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stainedglasstruth · 7 months

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TIMING: Early October LOCATION: Teagan's cabin PARTIES: Andy (@declinlalune) & Arden (@stainedglasstruth) SUMMARY: After escaping the goo covered building, Andy gives Arden a ride back to Teagan's cabin. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of parental death

After finding Nicole and taking her back to Leah’s, Andy had learned that Teagan had been lost to whatever the hell had taken over most of Worm Row. She wasn’t sure what that meant for the nix, only that there’d be others hoping for her return to the land of the living. Andy hoped that Teagan being encased in goo was not a permanent fixture of Worm Row, but rather a temporary one. She knew that with the attack on Nicole, she couldn’t just ask Leah for information on what was going on. She’d need to figure it out herself.

Arden was terrified, that much was clear, even by communication online. Andy was worried for both of her friends, even if Arden hadn’t been encased in anything at all. She knew fear, and she knew it could redirect pretty much any sense of reason into something else. Andy pulled up next to where Arden stood on the curb and she reached over, opening the door for her. This felt so much like their last meeting, but on the complete opposite side of things, too. Andy didn’t bother asking her if she was okay, because one look at her told her she wasn’t. Once Arden was in the jeep, Andy pulled away and started to drive towards Teagan’s cabin. “I haven’t got any more info on how to get rid of the goo, but I’m not stopping looking.” She glanced over at her friend, worry etching her features, “but we’ll get her out. I promise.”

—

Arden had been sitting on a bench at the edge of the Common staring blankly ahead of her when the familiar Jeep came into sight. Grabbing her bag, and the cat carrier containing one slightly fussy calico– as well as a small cardboard box with holes stabbed into the sides because her life was stupid– she stood, walking up to the curb as Andy pulled up. She climbed in, getting settled with her bag at her feet and the carrier on her lap before closing the door and turning to Andy.

“Thank you, for... this,“ she said quietly, waving vaguely around them. It was almost funny, being back in the passenger seat. So much had happened, had changed, since June that it nearly felt like she was an entirely different person than the one who had been nervously sitting in Andy's car. And at the same time, she still felt like that same nineteen-year-old whose best friend had just been declared missing by the WRPD, the same sixteen-year-old whose father hadn’t come home.

”I–“ She bit her tongue as her eyes began to sting slightly, looking up as if that could help keep the tears at bay. Arden didn't know what to say to that. So, of course her mind clung to those last words and her stupid brain tried to make a joke, the barest hint of a dark smile on her face. “Shouldn't make promises–” you can't keep. But she couldn't bring herself to actually say it, so she pivoted, finishing lamely, “–like that. Especially not here.”

She looked down, only to catch sight of the ring on her finger. It was a dainty thing, silver vines and leaves all intertwined to make almost a crown. Opening the zipper of the carrier ever so slightly, she stuck her hand in, giving Hobbes some attention. He, like Tinkerbell, would die if he went without it for any extensive period of time, after all. While she couldn't see the ring at the moment, she could still feel the foreign weight of it on her finger– a constant reminder. Despite the shock or numbness or whatever the fuck was making her feel this awful fucking feeling that she hadn't felt in years, she still felt fucking miserable.

Another fucked up joke– though, unlike her life, she wasn’t even sure if this counted as a joke– slipped out. “I don't think I'm capable of giving up looking for answers? As far as my track record goes, anyway.” Her track record for finding those answers, however... “Always been too damn stubborn. Think Emilio and I might strangle each other one of these days.”

Why the fuck was she talking? None of this made any sense to Andy. Hell, it barely made sense to her. Arden shook her head, her eyes still trained on her cat, who was enjoying the skritches. She couldn't get herself to look up at Andy, and see the worried look on her face. ”Sorry, I'm just— Words. I don't know what the fuck I'm even talking about.“ Good job.

—

Andy looked down at the carrier that Arden held, then back up at her friend.

“You don’t need to thank me.” The comment was layered, both because she hoped Arden knew that she would have done this for her regardless, and because it was Wicked’s Rest where a thank you could get you in deep shit. Then again, she’d just extended a promise towards Teagan’s situation. “Yeah, I know, but I know that you’re…” not fae, Andy wanted to add, “anything to worry about with that.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she took the road leading back towards Darkling Lake.

There was an awful silence that fell between the two of them. The weight of what happened to Teagan festered, creating something terrible out of every thought that passed through Andy’s head. What if they didn’t get her out? What if the rest of those in the town who’d been consumed by the weird fucking goo also didn’t get out? Would they remain tethered to the ground they walked on for the rest of eternity, encased in something nobody seemed to understand?

Andy glanced over at Arden as she began to speak. “If he asks for money for his jar, ignore him.” She didn’t bother clarifying as she took another turn. “We’ll figure it out.” She could have asked Leah, but with what happened with Nicole, Andy wasn’t sure now was the time. She’d have her hands full. Maybe she could ask to browse the restricted section of her shop for some answers without help.

Arden apologized and Andy shook her head. “You don’t need to say sorry. It’s a… weird and fucked up situation.” Another turn. “I don’t…” She wet her lower lip with her tongue, sorting through the words she wanted to say, doing her best to make sure they were articulate enough considering the situation, “really know what the fuck the goo is, but I’m not really a stranger to any of this. I know a lot more than I let on.” She glanced over at Arden, “so that being said, we’ll figure it out.”

—

Noticing Andy’s look, she absentmindedly explained. "Oh, right. This is my cat, Hobbes. Also, Kevin the toad's in the box– I don't even know how to explain that one, but it's Teagan's fault." She frowned as the words left her mouth. Was it more accurate to say was? Arden didn't know. She didn’t know, and that was one of the biggest problems. No one seemed to know anything about the goo aside from it turning living beings into statues. But were they alive? Could they breathe? Were they awake and aware of what was happening? What about food and water? Was Teagan okay??? Could they actually get her out???

Shit, had she thanked her? Dumbass. Her brain was a mess, but she absolutely should know better. At least it appeared that Andy wasn’t planning to hold her words against her. And apparently knew enough about fae to know about binds, to know that she wasn’t one. Was she fae? Did she know about Teagan? Part of her wanted to ask, to stop talking around this shit– she didn’t have the energy for it. However, there was also a louder part that didn’t exactly want to talk about any of it, either. She wasn't feeling up to much of anything at the moment.

The topic of promise binds only served to fill her mind with thoughts of the nix, of their first encounter, their table at A Latte to Love, that very stinky tour of Downtown. Arden was overwhelmed by the need to talk about it, about her, but she didn’t want to out Teagan, didn’t want to hear any apologies or empty promises. She didn’t want sympathy, she just wanted her girlfriend here, okay. She just wanted for the people she loved to be safe, but that was clearly too big of an ask for Wicked’s Rest.

With only minimal protest from Hobbes, she freed her hand from the carrier, and began to fidget with the ring once more, worrying away at it with her thumb. She almost didn’t hear Andy’s comment, but her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Oh, I usually do,” she replied, a half-assed grin on her face. It didn’t last long, though, quickly melting back into the slight frown that seemed to have become her new norm. We’ll figure it out.

“I hope so.” And, as quietly as she said it, it did sound more like a wish than an actual response. It was all she could do– hope, wish. Of course, there was always research, but Arden had a feeling that would be as fruitless as her attempts to find anything on Jo or Erebus had been. She would be useless, as always.

I know a lot more than I let on. Her brow raised at those words. Interesting. That did seem to be accurate, though, and it made her wonder how Andy had become involved in any of this to begin with. “Oh. Well… same,” she admitted. There wasn't much point in hiding that much anymore. “Despite what my articles might have you think.”

—

Kevin was a weird name for a toad, but then again, she and Alex had named their dog puppy-eye, so there wasn’t really much Andy could do in terms of judging Arden for that one. Hobbes, on the other hand, was a good name for a cat. “I want a story time later. About the toad, I mean. Hobbes, I think I understand.” Or she’d try to.

Silence ensnared them once again and Andy swore she felt the floor of her car coming up to swallow her whole. She wasn’t sure how she was going to help in getting Teagan out, or if she even could. She knew she wanted to, but what powers did she have to do so? She had strength, sure, but it seemed like there was a lot more needed than brute force alone. She hated that she couldn’t help in a way better than filling Arden with ideas of grandeur that they would in fact rescue Teagan.

“He needs a wakeup call, anyway. With being ignored. He talks a lot.” Andy took another turn down the dirt road that’d lead towards Teagan’s cabin. She remembered where each and every trap was, so she avoided them with ease. If anything, whatever Teagan had set out might just pop a tire or two, but it wasn’t exactly something Andy wanted to deal with, not now.

Arden explained that she knew everything and more, too, and Andy tried to remember if Teagan had let on that Arden knew about her— about this world and the fact that she was fae. Andy figured that she did, but in the event that she didn’t, she didn’t want to out her friend. What a secret to keep from somebody, though. Andy parked her jeep across from the cabin and looked over at Arden. “We should um— there are traps and stuff. We should be careful.” She got out of the jeep and rounded over to Arden’s door, pulling it open. She held out her hand for the cat carrier, suddenly being reminded of her moments in the pet store with Leticia. Would she not even be able to look at a cat the same way? How unfortunate. “She had some stuff cooking— there’s food in there, still. If you’re hungry?” She didn’t want to help herself to Teagan’s things, but she figured if she were trying to help Arden with a distraction of some kind, then her friend would understand.

—

Her lips twitched up into a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, okay.” Later. She definitely wasn't in the right headspace to tell the tale of her toilet-dwelling roommate at the moment, too dazed and empty to convey the ridiculousness of the situation, of her life, really, since Teagan had walked into it. Was this it then? Teagan just strolled on in, stole her heart, turned her life upside down, and then vanished? Just like that? Was that the end of the story?

It was the reality of living in a place like Wicked's Rest, though, wasn't it? Of dating a supernatural being– one who seemed to enjoy pissing off hunters, no less– of opening herself up to others again, after moving back to a town plagued by chaos and death. Nearly watching her friends die in front of her, seeing the people she loved hunted, tortured, simply for whom, for what, they were– it just came with the territory, right? Seeing people hurt and killed, hurting and killing, drowning in their sorrows and guilty consciences, tortured by their awful pasts, looking for somewhere to escape to.

Maybe she had the right idea before. Maybe Zack and Sully were the smartest of them, getting the fuck out of town before their luck ran out. Maybe if she were as smart as she claimed to be, she would follow in their footsteps.

It felt like admitting defeat, though. And as defeated as she felt right then, there was still hope in her stupid heart, she was still too goddamn stubborn for her own good. And she had never been able to stop her annoyingly obsessive mind, her overwhelming sense of curiosity, her need to understand. Despite it all, despite all the insane and dangerous bullshit, Arden cared about the people here, she cared about this weird little town, this sanctuary for the preternatural. It was her home, after all, and she couldn't just leave her hometown to whatever the fuck was happening– because something was happening, that much was clear. Something bad. She couldn't leave the people she had grown to care about here, especially in the face of whatever was going on. She couldn’t leave Wynne or her mother or any of her friends– Andy included. And she certainly couldn't just leave Leah again or leave Teagan stuck as a fucking statue, or leave that empty fucking grave that would just continue to haunt her for the rest of her damn life.

Arden wanted to help. And she wanted to finally get some fucking answers.

A few moments had passed in silence as she was lost in her thoughts, but shaking her head, she continued on with that same line of conversation as if no time had passed. “Hobbes like Calvin and Hobbes, the old comic,” she clarified. “Read 'em with my dad as a kid.” It was said casually enough, but it still sounded too wrong, too distant. God, she must look like such a fucking mess to Andy. She was kind and wasn't the kind of person who would judge her, especially given the current situation, but Arden still hated it, hated all of this, but being so vulnerable in front of others– in front of the woman she'd been crushing on just a few months ago nonetheless– was just the icing on the cake. It wasn't the first time, but, fuck, she hoped it would be the last time Andy saw her in such a state. Knowing her luck, however, she doubted it.

Poking fun at their mutual friend was a good distraction, though. “He really can talk a lot, yeah.” The grin didn't reach her eyes, but it felt slightly more natural than any of her previous attempts. ”Made for an interesting time, being stuck together with everyone, new roommates and upstairs neighbor and all.“

She was a little surprised when the Jeep came to a stop, and looked up to find that they were already at the cabin. The ride had felt both too quick and longer than it should have been, but, then again, Arden had been paying absolutely no attention to the road. She had been far too caught up in her thoughts to take note of anything outside their quiet little bubble inside the car. The bubble that they now needed to leave. ”Right,“ she nodded, dragging her hands over her face with a sigh, “the traps.”

While she was trying to center herself before getting out, Andy was already pulling open the door, offering her a hand. She passed off the carrier to her, which freed up her lap and allowed for her to move. ”Thanks,“ she said, automatically. Then, “...goddammit.” Running a frustrated hand through her hair, she let out a huff before clambering out, tugging her bag over her shoulder. “I swear, I'm not usually this fucking bad with that,” she joked.

But then she was looking up at the cabin– Teagan's cabin– the beautiful little home that Arden had grown quite accustomed to, quite fond of. And she was hit with the fact that her girlfriend was not there, that she would not be there, or anywhere else, ever again, if they couldn't somehow find a way to fix this. If there even was one.

Her chest ached, jaw clenching as she stared down the reality of the situation, Andy's words ringing in her ears. It took her a moment to speak, mouth opening and closing a few times as she tried to formulate words. “I don't—” It came out quiet, low, rough, and she swallowed thickly, not even sure what there was to say. However, the idea of going into the empty home felt wrong, daunting. It was too much.

“I think I need a minute,” she eventually managed, tearing her gaze away from the cabin and turning instead to the lake.

But it didn't feel much better, seeing the lake, finding no sign of her girlfriend. It all felt so unusually still– no familiar flashes of that sharp grin, pale hair, or pink skin, no splashes or lilting laughter. Would the water and its critters be okay without the nymph? Arden found herself drawn to the edge of the water. She walked over to their usual spot, passing the area where Emilio hadn't been able to stop talking and had nearly gotten himself drowned because of it. That night, she remembered how she had been so convinced that they wouldn’t all survive that encounter. She had been reminded of that moment after finding out Teagan had been hunting, after Emilio had been the one to tell her.

Sitting down on her rock, she pulled her legs to her chest as she stared off into the water, feeling both too much and nothing at all.

—

Andy felt the weight of the carrier shift, could see Hobbes inside, peering through the ventilation holes to see where he was now at, nose pressed through to try and get a whiff of his new surroundings.

Arden was apologizing and Andy looked up from the carrier, shaking her head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything… I hope you know that.” She offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was genuine all the same.

Andy could imagine, to a degree, what Arden was going through. For her, it’d been her sister. Maybe there was something different about that kind of love— the one that wasn’t familial, the one that was chosen despite there being no commonality in the blood that ran through one’s veins. Andy couldn’t be sure. She felt it for Emilio, for Nicole and Leah, sure, but wasn’t that different? Those were friendships. Arden was in love with Teagan, and Teagan with Arden. That had to of been different; a different kind of pain. Andy felt for her in the way that she could.

It was clear that this was hard for Arden. Maybe Andy should have taken her to the cabin. Maybe that would have been better— a home away from all of this, at least for a little while. Teagan was her friend and she felt that Teagan’s cabin was a little too big for the silence that filled it. She felt guilt like spikes, prodding her to feel something else, to extend a hand to Arden in solidarity.

“That’s okay. Take all of the time you need.” She hesitated with the carrier, not sure if she should put it down or not. Not sure if it should go on the ground or the hood of her jeep, or back on the passenger seat while she put a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. But Arden was moving from her spot next to the jeep down to the water, gaze fixed on the way it gently lapped at the shore. It was missing something, Andy realized— even she could tell that much. But Arden’s sudden movements made Andy realize that Teagan had been honest with her about her true form. Why else would she stare out at the water the way she was?

Andy stayed back for a moment, watching the way that the wind caught in Arden’s hair, a few strands floating as if Teagan were beside her, running her fingers through it. Maybe it was an act of romanticism on Andy’s part, or maybe it was something else— hope, that even if Teagan were stuck in the hellish goo, that a part of her was still aware, that she would come out of it okay. Andy closed the passenger door softly before heading towards Arden. She held the carrier close to her chest, feeling the way it shifted with Hobbes’ every movement. He was getting antsy and would need to be let out soon, but she didn’t figure he was an outside cat. She wondered if he’d be okay with Teagan’s. She figured that’d be the case considering Arden had brought him over. She decided to wait just behind the rock, a few steps away.

Silence warped around them, save for the call of the birds and the flexing of the branches above their heads from the trees that were nearby. She could feel the wind at the nape of her neck, and it felt nice. Andy felt guilty for finding solace in the feeling and she looked down at her muddied boots. She didn’t know what to do for Arden, but she knew she had to do something. Deciding that her friend deserved a little alone time, she made her way to the cabin and found a room where Alffi was nowhere to be found before letting open Hobbes’ crate so he could venture out.

She closed the door behind her and made her way towards the kitchen, putting the kettle on to brew some tea for Arden and herself.

—

Arden flashed her a smile, hoping Andy understood her gratitude, even if she wasn't fully capable of emoting it at the moment. Though, she supposed that she probably had an idea what with how she had now fucked up and thanked the woman several times now. Whatever. Even if Andy was a fae, she wasn't taking advantage of her current thoughtless state. No, she was actively helping her dumb ass, despite the fact that they weren't exactly close friends, and she was being incredibly understanding, giving her space. That deserved her gratitude, even as distant as it felt at the moment. She definitely owed her.

She could hear the other woman moving behind her, could feel her quiet presence, feel the comforting discomfort of another individual seeing her like this. But after several moments, she heard Andy walk off, heard the door open and shut. And there was a relief to it, finally having a moment of complete solitude for the first time in days. Even in the Common, she had been acutely aware of all the people milling around, going about their days, while Arden had sat in a daze.

Chest aching, she let out a breath, slumping further into herself. Despite the fact that all she had done that day was argue, pack up her shit, cross a terrifying little bridge, and get driven to the cabin, she felt more exhausted than she had in weeks– since the vampires and Zack's departure, since sitting in the morgue with Teagan, since after losing Jo, maybe, if she were being honest. Because despite all the reassurances and the hope in her heart, it sure did feel like Teagan was lost.

It felt like she was lost, set adrift in the waters again without knowing how to swim, her newfound abilities nowhere to be found. It hadn't been all that long ago, after all, that she had still been scared of the water, haunted by foggy memories of being dragged under, reaching out for her mom and dad, lungs burning, entirely overwhelmed by panic. But Teagan had taught her to let go of that fear, had been patient with her. She had offered Arden support and stability with that playful smile and calm reassurances. She had made her feel brave.

The familiar sight of lake began to blur, her eyes filling with tears that didn't seem to want to fall. It was only when she turned her gaze away, hiding her face against her knees, that a few tears fell, aided by gravity. Sniffling, she hugged her knees tighter still, as if trying to wrap herself around her aching heart, put it back together through sheer force. However, all she managed was to make herself even smaller and strain her back in a way that was making it begin to ache itself. But she paid that no mind, ignoring it along with the slight chill that started to settle into her bones the longer she sat at the edge of the water. She would need to go inside eventually, but she didn't want to face the reality of the empty cabin quite yet.

After a few moments, though, she was startled by the sound of movement from the water. Head snapping up, her eyes focused on a nearby familiar face.

"Vala," she breathed. Her eyes started to water again, making it hard to track the kelpie's approach.

Given what she knew about kelpies, it had been a huge surprise to Arden when the fae had seemingly taken a liking to her during her visits to the lake, especially when she had been so wary of Vala at first, but they had become friends in the months following. Despite that, though, there was a part of her that had to wonder if that had only been because Teagan was present. Would it be different without her there? Was she about to get drowned and eaten?

She needn't worry long, the horse simply plopped down next to her, nuzzling Arden's side before turning her head around as if looking for something before cocking her head to one side. It wasn't difficult to understand what she meant.

"She's stuck." Her voice was quiet. "The substance from the mines, she got trapped in it. We-" Her voice wavered as she was hit with by a wave of emotion, however, when she spoke again, she sounded a bit more steady. "We're going to fix it," she stated, though it was unclear whether she was trying to reassure Vala or herself. "We're going to fix it. But..." She looked down, trying to ignore the doubt and worries. "I don't know how long it will take. I don't– I don't know if we can–" She stopped before she could send herself into a spiral, staying silent for several long moments.

"I won't stop looking," she said, finally. "But..." Returning to her initial line of thought, she looked to the fae. "Can you keep an eye on the lake until she gets back?" Vala nodded her head, pulling a small smile out of Arden. She bowed her head slightly in lieu of saying 'thank you' for the twelfth time that day, and ran a hand through the horse's fur as they looked out onto the lake.

She didn't feel better exactly as she walked into the cabin, but she felt a little lighter than she had. It wasn't as difficult as she had thought, stepping inside. It just felt like Teagan was out for the day and would step through the door at any moment. At the moment, it was difficult to fathom her being gone for any extended period of time, even if it was the reality of the situation. Arden was sure it would hurt more later– the thought that she would be sleeping alone in Teagan's bed had already crossed her mind- but it didn't quite feel real yet. She wondered how long exactly that would last, how long any of this would last. How long would she spend in the water, being tossed around by wave after wave?

She wished she knew.

But for now there was good company and tea and cats– a toad, even. And that would have to be enough.

And they would figure it out– they had to.

#parental death tw #wickedswriting #writing #collab #declinlalune #wr andy #love to ci for putting up with late and v long introspective replies

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mostlymaudlin · 1 year

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(a follow up to this lil andreil nye scene)

“Happy New Year!!!!”

Erik smiles at the sound of Nicky’s enthusiastic, slightly slurred voice. It’s 6am on Erik’s side of the Atlantic, but he set an alarm so that he’d be ready for this inevitable call.

“How’s the party?” Erik asks. The loud voices and music on the other end of the line contrast with the quiet of his bedroom. He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, pretending he’s there or Nicky is here or some other utopian version of this situation.

“The best,” Nicky gushes. “Guess how I rang in the New Year!”

Nicky pauses, encouraging actual speculation. Erik’s brain is still half asleep, but he does his best to cycle through possibilities. The range of activities that Nicky would find exciting enough to report is very nearly infinite.

Even at his smallest and most self-conscious, Nicky had busted into Erik’s life with a heart so full of love and hope that Erik hadn’t been able to do anything but fall.

“Skinny-dipping,” Erik offers. “Or perhaps streaking.”

Nicky laughs. “Of course all your ideas would include me naked. Pervert.”

“Mmmm,” Erik hums. “Can you blame me?”

“Not one bit,” Nicky says, and Erik can hear the smile in his voice. “But no, it’s better. Kevin Day kissed me!”

“Oh my god,” Erik says, sitting up in bed. “Was it as good as you imagined?”

Nicky sighs dreamily. “It was awkward as fuck. His confidence evaporates the moment he steps off the court — I think I left him a little breathless, though.”

“Naturally,” Erik agrees. He touches his own lips, feels all the memories stored there. “Wow. I can’t wait to tell everyone at work that I’ve secondhand-kissed a celebrity.”

“Yes!” Nicky says, laughing. “Maybe one day, you can kiss him too. It was surprisingly easy to convince him. The bi-curiosity is off the charts.”

Erik laughs, the full-belly, sore-cheeked kind that Nicky always draws out of him. When Nicky “permanently” moved to Germany after he graduated high school, Erik was determined to build a life with him that made up for all he’d been through as a kid. It hadn’t worked out that way, of course — he was a foolish kid to think that love really came with happily ever afters. Nicky had cried and cried when his mother called to tell him about his aunt and implied that his cousins might get stuck in that house he’d finally escaped. When the tears stopped, Erik’s heart sunk. It’s Nicky. There was no other way for him to do it.

Erik has had a pretty good life. He’s lucky to say that this distance is the hardest trial he’s had to endure. And still, after all he’s been through, even with an ocean between them, Nicky gleams with so much brightness that Erik knows that they can survive whatever trials this new year will bring. And above all, he knows that it will bring joy — and Nicky will be right here to celebrate it with him.

“Maybe one day,” Erik agrees, imagining all the New Year’s Eves in the future that they’ll spend together. “I’m looking forward to it.”

#this was a surprise to me too #aftg #my writing #aftg fic #flash

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undertheknightwing · 2 years

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Hi Cody! I really like your blog and now I officially ship Gar/Jon! Would their ship name be GarJon or JonGar?

And your pfp is so cool! I haven't seen any bisexual representation for S&L's Jon, so seeing it automatically made me happy!!

I also adore Gar and Jon as characters! I definitely relate to Gar a lot (I hope something cool happens to him in season 4, same thing with Jon) ((although I haven't seen season 2 of Superman & Lois, yet)). Jon is my favorite because he seemed like the nice popular kid (which reminded me of the popular girls I went to high school with), plus he seems so sweet and fun to hang around! (((I adore it when characters are close to their parents)))

(I wanna be their lesbian aunt, like, I'd be Jon's adopted lesbian aunt, then when Jon and Gar get together, I could be his lesbian aunt-in-law) i have no idea if that's an actual thing or what

Oh and one more thing, I'm gonna start reading Escapism soon! I love the premise so much!

Hi!! I'm so glad you like my blog!! 😁❤❤

I've called their ship many things.. sunshineshipping, multiverse boyfriends, green kryptonite, but I stuck with the simple GarJon just because it sounded the best in my head. But you’re allowed to call their ship JonGar, GarJon, whatever you want!

Thank you! I made a bi Jon icon and a bi/trans Gar icon for pride month since those are my headcanons. (Bi Gar is canon though,, thank you Ryan!) I wish Jon was bi like he is in the comics but this is The CW we're talking about, making Jon bi would mean they'd have to write him a proper storyline and they would never do that 🙄

Jon and Gar are the definitions of "best boys". Jordan and Ryan do an incredible job bringing the characters to life despite having barely anything to work with. Their acting always leaves me with stars in my eyes because it's just so full of emotion and has a powerful impact especially if they're angry and get a rare chance to express that anger.

Gar yelling at Dick in the batcave after being shot and Jon yelling at Jordan for spying on him with super hearing are scenes that will permanently live rent free in my brain. There's something satisfying about seeing the character who's expected to be a doormat and apologize for everything finally explode and say what's on their mind. Because if any characters in both shows deserve to blow up, it's Gar and Jon. Gar's treatment wasn't good from the beginning, no spoilers since you haven't watched the season yet but Jon's treatment has gotten so much worse in season 2.

Honestly, they both need to take a long vacation together to a beach to relax and forget about all the shit they’re put through. Let them go on evening walks on the beach, play mini golf, get a nice dinner, and crash in a comfy condo.

I hope you like Escapism!! It's my pride and joy!! 🧡💚🧡💚

Thank you for the lovely ask! It made my day!

#cods.talkin #asks and answers #gar logan #jonathan kent #titans #superman and lois #titans/superman and lois #garjon

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diaryofaladysquid · 2 months

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"Baby loves to dance in the dark."

03/20/24

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

I've wasted so much time away dancing alone in my room, dreaming of what my life could be. A life where I achieved everything I set out. But when I come down and the sparkles and hope disappear, I realize I'm stuck. I'm suspended in my child like state, trying to escape everything around me. But time is ticking, and I keep wasting more time. How do I get out of this loop of losing myself in this maldaptive day dream. I want to create, I want to sing, I want to dance, I want to be beautiful, I don't wanna be bipolar anymore. I feel on the verge of insanity as I keep floating between awake in a reality I don't want and my brain showing me what it could be. Every night, I get so so so high, and then I fall fall so low. I want the cycle to end. How do I make it end? I feel like I'm going insane. If I grow old and I don't achieve anything I've ever wanted, I will kill myself. That I can promise to myself that if I can't escape this never-ending cycle of time wasting and daydreaming, I will do myself the favor and end it more permanently. I feel so out of it right now, but this is the best I could for right now. I just needed to blurt out the feeling, I needed to acknowledge this problem, I need something to see it, and this lonely little blog will do just that. If anyone is reading, I feel like I'm losing the battle and I'm giving up slowly.

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚

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nothorses · 3 years

Text

This is an old article, but it's relevant, and I want to revisit it. I really recommend folks read the entire article; I'm just going to pull some excerpts, but there's no way they can do justice to the reading in full.

"Very few people want to defend a target of disposability."

I was told by one person that she couldn’t risk losing her job, another that she didn’t want to become a target too. I was threatened into not defending myself, gaslit into silence, told that people knew “things” about me that were never explained. When I asked how I could do accountability, when I said I would do whatever they wanted, they said that I was “incapable” of accountability, that my crime was unknown and my sentence was permanent.

"Accountability" is to callout culture what "justice" is to the punitive justice system: an empty word to wrap around your actions in order to justify them. Anything is okay as long as it's in pursuit of accountability.

Callout culture does not actually want accountability, though, and all attempts at real, honest accountability will be avoided, ignored, or outright rejected. If accountability is achieved and you are left intact, callout culture has failed.

My attackers were expert pathological liars who had been getting away with it for years—entire fictional realities playing out on their social-media accounts like soap opera. Escaping from abuse is the most certain way to become painted as an abuser, and being an abuser is the most sure way to be believed. You know how movies are realer than reality? How the sound effects and physics become so normalized to us that reality seems flat and fake? Talking about abuse is kind of like that. Abusers know what sounds “real.” They are like expert movie-effects artists. Victims are stuck with boring fake reality.

Feminist/queer spaces are more willing to criticize people than abusive systems because they want to reserve the right to use those systems for their own purposes. At least attacking people can be politically viable, especially in a token system where you benefit directly by their absence, or where your status as a good feminist is dependent on constantly rooting out evil.

Think of these things the way you think of any other system ostensibly designed to change people's behavior for the better: what methods have been proven to work? What methods haven't? Why do those systems exist anyway?

Systems that reduce crime rates are designed around rehabilitation. They seek to remove people from toxic environments, heal them, equip them with better tools and resources, and send them back into the world ready to do better.

Systems that actively increase crime rates are designed around punishment. They remove people from society, hurt them, teach them they're trash, force them into either worse and more toxic communities and ideologies or into altogether isolation, and if they ever re-emerge, they are so irreparably blacklisted that there is no hope of them ever rejoining the society they were originally torn from.

So when people write all those apologist articles about call-out culture and other instruments of violence in feminism, I don’t think they understand that the people who most deserve those things can usually shrug off the effects, and the normalization of that violence inevitably trickles down and affects the weak. It is predictable as water. Criminal justice applies punishment under the conceit of blind justice, but we see the results: Prisons are flooded with the most vulnerable, and the rich can buy their way out of any problem. In activist communities, these processes follow a similar pragmatism. Punishment is not something that happens to bad people. It happens to those who cannot stop it from happening. It is laundered pain, not a balancing of scales.

Consider who callout culture most often targets. Consider how often people like them are defended not only by others like them, but by the larger feminist and queer community.

Not only that, but account for the position that individual is in, and the tools they have available to them. Do they have stable housing, work, and income? Do they have the ability to sink valuable time and energy into defending themselves? Can they risk trying and failing, or is their livelihood attached to any attempt to do so?

One of the most common tools of exclusion is through mobbing, which is rarely talked about because unlike rape, murder, etc, it’s not easy to pin it on a single person (or scapegoat). Mobbing is emotional abuse practiced by a group of people, usually peers, over a period of time, through methods such as gaslighting, rumor-mongering, and ostracism. [...] Here is why it is horrible: 1) It has an unusually strong power to damage the victim’s relationship to society, because it can’t be written off as an outlier, as some singular monster. It reveals a fundamental truth about people that makes it difficult to trust ever again. People become like aliens, like a pack of animals that can turn on you as soon as some mysterious pheromone shift marks you for death. 2) The insidious nature of emotional abuse: How do you fight ostracism and rumors? They leave no bruises, they just starve you. 3) Mobbing typically occurs in places where the victim is trapped by some need or obligation: work, school, circles of friends. This can prolong exposure to damaging extremes.

Consider what tactics are being used to punish this person, and what is being demanded. If the people appointing themselves judge, jury, and executioner turn out to be wrong, is there any hope of recourse?

From a report by the Australian House of Representatives Education and Employment Committee: “90 percent of people being bullied make the comment: ‘I just want it to stop.’ They don’t want to go down a formal path, but just want the behaviour to stop.”

"RESISTING DISPOSABILITY"

— Let marginalized people be flawed. Let them fuck up like the Real Humans who get to fuck up all the time — Fight criminal-justice thinking. Disposability runs on the innocence/guilt binary, another category that applies dynamically to certain bodies and not others. The mob trials used to run trans people out of communities are inherently abusive, favor predators, and must be rejected as a process unequivocally. There is no kind of justice that resembles hundreds of people ganging up on one person, or tangible lifelong damage being inflicted on someone for failing the rituals of purification that have no connection to real life. — Pay attention when people disappear. Like drowning, it’s frequently silent. They might be blackmailed, threatened, and/or in shock. — Even if the victim doesn’t want to fight (which is deeply understandable—often moving on is the only response), private support is huge. This is the time to make sure the wound doesn’t become infected, that the PTSD they acquire is as minimized as possible. This is the difference between a broken leg healing to the point where they can run again, or walking with a limp for the rest of their life. They’ve just been victim-blamed by a huge number of people, and as a social organism, their body is telling them to die. They need social reintegration, messages of support, and space to heal. — Be extremely critical about what people say about trans people, especially things said in vagueness. The rumor mill that keeps trans people out of spaces isn’t even so much about people believing what is said, it’s about people choosing the safest option—a staining that plays on the average person’s risk aversion. — Ask yourself if the same thing would be happening if they were white/cis/able-bodied. — “Radical inclusivity recognizes harm done in the name of God.” —Yvette Flunder Marginalized spaces can’t form healthy community purely from rejection of the mainstream. There has to be an acknowledgment of how people have been hurt by feminist spaces and their models. — A common enemy isn’t the same as loving each other. — Don’t be part of spaces that place an ideal or “community leader” above people.

#callout culture #discourse #cancel culture #purity culture #nothorses #long post

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skiyoosmi · 3 years

Text

post-break up heartaches

verse 1. in the car that used to drive us to our home

⤷ kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru — more characters coming soon

⤷ verse 2 | verse 3

⤷ play. never let me go by ghostly kisses, forget about us by clinton kane

commissions: open

⇢ KUROO sighs for the umpteenth time of the day. he was so fucking exhausted and his body's about to give in to sleep any moment now. work has been beating his ass; there was this newbie who kept on messing up the documents needed by the board and for the whole day, he had to be the one to fix said issues. it's not like he wasn't paid enough for that; if anything, his paycheck was one of the most beautiful things he laid his eyes on— but god, even his body has its own limits and yet...

"ya.... yer not supposed to do this anymore. y-ya left me, remember?" you slurred, index finger pointing right at his chest as he circled his arms around your waist, huffing as you practically dropped all your weight on him. here he was, suddenly given the task of having to take you home after your supposed-to-be designated driver, miya fucking atsumu, also drank his brains out with you.

"be patient. still heartbroken because of you, y'know?" kenma softly tells him despite the tipsy feeling lurking in the back of his mind, shaking his head as he looked at you, whose system finally shut down and were now dozing off in the black haired man's arms.

"..... still?" he mumbles, looking down at your figure and he feels his heart contract with pain all over again.

"you can't expect her to be fine immediately, kuroo. it was your wedding day, supposed to be the greatest day of her life and yet it became the worst one... you left her at the altar alone."

he didn't reply anything— or rather, he was unable to. because what can he say to refute the truth? nothing. instead, he proceeded to his car with you still in his hold. he places you on the passenger seat, locking the seatbelts before jogging to the driver's side.

the car ride was calm as you slept soundly with your head occasionally hitting the window lightly as it swayed from side to side. he was sure as hell that if you were sober right now, you wouldn't even have the thought of seeing him cross your mind. he just knows for sure that you despise him with your whole being... at least, that's what he thought until...

"i'm sorry, tetsu. please come back," you whimper in your seat, voice quiet but he heard it nonetheless, "tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it."

the pitiful sounds and mumbles you made struck kuroo right in the heart and which makes him pull over an empty but safe road, just a block away from your (previously shared) apartment. looking over your form, he finds himself reaching out to touch your face, caressing your cheeks as drops of tears fell down slowly on them, "you didn't do anything wrong. you were fine. you were so perfect."

you squint your eyes at him, probably wondering if this was real or just a part of your drunken imagination. nonetheless, you hiccuped, "y-you... you left me and i... i still can't even bring myself to hate you... i just wanna ask you why? i just want to understand."

he thought he also knew the reason why but every single time he thinks about it, he's only led to one conclusion: because he was a coward. no way was this any of your fault— it's definitely not your fault that right at that moment, as he stared at the mirror, wearing the black suit you chose for him, the sudden fear of commitment loomed over him. it's not like it was your fault he suddenly got scared of losing you the way his parents lost each other. but now he thinks it's ironic, because he lost you anyway.

maybe... just maybe, if he had just met you where you stood at the altar, instead of leaving you alone in it, maybe he would've been happier. maybe his days would've started more with a smile from you as you helped him fix his necktie before going to work. maybe, the working hours he spends in the shitty corporate world would've been more worth it if it meant he can come home to you at the end of the day. maybe... maybe he wouldn't have to be stuck with this lump in his throat as he wonders what could've been happening if he just chose to show up and vowed his life to you.

but he didn't.

"i realized i wasn't just ready to tie my life with anyone yet. that's all there is to it, yn."

so with a heavy feeling stuck in his chest and a quiet promise to never see you again for the sake of not hurting you further, he starts the car's engine again, ignoring the words you replied but he was sure they will haunt him for a very long time... again.

i can wait for you no matter how long it takes, tetsu, you know that.

⇢ OIKAWA gives you what seems like a guilty smile as he stands in front of you, opening his arms and gesturing you to come closer. but the stoic expression on your face takes him back to the reality that the last thing you wanted to do today was to actually fetch him from the airport. it just so happens that his three best friends were caught up with work that they had no choice but to send you, the main ex-bestfriend slash ex-girlfriend, to him.

why did you agree when you practically loathe him with your whole being? well, it was probably because you weren't the devil who would reject your friends when they were literally on their knees as they begged you and for some reason, you thought he'll look pitiful going back to his home country after five years with no one to welcome him. yeah, that's it. it's not like you're still in love with him or anything.

"my car's just around the corner," you begrudgingly walk towards the car park with him quietly following. at the moment, he knew better than to get on your nerves or else there would be war. he hates that this happened to the both of you but he can't blame anyone else but himself. because who wouldn't hate their ex-boyfriend if they suddenly broke up with them over a phone call?

tension filled the car as you both sat beside each other. perhaps, this was what other people were talking about when they say that it's impossible for exes to be friends again, to not feel any awkwardness because you were sure as hell that the word "awkward" was an understatement of your situation right now. nevertheless, your eyes couldn't help but wander to his figure as he adjusted his body, opting for a more comfortable position in the passenger's seat.

he looked more youthful and you felt bittersweet— proud that his whole aura screams of "success" which meant that gone were the days where he longed to get that winter cup trophy, nor the times when he overworked himself and put a strain on his knee which led to countless arguments with you. if anything, he looked happier and it sucks because you're not even close to feeling that way... not without him.

"i heard you've finally gotten yourself your own condominium? that's great, yn!" he exclaimed as soon as you began driving to your destination, a hope lit within him that maybe you might just respond to him. just one smile, that's all i need, he thinks.

but you remain focused on your driving, choosing to reply with a single nod and a soft "yeah..."

disappointment fills his heart as he faces the truth that your relationship has really been ruined, along with your friendship. all because he was foolish to think that he couldn't handle the physical distance between you two. realization dawns upon him that he just made that same distance worse as you pull your heart further away from him.

"... i actually bought it for the two of us, you know?" he whips his head to your direction in surprise, heart clenching as he watch you let out a sad chuckle, "i just... i thought it would be nice if we had a place to permanently stay at and for you to have a home to go to when you're at japan. but yeah... i guess things doesn't go our way sometimes, does it?"

"i'm sor—"

"it's okay. i'm fine now," you quickly reply, shaking your head but keeping your eyes on the road. he tries to ignore the tears that start to form in them because he has no right to stop them, knowing full well that he was the one who caused them in the first place.

as if on cue, you halt your vehicle in front of a familiar apartment and much to your dismay, you find yourself looking back in the past when you used to live in that same place, making wonderful memories with the chocolate haired lad with you. you clear your throat to stop the sob that desperately attempts to escape your throat, "uhm... we're here."

"oh, yeah. we're here," he numbly states, already missing you despite the mere inches of space separating the two of you. you just felt so far away and he hates it. but this was the path he chose so he gets out of your car along with his things, turning to you once more, "uhh... thanks for the ride, yn. i know you probably hate me but yeah... it's very nice of you to put that past us and i guess i just want to say sorry for hurting you... i just..."

"i don't hate you, tooru," you softly tell him, "i just don't want anything to do with you anymore. to see you this happy, without me, is like a slap in the face because i'm not. it still hurts and i'm not fine. i just hope this will be the last time we'll see each other. be safe on your trip back to argentina. welcome home."

and with that, you start the car's engine again, no longer having the energy nor the strength to hear his reply. but he wishes you did because as he watches your car drive further away from him, he can't help but wish that he can take back time so that you don't have to go to that condominium and instead, go inside the home you once shared with him.

but i'm not happy, yn. because how could i call this place my home when you're not here with me?

at that moment, unbeknownst to the two hearts that long for each other break at the same time, you finally let out the tears and cries that you've been keeping since you saw him, knowing that no matter how much you try, you'll never be as happy as you were with him— simply because he left you with a hole in your heart that no one else can fill.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo x reader #oikawa x reader #kuroo headcanons #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu writings #haikyuu angst #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru #haikyuu imagines #post break-up heartaches

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ninyard · 3 years

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part two of the stefan/andrew au PLEASE

WELP this might not be the part two people wanted but here’s what I wanted so~ enjoy!

(Part 1 ? is here)

((this got rly long so I had to stop but if u want a third part lmk 🥺👉👈))

Neil made his first mistake by not bolting the opposite way when Coach Hernandez told him he had visitors. An Exy racquet to the chest and a single glance at those bright hazel eyes turned Neils entire world sideways in seconds. This couldn’t be happening. Neil almost couldn’t hold back the ‘Andrew?’ that wished to escape his lips. Of course, this wasn’t Stefan’s Andrew, but Neil knew that already. Life had turned Andrew Minyard into a man of manufactured emotions, a life of violence and misled decisions landing him on Coach Wymack’s pity party guest list that was the Foxes’ lineup. Andrew didn’t flinch looking at Neil, and Neil begged the universe to have erased the memory of Stefan from Andrew mind. He hung around a motel, for Christ’s sake, how many other people would he have met before and after Stefan? Neil Josten looked totally different, with puberty, hair dye and new contact lenses on his side.

The second mistake he made was not realising Kevin Day was going to be around. If Andrew wasn’t dangerous enough, Kevin was even more so. Neil couldn’t believe his eyes the moment he looked closely at the teams lineup from the previous year. Kevin Day would have forgotten Nathaniel Wesninski, he was sure of it, but to look across to a picture of the teams goalkeeper and seeing the short blond boy he met in California? It was a sure sign for Neil to stay the hell away from South Carolina.

Neil’s biggest mistake was deciding to push his luck and take a plane there to sign with the Foxes. He was signing a death wish; but he didn’t care anymore. He was a dead man walking, living off stolen hours. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with him. His mother was dead, god, his mom, Mary Hatford, the woman who taught him how to be. It wasn’t just like Debby, who died leaving Toronto, or Alice, who died leaving London, or Judy who died on the train between Germany and Prague. This was permanent, and Neil didn’t think he could run for much longer.

Andrew didn’t say anything during their meeting, in which he had plenty of opportunities to at least look like he recognised Neil, or the features of Stefan still left on his face. Kevin didn’t say anything either, and his words made it clear he didn’t remember Nathaniel, either. Neil was walking a thing line between life and death, with Stefan on one shoulder and Nathaniel on the other, waiting to tip him over, to expose the truth, to leave him buried like his mother.

The first night Neil slept - or more so lay on the couch in silence for hours, brain filled with noise and regret - in David’s apartment, he couldn’t stop thinking about Andrew. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kid with white-blond hair and a toothy smile, who ran his fingers so gently over Stefan’s skin, like he would break if Andrew dared get any closer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the playground, and the motel, and the kisses… and the punches, the kicks, the pulling of hair, the slaps across the face with yells to accompany them. Before Neil knew it he was stuck with his face hovering over the toilet bowl, his stomach threatening to burst at any moment. After a minute of gagging and spitting into the water, Neil washed his face and headed towards the balcony that David told him to smoke on if he needed to. This was one of those needing to moments.

Weeks went by without any indication he was going to be caught. Kevin looked at him like a stupid amateur, which was good for Nathaniel’s sake, but for Neil? Neil, who fought like his life depended on the racquet in his hands? Neil, who ran like his father was hot on his heels every single time he set off down the court? It hurt him to be insulted so often, but Kevin was leagues above him when he played. Neil was never going to be good enough. Andrew avoided him as much as possible. Nicky told him that was just how Andrew was; if you brought him no benefit, or if you made him bored, he would put you on a high shelf and never look at you again. By the way Andrew only spoke to Neil when Neil stood up to Kevin, Neil thought it was obvious that Andrew didn’t recognise him.

And then came the invite to Columbia.

“Get rid of the contacts, by the way.” Nicky had brushed off the realisation like it was nothing. It sounded like ‘you have something in your teeth’ but felt like a screaming siren above Neil’s head. It felt like a punch to the gut, like a gun to his head. “Andrew’s decision. And brown, Neil? You’re so predictable and boring it’s adorable.” He’d left a bag of clothes with Neil.

When Neil looked at his blue eyes, he felt too many feelings he couldn’t describe, or name. He felt like he was looking at his father. He felt like he was looking into the mirror like he had the last time he was Nathaniel. The last time he was in Baltimore. He’d cycled through the catalogue of contacts during his time on the run, but never once went back to blue. They were the icy eyes of a murderer, not the eyes of quiet, boring Neil. But at least they weren’t green. Neil was worried about Kevin recognising him by his eyes, but it was going to be dark out by the time they left. Neil would just have to stay in the dark around Kevin, and hope he got too drunk to notice, too drunk to remember.

When Andrew’s group came to pick Neil up, there was a change in dynamic Neil hadn’t seen before. Instead of Nicky being the middle man in their conversations, or Kevin being the reason to talk, Andrew was taking charge of their night. Neil’s heart raced every time he looked into his eyes. Every time he heard that voice it told him to run, the same voice as before, only deeper, emotionless. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew crying. Neil couldn’t imagine this Andrew being open, about his sexuality, or his feelings. If he didn’t look almost the same only older, he would probably doubt this was even the same Andrew.

“Oh! Oh, now, that’s interesting!” Andrew had commented as Neil left his dorm room. Nicky, Aaron and Kevin had walked ahead of the two of them. When they’d disappeared around the corner into the elevator down, Andrew turned and grabbed Neil’s face to inspect it. “What a change, hmm? Blue to brown is a bit drastic for fashion, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never liked my eyes,” Neil spoke through the fingers that rested over his lips. “I’ve worn them brown most my life.” Andrew tutted as Neil spoke, but left that thought there. His features were angry, like Neil had insulted him, but he S miled like he’d been talking to his best friend. He placed a cigarette between his lips as they joined the others in the elevator.

Before long, they were walking through the doors of Eden’s Twilight, music pumping and swirling through the air, vibrating their bodies as they walked. Andrew motioned for Neil to follow him to the bar once they’d found a table.

“Shots on me.” He’d come down from his manic high, waiting for his dust adrenaline to kick in. His smile was gone, but his tone and way of speaking was still the same. “What do you drink?”

“I don’t,” Neil answered, having to yell over the music.

“Sure you do.” Andrew waved him off. “I’m being polite. What do you drink?” He asked again, as the bartender came over.

“A coke for me.” Neil told the man behind the bar before he could ask Andrew. “Just a little ice.”

“See, now, Pinocchio, when someone offers you a gift you say thank you and accept it.” Andrew turned towards the man. “Roland. This is Neil. He’s a newbie.”

“I hear you,” Roland nodded, already placing shot glasses on the tray he’d put on the bar. “My choice, with dash for the new kid.” He poured a clear spirit into eight shot glasses, and used the fountain tap to fill a larger glass with cola. Andrew passed cash over and waved off his change as a tip. Before Neil knew it he was heading through the crowd, Andrew balancing the tray on one hand held high above his head. They reached the table and nothing has spilled, and before Neil knew it, the shot glasses were stacked in a tower on the tray as Neil nursed his coke.

“You don’t drink.” Andrew turned to Neil after watching the others take to the dance floor, coming up on their high, dusting when they couldn’t be seen. “Why?”

“Hate the taste, mostly.” That would be the truth if ‘taste’ actually meant ‘feeling of being out of control of my body’. He shrugged at Andrew’s dissatisfaction with that answer.

“You come to university and you don’t drink?” Andrew scoffed. “Do you smoke?” Neil shook his head. He’d tried an edible by accident once in some cafe in Europe, and got so paranoid they had to move on that night. He swore he saw his dad staring in the windows in the red-light district, a blunt between his lips, a smile made of murder wrapped around it.

“Not for me.” Neil took a sip from the cold coke. “Hard to find when it’s not legal and I hate the cops. Takes too much effort to roll.” Neil lied, like he knew what he was talking about, but he just remembered watching people in the cities he went to, everywhere having their local stoners, the folks who sat in the parks without a care in the world.

“You don’t drink, you don’t smoke, you won’t dust.” Andrew rattled off the options. “Is it molly you’d prefer?” And when Neil shook his head again: “Psychedelics? Benzos?”

“I’m just not interested.” Neil looked into his glass, focusing on the ice. If he kept looking at Andrew he felt like he would crack. “Don’t we get tested before games anyway? What’s the point?” Andrew didn’t answer before he heading back up the bar. Neil didn’t follow this time. When he came back, there was ten shot glasses on the table. Again, eight filled with an unnamed spirit that burned Neil’s nose and twisted his stomach. The other two were cola.

“I’d hate for the new boy to feel left out.” Aaron, Nicky and Kevin had arrived back to the table for their shots. Andrew handed Neil one of his glasses. Neil knocked it back when the others did. It was ordinary coke, no surprises, no weird tastes, no reason for Neil to believe Andrew would have given him a shot of alcohol instead. That was, until he clinked glasses with the others and swallowed the second shot in a quick movement. He felt the alcohol burn his throat. It warmed his chest, but the familiar feeling wasn’t what worried him. It was the taste of salt on his tongue when he hadn’t licked any before hand. He quickly excused himself from the table and left for the bathroom.

Andrew had drugged him. He didn’t know why, but all he knew was the crackers were already coursing through his veins with deadly adrenaline. He was sure his racing heart wasn’t helping. It didn’t help, either, when Nicky reached the stairs before he did, and pulled him in for a salty, dusty kiss. Neil pushed him off as discreetly as he could.

“Nothing?” Nicky complained as he Neil bounced up the sticky stairs two steps at a time. Neil was sure he heard him say something about Neil being too hot to be straight, but the roaring anxiety in his ears was enough to drown it out. He locked himself in a stall and tried to best to throw up. He hadn’t eaten before he’d left, and he hadn’t drank anything other than he soda, so his attempts were fairly futile. A knock at the door interrupted him, and when he answered with a quick ‘occupied!’ He heard the door unlocking from the outside. Andrew pushed his way into the cramped stall and shut the door behind him. Before Neil could even begin to object Andrew had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, Neil struggling to keep his balance with the toilet in the way.

“You don’t like the taste of alcohol or you’re afraid of losing control? Telling your truths?” Andrew’s drug induced smile had returned with mischief and malice. “Let’s see how this does!” His voice was low as he spoke, with an enthusiasm to his words that made Neil sweat. When he went to protest, Andrew covered his mouth with his free hand.

“Shut up,” He clicked his tongue. “You have spent your entire extended stay here lying to me and lying to poor, gullible Coach. I see the way you look at Kevin, too. Either you’re lying about not swinging or there’s something deeper to that intimidation.” Neil tried to get out a ‘I don’t swing.’ Before Andrew shushed him again. “Don’t keep lying, newbie! One last chance at honesty.” He lifted his hand no more than an inch from Neil’s mouth. Neil was sweating, his hands shaky, his mind turning into fog, desperate to cling to any sort of euphoria it could find. When it’s search came up empty, it filled his stomach, his head, his hands, his feet, with anxious buzzing instead. He couldn’t ignore the nauseating feelings the drugs brought with them.

“I don’t swing,” Neil stood his ground. “I don’t.” Andrew brought his hand up to Neils hair and yanked him down to his level, hard. He kept an inescapable grip in his curls as their faces almost touched.

“Still don’t know?” Andrew pouted in fake-pity. “Ten years later and you still don’t know?” Neil’s stomach would’ve fallen from his body if it’s got the chance. His heart would’ve went with it when Andrew continued. “There better be a good reason for Neil existing, Stefan, and I can’t wait to hear it.”

“What?” He tried, but it was no use. His voice failed him, cracking as the futile attempts at lying left his lips. “I don’t know what-“

“Shut up.” Andrew repeated. His grip not relaxing. Neil was worried he was pulling his hair from the root, but that was probably the least of his worries. Probably. “Do not lie to me again.” Neil searched his eyes for a sliver of doubt. A tiny, tiny possibility that he might think he was wrong. It wasn’t there. He’d been caught.

“Andrew.” He wrapped his hands around Andrew’s wrist, the one hovering over his head, muscles tense from the grip on his head. “Can we talk without ripping my fucking hair out?”

Before Neil could react, Andrew had let go of his hair, but in doing so, had swung his head with full force into the side walls of the stall. His balance finally failed him, but Andrew caught him by the neck of the black turtleneck he’d been gifted. He heard a few stitches pop, but it didn’t matter. The sudden movements turned Neil’s stomach with a violent wave, and he gagged hard, his stomach threatening to come out his mouth. He leaned over to spit into the toilet and bared his teeth at Andrew, breathing heavily through them.

“So he lives,” Andrew smiled, his pupils blown, a white-knuckled hold on Stefan-Neil’s collar. Neil was afraid he was going to pass out. His body was on fire, his mind screaming like an emergency broadcast alarm. “Tell me you didn’t know, oh humour me! I’d hate to think you’re stupid enough to come here still in possession of the memory from there.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Neil didn’t break eye contact.

“So you ARE that stupid!” Andrew pushed him back, letting go of his top. Neil tried to assess his escape routes, but it was no use. He couldn’t get out of this. “I remembered little Stefan the second Kevin showed me your file. I didn’t think it would be you, surely it couldn’t be, but our little visit to fuckport, Arizona couldn’t lie to me like you did. So is it Neil, or is it Stefan?”

“Neither.” He spat out the honesty, worried if he waited, another lie would take it’s place. “But you can call me Neil.”

“Oh, no, no!” Andrew grabbed him by the neck, holding his jaw in a way that could become a choke very quickly. “Maybe I’ll stick with Stefan. You don’t get a say. You know, I thought mommy killed you.” A knife twisted in Neil’s gut.

“She’s dead.” Neil tried to breath through his unwanted come-up. “That’s the only reason I’m here. Because she wasn’t alive to stop me.”

“Did you do it?” He held Neils face like the world would end if he let go. He held even tighter when Neil tried to pull away.

“No.” That was all he said. He thought about continuing, considering the fact he was a dead man already. But he stopped himself. How could he say it was his dad without saying he was the mafias right-hand-murderer? Was he wasting his time lying?

“Didn’t think you did.” Andrew laughed, barely even blinking as he intimidated Neil. “No balls then, no balls now.”

“I was twelve.” He spat through crushed cheeks. “We were kids.”

“Old enough to be a liar.” Andrew let go of Neil’s face with a forceful push and turned to open the stall door. “You’re going to lead us outside. If you deviate or try to run I’ll kill you. I will kill you.” So Neil did just that. He led the way in silence, down the stairs and towards the exit. When Nicky stopped and excitedly asked where they were going, Neil looked back to Andrew who waved his pack of cigarettes, a smile on his face, no essence of a lie present. Neil just kept walking, kept his head down, and tried to ignore the pain on the side of his head. When they reached the outside of the club, the brisk air biting their exposed skin, Neil turned to the first man he saw, a club-goer at the top of the queue, and swung a punch up. Andrew noticed the second his hands left his sides, balled up with a plan. The man threw a hefty punch back, shouting intimidations, knocking Neil’s short frame to the ground. As quick as humanly possible, Andrew had hoisted him up, wrapped his arms around his back and twisted his wrist in such a way that a single jolt would break it. He held him in that position with one hand, putting all his strength into keeping Neil still.

“He gets crazy on tequila!” Andrew laughed, shaking his head as he took out his wallet and pulled out a fifty note. He threw it at the guy as compensation, his friends holding him back from beating Neil’s vulnerable, ballsy ass. He continued yelling as Andrew hauled him away. He grunted in pain as he refused to loosen his grip on Neil’s wrists. He walked him around the back of the club, to an empty, barely lit parking lot. He threw him to the ground so quickly he didn’t have time to stop his fall.

“Every moment I spend around you, you prove you’re much fucking dumber than I thought.” Andrew spat down, then crouching down to Neil’s level, balancing on the tops of his feet. Neil cradled his head, arms wrapped around the nape of his neck. He was sure he had a concussion. He could barely open his eyes through the pulsing blood rushing through his head, but forced himself to, to look up at Andrew’s smiling face.

“What happened?” Spit dripped down his chin, blood slowly trickling from the busted lip he’d earned himself. “What happened to that Andrew?” Andrew froze for half a second, and Neil noticed. “The Andrew who cried because he was gay? The kid who actually fucking cared about anything?”

“Oh, you are treading thin fucking ice for someone who doesn’t know how to swim.” Andrew tilted his head. “Mention another precious memory and I won’t hesitate to actually break your wrist next time.”

“Why?” He spat blood at Andrew’s feet. “Afraid somebody might remember what you’re actually like when you’re not pretending to be a sociopath?” Andrew opened his mouth at the challenge, a smile creeping up one side of his face. “Are you afraid to actually have someone around you know anything about you? I’m a threat. That’s all you care about.” He continued. “What, do you think I’ll use it against you? You’ve been treating me like shit since we met. If I was going to stab you in the back I’d have done it already, asshole.”

“Since we met, again.” He corrected the most irrelevant part of Neils sentiment.

“Let me go now and I’ll move on. You won’t ever see me again.” Neil bargained. Andrew’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. “This time I’ll get a chance to say goodbye.”

“No,” Andrew stopped him. “You don’t get to arrive in to my life like a tornado and disappear. You don’t get to dig your own grave and push me into it.” He bent down to get closer to Neils shaking face. “You’re going to tell me exactly what happened first. Tell me what she did to you.”

“No.” Neil strained. “I moved on. You were dangerous. You almost got me killed.”

“Boohoo, do you hear my tiny violin, liar?” Andrew grabbed a hold of his hair again. Neil let out a cry of pain, trying to pry Andrew’s fingers from his scalp. “Talk. Talk or I will get you killed.”

“My father is a very dangerous man. He’s murdered more people than there are days in a year.” Neil wiped the blood from his lips. It stung as he did so, but it didn’t matter. He took out a small stack of IDs from his wallet and threw them across to Andrew. For a second, anyone would’ve thought they were real, but closer inspection killed that thought. Andrew was holding a driver’s license belonging to Chris Angle, 21, from New York. A European passport card signed by George Debois from Paris. A gym membership from Seattle, an employee pass from Toronto, two more drivers licenses from cities across the globe. All the names were different, but they didn’t belong to different people. They all had pictures of Neil on them. Some he had long hair, short hair, an unfortunate buzz-cut. He wore a beard in some, the baby face of a teenager in others. “You aren’t the only one I’ve lied to. Don’t think you’re special.” Andrew snapped the IDs with angry force. Neil took a deep breath, knowing the last memories of his mother were buried in the face of Christopher Hart, snapped in half, just like that. He continued searching through his wallet. Deep into the card pockets of the tattered leather. He didn’t look up when he heard Andrew drop the scraps of his identities on the ground. Neil found what he was looking for and threw it again, across the space separating them, it clattering by his feet. “If my mom found that she’d have killed me herself. We ran so she could protect me. I made that so much harder on her by meeting you.” Andrew inspected the card he’d been thrown. An under-eye twitch and a slow inhale accompanied his realisation. “You want to hate me for what she made me do, fine, but it was inevitable. You were never going to be the reason that made us stay.”

Neil had given Andrew something he couldn’t bare to part with. His old wallet stayed buried deep, deep in his belongings, so well hidden his mother hadn’t even known it existed. He usually kept his current IDs on his person, and never in a wallet. It was a ticking time bomb, but Neil needed something. He needed a reason to feel, and if that was the memory of the good day his mom had had when they finally showered after weeks of baby wipes and deodorant, it was something to hold on to. Neil had to stay grounded in some sort of reality. He was on the run, sure, but the people he met, the things he’d done? They were real. It hurt to see those memories snapped on the ground like trash, but Andrew didn’t snap the memory he held in his hands.

Andrew held the library card of Stefan Montgomery. It had a faded black and white photo on it, scratched out with time. He had begged the librarian to let him have the card without taking a picture, but she had insisted it was necessary so people didn’t have more than one. In the photo was a scared little boy, a gash on his cheek, with crispy curls and a skinny face. Neil remembered walking to the library when he couldn’t find Andrew, taking out books to help him learn any of the languages he needed to know. The library in Oakland taught him about the history of Spain, and the culture in France. There was something about Stefan that Neil didn’t want to forget. He’d kept that library card safe as if it were a lifeline, like he knew it would come in handy some day.

And then Andrew threw it across the empty parking lot like a frisbee.

“She didn’t see anything.” Neil tried, as if it would help. “We left because I made a friend. Not because… you know.”

“I was not your friend.” Andrew stood up and put a cigarette between his teeth. He lit it, one puff, two puff, three puffs until it burned red. “I was never your friend.”

“You were.” Neil struggled to stand up and join him. “Don’t lie to a liar.”

“You remember it wrong!” He took a short drag and flicked ash as he spoke. “You were a toy to play with when there was nothing else to do.”

“You could’ve went home.” Neil took the cigarette from Andrew’s fingers. “But hey, I wasn’t the only one who needed to escape heavy hands, right?” He pulled the smoke into his lungs and breathed out before flicking the barely smoked cigarette away. “You were my friend. You had Stefan killed because I cared about you when Stefan wasn’t supposed to care about anybody.”

“Be quiet.” Andrew pulled another cigarette from the packet and squared up to Neil who was standing so close he could feel Andrew’s breath hot on his face. “You didn’t care.”

“Are you listening?” Neil spat again, the heat of the cigarette having hurt his cracked lips. “We left because of you. Because I let you in, and I’m sorry you were collateral damage in our war against the world but fuck, we didn’t have a choice. Do you think I wanted to leave? I was going to leave you a note, but she wouldn’t leave my side until we were in another city and Stefan was just another name in the pile. Fuck you if you don’t want to believe that. I don’t owe you an explanation but you’ve got one anyway. Tell me to leave and I’ll go. Tell me you understand and I’ll go, Andrew.”

“I waited for you.” Andrew exhaled honestly through cigarette smoke. “Every day! The fourth day I tried knocking on the door of your motel room. Fifth day a random couple opened the door and I knew you weren’t coming back. Why should I give you another chance, hmm? When you so easily could run away before, who’s to say you won’t do it again?”

“I’m not asking for another chance,” Neil head was pounding. He felt like he could pass out, his ears ringing and body jittery. “I don’t know, maybe I’m asking you to remember what I meant to you.” Andrew pursed his lips at that. He was struggling to keep his composure, like the memory of before was chipping away slowly at this version of Andrew. He was holding himself together with twitches and small fidgets.

“I hate you.” He said, coldly. He had lit his cigarette and smoked through half of it before speaking again. Neil just stood, suddenly thinking about if Kevin were to find the IDs scattered on the floor. He didn’t even think he could lie to Nicky about that. He would pick them up in a moment, but he couldn’t afford to lose Andrew’s interest in the conversation. If Neil got distracted now he could ruin every chance he possible had at reconciling some sort of relationship with Andrew.

“I hate what the world has turned you into.” Andrew snorted a laugh at Neil’s dramatics.

“Oh, you are a pipe bomb.” Andrew started to walk away, but when Neil grabbed his arm to stop him, in a quicker movement he had twisted Neil’s arm in some sort of self defence move that hurt. “You don’t have a right to touch me anymore. Keep your lying hands to yourself or I’ll break every one of your fingers.” He didn’t let go immediately.

“Do you miss it?” Neil searched Andrew’s eyes for something, anything. “Being vulnerable? Being comforted instead of being alone, blaming the world for your problems?” Before Neil could even think to keep going, Andrew had used his free hand to manoeuvre a knife from his arm bands and hold it up to Neil’s face.

“I dare you to keep pushing.” His words were casual, but a threat nonetheless. “Stop trying to control a life you left. I won’t be a scratching post for your mommy issues, runaway.”

“What did Jakub do to you?” Neil brought a memory out from the depths. As soon as the name left his lips, Andrew’s entire body hardened and his eyes turned to glass. He slashed a cut into Neil’s cheekbone without hesitation and proceeded to let go of his arm and jam a thumb into the fresh wound. “Why did you spend your childhood alone in a playground?” Neil spoke through gritted teeth.

“If you want to keep your fantasy alive I advise you to really shut up now.” Andrew pushed him backwards, a final squeeze in the gash as he did so. Even more blood dripped down his face. Andrew wiped his hands in his pants and picked up the ignored cigarette he’d dropped in the altercation. “You are going in circles. This is your last warning.”

“My mom nearly broke half the bones in my body trying to get rid of the memory of you.” Neil took his spot back up so close to Andrews face he could practically see every one of the pores in his face. He still had freckles scattered across his face, his skin soft, with faint acne scars here and there across his cheeks. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You should have.” Andrew threw his cigarette at Neil. “Make your choice. Run like you’re used to.” He looked him up and down one more time and turned on his feet back towards the club. Neil didn’t follow. He started to pick up the remnants of his past and he felt his nose ache in psychosomatic pain, remembering a nose-breaking punch his mother threw when Neil dared asked if they could stay. He spat again, still trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the shards of plastic evidence of who he used to. After picking them all up he had to stop, and sit down. He was afraid he was having a panic attack, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drugs still ravishing his system, or if it was because of Andrew. Maybe it was both. It probably was. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken the truth if he wasn’t high, but God, if he were sober it would’ve been so much easier to run. High Neil was emotional Neil, empathetic Neil, hurt Neil. He’d only had the experience of being really, genuinely high a few times, and every single time just reminded him how much he hated the feeling of being out of control. Of his nerves, his feelings, every fibre in his being misfiring and doing the opposite to what he wanted. His brain was begging him to feel the chemicals it was pumping out, but all it did was amplifying the aching feeling in his chest. He let out a noise that didn’t quite resemble a cry, or a sigh, or a grunt. It was a noise born from pain, a mixture of anxiety and heartbreak, maybe. He wasn’t sure what that felt like. Maybe this was it.

He tried to steady his breath and he stumbled across the empty lot. The booming bass from the music at Eden’s practically shook the ground as he walked, at least, it sure felt like it did. He stumbled as he reached down to pick up the library card so carelessly thrown away. It hurt him even more looking at Stefan, feeling this pang in his stomach that wished things could’ve been different. He didn’t think he liked Andrew like that, and being on the same team was just the destruction of a childhood crush. Neil tried to come up with excuses in his head to how Andrew felt, but it was obvious he had thrown Stefan into the bad memories pile a long, long time ago. Neil showing up again just ripped through Andrew’s closure, and knowing he had feelings beneath what he showed, he was probably hurting too. It didn’t seem like it, but maybe he was. Neil had put the ID away, and looked around. He had no real idea where he was, or how to get home. Before he knew it, he was sprinting away from the club, going nowhere, going anywhere but there. His head wasn’t in a place to decide that he should stay. He’s worth it. His heart raced at the thought of Andrew’s face, looking down at the long unused library card. He’s worth it. Neil couldn’t look back. He was wondering what Andrew was telling the others, and if they would believe him. He wondered if he’d told Nicky about Neil’s Idontknow sexuality, and that’s why Nicky thought it okay to kiss him. But he didn’t feel anything with Nicky. He didn’t look at anyone in the way he looked at Andrew. He ran and ran and ran until he’d sweat out the drugs, until his head was more focused on trying to breathe than it was on Andrew, and his mom. It took a while, and he was lost when he stopped. Unfamiliar streets, him a stranger in someone else’s hometown. Maybe that made things worse. This feeling was too familiar. Lost, lost, lost. Sometimes lost became familiar, became home. He didn’t think he could be un-lost again.

Part 3

#this is about older andy n Neil #so pls send an ask if u want more of them when they were young #cos I love Stefan + Andrew #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #andreil #tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil hc #just want ppl to read this bc I’m really happy with it :(

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sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

Don’t forget me

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: Y/N and George were in a car accident, leaving Y/N in a coma. George isn’t sure if their life will go back to normal.

Warning: Car accident, mention of broken bones, a few swear words, sad George.

A/N: this was longer then I planned for it to be, it’s a little one the angsty side but worth it I swear.

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 message me if you would like to be added!

Hope you enjoy.

Italics signify a flashback.

George couldn’t remember the last time he felt this worried and scared, actually the second Wizarding War would be a close contender. But right now, he couldn’t think about anything else besides you laying unconscious in a hospital bed.

George’s leg bounced up and down in the waiting room chair. What was meant to be a romantic date night turned into nightmare.

“Merlin, I think I’m going to explode with how full I am right now. That was the best risotto I’ve ever had.” Y/N moans, relaxing in the passenger seat as George chuckles and pulls out of the parking spot.

The redhead rests his hand on Y/N’s leg, concentrating on the snow filled road. “We definitely need to have date nights more often.”

The couple had been dating for almost 6 years having met at Hogwarts. George had worked up the courage to ask the H/C haired girl out, she had said yes, and the rest was history.

“I won’t say no to that, especially if you pay” Y/N jokes and squeezes Georges hand.

George glances over at Y/N who is staring out the window watching the snow fall. He can’t believe how lucky he is, Y/N is by far the most gorgeous girl he’s every laid his eyes on.

Y/N turns to face him having sensed his gaze on her. George swears he had only been looking at the beauty next to him for a moment, but his heart stops when he sees Y/N’s eyes widen and his name escaping from her lips, drawing his attention back to the road. George panics when his brain registers the bright lights of a truck right in front of them, gripping the steering wheel with both hands he tries to swerve out of the way, causing the car to flip and crash into a nearby tree.

“Any news yet dear?” George looks up to see his mum, Molly standing in front of him with a cup of water in an outstretched hand. He just shakes his head, taking the cup.

“Still in surgery” George sighs rubbing his eyes, Y/N had been in surgery by the time George woke up in the hospital bed. Molly and Fred had been waiting for him to wake up, they looked equally distraught. George hadn’t been told much of the details surrounding Y/N, only she had been taken straight into the operating room when they arrived.

George groans leaning back into the rather uncomfortable plastic chair. His arm is wrapped in a sling, doctors said he had broken his collarbone and his legs and arms were covered in multiple cuts and bruises but that was the extent of his injuries.

“She’s gonna be okay mate. Its Y/N we’re talking about, she’s a fighter” The voice comes from Fred, George hadn’t notice when he returned from his mission to find some decent food, not that George really cared to eat anything right now.

“Y/N L/N?” it’s the doctor speaking now, he is standing in front of them, clipboard in hand with a rather serious look on his face which might just be his permanent expression.

George jumps to his feet eager to know something, anything, he needs to know if Y/N is okay. His throat is dry, and it feels like a razor blade when he swallows, he’s 80% sure he might be sick or pass out from the worry, but he doesn’t care. Molly grab his hand in comfort, George finds himself squeezing it back.

George is having a hard time understanding what the doctor is saying, his brain feels fuzzy and he can only comprehend bits and pieces of the conversation. He can make out ‘Y/N is out of surgery’ and ‘brain swelling’ and ‘induced coma’ and George feels his legs give way.

Fred is at his side pulling him back up, “c’mon Georgie, we can go see her.”

Y/N’s giggles fill the air “Georgie, stop! Anyone could walk around the corner and find us.”

George’s hands are under Y/N’s school shirt, caressing her sides while his mouth is attacking her neck leaving as many dark bruises as he can, “I don’t care, I’m allowed to kiss my girlfriend when she looks this ravishing.”

Y/N moans quietly, her eyes fluttering closed as her hands thread through the redhead’s soft hair tugging lightly.

“I love you,” Y/N breathes out before she can stop herself. She stiffens, clamping a hand around her mouth. They couple hadn’t shared those words with each other yet, only been dating for a few months. “pretend I didn’t say that.” Y/N tries to backtrack, worried she gone and scared George.

By now George has moved from his original position and is looking down at Y/N searching her eyes.

“Say it again.”

Y/N hesitates, “I love you.”

George grabs her face in his giant hands and begins peppering soft kisses all over her face, “again” he mumbles against her skin.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” The short girl giggles.

Eventually George stops his attack on his girlfriend, “I love you too. Please don’t ever stop saying you love me.”

“Promise."

George reckons if it was quieter the world might be able to hear his heart thumping in his chest. His pace quickens as he looks at the room numbers, 205, 207, 209 and then 211. Once he enters the cold, white room he sees Y/N, laying in the hospital bed, covering in tubes.

“Godric,” he rushes over to his girlfriend’s side, clinging onto her hand and brushing some hair away that’s fallen onto her face. “baby.”

“I’m aware Doctor Anderson has already spoken with you Mr. Weasley, but Miss L/N here is in an induced coma due to the swelling against her brain. While she isn’t awake, I’m sure she can hear you.” The nurse notes before slipping out of the room.

“Baby, you have no idea how scared I’ve been. I miss you so much, I need you to get better so you can wake up and tell me how much of an idiot I am for driving in the snow. I am so sorry. Darling I am such a fucking idiot. Merlin, that should be me laying in a coma right now.” George babbles on and on for what feels like hours, his tears dried against his cheeks. At some point he falls asleep in the chair beside your bed, still clinging onto your hand.

“Happy birthday darling,” George says handing a very confused Y/N a small yellow wrapped box.

“Georgie my birthday isn’t for another few months” She grabs the box and slowly unwraps it, slightly nervous about what’s inside, Georges gift giving can be very unpredictable, most of them result in some sort of prank.

“I know but I couldn’t wait any longer to give you this present, seeing as you just finished school and all.”

Y/N tosses the wrapping paper aside and carefully lifts the lid of the tiny box; inside she sees a single key. “a key?”

“To my apartment” George answers, “I want you to move in with me and Fred.”

Y/N gazes up at her boyfriend surprised, “really? You want me to move in with you?”

“Of course, I can’t stand being away from you a moment longer. So… what do you say?”

Y/N has tears forming in her eyes, she has never felt love like this before and she prays it always stays this way forever. “Of course I’ll move in with you, silly!’ Y/N exclaims wrapping her arms around George’s neck.

George realises a breath he didn’t know he was holding “I was worried you might say no, thought maybe you think you’d get sick of me.”

Y/N shakes her head and nuzzles her face into Georges chest, “could never get sick of you babe, you’re stuck with me forever.”

It’s been a week? Maybe 2 or is it 3? George isn’t really sure how long its been, he’s spent every day in the hospital since the accident, the days seem to blur together. Fred has brought him some clothes here and there and convinced him to go home to shower a few times because ‘you smell like actual trash, probably doing some damage to Y/N’s nose with your stench’.

The doctors said the swelling in Y/N’s brain had improved and decided to bring her out of the medically induced coma. George has been persistent in asking when his girlfriend will wake up but only receiving an unhelpful reply of ‘it’s hard to tell, could take some time’. So, George decided he’d make sure he was by Y/N’s side for when she wakes up, not wanting her to be confused about her surroundings.

George has been tracing patterns onto the back of Y/N’s soft hand, quietly humming a tune to one of her favourite songs when she wakes up.

“Uh, excuse me?” Y/N’s voice came out croaky.

George’s head snapped up, “Oh merlin! You’re awake! You’re awake! Oh I’ve missed you baby!” he rushes to say as he’s clicking the nurses button to notify them.

Y/N scrunches up her eyebrows, feeling confused and eyes darting around the room. George is back at her side gripping her hand so tightly he doesn’t notice Y/N flinch slightly.

“How are you feeling darling? Are you in pain?” The redhead asks.

Y/N is in a tremendous amount of pain, her neck is aching, her wrist feels sore and stomach hurts when she breathes but she isn’t focused on any of that, all she is focused on right now is this man in front of her, this stranger.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Y/N whispers out, her throat stopping her from speaking any louder.

“What?” George squeaks dropping Y/N’s hand. At this moment the nurse comes into the room to tend to Y/N. George feels like he’s suffocating, he throat feels tight and dry and he can’t seem to breathe.

The nurse peeks at him noticing his pale face, “Mr. Weasley are you okay?”

“She-she doesn’t remember me.” He says not sure if the nurse heard. “She doesn’t know who I am.” He says louder this time.

The nurse looks taken back and begins asking Y/N questions, ‘what’s your name?’, ‘can you tell me what year it is?’.

George doesn’t wait to hear the answers, instead rushing out the room and heading outside, needing air. He quite literally bumps into Fred outside the hospital who was on his way to deliver him some food. The older twin notices his brothers horrified expression.

“Woah, is everything okay George? Is it Y/N? is she awake?” George’s breathing starts to quicken, he’s losing his grip on reality, he feels like he’s falling and he doesn’t know what to do. “Georgie mate look at me. Okay, just breathe buddy. Like this.” Fred takes some slow exaggerated deep breaths trying to calm down his brother. George’s eyes meet Fred’s and starts to copy him, which eventually slows down his heart rate and calms him down.

“Okay now can you tell me what’s going on?” Fred enquires.

George feels the hot fat tears running down his face as he wraps his arms around his brother, “she doesn’t remember me, Freddie. She doesn’t know who I am."

“Okay now are you going to tell us why you randomly dropped by?” Arthur asks as the 3 of them sit around the kitchen table, sipping at his tea.

“Not that we don’t love having you over dear.” Molly adds sending Arthur a glare.

George clears his throat looking between the 2, he knows his mum is going to flip. “I’ve decided I’m going to propose to Y/N.”

Molly squeals and pulls her son into a bone crushing hug, “oh my boy! This is amazing news. I’m so happy.” Arthur pats him on the back, “congratulations, we’re so proud of you.”

George chuckles as Molly pulls away, wiping the tears off her face.

Molly begins asking a million questions ranging from when George is planning on popping the question to how. “I haven’t decided yet, kind of waiting for the right time.”

Molly couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Y/N was perfect for her boy, since they first started dating in school Molly had an inkling it was the real deal and they’d end up getting married. George’s face would light up whenever Y/N was mentioned in a conversation and when he invited her over to spend the summer at the Burrow for the first time, he always had his hand in hers or holding her waist, stealing kisses whenever he could. It made Molly insanely happy to see how smitten her son was with Y/N.

“You tell us as soon as you her ask okay?” Molly insisted pointing a finger at George.

“I will, you’ll be the first to know.”

George is back in Y/N’s hospital room with Fred by his side. They’ve passed Doctor Anderson on their way up who explained Y/N’s situation. Retrograde amnesia, she can’t remember the last 7 years of her life, ultimately her life with George. The doctor mentioned her memory may come back, with brain injuries it’s hard to tell, but there is the chance that it won’t and that terrifies George. Doctor Anderson said that in a few days once Y/N is feeling better she can go home, he says it best for her to get back into her normal routine as soon as possible.

Y/N’s eyes look between the 2 identical men standing in front of her. They look vaguely familiar, like older versions of boys she used to know from school. After the redhead ran out of the room earlier the nurse and doctor filled Y/N in on her situation. Y/N was completely shocked to find out that she’s forgotten 7 years of her life, she isn’t some teenager at Hogwarts anymore and that is kind of freaking her out to be honest. The 2 redheads in front of her have yet to say anything and its annoying Y/N, she senses they are scared to speak to her, as if she might break.

“Oh my godric will one of you please something” Y/N finally huffs out annoyed.

The twin on the left, who isn’t the one Y/N ‘met’ earlier clears his throat and speaks “so I’m guessing you don’t remember us. Uh- I’m Fred and this is George, my brother.” Fred finds this unbelievably hard having to introduce himself to someone he’s known for years. Since Y/N and George started dating at Hogwarts him and Y/N had become pretty close friends.

“Fred and George” Y/N whispers, that does sound familiar. “Nice to meet you” Y/N pauses “re-meet you?”

Fred gives a light-hearted chuckle.

Y/N is filled with an ample amount of questions, she doesn’t know where to begin. “So how do I know you both? I mean we must be close if you’ve been waiting at the hospital for me.”

Y/N notices the twin on the right, George, looking like he’s in physical pain. Fred and George share a knowing look with each other before the younger twin starts to speak.

“Um, we met at Hogwarts actually and became pretty close,” he clears his throat and Y/N waits patiently for him to continue “you and me are… we’re actually dating.”

There’s an awkward tension in the air, no one can find the right words to speak. Fred has sat down on the wooden chair next to Y/N’s bed kind of regretting his decision to be here for moral support. George hasn’t moved from his position at the foot of the hospital bed, hand in his pocket staring down at his shoes.

“Oh” Y/N manages, “for how long?”

George inform Y/N that they’ve been officially dating for 5 almost 6 years, that they also live together in a flat above Fred and George’s joke shop which Y/N sometimes works at to help the boys. It feels strange for Y/N to hear about her life when none of it sounds familiar.

A few days later Y/N is standing in the living room of the flat, looking around at the photo frames hung up on the wall. Many of them include her, one in particular catches her eye. It’s a photo of her and George at the beach, George looks the same as he does now so Y/N guesses it may have been from the past summer. George has his arm around her waist tickling her sides as Y/N throws her head back laughing then George plants a sloppy kiss against her cheek. They look so happy, so in love. Y/N’s heart aches.

“I’ll show you to the bedroom if you like” Y/N turns around to find George standing there. She follows him into the bedroom. “If you need anything, I’ll just be in the living room.” George steps towards Y/N but falters, he normally kisses her goodnight. “um night.” He turns quickly on his heels and walks right out the door.

Y/N lays in bed that night, trying desperately to search her brain for something. She’s gotta remember something. But nothing comes up. She feels like a failure, and so overwhelmed she can’t help but cry herself to sleep that night. Just in the other room George lays uncomfortably on the couch, trying to sleep with a sling on your arm and a broken collarbone proves very difficult, he too has tears staining his cheeks as he finally falls asleep.

“Will you quit staring at me” George mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Y/N pokes his cheek earning a grumble from the sleepy boy. They had been living together for 1 year now and Y/N couldn’t be any happier. “Wake up sleepy head.”

She tries poking his cheek again when he doesn’t answer. “Leave me be” George mumbles.

Y/N purses her lips an idea forming in her head, “you leave me no choice.” She stands up in the bed and starts jumping around and yelling “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

Eventually George opens his eyes and grabs onto Y/N’s legs pulling her down and on top of him who is giggling like crazy, George smiles too.

“You are going to be the death of me, ya know that?” George says kisses her cheek.

Y/N laughs, “you love me though right Georgie?”

“Always.”

Y/N jolts awake, that dream feeling so realistic. It’s been 2 weeks since she left the hospital and some nights, she has these dreams that feel so unbelievably real or she’ll do something that give her déjà vu. She hasn’t told George about it though; she doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case her memories don’t return.

Y/N walks into the kitchen to find George making coffee, his red hair sticking in a million of different directions.

“Mornin’ Georgie” Y/N greets, going to make some toast.

George whips his head to face the smaller girl, she hasn’t called him Georgie since before the accident. Y/N doesn’t seem to notice though and continues to make her toast. “Morning,” he mumbles back “any progress on the memory?”

Y/N shakes her head and George feels his heart drop. He doesn’t want to think about what happens if Y/N never regains her memories, frightened she’ll never feel the way she used too. His family seem very optimistic about the whole situation, Ginny thinks that the whole situation is very romantic but each day that goes by George loses hope.

It's a Saturday night and they’ve just finished watching a movie on the couch. Y/N fell asleep half-way through which wasn’t surprising, her head resting on George’s shoulder, he doesn’t dare move in inch. In this moment he can pretend everything is normal again.

“Mm, Georgie. Dinner.” Y/N mumbles, George looks down and sees her eyes still closed, he realises she’s sleep talking.

“What was that love?”

Y/N stirs slightly, curling into Georges side. “We should do dinner. Date night. Been too long.”

The redhead starts playing with her H/C hair. “Yeah? Where should we go?”

“You know, Valentino’s. Always go there.” Y/N breathes out.

George’s breath hitches. Y/N always chose Valentino’s when it was her choice for date night, it was this cute little Italian restaurant they’d found one night in London, it was where they went the night of the accident.

“That sounds lovely, darling.” George kisses Y/N’s forehead.

Y/N stirs from her slumber “did I fall asleep again Georgie?” she rubs her eyes trying to take in her surroundings. Her brain feels fuzzy having just woken up. Y/N looks around trying to remember how she got on the couch when she lets out a loud gasp and jumps up.

“What is it? Is everything okay?” George eyes Y/N carefully who is frantically looking around the room finally landing on George.

Y/N’s doesn’t speak for a minute her brain going crazy. While Y/N doesn’t remember everything that she’s forgotten from the last 7 years she remembers parts, the important parts. She remembers kissing George for the first time and being each other’s date for the Yule ball, she remembers how sad and proud she felt when she watched Fred and George fly out of Hogwarts for the last time, she remembers the fear and terror of the war, she remembers joking around with Fred late at night and drawing on George’s face when he fell asleep after a night of drinking but most importantly she remembers loving George.

George’s heart sores and little fireworks erupt inside his chest when he hears Y/N say, “I remember.”

He palms the small box in his jacket pocket which he hadn’t the heart to remove just in case he found the right moment.

#George Weasley #George weasley x reader #George Weasley Fluff #George weasley one shot #George Weasley oneshot #George Weasley fanfic #George Weasley fanfiction #Fred Weasley #Fred and George #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #George Weasley Angst #George Weasley fic #hp fanfic #hp one shot #George Weasley x you

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years

Note

Can I request a Thomas (tmr) x f!reader soulmate au maybe where he comes up to the glade after she’s been there for a while with her name on his wrist. And that brings back her memories of him? Thank you!!

Of course, sweet Anon! 😊 I don't usually like AU, but I actually do like the soulmate trope lol. Also, this took too long, I know. I've been so unmotivated and I have no idea why and I still have like 4 more imagines to do hahahahahaaa......ugh

Aaaanyway...*cough cough* this is...what it is. I have this disease, called "backstoryinitis" where I add too much backstory to an imagine, so, uh, sorry?

~~~~~~~~~~

Wiping a bead of sweat off your brow, you stopped hoeing the ground when you heard the loud alarm that rang every month.

Another month, another Greenie...

You'd lived in the Glade for a couple years now, so you were used to new kids coming up in what everyone called the Box every month. It's really the only way you could keep track of how long you were stuck in this place.

Every month, you wondered if there was going to be someone like you sent up; a female. Being the only girl in a group of dozens of boys, it got lonely. Of course you had friends, but it just wasn't the same to you. And what was even weirder, you had a tattoo on your wrist, a name.

At first, when you came up in the Box without your memories, you actually thought it was your name, until you remembered your actual name.

Looking at your wrist every day and night, you tried to comb your brain for any sliver of memory that could answer your hundreds of questions that you had. Why was this name on your wrist, and who was this person? You hoped you'd find out, one day.

You ran alongside your friend to the Box, Chuck. Well, more like closest person you considered a younger brother. He very well could've been for all you knew, but he was just one of over fifty other boys that could've been a relative. But you always called Chuck "baby brother," not that he enjoyed that nickname, in public at least. He did get teased a bit by the other guys if you called him that within earshot, so you eased up on the name a bit. But you couldn't help that protective sister side of you when you thought Chuck was getting too close to the Box when it still hadn't come up all the way.

You looked around at all the excited faces of the other boys, anxious to see the new Greenie, anxious to hassle him more like.

You always tried to be nice to Greenies, remembering how poorly you were treated when you arrived in the Glade a couple years ago. No one would really take you seriously because you were a girl. You didn't even get a job assigned to you until a few months later, of course besides the stereotypical doing the laundry and helping Frypan in the kitchen, until you almost burned down the whole shack. Turns out, you were a terrible cook. Fry still teases you about it from time to time.

Eventually, you gained everyone's trust, even Gally's, that kid definitely took some convincing though. You thought he hated you if you were being honest, but in time, you saw through your anger and understood why. Some mysterious girl just shows up with a name tattooed on her wrist when nobody else did? It probably would've freaked you out too. Thankfully, everyone stopped asking you about it when you didn't even know yourself.

You winced softly when a dull pain shot up your hand, the ink in your wrist started to itch. Huh, it's never itched before? You tried to think nothing of it when the Box finally came up all the way, Gally reaching down and opening up the hatch doors.

Everyone peered over the sides of the heavy metal doors, trying to get a good look at the new Greenie. Of course, it was another male, cowering in the corner in terror like so many other boy you've seen. An odd feeling washing over you, like nostalgia but mixed with an almost sense of overwhelming joy. The feeling was so all consuming that you didn't even notice the new Greenie taking off in a dead sprint until all your fellow Gladers started to whoop and holler, obviously finding the Greenie's fear amusing, the boy faceplanting only adding to their boisterous laughter.

You rolled your eyes, mumbling to yourself, "The dude's just scared."

Of course, the Greenie being terrified out of his mind didn't stop the Keepers from deciding to keep him in the pit until he calmed down, a sentiment you did not share. Newt chuckled, gaining your attention quickly. "What're you laughing at?" You asked.

"Nothing, just adorable how you feel for the Greenies."

"Oh, shuck you."

"Why so defensive?"

"I am not." You pouted, crossing your arms. "It's not like he's the only one that's totally freaked out on the first day. He shouldn't be locked up in the pit."

"That is true, but you know it's for everyone's safety, including his." He said, walking away.

"Yeah, yeah..." You sighed, uncrossing your arms and choosing to lean against the hoe that you were holding, eyes completely focused on Alby and the new Greenie. To say you were curious would've been an understatement.

It was strange, you usually didn't have such a peaked interest in Greenies like this before. You felt yourself drawn to him, for some unknown reason. And another thing that was strange, your wrist tattoo had been tingling ever since he came up in the Box, but you just wrote that up as a coincidence. There was no way it could be correlated...right?

"Y/n!"

You turned to Alby, quickly making his way to you with almost angry expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know the Greenie?" He asked, his expression not changing.

You furrowed your brows, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips. "Of course not, why would I?"

"Your name is on his wrist."

You froze, your confusion clearly etched on your face. "W-What?"

"You really don't know him? If your name is on his wrist, then I think it's pretty safe to assume that the name on your wrist is his."

"No, that's...impossible. I..." You were at a loss for words, how could this be happening? All this time, you just thought, maybe you had a partner before your memories got wiped and got their name tattooed; but now, you had no idea the hell was going on.

"The Greenie also claimed he didn't know where the tattoo came from, or who the name belonged to."

"You didn't tell him...about me?"

"No, not yet. I wanna keep this under wraps until we figure out what the shuck is happening here."

"But Alby, everyone knows about my tattoo, if someone sees his-"

"He's wearing a long sleeve. If he knows what's good for him he'll listen to me when I told him to cover it." Alby sighs, hardening his expression once more. "I swear, Y/n, if you know something about this-"

"I don't." You assured, you were just as confused as he was.

"The bonfire tonight will be a good opportunity to talk to the Greenie, everyone'll be too drunk to notice."

"Alby, you still trust me, right?"

"That remains to be seen."

The anxiety that you felt the rest of the day finally bubbled to the surface when the bonfire party started. You pretty much avoided the Greenie all day. You didn't know if you had any reason to be scared, but so many fears plagued your mind. So many "what ifs." But were sure nothing would be worse than having to wait to find out.

Looking over to see the Greenie and Newt sitting together away from the bonfire, Alby gave you a look, stern but not stern enough for you to feel threatened, although you still felt nervous.

Slowly walking over to the Greenie, you kept telling yourself over and over that this is the moment you've been waiting for ever since you were sent to the Glade, the moment you found out if this boy was the one who's name was permanently engraved onto your skin. You could finally have some sort of closure, maybe not complete, but just knowing would be enough.

You nervously cleared your throat, both boys looking your way as you stood above them. "Hey, Newt." You quickly started, "thought I'd introduce myself to the Greenie." You gave Newt a look that told him to leave the two of you alone.

Newt chuckled. "Right, of course. I think I'm gonna get myself another drink." And off he went, leaving you and the Greenie in an awkward silence, but more of an anxious silence on your part.

"Sorry I haven't introduced myself yet, been a busy day." You forced a smile, taking a seat next to the Greenie.

"Do you guys throw parties like this every time a new...Greenie shows up?" The boy asked, a slight bitter tone to his voice.

"Yeah, pretty much. We only really started this tradition a year ago, we thought we might as well celebrate another month of surviving here, also welcoming the newbies."

"Yeah, well, doesn't really feel like a warm welcome, despite the bonfire." You chuckled. "Are you...? Uh, never mind."

"No, what?"

"Well, just looking around, you seem to be the only girl here. Why is that?"

You shrugged. "Beats me. I came here just like everybody else, no memories. I wish I knew. Speaking of, have you remembered your name yet?"

The Greenie frowned. "No." He whispered, suddenly rubbing his sleeve covered wrist.

"What's wrong?" You asked, noticing his discomfort.

He sighed. "Uh, nothing. My wrist just hurts a little, might've sprained it or somethin'."

This was taking too long, and the bonfire party was starting to die down. It would be over soon, you had to speed this up.

"Alby told me..." You started, nervously taking a deep breath before continuing, "about your wrist."

The Greenie looked to you with wide eyes. "He told me to keep quiet about it, why would he tell you?"

"Because...the name on your wrist is mine."

He furrowed his brows, his mouth slightly agape, rolling up his sleeve slightly, just enough to see the top of the outline of your name. "Wait, really? How is that...?"

"I don't know. But I'm guessing," You rolled up your own sleeve, "this is your name?"

You held up your wrist, the light from the bonfire illuminating the ink enough for the Greenie to read what it said, "Thomas." Thomas' confused face mirrored your own, both of you feeling a strange mix of emotions all at once. He reached out, you flinching away slightly. "Can I?" He asked.

You nodded curtly, extending out your wrist for him to hold.

As soon as his skin made contact with yours, you felt a spark of electricity rush through your whole body, so intense that it made you jolt with a quiet gasp. Thomas seemed to have felt the same, his grip on your wrist tightening as he felt the same rush.

You suddenly felt like you were hit in the head with a brick, sharp flashes of images of you, but not in the Glade. These were different, you saw yourself smiling, laughing, with an older woman, smile lines and subtle wrinkles around her eyes, tuffs of greyish white hair scattered about in random spots amongst her lush natural colored hair. You instantly teared up...this was your mother...you remembered your mother.

"I remember." You and Thomas said at the exact same time.

"My name is Thomas." He confirmed, tears welling up in his golden brown eyes, giving them a shine. "I remember everything, my family, my friends, why I came here..."

"I remember my life before here too. I was...taken. They took me away from my mama." You quickly felt a surge of anger rush through you. "W.C.K.D. They did this."

Thomas sighed. "I know..." He took hold of both your hands. "I remember you too, Y/n." A slight rosy blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Me too." You said softly.

You both had worked at W.C.K.D. together, you both had the same distain for the company and wanting to take them down together, both of you being betrayed and sent here. You knew it was dangerous for W.C.K.D. to send you both to the same Maze trial, how could they make such a stupid mistake.

"We have to get everyone out of here, Thomas."

"We will."

"Together."

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, that escalated quickly. Hope you enjoyed it regardless, Anon😊

#the maze runner #tmr thomas #thomas x reader

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furiousgoldfish · 3 years

Text

I haven't been writing a lot lately because my recovery has been taking a wild turn and in lack of anyone to talk to or therapy, I'll be writing about it here! I'll put it under a cut. There are some descriptions of recovery going very wrong, and also explanations of things I was wrong about.

So since the pandemic started I've been deteriorating badly, first I've been processing trauma extensively, having intense breakdowns and gradually it turned into depression from lack of stimulation, I've been completely alone for months without speaking to, or seeing anyone. I thought it was the isolation getting to me, and decided I just need to endure that, indulge in whatever coping I could and wait for it to end. And then things got worse.

Even as normally I was seeing some very slow progress in recovery; now it was going backwards; I was having less and less ability to get anything done, I wasn't able to force myself to do my job for months, I kept getting stuck in bed for weeks, chronic pain got so bad I couldn't move on most days. And, it only kept going worse.

My breakdowns stared to be about the present instead of the past; I couldn't handle being in pain all the time. As in before I would recover from a breakdown within a day or two, now it took 4 days to a week, and the trauma episodes would last for hours, so intense I'd find myself hoping I would die during it.

And then, I started losing all mobility and this seriously freaked me out. Everything above I've already experienced before, without long term consequences, but now my body was losing function in a way that felt permanent; I could no longer move for more than few minutes, and without extensive pain. Sometimes I would try to get up and end up collapsing and screaming from how much it hurt, I would move my arm and my whole body would experience a shock of intense pain. I was scared, I no longer knew what was going on, I was suspecting something more than ptsd was wrong. I've forced myself into physical activity, trying to fight this, I tried stretching, exercising, running, punching, and every single one of these activities made it incredibly worse. I thought I had broken my body by laying down too much. I no longer felt anything but terror and dread, and kept spiralling into scenarios of my own death; it felt inevitable, I wasn't going to survive without ability to move, nobody would take care of me.

I tried out medicine that helps relaxing, it had minimal effect. Then, in desperation to check if this was all ptsd, I attempted self harm, to see if it erases the pain. It did. It lowered the pain significantly It was a big relief, even though I wasn't happy with resorting to that, at least I could move around for a while, and I was grateful for that. Times couldn't be more desperate, and the measure felt fitting. I was still in a very bad shape, and the pain was only somewhat lessened.

It was about that time someone sent me the Complex PTSD book; I had wanted it for a while and immediately went to read it. I felt some relief reading it, and I was struck with the realization that I have not felt any relief in more than a year. It also surprised me with some of the exact descriptions of my behaviour, that I didn't realize was a symptom. I thought it was necessary and smart of me to live in hiding, to avoid interaction and never connect to anyone; it kept me safe. It turns out it's a regular freeze response to trauma; I got very called out for it. It also explains that a freeze response is what people use when anything else doesn't work, and it's true! I had been fighting, fawning and perfecting myself desperately prior to realizing that absolutely nothing helps, and froze to survive. It also described that freeze types are capable of surviving prolonged isolation because their brains produce hormones that relax the body as if they're going thru a moment before death; also true for me, I've been aware my brain does that, only I get that way too often, and it only helps me marginally because I'm too used to it.

Another thing I was very wrong about was my concept of my inner critic; I thought I had already won that battle, because I did not allow any voice in my head to criticize me (my alters can drag me affectionately), and I generally didn't experience a lot of shame or guilt for what I was going thru. The book describes inner catastrophizer, which is an extention of the critic, and it causes you to spral into extremely negative scenarios of your own demise. Now that.. was happening to me every single day, I saw myself dead around every corner. But I always thought my fears about that were perfectly reasonable. I had been tortured into suicidal state as a kid and nobody cared, I barely escaped with my life from there, I was living illegally, in hiding, without a normal job or regular income, without close friends or any family, with ptsd i couldn't get diagnosed for, without ability to work due to ptsd, in a capitalistic society where being able to work is only thing between you and dying. I had, by that point, gained many skills of survival, but it still felt very reasonable to fear that I would die if I don't get better soon.

The book described people who had families, jobs, social circles, friends and community, who spiraled into deep fear of becoming homeless and dying on the street; somehow their spiraling was exactly the same as mine, and it made me realize that it was, in fact, a symptom, and not reflection of reality. Because I was spiraling even when laying in my bed or eating or sleeping, knowing I could still afford rent for months because I arranged my life to allow myself to lay down a lot. I kept fearing my parents were coming to end my life, even when I arranged my entire existence specifically to prevent this from happening. And even if I was sick and without a real job, I had in fact, survived for 5 years after running away, I wasn't getting worse at it. My spiraling into death scenarios was a symptom of being trapped within a flashback.

The book guided me to try to challenge these fears, I immediately went for it, had a breakdown, screamed "I can't" for like an hour, had additional few breakdowns afterwards, and miraculously, recovered from them in only few hours. And then, I woke up from my flashback.

I won't describe what the flashback was, because it's too gruesome and horiffic, but it was in fact, bad enough to warrant every single bit of that pain I was experiencing, and a very convoluted, complex trauma. I was waiting to be killed in that flashback. Whats concerning is, I've been trapped in that same flashbacks for more than a year. After I broke my way out of it, it felt like I woke up to being alive for the first time in years. I got out being frozen in bed.

For 5 amazing days, I was able to do whatever I wanted. Chronic pain? I didn't know her. It was absoluely exhilirating to get to move again, I was not getting tired either, I was out there making up for months of doing nothing and I was not collapsing at any point. I felt actual joy again, and hope, and being free from pain was so extremely good, that alone made me ecstatic. I was able to create, to be organized, to take care of myself, to follow a checklist, to focus, I was a Normal Person for those 5 days.

And then, predictably, I was getting back stuck in that flashbacks and my levels of terror and dread spiked again. I went to re-read the book, and it took me a few days to really figure it out again, I don't know exactly how the book works on me, I feel like it says just the right keywords to trigger me into realizations and causes breakdowns that set me free. I found myself able to stop some spiraling, but sometimes I can't, that flashback holds immense power over me and is actually mixed with 10 other near-death scenarios that are too extreme for me to process, so this will keep happening. I did break free again, and got to experience additional few days of movement and happiness; I also started working extensively with my child alter, who was until recently extremely suicidal and dangerous to work with.

I am still kinda lost in all of this, and unsure whats going on, but I do believe I wont get trapped in a flashback again for a whole year. I became so anxious and helpless due to isolation, I forgot how to fight trauma, I forgot I actually had to do it. I used to do it constantly in the beginning, but it had made me suicidal back then to face all this, so I tried to just let it heal naturally, which I believed would eventually happen; but it didn't, I got trapped and suffered without knowing how to get out. I also believed my own spiraling was a reflection of reality and not trauma, and that fueled it a lot.

It explains very eloqently in the book how inner catastrophizing comes from being massively neglected; children who are not looked after start to realize just how unprotected they are, so their own sense of danger becomes hypersensitive and starts to lock on possible dangers everywhere. This is then further aided by media that points out every possible bad thing that could happen to a person, and the child who isn't guided by adult who could actually make a reasonable distinction between real and unlikely danger, will clock it all as absolute possibilities and be on alert. It's also fueled by the line of disasters and dangers that happen to them in the context of their own home, and for me, the strongest factor was my parents constantly convincing me that I would die without them. Even though I proved this wrong, and understand they did it precisely because they knew there was a lot of survival ability in me and that's why they worked so hard to destroy it, the fact that it was brainwashed into me under circumstances of torture still makes it impossible for me to fight it.

Maybe one day I will be able to.

I'm writing this because writing things down helps to make sense of it all, and I need to find my way thru this. I also hope someone else will see themselves in what I'm describing and it will help them find a way forward. Complex ptsd is the only book I found that speaks from the point of view of a person who survived cptsd, healed from it, and had so much experience with other traumatized people they're able to draw parallels and create patterns and statistics out if it, it was that more than anything that convinced me of their words, and gave me hope. The book also warns many times of how essential it is to reduce inner critic and catastrophizer before getting other recovery work done, other therapy might only do further harm before this work is done. It was true for me.

If you wanna read this book, here's a post with the links!

#cptsd #complex ptsd #ptsd recovery #tw self harm #story of recovery #trauma #abuse recovery #trauma symptoms #chronic pain #chronic exhaustion #freeze response

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veliseraptor · 3 years

Note

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him.

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers.

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

#hope that was enough rambling for you anon jesus christ #confessions of a frustrated writer #i don't even know what to tag this #anonymous #conversating

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obi works for izana au #my fic #ans #listen it's obiyuki as a WHOLE but in this chapter there's just little hints #but truly this is just our excuse to have:#1) obi work with the smartest man in the manga and have his whole skill set utilized #2) enemies to friends to lovers #also torturing zen and obi with the friendship that could have been #that too #you know how it is

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meilbox · 3 years

Text

◟♡ like real people do.

relishing in the baby steps of your relationship with denki kaminari.

wc: 1.2k words.

pairing: denki kaminari + gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst if you squint, established relationship

warnings: denki + reader being in love and extremely doubtful at the same time i think? one (1) mention of mineta. cuz hes gross.

a/n: this came to me while listening to the song of the same name by hozier, and my brain just went: ah yes, dumb pikachu. <3 if denki is out of character i’m so sorry i just wanted to write soft fluff for him :,) @denkamis come and get yo juice. jk i love you here’s your denki fluff.

requests are open!

Being in a relationship was something so exciting, yet terrifying all at the same time. At least, that was what you’d thought initially. The idea of finding someone you cared about with all your heart, someone you wanted to cherish for the rest of your days, it was scary to think about. You never thought you’d find someone like that.

That was, until Denki Kaminari popped into your life.

The sweet, optimistic, electric hero of class 1-A. Your classmate. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Finding out he’d harboured similar feelings towards you was like a dream come true. All those feelings you’d originally believed only existed in the books and movies were standing here, right in front of you. Flourishing in front of your very eyes. Though the confession was quite the spectacle, and a little awkward and embarrassing on both ends, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The relationship you two had was much like a small plant. It was fresh, new, and needed lots of love and care. You couldn’t wait to see how it would grow between the two of you. Without fail, Denki managed to find a permanent place in your heart. Even if you two were still considered stuck in what they call “the honeymoon phase”, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when teachers and friends alike would ask you questions that made you think for a minute, you’d never leave Denki. Often times it was small things like, “aren’t you two too young to say you’re in love?” or “aren’t you guys moving a little too slow?”, you and Denki were the only people who had a say in what went in your relationship, and you two had already had a couple conversations on the topic.

Small, shy glances towards one another in the middle of Ectoplasm’s lecture, tiny notes hidden on your desks by one another, gentle touches and brushes of hands against one another, anything you two did caused butterflies to flutter in your tummy, and your heart’s beat increasing drastically. Though, you couldn’t help but realize that you two hadn’t shared your first kiss quite yet.

It wasn’t a big deal between the both of you. You both had come to a mutual agreement that when you both felt ready to do so, you’d let the other know.

You knew it was silly to let others talk about your relationship the way they did, but it was something neither of you could brush off. Was it not normal to be three months into dating and not have a first kiss? What happened to ‘taking things at your own pace’? You’d even recalled Mina asking you about it, mentioning the nature he previously shared when hanging with people like Mineta.

Truth be told, before getting together, both you and Denki had been reluctant to act on your feelings for one another. Denki on one hand, was afraid you’d push him away because of who he’d hang around. He was never like that, and wouldn’t ever do anything to make you uncomfortable. Meanwhile, you were simply afraid that he’d reject you, opting to go for someone like Yaoyorozu or Jirou instead. But now that you two were together, reassurance and soft praises were a common occurrence between the two of you.

Currently, you two were in his dorm. Seated in between your legs was your boyfriend, sitting cross legged on the floor as you comfortably rested on his bed, arms draping on his shoulders, as he rubbed your arms with gentle movements. There was a movie playing on the screen of the tv in his room, but being in each other’s presence distracted you both from watching. The movie had practically been long forgotten as the two of you talked about anything and everything that came to mind. It was something you loved about Denki. Being able to talk without feeling judged.

“Say, Denki?” You speak once he’s done with his story, rousing him to lift his head to look at you, the same fond expression on his face he had whenever he spent time with you. He smiled.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He asks cheekily, causing heat to flood to your cheeks a bit. Day in and day out, he’d constantly batter you with cheesy nicknames, and even now, you still weren’t used to them. Using a free hand, you carded it through his golden hair with a tenderness saved only for your ball of sunshine. After some thought, you felt ready. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him. Kiss him and hope that maybe he can realize just how much he meant to you. He wanted all these things just as much as you did, but wanted to wait until you were certain.

A pregnant silence took over the room, nothing but the end credits of the movie playing in the background as you tried to find the right words for what you wanted to say next. Denki’s look of fondness quickly changed into one of slight worry at the sudden quietness that took over. Just as he was about to ask what was the matter, you beat him to it.

“How mad would you be if I said I wanted to kiss you now? I mean, I would hope you’re not mad, but it’s been months and we haven’t kissed yet. But I’m ready now, I feel ready.” You rambled, and Denki swore that he could feel himself just about ready to short circuit from there. He was buzzing with excitement. Denki couldn’t help but grin ear to ear. Even if he himself had been ready, he would wait until you called the shots. He wasn’t like how people may have depicted him as. He was so much better. He wanted to give you the world, and looked at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky.

He couldn’t even find the words to respond. At first it had you almost worried you’d scared him into silence, but you were immediately relieved of your concern when the sweet melody of his laughs filled the room.

“Baby. Darling, sweetheart, angel! Oh my god. You have no idea how happy I am right now.” He told you, standing now so that he could bring you into an embrace. “I love you so much, you know that right? I don’t care when we kiss. I hope you know that too. When we kiss doesn’t change how much I adore you.” He tells you, his voice just above a whisper, and your voice catches in your throat as he pulls away just enough to get a look at your features. You let out a sigh of relief and joined in on his laughter, the sounds dying down as you two gazed at one another.

Without any other words, Denki leaned in, and you met him halfway, lips finally connecting to one another. The kiss you two shared had been full of feeling. Emotions of adoration, and so much more. You could tell he was trying to be cheesy and romantic with it, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

After pulling away, you held him close, a giggle escaping your mouth.

“You’re so silly, I love you too.”

reblogs and likes are appreciated! please do not copy, plagiarize or repost my work.

#✎ᝰ┆mei’s scribbles. ꒱ ( 🗒 )#mha ( 🩹 )#mha x reader #mha fluff #denki x reader #denki kaminari #denki fluff #my hero academia imagines #my hero fluff

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professorrw · 3 years

Text

All I Want, Remus Lupin Fanfiction

Chapter Eleven

Warnings: eventual smut, death, violence, swearing, age gap, slight angst, major spoilers for Deathly Hallows

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this! If you did, like, comment, and reblog! If you would like to be added to my taglist (permanent or for this series) tell me and I’ll put you on there!

You looked around. It was so dark you couldn't make out the features of anyone around you but there were other people there. "Y/N?" a voice said. Luna's dreamy voice was unmistakable.

"Luna? What are you doing here?" you asked. You didn't know Luna too well but you had seen her around Hogwarts and heard people calling her Loony Lovegood. She didn't seem that bad in your opinion. "They took me because my dad is the editor for the Quibbler," she answered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My parents thought that it was good that he was on Harry's side."

"Yeah..." she trailed off. You tried to look around and see who else was in there. There were two other people and a... goblin. "Luna?" you asked.

"Yes?"

"Who else is in here? In this cellar I mean."

"Mr. Ollivander and Dean. And that goblin's name is Griphook. He doesn't talk much."

"Mr. Ollivander? Dean?" you called out. "I'm over here," a voice spoke. That had to be Dean. He was sitting in the corner of the cellar. The only other person was a figure slumped against the wall and sitting on the floor. That was Mr. Ollivander. Harry said he saw Mr. Ollivander being tortured by Voldemort. Something about a wand...

No one came down to the cellar which surprised you. Wouldn't they make sure you were still there? It had been hours since the two men brought you to the manor. No one really spoke. The dungeon was quiet and smelled like mold. There was no light either so you were basically sitting in absolute darkness. Every so often Luna would hum to herself or Dean would cough.

Finally, you decided to speak. "Do they bring you food and water? Do they do anything to you?" You asked the last question a little quietly, afraid of the possible answer. "They bring us food sometimes. And water. They haven't done anything to me. They tossed me in here and left. Just like they did to you. Mr. Ollivander hasn't gotten the same treatment. He's been down here for a year," Luna answered.

A year? Voldemort has kept him as a prisoner for a year? What if he does that to you? And what happened to Remus? They never brought him. Did... Greyback kill him? No, Remus can't be dead. He can't be. But what if he was? The thought of Remus being dead tormented your mind and kept you from sleeping that night. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if Remus died. He was so important to you. The most important person in your life. You... loved him. There was no denying it. With the idea of never seeing him again your stomach lurched, making you want to puke your guts out even though you hadn't eaten. He had to be okay. If he isn't...

After spending so much time with Remus and developing these strong feelings for him you felt empty. What if you were all alone? What if you have lost the person you love above all others? Your parents died and now... Remus might be too.

You had assumed it was hours later, probably early the next day when someone came down there. It was one of the men that had taken you. He carried multiple trays of food and sat them on the floor and left without a second glance at any of you. He was carrying out Voldemort's orders. They were all his followers. You couldn't fathom why anyone would want to live that kind of life.

You all sat in that dungeon for hours. It was cold, so cold. And the air was damp. Dew stuck to your forehead. You had curled yourself into a ball and laid in the corner of the cell when you heard raised voices coming from upstairs. It sounded like... no, it couldn't be. Hermione?

Not but a few moments later the door to the cellar opened, casting in a sliver of light and down walked Harry and Ron. You couldn't believe it. How did they get here? As soon as the door shut again Harry and Ron turned to you. "Y/N! We heard you were captured! Remus was on the radio, on Potterwatch. He said they had taken you. He escaped from Fenrir Greyback. I can't believe it! Are you alright?" Ron rushed out.

The only thing your brain registered was that Remus was alive. He was alive. A wave of relief flooded through you. He was alive. But... would you ever see him again? "Y/N?" Ron said again.

"Oh yes I'm quite alright. I'm just glad Remus is okay. How did you two get down here? Is Hermione with you?"

"There's a Taboo on You-Know-Who's name. Harry over here said it and they captured us. They aren't sure if it's Harry though. The jinx has just worn off, but his face swelled. It was massive. And yeah, Hermione is with us. Bellatrix wanted her for some reason. She was on the list of muggle borns. We need to find a bloody way to get out of here," Ron huffed.

"First off, we can't do anything if we can't see. We need to get out of these ropes then you need to use the Deluminator. You have some light in there," Harry said.

Luna walked over and worked on the ropes with a nail until Ron told her to get the Deluminator out of his pocket so she could see. She clicked open the Deluminator and the cellar's torches were filled with light. You could see everything a lot clearer now. Ron and Harry both looked rough. Mr. Ollivander looked the worst. He resembled a skeleton. Hermione's screams could be heard from upstairs and Ron winced at the sound.

Eventually Luna had gotten them both out of their bindings. Harry began to look around until he started rifling through Hagrid's pouch. He took out the Snitch that Dumbledore gave him first, then a shard of mirror. He dropped it and began to yell at it for help. You didn't have any better ideas so you stood and watched.

Hermione and Bellatrix's screams could be heard from upstairs. Ron looked absolutely crestfallen every time he heard Hermione's voice. It was obvious they liked each other but they wouldn't realize it. Just like you hadn't realized, or didn't acknowledge, your feelings for Remus.

After another one of Bellatrix's shrieks, Harry hurried over to the goblin in the corner and pleaded with him to lie about the sword they had. There were footsteps coming down the cellar stairs and Draco yelled out for everyone to line up on the wall. Everyone moved over as told while Ron clicked out the lights with his Deluminator.

Draco rushed down and took the goblin then returned upstairs. A moment later there was a CRACK! Dobby was standing in the cellar. Ron clicked on the lights and tried not to yell. Harry asked Dobby some questions and then ordered him to take you, Luna, Mr. Ollivander, and Dean to Shell Cottage, where Fleur and Bill lived.

He obliged and stuck out his hands. You four held onto his hands and disappeared with a CRACK! The first thing you noticed was how fresh the air was and the sound of waves.

Taglist: @bellamy1998 @sxsalvatore @ottjord @lina1945

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