#little did i kno that it would be /that/ violent

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[heartfullofleeches]

D.kay so down bad that on rare occasions that the reader does smile, D.kay suddenly becomes blind and can't see shit.

"Y/n..... I have found the name of your childhood best friend and written a report classifying them as a downer. If you do not smile twenty-four fuckin seven-" The murderbot coughs, pushing the frame of their non-existent glasses up their non-existent nose. "Excuse me. If you do not smile a considerable amount of the day, I will send this in and have them executed by gunfire at noon exactly one week from now."

"May I see that?"

"Certainly!"

You look at the paper. "Besides you using the Grammer of a twelve year old, and the fact I can tear this to shreds right now, that's actually my childhood bully."

You place your hands over your ears. 3...2....1-

"God.... DAM IT! Hope ur happy to kno I already kicked them outta window before I even came to you wit this. i did u a favor before i even new it. That's gotta count for somethin'! You gotta smile for me, Y/n. Just one - plz?"

"Maybe later. Gotta scrounge up something to eat before I head out to pick up some groceries." You brush the bot aside and continue on into the kitchen. Day in and out that's all they ever tried to do. You'd proven before you weren't a so called "downer" their company falsely listed you as by smiling and even laughing in their presence before, but those little glimpses into your happy side only made them want to make you smile for the rest of your days. It was cute at first, but if you really smiled as much as they wanted your face would get stuck in an endless grin. A win for them, but for you - not so much.

Opening the freezer, boxes of various frozen foods fall out onto the floor - the icebox stuffed to capacity with your favorite brands and treats. You check the fridge, and it's the exact same story. You hadn't gone shopping in weeks. You glance back at D.Kay who sits at the kitchen table with their arms folded like a toddler deprived of sweets - a piece of sticky tape slapped over their permanent smile scribbled with a deep frown.

"Dee... Did you get all this?"

D.Kay tilts their head as if mimicking an eye roll. "Yea??? U haven't bought shit in weeks, and i can't let my human starve. i used your bully's cash so don't worry about ur budget or whatever."

Picking up a box of popsicles off the floor, your lips tug upwards as you pull on out. "Thanks, D.Kay."

The tape covering their mouth floats to the floor. Their face scree glitches - beady, oval eyes flickering between black and pink. They rise slowly from their chair.

"Stop it..."

Popsicle hanging out your mouth, you look at them puzzled. "What?"

In a flash, the murderbot shuts the distance between you - shaking your shoulders violently with each pause. "Stop. Being. So. Fuckin. Cute! U tryin to send me back to the lab for malfunctions!?!"

"I thought me smile was a good thing."

"It is a good thing! It's the greatest god dam thing is hell rock has to offer - that's why I need to prep myself before you do it. I'm ready now - do it again!"

D.Kay snatches the popsicle stick and presses the cold bar against your lips. "Smile! I need it! You got me addicted, Y/n! Give me my fix. Give it to me!!!!"

[joy-haver]

When I was in school, I was bullied a lot. Like a lot a lot. Part of it was that I had a very precocious puberty, part of it was that I learned to read really late and was in some special Ed classes early on, part of it was that I was fat. All three of those things, and being a ‘boy’, created a perception that I was the most likely person to instigate violence.

I was constantly being beat up by other kids. Sometimes they would gather around me in groups specifically to beat me up. And every single time, the teachers and the principal would say I must have instigated it, because “there’s no way smaller kids would start a fight with a bigger kid!” And then I would go home, and get punished for starting fights that I hadn’t thrown a punch in. And because I was big and strong, my punishment was being forced to do hard physical labor for my family and for other families. It also became normal for me to be pulled out of class to do physical labor at the school, because it was seen as removing a violent element, and, hey big dumb kid = free labor right??? Things got a little better when I learned how to read, but not much. At school, i we beat up and made to do labor. At home, I was beat up and contracted out to do labor.

All the way until 8th grade, I tried to remain perfectly passive in fights. I would put my arm outstretched on a kids head so they couldn’t get close enough to punch me again, or I would curl up into a ball and let them kick me. Eventually I learned that I could pick someone up and hold them upside down and facing away from me and they couldn’t hit me, but that tended to be seen as me hurting them in some way.

I really couldn’t win. Nothing I did was ever enough to keep me from being seen as the aggressor. I Spent my entire childhood being seen as an evil threat by everyone around me. And because of that, it was seen as okay to continuously deny me education and force me to do physical labor. I was 6ft one and 250 pounds by 6th grade.

No one believed I was facing physical abuse at home, because I was bigger than my abusers. No one cared if a kid walked up to me at school and punched me out of nowhere, because it was assumed I must had done *something* to instigate it, and that he was standing up to me.

I eventually did fight back, just once at school and once at home. I picked up a kid and used him to beat up some other kids who had attacked me. I got in trouble again, but it was the same trouble it always was. It didn’t stop the fights tho, so the next year I dropped out and found an alternative education. At home, eventually fighting back stopped most of the physical abuse. I Felt fucking awful, like I was proving their point. Like I had been the instigator all along.

as these things tend to go, I ended up in a relationship that was physically abusive not long after I left home. And once again, no one believed me because I’m tall, I’m big, I’m fat, I’m amab.

I spent my entire life being seen as a fucking monster. One that it was okay to torture and abuse and force into free labor, simply because of my size and my perceived gender. Constantly being told I must be in the wrong, and that I must be the aggressor in every situation. I genuinely believed I was ontologically evil because of it. That i was disgusting and worthy of abuse and that every bad thing that could happen to me was my fault.

It wasn’t until I transitioned to a woman and lost a bunch of weight from being poor that i really started to feel like I could be normal to people. That I wasn’t constantly seen as a threat. For the brief period where I was thin and passing as a woman, albeit a tall woman, i got to have interactions where people weren’t constantly scared of me and blaming me for every wrong that happened. But even still, I’ve had to deal with the same things previous responders are talking about. Whenever there is an issue, my size and my proximity to masculinity are always a factor in how others read the situation.

I am a trans woman. I know that misogyny is real. I know that it sucks. But I am begging y’all, please, please, you have to take your perception of someone’s potential to harm you and analyze it for what it is.

It is a feeling. It is a perception. It is not a threat.

So many people begin to see individuals or entire groups of people as threats, and then they use that as justification to abuse, exploit, and commit violence against them. They use that person’s similarity to someone who harmed them, or that persons abstract potential to harm them, as justification for a preventive strike. Any action taken is justified when you view someone’s very existence as a threat to your own.

How can you possibly expect people to have healthy responses to the world when they are treated that way?

i swear to god, men raising their voice is the most terrifying thing in the whole world. they dont understand, like its an immediate panic response, game over

[funshinebf]

this is p much all a traumadump/rant about my mental hospital trip idk. warnings for shitty mental health care practices, as well as discussions of things like intrusive thoughts, suicidal ideation, transphobia, and misogyny. we stay silly, u kno how it is

i think my experience with being admitted to a mental hospital like. really really radicalized me when it comes to the mental health systems and knowledge and care here. and how fucking bad and ignorant and dangerous it is for those of us with mental illnesses and disorders. and like. maybe it does help some people! sure! thats great, im happy they can get help from somewhere! but like. for me, being a trans kid with an unsupportive parent as well as unsupportive peers, with debilitating mental illnesses that werent *just* being a little sad about something in school, things that affected every single waking moment of my life and caused me to struggle in sooo many areas that others around me didnt struggle with. i didnt need to draw fucking pictures of houses and learn about meditating or mindfulness in group therapy, sat next to guys who kept misgendering me, and getting served meals i physically could not eat because of my severe disordered picky eating. not to mention no matter how many times i told the food people to please stop deadnaming me to the whole room when they would bring meals, i felt so fucking isolated and ignored there. and the one time i did actually try to share my thoughts during group therapy, i was immediately shot down and dismissed with a response that i still didnt understand. (we were being told to think about our thoughts being who we are. i brought up struggling with intrusive thoughts, and that seeing 'my thoughts as who i am' was fucking terrifying to me, because i had SO many horrible, disgusting, gut wrenching thoughts plaguing me every day, and i so desperately didnt want to be told that those thoughts were Who I Am. i was a kid. i was a scared kid and they told me i just didnt understand what they were trying to say, and that they didnt mean bad thoughts. they also clearly had no fucking clue what intrusive thoughts even were, and made me feel like i was insane for having any kind of violent thoughts. i was very clearly uncomfortable but they continued to ask me to elaborate on what *kind* of scary thoughts i was having. it felt like a trap. i didnt feel safe at all. i felt like if i shared the kinds of intrusive thoughts i struggled with, then they would treat me like i was dangerous for having them, or like i *wanted* to do those things. meanwhile those thoughts made me want to vomit, they made me avoid my loved ones out of fear of acting on the thoughts, they made feel like it would be better if i was dead, because then the people around me would be safe. i was a scared fucking kid)

all of this is to say. the mental health care in america is so fucking abysmal. even just. keeping people who's jobs ARE SPECIFICALLY TO CARE FOR MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE well informed on mental illnesses is apparently too fucking much to ask. i dont feel like im expecting something impossible when i go into a psychiatrist's office thinking that theyll help me, and not. i dunno, tell me i should fucking smile more (this did happen to me. first fucking appointment. older male doctor, 15 year old me getting treatment for SEVERE DEPRESSION.)

anyways. ive ranted enough for now, its nearly 3 am and i need to go read my stories to calm down. (im so mad. i need to go home and touch my husband's tits so i wont be as mad.)

[austajunk]

What are your thoughts on the Warriors of Hope?

Okay I am gonna try to keep my thoughts on the Warriors of Hope as brief as possible because I don’t think anyone wants me to ramble on forever. Because honestly… I could. Ultra Despair Girls is probably one of my favorite games in the series just right behind the second game.

And I think that’s because of the direction the writers went with child characters in this game. I think that in anime and games, a lot of child characters are designated to being little angelic characters who can do no wrong or just filler/plot devices in a sense. There usually isn’t much character to them aside from them being a little brother or sister figure who’s cute to look at in depth.

And that brings me to how the media portrays abuse victims. While I can’t blame creators or authors for how they portray people who go through horrific atrocities in their past (most of the time), I notice that we as an audience for the longest time typically only accept “pretty” displays of abuse. Crying, retreating inwards, becoming quiet and withdrawn.

The Warriors of Hope are not afraid to show the ugly, angry, bloody side of abuse and the emotions kids go through when they are subjected to cruelty from parents. The hardest thing to swallow about children is that they’re most likely to be preyed upon and exploited by their parents more than anyone else they grow up around. And that’s just a fact.

The Warriors of Hope, in my opinion, each symbolize the variations of abuse a child can go through from their parents.

Masaru is my favorite of the children. Though his screen time is limited, I’m usually always taken by which character stands as an introduction to the world’s rules and he is a star in the few moments he gets in the game. Because the way he reacts was just… mesmerizing for me to witness.

A bit about me: My parents were going through a divorce when I was young and I could not escape the violent way they attacked and berated each other. While they were physically violent with each other, they never hurt me aside from turning these shitty expectations and verbal attacks on me. And then I started getting violent. Hitting others as a kid, then turning it on myself with self-harm by biting and gnawing at myself all over.

So to watch Masaru go from joking around like a typical boyish Shounen manga protagonist to revealing he killed an arena full of adults to lashing out in fear and beating his own arm until it was purple was just… mesmerizing. I’ve seen his boss battle scene 14 times now. I know every line of it. It was a lot for me to take in because it brought back these memories of biting myself and all this anger and fear from a terrifying household of uncertainty. And it’s such a raw and open, brutal display of what a kid is going through in an abusive situation.

It doesn’t excuse his actions. The game shows time and time what the kids are capable of. They are kids who have agency and when it is threatened, they will do horrific things to protect what little they have at certain moments in the game.

I joked with my friends about them being adopted by other characters in the series and what that would be like. But I want to draw attention to something I really like in the series… and that’s that there was no ultimate quick fix to the Warriors of Hope and their problems. There was no “kind parent figure” who came in and saved the day. Instead the kids burnt out and lashed out and got angry and fell apart one by one. Because… ultimately… there is no fixing what they’ve been through. They literally need to fall apart and then start picking up the pieces on their own terms and there was never going to be “final solution” to their problems by the end of the game that would ever satisfy anyone. So to end it on the note they did, I think that was really well done. We know the kids are alive and away from Monaca and we’re left to speculate on their fates from here on out.

Anyways, few… that is a lot. I know you probably want my thoughts on each individual kid but there’s so much to say on them. So I wanted to define what I love about them so much before anything.

In short, I love them a lot. Masaru is my particular favorite and the one I relate to the most. I will go into more detail if you want me to talk about a particular member like Monaca or Jataro or such in the future. ^^ Thanks for the question! I have so much to say on them.

[dmclemblems]

Some super quick explanations for some of them included!

Love A Lot:

Miklan: for those of you who may new be here/have not seen many of my posts about him: had a lot of headcanons confirmed in Hopes that I held from Houses. he needed someone/people to steer him in the right direction. when he had someone/something to fight for, he was loyal. his behavior growing up and afterward were a result of being given no direction on top of overwhelming jealousy and spite that turned into hate. even if he wasn’t able to entirely forgive his family/the system, he did get over it and find a goal for himself that he really wanted to reach and more or less moved on (see: fuck you, Gwendal).

Rodrigue: see: my rodrigue tag that’s all i can tell u or this will be an essay also i adore him

Sylvain: his writing is WAY better in Hopes than Houses. he has genuine relevance to the plot itself and is extremely important to Faerghus’ army and politics it in all routes. I love him in Houses but in the main story his relevance is honestly abysmal and there are way too many offhand flirtatious comments on a constant basis. he matured, but not even remotely like he did in Hopes. Hopes’ Sylvain is everything I would want and expect from his character (Felix is basically in the same boat).

Love:

Sothis!fused Byleth: more development to her personality at this point and she’s actually very cute! I love her sassy little crossed arms lean thank u. also, I really feel like her and Dimitri (in AM) really worked well together as characters and grew together. seeing them both grow emotionally with each other’s help was really sweet.

Ingrid: much more development for her in general, and her relationships are expanded upon (not just scolding Sylvain, is good friends with Dedue, doesn’t have an utterly crappy friendship with Felix that survives off nothing but childhood friend willpower, actually has conversations with Rodrigue that are both about and not about their shared history and show more than one side of their relationship, etc). much less bland of a character in Hopes.

Gilbert: BOISSSS HAVE U SEEN THIS MAN IN HOPES MY GOD HE IS THE MOST LOVING AND DOTING FATHER THERE DO BE OUT THERE shit man im jealous like my parents didn’t dote on me like that when i was in my early twenties ajkfgsgjs also, he’s actually a well written character with a good past and present in both games. I’ll write up a long post another time probably. I do like him a bit more in Hopes, but I’ve always liked him a lot at the very least in Houses.

Rhea: it was between Like A Lot and Love, and since Seiros!Rhea is below her for reasons explained below, I had to bump up her a bit.

Like A Lot:

Male Byleth: idk why i like female byleth more, maybe bc i just like girls more irl and she’s rly cute when she gets more development like i don’t dislike byleth but u kno there is just somethin else about titty teacher

Serios!Rhea: she’s really cool in the opening cutscene! I like her generally speaking, but I feel like they made her batshit in CF just to excuse making her out to be a villain (kinda like they did in SB’s bad ending for Claude). I like her in Hopes in GW a lot though - it’s just the CF nonsense that makes me like ???. I get Edelgard pushed a lot of buttons, but Rhea has always been about protecting innocent people. setting Fhirdiad on fire is so out of character for her. she’s vicious and violent at times when it comes to people who attacked the Church, harmed innocents, etc, but she never otherwise harms citizens for any reason. what happened in CF just felt like an asspull to make her a villain.

Thales: I like him as a villain, not a person, but Hopes also gave us more insight into him. he’s just an interesting villain to me, really. most of them in this universe are pretty eh to me as villains, which leaves me to base my opinions off who they are/their character, which... most of them are lolz. not even much to go by. Kronya is just some kill obsessed clown lady who was afraid to die in Houses and was just in denial about it in Hopes and that’s... that’s it. Solon just has a grudge against the bloodlines I guess.

Like:

that’s abysskeeper and baron dominic not generic npcs lmao

Claude: it was really between Like and Like Slightly because a good half the game is just normal Claude, and we did get a lot of good background info on him, Almyra and his family relationships (even if indirectly, like when Nader is talking to the Almyran soldier about how Claude is the favorite child). the things about Claude that I didn’t like in this game (especially bad ending SB which is massively just ??? wtf ??? eh wot nani the fucc fuccies mcdoodles ???) I have very strong opinions about, but I think the bullshit parts are outweighed by both normal Claude and a slightly differently characterized Claude who didn’t get to spend a year at school (there are still bits and pieces of that difference in him even in AG, though they’re a lot more subtle and he’s more on the fence about what to do after everything is over in comparison to GW/SB).

Hilda: way more character and actual growth as a person. she grew a little bit in VW, but overall there wasn’t that much change. she didn’t feel like much of a character and it felt like she never had anything useful to say that didn’t involve being lazy and wanting people to do things for her. she’s lost a lot of that behavior and attitude in Hopes and actually has humane dialogue in Hopes.

Mask!Jeritza: just less characterization overall. he’s still funny tho. still funny.

Monica: idk, I feel like she kinda lost of the cool parts of her character with what little bit we did get in the prologue chapters (any route). I still like her and it’s not even about her devotion to Edelgard being a little (read: a lot) overboard, and let’s face it, I’m beyond overjoyed that a ship I shipped long before the existence of Hopes actually sailed and it sailed so hard it’s on the other side of the world now. idk what it is tbh that really makes me prefer her in the early chapters (not counting Kronya!Monica in Houses, who I left out since it wasn’t really Monica).

Shahid: good villain, some background detail, and useful for drama. that’s uh that’s it tho really lol

Like Slightly:

Cornelia: an actually good villain aside from Thales, which is a rarity in this universe. terrible, horrendous, nasty person, but sometimes you need that! she’s/he’s (i.e. not really Cornelia) also actually smart and not so kill happy that she’s just stupid about it. she has a lot of contingency plans and backups, and she managed to convince Faerghus for a good long time that she was still the real Cornelia. it’s rare in this game that we get an actual villain with a brain.

Erwin: lbh Hopes saved his purple ass. he’d be down in dislike-hate otherwise LOL. Hopes really did do a LOT for him though imo regarding characterization. all we really hear about him in Houses makes him sound like a horrendous asshole and makes you wonder what Lorenz even sees in him to respect him. Hopes gave him an actual personality/character and showed us intellect. I think he’s done some pretty crappy things and he’s been shady, but in Hopes his assessment of Claude isn’t really that wrong or far off, so I can’t hold that against him the way I do in Houses. he’s also a very caring and loving father, whereas in Houses I was more under the impression that Lorenz was just his heir and that they didn’t necessarily have much more than a respectful relationship. I feel like in Hopes there’s a lot more to unpack with his character and it did him a lot of good for me. since of course Houses is also the “main” canon and whatnot, I can’t really say I like him all too much, but Hopes definitely gave him a lot more to work with.

Lonato: Good dad vibes, but I think it’s super questionable that he’s willing to fight/kill Ashe out of his desire for revenge for Christophe. What I would’ve hoped they’d have done with Lonato is that like in Radiant Dawn, if two characters were on opposing sides but had a strong relation, they would refuse to fight each other (an example of this is Brom and Meg, who are father and son but won’t fight each other. Even though you have control of Brom, you can’t use him to attack Meg because he just won’t do it). He did so much for Ashe and basically saved his life by taking him off the streets, even despite that he’d be taking in three kids, and yet... he’s now willing to kill this kid he took in just because this kid is enrolled at the school at the monastery headed by the archbishop he hates. Couldn’t really put him higher because of that. They always talk so highly about him in the game, so he seems like a generally good dude but then... I also don’t like he’d kill Ashe for Christophe, and tbh I don’t think he’d do that the other way around and kill Christophe for Ashe fi the situation was reversed.

Matthias: Not a bad character and definitely loyal to Faerghus. Heavily in politics and is a good person to have helping run the country. Rodrigue says he changed after his first wife died so I guess that’s where he got his argumentative and more practical side, though I feel like he tends to be practicality above emotions at all times and definitely doesn’t have a balance for it (to the point where Rodrigue has to be the one to tell him to go to apologize to Sylvain to something he said to him instead of Matthias choosing to do that on his own). Not gonna bother talking about the whole “bad did” stuff because... that’s general knowledge lmao.

Rufus: He’s a semi-good villain, and I’m not sure how I’d feel if he got more time in the game. As for who he is as a person, he’s a pile of trash to be taken out into the dumpster to await the trash trucks. I am putting that lightly.

No Opinion:

Aelfric: A pretty low-tier villain imo. I like the way he planned things out and how he got everything together, but his overall goal and how single minded he was about it was kinda lame.

Anna: Sometimes she has pretty nice things to say, especially regarding the war, but otherwise... she’s just eh in the boring sense.

Kostas: Tbh we don’t really know much about him or why he’s a bandit. We know Ashe used to be a thief because of his situation, so I don’t want to assume Kostas is just scum of the earth based on being a bandit since it seems like he just takes jobs for money. The guy you meet in Abyss who is hiding there and says he has a family waiting for him at home also insisted they didn’t know the real details and all that, so I don’t really... hate Kostas? I more wonder if he wouldn’t turn himself around if given the chance. I don’t like him or dislike him since we don’t really know enough about him personally.

Tomas: I’m assuming the persona Solon had of him was as close to the real thing as he could get if he wasn’t detected all that time, so judging by that I guess I’m like sure why not about him. Not super interesting but a nice dude.

Eh:

Caspar: This version of him is literally totally brainless and he doesn’t do anything except fight and care about fighting. He literally has no morals or care for anything and it’s baffling to go from Houses Caspar (either version) to this Caspar. He’s worse than Raphael in that sense because Raphael at least has times when he’s shown to have other traits, but this version of Caspar just doesn’t feel like Caspar to me.

Hegemon Husk Edelgard: Not enough information. Just a husk! At least the name in and of itself proves a whole lot of my points about her...

Ludwig: He actually cares about the Empire, so... kudos for that. Obviously he wasn’t super terrible to Ferdinand and the Empire at large if Ferdinand grew up idolizing and respecting him. He’s not like Bernadetta who is actively afraid of her father but wouldn’t want him to just straight up die, and is in fact sad in both games about Ludwig dying. He can be pretty shitty and be involved in shitty things so he doesn’t really get a pass from me, but he gets above the hate scale.

Marianne: I get she has the whole issue with her Crest and thinking it’s a curse, but jesus christ if she’s not annoying about it. When people just want to have a conversation and not even really get involved with her she’s too quick to push people away and leave them thinking they did something wrong. Overall I just found her response to a lot of things very annoying. I don’t hate her but I’m too annoyed and bothered by that stuff to say I’m neutral.

Myson: Not enough information on him as a character. He kinda ended up with Sandima (FE4) syndrome where he was a main lackey and not much else. You see him, you get used to him being there, but you don’t know enough.

Randolph: He’s lucky Hopes happened or he’d be one tier lower or worse lol. That whole nonsense conversation he had with Dimitri in AM would’ve kept him a tier or two lower, but he had at least some semblance of a character in Hopes. Putting the two together, I just don’t really like him. Like, yeah, sure, he’s kinda a nice dude... but wanting to distinguish yourself and your house so much that you’d take live on a battlefield and be grateful for the war for that purpose doesn’t sit right with me. Also, being part of the force that initiated the war makes me see it with an even more critical eye. Imo he’s way too deep into wanting to be a distinguished name and it seems like he doesn’t really... have any morality in doing so. As far as Houses goes, YIKERS. He really had the audacity to say he was fighting for his sister and home (as if other people aren’t also doing that???) and so he didn’t want to die. Y i k e r r r r r s. It’s like, when HE’S on the verge of death he wants mercy, but he’ll cut down any number of other human beings to have his name known/have a (political) house and won’t spare their lives just because they have families waiting for them. He’s a hypocrite who’s hyperfocused on his own deeds at war, and the fact that he thought he could spew insults at Dimitri and act like he was A Pure Bean would have kept him on the shit list forever if not for Hopes. He’s one of those people where he’ll do bad shit and keep doing it until what goes around comes around and when it’s finally his turn, he begs for it to not be his turn. At least Dimitri owned his shit in their conversation. Randy here did not, refused to and literally thinks that fighting for his supposed good cause is justification for his actions. Big yikes, yikers, yikees. No want, no like.

Raphael: I just kinda threw everyone in alphabetical order so it’s not that I like him less than Caspar as I brought him up briefly in Caspar’s description. My main issue with him is that also largely lacks morals in this game. Marianne is the one who keeps questioning all the killing, and Raphael doesn’t give half a fuck most of the time. He just wants to fight and they wrote him like he’s too stupid to understand having morals while at war. It doesn’t feel like Raphael to me. He was great in his paralogue, but other than that he was just... devoid of character outside of his overblown traits. It’s like they took Houses Raphael and just stripped away any characterization except for two of his traits and went “ah yes, much better”. He’s still a kind guy, just... kind of a shell of Houses Raphael.

Male Shez: Idk lol he’s just like... more childish and brainless to me than female Shez? For sure I think it’s the delivery in their English lines, but there’s just something about him I’m not really caring for.

Sothis: Lord almighty did I find her annoying. In Hopes I’m super eh about her because she’s kinda... bad/mean/evil/what have you? But just in general in Houses I didn’t really care for her. I didn’t hate her and I definitely don’t think she deserves to disappear or something, but her attitude just typically bugs me.

Dislike:

Arval: He’s just... annoying lol. Annoying, smug and tries to pressure Shez into things that they clearly don’t want to do.

Bernadetta: I hate that she’s played for laughs, but I also hate that characters can’t even speak to her without her screaming something completely unrelated. She has issues because of her dad, sure, but to be afraid of every single stranger and all her classmates to the point where she didn’t even remember what Claude, a house leader, looked like? To the point that nobody can even speak to her because she never listens? Annoying. Literally the most frustrating character I’ve ever seen in any franchise. She’s better in Hopes, but in Houses, especially in at the first half... Y I K E S.

Gwendal: Bad adoptive dad, traitor, also killed Miklan in Hopes. 0/10, I have Yuri kill him in Houses in every time.

Ionius: Him being a seemingly good dad is the only thing that kept him from being any lower tbh.

Leonie: Rude, annoying, and not a personality I’m into. Got better, but like Bernadetta I can’t stand her in the first half of Houses.

Dislike-Hate:

They all suck but I don’t feel burning rage of hatred lol.

Hate:

Fleche: Basically her handling of revenge in AM knocked her to rock bottom for me. Nothing in any other route in either game could save her from that lol. Let’s be clear: Byleth killed Randolph. It doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter if it was a mercy kill. At the end of the day Fleche clearly did not know who exactly killed her brother. She just wanted to kill someone for revenge, regardless of whether or not she targeted the right person. Now mind you, not ONLY did she target the wrong person, but she murdered a man totally uninvolved in her revenge. MIND you, she went on about boo hoo revenge for her ONLY LIVING FAMILY BEING KILLED and then murdered a man’s ONLY LIVING FAMILY because she TARGETED THE WRONG PERSON in her revenge. Yes, Dimitri wasn’t all there mentally, but no, he did not kill Randolph. My issue with Fleche is that this told me she wasn’t really in it to get actual revenge on the person who killed her brother (like she did in Hopes in all routes). It’s that she didn’t care WHO she killed or HOW MANY people she killed in her path to revenge. To her it never mattered who died. She’s selfish, apathetic, and doesn’t care about other people outside her own family and their standing in the Empire. She doesn’t care about the truth or who did what. She just wants to murder people. That’s her revenge. She attacked Dimitri and attacked like a literal pos toward him with that sarcastic shit, again, not her brother’s killer, just off the assumption that he did it merely because he was... the leader of the army, I guess. He was going to capture Randolph, and honestly from there someone could have convinced him (someone: Rodrigue) not to torture Randolph because they could have used him as leverage or gotten information or what have you. This isn’t to say Byleth was wrong for killing Randolph - it’s to say Fleche did not give two whole hoot hoots as to who actually killed her brother and just wanted to cause havoc regardless because boohoohoo someone killed your brother AT WAR when you all know what the consequences could be AT WAR during the war your uwu emperor started.

Really need to write a fanfic one day where she gets away and then Felix seeks her ass out and slaughters her and goes “uwu u killed my only living family during war so i wanted revenge uwu and hey at least im killing the right person for it instead of being a lil baby and killing whoever the fuck just bc im uwu mad” because FCKN D A M N Y’ALL THAT WOULD BE THE 👌 CATHARTIC 👌 SHIT I NEED. ...don’t worry he’s not gonna say uwu that’s just the implication of a mocking tone so felix’s mocking is the last thing she hears because he slays her

being a rodrigue fan is hating fleche’s entire being alright xoxo love u roddyrod

Edelgard: we’re not getting into that LMFAO it’s all over my blog anyway if you can find it among my love and affection for other characters

[fungifaggot]

Please Take Me Home...

A/n: Back again with an annual post wahoo. Anyway, I hope yall are doing okay and staying safe. (Heads up I didn’t edit this well)

!Feel free to send constructive criticism!

Summary: Peter is drunk and alone and he wants to go home. Little did he know, asking you for a ride home would be one of the best decisions he ever made.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, underaged drinking, sad peter, Ion kno.

The music was loud and the air was warm. The house was full of nearly one hundred sweaty bodies colliding into one another, yet somehow Peter managed to still feel alone.

Deep breaths he told himself

Yet with every passing gasp for air the sensation of suffocating only grew stronger. He wanted to get out of there, and he wanted to get out now.

For the past hour he had been on a search for Ned and Mj,  and as much as it pained him to do so, he was coming to terms with the fact that they had left him, and therefore so did his ride. (Not that they'd ever do that, but let's just assume they thought he had already left or something)

Good god did he wish that he had never been talked into coming, and god did he wish that he wasn’t still there.

Yet no matter how hard he wished or how tight he shut his eyes, every time they opened he was still there. Surrounded. Not only by people, but with booze, loud music, and the disgusting warmth that was radiating off the flesh of every sweaty intoxicated teenager.

At that very moment everything was wrong. His head was throbbing, rhythmic pounding clouding any coherent thought he had, and surely the loud bass wasn’t helping

Peter knew that you also had attended the party, but subconsciously he had been trying his best to avoid you in any way possible.

You see, it wasn't because he disliked you or anything. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

You and Peter got along great. The bond between You, Mj, Ned, and Peter was unbreakable and he loved spending time with you, but despite your friendly personality, Peter was appalled at the idea of talking to you. He couldn’t help it. Any time he was around you, he reeked of insecurity. Feeling as though he wasn’t good enough. You weren’t popular per say, but the way you held yourself in such a laid back yet confident manner had somehow managed to leave a great impression with just about everyone. And it was that fact about you that made Peter doubt himself. He’d tell himself that he was much too boring or too ‘lame’ to be around you. And although he knew you’d never think that about him yourself, he’d instantaneously tense up and get painfully awkward the second you walked into the room, and that alone that made him fear your presence.

(It also didn't really help that he had the worst crush on you.. Like seriously the worst. As in staying up till 2:00 am stalking your social media type of bad.)

Despite Peter's dread, he was beginning to realize that he wasn't exactly given a choice. There was no one else in the house even remotely worth talking to except you. And with that in mind Peter began his second search of the night.

It only took him about two solid minutes to give up, in which he resorted to just tapping someone on the shoulder and asking.

“HEY! DO YOU KNOW WHERE (Y/N) IS?” He shouted, unable to hear his own voice over the sound of the blaring music.

“OH YEAH! HE’S UPSTAIRS IN THE ROOM TO THE LEFT...I THINK” Was the slurred response he received.

“OH UHH OKAY. THANK YOU” Peter replied.

“YEAH ANYTIME MAN” he heard behind him as he beelined to the staircase.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth he reminded himself as he made his way up the stairs, trying to build up courage with every step he passed.

He took one last deep breath, attempting to calm the violent shaking occurring within his hands. He formed them into a fist and brought one up to the door, sending a knock that would echo throughout the hallway.

“Come in~” he heard from behind the door, giving him permission to enter.

As soon as the door creaked open, he was met face to face with a thick cloud of smoke. He stepped inside, taking in a deep breath, flooding his nose with the stench of marijuana before almost immediately making eye contact with you. 

“Peteyyyy” You sang out, halting the conversation you were previously having

,but before Peter had the chance to respond, his voice hitched in the back of his throat and an overwhelming feeling of warmth tremored throughout his body. He knew something bad was about to happen. He knew he was going to puke...

“Uhhh, s-sorry. Wrong room.” He muttered out, making a 180 degree turn before bolting out the door. His palms began to sweat and his mouth salivated heavily. He tried to breathe and suppress the violent urge to puke, but knew that there was no hope. He ran to the closest bathroom, not bothering to knock as he bursted through the door slamming it shut behind him. He made his way to the (thankfully already open) toilet and emptied out his stomach. He continued to gag, and eventually made himself comfortable on the bathroom floor when he felt he was finished. He flushed the contents down and rested his cheek on the toilet seat only to then perk his head up when he heard a light knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey Petey, you doin’ okay in there?”

“Y-yeah im okay! Just a little...tired that's all!” He rushed out, internally smacking himself in the face. “Just a little tired”? What the fuck Peter.

He heard the door open and rushed into a sitting position, trying to appear as normal.

You sauntered in, closing the toilet lid and taking a seat on it.

“You doin’ okay?” You repeated.

“Yeah, i’m just fine. Y’know.. like I said.” He responded, flashing you a forced smile.

You rolled your eyes at him and gave his hair a gentle pet.

“You sure? You seem... off.” you uttered, handing him a bottle of water.

Peter sighed accepting your offer, moving his eyes down to his feet.

“I just don’t really want to be here right now.” he said before taking a swig.

“Shit...I’m sorry.” you sighed out.

“There anything I could do to help?”

Peter brought his sorrow filled eyes back up to yours,

“I-is there any way you could take me home?”

“Fuck. Baby you know I would if I could, but I’m uh... not exactly sober right now.” You responded, guilt lacing your words, as you began to regret your decisions.

“Baby”. He knew it was a word that you’d throw around to any of your close friends, but he couldn't suppress the warm feeling that burned throughout his body when it rolled off your tongue.

Peter let out a shy chuckle continuing to sip from the bottle and replied

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Looks like neither of us are driving.” You said with a deep chuckle.

“Where’s Ned and Mj? I bet they’d help.” You asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Gone.”

“Oh...” Was all you could find yourself responding with.

You stood up from where you sat, extending your hand out to Peter.

“Lets get outta here. Even if it's just for a bit.” You said with a slanted smile.

You helped him up slowly, placing your free hand on his lower back, directing him towards the door.

Peter waited at the top of the stairs while you notified your friends of your departure.

As soon as you returned you took a hold of his hand and guided him down the stairs and out the door. A small gust of wind met your face as the door shut behind you. The sweat gathered on the back of Peter's neck began to fade and the throbbing in his head lessened. Not completely, but enough for it to be bearable.

“Feels good to be out of there huh?” You said almost as if you had read his mind, compelling him to nod in agreement.

The two of you began to walk in a random direction, hands still together. Peter's mind racing a million miles a minute.

“Where did Ned and Mj go?”

“Is (Y/n) annoyed that he has to spend time with me?”

“Oh god, my hands are sweating aren't they…”

“What... you nervous or somethin?” You giggled, raising your connected hands into the air and squishing  them together to emphasize the fact that they were sticky.

If it weren’t for the fact that it was nearly 1:00 in the morning and there were no cars out, Peter swore he would’ve jumped in front of one without hesitation.

“Oh um, i’m sorry...” He muttered, embarrassment flooding his system, so much to the point it  nearly put the boy in tears.

“Awe, c’mon I'm just kidding around” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Oh ha-haaa” Peter replied sarcastically, sending you a childish pout.

You bumped your hip into his as a friendly gesture, causing him to stumble a bit.

“It’s...cute.”

“Cute.” He muttered, moreso to himself than you.

The two of you continued to walk, not even sure where it was you planned on going. The silence grew thicker with every passing second, but Peter was much too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice. You released his grip, bringing him back to reality, and went to dig around your pocket.

“Aha-” you brought your hand back up, displaying a pair of airpods (or any bluetooth ones idrc)

“You want it?” You asked, wiggling your phone in the air.

“O-oh! Sure!” he said, snatching it and placing it in his ear.

You put on (S/n). (‘Song name’, I humbly recommend ‘One Last Time by Summer Salt’) Peter's nerves settled as the rhythm of the song blared through his ears, drowning out his pesky thoughts.

You grabbed his hand again and started to swing it to the beat. Peter stared at you in awe as you swayed your head from side to side, meandering a bit as you walked. Eventually you swung your arm around Peter's shoulder, forcing him to move with you. If it weren't for the alcohol he probably would have laughed it off and nudged you, but instead he immitated your actions and began to sway overdramatically. That continued until you came to an abrupt stop and pointed. Peter followed you gaze, finding himself staring at a park.

You looked at him for a long second before bolting off towards the park without warning.

“Hey!” Peter yelped out, out eventually following your lead.

You ran and clumsily dove into a swing set, pushing yourself up off the ground, in a ‘superman’ pose before you came back down, dragging your hands and feet through the wood chips. You swung back and forth a few times before Peter came up and pushed your back so you rose up  once again.

“Excuse you!” You laughed out flailing your legs in attempt to get him off of you, before ‘gracefully’ sliding off so that you stumbled for a second before ending up on your ass.

“You look like a dumbass” Peter said with a bright smile, kicking some wood chips at you.

You stood up, brushing your self off while looking him in the eyes

“and you love it” you said with a wink.

“Shut up” He said, lightly shoving your chest and turning away to hide his blush.

After that the two of you messed around, sliding down slides, and fucking around on the monkey bars until you eventually ended up laying down in a grass field looking up at the stars.

The two of you talked about everything. College, work, the party, Peters ‘internship’, everything.

“Why don’t we talk more?” you sighed out as you sat back up.

“I don’t know...” Peter lied, whilst clumsily rolling over to rest his head on your thigh.

“Well. We should.” You stated, moving so that you were looking down into his eyes. You stayed in the position for what felt like forever, enjoying the gentle wind, as you analyzed Peters features. 

You pulled out your phone, breaking the silence after reading the time

2:30 am 

“You wanna head back?” You asked, ruffling Peter's hair.

“Back where exactly?”

“My place?”

“Sure” Peter yawned.

You turned your music back up once you were both standing, hands interlocking once again as you started your adventure for the second time that night.

Once you returned to the house, you saw that the lights were still on and the music was very much still blaring. 

You opened the car door on Peters side before walking around and getting in yourself.

As the two of you got seated Peter handed you your head phone back and let his body relax.

You reached into the back and pulled up a soft blanket, handing it to Peter. 

You turned the radio on, keeping the volume low as you gave yourself some time to completely sober up. You turned to Peter so you could continue the conversation from earlier, only to be met with a sleeping boy.

Drool dribbled from his lips and slight snores emitted from him. His hair was a mess and boy did he not look comfortable, but you thought it was sweet nonetheless.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a picture of him.

You were definitely gonna show him that in the morning

After about another 30 minutes of simply relaxing, you turned the key and drove off.

Peter mumbled in his sleep as you nudged him for what was probably the hundredth time, only waking up when you smacked him in the back of the head. You led him to the apartment door and unlocked it, kicking your shoes off to the side as soon as you entered. 

Once you reached your room, you swung the door open, signaling for him to enter before you.

“Such a gentleman” Peter said in a groggy voice, before making himself comfortable and plopping onto your bed. He nearly fell back asleep until he was abruptly hit by a flock of clothes.

“There ya go- figured you’d want em’ since we're covered in dirt.” You chuckled

“Oh yeah...and this” tossing him a brand new toothbrush.

You tore your shirt off and chucked it into a random corner, grabbing some clean sweatpants as you made your way to the bathroom.

You turned around at the door, noticing that Peter had been staring at you

“I’ll be right back”

After brushing your teeth and changing, you came back out. Peter taking your previous position in the bathroom.

In the meantime you got comfortable, rearranging the pillows so that they were equally distributed.

Peter eventually came back out dressed in your clothes, looking almost as if he were drowning in your hoodie. If you could have snapped a picture right then and there, you would have, but simply seeing him like that was enough for you.

You lifted up the blanket signalling for him to join you, and he did so after turning off all the lights.

You both laid next to each other in the dark for a bit before you heard Peter turn to face you.

You turned your head just so that you could just make out his general figure. Despite it being dark, you could see that Peter was looking up at you with his puppy like eyes.

“Could you uhm... could you maybe hold me?” He stammered out.

You smiled softly, not that he could see it, and wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him into you, and allowing himself to burrow in and get as warm as possible.

“Of course Peter” you whispered into his hair

“Of course...”

___________

Tags:

@marvelgbtposts @eliotsbambimargo @ethanharli @baldsaitama @malereaderinsert @malereader-inserts @myfeetkeepdancing @malereaderimagines @dis-boi-be-a-gay-peter @jerod-writes @katsukispicycaramel @luv-hqs @sinfulcries

(literally let me know asap if my tags are annoying you LMAO)

[gayspock]

also naurr okay thoughts before i go into ep 9

- i think ok. the issue NOW is once u start thinking of it, omg, u just dont stop. like oh christ bc with CAITLYN... sigghhhQDOIPSJGDJ. i feel eye-rolly at myself now bc ik its not that deep but omg u kno when u get mildly annoyed for good reason but then it just snowballs bc ur a little petty pest?<3HELP I cant be so mean over this blue haired little girlie...

- but idk maybe i am not. like i think its just. im staring at her more and i think she just really feels... emblematic of the weaker points of the show, you know? which i feel, well, bad for. but like if you had to summarise what it is abt arcane that holds it BACK for me... caitlyn wouldnt be a far shout. and i mean thats not AS dramatic as it sounds: bc like ive said, i like the show! its funnn and theres lots of good stuff in here<3 but the parts that are really holding it back..

- like ive said. the way it plays itself so safely- you know? which again. not much else u can expect from a netflix league of legends show. but also like... nonetheless it is still trying to explore, like, the ideas of corruption and inequality and "class" (im putting THAT in quotation marks) but it goes about it in a very. honestly shallow way where its really not... deeply criticising any of it which again, idk what else to expect from this and i didnt expect more, but also like. when thats a core principle of ur show and ur going to be milktoast abt it yah.... the show itself is gonna be milktoast, yah?<3

- and caitlyn is like at the epicentre of a lot of that. like we have no actual proper criticisms of wealth when it comes to her- not really. and instead shes like... the savior voice of reason figure. like i said. that part before really bothered me where you have ekko and everyone in the firelights who've all been fighting and surviving down there for YEARS now and you walk her in and have her be the "did you guys know that. violence is... bad!" person like idc idc idc... its like i just dont care, girlie.

- and like in general you know. with the clean cut OH THE UNDERCITY IS ALL THE POOR PEOPLE AND THE OVERCITY IS THE RICH PEOPLE and. goodness you must forgive me- its obvious im a stem kid, with an unscrewed head, so im not so good at laying out all my thoughts coherently like this- but again its all a very superficial... well these are the rich people and those are the poor people without... going into very much depth at all, just these like monoliths for the oppressed and the not oppressed. a black and white this and that. but again without- without actually picking it apart!? its all these vague swathes of "theyre poor down there! and its violent down there! we are letting them down!" and its like uh. c-coool............................... and i think its bc you know. if you did actually HAVE to develop the underlying reasons behind tht you would have to get into the unsafe, riskier territory and well... characters like caitlyn would most surely be less and less compelling.

- bc like i said before when also criticisng caitlyn. like. they said it themselves. she abused her power as a cop and as a rich person to sorta just go off whilst on the job, undermine upper authority, and do whatever the fuck she want and she gets out of all of tht bc of who she is. and you can be like "oh! but she was doing it for GOOD!" as they said in the show- but its like noww... exactly, now lets discuss THAT for a second. bc its like no i agree she wasnt doing anything wrong-wrong, but still its like... again. a way in which caitlyn just sort of exists as this barely questioned icon privilege, but then the show also stakes so much onto her to deliver and push forwards plot as a person and im just... yawn. and surely the show wouldnt as, like i said, i dont expect that much of it but its again this very... sigh. you know. SAFE sort of thing. and its the sort of thing that always happens in these fantasy worlds, where they create a make believe the oppressed group and the not oppressed group and try to build up this big thing but its all just sort of smoke and mirrors and not. really much at all more than that

- AND ITS LIKE. it slike- again hey. im gonna reassert. its like... its fine. i guess? its just.. another overly safe attempt to do this whole song and dance. so much is- like jesus. its par for the course nowadays. a kinda emptiness which god thats sobering. but i guess its dressed up in a fun way. and whilst im not gonna come away obsessed with all of this, like ive been saying, i guess im having fun watching it and i'll prolly stick around for the next season and rb some gifsets about depending on the overall temperature of the thing bc lord knows i havent looked in those tags. and i hope im not coming off as too pretnetious lol omg- bc its like... literallyyy i get it if it just scratches a certain fun part for you, bc i have said man the design of this thing is wonderful and i guessif none of this rlly means much then hey. i can see why a lot of ppl would be obsessed with it but i guess its just not wholly clicking for me

- i will also say though. again i do think... not just with safeness. im doubling down on what i said before, actually. i think its well-paced in terms of hey! im not getting fuckin bored here, and you are giving even amount of time to everyone and i do think ur utilising ur time well for what you DO have but ehhhhh gosh idk. i still can sort of... TASTE... a much deeper well developed show, had they more time. you know what i mean? LIKE- i guess its good as it is but its like. man you could elevate so much of this if there was just more dedication to some things.

- like i think medarda is one prime example of like. shes JUST a little undercooked for who she is. like we've got a good idea of her! but my GOD if we could just get more of her- oh fuck, please... bc i just feel like we got some really good moments but i dont know i want more. i want more complexity in here- and more of this and that andt his an dt.. im not sure what exactly but it just feels like shes bigger than what she has been onscreen like gosh

- (which also on tht note is another thing i'd like to clarify with caitlyn like. bc the thing is i wouldnt care if she was a richgirl cop and hell i'd be into the push and pull with her and vi if they, again, just owned that right and weren't so piss cold with it all. like i think you can have these types of characters for fucking sure- just... frame them better narratively you know. yeesh. although granted theres a lot to unspool there wrt like whate- YOU KNOW I CANT EVEN FINISH THESE THOUGHTS MY HEADS MELTING ON THIS line of thinking lemme omggg.)

- but yeah also viktor sighhh. i havent talked of viktor. im just SAD you know bc also with the whole- again... i think its just starting to feel worse and again im able-bodied so taking my perspective with a grain of salt, yah, like... it just isnt sitting right with me how much theyre connecting disability with monstrosity. and i guess its just the tired old, bloody trope of fuckin- hghhrhgh cyberpunk is when YOU LOSE PARTS OF YOUR SOUL WITH BODY MODIFICATIONS! but recoloured and its like again. i think if they did properly have the time to explore this whole thing better you could right that more than what theyre doing now but its like godddd bc literally every single disabled character is either viktor OR theyre a violent undercity person and theyre all succumbing to the shimmer and idk man idk sniff nsiff...........

- speaking of. idk if anyone cares. m besties are vi, ekko and viktor i think. my little guys. :3 i love ekko a lot actually.......... i want more of him. less of, like, whatever the hell caitlyns weird savior bs is and more of ekko fighting for his god damn LIFE please<3 BBYYYYY. god the former espec cially- that shit ROCKED so badly.

- speaking of. idk if anyone cares. m besties are vi, ekko and viktor i think. my little guys. :3 i love ekko a lot actually.......... i want more of him. less of, like, whatever the hell caitlyns weird savior bs is and more of ekko fighting for his god damn LIFE please<3 and ofc i do laso love jinx oh teehee.. i like them. fun guys.

- i do find jayce interesting too. him and merdara. ive said wht i said abt merdara- GOD, i'd fucking love her way more if they did just push her a bit and you know. i like jayce a whole fuckn lot too i think the others are just a bit above them both rn LOL.

- anyways last ep soon i might hmmm i might give it a bit first let myself chill omg i should get hot choccy....

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

OKOK so *begins unfolding my brain to reveal all tha secret marrowlore*

froststar is The Worst stand-in father figure marrow could'v EVER gotten . yea swan an hawthorn were Bad, bur froststar ,, y'kno , condones murder . frost an hawthorn actually have a history 2gether bc they grew up as rogues together an joined thunderclan 2gether , an both took Very different paths (namely bc frost began Murdering ppl so he could become leader) . frost is super bitter abt hawthorn getting a mate an having kits so he sorta sees marrowkit getting attached 2 him as a way 2 "get back" at his old friend (side note but froststar was actually made when i listened to unleash the magic from tha eqg movie)

swanthroat is jus . she's certainly a Case !! see when she an hawthornshade were first trying 2 have kits she jus seemingly Couldn't rlly have any kits , which then made stormlight think swanthroat could be barren . obvs swan doesn't want this , an when starclan won't answer her prayers , she turns toward tha dark forest instead . an ,,, well , swanthroat did have kits didn't she ??? i mean Sure it also does mean that her kits will be Off when they'r born but she's willing 2 take that risk . until marrowkit starts causing trouble then she goes "oooohhhh fuck"

hawthorn has Absolutely No Clue abt tha whole dark forest thing btw . as far as he's aware his son is jus being violent an hurting his daughter an worrying his wife so he's doing what he thinks is right (little does he kno that he's jus making it Even Worse)

an then marrow Himself is jus being ping-pong-balled around . takes a village 2 fuck up one kid . there Is a fine line between feeling bad 4 him an recognizing what he does is bad btw , i think u can feel bad 4 him until he kills duskkit y'kno ??

anyways as a wrap-up i liek 2 imagine that hawthorn , swan , an frost all ended up in hell 2gether (hawthorn bc of things he did After tha events of marrowpaw's story , swan bc of her deal w tha dark forest , an frost bc of his Everything)

MARROWPAW BEING BORN BECAUSE OF THE DARK FOREST WAS NOT SOMETHING I WAS EXPECTING

--I feel like that just makes it even WORSE that Swanthroat didn't do more to help him. You're the reason he's like this, the least you could do is be there in a positive way

--Frost and Hawthorn + Marrowpaw and Mistdusk = being close to someone you will end up murdering

--Also I feel like the relationship of Froststar and Hawthornshade/star going from rogues together to one leading a rebellion against the other would make a sick map

[prairiies]

my film teacher in HS would always jokingly ask if i was gonna party that weekend, little did he kno i was gonna get violently high in my room and watch youtube poops… ya i was a party girl ☺️

[ennui-gt]

heeeeey i uh wrote this a WHILE ago and its not gt so dont like click if ur lookin for that, its just a little um. drabble of violents, u kno. just a little bit of. a dash of terrible is all. the ending's altered slightly from the original which i have Yet to be able to locate so that's great, but uh. Yeah!! yeah here it is. tw: bodily harm (kinda graphic), ssssome Hints at like family issues, and cursing. story below!

They’d been tricked. All of them. Every last warrior of the Garden. This wasn’t a battle, not a war to be won, this was massacre. The cold blooded destruction of thousands. Mutilated corpses lay scattered around the nameless soldier as he forced himself to his feet, taking large chunks of the blood-soaked ground with him as he rose. It stuck to his hair and armor, to the exposed back of his legs and arms. Not even the pouring rain was enough to wash it away. He stumbled and stuck his longsword into the ground for balance. With a shaky breath, he pulled his dagger from its sheath and pointed it at the culprit. “MONSTER!” he roared, charging at her.

The woman dodged swiftly, looking a little surprised to see him still putting up a fight. She knee’d his midsection and took the blade before he could even think, then grimaced at the grime that’d rubbed off onto her trousers. “Ugh. Look at what you made me do! Nine’s gonna kill me for getting dirt on my formal uniform.” she grumbled as if she wasn't already thoroughly bloodsoaked, “‘I told you not to wear that while conducting business, Seven, don’t kill the villagers, Seven, would you quit setting the tablecloth on fire, Seven, be more like Two, Seven,'” she mocked, barely acknowledging the soldier dry-heaving on the ground, “I mean really! What am I, chopped liver!? Why does she keep comparing me to Two!? We’re not even that similar! Like yeah, sure, we’re both from the same planet, but that’s basically all we have in common.” she babbled, pacing back and forth and throwing her hands in the air every now and again for emphasis.

He swallowed the bile rising through his esophagus and snarled, or at least attempted to snarl, “You—you won’t get aw-away with this!”

It came out as more of a choked whisper, but the woman heard it nonetheless. Her head snapped down to meet his fearful glare. “Oh wow, what? Still able to shout needlessly heroic tropes, I see!” She grinned, “Like, buddy, bro, my good dude, sir. Let’s be real here. I already did! Everyone else is dead, ‘cept you.” she said, taking a step back to make a sweeping gesture over the corpse-ridden field, “Your army, your generals, everybody, all deceased. No one has not been successfully un-alive’d. You’re an actor putting on a show without an audience! A waiter at a shit restaurant where nobody ever goes because they’re all fuckin’ dead. It’s kinda sad, actually. Maybe even a little romantic! So uh, I’ll tell you what. You got a dying wish or someth—areyoufuckingshittingmerightnow.“

The soldier had collapsed while she’d been monologuing. He was dead. He didn’t even have the decency to stay alive for her villainous monologue. The nerve of some people. She pulled a sword out of the ground and stood him up, driving the weapon through his skull, spinal column, and then the ground to keep him steady. Taking his dagger with her free hand, she made an incredibly imprecise y-incision working off of a distant memory. Fluid and chunks of guts spilled out of his abdominal cavity as she watched, smirking to herself.

That’d show them.

Seven was never quite sure of who ‘them’ was, but she knew that she had to show ‘em. It gave her a feeling of validation in a world that would otherwise be without meaning.

An electric blue flash of light illuminated her handiwork for a few moments, making her groan loudly, “Two, Five.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Seven. What the hell’d you do to the poor guy?” Two asked, barely able to look at the body without gagging.

Five was as emotionless as always, so he merely quirked a brow and asked, “Haven’t you ever been told not to play with your food?”

“First of all, he was dead before I gutted him.” Seven replied curtly.

“That makes it worse!” Two hissed, disgusted by the other’s behavior, “Five, tell her that it’s worse.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why it would be better or worse either way.”

“Yeah, Two. And it doesn’t even matter! It’s just a game. He’s an NPC, I can do what I want.” she huffed, peeling back the ribs to get to his lungs.

Five and Two exchanged looks for a moment, making Seven bristle. They think I’m fucking nuts, but they’ll see. Nine believes me.

Two shook their head and opened the portal, “C’mon, Sev, let’s go.” they sighed, taking Seven by the hand, “Five will clean up the mess.”

Seven hissed and clawed at Two to no avail while Five began torching the battlefield. “Lemme go back to pop the lungs, at least!” she whined.

Two’s iron-clad grip only loosened after the portal had closed, leaving the pair in a foyer of sorts. A rich, cherry-wood door stood behind them, inlaid with silver and iron in swirling patterns. Below them, checkered tiles stretched across the floor. Above them hung a silver chandelier framed by a set of cherry stairs that were carpeted with a deep bourbon runner. It was sparsely furnished, a couch in the corner and a console that held an ornate vase hugging the opposite wall.

Two threw Seven on the ground away from themself. “Go get cleaned up before Nine sees.” they spat, “I’ll stall her if I need to.”

The sharp clatter of heels and the slight rustle of gossamer silk echoed in the large foyer, stopping at the top of the stairs. Both Two and Seven looked up to meet the stern gaze of their superior. “Stall me to prevent what, Two? Another firsthand look at of Seven’s gruesome failures?” Nine asked, looming over them from the top of the upper staircase, “It’s a nice sentiment, dear, but you don’t need to bother.” she sighed, brushing past.

[meowmerson]

Waitwaitwait does this mean we gonna get head boy/head girl part two AND three?????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

do u kno what happens when i try to only write smut i end up with 7000 words and still no smut i hate myself anyway heres part 2 to the head boy head girl thing and i still haven’t gotten to the smut part IM SORRY

I will post these all together once its complete so ppl can read them all together lmao

--

“So, Hermione,” Lavender started as if she was going to say something of value, but when Hermione raised her eyes from her schoolwork, Lavender said nothing at all. Instead she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione knew immediately what she was implying.

“Stop it.” Hermione snapped.

Thankfully, she stopped the hideous eyebrow-waggling, but she did not drop the subject. “I’m just saying, you and Tom have been spending a lot of time together, and you haven’t even—“

“Lavender, I swear to Merlin—“

“Haven’t even said anything about it!” Lavender bulldozed over Hermione’s interjection, and Ginny, who was painting her nails bright shades of Red and Gold for the upcoming Quidditch match, nodded solemnly along. “I mean come on, You can’t leave us hanging like this.”

“I’m not leaving you hanging.” Hermione said firmly, putting on what Ron often referred to as her Mum-voice, “There is nothing to hang on, because nothing is happening, Lavender.”

“Yes, Lavender,” Ginny interjected, arranging her face into a scowl and mimicking Hermione’s tone of voice, “Tom only sometimes sticks his hand up my skirt in Potions class—“

Hermione sputtered furiously, and Ron—who was nearby playing a game of chess with Harry—groaned.

“Riddle has never, not once, stuck his hand up my skirt anywhere, let alone in the middle of class!” Hermione protested, turning a furious glare on Lavender, “Stop making things up!”

“I saw it!” Lavender insisted.

“Can you lot talk about something other than Tom Bloody Riddle for once?” Ron griped.

“Tom and Hermione are dating?” Harry asked, clueless as ever, as Ginny roared laughing.

“Aw, shit,” Ginny said after she calmed down, staring balefully at her nails, “I fucked it up.”

“Give me,” Lavender said, sliding off the couch to sit by Ginny and grabbing her hand and the bottles of nail polish.

“I am not, nor will I ever be, dating Tom Riddle!” Hermione protested, feeling very much like a broken record at this point.

“Then why was his hand up your skirt?” Lavender asked.

“It was never up my skirt!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I know what I saw!” Lavender snapped.

“Aw, shit—“ Ginny said, pulling her hand away and holding up her index finger to show Lavender had accidentally swiped the red all the way down to her second knuckle, “Lavender what the hell?”

“Sorry,” Lavender shrugged, unbothered in the face of Ginny’s ire, and she added, “Just got so hot and bothered thinking of—“

Hermione knew what she was going to say, and had heard enough, so with a groan, she rose to her feet, packed up her parchment, and stomped out of the Gryffindor common room.

“So,” Harry spoke up as she was on her way out, “Are they dating or not?”

—

Tom Riddle had never, not once, stuck his hand up Hermione Granger’s skirt.

He did often have his hand on her arm when they walked together, as they sometimes did when he descended upon her like a vulture and she could think of no rational reason to tell him to fuck off. He did, at times, let his hand very briefly settle against the small of her back if he was saying goodbye, or saying hello, or brushing by her in the corridor. And perhaps, once, when he was sitting by her in potions class—as he had taken to sitting by her in every class they shared together, which was most of them—he may have very briefly, and very innocently, laid his hand on the bare skin of her thigh where her skirt had ridden up, just to get her attention as he pointed toward an ingredient on the far side of their table that he wanted her to pass to him. And maybe, maybe she had flinched a bit violently, and hurriedly fixed her skirt as she stood, and maybe she moved so quickly that he didn’t have time to retract his hand before she was already standing, stepping away from him, and maybe his fingers trailed down her thigh very, very slightly as he pulled his hand away, and maybe Hermione noticed the look of unrelenting glee on Lavender’s face as she gaped from across the room.

But he had not put his hand up her skirt. Lavender had a disgustingly over-reactive imagination. And Hermione certainly did not at any point think he was trying to put his hand up her skirt, absolutely not, that is not at all what went through her head when she first felt his fingers brush her inner thigh.

It wasn’t even her thigh really. Barely. It was closer to her knee, really, and she didn’t think of it often. She didn’t.

She thought, more often, of Malfoy. He had returned to his usual self, he muttered under his breath when she answered questions in class, called her a know-it-all, cornered her, Harry, and Ron in the corridor with his cronies when he was in the mood to start a fight. But he hadn’t called her a mudblood in the weeks following the incident, not once.

And she still couldn’t figure out why.

She knew how, that was easy to figure out. Obviously Tom Riddle had either threatened or tortured him into refusing to use that work against her, but she still wasn’t sure why. Similarly, she wasn’t sure why Tom Riddle insisted on being around her as often as possible.

He sat by her in class, sought her out in the library, he made conversation during rounds which they completed together every night. She entertained his peculiar behavior, but she didn’t try to piss him off anymore, not with the memory of Malfoy standing in front of the Great Hall, head bowed, contrite, directly following her disagreement with Tom the night before.

She just wanted to figure him out. Sometimes he would say something benign, something ordinary, something she had heard a thousand times before, like “you are an extraordinarily bright witch, Hermione,” and she would find herself so desperate to know what he meant by it, because it wasn’t like him to mean exactly what he said. She wanted to crack open his skull and peer into his mind, dig deep into is psyche and unearth all his little secrets, find out why he was the way he was, find out what he was doing, find out what he wanted.

She heard a knock on her door, and she looked up from her book. She felt her heart race for no logical reason, except for the fact that he had never once knocked on her door before.

“Yes?” She called, and glanced at the clock. It was too early for rounds. He didn’t answer, clearly preferring for her to open the door instead of speaking through it. She frowned, but stood and opened the door nonetheless.

“Hello, Hermione,” He smiled.

“It’s a bit early for rounds.” Hermione pointed out.

“Yes, I’m aware.” He said, still smiling, but it felt a bit more mocking now, “I was hoping you might join me for tea before our rounds today.”

A bit strange, but the request was not entirely out of nowhere. She had gotten used to his attempts to be in her company at all hours. Still, he had never actually invited her to do anything, had only ever sidled up to her in open spaces whenever the opportunity presented itself. “Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Of course,” He said, and gave her an innocent sort of expression, one that suggested he had no idea why she was asking that, “Just in want of your company.”

There was a small, double-sided smile on his face. Hermione wish it didn’t make her heart race.

“Fine,” She agreed, knowing she should say no, but unable to recall the reasons she should say no for.

They sat on the two armchairs by the fire, and for some reason Tom knew exactly how she took her tea (strong, milk, no sugar) and Hermione was mildly interested to see he took his tea black, no sugar. For reasons she refused to think about, she filed that little tidbit of information away, in case she needed it later.

“Has Slughorn invited you to his upcoming party?” He asked her.

“Obviously,” Hermione said, taking a sip of the tea he had prepared for her. Perfectly made, just like everything else he did.

“Perhaps you would like to go together?” He asked her.

It wasn’t surprising, or at all strange, for him to ask her. She knew he would. But she is still struck by the strangeness of the situation, of their situation, and so she hesitated. She wasn’t used to being on Tom’s radar. She had been battling against him for the place at the top of their year ever since she started at Hogwarts, but he had never really given her more than a glance outside of classes. She had expected that to change, at least a little bit, once they were forced together as head boy and head girl, but this was…

She knew it stemmed from their argument, from the first (and only) night she had seen him truly open, honest, and angry, but she couldn’t understand how point a lead to point b.

He could be covering his tracks, she thought suddenly. He could be luring her into a false sense of security, presenting himself to her and everyone around them as nothing more than a besotted classmate, so that when she one day meets her untimely demise, he is the farthest thing from a suspect.

A foolish plan, though, really, because she wasn’t a simpering idiot who would drop all her suspicions just because of…

But she hadn’t mentioned her suspicions on a long time, she realized. She held on to them, clutched them close to her chest, ready to brandish them the moment she finally could and say ‘look, look at him now, see him for what he truly is!’ But she hadn’t voiced her concerns to any of her friends for weeks, nearly a month now. If she were to die tonight, for example, it would seem to her friends that she had dropped her suspicions long ago. And Tom wasn’t foolish enough to leave any evidence if he decided to off her.

It struck her suddenly, that she hadn’t watched him while he was pouring her tea.

She glanced down at her cup, already a quarter empty, and then back at him. He quirked a brow, and it was then she realized she had never answered his question.

She cleared her throat, her heart suddenly racing in her chest, “Slughorn actually suggested that to me.” She said.

“He suggested it to me as well.” Tom said, smiling kindly, and Hermione looked at her cup of tea again.

She felt hot, but that could be because of the fire, or because of her fear, or because of the way Tom Riddle tilted his head and observed her under dark lashes. She willed herself to calm down, paid close attention to any symptoms of poison, but felt none.

Don’t be ridiculous, she suddenly chastised herself. The stupidest thing he could do would be poison her in their shared common room.

“Is that why you’re asking?” She asked, slightly breathless in her panic. She hadn’t quite calmed her heart down yet, and couldn’t distract herself from searching for symptoms of poisoning in her body.

“No,” He said, sounding genuinely surprised by her question, “I ask because I would like for us to go together.”

Hermione tapped her finger against the rim of her mug, “Well,” She started, and readied herself to lie through her teeth, “I’m afraid I already asked Ron if he would go with me.”

Tom got a very particular look on his face then, as he often did when she did something to go against what he wanted. He went very still, and his face went very blank, his eyes dropped to watch her finger tap against her mug over and over and over, and she watched his jaw twitch.

“Ronald Weasley.” He said darkly, and suddenly Hermione wondered if it was a mistake to say that. She thought of Draco Malfoy, shaking in an abandoned classroom, terrified out of his mind, and started turning over things to say to fix the dark look in Tom Riddle’s eyes as he said her friend’s name.

“I don’t appreciate Slughorn trying to set up his students as if it is any of his business,” She said, watching his expression closely, “And I had a feeling you might ask me.” Tom finally looked up, met her eyes again, a curious gleam in his eye. “I’m sure it isn’t a mystery to you as to why I might not want to accompany you anywhere.”

His jaw twitched. It might’ve been the wrong thing to say. “I had thought we might be passed this.” He said, “After all the time we have spent together.”

Hermione still didn’t take another sip of her tea, even though she had gone this long without any reaction, and she was passed the panic that said that Tom Riddle might be poisoning her,  but she kept it in her hands regardless. “What is the point of this, Riddle?”

“The point of this was to ask you to Slughorn’s party,” Tom insisted, “Only for me to discover that you have, for some incomprehensible reason, decided to go with Ronald Weasley.”

“Ron is my friend.” Hermione said firmly. “Why are you so angry, Riddle?”

Tom blinked, then he turned and set his mug of tea on the table to the side. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched her very closely, “I’m not angry, Hermione.” He said calmly.

She was forgetting herself again. She tried to remember Malfoy, trembling, afraid, she tried to think of Ron, and the situation she was putting him in, but Tom Riddle was so confusing, and she couldn’t figure out just what the hell he was after, and it infuriated her. She put her tea on the table as well, and mimicked his posture. “Well, I am.” She said.

Tom tilted his head, just a little, like he often did when something fascinated him. After a moment of observing her, he said, “You have such a Gryffindor approach to things, Hermione. I do find it refreshing.”

He certainly had a way of knowing exactly what to say to piss her off. “Why are you following me everywhere?” She demanded, “Why are you always asking me questions? Why are you asking me to accompany you to party?”

“I seek you out because I enjoy your company.” He answered quickly, and though his response seemed candid it still felt like a farce, “I ask you questions because I find you fascinating. I am asking you to accompany me to Slughorn’s party for the same reasons.”

“I don’t trust anything that you say.” Hermione snapped, and Tom Riddle smiled wide. She hated when he smiled like that, it showed off his straight, white teeth and dimpled his cheek. She felt that smile deep in her gut.

“That’s why I like you.” He said.

Hermione grit her teeth, “You know what?” She said, “You can do rounds by yourself tonight. I suddenly feel exhausted.”

She stood without another word, stomped off to her room and shut the door. Tom didn’t stop her.

—

She did go to bed early, but her sleep was far from restful, and when she woke, it was due to images of Ron shaking with wide-eyes, terrified, writhing under Tom Riddle’s wand. She snapped up in bed, chest heaving as if she had just been drowning, gulping in lungfuls of air and clutching her wand tight in her fist.

She had to check on Ron.

She crept out of her room without even checking the time, but given the dark common room, it must be late, definitely late enough for Tom to have finished his rounds and returned to turn off the lights. Enough time for him to torture Ron into submission.

She hurried through the corridors, peering around corners like a paranoid idiot, until she made her way to the Gryffindor common room. She ascended the stairs to the boys dorm as quietly as she could, found the 7th year dorm room, and crept inside.

It was dark, and all the boys were asleep. Most had pulled their curtains shut, save for a few, but she had to peek through every curtain until she found Ron’s bed.

He was fast asleep, peaceful, and as far as she could tell, unharmed. She realized then that her hands were shaking, and she didn’t know what to do next.

So she crawled into his bed, sat at his feet, her wand held tight in her hand.

She couldn’t even use the excuse that she was overreacting, not exactly. She knew that Riddle was capable of causing great harm to people, Malfoy was a perfect example, and for all of her accusations, Tom had never once denied it. So he might want to harm Ron, he might do anything if he felt it would get what he wanted.

It would help if she could figure out what he was trying to do. If he was trying to earn her trust, to erase her suspicions, then harming Ron would make no sense. But if he was trying to control her, to manipulate and silence her, then of course he would hurt her friends.

He wouldn’t do it in the Gryffindor common room, this she knew. It didn’t make her feel better, and it didn’t convince her to leave.

Unfortunately, Ron chose that moment to wake up. It happened slowly, and Hermione still wasn’t quick enough to leave or hide. His eyes fluttered and he shifted in his sleep. His ankle kicked her side, and in his half-asleep state, he felt her out with his foot for a moment as if trying to figure out what was on his bed. She didn’t move, and didn’t say anything, just sat there and watched him wake up, knowing he was going to think she was crazy.

Blearily, once he realized he could not figure what was on his bed just by foot-sight, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

He flailed, his arms getting caught up in his duvet, and he screamed.

“Shh!” Hermione snapped, holding her hands out as if to forcibly make him remain still, but she didn’t actually touch him, “Shush, its just me!” She kept her voice low, as quiet as she could, and Ron stared at her as he cowered against his headboard, his face twisted into confusion and incredulity.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hissed.

She realized she had no rational answer. “I….well—“

“Why are you sitting on my bed in the dark watching me sleep?” Ron squeaked.

“I was not watching you sleep.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Oh right okay—what were you doing then?” Ron hadn’t calmed down, and didn’t seem like he would calm down any time soon, “Plotting my death?”

“No!” Hermione objected.

“Then what the bloody hell are you doing?” He asked hysterically.

Hermione hesitated, “I…uh…” Then she sighed irritably through her nose, “I know you won’t believe me, but Riddle—“

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ron interrupted, “You gave me a fucking heart attack in the middle of the night to tell me about Tom Bloody Riddle?”

“Ronald, listen—“

“You’re bloody mental!”

The curtain was thrown open, “Hey, what’s going on—“

Ron screamed again, and Harry jolted, staring between Ron and Hermione with confused eyes, his glasses askew.

“Weasley, will you shut the fuck up?” A voice snapped in the dark, Hermione was pretty sure that was Seamus.

Harry crawled in and pulled the curtain shut, and Hermione cast a quick Muffliato. “What’s going on in here?” Harry asked, still glancing between them as he straightened his glasses.

“Hermione has lost her fucking mind!” Ron threw his hands up.

“I have not!” Hermione snapped.

“Yeah, uh,” Harry tucked his legs up, wrapped his arms around his knees, “What are you doing here, Mione?”

Hermione considered lying, but she remembered the fear she felt drinking that cup of tea, the fear that she might die without her friends knowing her suspicions, so she was honest. “I just thought…Riddle freaked me out, I thought—“

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ron muttered.

“—I thought maybe he would do something to you, Ron.” She finished.

“We’re still on that?” Harry asked, sounding more confused than exasperated as opposed to Ron’s huff.

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly, “Yes, we are.”

“And this couldn’t wait until the morning?” Ron griped, “You know, after sleep?”

“Why would Tom want to do something to Ron?” Harry asked.

“Because I told him that Ron and I are going to Slughorn’s party.”

“You what?” Ron whined.

“We’re going.” Hermione said firmly, and give Ron his due, he didn’t argue on that point, just turned his eyes to the ceiling and silently resigned himself to his fate.

“Why would you tell him that?” Harry asked, looking increasingly confused.

“Because Riddle asked me, and I needed a reason to say no.” Hermione explained.

Harry, somehow, looked even more confused. “Ok, wait, so…you and Tom aren’t dating?”

“No, I am not dating Tom Sodding Riddle!” Hermione exclaimed.

“She’s lost it,” Ron whispered to Harry, clearly aware that Hermione could hear every word he was saying, “She’s lost her damn mind.”

“Fuck you, Ron.” Hermione snapped.

“Well,” Harry said brightly, “Since we’re all up, how about a trip to the kitchens?”

Hermione scowled.

“What do you say, Head Girl?” Ron asked, “Gonna deduct house points?”

“Let’s just go to the kitchens.” Hermione sighed.

They didn’t really understand, when she tried to explain it. And every time she said that she couldn’t understand what Tom was after, they exchanged this look like they thought she was being dense, and then refused to explain to her what they were thinking.

—

It wasn’t precisely that Tom and Hermione didn’t speak in the time between their conversation and Slughorn’s party, but they certainly didn’t talk any more than absolutely necessary. Tom didn’t spend quite as much time with her, but that was mostly due to the fact she spends nearly every waking moment with Ron, much to Ron’s annoyance.

“Mione,” Ron said once, standing in front of her from her seat on the grass nearby where Quidditch practice was taking place. She looked up from her book. “Wouldn’t you rather read that in the library?”

“Wouldn’t you rather mind your business?” She asked brightly.

He huffed, and leaned forward to speak quietly, “Hermione, I know you’re going through like a mental breakdown right now—“

“Ronald—“ Hermione started warningly.

“—But you’re really screwing with my game, you know?”

“Your quidditch game?” Hermione asked, confused.

“My lady game!” Ron exclaimed, then hurriedly quieted himself, “No girls will talk to me because they all think you’re into me now.”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t see why that would deter anyone who really wanted to be with you, Ron.”

“It does when they’re all afraid of you.” He insisted.

“No one is afraid of me, Ron.” Hermione said, turning back to her book. Ron just huffed again and dropped the subject, returning to his game.

Tom and Hermione still did rounds together, but their conversations were all surface level. They talked about classes, they talked about books. They never mentioned Slughorn’s party, not once.

He also had ceased the unnecessary touching, although he continued to sit beside her in classes.

Hermione thought perhaps it was a change in tactic, and continued to follow Ron around no matter how many times he called her a paranoid guard dog.

—

Slughorn’s parties were always a bit stiff, and a bit awkward. Hermione had been invited to them every time they occurred since her third year, and there were never more than about 15 people, guests included, so it was near impossible to avoid anyone if they were there. She kept this in mind while standing by Ron at the side of the room, her eyes constantly searching for Riddle, who had yet to make his appearance.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Hermione said quietly to Ron as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I hate these stupid things.” Ron grumbled.

“Stop being such a baby,” Hermione said, turning to face him and eyeing the sad state of his dress robes. She sighed through her nose and moved to stand in front of him, tugging his robes into place so that he looked like less of a mess.

“Stop mothering me,” Ron said, pushing her hands away.

“I am not mothering you,” Hermione argued, “I don’t mother.”

She straightened his collar.

“Stop doing that!” Ron said, slapping her hand away. She punched him in the arm as revenge and he winced and stopped battling her as she straightened up his robes.

“What is this?” She asked, fingering a stain on his collar.

“I had a snack before I came.” Ron shrugged.

“You’re disgusting.” Hermione said, pulling her wand to clean that spot on his collar, “I can’t believe you are willing to be seen like this.”

“At least my hair doesn’t look like—“ Hermione glared up at him and Ron snapped his mouth shut with a clack, before opening it again to say, “—like a uh—beautiful fluffy cloud.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You can stop fussing now—“ Ron said, reaching up to bat her hands away again, and this time she caught his wrist.

“I’m not fussing,” She said firmly, and glanced briefly around the room, “I’m—“

She saw Tom Riddle in the far corner of the room, by the refreshments, and who should be on his arm but Pansy fucking Parkinson.

“Ow, Hermione, stop—“ Hermione jerked her attention back to Ron and realized she was digging her nails into his wrist. She hurriedly let go, and Ron rubbed at his now sore wrist, “No need to injure me just because your boyfriend—“

“Not my boyfriend.” She muttered under her breath.

“—found himself a new girl.”

She glanced back over to Pansy and Tom. Tom patted Pansy’s hand on his arm as she laughed at something that probably wasn’t funny, she had never heard Tom say anything funny in her entire life.

“Being a bit obvious, Mione.” Ron chided her.

“Obvious?” Hermione said, turning back to Ron, “Obvious how?”

Ron fixed her with a knowing look.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Hermione said.

Ron kept looking at her in exactly the same way, even waggled his eyebrows a bit as if he thought that might drive the point home.

“You look like an idiot.” She told him.

When everyone sat around the table, it was about as awkward as it usually was, with the added bonus of Parkinson glaring at Hermione every time she spoke. Tom Riddle watched her as well, but Hermione had never been able to pick apart this particular gaze so she didn’t trouble herself with trying now. Ron kept fidgeting in his chair, to the point where Hermione had to reach over and pinch his knee to remind him to sit still, and he made a very rude face every time Slughorn tried to speak to him, as if he would rather be beaten by the Whomping Willow than have to speak to anyone present.

Hermione was a bit distracted, to be honest. Every time Pansy laid a hand on Tom’s arm, or leaned over to whisper in his ear, she felt her fists curling.

Pansy and Hermione had never really got along, much in the same way her and Draco never got along. Pansy was Slytherin, pureblood, privileged, and a bitch. Ron used to joke that if Pansy wasn’t such a racist piece of shit, he thought her grade of bitchiness would go well with Hermione’s, and Hermione had responded to that with a smack on the head.

That was the only reason it grated on her so much to see her here. It had nothing to do with the fact she came with Tom Riddle.

“How long do these things usually last?” Ron asked quietly at her side, and Hermione almost jumped. She had nearly forgotten he was there.

“No much longer,” Hermione said, turning to look at him, “You look like you’re enjoying the food at least.”

“The only bearable thing about this.” Ron confirmed, but Hermione was focused on the sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“Wait,” She said, and reached out to wipe her thumb across the sauce.

“Mione—“

“Shush, I’m just—“

He reached out and grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks until she jerked away. “How’s it feel when someone randomly grabs your face, huh?”

“You had sauce on your mouth.” Hermione pointed out, “I was being helpful.”

“I already told you to stop mothering me—“

“I’m not mothering you, and it's still there, let me—“

She picked up a napkin and dipped it into her water, reaching up to wipe his mouth as Ron made a very childish face. Hermione laughed, because he was being ridiculous. Sometimes she really felt like he hadn’t aged since he was twelve.

“There,” Hermione said, setting her napkin down. “Now stop pouting.”

“Not pouting,” Ron said, “Just didn’t want to come to this fucking thing in the first place.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and made the mistake of looking across the table.

Tom Riddle was watching her, face blank, jaw clenched. She met his eyes on accident, and then found she couldn’t look away. She observed the tense line of his shoulders, the very slight downward turn of his lips, and she wondered what had caused his sudden change in mood. He had been perfect a moment ago, smiling and charming and at ease, and now he glowered at her in a way only he could, the type of glowering that wasn’t glowering at all unless you knew what you were looking for.

It made her heart race, it made warmth spread from her chest up to her cheeks.

She suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, and desperately wanted to leave.

“Excuse me,” She said quietly to Ron as she stood, “I need the loo.”

Ron, already distracted by dessert, waved her goodbye without a word.

Hermione hurried out of the room and into the corridor, felt her anger and her unease buzzing beneath her skin. She just needed a moment outside of the room, away from Tom Riddle and his disconcerting gaze, away from Ron who kept looking at her like she was over-reacting, like there was something she didn’t understand, away from Pansy Parkinson who drifted between glaring and staring smugly over at her from across the table, probably with her hand on Tom’s knee.

It was her stupid crush, her ridiculous little fixation, rearing it ugly head again, and she knew it. It was her least favorite part of herself, her obsession with Tom Riddle that never seemed to die no matter how many reasons he gave her to hate him. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what it felt like to fancy someone, she just didn’t understand why her heart was so steadfastly focused on a man who, as far as she was convinced, tortured his fellow students in empty classrooms at any given opportunity.

She took a deep breath, let it out through her nose, slowly. She tried to calm down.

She felt a hand on her arm and somehow knew who it was before she even turned around.

She jerked away, turning to face Tom Riddle head-on, and for a single moment, neither of them said a thing.

“Pansy Parkinson.” Hermione commented, unsure why that was the only thing she could think to say, “Interesting choice.”

“She wasn’t my first choice,” Tom pointed out, “But you knew that.”

Hermione grit her teeth.

“You and Weasley are quite close.” Tom said, his tone was light, but his gaze was not.

“He’s my friend.” Hermione spat, “I trust you are unfamiliar with the experience.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow, “You’ve certainly been spending a lot of time with your friend.”

“It’s none of your business who I spend my time with.” Hermione snapped.

“Try as I might,” Tom said cuttingly, his voice so sharp she nearly flinched at the sound. She hadn’t heard him speak like this in a while, “I cannot seem to shake your suspicions, Hermione, I wonder why that is?”

“Because you are a liar.” Hermione said.

His jaw twitched, and he took a step closer, but they were already close enough, so that single stride brought him far, far closer than she felt comfortable allowing him. But she didn’t move away, and she didn’t push him back. “A liar?” He echoed, and he spoke so quietly, but she could hear him so clearly in the silent corridor. She was aware, suddenly, just how alone the two of them were, and that familiar feeling of panic began to well up in her throat.

“Did you think I would just forget?” Hermione asked, and willed her voice not to shake, “Did you really think that I would forget about Malfoy just because you follow me around, and compliment me, and flirt with me, like suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore?”

Tom’s brow twitched, and while he hadn’t quite reacted in the same way he had that night, all wild-eyed with a twisted sneer, she could still tell he was angry. “Malfoy again.” He said, in that same dark tone that he had said ‘Ronald Weasley’ the other night. She gritted her teeth, watched as Tom took a single step away from her lifted his hands in a sort of helpless gesture, and said simply, “I fixed him.”

Hermione stared, and stared, and stared for a moment more. She didn’t understand why every time they spoke, she always came away more confused. But before she had the chance to ask what he meant, Tom was already continuing.

“My methods are unimportant,” His brow quirked upwards, but not in a sarcastic way or a combative way, his expression was a beseeching one, like he wanted her to understand, “He upset you, so I fixed him.”

Hermione felt her heart lurch, and then race, “The first time,” She said, “The first time I found you—“

“Was nothing.” Tom finished for her, and then a bit more severely he said, “I may be a liar, Hermione, but I have not lied to you in a long time. Ask me.” Hermione watched him warily, and he said again, “Ask me.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked, and it wasn’t really what she meant to ask. She had a hundred questions, she wanted to know exactly what he did to Malfoy, she wanted to know how many people he had hurt, she wanted to know who else he was planning on hurting and intimidating, but Merlin, the way he looked at her made her desperate to know what he was thinking, what he was hoping for.

He smiled then, just a little, like he was pleased with the question she chose but also maybe a bit in awe of her. It was the wrong thing to ask, she knew it. It was a selfish and foolish thing to ask him. But it drove him closer, he closed the distance between them, watching her closely all the while, until he stood just in front of her, with only their breath between them.

His fingers found her wrist, barely touching, just hovering featherlight over the skin. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” He chided gently.

She might’ve had a come-back or a follow-up question, but the feeling of his fingers on her arm was distracting in a humiliating way. She felt something curl in her belly, and heat seemed to expand from her stomach clear into her fingers and toes in an instance, sudden and violent and overwhelming. It wasn’t fair that she felt like that form nothing more than the barely-there brush of his fingers against her wrist, just like she felt it when his hand found her arm, or her back, or her thigh.

“Why did you follow me?” She asked him, because she needed to know, because she still didn’t understand what he wanted from her, what his plan was, and even knowing he would just lie to her face she hoped she could read between the lines, finally get a small look at what goes on in his labyrinth of a mind.

“Because if I had to watch your friend,” He spat out that word as if it was a curse, “Shove more food in his gaping maw knowing that he has somehow managed to commandeer all of your attention, then you really would have something to guard him from.”

“And what would you rather I pay attention to?” She asked, and Tom’s fingers circled to the underside of her wrist, drawing down until they met her palm, holding her hand so gently she almost wondered if she was imagining his hold. His thumb brushed across the top of her hand.

She didn’t realize it, but she had been staring squarely at his mouth as he spoke, and had been for a while. When she noticed, she raised her eyes to meet his again, but he was staring at her lips as well.

She should stop this. She should snatch her hand away, she thought, but as she had that thought his fingers glided further down, until he had threaded his fingers between hers and pressed his palm against hers. She should push him away she thought, but he was already stepping closer, his free hand raised to curl his fingers under her chin, to tip her head back. She should tell him to get away from her, she should tell him to get out of her face, to never touch her again.

But his lips already met hers.

It was so soft, so gentle, so light, and still, she felt it like a slap. She felt so hot, and all her blood seemed to rush to her legs as if ready to run, it made her lightheaded, it made her unable to think clearly, so she let him kiss her, relished in the softness of his lips against hers. It felt new, it felt innocent, and his thumb dragged up the length of her index finger as their hands remained interlocked, his other hand shifted to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping across her cheek.

She jerked away, and she didn’t think it was fair that she could feel so breathless when he had barely touched her. She stared into his eyes, glancing wildly between them, desperately trying to regain control of her actions, but all she could feel was the tingle of her lips, his hands on her skin, and all she could think was how disconcerting it felt now, to know what it was like to be kissed by him and find her lips suddenly bereft.

His eyes were so dark, and she was sure they weren’t usually this dark, weren’t usually this black, but his pupils had swallowed up whatever color there usually was. She wished she could read him better, wished she could understand the flexing of his jaw, the pucker in his brow.

“What…” What are you playing at? She was going to say. What are you doing? What is the point of this? But she didn’t have the chance to ask, because he closed the distance between them again, but this time it wasn’t a feather-light caress, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t kind. His lips met hers and it was hard, it was sudden and startling and rough. She let out a sound, muffled against his lips, purely out of the surprise of the onslaught of sensations that it caused, her whole body tensed up as if preparing to take a hit. His hand slipped from hers so that he could slide it around her waist, his fingers digging into her back to pull her closer, his other hand threading into her hair. Her hands floated helplessly at her sides for a moment, she was too engrossed in the sparks that went straight to her core with every stroke of his lips against hers, and it wasn’t a constant decision to meet ever press of his lips with her own.

It wasn’t until his lips parted and she felt his tongue against hers that her hands finally sprung to life, she clutched at his arms, felt the tense and release of his biceps as he wrapped his arm fully around her waist, and she couldn’t understand how every stroke of his lips sent such a violent spark of heat straight to her core, she couldn’t remember where they were, or what they had been doing, or why it had taken so long to explore this feeling.

His hands were constantly moving, like he needed to touch every part of her. They went from her hair, to her throat, her shoulders and her sides and her back until they firmly grasped her waist and pressed her firmly against the wall of the corridor. Every stroke of his hands she could feel straight to the marrow, every sensation echoing in her core. His teeth caught her lower lip, scraped against the sensitive skin and then soothed it with his tongue, his fingers kept a bruising grip on her waist. It was nothing like the first kiss, gentle and soft and controlled, and she got the feeling he might feel just as out of control as she did, judging by the way his fingers dug warningly into her waist when she tried to arch her back.

It was too much. It was too much and she thought of Malfoy, and Ron, and all the other nameless unknown faces that saw the wrong side of this mysterious boy.

She pushed Tom away, and she was struck by the look in his eyes, a bit crazed, a bit wild. His brow was twisted in confusion, maybe a bit of anger, his lips were parted and swollen and wet and the only other time she had seen him with an expression so clear and unguarded was when he was angry. But this was different.

His hands were still on her, so she pushed him away again, further this time. She was well aware of how breathless she was, gasping for air like a fool, and suddenly his face was shuttered again, his brow uncreased, his mouth a straight, stern line.

“Hermione,” He started, and Merlin it sounded like a warning, like a threat, and she shoved him once more just to shut him up, just so she didn’t have to hear him speak so quiet and low and heated.

She tried to leave, and he reached for her, wrapped his fingers around her wrist, but she jerked away. She glared at him as viciously as she could manage, and then she turned and fled, fled like a coward because she couldn’t trust herself to say anything, knew she would sound like a breathless fool if she tried.

She didn’t even stop at Slughorn’s party to collect Ron. She fled all the way to the Gryffindor tower and didn’t look back.

—

“And then she fucking ditched me to go make out with Tom Riddle in the corridor—“

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped as Lavender started screeching with delight, “I did not—“

“Don’t lie,” Ron thrust a finger in her face that she immediately slapped away, “I saw him when he came back, I know what it looks like when someone gets back from a good snog.”

“Can’t hide it anymore!” Lavender said in a sing-song voice, kicking her feet excitedly on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room.

“It is just like Hermione to snag the hottest boy in school and then run away.” Parvati grumbled.

“Remember Viktor?” Padma said.

Parvati sighed wistfully, “Do I ever.”

“I didn’t run away—“ Hermione tried to argue.

“Can’t believe you chose to hide in Gryffindor tower instead of getting dicked down by Tom Riddle.” Padma said.

“Tom Riddle,” Parvati repeated, and shook her head as if she was disappointed.

“So,” Harry finally interjected from where he was sat beside Ron, staring between them all, “Tom and Hermione are definitely dating now, right?”

Ginny finally exploded into the laughter she had been holding in throughout the whole conversation.

[greenishness]

reading all these theories even tho i KNO like i KNO the writers will never be as big brained as the fans.. ... im a resigned clown slowly trudging towards next thursday, my giant shoes honking with every step

it's so confusing because if you watch atomic monsters they put it explicitly in the text that they know what happen in 15x19 is a BAD ending to most fans. becky, the stand-in for the audience and narrative foil to chuck, complains that his ending feels hollow because it's all action and no cas. which leaves the question: were they trying to apologise for the ending because they knew we weren't gonna like it? were they trying to tell us that we're going to get the ending we want eventually? did they accidentally hit the nail on the head which we interpreted as intentional storytelling?

there are few pieces of media out there that have such an intimate and dysfunctional creator-audience relationship as spn, and despite popular opinion these writers ARE smart, especially when it comes to their more meta storytelling. i personally think they knew exactly what they were doing. but i cannot find it in me right now to interpret this undeniably as "we're gonna get what we want". i'm worried that it was their way of acknowledging fan interpretations, maybe because they knew we weren't gonna like the ending and wanted to communicate that.

that's what i'm also worried about with cas. i never expected a reunion this week but i DID expect dean to in some way try to confront his feelings about what happened in order to set up the hopefully requited deancas resolution next week. but he didn't even mention it? we have no idea how he feels about cas except maybe grief in the first half of the episode and given that there's fifteen years of bisexual repression to work through, i think one episode won't be enough time to satisfyingly resolve it.

i'm so glad we have gay cas who is in love with dean but if that's all it is i would have honestly preferred they would have let it sizzle out and just kept it subtextual. i know a lot of people are making good points that this is probably part of the compromise that allowed them to turn spn explicitly queer, giving the cw a season finale that satisfies the average viewer so they can go bonkers in the final episode which could be excluded from international box sets or whatever. but even though i myself said that this episode would probably have little in terms of cas and that his role is to catalyse the resolution of dean's emotional arc in the final episode i'm still disappointed like our expectations were low but!

i guess there's nothing we can do but wait and pointedly ignore anything jensen or cw pr have to say this week. i've definitely had my expectations violently lowered lol i see all the very plausible theories about how deancas can still win but i really feel a little sick to my stomach trying to earnestly believe it. let's all hold hands and think about fruity little castiel causing problems on purpose and loving dean with his whole heart in the meantime.

[cherry6759]

fishing spot

It wasn’t that far from spawn, only a few hundred blocks south. If someone just kept going straight down, if someone decided they wanted to explore towards that direction, they might, perhaps, happen upon a little harbor that led from the savanna into the sea. It was an unassuming little building, its purpose more recreational than anything else, really; when she needed to entertain herself, she would bring her jukebox to the harbor and write, or read and answer the many letters she received—some with money, others simply lines upon lines of disconnected sentences, written in many different handwritings. Sometimes she would try to match her throwing of the line and attempts at fishing with her sentences. Sometimes, she would simply stare into the sea, longing for the familiar walls that entrapped her once—a symbol of incarceration that she had, unfortunately, grown used to as she grew up inside those borders. Longing for the familiar touch of a mother combing her child’s hair, the horns that announced her turn. The blades. The blood. They, who had denounced such memories and times with violent distate, sometimes would catch themselves wishing to chance upon those same situations again.

They refused to acknowledge those thoughts even if, deep down, they understood that wouldn’t make them vanish. …They had attempted to execute her. They attempted to drown her, and when she escaped that fate, they attempted to throw her into a pit. Their gladiator survived even that. When they came to check on the pit they had made for her to fall into, she took the chance to attack the guards and escape. The world she knew, the familiar, comfortable, small world she was so used to, crashed in a matter of minutes—by the man they called emperor. By the hands of the father they tried to love and to receive affection from.

But those were thoughts of the past. With a firm shake of their head, the former warrior closed their eyes, feet lightly touching the water as they sat at the end of the harbor.

What had changed since they left? Well, they were, mostly, alone. There was no mother to direct their actions, and even with the letters, there was no longer a… ‘physical’ crowd demanding for them to take the lives of their opponents. The gentle granny who sold those delicious cucas next to their home wasn’t there. The anxious child who would always stumble across the street while they passed by was no longer visible. The walls were gone. …It felt bad, but… looking at the beautiful sunny sky, the horizon extending far ahead of them, Cherry… couldn’t help but feel free. No longer the gladiator, no longer the relentless warrior everyone longed for—no longer Cherry, covered in cherry-colored blood. No longer the sweet fool her mother had raised.

She was Cherry, whose smile was as sweet as that nickname. Cherry, whose cheeks went red when they received a compliment. Joana, the hardworking child who… at last, found themselves away from their nest. A fugitive, a runaway—alone, but for once, able to make their own choices. She had built herself a house, a harbor, made provisions so she wouldn’t starve; they renounced their violent ways. Free to become whatever they desired, to do as they desired.

So Cherry smiled. Looking through their inventory, they grabbed their fishing rod… and started fishing. With the corner of their eye, they focused on the letters, opening themselves and gently unfolding in front of her eyes… while more and more of them piled up behind the ones she could read. But it was fine. They were messages from a land now far away. Even if they followed her, even if the letters never stopped popping up, they could no longer affect the outcome.

The die had been cast the day her execution was ordered. They could no longer retrieve the bloodthirsty, bloodstained person they once were.

did u kno theres gonna be a b. An quiet soon??

Cherry hummed, another salmon being swiftly pulled into their hands. “Oh, really? Rude, can’t believe no one invited me. …”

A devilish smirk. Placing the salmon she had just caught into the smoker she kept by the harbor, she turned to the skies, in mock melodrama.

“Would be a shame if I just… learnt of the location! Oh, dear, just imagine if I… you know… accidentally arrived there, in the middle of the banquet, unannounced… uninvited… what a bother, right…?”

…and, in seconds, the letters were filled with numbers.

Coordinates.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, would you look at that… I somehow got my hands on a couple of coords! Let’s hope it’s not the party hall, chat!”

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (5)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.9k warnings: torture, angst™, a fluffy flashback bc it’s seriously needed 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

O N E  M O N T H  L A T E R

Bucky was covered in sweat. Blood dripped from the gash on his forehead and an awful pain in his left thigh from where a knife was currently embedded into the muscle. He let out a guttural shout, shoving the Hydra agent back several feet and straight through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the foundation as particles of dust and drywall clouded around him.

The agent groaned, turning onto his stomach and attempted to crawl away, hands scrambling on the concrete, but Bucky was too quick, stalking over him with a quick yank to the knife buried in his leg and tossed it across the room. He reached down and grabbed a tight grip of the man’s collar, heaving the agent to his feet, then higher still as he held him off the ground. The man’s feet kicked at the air.

“Where is she?!”

“I don’t know what you’re—"

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Bucky howled, shaking the agent as his hands grasped at Bucky’s left wrist, nails scratching over metal plates. Bucky slammed the agent against what was left of the wall. “Tell me where she is or I’ll end your pathetic little li-”

“Bucky!” Steve shouted as he emerged through the hole in the wall, holstering his weapon.

Bucky shot Steve a glare, turning back to the agent and pressing the grip of his hand around the man’s neck, watching as he started to turn red. It was satisfying to watch him squirm.

Steve groaned, half-jogging towards Bucky until he stood over his shoulder.

“Buck, stop it,” Steve demanded, voice stern though he didn’t make a move to force Bucky to stand down. “We need him for information. You kill him and he’s useless to us.”

“He’s pretty useless right now,” Bucky countered, pressing harder on the agent’s windpipe.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Steve warned, cautious eyes glancing over his friend. “We’ll bring him back with us and interrogate him. He might know something, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

Bucky growled, eyes narrowing on the man as his skin began to turn a light shade of blue, lips gasping for breath, eyes bulging, and then, Bucky released his grip. The agent fell to the floor, coughing and retching as he struggled to find air. Bucky rolled his eyes in disgust, stepping away just as Sam rushed in to restrain the agent on the floor.

As Bucky made his way through the hole in the wall, blood dripping from the open wound in his thigh, Steve put his hand on his shoulder, a soft touch though it brought Bucky to a cold stop.

“I don’t like what this is doing to you, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, the flattened expression seemingly permanent on his features. “I left this one alive for you, Steve. That should be good enough.”

Without bothering to wait for the speech Steve usually gave at the end of every raid about how Bucky was coming dangerously close to winter soldier territory and how he should take a break from missions for a few days, Bucky pushed his way out of the room and towards the quinjet. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sit out another mission, not until they brought you home. He didn’t care if he fell right back into the cold, dark shell he barely existed in in the years before you came into his life. He'd put himself through the chair before he gave up on you. Consequences be damned.

The ride back to the compound was filled with the same uncomfortable silence it usually carried. With Steve attending to the pilot’s seat and Sam guarding the Hydra agent they had taken prisoner, Natasha swung her legs around the seat ahead of Bucky, eyeing him carefully as he kept his stare hardened on the flicker of the altitude light on the dashboard.

He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, and he curled his hands around the arm rests.

“Steve’s got a point, you know,” Nat said, leaning her right shoulder against the backrest of the seat. “Don’t think Y/n would like what all this is doing to you, either.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Y/n is being held captive by the people who tore me apart from the inside out. She knows what they could do to her and she'd want me to do whatever the hell it took to bring her home.”

Nat sighed, gaze dropping for a moment as her eyes flickered over to your empty seat, the one next to Bucky. “She wouldn’t want you to lose yourself in the process, James.”

She was right. Bucky knew as much. From his first mission back in the field following the clearance from his therapist and Dr. Cho, he’d been different; more aggressive, too quick to shoot on sight, a cold hollowness in his chest with every base they raided only to come up empty. 

He was a far cry from the man you knew. The one who smiled often and teased you about the pillow crease marks on your cheeks in the morning and learned how to make banana bread just because he overheard you mention just once in passing how much you loved it. He lost his quick-witted jokes with Sam and flinched away from Steve’s touch. You’d be disappointed in him for closing up so easily without you around.

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning back to Natasha. “Yeah, well Y/n isn’t here, is she?”

Nat stared back at him, firm features on her face, though a sadness lingered being her eyes. She nodded carefully because there was nothing left to say and turned back around in her seat. Bucky felt no relief.

Hours later as the team debarked the jet, Tony was waiting at the edge of the hanger, arms crossed over his chest and a desolate look upon his face. Bucky could already fell the tightness in his chest, knowing exactly what that look meant.

“We got another tape,” Tony said flatly. Steve and Sam exchanged a worried glance and Bucky could feel the entire team’s eyes on him, searching for a reaction they wouldn’t find. He was too numb for that now. Tony gestured for everyone to follow him back into the compound.

“How many does this put us at, Tony?” Steve asked as they made their way to the living room on the eleventh floor.

“Five,” Bucky replied, interjecting before Tony could answer. Sam cursed under his breath.

Since the first video was played on live television, different news networks across the country had started to receive a new tape once a week.

The second time you appeared on the television, looking worse than the first with the infection on your cheek spreading in angry red veins down your face, and dark purple bruising under your eye, Bucky had been out on a run.

He’d returned to find the entire team gathered around the television in the living room. Nat’s hand pressed over her mouth. Steve pacing back and forth as he stole quick glances at the screen. Sam gritting his teeth, arms crossed over his chest. Tony sitting on the very edge of the couch, hands clasped, head dropped.

You’d been forced deliver some bullshit line about how Hydra was the real hero of the attack in D.C. and how SHIELD was an enemy of the people. You looked like you had taken a fresh beating before that recording and Bucky knew you had tried to resist reading those cue cards, but Hydra has an exceptional way of making even the strongest of wills cave. He was familiar with it himself and he was thankful you did, if it spared you even an ounce of pain.

Tony was somehow able to get a hold of the third video before it aired and he did everything in his power to keep the news network from releasing it. It was shock value, ratings, just to have your face on their screen, broken and beaten, reciting from cue cards with a voice so raspy Bucky could barely stand hearing it without tears welling behind his eyes. You swayed in the seat as you spoke, barely able to keep yourself upright. This time, Hydra had you talk about their technological advancements, how they were surpassing SHIELD in strategy and resources. Steve was taking notes.

The media started to speculate after that; throwing around commentary aimlessly about whether you were a traitor to the state or if you had been a double agent all this time. They had debates about if resources should be spent to find you at all, given the state of your appearance and the apparent ‘obvious’ fact that you’d given Hydra information on US defense programs. Bucky had nearly thrown an entire chair at the TV when he heard that. Even daytime talk shows and late-night hosts were talking about it, giving their two cents as if their opinion mattered.

The fourth video had been the worst. They didn’t bother with cue cards, or with strapping you to a chair. Instead, the entire three minute and forty-six second video was just a man in a black mask beating you. You were too weak, your muscles too deteriorated and brain too foggy to fight back. Blood splattered onto the camera lens when the final hit took you down, knocking you out cold.

Sam nearly lost his mind, calling down to the network himself for them to cut the feed to the damn video, questioning how they could even air something as graphic and violent as that. It always came back to the same answer: ratings.

The man in the mask, the same voice Bucky recognized from the first video, had said that this was a punishment for you as he held your unconscious body up for the camera to see. For what, Bucky didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter. He had gripped the edge of the counter so tight it broke into pieces in his hands.

Forty-five days you’ve been held captive by Hydra by the time the fifth video came in. Forty-five days.

Bucky knew exactly the kinds of horrors you would face. He knew they would beat you and starve you and torture you until you lost your will to live. He didn’t dare let himself imagine you like he had once been; crying and begging, so fucking afraid and cringing from every touch because pain was all he came to know. He didn’t want to imagine you as anything other than the impossibly sweet, bubbly, endearing woman that pulled him from the cold edge of darkness, the woman he came to love.

“This aired while you guys were somewhere over the Atlantic,” Tony said, turning the TV on and setting up the recorded segment. This time, a man sat behind the anchor’s desk, dark brown hair coiffed away from his face and a navy-blue suit. He was scribing with a pen as he spoke, keeping his hands busy.

“--received yet another recorded tape from members of the terrorist group known as Hydra,” the man stated as an image of your face appeared on the screen beside him. It was a still from the previous video, blood covering your face. Bucky cringed.

“This time, the tape had been left at our studio headquarters in Los Angeles. The random drop offs seem to be the culprit's main tactic in evading the police who have attempted to apprehend whoever is behind these recording.”

The anchor sighed. “Please be advised that what you are about to see may be graphic and difficult to watch.”

The warning that always proceeded these videos.

They didn’t have to show this. They didn’t have to put your pain and torture on display for millions to witness, but they did anyway. For what? Ratings? They were feeding into what Hydra wanted. To create fear and distrust amongst the people, to see their hero beaten and broken while the Avengers did nothing to save her.

Bucky felt sick.

The screen switched to the same dark room they usually filmed these videos in and sure enough, there you were, gazing at the camera under heavy lids, purple bruises and features gaunt. Bucky gripped at the edge of the couch as he leaned against it for support, dropping his head for only a second to catch his breath. Steve’s hand rested on his shoulder and Bucky took as much strength as his friend was offering and faced the television again.

You swallowed, eyes glazing over as you struggled to read from the cards. There was a clench in your jaw, a sniffle, and Bucky realized suddenly you were trying to keep yourself from crying. You glanced over at someone behind the camera, pleading, begging, and you closed your eyes shut at whatever his response was. A tear slipped down the side of your face. Defeated. 

Bucky bit down so hard on his cheek he tasted blood.

“Bucky,” you choked out and his stomach plummeted, all eyes in the room turning to him, “they know you’ll-- you’ll be watching this and they have a message for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, hands curling against the arm rest, finger nails long been ripped from you, red angry skin in its place. Licking at your lips you shook your head subtly, so carefully that Bucky almost missed it, like you were trying to send him a sign beyond what your captors would notice. A tear passed over the dried blood caked on your cheek.

“This is—this is because of you.”

Then, your restraints were released and you were being thrown from the chair, body slammed against the wall with such force you let out a pained cried as you struggled to grab onto the arm holding you in place. A tall figure, muscular build, with that same black mask covering his face he wore in every video thus far, wrapped his hand around your neck.

Bucky clenched his hands, arms trembling, helpless, because there was nothing he could do. This had already happened. You’d already been beaten, already uttered his name in that helpless cry, all while he was completely unaware. It was only a recording. He couldn’t save you from what had already happened. 

The man pulled you towards him, only to slam you against the wall again. When your face turned blue, he tossed your body carelessly across the room. You heaved through raspy breaths, desperate to find air and you tried to crawl away. The fear in your eyes was enough to break Bucky in two.

Then, the screen turned black.

“What the hell!” Bucky shouted, rushing towards the television, searching for the power button only to find it did nothing as he pressed it. He whipped around to face Stark. “What did you do!?”

“You don’t need to see that,” Tony replied calmly and Bucky nearly released a feral growl as he attempted to charge at Stark before Steve came up behind him and held him back.

Tony stood his head. “There’s nothing else in that video beside that asshole beating Y/n unconscious. Again. They’re doing it to torture you, Barnes.”

“So, let them!” Bucky shouted, struggling against Steve’s grip. He slammed Steve’s back against the television, though it did nothing to release his grip.

“I’ve seen the whole thing,” Tony snapped, shouting over the struggle between the super soldiers. “It’s ugly and I know for a fact Y/n wouldn’t want you to watch it. Its only purpose is to mess with you, don’t you get that? You saw how hard she was fighting even having to read that damn card! We all know you’d only use it as fuel to punish yourself again and again for her being where she is and I’m sick of it! Y/n would be pissed as hell that you’ve been so willing to jump right back into Winter Soldier mode at the first excuse you got!”

“Watch it, Tony!” Steve warned and Bucky threw himself from Steve’s hold.

To everyone’s surprise, even as Tony activated the extension of his suit on his hand from the pieces in his watch, as Sam and Nat readied themselves for a fight, Bucky remained completely still. Chest panting, hands clenching into painful grips at his side. A lull came over and everyone relaxed. Everyone but Bucky.

“What’s happening to Y/n is not your fault, Barnes,” Tony pressed and Bucky kept his gaze focused on the floorboards. “We all know that you did everything you could to save her that day. But Y/n is strong. Her body may be weak right now but her mind isn’t. She’s strong and she’ll survive this. Just... don’t be a different person when she gets back.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking up to Tony who was disarming the iron man armor on his hand. Tony was never someone Bucky expected to get along with, not after the history they shared, and he was okay with that. So, for Tony Stark, the man who Bucky deprived of his parents, to show him concern, to some him even some level of compassion, was too much.

He turned on his heels and left the room, disregarding his name as it was called.

***

“Let me talk to him.”

Forty-seven days since you’d been taken and Bucky stood outside of the interrogation room in the sub-ground level of the compound. Behind the thick layer of the one-way mirror, Bucky observed the agent he nearly beat to death in the abandoned Hydra base in Germany sitting smugly at the center of the room. The agent that now had an identity after FRIDAY was able to run facial recognition.

His name was Cal Jennings, a mid-level agent with a Hydra security clearance high enough to know more than what he said. Dried blood caked on his upper lip from where Natasha had broken his nose on day one of her interrogation. He wasn’t the same fearful mess he had been when Bucky had his hands on him. It was a front, a ploy, to lure Bucky into killing another one of their agents before they could be interrogated for information.

Jennings sat alone, arms tied behind his back, as he stared at the mirror. If Bucky didn’t know this was a one-way mirror, he would have thought Jennings was looking right at him.

“You know I can’t allow that, Buck,” Steve replied to his request as he turned away from the window to face his friend. “He knows something and--”

“That’s exactly why you need to send me in, Steve,” Bucky countered, growing desperate. “I can get it out of him. You know I can.” Steve hesitated, clearly thinking and Bucky continued, “If he knows anything about where Y/n is... Please, Stevie.”

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping and he gave a slow nod.

Before Steve could change his mind, Bucky pushed his way out the door and into the hallway. The fluorescents were brighter out there, enough that he had to squint to avoid the harsh influx of light to his eyes. A few more steps and he was at the door. Right hand reached out and touched the cold metal of the knob, unclicking the locks until it swung open.

Jennings didn’t so much as turn in Bucky’s direction as he stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Bucky studied Jennings, searching for weaknesses he’d been trained to locate in his Hydra days; fresh wounds to exploit, the slight dip of a bone broken years ago he could re-snap, the flicker of eyes to a vulnerable position. Jennings gave him nothing, kept his stare straight ahead on the mirror, admiring his own reflection, but Hydra had trained Bucky well. He would find something to make Jennings talk. He always did.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Bucky grumbled, pacing around the room in slow, calculated steps, “where is she?”

Jennings chuckled and it made Bucky’s blood boil. “I thought I was... what did you say... ‘useless?’”

“An act,” Bucky spat, circling around the back of Jennings’ chair. “You wanted me to kill you so you wouldn’t have to sit where you are now. You knew what you would face if we brought you in alive and you cowered away.”

Jennings smirked, meeting Bucky’s eye in the mirror. “You think very highly of yourself, Soldat.”

Bucky flinched at the name, a chill sweeping through his spine. Jennings pursed his lips, taking note of the curl of Bucky’s hand at it clenched into a fist.

“Tell me, Soldat,” Jennings taunted, “does your whore know everything about your past with us? Does she know how many you’ve killed? How many civilians have been caught in the crossfire? Does she know how much you enjoyed it?”

He paused, snickering as he glared over at Bucky with a kind of disgust and amusement all mixed in one, eager to watch the former soldier fall apart at the mere mention of your name. Jennings smirked.

“Does your girl know she’s fucking a monster?”

A growl ripped through Bucky’s chest and his left hand was suddenly wrapped around Jennings’ throat. Pressing hard against his vocal cords, Jennings still managed to chuckle through the gasps of air.

It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you like that, that he’d never had the chance to so much as tell you how he felt, let alone show you in such a way. The very idea of this man talking about you like that, the clear picture in his head as his licked his lips even with Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around his neck, drew a burning rage from somewhere dark, deep within Bucky’s chest.

A hand slammed against the one-way mirror from the observation room; Steve’s warning to back off. Bucky released Jennings with a grunt.

Heavy coughs and a snicker under his breath, Jennings only seemed to grin wider at Bucky’s reaction. “Touchy...”

“Where is she?” Bucky demanded, voice low, even, and restraining the rage festering under the surface.

“Who?”

“You know the fuck who, asshole.”

“Oh,” Jennings feigned realization. A short shrug of his shoulders and then, “Agent Y/l/n?”

Bucky took in a breath that was hot in his lungs. He folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing the cold metal of his left forward. Jennings laughed to himself.

“I remember her. Liked the way that stealth suit of hers clung to her ass,” Jennings jeered, shooting Bucky a watchful stare from the reflection of the mirror, waiting for him to break. Bucky clenched his jaw, curling his hands back into fists to keep them off of the man’s face.

“Enough,” Bucky spat. “Where is she?”

"You know, I see why you’re upset, Soldat. You know exactly what we will do to her because you’ve experienced it yourself,” Jennings said, too calmly, too arrogantly to stir up anything but a paralyzing dread in Bucky’s stomach. “You know that we’ll ruin her. You know we’ll rip her apart from the inside out. We’ll break her down so she becomes something so unrecognizable you’d wish we had killed her!”

Jennings yanked on his bindings, almost feral, and Bucky suddenly couldn’t move.

“She’s been beaten and tortured and mutilated just like you were!” Jennings continued with a malice in his voice Bucky had only heard in his decades under Hydra’s hold. “You won’t find her in time. You won’t save her. She’ll die in that cell the way you were supposed to! You’re never going to see her again!”

It was too much, the blood boiling in his veins, the pulsing in his head blinding his vision, and Bucky could hardly feel the ground beneath his feet. Jennings watched him from the mirror as Bucky stood in the back corner of the room, eyes on the floor, struggling to get ahold of himself and Jennings began to laugh, a sick kind of sound that only seemed to worsen the trembling in his hands.

“Tell me where she is!” Bucky yelled out, punching his fist against the wall enough to break off fragments of the concrete wall behind his knuckles. Jennings shrugged, unaffected.

“Why would I do that?” he sneered, a vicious grin curling up his thin lips. “It’s so fun to see the infamous Winter Soldier, the man who has killed presidents and taken out entire governments single handedly, reduced to a lovesick, pathetic little man over some cheap, worthless whor--”

Bucky’s fist collided with the side Jennings’ face, enough for blood to splatter from the sick curve of his grin to the pavement below. But he didn’t let up. No, he swung again, this time with the hard metal of his left fist and Jennings’ chair, bolted to the ground, lifted from the hinges and crashed to the floor on its side. Bucky couldn’t hear Steve as he pounded on the glass, warning him, not as he threw punch after punch into Jennings’ side, his face, his gut, as he grabbed a hold of Jennings’ leg and twisted until something popped and Jennings let out a scream.

Steve and Sam barreled into the room, arms snaking around Bucky to hull him off, blood dripping off of his knuckles as he shook Sam off easily, shoving Steve back against the mirror causing it to crack. Bucky charged back to the ground, grabbing a firm grip of Jennings’ collar, forcing him to meet his eye, even under layers of blood on his face and the swelling already forming over his features.

“I won’t ask again!” Bucky roared, fist held high, ready to strike, “Where is she?!”

Steve and Sam froze behind Bucky as Jennings began to snicker, blood sleeping out from behind his lips, pooling over his chin. He spat a thick glob of it to the floor, teeth red as he jeered up at Bucky.

“You will never find her, Soldat,” Jennings slurred through the blood pooled in his mouth. “Your final punishment is what we will do to her and she will never be the same.”

Bucky dropped his grip, stumbling back and Jennings collapsed to the ground. Sam rushed forward, hulling Jennings’ chair back on its legs and pressed his fingers to Jennings’ pulse. A sigh of relief as he looked back at Steve, a nod, and Bucky nearly fell to the ground. Steve’s strong arms snaked under Bucky’s and yanked him to his feet before his knees could buckle under him.

“You got this?” Steve asked Sam, nodding at Jennings whose chin was draped to his chest, knocked out cold.

“Yeah I can handle this piece of shit,” Sam grumbled back, resting his hands on his hips. He glanced back at Buck as he hung in Steve’s grip. “Get him out of here.”

Bucky allowed Steve to assist him out of the room, just long enough to regain strength in his legs, and he waved him off carefully, giving him an appreciative nod. Steve didn’t say anything, but he walked Bucky the entire way to the elevator. For good reason, Bucky assumed. He would have tried to sneak back into the interrogation room for another shot at Jennings if he thought Steve wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“You’re not thinking straight, Buck,” Steve said as they approached the elevator. He pressed the single button and it illuminated under his touch.

“Never really could without her,” Bucky shrugged.

“That’s not true. You’ve done so well and, sure, Y/n has been a huge help in your recovery and you’ve only gotten better since you guys have been, um... close,” Steve said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head, “but, you can still be you without her. You’re strong enough for that.”

“What if I don’t want to be?” Bucky sighed dejectedly.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, though Bucky didn’t move. He stared at the small scratches on the metal shine of the wall, tiny imperfections. An ache sat and festered in Bucky’s chest, like a boulder holding weight on his lungs, only able to alleviate when you were beside him.

“Please, don’t say that,” Steve exhaled sadly. “We all know what she means to you and I know this is killing you but... you’ll survive this, Buck. We’ll bring her home, you hear me?”

“It’s just, I...” Bucky let out a heavy breath, turning to his oldest friend as his clenched his jaw, trying to stop the lump building in his throat, “I love her, Steve, and... and I’m-- I’m afraid it’s the reason they’re doing this to her.”

The doors began to close and Steve stuck his hand out to hold them against the frame. Bucky stepped inside, pressing his lips into a thin line. It was the most he could manage. Steve only stared at him, trying to find the right words to say even if there were none. The doors tried to close again but Steve kept them open.

“We’ll bring her home, Buck,” he said again, though the hesitancy in his voice betrayed him.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the ground. He wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore. 

The doors rang out and attempted to close a third time and Steve let his hand fall away, stepping back into the hall. There was nothing left to say.

***

Bucky didn’t know how he ended up at the door to your room, but there he was. It was quiet on the floor. With Steve and Sam still in the sub-level interrogating Jennings and Natasha spending most of her time training, the private quarters were largely unoccupied. You shared a floor with Bucky, Sam, and Wanda, though Wanda has been off in Wakanda for the last few months working with Shuri and Vision on controlling her abilities.

Bucky wondered if Stark had assigned him to this floor on purpose, with his room just a few feet away from yours. He could have thrown Bucky into a floor all his own, secluded, away from everyone else, just because he could, as some frankly reasonable punishment for what he did to Stark’s parents, though, he must have figured Bucky would have preferred that. And yet, being so close to you, running into you every morning felt almost like fate.

Slowly, he twisted the knob to your door, cool under his touch, and stepped inside. The window was open, curtains flowing softly with the breeze as it swept through the room. Chills ran up Bucky’s spine and he crossed the room to close the window. As he turned around, he spotted your workout clothes from that morning still tossed over the edge of your bed, sneakers kicked off by the bathroom, and the hanger your stealth suit lying on the floor by the door.

It was untouched, like you were never gone, like it hadn’t been forty-seven days since he last saw you.

Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat, glancing down at his right hand as he sat on the edge of your bed. His knuckles were covered in blood, red angry marks and broken skin upon his fist.

He closed his eyes and tried to bring himself back to the first time you had helped clean the wounds on his skin. Dr. Cho was busy tending to Steve’s injuries, with Sam closely next in line, and Bucky only had superficial cuts, ones he insisted would heal overnight, but you wouldn’t accept that.

You dragged him up to your room, demanded he sit on your bed, and you grabbed the first aid kit from your nightstand. He couldn’t quite tell if you were angry or just determined with that thin little crease forming on your forehead as you worked bringing a twist to his stomach. You didn’t say a word as you disinfected the open wounds on his hand or when he hissed at the alcohol on his skin. You didn’t warn him to be careful next time because you knew it would happen again. It was his job, after all.

Soft, careful touches as you wrapped his hand in gauze, offering him a sweet smile as you told him he was good as new like you actually believed that. It was one of the memories he held onto tightest. Just the ease with which you touched him, like he wasn’t made of broken fragments, like he was something whole. It was the first time he considered that you might be right.

Bucky stood and rounded the corner of your bed, pulling out the drawer of your nightstand. Sitting on top, just as he remembered, was the first aid kit. He pulled it from the drawer and set it on the bed, popping open the lid and grabbing the supplies he would need. He did his best to clean the mess on his hand, all the while knowing that you’d have done a better job because you always handled him with the kind of care he never gave himself.

After his hand was wrapped and the sting of the alcohol was fresh on his skin, he moved to set the kit back into the drawer when something caught his attention.

Carefully, he slipped his left hand into the drawer and pulled out a single polaroid. It took him a moment to recognize where it was from, but the moment he did, the memory came flooding back.

-

Bucky always liked running; the feel of the air sweeping through his hair, the burn in his lungs, the sore ache of his legs. It let him focus on something other than the thoughts rummaging in his mind. It gave him an opportunity to just... be.

You were on his left, a slight pant in your breath, and Bucky was cautious to take note of when it sounded like you were struggling to hold the pace for his sake and he’d slow down enough that you wouldn’t notice and your breaths came in a little easier. Then, he’d speed up when he thought you were ready again.

Seven miles around the property; the path twisting through the back field where the recruits did their field training, behind the lake, and through a section of the forest which helped to seclude the compound. It was a beautiful view, if Bucky was being honest. Upstate New York in the fall just as the leaves were turning colors, some crunching under his sneakers as he ran. The air was crisp in his lungs, cool on his skin.

It had been a while since he felt so relaxed. You had a habit of bringing that out in him. It had become part of his routine, getting up in the morning and throwing on shorts and a crew neck, tying his sneakers at the kitchen table as he waited for you to emerge from your room; that genuine look of surprise that always seemed to morph into something like relief as you spotted him.

Even after he warmed up a little, letting himself find his voice around you and reluctantly agreeing to follow you into the middle of Brooklyn, he still found himself incredibly nervous. It was foreign for him to feel such a way, like a heat could form in his cheeks if you asked him the right question and the sweat that lined in his right hand as you stood close to him without thinking much of it.

You were starting to breath too hard beside him, face burning red and sweat dripping down from your hairline, and Bucky slowly pulled to a stop. There was only a half mile back to the main building from here, and he figured you could use a cool down to stretch your muscles anyway.

You paused, leaning over and resting your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You stole a quick glance up at Bucky, who was only watching you carefully. His heartrate was hardly elevated, hair dry and hanging by his shoulders, breaths even.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?” you teased with a growing smile, wiping your forearm across your hairline and shaking the excess sweat out into the grass. “Why even bother coming on these runs with me if they clearly do nothing for you?”

“I never said they did nothing for me,” Bucky replied softly, eyes squinting from the sun as he looked back up at the compound.

These runs may not challenge him physically, but they still had purpose. It got him out of his room and dressed in the morning. It got him using his body again for something other than destruction and survival. It got him pumping the blood back into his veins and out into the fresh air, something Steve had been trying to accomplish with him unsuccessfully in the month before he met you. It got him more time with you.

These runs were something Bucky looked forward to. It had been a while since he had something like that.

You narrowed your eyes on him, a purse of your lips as you studied him for a tell you wouldn’t find. A short laugh as you shook your head and exhaled, “ok fine! Run at a mortal's pace then, super soldier.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath as you started to walk back along the path, watching as you shot him a teasing smirk over your shoulder and he jogged a few paces to catch up to you. He always felt better by your side, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

It was a slow walk up to the back entrance, with you stretching your arms behind you until they cracked, pulling a wince out of Bucky you found to be rather hilarious. You complained about your sore muscles and teased Bucky about his unfair advantage, all while tossing him those smiles that made his stomach weak.

He pushed a few steps ahead to grab the door for you as you walked back inside, giving him a casual salute as you passed by, causing him to chuckle softly.

“So, what are your plans this morning?” you asked off-handedly, like you genuinely believed he might have something on his schedule other than secluding himself to his room. You grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and tossed one to him over the counter. He caught it easily in his left hand.

“Super busy,” Bucky shrugged as he twisted off the cap. “Thought I’d head back into the city and walk around for a while. Maybe see if Sam wanted to meet me at one of those coffee joints with cats hanging around and buy a novelty shirt from Times Square.”

“Wow, Buck, that’s--” you started, a little taken back and surprised at his answer. Though, when Bucky tried to suppress a laugh as he took a swig from the water bottle, you pouted, putting your hands on your hips. “You’re not going to the city.”

“No, I’m not,” Bucky confirmed with a slight shake in his head. “I’m a little shocked you thought I’d go anywhere with birdbrain, let alone back into the city.”

“Oh, it’s not entirely unrealistic! You had a good time when we went to Brooklyn last month, didn’t you?”

Bucky nodded, “yeah, but I was with you, wasn’t I? Different situation entirely.”

“Is it?” you asked curiously, the teasing nature absent from your voice and Bucky realized the implications of what he said. You were watching him too carefully, with a hopefulness behind your eyes that caught Bucky entirely off guard.

“Oh, well, I meant that, um,” Bucky stumbled over his words, his throat suddenly feeling dry, “I just... I don’t know... I’m more comfortable around you. I guess.”

Your lips slowly curved into the widest smile Bucky had ever seen, which was a feat within itself knowing you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, think so,” Bucky replied with a nervous laugh and you punched the air like you had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. The anxiety faded away as he watched you grin at him, like you had been hoping for this all along. He let himself laugh.

“Good! Well that means you’re free then,” you quipped, rushing from behind the counter and grabbing a hold of the wrist on his left hand, like it wasn’t made of metal, like it wasn’t something lethal, and tugged him towards your room. “Come on! I’ve got something I wanna show you.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile pressing up on his cheeks as he followed you down the hall, your delicate fingers still wrapped around metal. He found himself fixated on it, so perplexed how you could touch this piece of him so casually, like it wasn’t something to fear, something to be disgusted by.

You pushed open the door to your room and shoved him teasingly to sit on the flood at the end of your bed. He watched as you raced around the room, grabbing a few books off the shelves and your laptop from the desk. You took a seat next to him, folding your legs under you and your shoulder brushed his.

“Prepare to get educated, Barnes.”

You showed him a few of the books he recognized from the trip to Brooklyn, ones you purchased after you had insisted he catch up on what he had missed. After careful consideration, you placed two of the five books on his lap, explaining the synopses and instructed him to pick one. He had just finished To Kill a Mockingbird, his first choice on the list you gave him. Of the two you laid out for him, he chose Fahrenheit 451. You, of course, got a kick out of that because it was Steve’s favorite on the list you had provided when you first met him as well.

Bucky couldn’t help the pang of jealousy at the thought of anyone else sharing these kinds of moments with you, curled up one the floor by your bed, rustling through old books, as you typed away on your laptop. Though, with the way you were stealing glances at him every few minutes, lip caught between your teeth as you typed away, it was easy to forget about anything but you and this moment.  

"What are you doing?” Bucky asked as he glanced over the back cover of the book, flipping through the worn pages.

“Making you a playlist,” you replied, eyes still glued to your screen as you clicked and dragged songs over into a folder on the left side. “Your education doesn’t stop with books, Bucky! I’ve got a whole plan here. Music. Movies. Television. Food. Theater. Tourist traps.”

“Of course,” Bucky laughed, the very idea of spending more time with you like this making his stomach pleasantly weak. You grinned back at him and set the laptop in the space between you, clicking play on the first song of the playlist. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re done already?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” you shrugged and Bucky’s lips curved up into a smile, wondering when you had decided to put the first song on the list and what moments made you think of him, what melodies or lyrics reminded you of him enough to put them together in a playlist. You shoved his shoulder, pointing to the laptop. “Listen!”

Bucky pressed his lips together, nodding as he stilled himself. The soft strum of the guitar filled the room, accompanied by what sounded like an old grainy texture he’d find on tracks from his time, only this sounded more like waves coming in along a beach. Then, a man’s voice came through the static and the acoustic strumming, soft, comforting, joined by the delicate pulsing rhythm of a tambourine.

‘Been traveling these wide roads for so long.

My heart’s been far from you

Ten-thousand miles gone’

Bucky sat back against the frame of your bed, letting the soft tones of the music relax in his muscles and carry away the thoughts in his head. He listened as the harmonies sang over the chorus, the familiar sound, the new sound, the somewhere in between, until it eventually slowed and a woman’s voice came through, lulling Bucky into a calm he could only drop his guard to find next to you.

The voices began to fade and tambourine chimed one last time, and you reached out and pressed pause before the next song could play, carefully looking to him for his reaction. Bucky didn’t know how you had come to learn him so well in the few months since he met you, how you had managed to get him to open up, even if in small careful steps, how you could possibly find a song that reminded him so much of his youth but ushered in a new era at the same time.

It was perfect. It was his new favorite song. He wanted to hear it twenty times over as long as you’d sit next to him.

“Do you like it?” you asked nervously, glancing back at the screen. “There’s others, too. I just thought, maybe you’d--”

“Play again, will ya?” Bucky interjected, smiling at you softly, enough for you to return it eagerly as a relief relaxed over your features. You nodded and restarted the song. The strum of the guitar filled the room again.

Bucky didn’t even notice you pull a camera from under your bed as he listened to the calming melodies of the song. You scooted an inch or so closer to him, enough that your hip touched his and Bucky sucked in a careful breath. You held the camera out at the end of your arm, lens facing you.

“Smile, Buck,” you requested, nodding to the camera when he shot you a confused look.

Bucky watched as you turned back to the camera, smiling as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t imagine how easily it was for you to be so close to him, to want to be, after all that he’d done. You treated him with a kindness he never thought he’d see again. He decided he’d do just about anything you asked of him.

So, he took a deep breath, turning to the lens and allowing the smallest of smiles to curve on the edges of his lips, his head tilting until it rested on the crown of your head, soft waves under the subtle of his jaw.

The flash clicked and a square film printed out from the bottom of the camera. You pulled it out carefully and blew it on delicately. It was dark and Bucky could hardly tell if he was even in the image or not.

“It’ll develop, don’t worry,” you said with a wink. “In the meantime, I’ve got more songs for you. Get ready to be blown away.”

Bucky chuckled, settling in for the rest of the day if you wanted, resting his back on your bed and playing with the fibers of the carpet under his palm. Your thigh was still pressed up to his and you made no effort to move away. Bucky found he didn’t mind at all.

-

Three years later and you kept it all this time.

Bucky held the polaroid in his hand, gripped so tightly between his fingers it startled to crinkle in the corner. The curve of your smile, the lines by your eyes as you grinned for the camera, curling up against him. An innocence in his own eyes he hardly even recognized.

You changed him, pulled him from the darkness, helped him find his own footing to step into the light.

Bucky pressed the photo to his chest, tears welling in his eyes as a lump choked in the back of his throat. He didn't know if he could survive without you, without his light.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.

-------

If you didn’t notice up at the top, I’ve made an official playlist for this series! It has the one in the memory, some songs that will pop up later, plus just some stuff that inspired me as I wrote and songs that just complete the vibe of this fic. Check it out if you’re interested! 💕I am also working on one for The Witness and an upcoming mini series 🌸

feedback is always appreciated! 💖

tags 👟@sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13

[stokingthemidnightflame]

Xanthorrhoeas: Fire and Flame (1/6)

(AO3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173700/chapters/61005721#main)

So I did a thing...wrote a fic. I hope you like it! 

Xanthorrhoeas

It’s a little known fact that lingering in the ashes of fire, the beautiful Xanthorrhoeas can spring up again.

Six years after a nasty breakup, Nesta Jia Archeron and Cassian Ramirez still can’t seem to get away from each other.

As Nesta seeks to make sure that life-saving healthcare ends up in the right hands, and far away from Hybern’s hands, she begins to attract threat after threat. Underneath carefully curated pearls, stilettos and tweed jackets, Nesta’s a viper waiting to strike. But she’s fresh out of law school, and the Archeron sisters are wading into dangerously flammable territory.

Where flame appears, heat follows close behind.

Cassian Ramirez is ex-Marine. After two tours, a breakup, and one honourable discharge, Ramirez Securities is a leading digital and personal security company. Nesta has always been his kryptonite; and when he gets the call, there’s no question - he’s always going to have her back. Semper fidelis. Always faithful.

And maybe, just maybe, something else will bloom too.

----

Chapter 1: Fire and Flame

She wanted to be here about as much as Rhysand seemed to want Keir to be here. His arm was curled protectively around Feyre, both dressed to the nines as they greeted each guest with smiles and hugs. The gala was yet another one of Rhysand’s obligations as the CEO of the massive technology conglomerate, Velaris. There were perks to being a thirty something heir of a recently deemed Fortune 500 company: thousands of employees, a healthy salary and almost anything money could buy, but it did not preclude Rhys from having to deal with pompous old white men and their entitled children. Tomas being one of them. Nesta didn’t want to think about her ex, who she saw with two women wrapped around him in a corner.

Unfortunately, she was about two seconds away from pouring her virgin margarita on his smarmy face. He grinned as he saw Nesta and gave an arrogant half-wave, half-beckon, still ensconced by the two blondes, each wearing a tiny scrap of a dress. She ignored him resolutely.

That fucking asshole. Two years, and all she had for it was a shitload of trauma and therapy - six months and still counting.

“Nesta, there you are.” Helion, smoothly said as he finally arrived, wrapping a soft, manicured hand around her elbow. In the nick of time too, as Nesta’s fingers tightened around the half-empty margarita glass.

“You’re late,” she replied stubbornly, trying to be offended by Helion’s charming smile and dazzling beauty. Her date for the night, Helion looked like he had stepped fresh off the runway in a black, double-breasted satin tuxedo. Fuck. She needed to get laid. It had been months since Hybern Co. had started a massive patents war with Velaris, and Feyre had asked her for help. She had never been able to refuse Feyre, which was how she had ended up working the case with a bunch of overqualified associates with half a brain between them. And how she ended up with exactly no time for herself.

Harvard grads were not all they were cracked up to be.

“My apologies. I only just came from a meeting, darling,” he responded smoothly as he continued to guide her gently across the room. They moved further away from Tomas and his oh-so-punchable face. With a start, she realised that he had guided her all the way to the middle of the dance floor. Screw Helion and his charm.

“May I have this dance?” A voice came from behind her. Startled, Nesta whirled around and came face-to-face with Cassian Ramirez. Formerly known as fiancé. But that was a long time ago, Nesta.

She arched a single brow, nodding to Helion as he let go of her hand.

As Cassian offered an open hand, she composed herself, trying not to think about how handsome Cassian looked in his slick burgundy suit. She was a sucker for a good suit, and his hair was tied back, making his dark brown honey eyes all the more prominent. It didn’t help that he had worn that exact suit on their second date. It had been so long, but she could still remember him in exacting detail.

Nesta hasn’t laid eyes on Cassian Ramirez for at least a year and a half. Not since Tomas started getting violent. And even before then, they were on tenuous terms. Things had never been the same after she had stormed out of their apartment six years ago, her heart savagely ripped out and stepped upon. Nothing good ever came after that. It was all tortured glances from the other side of galas, avoiding bubbly messages from Feyre and Elain and Rhysand and Azriel to go out with them! and the unending ellipsis of unsent texts. Over and over again.

“She’s all yours,” Helion said, quirking his eyebrows. Nesta reflexively pinched Helion, and he winced before hurrying away. Cassian in the meantime, was gazing into her eyes, She could feel her hands start to sweat under his intense gaze, and as she tried to wipe her hands discretely on the thorned roses stitched into her stiff silk dress, Cassian offered a hand that Nesta took.

“I uh - ” as he stood in front of her, he suddenly seemed lost for words. Cassian's hand was warm and calloused and still perfect for her. Once, these caresses had been as natural and fluid as breathing. Even with the rift that stood between them, it still felt so right.

She smiled serenely and ignored Cassian’s fumble, patently aware of Tomas in the corner. “We should probably dance.” The words hover in the air, an olive branch that she wonders if Cassian really deserves. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. They can’t make a scene tonight.

And if she’s telling the truth, she doesn’t want to either. After Tomas...Nesta craves the kind of blissful innocence she had with Cassian. Lingering kisses and slow mornings, late nights with coffee and curled up with each other.

“Uh-yes.” Cassian blushed, his olive skin flushing a cardinal as bright as her dress. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” He grasped the olive branch, as Nesta slid into his arms, his hand drifting to a respectable, brotherly place on her waist as he guided her into a delicate spin. Her skin was as delicate as ever, and her as her hair grazed his hand, he shivered.

“Good.” The overture is gone as fast as it came. Her tone is brisk and terse, an end to the conversation. Why did he have to ask that of all questions? Unbidden, her eyes fall upon Tomas again, and she felt her lips purse tightly.

Cassian, perceptive as ever, gracefully glances over, his eyes darkening as they landed on the arrogant lawyer in the corner.

“Yes, I heard that you got together with Mandray,” he said tightly.

Nesta’s fiery gaze slid back to him, as she hissed, “That’s none of your business. Why are you here anyway? Last I heard, you had left for San Francisco.” You were the one that left me. Again and again and again. The thought bubbled up, and Nesta squashed it, willing her tone to remain firm and steady.

He grimaced but didn't fall for Nesta's bait. “You know why I’m back.” His jaw was clenched tight, his gaze firmly upon her as they kept on dancing. Nesta forced yet another smile with gritted teeth.

“Fuck Azriel. That’s not his right and he goddamn knows it!”

“Hybern is dangerous. Don’t be stubborn. You know better than that.” Impassive and cold, his words ignite a fury in Nesta.

“Stubborn? You have the nerve to call me stubborn? After that stunt you pulled-”

His brows furrowed in pain and she felt the urge to dig her nails into the pad of her palm. Anything to stop herself from apologizing for the gaping wound she had re-opened with half a sentence but before she could say something he cleared his throat and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was - a poor choice of words on my part.”

Nesta scoffed, her fury blanketed again. She didn’t say a word.

“We really do have to get you a security detail,” he pressed instead.

“You mean you.” She accused. He doesn’t object. Azriel would never have just asked anybody to protect Nesta.

“I don’t need a security detail. I’m fine. I know how to kick somebody in the balls,” she said emphatically, trying to resist the urge to rip Cassian a new one. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Not really. Not the way he hurt her. “And if Hybern comes after me in any other way, I will systematically destroy them.”

“As delightfully painful and visceral that sounds, some things require a more delicate touch.” he said, suddenly smirking in a false bravado that Nesta sees right through. “Hybern will be after you in more ways than one. I can help with that. Or have you forgotten my degree in-”

“Cybersecurity and computer science. I remember. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. Elain and Feyre need it more than me.” Her voice is brusque and words to the point. I don’t need this. And even if I did...you would be the last person I ever asked.

His only response was a growl. The smirk disappeared as fast as it came.

“You know as well as I do that Feyre and Elain both have martial arts training. You were the only one who never wanted to learn. Which is fine, but they can protect themselves physically. Unless if you suddenly earned a black belt in the past two years, that kick in the balls and viper mouth won’t keep them down.

“Please, sweetheart,” she hears him beg. Was that anguish in his voice? The nickname dropped so naturally from his lips, but as soon as he says it she flinched, seizing up. You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you? A pretty little thing... The memory comes back so swiftly that she almost reels. Cassian lifted his hands from her immediately, his eyes questioning.

She pursed her lips firmly. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian bowed his head and Nesta sees a glimpse of torment, can just barely hear him curse himself as he bites down on his lip. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” It's not why you think. It's much worse.

They dance along to three more songs, before Nesta announced she was tired. She had made her presence known, and ensured that Tomas knew she was in peak ability for their impeding legal battle. Meeting Cassian had not been part of the plan. It left her with the kind of bone-deep weariness that she hasn’t felt since pulling three all-nighters in a row as a law intern.

“Let me drive you home. You still haven’t bought a car, right?” he offered. There was no denying that. Nesta had never seen the need for a car in New York, but she scowled anyway as she disparagingly asked him if he was drunk.

“Not a drop,” he promised. When they had been together, they had rarely drank. Part of Nesta had always wondered if he had reverted back to his pre-Nesta college days of drinking after their less-than-ideal breakup. She glanced over at Feyre and Rhysand who were still dancing together happily, nodding a goodbye, before waving to Azriel and Elain. All of them...in their lover’s cuddles. A wave of jealousy washed over her before she clamped it down, breathing out quickly.

“Fine. You remember where I live, right?” She asked, letting him drape her matching red coat over her shoulders. Watching Cassian’s hands linger on the ruby red coat before he helped her into it almost made her regret wearing it.

Red had always been their thing.

---

How could he forget her home? The brownstone, with its first and second floors decked out in rich brocade and tapestry, hardwood floors for visitors. But then, her third and fourth floors; soft modern furnishings. Carpet so thick that his feet sunk into it. A walk-in closet, wholly converted into a sunken lounging area, snug and cosy surrounded by her favourite novels. Late nights with Nesta curled into him as he read romance novels to her or they watched some trashy flick.

His tongue suddenly felt swollen. He couldn’t breath for a moment. Instead, he nodded, opening the passenger door for her as the valet pulled his car up.

He had to get a grip on himself.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, looking over to check on Nesta. As he does, his eyes fall onto her monogrammed leather clutch.

NJA.

“So you’re Azriel's girl with the fancy monogrammed bracelet,” Cassian says. He dangles the golden chain with its delicate monogrammed heart in front of her, but frowns when he spots the faint tan line on her writs. Immediately, he feels like an ass for playing around with something clearly so sentimental to the girl.  

Nesta’s eyes look up as he slides over her gold bracelet. “I'm not Azriel's girl." As she glances over at him properly, she glares and adds, "And you’re the trust fund baby. Not sure why you’re talking,” she hits back. She grabs the bracelet and clasps it on immediately. No thank you. She had left it behind in the apartment Azriel and Cassian had shared, and Cassian had taken it upon himself to bring it back to her.

Cassian snorts. “Clearly. As if wearing a monogrammed 24-carat gold bracelet isn't a sign of being a trust fund kid."

Nesta pushes up her glasses, puckers her lips and says primly, “I, unlike you, actually pay for my own things."

Cassian shrugs and then foolhardily remarks, "Not if I take you to dinner." He smirks, the kind of panty-dropping grin that has worked so effectively in the past.

"In your dreams, asshole."

Three months later, he knew he was in love with her. She was it for him. He graduated college, while she continued law school. Cassian had moved into her brownstone, bequeathed by her mother. He had promised to never hurt her, that he would always be there for her.

But somewhere along the line, he had fucked it up. Sent her running to Tomas. His hand clenched, fingers digging into his palm, sending a dull pain through his body. It’s her life. He doesn’t get a say. And he knows, knows that he would never impede upon her choices. But he feels a lot.

“Cassian?” Nesta’s confused voice cut through and he ripped his gaze from the purse.

“Sorry. Let’s get going.” His voice is short. Terse. But Nesta doesn’t question it, instead settling into the leather seat and sighing, her eyes fluttering shut.

He remembered how social events always drained her. She loved dressing up but hated talking to everyone. It exhausted her, having to put on that facade of unthreatening politeness, when she was really a viper. A viper in pearls and stilettos, ball gowns and dripping in diamonds, but a viper nonetheless.

As he pulled up, he realised with a start that Nesta had fallen asleep. Her loose, dark hair was strewn across her shoulders, and Cassian wants more than anything to tuck it behind her ear. To do anything so that the way her forehead was creased, even in sleep, softened and-

“Nesta,” he said abruptly instead. He can’t keep fantasising. It’s not fair for her, not when it’s his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault. When he sees her, all he can see is his mistakes, again and again and again.

Her face reddened as she fumbles with her clutch. “Let me check everything’s okay, alright?” He reassured her.

Nesta nods without a fight, still tired. She passed him her keys without a fuss, following him as they walk up the stairs to the brownstone.

As soon as he unlocked the front door, he noticed the heavy, musk scent. It’s so out of place with the light, lavender and floral scents that Nesta has always favoured. But maybe something changed after you left. It wasn’t until he nearly tripped over the box right behind her door that he realised something was very, very wrong. As he inhaled, he tried to keep his stomach from lurching.

“Nesta, I want you to stay calm, okay?” he said carefully, pulling out his gun. Her eyes widened, her hand trembling as she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Liar. Liar. Liar. It thrummed in his head, making it hard to concentrate. “Just call Azriel, okay? Tell him to bring the Level 1 team. And hurry.” She nodded, pulling out her phone and dialling. As she started talking, he glanced back at the box.

Inside the cardboard box, was a decapitated snake nestled amongst red roses. The same cardinal as Nesta’s dress. It doesn’t take a genius to realise the death threat. Not when he was pretty certain the snake was a viper. The stench wasn’t just from the dead snake, he realised.

The roses had been dipped in blood.

Cassian took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hand. Focus. Nesta needs you.

Because Nesta’s never been one to listen to Cassian, she had, unbeknownst to him, walked over and looked over his shoulder. He only realised when he heard her gasp in fear, hand reaching up to her throat as if she was being choked.

Immediately, Cassian turned around, holding her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he promised. “I’ve got you. Do you still have the go bag we made?” He remembers teaching her how to be safe in the old, cavernous brownstone. He had bought her the grey cargo bag two weeks after they started dating. He had probably come on a little strong, but at the time, he didn’t care.

Nesta clutched onto his shirt, but he felt her nod against him. Selfishly, a part of him feels gratified that she still feels some measure of comfort in him. The rest of him hates himself for even thinking that at this moment. “Okay. Once Azriel and my team gets here, we’ll get the bag and you’ll spend the night at my place. Is that okay?”

She let out a sob, and Cassian tightened his grip on her. After what seemed like an eternity, Azriel pulled up, his face drawn and tight. Azriel and Nesta had been friends for longer than even Cassian had known Azriel. They were twin souls of fire and ice, with a deep understanding of each other.

Cassian nodded to Azriel, his eyes a silent order to him. Azriel inclined his head ever so slightly, and Cassian returned his focus to Nesta. “Azriel’s going to get your bag. Then we’re going to get out of here.”

There was a single nod from Nesta as they walked towards the minivan, Rowan sliding open the door for them. Two minutes later, Azriel returned with the grey duffel bag that made Cassian’s heart clench. It hurt more than he could say that Nesta had kept the bag. But it lit a new fire in him too.

Nesta had regained her poise, sitting ramrod straight on the bench, seatbelt clicked into place. As Cassian and Azriel took seats on either side of her, she didn’t say a word. But her hands were clenched so tight, her knuckles were white and her skin was blanched.

“We’ve got you,” Cassian said quietly as he looked at Azriel over Nesta. Azriel’s face was easy to read: Don’t fuck this up. You better not make me regret my decision to call you.

As Rowan drove, the only thing Cassian could think was she’s in danger again. I have to protect her.

I swear, I won’t fail you ever again Nesta.

I swear it on my life.