#delilah // she thought she could bridge the gap

[quietblueriver]

A little Imodna fic re: Imogen’s trip through Ruidus and Laudna’s reaction to it. Angst and fluff and comfort bc they deserve it.

When the dream is over, Imogen has feelings about her trip through Ruidus, about what she wants and whether she’s wanted.

After the others leave, she and Laudna get some time to talk about it.

-

It’s quiet in their room.

Imogen’s curled toward the edge of the mattress, knees tucked up just slightly, the thick comforter keeping her almost too warm. Normally, she’d turn to Laudna, press close so that the cool of her body balanced out the heat of their bed. Tonight, she doesn’t.

She knows Laudna is awake, can hear the push and pull of thread through her latest project, feels the light touch of fingers on her shoulder every few minutes, gentle enough that they wouldn’t wake Imogen if she were sleeping. She’s not sure if Laudna thinks she is sleeping or if she’s letting Imogen pretend. Which is another way of saying Laudna’s either not paying enough attention to notice that Imogen is awake and caught in her thoughts or she doesn’t feel the need to check in. Either way, and despite herself, Imogen feels it like a slight.

A feeling that causes the weight of shame and an ever-lurking sense of failure to rise up and make the heat almost unbearable. She worms a foot out as quietly as she can, ears hyper-aware of the rustle of fabric she can’t stop.

Laudna’s sewing continues uninterrupted. Imogen’s chest grows somehow more full with her feelings and all the words she’s biting back.

Even now.

Even after their trials with Nana Morri, after all that angsting over honesty and communication and trust, Imogen is quiet.

There are options. She’d known that before they’d been thrown into a pit and attacked by murder wasps and tricked into doubt. There have always been options.

She could turn over. She could reach out her hand and grasp Laudna’s wrist and let Laudna see her eyes. She could ask Laudna to talk to her, could tell her about the thoughts circling and circling through her mind, the ones that have been there since that night in the basement with Delilah.

She doesn’t. She’s tired. And she feels, if she’s honest with herself (and maybe that was the exercise they all needed first, because Imogen’s fairly certain she’s not the only one of the Hells who has difficulty living in her own truths sometimes), like she has been the one bridging the gap, or trying to, without any indication that it’s welcome. Like her honesty and vulnerability have recently been met with hesitancy and hedging and eyes toward a future very different from the one that Imogen had thought they both wanted.

The doubt, an old friend, had begun growing louder in that basement with Delilah and had reached its peak tonight.

The question about giving in to Ruidus was genuine. They’d talked about it before and put it to the side, but now that they’re closer, now that they’re getting ready to really go and do this, it felt important to raise again. She wanted their opinions, because they’d just watched what happened if one of them decided to make a choice like that in isolation, and it wasn’t good.

She wanted to know what they thought, wanted to be as smart about it as she could be.

If you’d asked her, though, even the moment before the question left her lips, whether Laudna needed to be there for that conversation, she would have said no.

Because she knew Laudna’s answer. She saw Laudna’s face furrowing in reaction to her offering her soul on the Crimson Abyss, heard Laudna’s violent threats of protection on her behalf, felt the cold of her form of dread spread and snarling over her as they fought. She knew Laudna’s answer, and it was, “No.”

This was a given, because she loved Imogen more than she loved anything, and because even if Imogen wasn’t trying to be unnecessarily self-sacrificial, there was no denying that giving in could be dangerous.

Except it hadn’t been no. It hadn’t been no, and then, when she’d come back to herself, come back to the cold, exhausting world after feeling so warm, so whole in the heart of Ruidus, and told them just a sliver of it, it still hadn’t been no.

It had been, “If it’s what you want.” It had been, “I don’t want to hold you back.”

And Imogen knows that Laudna loves her. She knows, because Laudna shows her, has shown her, every day.

But the deep and sharpening doubt inside of her says confidently that the love they have for each other isn’t the same.

Imogen wants Laudna. She wants her in every way. There is no future for her, hasn’t been for a long time, that doesn’t have Laudna at its center.

There is nothing she wants more than a cottage with a horse or two and garden beds for Laudna, a porch with a little table where she can start her day with the sunrise while Laudna sleeps and they can end their days with the sunset together, a kitchen like Zhudanna’s, with a stove that works and favorite mugs and a window that looks out at the forest. A home that is warm and easy and theirs.

There is nothing she wants more than to be there, with Laudna. To kiss her good morning and good night and anytime in between. To love her for as long as she’s alive.

And yes, Imogen knows that Laudna loves her.

Long before she kissed her in that marketplace in Jrusar, Imogen knew that Laudna loved her in a way that nobody else ever had. A love so deep and steadfast and self-sacrificial that it made Imogen scared to express the nature of her own feelings because she was afraid Laudna would force herself into something she didn’t want just to make Imogen happy.

Without the circlet, she’d been able to hear the flow of Laudna’s thoughts, often, and understandably, preoccupied with the immediate dangers of their lives after joining the Hells. It felt selfish, in light of that, to ask for more, to put one more thing on her.

And she’d been afraid to say anything without certainty, without some kind of hint from Laudna that she wasn’t going to hurt Laudna and herself and everything they’d built together.

She’d gotten close, before the Solstice. The future they were imagining, the roles they played for each other, Laudna’s own words about Imogen and what she wanted—it closed the gap a little. Made it easier for Imogen to think that maybe, one day, she’d know they were in the same place. That it would be safe to tell Laudna that her love had at some point spilled over its neatly drawn box and had only kept spilling, running over the lines between friendship and devotion and desire until it was all one big pool.

The circlet might’ve made it harder. After all, it was the opposite of confirmation. But the split, her time in Uthodurn, it only made Imogen’s need, selfish as it was, stronger, and when she didn’t have the discouragement of what she thought was knowledge, didn’t have access enough to know that her own want, so fierce sometimes she could hardly think of anything else, was unmatched, she couldn’t keep telling herself the same story about waiting. Fear lost to love (to greed, to desire, to impulse) and suddenly she was kissing Laudna next to the bread stall.

And Laudna was kissing her back. And Laudna was touching her and telling her, softly and with the purpled blush that made Imogen warm and light with affection, that she loved her.

Imogen believed her. She had no reason to doubt her.

Except, of course, for the circlet. Except for the niggling, shameful, persistent voice that reminded her that she could be sure, if she just took off the circlet. That she could be sure, if she let herself explore. That it would save both of them pain if she took even just a minute to be certain that they were on the same page, that Laudna wasn’t just doing her another thing to try to make Imogen happy.

She’d never pry. But without the circlet, she could maybe just stumble into the truth. Fall on it the way she fell onto so many thoughts in the world.

It’s the ugliest part of her. The part of her that believed for most of her life that she knew people because she knew their thoughts, that she didn’t need to listen or to watch who someone was in the world because she could see the real them, the true them.

She knows better now. She knows that people can, and do, fight against their impulses and desires and the darkest voices in their minds. That people work to be more, and better, than their base thoughts.

The problem is, though, that sometimes they don’t. Sometimes people let their impulses lead them and they keep their mouths closed and their hands busy and suddenly you’re watching your friend explode into a million pieces, putting themself and everybody else you love at risk.

She would’ve known, if she’d taken off the circlet. She would’ve seen the plans and heard the reasons and she could’ve done something.

And yeah, it’s about trust. Of course it is. But it’s also about reality, and the reality is that people find it hard to talk about things, especially hard things, and with the Hells, that has the potential to be catastrophic. Has been catastrophic.

It’s easy, to let that logic lead her. She needs to take it off. For protection. For the people she loves.

But if she’s honest with herself, if she fights to be honest with herself if no one else, there are other, more selfish reasons why she sometimes wants the circlet gone.

The biggest one is lying right beside her, humming softly to herself as she works through “the difficult bit. Do you think green or orange, dearest, for the tail?” A question asked before Delilah’s appearance, Laudna’s eyes excited as she held out the options and Imogen kissing her in favor of an answer.

Imogen loves Laudna far too much to leave the worst parts of herself an opening, so the circlet had gone back on as soon as it had been just the two of them. Temptation removed. Laudna had watched but asked no questions and Imogen had offered no explanation and now she’s stuck here in this too-hot bed with her own rambling and pathetic thoughts, lonelier than she has been in a long, long time and looking for a reason not to run as fast as she can back toward the warmth and comfort of that place in her dreams.

Part of her understands. She’d sat, broken-hearted and trembling, on a floor in godsforsaken Whitestone and told Laudna that she loved her and that it was her choice, whether to come back. It was her decision, and Imogen would never ever try to take that from her, even as every part of her wanted to beg and plead and crack open in supplication.

Imogen had refused to be yet another person who denied Laudna a choice. If loving her had meant letting her go, then she would have done it, no matter the cost to herself.

So she understands, a little. If Laudna thinks that what she wants is to leave, to…join with? Return to? Whatever, with Ruidus, and she thinks she’s the reason Imogen is denying herself, then sure, Imogen can understand some of it.

But Imogen’s hopes for the future aren’t mysterious. Even before their kiss, she was clear with Laudna that what she wanted was her. She’d said it over and over again. She’d offered those dreams willingly, in defiance of every part of herself that told her it was foolish and dangerous and pitiful, that reminded her that building a future with someone else was a surefire way to end up like her daddy, lonely and bitter.

Her love won out, and, in the biggest gift of Imogen’s life, Laudna understood. Laudna wanted the same things.

Except maybe she didn’t.

She kicks her second foot out from under the covers, less concerned with the noise, and Laudna stops her motion for a moment, reaches a hand out to touch Imogen’s shoulder.

“Imogen?”

It isn’t really a choice, in the end. Laudna has called her, so she will answer.

“Hmm?”

“Are you…”

The bed shifts, sounds of Laudna putting away her things and moving until her body is against Imogen’s, the hand on her shoulder drifting down to rest on her waist. The cool press of her is such a familiar relief that Imogen almost cries.

“Are you alright?”

Yes. No. Of course not. She feels weak as the water gathers in the corner of her eyes and she bites back her instinct to snap. Anger is first, almost always, and tonight is no exception.

Love surges quickly and she lets it win, feels it temper in the form of an exhalation and the moment she needs to settle herself. Laudna’s trying. Imogen wants her to know, and this is the only way she can.

The metal of the circlet presses into her temple as she gives her body what it wants and shifts back, closer, holds Laudna’s arm to her with her own.

“Do you…do you really not…”

She clears her throat, embarrassed at the sadness and exhaustion that fill the gap left by her receding anger. She’s so tired, and she hates that they’re having this conversation. That they have to have it. That she can’t say what she wants. What she needs.

The question about Ruidus wasn’t a test. This one wouldn’t be either, but it also won’t get her what she needs.

She tries again. Starts with what she knows.

“I…I want you to want me here. With you.” Laudna’s grip around her tightens but she doesn’t say anything, and Imogen takes a second. She sighs out, forces tension from her shoulders and the pride from her throat, open and open and open for Laudna. Trust and honesty and communication. Gods, it’s fucking awful. She presses forward anyway. “It hurt me. B-badly, I think. When you seemed so ready to let me go to Ruidus.”

Nails, now, present but not painful through the fabric of her nightshirt and against her belly, and Laudna’s body tense against her back, and still she’s quiet. Imogen laces their fingers and brings their joined hands underneath her shirt, pressing Laudna’s palm to her skin and shivering as she gathers her words.

“I was tellin’ the truth, earlier. It felt good, bein’ there. But Laudna, I…” She squeezes at her hand and then lets go, pulls and pushes and turns until they’re face to face and she can put her palm against Laudna’s cheek, see the worry in her dark eyes. “I don’t know how else to make you understand that I want you. That I want my future to be you.”

Laudna’s mouth opens and closes and Imogen presses a thumb to her bottom lip and kisses her forehead.

“Sometimes I think I understand the way you feel about me. But the last few days especially, I…” She stumbles again, because they’ve already talked about that night, and she doesn’t want to do it again, although she will if she has to. “I just…” She closes her eyes for a moment and reaches past the sadness and into the fire, lets the slow and steady and bright flame of love and determination and want move her forward. “It doesn’t matter how Ruidus feels. Alright? What’s the moon to me if you’re not there?” She kisses her, hard and quick, and holds her eyes again. “It’s not home. It can’t be. Not without you.”

Laudna swallows and licks her lip and says, slowly, “I want you to have all the things I didn’t get to have.” The pad of her thumb runs underneath Imogen’s eye, turning until the nail is tracing her cheek and down her jawline, over her chin until it comes to rest in the center of her throat. She stares at it as she whispers, voice raspy with the strain of a rope long rotted, “Most of all, I want you to have choice.”

Imogen covers the hand with her own and brings it down, cradling it against her chest.

“I know. I know you do. And I do have choice.” She kisses her again, longer and slower. “I’m choosing you. If you’ll let me.”

She watches the emotions play themselves out on Laudna’s face, expressive eyes widening and crinkling, the corners of her mouth twitching with all the words she doesn’t say, preternaturally sharp teeth tearing at the skin of her lip.

“I can never quite believe that.”

Her lips taste of ichor even more than usual, the texture catching on Imogen’s tongue as she soothes the newly broken skin.

“I know. I know you can’t. But it’s true.” She bites her own lip and asks a question she hopes she knows the answer to. “Is it alright? That I choose you? Would you…would you choose me, too?”

Dark eyes soften and soften, a pair to the arm holding her close.

“Imogen. I chose you a long time ago. I’m so sorry, darling, that I’ve made you doubt that.” She runs her fingers through Imogen’s hair, lets them catch at the back of her head. “It’s beyond my understanding how lucky I am that you would choose me, too.”

It would be easy, to let it go. And maybe she could. Maybe they understand each other, this time. But they’re here, and she wants it to be the last time they have to be (at least for a while, gods help her) so she pulls on the last reserves of her emotional energy to say, “Can you…can you believe me? Please? Or…or maybe we can have a signal, for when you can’t? Because Laudna, I…it’s hard for me to understand that you want me, too. And when you…I can’t always convince myself it’s true, when it feels like you’re tellin’ me to choose somethin’ else.”

Imogen watches as Laudna’s eyes move almost absently over her shoulder before coming back, resolved, as the hand in her hair tightens. “Yes. I’m going to try to remember. This is…thank you, dearest. For telling me. I’m going to think about this more. We can…we should talk about it, again.”

Her displeasure at the thought must register on her face because suddenly Laudna is laughing and the hand in her hair has let go to come pat at her cheek as Laudna tuts. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

Imogen groans and buries her head in the crook of Laudna’s neck. Fingers return to her hair as she nods her agreement. She feels a tug on the circlet.

“Thank you for this, as well.”

Suddenly she’s pulling back, because this is important, because Laudna should know that…

”Laudna, I promise I’d never…”

She’s being tucked back into Laudna’s body before she can finish, lips against her temple before words are whispered into her ear. “I know, my love. I know. But you could, and it means something that you don’t. So thank you.”

She relaxes into the hold, noses into the space behind Laudna’s jaw and breathes for a minute before she kisses the skin there. And again.

Maybe it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for her mind to wander away from Ruidus and their mission and the conversation they’d just had. But maybe they deserve it. Maybe this is what it means, to choose each other even at the end of the world—that joy and desire get their time between exhaustion and fear.

So she doesn’t fight the impulse. “We should sleep,” she says, as she bites gently at Laudna’s neck, moves down to lick her collarbone.

Through a very lovely gasp, Laudna asks, “Forgotten the chasm already, darling?”

Imogen grins. “We should.” Her hands press at Laudna’s hips until she’s below her, bracketed by Imogen’s knees. “But I have another idea.”

Laudna laughs. “Can you be quick?”

Imogen pulls off her nightshirt and feels incredibly smug at Laudna’s wide eyes, the way her mouth is still half-open from her laughter, frozen there.

“Chasm answer? Or would you rather I…”

It’s her turn to gasp, Laudna’s mouth against her and her hands braced against the bare skin of Imogen’s back, nails dragging in that way that makes Imogen whimper shamelessly.

“Hush, now. We’ve done quite enough talking, don’t you think?”

It’s breathed into the skin of her shoulder, and Imogen can only nod, pulling Laudna closer and letting herself remember that she can have this, forever, if she chooses.

[jisatsu-tai]

#3 for your whole squad 👀👀👀 - @xynchronicity​  3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone? the whole squad WHICH I DESERVE

Abril: She is incredibly extroverted in person and speaks to herself when she’s alone. Sometimes doesn’t know how to be quite. [ “It’ll be fun they said, fly to Rialto they said” ]

Akande: Incredibly intimidating and professional among watching eyes. You have to be in this business everyone is looking to cut their strings [ or get thrown over a waterfall ] so it isn’t good to let his guard down. On his own time he’s rather somber. A man that likes to read and sit by the fire for some peace.

Angela: She is incredibly professional and rigid with nearly everyone having been in the medical field in most of her developmental years she’s got some emotional dissonance and struggles maintaining and keeping relationships. Which ironically is no different than she is on her own. Which is the MAIN problem.

Widowmaker: Widow is almost a ghost of  Amélie when she’s alone. She talks to herself in French, like she’s speaking to an entirely different part of her psyche sometimes. She says and does things she cannot explain, which are muscle memories from her past life. She is mostly silent and resolved when among others. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to.

Delilah: All my muses are so professional, they have an image to protect. Delilah is no different, she is trying to bridge the gap between humans and omics. Though it’s not going so well. Despite her peppy attitude, in her solitude she feels incredibly alone and sometimes seems to droop and sag when she’s on her own.

Delaware: Barz is the grumpiest old man to ever exist. He speaks his mind when around others. He doesn’t hesitate to give Ashe a piece of his mind because he’s been around long enough he feels comfortable doing that. You’ll often hear him grumbling like the old cod he is when he’s on his own.

Genji: Genji has a lot of self loathing he still struggles with on his day to day for the hand he played in his own fate and how he pushed Hanzo. But does his best to be upbeat and cheerful around others so that he doesn’t worry them. He’s may have recovered from his rage but it still exists. Don’t be fooled, Genji finds ways to take out that bottled up rage in a healthier manner than lashing out at others like he used to but normally does that on his own.

Jack: Angry. He’s so angry all the time, he lashes out so easily at others now even the people he was close to or loved. He has these large stone walls that incircle him. But on his own he just sits in silence reflecting on all the mistakes he made. Trying to figure out how he got here and how he can put an end to it.

Hana: Hana’s entire life is on the grand stage and people thing she’s this KAWAII DESU sort of gamer girl, but D.Va is a persona that she puts on to keep her people at peace about the dangers beyond. On her own, she’s far more serious, a hero complex in the making. Spending 90 percent of her time perfecting combat and the MEKA. She’d rather be prepared than famous.

Hanzo: Hanzo has a very bull headed resistant attitude to anyone that approaches him. But in his private time he refuses to look in the mirror, really against his own reflection because if he stares at it for too long he’ll realize he is the monster everyone says he is.

Soyon: Soyon does not express emotion in similar ways as people, she often has a fox like curiosity when around people, often shaped by the people she spends time with. She only turns feral around the Shimada’s, but she is one of their protectors. Soyon is a woman of very few words both in her own time and among others. She is a bit more sly when on her own though, sometimes smiling for no reason.

Moira: She’s a huge nerd, which is masked by her disdain for humanity and dislike for nearly everyone she works with. Her eye rolls are hard to take seriously when you know she’s rocking out to anime openings and j-pop, to which she knows all the words to and definitely sings to herself when she things no one is around.

BONUS: Echo: Echo is curious, constantly asking questions when she’s around people, often repeating things over and over - not necessarily because she didn’t hear you but becasue she’s saving those words in her data bank. On her own she often practices her impressions where they don’t freak anyone out.

[etheraella]

The Lost Letter for Love

(Fred Weasley x Reader)

Summary : 10 years of friendship through letters, and being a hopeless romantic didn’t help you realise your feelings for your best friend, until it might be too late.

Warnings : MUGGLE!AU slow-burn, angst, violence if you squint, best friends-to-lovers, a few cursing you probably won’t realise.

Feet shuffling against the living room carpet, you finally let your body slump on the sofa with a sigh. The sound of wrinkling leather waves through the empty corridor of your shared house. You ignored it, knowing that one of your housemates (who also happen to be your best friends) might come huffing into the room for continuously abusing furniture. With the same occasion happening countless number of times that week, you expected them to grow tired of your mood swings.

You reached for the nearest cushion beside you, digging your fingers onto the sides of the rough object, before stuffing your face into it; rage burning in your chest for a peculiar Weasley. You lift your face from the cushion furiously, running your hands through your hair.

"Is it that hard for that git to take time and write to me?" you cursed under your breath.

You heard a scoff before lifting your head and meeting eyes with your friend, Delilah. She was leaning against the archway of the living room. "Go on, explain yourself." she said, walking to the couch beside you -- leaving a gap, knowing you might blow off any minute if bothered. Before you could reply, she shakes her head. "And don't lie to me, you've been acting like a maniac, plotting a murder for a week now."

"She probably is, It's been 3 weeks since she last received a letter from her long-distance boyfriend. Of course she's gone mad." You needn't turn around, knowing it was your other roommate, Sara.

"Fred." you say gripping the sweat-stained pillow and throwing it at her. "Is my best friend," pausing before adding "Nothing more," then leaning against the couch.

You bit your lip in frustration, pulling off a few loose threads from the hem of your sleeves in anger, "Be patient, Y/N," Delilah says, patting your back. "He might be busy with his shop or dealing with.. well, whatever he might be doing," You rolled your eyes, seeing the now sitting Sara looking at you, sympathetically.

"Well, he can do whatever the hell he wants for all I care. No actually--I don't care, they're just letters." You stood up and stormed up to your room. Shutting the door with a click, you hear muffled voices of your two friends, one of them saying "Wasn't she enraged three minutes ago".

You feel your head spinning before pulling out a specific letter from a wooden box and leaning against the desk. The words that were inked on the paper still enliven the butterflies in your stomach, even after you've memorised them. It was the last letter you received from him before his gifts came to an abrupt stop. You felt like a 16 year old teenager feeling giddy over a crush. Your eyes widen -- reminding yourself "NO Y/N, he's just a friend!" Suddenly remembering you weren't supposed to be 'caring', you cringed to yourself before shoving the letter back in the box weighing a heavy heart.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

You let your body fall against the soft mattress with a squeal, staring up the ceiling whilst clutching the new envelope up to your chest. Without realising the rapid rate of your heartbeat, you impatiently tore open the envelope and unfolded its content.

Dearest Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits.

I deeply apologise for this delayed reply as I have been quite busy with the joke shop here. Formalities aside, I'm going to be making a few business arrangements in your town. George thought I should go instead of him, and I definitely agree with him. I can't wait to see you, and expect me to ring your house phone tomorrow to discuss. Sadly, I'd have to make this letter short, pumpkin.

P.S bring along that beautiful smile of yours when we meet.

Yours lovingly,

Fred G. Weasley

A smile forms across your face as you read his words, your heart doing summersaults. Before you could trace his signature, you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Sighing, you opened the door, seeing an eyebrow raised Delilah and Sara. Seeing your friends just makes you want to squeeze them in a hug of joy. The smile on your lips didn't falter as you tried forming words "I-"

"We know, Y/N." Delilah interrupted. "We guessed the moment you turned all giddy when coming home. You even fell from the entrance stairs! What'd he say?" Sara asked, smirking. You stared at them, the red mark on your ankle feeling suddenly obvious.

"He said he's going to be dealing with a few business things here. I think he's coming in a few days." You say, your smile growing wider as the words escape your lips. Fred and you have met before. Only, it was twice or trice a year from a long-distance decade of friendship.

Your friendship with Fred was a rather complicated story that even to you, seems a little cliche of how it started with a single complication.

A letter,

The letter had somehow mistakenly ended up to your address, knowing that a 'Hermione Granger' doesn't exist in your household. Being the hopeless romantic you are, you thought it was some kind of love letter so you tore open the letter and read it. In the midst of the paragraph, you feel a pang of guilt as the letter has only to do with family matters. You cursed yourself, and felt sorry for the sender and immediately returned the letter to the signed name 'Fred Weasley' with an attached paper for explanation.

A few days after, you received a letter a letter from him, this time with your name as the addressee. Fred apolagised and offered his gratitude for returning his letter, as it was his mistake for writing the wrong address after all.. And that ladies and gents, was the story on how your friendship was formed.

Although the two of you had exchanged numbers on paper, you fancied the idea of continuing to use the old method with letters, as it was a reminder of how the two of you had gotten to know each other. Fred had always been open about his family and business to you. The both of you admitted that you weren't romantically involved with anyone, but decided to leave that topic 2 years ago. Surely, if he was in a relationship, he'd let you know anyway.

The more often you and Fred exchanged letters, the more you felt a tinge of excitement as he expresses his life and thoughts to you, hoping he'd feel the same. Sometimes, you'd spend endless nights rereading a few old letters of his which you cherished in a wooden box, paragraphs memorised.

Fred took you to meet his family on the third year of your friendship, even Hermione who was Fred's future sister-in-law back then was there. Molly Weasley had sent you presents for Christmas since then, which contained her self-made sweaters. You wondered how much Fred mentioned you to the Weasleys.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Later that week, Fred gave you a call, arranging your meeting for an evening. As soon as you saw the red-head arrive on your front door, you smiled and embraced him in a friendly hug. Fred, who was towering over you, looked the same as he always did; charming, with freckles painted on the bridge of his nose, enough to sway any girl’s feet.

"How's my pumpkin doing?" he grins, with a raised brow. You feel your face heating from the sound of his low-pitched voice calling the nickname he gave you 4 years ago. "I'm doing fine, Freddie." you said, returning his grin. The two of you immediately caught yourselves in a conversation on the journey. Clueless as to where Fred was taking you.

"Are you trying to kidnap me?" you scoffed jokingly, after the fourth time you had asked Fred for the destination while he was continuously refusing. "Pumpkin, I would have ordered someone to bring you to my hotel if I was." he winked, glancing sideways at you, making your cheeks blow bright pink in the shadow of the night. "But then again, I won't be kidnapping if I don't do it myself".

Finally, the two of you arrived at a coffee shop, "Is this the 'surprise', Freddie?" you asked him, getting out of the car.

"Not exactly." he smiles. The smell of baked muffins hit your nostrils as you enter the shop. Fred led you to a seat while you silently followed him, he stopped at a corner table next to a huge window, a girl with long black hair was already occupied.

"Y/N, I'd like to introduce you to Grace, my girlfriend." Fred turns to you with a prideful grin plastered across his face. "Darling, this is my best friend, Y/N." You felt your heart stop. Following his gaze, your eyes landed on the girl appearing to be his girlfriend, smile up at you, showing her pearly white teeth. Quickly pushing your overfilled thoughts away, you shook her hand, the room suddenly became insufferable. You forced a smile as you hesitantly took the seat opposite to them.

"Since, you're my best friend and all, I thought the two of you should meet." Even though he sounded as if it was meant for you, he didn't spare you a single glance. "Yes, Y/N. Seeing how much you meant to him and all." Grace smiled slightly, "I mean.. as friends." Grace added pressing the word 'friends'. You could’ve sworn you saw a sly look in her icy blue eyes, but shook it off, trying your best to act natural, smiling back at her sweetly.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Every time you glanced at Fred, you felt a stinging pain in your chest; maybe you were just feeling protective over him? But does that include wanting to have him all for yourself, as selfish as it is? It felt wrong with the idea of loving your best friend, but it felt right loving him.

Regretfully, you felt like an idiot for not recognizing your feelings sooner and denying them. The missed opportunities you could have experienced if you had just revealed your true feelings to him whether it was on paper, on phone or even in person. Were you just scared of ruining your friendship?

Sara and Delilah noticed your change in behaviour when Fred’s name pops up in random conversations, until one night you burst into tears and poured your bottled-up feelings onto them. It didn't help matters when you and Fred met, the blue-eyed minkle always tagged along. When Fred wasn't around, she bared her venom-like teeth. "I've seen the way you look at Fred, I'm not stupid."

And from there onwards…

"You're too immature for Freddie."

…you started knowing her more than Fred ever will.

"The two of you have been friends for what? A decade? He's known me a year, guess we all know who he sees as his lover and who as a friend."

That last statement hurt enough for you to have to restrain yourself from slapping the smirk off her face as she said it. You tried your best to act normally in front of Fred, but you knew seeing them together was a pain too unbearable for you to handle, so you declined his hangout calls and started seeing him less and less.

The last thing you wanted was to destroy their relationship by breaking down in front of the person you cared for, and revealing Grace's true colours. Knowing Fred, he'd side with you and break up with Grace, but seeing them together made you realise how happy they were. Fred deserved the happiness Grace brought him. And you’re well aware that the feelings he shared with her were much more in depth than the ones he shared with you, because when he looks at her, his face says it all

.

.

.

A/N : Hi ! This is Luna, SO the ending wasn’t what I had in mind but overall, this story gives me victorian era vibes idk why lmao. OMG all my love goes to Celeste for helping me edit this, please reblog and comment if you like this fic :) We haven’t been active lately due to studying and all, but now we’re back with more fics. + taglist form up soon 🤝

[johnlockficclub]

Author Q&A Recap

We have to say, @prettysherlocksoldier was very lovely and everyone had a great time bantering back and forth.  So much fun, that for space we’ve kept it to just the questions and answers:

@sherlock-nanowrimo: Did you have any headcanons as you wrote this fic, that didn't make it into the story?

@prettysherlocksoldier: Not exactly, but I did sort of come up with the whole idea originally with the concept for Irene's radio show, and I wanted initially to have her somehow in that capacity work to set John and Sherlock up, but it didn't really come together that way and I wish I could have spent more time with her radio show.

@elwinglyre:  I loved the bantering that you included in this story. What inspiration did you use to write it?

@prettysherlocksoldier: Truthfully, I tend to write dialogue how I speak. And I'm EXTREMELY dry and sarcastic with my friends, so it just comes out of that with a characterized twist.  WELL OKAY so they are all like different sides I guess. John bridges the gap between sarcastic Dani and supportive friend Dani, and Sherlock is "I would never dare say this to your face but I am thinking it very loudly" Dani.

@elwinglyre: It sounds like you like to write kind of stream of consciousness at times. How much do you generally plan out in your writing. The dialogue is spontaneous but the rest is…? I’m always interested about this.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I always try to be a planner but I am a pantser at heart. Any time I attempt to outline it goes off the rails fairly quickly and I just let it, so most of it ends up being spontaneous. The only thing I pay fairly close attention to is the chronology, especially with a holiday story which has a set deadline (ie Christmas). I don't want to mention it's been a week and that would be New Years or something, so I keep track of that but otherwise I'm a mess.

@blue-posey: I love the play on words and puns and turns in your writing, but esp ‘every silver lining

@prettysherlocksoldier: I really don't know haha! Again, I guess I just sort of write like I talk. And, being an English major and a writer and generally a hopeless romantic, I am also occasionally very poetic (coughmelodramaticcough).

@blue-posey: Well, it is poetic.  As is the way Sherlock sees John throughout the book: golden hair, snowflake on his cheek etc.

@prettysherlocksoldier:  I've seen too many Hallmark movies, I will put a snowflake on every eyelash within reach.

@sherlock-nanowrimo: What draws you to writing unilock stories?  This was our first time reading unilock as a group and some folks hadn't ever read that trope before. It was a big hit

@prettysherlocksoldier: Well, at the time, I was in university, so that was a big part of it, but then I also just think it's a time of such potential, whether undergrad or grad school. I mean, school takes up so much of some people's lives, especially someone like John going into medicine, and those are formative years. So I like playing with the idea of meeting someone at this point in your life where everything is changing and you're trying to find your footing and settle into your own skin, and then here comes someone who shakes all that up and you sort of have to decide if you're going to grow TOGETHER or just keep forging your own path. It's a high-stakes time period and I'm just drawn to the dramatic potential in it, I suppose.

@elwinglyre: I also liked your foreshadowing in this with the elevator (going up and going down—so naughty and nice). And your whole pulling out the angst at the end with Sherlock. Great build up.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love sort of...innocuous foreshadowing. Like it won't be HORRIBLE nothing TERRIBLE is going to happen because that's simply not what I write, but anything could come around again and suddenly have new meaning. It's just harmless turnabout haha.

@blue-posey:  Can I say I did a fist-in-the-air jig when John said about ‘nice’ boys asking for nudes!  It was really good to see it spelled out like that, esp coming from a male character.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love John being this like...perfect stereotype of a Jock Jackass and then he's just...not. And it sort of unseats everyone around him and that's fun too. And I make everyone as raging liberal feminist as I am so there's also just that haha.

@elwinglyre: So… the big question: how do you feel about writing sex scenes???

@prettysherlocksoldier: OH MY GOD SO AWKWARD OH MY GOD I don't do it very often because I just... It is so difficult for me, I can't put my finger on why. When I do write them, they're either harried or I'm focusing more on the emotion because I just don't know how to make "thrust" sound sexy I just don't knowwww.

@sherlock-nanowrimo:  There were a number of details we loved, departures from frustrating aspects of canon. Like Molly not having a crush on Sherlock because everyone knows he's gay.  And John happily admitting he's bi. Did you have any intent to knock down some canon stuff or did it just come natural?

@prettysherlocksoldier: I think a lot of that comes out of unilock more than any particular intent of mine. Like, it's 2016 or whatever it was at the time, they're young, they're at a liberal universe in a world city, like I just...can't fathom Sherlock would not be out. Especially with someone like Irene around him, who I always make a supportive influence. John is a little more complication because of that jock persona and he might have some reservations about being open about his sexuality, but I just... I mean, growing up in a conservative home and environment that did not take kindly to me coming out, I just don't make much time for it in the worlds I get to create. Maybe I'm trying to rewrite my own history, but hey, the world's rough enough with even fictional gay people having to feel unsafe being themselves

@blue-posey: And talking about openness, I love how casually John says he’s bi

@prettysherlocksoldier: That moment actually meant a lot to me because it's like a chance for him to correct an assumption, and yes Sherlock is listening and that's part of it, but it's I think the moment when we're like OH WAIT HE MIGHT BE INTO IT and it's So Softe.

@wildishmazz:  When they nearly got pornographic near the end, were you toying with the idea of someone having to say the title to them?

@prettysherlocksoldier: I almost ALMOST had them do the classic bump-the-microphone-and-everyone-hears-you-boning, but decided against it haha.

@sherlock-nanowrimo: as we were reading the part with Mary, I know I tensed up wondering just how it was going to go.  But it wasn't toxic at all - -she made an effort to reconnect, but accepted her defeat with grace.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I have a hard time making Mary a rival. Maybe because I don't think she ever really was haha! But also I was disappointed in where her character ended up going and she deserved better and I am going to give it to her goshdarnit.

@blue-posey: I also loved this:

“Love conquers all,” the blond quipped, slowly lowering himself down beside Sherlock, back scraping against the wall. “No, it doesn’t,” Sherlock scoffed, turning through the pages. “It merely temporarily blinds people to flaws; it doesn’t actually conquer anything.”

I know it reads a bit defeatist, but I think it’s not.

@prettysherlocksoldier: I love a Sherlock who has sort of...put up this shield of cynicism around love simply because he doesn't think he'll find it, so it's easier to think the whole thing is stupid.  I mean we've all had a bad breakup and been like NEVERMIND LOVE IS A SHAM for a while.  Not to be a monster, but I always thought of Sherlock as someone who loves very deeply, just never expresses it because he perceives himself as unloveable.

@wildishmazz:  did John assume they were on the same page re: having been on dates and so therefore being dating?

@prettysherlocksoldier: John, god bless him, I think totally thought he was like courting this dude and doing it up right and being Super Romantic, and then Sherlock is just like BUT YOU DID NOT EXPLICITLY STATE.

@blue-posey:  @tildathings wanted to ask how you choose the radio station for the set up.

@prettysherlocksoldier: Oh god that is actually kind of embarrassing, so to be fair it was VERY LATE and I was DRIVING and I was VERY BORED but do y'all know that like late night advice radio show with that gravelly voice woman, Delilah??  I just thought what an Irene version of that would be like and everyone else just kind of came out of that and got their own shows and then it was just at a radio station and it's all Delilah's fault.

Thanks everyone for joining us for back to school fic! Many thanks to @prettysherlocksoldier for chatting with us!

[fixaticn]

@xcougarxtownx

“Oh, c'mon now, don’t be such a fuckin’ pussy!” Helena wasn’t SURPRISED that the other was a little against the idea of exploring the cemetery – what SICK FUCK got figuratively hard waltzing over dead people in the middle of the night? For as long as she could remember, the redhead hadn’t been like “normal” people. She enjoyed things that most thought were FUCKED. Years ago, she’d attempted to drag her baby sissy Delilah into the very same cemetery, to get drunk and celebrate her birthday the week before Halloween – little bitch had not only said no, she’d SNITCHED and earned her twelve hours in the closet with the Bible for her seventeenth birthday. Turning on her heels she bridged the gap between their bodies, slithering bony arms around Hailee’s waist and YANKING her body flush against her own – hungry gaze locked on hers. “This s'what I wanna do for my birthday. Ya rather I ask Brit ta spend it with me? Lied an’ told her had ta go ta the folks’ place jus’ ta have this time alone with ya.”

A cemetery wasn’t exactly a place where Hailee expected to spend her night, but it was what Helena wanted to for her birthday and with the amount of time they’d been spending together, Hailee couldn’t say no, nor did she want to. The game they were playing was dangerous, sneaking around behind two people’s backs, but it excited Hailee and she couldn’t walk away even if she wanted to. Licking her lips, Hailee’s hands dropped to Helena’s waist, fingers brushing over the top of her pants. With one look, Hailee could see how much the other girl wanted her, another reason why she couldn’t walk away. “No, you know I don’t want you to spend it with her,” she said quickly, her stomach flipping with jealousy as she thought about Helena and her best friend together. It was bad enough that she had to see them at the house, she didn’t want to hear about their relationship too. “She thinks I have work so it looks like we have plenty of time to ourselves.” Closing the gap between them, Hailee kissed the other girl hard, biting on her bottom lip in the process. “So what did you have in mind?”

[jisatsu-tai]