour to reply, and a week to pack up your belongings and move.

George blows out a long breath, nodding as he does so. “What do you teach?”

You laugh, quirking an eyebrow, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get to know me.”

George laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “That’s it – you’ve caught me red handed.”

You snort, rolling your eyes playfully at the man you haven’t seen in years. “I teach Astronomy,” You answer, gesturing to the silver moons and stars sewed into the hems of your robes.

“The only reason I remember those lessons was because of you,” George admits, briefly wondering whether he’s said too much in his first hour of seeing you again.

You duck your head, clearing your throat as you ignore the small voice in your head, reminding you of the teenage crush you had on the redhead all those years ago. Gesturing to the empty seat next to you, you offer George a seat, wanting to catch up more before the sorting ceremony begins and anxious First Years are settled into their houses.

George folds himself down in the seat next to you, immediately reaching for the pitcher of water, pouring a glass for you and him.

“George Weasley,” You tease, “You are a gentleman.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Molly Weasley’s education was more thorough than anything else I’ve experienced.”

You hold your glass up, toasting the matriarch who you remember with nothing but fondness. George copies your movements, feeling a pang of homesickness as he thinks of the woman who had dedicated her life to her children, and who had experienced the incomparable loss of a child.

Quiet conversation is made between you; earning far more glares than deserved from Professor Flitwick as George makes you laugh so loud; your snort of humour is heard across the Great Hall.

Soon after, McGonagall dismisses the students, wanting them to get an early night, ready for the first full day of lessons tomorrow. As the students file out of the Great Hall, the Professors follow behind, ready to catch any stragglers.

As you turn to the stairs, fingers curl around your wrist, keeping you in place. Wide-eyed, you meet the fierce gaze of George Weasley. “Will I see you again?” He asks; the words blurring into a mess as he rushes to get them out.

You smile softly, nodding your head, “I’m sure you remember the way to the Astronomy classroom.”

George’s answering smile takes your breath away. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand, breaking the connection between the two of you. Your whole body suddenly feels cold at the loss of contact, as if George’s touch set your whole being alight, bringing it back to life after so long lying dormant.

Turning from the redhead, you hurry away, your steps loud on the stone floor of the corridor. It’s a moment; that’s all – a simple moment, but you turn around, wanting one more look at him before you retire for the night and begin the new school year.

A moment: one moment to find that George is watching you go.

----------

The last time George Weasley had seen the Astronomy Tower there had been fire and screams raging all around him. It had been a shock to return to the school after such a long absence. He never thought he would return; not after leaving his education, and not after losing Fred in the manner he did.

George didn’t think he would ever come back, but on a Friday night, three weeks after lessons start, he finds himself climbing the tower’s steep stairs.

He doesn’t say anything when he lands on the top step; taking a moment to catch his breath and silently admire your form by the telescope. You stare into the instrument intently, your mouth partly hung open as if in constant awe of what the night sky can offer.

Clearing his throat, George announces his presence politely, not wanting to scare you by remaining in silence.

“I was wondering when you were going to come see me,” You tease, eyes bright with happiness at the sight of your unexpected visitor, “I was beginning to think I would have to journey all the way to the dungeons to find you and coax you out.”

Despite himself, a laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms against the cold that rages through the tower and leans against the wall. “I would have come earlier, but I didn’t realise how much work goes into teaching,” He states, gesturing with his head to the piles of paper littering the floor, close to flying away in the wind.

“That isn’t school work,” You clarify, steeling yourself to be made fun of, “That’s my own research.”

“Your own research?”

You nod, “I want to write a book eventually, but it’s also ideas for future lessons.”

George huffs out a breath, thoroughly impressed at your devotion to your subject. He steps further into the tower, “I don’t think I could imagine loving a subject so much.”

“I like the stars,” You offer as explanation, “Did you enjoy it at school?”

“I dropped it after Fifth Year,” George admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You laugh, shrugging off your teaching robes and depositing them on a nearby chair. “I never thought you were inclined towards the subject, George, don’t worry,” You snigger.

He rolls his eyes, “So what do you teach to Seventh Years?”

You grin, beginning to gesture wildly as you explain your long term plan for Seventh Year witches and wizards. In their final year at Hogwarts, witches and wizards develop their knowledge from Sixth Year by studying further constellations such as Orion the Hunter and Cygnus. “I like to focus on the stories behind the constellations. We focus on one constellation a week, and I round off the week by telling the story of the constellation to the students,” You round off, feeling your face begin to heat as you realise how long you have rambled about the stars.

George doesn’t seem too bothered, however. Instead, he looks rather bewitched by the idea of it. At this point, he wishes he had paid more attention in this particular class. “What constellation did you look at this week?” He asks, unable to stop himself, wanting to hear you talk more about the subject you find yourself so in love with.

“Perseus and Andromeda,” You reply, automatically pointing to the night sky

“I don’t know that one,” George admits, eyes scanning the sky to find the stars that make up the named constellation.

“Would you like to hear their story?”

“You know it?” George ask, feeling immediately silly for asking such a question, worried that he might have insulted you.

You laugh lightly, your smile lighting up your whole face. “Just as well as you know your potions. Don’t think I don’t know you’re smart, Weasley,” You laugh again when George’s face descends into a blush, “You would have had to have been good at the subject to make your skiving sweets.”

“I like Potions,” He admits, knowing full well that three weeks into teaching Potions, he could see him doing this until retirement. “Will you tell me the story?” He asks, desperate to know the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

You gesture to the blankets you keep piled on the floor, wanting somewhere comfier to sit when your back begins to protest the chair at your desk. George all but throws himself on the blankets, eagerly awaiting your retelling of a story he wishes he heard long ago.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “Perseus was travelling back from killing Medusa when he found a princess chained to a rock in the ocean. For Perseus, it was love at first sight. He saw Andromeda and knew he was in love.

“Andromeda had been chained to the rock as punishment to Cassiopeia, her mother. Cassiopeia was so vain about her beauty, she claimed to be even more beautiful than the daughters of the God of the Sea, Poseidon.

“Poseidon, who was known for his short temper, reacted furiously. The God chained Andromeda to a rock in the sea and sent the sea monster, Cetus after her.

“Perseus was flying home on Pegasus, his winged horse when he came upon Andromeda just as she was about to be devoured. In a hurry, Perseus struck a deal with Cassiopeia and her husband, Cepheus. If Perseus saved Andromeda from Cetus, he would win the right to marry her.

“Unfortunately, the fates were not on their side. After Perseus slew the monster, he came to learn that Andromeda’s hand in marriage had already been promised to another man. Soon, the two men were locked in battle for the right to marry Andromeda. Perseus was initially outnumbered, but at the last moment, pulled out the head of Medusa and turned his opponent to stone.

“Perseus and Andromeda married soon after and lived to old age. When they died, the Gods placed them in the sky as a love story for the ages to come.”

“I think you’re incredible,” George breathes out when you finish the story, but he quickly backtracks when he realises exactly what has been said, “I mean… you’re incredible at your job. I remember you in class, and your love then shines through now.”

“Thank you,” You laugh, “Enough about me. I want to hear about you, George. Tell me about your joke shop in Diagon Alley.”

So he does. George regales to you tales of the shop; the customers he gets to meet. And the ones who have quickly become regulars. He tells you about Ron; how he stepped up after the war, choosing not to become an Auror and instead, help George run the shop. George admits his guilt over leaving Ron to run the shop alone, but he has utter blind faith in his younger brother and knows the shop will be fine.

He speaks of how odd it is to be back at Hogwarts without Fred; to be teaching Potions without Fred and living his life without his twin. The pain of Fred’s loss is still very much alive and evident in his voice as he falls into an inevitable silence, dragged into memories that pricked at his mind like thorns.

That evening, a friendship is forged between the two of you. Through your time at Hogwarts as a student, you had known of the Weasley Twins, and had spoken to both George and Fred on multiple occasions but had never found yourself being friends with them. Now, the beginning threads of a friendship have been weaved between you and George, and the both of you felt it was going to stick.

“Can I come back?” George asks out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence.

You jump at the sudden sound of his voice but recover quickly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, Professor Weasley,” You smile, a joking tone to your voice.

He parts with one last smile, leaving you at the top of the stairs to the tower, your mind in a muddle. It was going to be one interesting friendship, you thought to yourself, staring at the space George stood only moments ago.

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

Winter falls into Spring, giving way to new blossoms and a new leash of life – even the Whomping Willow is serene enough to bask in the early morning sun, not wanting to thrash about angrily.

A friendship with George forms quickly; the two of you becoming dependant on each other much faster than you cared to admit. Every Friday evening, George would climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower where you would both catch up on the week before he inevitably asks to be told a story from the stars.

Weeks passed where this was the routine. Sitting together at meals when your schedule allowed it; night classes meaning your sleep schedule was much different to other teachers. However, Friday evening would be dedicated for George.

Your feelings for George Weasley started slowly. It would be your heart beginning to race by being in his presence, a simple smile from him pulling you close to the edge. That was then followed by daydream after daydream; hopeless wonderings about the touch of his hands against your skin, and the feel of his mouth pressed against yours.

Countless times you had been pulled out of daydreams by students; each one of them knowing full well that the person on your mind had to be important to you to distract you from the stars and their stories.

They hit you full force when you interrupt his lesson on a Wednesday in February. Knocking gently on the classroom door, you had entered upon hearing George’s invitation.

His robe is discarded on his desk and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow as George gestures animatedly, lecturing about the properties of powdered root of Asphodel in the Draught of Living Death.

The sight of him teaching; commanding the classroom, demanding the attention of every soul in the room – it has your breath quickening and your heart pounding in your chest. He paces the front of the classroom, keeping the attention of all students as he explains what the tasks for today’s lesson. His eyes are bright with passion, and his smile is great as he urges his class to simply try their best – they do not need to get it right the first time.

Upon noticing you stood by an empty desk, George flashes you a wide smile before sending the class off to gather their ingredients and heat their cauldrons. “To what do I owe this visit?” George asks, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning back against the desk.

You swallow thickly, ridding yourself of all thoughts to do with George and the desk and the outfit he is currently wearing. Regaining your composure, you smile shakily at the redhead, “What? You can visit me, but I can’t visit you?”

George laughs, “Of course not. You’re always welcome. We’re brewing Draught of Living Death. I’m sure you remember that lesson with Snape.”

You snort, “How could I forget? He used my brew as the perfect example for how not to use a cauldron. If I recall correctly, he called it an abuse to perfect potion brewing equipment. I had detention for two weeks!”

“Well” George states, barely repressed amusement sounding in his voice, “I remember your brew. There were very few things that Snape had right, but that was one.”

For a moment, you think he’s serious, but his famous smile soon spreads across his face and you have to repress the urge to jinx him in front of students. “Professor Weasley!” You gasp, faking offence.

George rolls his eyes, “You know it’s true.”

You wait a second before bursting into quiet laughter, trying not to disturb the working students. “It is true,” You giggle, “I was awful at Potions, but your class looks to be in good hands.”

He smiles softly, “So what did I do to deserve a visit from my favourite professor?”

“I’m your favourite?” You ask, placing a hand on your chest, touched.

“Only if I’m your favourite.”

“Then you’re my favourite, Weasley.”

He smiles; the grin lighting up his face as he shuffles on his feet, wondering what to say next that won’t make him look like a fool in front of his students.

Sixth Year Potions watch the exchange; their brews long forgotten as they observe their two favourite professors clearly flirt in front of them. Eyes meet across the room, and all students have the same thought – how long would it be until they got their act together?

-----------

Months pass.

Months pass, and you do not confess to your feelings.

Months pass, and something changes between the two of you. The friendship develops, becoming deeper, meaning something more to the both of you. You’re teetering on the edge of a knife, hands gripped tightly in the others as you try to decide which side you’re going to fall over.

It’s as if the both of you know that over the course of your short friendship, friendship would never be enough. It was as if you were destined for each other; George feeling understood by you in a way he hadn’t felt since Fred died.

Feelings remain unsaid; yearning growing inside the both of you until you simply push that boundary of your friendship further, becoming more comfortable with each other. It was hard to remain quiet on the subject when you often caught George’s eyes on you, watching you with an expression on his face that you’re sure is mirrored on your own.

----------

“Are you sure you want to hear tonight’s story?” You ask, a light note of concern in your voice as you watch George’s face for any reaction.

“What do I have to be worried about?” He asks, face adorable scrunched up as he peers through your telescope.

“It’s the story of Castor and Pollux,” You murmur gently, reaching a hand out to brush against the back of George’s hand gently.

George freezes. Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he knows those names. A brief memory washes over him; the astronomy tower, a flash of a Gryffindor tie and the sound of a laugh he hasn’t heard in nearing five years now.

“The Twins?” He whispers, voice hoarse as unexpected emotions wash over him. George turns to you, finding nothing but concern and worry alight in your eyes and written across your face. His heart doubles in size at the sight of it; your clear apprehension at telling this story for the fear of hurting his feelings only deepening his feelings for you.

You care, he realises. You truly care about him.

“George,” You whisper, “I don’t have to tell this story. I can tell you another one – the Seven Sisters, or Altair and Vega. The choice is yours.”

George shakes his head, stepping away from the telescope and settling down on the blankets that were spread across the floor. He had to hear this, he realised. He has worked and worked through his grief; he had spoken about it, he had ignored it, he had written about it. It hadn’t gone away; it had simply evolved into part of him – something he would carry around until his very last day on this planet.

No, he had to hear this. He had to hear whether there was another way his grief could be addressed. Meeting your gaze, George smiles reassuringly, holding out a hand for you in a gesture signalling for you to join him on the blankets.

“I want to hear it,” He asserts as you settle next to him.

“Are you sure?”

He nods once more, fidgeting on the blankets, getting comfy.

“The constellation Gemini is made up of two twins named Castor and Pollux. To this day, there is debate of their lineage. In some accounts, they are written as if divine, but in others, they are simply mortal men.

“Castor was born to the mortal king, Tyndarus while Pollux was born to the King of Gods, Zeus. Being identical twins, Castor and Pollux were inseparable. They were two halves of a whole. Castor was a great horseman; Pollux was a born warrior. So great in fact, that they travelled with Jason on the Argo and saved the ship from a terrible storm that would have killed them and the crew.”

You take a deep breath before plundering on with the story, “Castor was killed in battle. He wasn’t to survive; not being the mortal son of a mortal king. Pollux was devastated at the loss of his brother, his closest friend. He begged, pleaded with his own father, Zeus. Pollux asked the King of the Gods to bring Castor back, to bring him back to Pollux so they could have more time.

“Zeus agreed. He immortalised both Castor and Pollux in the stars, creating the constellation Gemini. To this day, the twins are still together – no longer separated by the veil of death.”

Neither of you speak as you finish your story. You refuse to utter a word, barely even breathing as you wait for George, all the while thinking that this was not the story to have told a man still grieving the loss of his twin brother. In this metaphor, George seems to be Pollux. Fred, the mortal Castor.

“He’s still with me,” George whispers into the night air, “I swear I sometimes feel him around me. It’s been years, but I swear I can hear him tell me to stop being a prat when I need to hear it.”

You smile softly, “He isn’t ever going to leave you. Those we love leave a mark on us that won’t ever fade; their love remains with us even when we think we don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for telling me the story of Castor and Pollux,” George comments, reaching for your hand across the blankets and squeezes tight.

“You’re welcome.”

“I want to repay you,” George states, sitting up further.

“For what?” You ask, entirely puzzled.

“For Castor and Pollux, for Andromeda and Perseus, for Altair and Vega. For coming to my classroom and making me laugh,” He lists, counting off the reasons on his fingers, “For helping me with my grief when I didn’t know I needed help.”

“You don’t need to repay me,” You comment, “It’s what friends do.”

“I think we’re more than friends at this point, (Y/N),” George states bluntly, “Friends don’t spend their Friday nights regaling the stories of lovers in the past. They don’t tell each their darkest secrets and deepest worries like we do. Friends don’t make my heart race the way that you do.”

“I’d hope not,” You joke, “Otherwise Flitwick is going to get a shock when he’s told.”

“Let me take you to dinner,” George prompts, ignoring your attempt at humour, grasping to his straws of confidence before they fall through his fingers and he loses his chance.

“You want to be more than friends?” You ask, needing clarification before you answer.

“I want to be friends with you, but I want to be the one you wake up to, and I want to be the one you tell the stories of the stars to,” George admits; eyes shining with honesty, voice close to breaking with the sheer scale of emotions running through his body.

“I want to tell you the stories of the stars too,” You whisper, “So long as you teach me how to brew a decent potion.”

George throws his head back at your unexpected answer, laughing as he does so. “Let’s make a deal,” He begins, “Go to dinner with me, and tell me more stories of the stars, and I’ll teach you how to brew a potion.”

A slow smile spreads across your face as you start nod your head, wordlessly accepting his terms. George’s answering grin in breathtaking; relief flooding his body and affection for you rushing to his heart.

He thinks back to that second Tuesday in March when he initially read McGonagall’s job offer, and he wonders whether the last year of his life had always been written in the stars.

****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @awritingtree @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @himooonlight @missmulti

Weasley Twins taglist: @whizboingies @ickle-ronniekins @oh-for-merlins-sake @wand3ringr0s3 @seppys-return-to-madness @hexmione @susceptible-but-siriusexual @somekidinacoma

Specific fic taglist: @poppin-potter @letsgotothehop @magicalxdaydream @vogueweasley @darthwheezely @immobulusmalfoy @pxroxide-prinxcesss @georgeweasleyswhre @george-fabian-weasley @sarcasticallywitty15 @ziamisre4l @mitsukui @dumspirospero-1 @markjaestats @rocket-svt

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george x reader #george weasley imagines

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avocadoflavoredimagines · 4 years ago

Note

Rantaro, Shuichi and Kaito with a s/o that can see ghosts? They’re just completely chill about it. So what would their reaction be if their s/o saw somebody important to the boys and they just don’t know it’s a ghost until they mention they can’t see them

Example:S/O sees one of Rantaro’s sisters

EDIT: just realized I misread Kaito as Kokichi for some reason ;~; I’m really sorry, I’ll be posting an extra imagine with this prompt for Kaito soon to make up for it. Sorry again! I am dumb

Ooh, this is actually a really cool idea! Thank you for the request anon, I wasn’t really sure how to incorporate the last part of the request since it would only really make sense with Rantaro, so I just did it for him and did regular headcanons for everyone else. Hope that’s ok!

-Mod Rantaro

Rantaro, Shuichi and Kokichi with an S/O who can see ghosts!

Rantaro

CW: Angst

- “Rantaro… do you have a sister?”

- He completely freezes at those words.

- …How did you know about them?

- His alarms immediately go off, and you can’t blame him for being a bit shaken up about it. It was a wild speculation, but if you were right, it must be a touchy subject. You’d been seeing a girl that looked eerily like Rantaro hanging around him ever since you’d met, and you couldn’t keep it to yourself for much longer. Your curiosity just got the better of you.

- He just responds with a simple “Why do you ask?” trying his best to hide his distress. It’s easy for you to see through his facade, though.

- You explain your ability to him, as well as the girl you’d been seeing near him for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t perfectly described what one of his sisters looked like. He immediately knew which one you were talking about, and his features darkened, eyes staring blankly at nothing in particular.

- …

- “So, she’s dead.” You know he’s trying his best to keep up his cool persona, but you can hear the subtle crack in his voice when he says it “Haha, guess I should’ve known. It was wishful thinking to assume she was just alive and well somewhere else.”

- He manages to get out a small chuckle before the impact of the sentence really seems to hit him. The pain in his eyes in that moment was something you wished you didn’t have to ever see.

- You begin to wonder if telling him was the right idea, but at that point, there really wasn’t anything you could do.

- You two just stand in silence for a while, as you watch the ghost girl cling to his side, looking just as upset as he does.

- “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” You say, breaking the thick silence if only for a moment. He says nothing.

- “I don’t know how she died, but… if it means anything, she’s been staying at your side this whole time. Almost like she’s watching over you.” You pause for another moment before continuing.

- “She must really love you.”

- Words seem to escape him at that. It was something he already knew, but it was… reassuring to hear. He gave you a small smile in return.

- “Thank you.”

- He closes his eyes and tilts his head towards the sky, closing his eyes taking a deep breath.

- It was closure for at least one of them. Maybe not the closure he wanted, and there were still 11 more he needed to find, but he at least knew what happened to one.

- That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Shuichi

- This boy is absolutely intrigued by your abilities. Like, completely enthralled.

- He’d never been a believer of the supernatural (after all, as a detective, he’d been taught to only look at the facts and not “make believe”), but hearing you mention it as a one off conversation topic completely threw him for a loop.

- Were you joking? Would you even joke about something like that? He had no idea what to even think, and with your serious expression still staring blankly at him, his confusion only grew.

- With a lot of explaining and a few tests to show him your ability first hand, the initial confusion fades, almost immediately replaced with intrigue.

- What were the limits of your ability? How had you gotten it? Could you communicate with them directly? The detective part of his brain was switched on, and he just wanted to know more.

- The fact that you’d kept it hidden for so long wasn’t a surprise to him, it definitely wasn’t a normal thing for someone to be able to do, but that just directly contradicted how nonchalantly you’d brought it up to him. He had no idea how you can be so casual about something so amazing!

- He tries not to be annoying when it comes to studying you since he doesn’t want to be overbearing. He just can’t help himself. Needless to say, he just now thinks you’re even more amazing than before (which is incredible since he already thought you were incredible before, though it would be hard for him to admit it without turning into a blushing and stuttering mess)

Kokichi

- Literally just thinks you’re trying to prank him at first

- “Haha, nice one Y/N! What, next are you going to tell me you can talk to them too?”

- …

- Cue awkward silence

- When he finds out you’re actually telling the truth, he’s immediately curious, but unlike Shuichi, does not hold back in his pestering. Believe me when I say he will be as annoying as possible the next few days after he finds out.

- Constant questions about everything to do with your ability, and not even standard questions. He’ll constantly be asking weird stuff like whether or not the ghosts have clothes or if they’ll try and bite your toes when you sleep or something completely random like that. This little shit becomes absolutely insufferable

- You consider getting one of the ghosts nearby to try and spook him as revenge, but you realize he’d probably just think it was more funny than scary, so you just had to take matters into your own hands. An affectionate flick to the forehead would be enough to shut him up for at least a little while

- Completely ignoring him is the second (and last) tactic you use to get him off your back, which seems to be the most effective. After just a day he’s practically begging you for even the smallest bit of attention, of course being as dramatic and childish as possible to up the guilt factor on your part. In the end, promising he’ll stop pestering you is an easy trade for your attention, though of course the topic still comes up every once in a while.

- He really can be a handful sometimes.

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a-flickering-soul · 4 years ago

Text

EverymanHYBRID And Deer In Media: In Five Parts (click for individual comparisons)

Deer are both a symbol of fragile purity and the untamable wild–here, we examine deer in the context of man, where deer come to represent the urge within us to abandon the conscious ego for the subconscious id. The deer is a symbol, too, of rebirth, of transformation, of shedding and regrowing its weapons each year. To kill, to be reborn, to choose to be monstrous through our proximity to humanity. Is there not something pure in surrendering to animal instinct? If deer are the twin themes of innocence and wildness, then we in turn are the juxtaposition of humanity and monstrousness–our actions made monstrous by the attempt to temper them with humanity.

(transcript, analysis, and sources below cut)

1: The Secret History & EverymanHYBRID--Bodies

The Secret History, on the killing of a man in a hallucinatory bacchanal:

"'Henry,' I said at last. 'Good God.' "He raised an eyebrow. 'Really, it was more upsetting than you can realize,' he said. 'Once I hit a deer with my car. It was a beautiful creature and to see it struggling, blood everywhere, legs broken ... And this was even more distressing but at least I thought it was over. I never dreamed we'd hear anything else about it.'"

EverymanHYBRID, "Ryan and the SEVENTRIALSOFHABIT":

A shot of a deer's dead body at the side of the road at night, looking crumpled and not quite right. The captions read: "Jeff: It's a fucking deer, dude. (Evan: See it?) Yeah. Something cut its belly open. (Evan: It cut its belly open the wrong way.)"

Parallels drawn:

Consider this one an amuse-bouche. Henry draws comparisons between a man he killed to a deer he accidentally hit with a car, mildly naming the incident ‘distressing’. There is a lack of human empathy, of guilt over killing a fellow man. In comparison, Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie at this point in the EMH plotline have not yet become hunter or hunted–they have not yet been warped by their roles in this iteration and can acknowledge the upsetting nature of the events that befall them. Henry has tasted that amoral nature and is less human for it, more visibly willing to shed that veneer of attempting to care about other people. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie have not yet reached that point.

2: “Whoso List to Hunt”, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--The Chase

"Whoso List to Hunt", on hunting a fabled white hind:

"I am of them that farthest cometh behind./ Yet may I by no means my wearied mind/ Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore/ Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,/ Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind./ Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,/ As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain/ There is written, her fair neck round about:/ Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,/ and wild to hold, though I seem tame."

EverymanHYBRID, "Slushpops and Surprises”

A shot of white text on a black page, "[Enter the tragic hero and his unattainable companion.]"

The Secret History, on hallucinations experienced during the bacchanal (bold for emphasis):

“‘Camilla said that during part of it, she’d believed she was a deer; and that was odd, too, because the rest of us remember chasing a deer through the woods, for miles it seemed. Actually it was miles. I know that for a fact. Apparently we ran and ran and ran, because when we came to ourselves we had no idea where we were.’”

EverymanHYBRID, “December & early January”:

A shot of Vinnie, hand covering his face in shock, as he sits and listens to Jessa’s last voicemail before she went missing. Jeff can be seen in the background, listening in silence. The captions read “[Jessa’s voice, recorded]: Steph, that thing you were talking about, I saw it...he’s real, he’s right here. What the hell does he want? I think he’s following me.”

Parallels drawn:

The deer symbolizes wild nature, something that man cannot obtain, touch, or capture without abandoning something of his own humanity. Similarly, deer represent the unattainable prey. Noli me tangere, says Caesar’s unattainable deer– touch me not, no matter how hard you may attempt to catch me. Jessa of EMH is deemed the unattainable companion and Jeff’s driving force to discover the truth behind the situation they’ve been placed in–it is Jessa, dangled in front of him after she goes missing, that leads Jeff down the path that inevitably leads to his own death after uncovering too much. The deer is to be chased, to be hunted, and never captured. Camilla from The Secret History believed herself to be a deer during the same hallucinatory bacchanal that cost a man his life, and led her brother and friends on a chase spanning miles. Jessa was hunted by an unknowable force, then used as bait to draw her partner down the path to his own death. Unattainability, the shape of something fleeing in front of you, elicits a powerful reaction to follow, to hunt, to chase. Jessa fell victim to that reaction. Camilla, and the white hind, did not.

3: The Myth of Diana and Actaeon, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--Madness

The Diana and Actaeon Fountain at the Caserta Royal Palace:

The detail of the fountain shown depicts the pivotal scene in the myth of Actaeon and Artemis, where Actaeon, mid-transformation into a stag, is killed for the slight of viewing the goddess Artemis nude.The sculpture shows the transformation in no mercy, plain in its depiction of Actaeon’s pain and terror, and the simple ferocity of the hounds that surround him.

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Jeff, blood spattered across him, speaking with a shocked and angry tone. The captions read, “Jeff: Why were we doing that? That was...that’s not what we were looking for. We knew damned well that wasn’t what we were trying to kill. (Vince: Close enough.) It was a deer! It was a fucking deer! I tried to pull you off, you tried to punch me in the fucking face!”

The Secret History, on the Greeks’ view of beauty and terror (bold for emphasis):

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful to souls like the Greeks or to our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripedes speaks of the Maenads: head thrown back, throat to the stars, ‘more like deer than human being’.”

Parallels drawn:

Most depictions of Actaeon, sculpture or painting, usually show him with antlers or a deer lower body, leaving his head and face a recognizable human shape. However, the sculptor here decided to subvert expectations and leave his body human, giving Actaeon the animal head of a stag. The loss of control and the descent from human to animal is not glorified or made palatable by the mere addition of a crown of antlers--there is only the one constant, fear, that follows him all the way down. Madness may be defined as a loss of control, and there may be something beautiful and terrifying in feeling your sanity slip through your own fingers. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie are overtaken by brief, inexplicable madness and tear apart a deer as they come dangerously close to uncovering exactly who and what is hunting them. They skate close to seeing soemthing they shouldn't see. It is only Jeff who looks up, shocked by the blood on his hands, and voices his fear. Vinnie, apathetic, lets it go. But Evan, houndlike and irrational, defends his kill.

4: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Warnings and Temptation

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Evan, spattered heavily with blood, standing with shoulders caved in protectively. His left hand is raised to his mouth, with his hair covering his eyes, and he is licking the blood off of his fingers.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“In my post about ravens, I talked about how it’s not always easy to tell what the Ravenstag really means. Is it evidence of the Hannibalesque elements of Will’s soul? Or a warning of those parts growing within him? Does the Ravenstag urge Will forward on his journey, or warn him of what’s to come?”

Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 1 “Aperitif”:

A shot of the Ravenstag, staring directly into the camera with one hoof up, as if to approach. There are black feathers interwoven with its pelt and its eyes have an uncanny shine.

Parallels drawn:

On a naturalistic note, deer are skittish creatures. They have thin legs and a sleek body, made for running. A small head and big eyes, placed wide-set to see coming predators. Keen ears. They are ready at any moment to sense danger, warn others, and flee. When a deer does not move, it is either safe or sizing up its options, either accepting where it is or preparing to run. Deer, staring directly at the viewer, come as a sympathetic warning to flee or, in its dark eyes and firm stance, a temptation. Me tangere, they say. Come closer. We are one and the same. In Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal, the commanding presence of the Ravenstag serves as both a warning and a beckoning temptation to turn his feet down the darker path. It is otherworldly, black-furred and feathered, and yet a warning of events rooted in the real world--does Will understand what danger he is in upon meeting Hannibal and take the warning, or will he ignore it, sensing that same darkness in himself, that same potential for corruption? In EverymanHYBRID, it is that same killing of a deer that hints at that same potential for darkness growing inside Evan. He licks at his fingers, animalistic, fully ignoring his own Ravenstag warning signs for the delight of the hunt. Is he Evan anymore? Or is something else growing inside him?

5: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Predator and Prey, or the Final Act

EverymanHybrid, “:D”:

A shot of HABIT, looking up a set of stairs with one foot on the bottom step. In one hand down by his side, he is holding a knife. His posture is tilted forward, poised, ready to spring into action, like that of a hunter.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“The idea of deer as symbols of rebirth also stands out to me. Hannibal is a series obsessed with becoming and transformation. People start one way, and are reborn as something completely other by the end of the show. There’s even a character sewn up into a deceased pregnant horse in the hopes that when she’s released, she will be literally reborn as something different. It’s thus a neat fit, this significance of deer with the themes of the show.”

EverymanHYBRID, “:D”:

A shot of Jeff, looking up and to the side with an expression of caution and fear. His eyes are unnerved, squinting as, from offscreen, HABIT’s hand plays idly with his hat.

Parallels drawn:

The first and final incarnation of the deer is, of course, prey. Beyond and before any symbolism of innocence and wildness and warnings, deer are prey animals, to be hunted and devoured. And yet, in keeping with the concept of contrasting symbolism, deer are not helpless. Yearly, they shed and regrow their antlers in a transformation of horn and blood. At the climax of EverymanHYBRID, the final reveal, the final transformation, comes to fruition. HABIT, formerly Evan, takes its place as the Hunter, the archetypal predator, with Jeff shown most prominently as the Prey. Jeff’s luck has run its course, with him in the chair as the sacrificial prey-victim to fall to HABIT’s knife. HABIT, reborn, reiterated, made incarnate through Evan’s unwilling transformation, is poised to start the hunt. This is the big reveal, the crux of the transformation, Actaeon caught mid-transfiguration and the bloody sloughing-off of velvet humanity to reveal perfect and gleaming antlers. This is what it comes down to, time and time again. The hunter and the hunted. The wilderness embraced and the wilderness captured, and the monstrosity in that act.

Works Cited

Callimachus. Actaeon and Artemis. C. 220 BC

Fuller, Bryan. “Apetirif.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 1, NBC, 4 Apr. 2013.

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2011, July 12). May & June [Video file].

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2012, October 9). :D [Video file].

Tartt, Donna. The Secret History. Penguin, 2006.

Uhminuh. “Shot Through the Hart, and Hannibal's to Blame.” Read the Rude, Wordpress, 19 July 2020.

Wyatt, Thomas. “Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind.” c. 1530.

Honorary mention to this fanart by @/rrhaes that started this whole spiral

#emh #everymanhybrid #flickerthoughts #flicker wrote this #i'm serious when i say this has been brewing in my head for a calendar year #i finally pieced it together at the beginning of this week and it's STILL incomprehensible but i think the vibes are there #emh my beloved emh and the themes and motifs and symbolism that exists in my head #i have a love hate relationship w the secret history but i put it all in here #also i am two eps deep in hannibal but i think i got the gist idk #anyways i want you all to know i REALLY wanted to work in the iphigenia/steph parallels but it just didn't make sense in this context #maybe i'll post it later idk but!!! here take this #in keeping with the theme of my best literary analysis showing up when i'm at my breaking point wrt life #this :handshake: reylux parallels post -- created under emotional duress #i rly wanna do one that's like 'slenderverse women + being followed' bc that's a FEELING.#if i am saying the emh boys are actaeon torn to shreds by their own dogs after they hunt the wrong prey.....that's my business lmao #should i tag the other stuff? here i'll tag em here so they don't show up in search #hannibal #the secret history #flicker's meta

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oinkz · 4 years ago

Text

cloud nine

— oikawa wants you forever. (gn!reader)

— post timeskip so slight spoilers, tooth-rotting fluff, lightly inspired by this post, 950ish words

Contrary to popular belief, the night time is so much louder than the day time. Maybe there are less people out in the dead of the night, essentially meaning less chatter and noise... but at what cost?

During the night, every little sound is amplified by a million.

Oikawa can’t sleep, knowing you’re right next to him. Not just you - but the love of his life, his light in the dark, his baby, his sweetheart, and all the corny pet names in the universe.

Maybe if his schedule wasn’t so erratic and busy, he would be used to this. But for now, this is what he has to settle with - the nauseating jitters, the cliche butterflies, and the constant overthinking.

The quietness of his house isn’t helping. If anything, it makes him want to vomit.

Fuck, what is he? A teenager?

No, he’s Oikawa Tooru - 27 year old professional volleyball player in Argentina. Hot, and sexy, and desirable.

He has no reason to feel nervous, yet here he is.

From afar, his digital watch reads 3:28 am in bright red, and though his eyes are practically begging him for mercy, he cannot, for the love of god, bring himself to fall asleep.

Every thought in his head is just so irritatingly loud. At this point, it’s not a matter of getting sleep, but rather, a matter of getting his head to shut the hell up.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you figure you could take him out of his misery.

“I know you’re awake, Tooru.”

Your voice startles him so hard, he almost pushes you off the bed.

“Y/n— what the fuck?” his eyes snap open, watching as you grin up at him.

You giggle. “Hi.”

Oikawa is too tired to pout at the way you’re taking amusement in his fear. Instead, he pauses, concerned. “Did I wake you?”

“A little bit,” you reply. “You’re such a stiff cuddler, Tooru.”

And he is. He hasn’t even noticed how hard he’s clenching his jaw, or how tightly his fist was balled around nothing until you brought it up.

Tooru groans, shuffling closer to tangle his legs with yours further. “Sorry.”

In attempt to melt away his agitation, you press your lips against his shoulder, trailing against his collarbone. “What’s gotcha up, pretty boy?”

“Just thinking,” he says, reddening at the way you’ve called him pretty. “About... you. Us.”

“Yeah?” You turn your gaze upwards to find his face in the dark.

“Yeah,” He breathes out.

A long silence falls over the room, but it’s not tense. Slowly, he relaxes into you, listening to your quiet breath.

He can’t imagine when years come and this becomes a daily thing. One day, he’s going to become used to this - to falling asleep as he holds you, to having late-night, insomnia-ridden talks. Maybe not in a long time, but he knows it’ll come at some point.

But the vision of it is so distant, and almost... weird. This is how it’s always been with you. Adrenaline-pumping, and so full of life.

What ever would happen if the adrenaline rush went away?

Now, his thoughts are starting to wander, and it’s dangerous.

“Do you think we’ll ever get tired of this?” He doesn’t even realize he was speaking out loud until it’s too late.

You freeze for a moment, brows forming a puzzled look. “Of you?”

“Sure,” he says. “I mean, one day, we’ll probably get married and have to live with each other all the time and--”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you plead for him to calm down. This is all so much to take in at once. “You wanna marry me?”

An uncharacteristic smile takes over Tooru’s features - bashful and so painfully sincere.

“I mean... who else?” He asks, completely genuine.

Tooru wonders after that if he’s scaring you. Fuck, he probably is. Why, oh why, is he such an idiot?

Before his thoughts practically implode on him, your lips are on his, cutting off his breath. They’re so utterly soft and gentle against his own that his heart is doing somersaults in his chest. You’re so sweet and good to him. And for what, he’s not sure.

“I wanna marry you too,” You whisper against his mouth, your words echoing in his head and melting his insides completely.

It’s official - you’ve killed him. Oikawa could’ve sworn he saw the light for a good three seconds.

He curses lowly, before pressing his forehead against yours. “You mean it?”

“Definitely,” You respond in an instant. “There’s no one else who I can tolerate annoying me for the rest of my life other than you.”

Tooru wants to cry. “There’s no one else I want annoying me other than you, either.” Though it’s dark in the room, you can still see his eyes clearly, and they can so easily compete against a puppy’s. “Wanna grow old with you and make you breakfast. And do that back hug thing when you’re cooking.”

He shuts his eyes, taking the awfully domestic vision in. He has an entire movie playing behind his eyelids. It’s long and bright and warm, yet he can’t get enough.

You hum in agreement. “Me too, baby. Wanna watch all your games and come home to you every night. Wanna watch you turn to a total DILF.”

Instantly, one of his eyes snap open, a cocky smirk making its way to his lips. “You think I’d become a total DILF?” He sounds a little too intrigued for his own good.

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply with a giggle.

Oikawa can’t help the cackle that comes out of him. You’re too amusing, too perfect for him. Without thinking, he pulls you in closer, the warmth of his laughter resonating with yours.

It’s a picturesque scene - he’s pretty sure he’s on cloud nine.

Yeah, he’s absolutely certain he wants this forever.

#oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #drabbles by oinkz

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lazypeachsoul · 4 years ago

Text

alone together - edward the elder

Request: submission to Rosie's 250 followers challenge ( @for-bebbanburg ). Based of the prompt: "I said I liked being half-educated; you were so much more surprised at everything when you were ignorant." - Gerald Durrell

Warnings: Nothing, the situation is a bit sad but it's mostly fluff.

Word count: 1,6k

A/N: I'm really sorry about how late I'm posting this but health has not been that good this past few days. Also, can you tell I have trouble writing fics with already established relationships? I found this gif on google so if it's yours tell me so i can give you credit! 🌼

Masterlist.

To be added to my taglist use this forms or write me an ask!

Looking inside the room filled with parchments and writing tools you could clearly distinguish your friend’s figure looking at one of the stories. The past few days had been difficult on the entire family and you could see the toll it had on Edward, especially since he had tried to stay strong for his mother and for what would be his kingdom.

Even when you walked inside the room he seemed to be too concentrated on the page to listen to your entrance. He was about to turn the page when your hand stopped him, forcing him to finally look at you. His face was paler than usual and the dark circles under his eyes were visible, even if his expression showed nothing but strength and a little bit of surprise at the gesture.

“How did you manage to enter? I ordered Steapa-” He turned in the direction of the door to probably reprimand the guard, but you interrupted him. “Steapa thought some company would do you good and he allowed me in.”

He took a deep breath trying to calm himself and looked at your still touching hands. It wasn’t a completely rare gesture, even if the priests and ladies of the court thought it was too bold, but that day it felt different. It felt like there was so much you wanted to say but couldn’t, like you wished you could take the pain away.

Life in Wessex had been complicated since you could remember. You were born in a time of fighting and chaos caused by the incursions of the danes, and that’s all you had known your entire life. Sometimes a sliver of calm seemed to settle on the land but everybody knew it only the calm before the storm.

Even amongst the continuous hardships you had been extremely lucky. You were the second born and only daughter to a Lord from a land close to Winchester, a lord who was a member of the witan and very close to King Alfred himself. Your privileges meant you were to be saved among the first if a raid were to occur and you would be transported to Wincester to stay with the rest of the ladies.

It was during one of those raids that you became close friends with the Aetheling Edward. Or at least as close as the scary Lady Aelswith would allow you to get to her darling boy. During the long months that it took the Wessex army to defeat the danes and return to your family the land, and during that time you seemed to find in Edward a nice companion for the scary times.

During the years you had visited Winchester several times and always felt the excitement of seeing an old friend again. The times the both of you spent together on those visits had slowly decreased, Edward being whisked away for his education as a future King and you trying to make yourself known around the city as a respectable lady in training.

But every visit included an arduous negotiation with Steapa and your lady in waiting to allow you a visit to the gardens away from the queen, the priests and every nosy person at the court where you could get up to speed with your friend. Even if the meeting took place while you were seated in different stone benches and your guardians were standing two feet away.

Somewhere along those multiple visits and secret meetings feelings arose but were quickly shut down by your father. He would love to see his daughter married to the King of Wessex but it was not a reasonable thought. Everybody knew you were not Lady Aelswith’s favourite person and she would never allow for those feelings to be acted upon, so it was better to concentrate your efforts in finding a husband whose mother didn’t dislike you that much.

And you tried, but it was easier said than done. After your third meeting with a possible suitor went wrong your father asked the Lord King to give you shelter in the court and an occupation that might help you find a suitable husband.

The Lord King, who you suspected knew all along of your feelings for his son but probably thought it would be entertaining to see how things developed. The man who had treated you with the utmost respect and who was now dead.

You felt Edwards hand enveloping your hand and gently squeezing it. If it was to get out of your reverie or just for support you didn’t care, but it felt good. Your thumb started softly caressing the back of his hand, the biggest show of affection you were allowed even if what you wanted was to wrap him in your arms.

“What are you thinking about?” You spoke looking directly at his frowned face.

“Everything, nothing.” With a deep breath he tightly shut his eyes and rubbed them with his free hand. “I spent all my life getting ready for this moment and now that it’s here I feel like I’m unprepared. The witan will be meeting soon and I know that they see me as nothing but a child who is not fit to rule Wessex. I don’t know what will be of my mother now that my father is dead. I don’t know what would be of me now that he’s not here to guide me.”

His confession made your stomach turn and a lump formed in your throat. He had probably been feeling lost since his father died but he was only now talking about it. And it made you feel useless because the most you could do was support him.

“You are the son of a king, the grandson of a king and will be the father of a king, Edward. This is what you were born to do, rule Wessex and fulfill your father’s dream of a united land.” You could feel him tense but tried to ignore it, prefering to get your thoughts out of the way first. “The witan wouldn’t dare to choose a different king when they know you are the best option. They will probably debate for days, because the Lord knows they enjoy just discussing the most trivial of topics, but the decision has been made since you commanded the troops at Beamfleot.”

He sighed deeply before unlacing your hands and letting himself fall on a chair. Running his hands through his dirty blonde curls muttering something. When asked about what he said he just smiled sadly.

"I said I liked being half-educated; you were so much more surprised at everything when you were ignorant."

You laughed, remembering the amount of times the priests had called both of you ignorant during your childhood years just for asking questions. And he was right, life seemed to become more complicated when the joyful feelings of childhood started to vanish.

“We were surprised because we were innocent, I don’t think you have ever been ignorant.” You tried to argue, memories flashing back of all the trouble he had gotten you out of just by being educated and charming. “Maybe we were just sheltered and now the roof has blown off and for once we’re on our own.”

Silence set around the room, the only noise present was your breathing and the shifting of your dress every time you moved. He seemed to be deep in thought again and this time you didn’t dare to break him out of his constant thinking. It wasn’t until he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees that you paid attention to him again.

“Maybe we were sheltered and a little bit ignorant. Maybe our parents tried to protect us from the disaster and pain surrounding us all the time. We never heard real stories about battle or war. We never learned what it really takes to thrive as a kingdom…” He pointed at the books filled with stories of his father’s life on the shelves. “But that doesn't mean we are alone.”

He got up quickly, maybe too quickly for you to fully understand what the words really meant. In a long stride he was back in front of you looking at your eyes with an intensity that you knew only meant trouble.

“You’ve been here since I can remember. I saw you when you were not taller than two feet and I see you now that you are a beautiful lady.” He continued his speech making your face flush. “You are the closest ally I have ever had and I would like it to stay that way no matter the circumstances”

You had thought of him as more than a friend often but now that you were on the receiving end of his words it almost didn’t feel real.

“Maybe we can be alone together.” He tried to explain, offering you a hand to take.

Your mind was going faster than you could keep up. In a small amount of time you thought about it, about what it might mean for you and him, your families...you even thought about what it might mean for the kingdom. And in all that thinking you couldn’t find a single reason to say no.

You placed your hand back in his, and if before it felt different now it felt otherworldly. With a smile he raised your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t avoid but softly hitting his cheek like you did when you were younger and you wanted him to stop being mean, because some part of you hadn’t felt this close to him since before rules were placed for your interactions.

“I would love to be alone together with you, Edward.”

Taglist: @solinarimoon @webreathfandoms @thebohemianpenguin @filiandkili

#the last kingdom imagine #the last kingdom x reader #tlk imagine #tlk x reader #king edward x reader #edward x reader #king edward imagine #edward imagine #edward the elder #rosies250 #myfic

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