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teshamerkel · 24 days

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 55]

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Tobias and Nia tie up some loose ends around the guild in preparation for their journey to find Will, and Tobias shares a special pastime with his partner.

Team Evergreen doesn’t make an appearance after their mission in the tunnels, though Jaz stops by Tobias and Nia’s room at dawn two days later to give them an update on Andyn's mood.

“She was quiet for a while,” the stufful says. “Thinking, I suppose. But otherwise she's acting fine again.”

“Did I actually get through that thick skull of hers?” Tobias grumbles. He’s tying Nia’s scarf around her arm before they leave for the day, and it’s slipping annoyingly through his fingers.

Jaz sighs. “No, unfortunately not. It’s going to take more than a few heated words to get her to change her mind about this. Ezra and I have tried. But...”

Nia’s ears perk. “But..?”

“Something you said did make her think, Tobias. Maybe you planted some seeds that just need a bit of time to bloom.”

Pretty words for such a nasty conversation, Tobias thinks idly as he finally ties Nia’s scarf tight. He doesn’t have nearly as much faith that Andyn will turn over a new leaf any time soon.

Nia smiles at Jaz. “Well, I’m happy to hear she’s back to her normal self, at least. Sorry again that our group mission wasn’t, uh…as fun as we might’ve hoped.”

Tobias opens his mouth to say that that was Andyn’s fault, not theirs.

Jaz beats him to it, laughing softly. “Not your fault. Neither of your faults, really.”

Nia doesn’t argue that point, and the stufful leaves shortly after with a word of luck for their mission today and a promise to pass their hellos on to Ezra.

“Well, I’m glad we don’t have to worry about Andyn too much,” Nia says as the two of them pack up for the day and head down the Lexym Tree to the mission boards. “Are you still doing okay?”

Tobias is doing fine. Probably better than he should be, honestly. While Andyn hit a sore spot and he was much harsher than Nia would’ve been regarding the deerling’s parents, he stands firm by his conviction that Andyn needs a wake-up call. His words didn’t manage to get through to her, but he doesn’t really regret what he said, either.

“I’m fine. Just wish she’d wake up and realize her parents are the problem here.”

Nia is behind him on the steps, but Tobias can feel her attention on him, laser-focused. “You fought about her parents?”

Belatedly, Tobias realizes that this is the first time he’s said what his argument with the deerling was even about. Nia has been careful not to push.

“They suck, okay?” Tobias growls. “If they’re the reason she’s like that, then she should know that that’s messed up.”

Nia hums, but otherwise falls silent. That’s as good as an agreement for her, so Tobias doesn’t let the issue linger as they reach the ground floor where the mission boards are posted.

They’re still waiting to hear back from August about traveling to Will’s human settlement, so they’ve been avoiding any missions that would wear them out too much just in case they need to leave on short notice. Still, Tobias does have to swallow his pride when he realizes that leaves them with just a few very basic mission options for the day.

It’s not that he thinks the jobs are beneath him or anything, but they are undeniably…boring. And they give them less Seeker points, too. But he refuses to throw a fit like Andyn did.

“Well, let’s get this over with.”

“Hey, it might be fun!” Nia says, looking genuinely excited about the mission she’d picked out for them. “I haven’t tried cooking since waking up in this world.”

Tobias gives her an appraising look as they make their way back up the tree’s staircase. “Did you cook a lot as a human?”

Nia shakes her head. “Just basic stuff. Baking, mostly. But if it’s a low-level mission, it can’t be anything too complex, right?”

Tobias shrugs. For all his years at the guild, he’s never actually helped out in the cafeteria kitchen, always too busy trailing after Maggie and helping with medicinal duties.

He’s surprised to find that the day is actually pretty interesting, tucked away in the guild’s sprawling kitchen. They’re put to work under the command of the cooking staff, and their mission for the day is to provide breakfast and lunch for the entirety of the guild.

The vespiquen in charge has Tobias use his flames often, lighting fires in clay ovens and carefully toasting nuts and vegetables. He isn’t sure whether to be offended or proud when the chef looks at him with delight halfway through the morning with a clap of her hands and proclaims that they must make occa berry flambé for dessert today, with a fire type’s flames so readily on-hand.

He is proud, in an embarrassed sort of way, when the bug type compliments him on his temperature control with his flames. He manages to avoid burning a single pot or dish. While it’s a strange feeling, he likes the appreciative looks he gets from the other workers when he uses his fire, rather than the guild's usual wariness.

Tobias actually ends up enjoying the day more than Nia does, if the way she drags herself to the stairs at the end of their shift is any gauge. Her fur is caked in flour from a few ingredient mishaps, and Tobias has to bite back a laugh at her appearance.

She gives him a tired, playful glare in return. “Want to share with the class?”

“You look like a fidough.”

“Fidough,” Nia echoes, squinting. “Is that…a dog Pokemon? Oh my God, is that a bread pun?"

“It’s their species name. They are kind of…doughy, though. Yeah. That's the joke.”

Nia barks a laugh, and Tobias grins.

“Pokemon names are so silly! Hahaha!”

Tobias shakes his head as he leads the way up the stairs to their quarters. “Hey, at least they make sense. Who looks at a riolu and calls it a dog? What even is a dog?”

“Me! I’m a dog!”

“Yeah, yeah. And I’m Reshiram. C’mon, I want to have time to clean up before supper. You wanna eat with Maggie tonight? We can brag about the food we helped make.”

“Oh, that’d be perfect!” Nia says. Her fatigued posture lifts at the prospect, like a flower wilting in reverse. “Don’t let me forget, though, that I really need to talk to Avery sometime about the whole species naming thing. And the Pokemon language in general. Ordirune? It makes no sense that you and I can talk and read the same language when it’s, well…not the same language!”

Tobias vaguely remembers Nia mentioning this before, when they were in Ghatha with Junie. “Does it need to make sense? It works. We can understand each other. That’s what matters.”

“How are you not curious about it? It’s so wild to me!”

“It just doesn’t seem like something you’re gonna be able to figure out, so why waste time thinking about it?”

“Because it’s fun!” Nia counters. “I like trying to figure stuff out, even if it doesn’t really matter.”

Tobias can’t really argue with that. Nia’s just different than him in that regard. Still, as a nincada and surskit pass them on the stairs, he gives it a moment of thought.

“Giratina said that Mew made your Pokemon body, right? She probably did something with your brain so you could understand Ordirune, so you wouldn’t be totally lost in our world.”

“But language isn’t genetic,” Nia argues. “It’s something you learn. That’s true for Pokemon too, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then it doesn’t really make sense that she could just…imprint it onto our brains, does it?”

Tobias frowns as they finally reach their floor, his legs a bit tired as usual from the climb. “It doesn’t make sense that she could just make you a whole body, either, but here you are. If she made your brain for you, why couldn’t she make it familiar with our language? Pokemon hatch knowing survival instincts because those things were ingrained into our bodies from birth. Like…charmander hatchlings knowing to keep their tail flames small if they’re in danger. Maybe Mew did something similar and built your body so you already know Ordirune and your brain sorta just…translates for you without you realizing it.”

Nia stops behind him right before they reach their door, and Tobias turns to look at her.

She’s staring at him with wide, almost awestruck eyes. “Tobias, that’s such a cool way of thinking about it! Oh man, you should come with me when I meet up with Avery. They'd find that idea super interesting. Plus, I’m sure Xander and the others would love to see you! I think you and Kry are like…bros or something now, after your spar the other day?”

Tobias snorts and turns back to the door. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re all dying to see me.”

His hand settles on the knob, but Nia reaches out to cover it with her own paw. She gives him a long, searching look. “Hey, you know I’m not joking, right?”

“They’re your friends.”

“Well, yeah, maybe first. But they want to be your friend, too. They aren’t just…putting up with you to hang out with me.”

Tobias feels all too seen, suddenly. Like his scarf got lost somewhere and left his neck naked and vulnerable. Tobias shifts on his feet, looking away.

That…doesn’t feel right. But aside from Nia, he hasn’t had a friend his own age since he was nine—and that was his sister. He isn’t exactly an expert on how friends work.

“They’re kind of stuck with me, if they want to be friends with you.”

Nia gives him a light bat of her paw and a scolding smile. “They’re not stuck with you. You’re fun to be around, Tobias. Whether you want to acknowledge that or not.”

Tobias thinks of how he yelled at Andyn just two days ago. “Sure.”

Then, unwittingly, he thinks about the rest of that mission. Thinks about Ezra’s cheeky, playful comments and Jaz’s calm confidence when she encouraged him talk to Andyn alone. Thinks further back, to Kry punching his shoulder during training and Xander and Felix’s lighthearted smack-talk and easy conversation. Thinks about Avery’s gentle smile and full attention when Tobias spoke.

He doesn’t think he’s their friend, not really. But the idea that he might be, someday, doesn’t seem quite as ridiculous as it once was. Tobias has…a lot of mixed feelings about that. Fear that he’s going to royally screw it up is somewhere near the top, though, so he shoves away the warmth the idea brings. No use worrying about it unless it actually happens, after all.

Tobias finally opens the door to their room, only to stop as soon as he notices a piece of paper resting on the floor near his feet. Tobias picks it up, and feels his fingers tighten around the sheet as he realizes what it is.

“What is it?” Nia asks, peering over his shoulder.

“It’s from August,” he summarizes, skimming through the short message. “We have permission to head overseas and find Will first thing in the morning.”

“Giratina was telling the truth, then?”

“Or they think it’s too big a risk to ignore, if nothing else,” Tobias murmurs. The bottom of the note says that the funds for their flight have been dropped into their mailbox, so Tobias digs that pouch out right away to add to their own money. He moves to where their satchel was left to rest against the wall for the day.

“Tomorrow,” Nia says, sitting heavily in her nest and wrapping herself up in one of their blankets like a swadloon. “That’s…so soon. I know we were waiting to hear back from them, but…well. I guess we’d better let everyone know we’re leaving again?”

Tobias drags their bag over and sits to sort through it, catching the disappointed note in his partner’s voice. He doesn’t really mind traveling again, even if their time back at the guild has been fine. Good, even, for the most part. But knowing they’ll have to say goodbye to Maggie again so soon does have something in his heart squeezing tight. He hopes she doesn’t cry.

“Yeah,” he finally answers, pulling out their meager collection of items to sort through. “We can tell Maggie when we eat with her later.”

Nia voices her agreement, watching Tobias as he puts everything together. Her mind is clearly miles away, though.

Tobias leaves her to her thoughts, making sure they have the usual essentials that they travel with: apples and berries for food and status ailments, their map, and a canteen of water for Nia. He would grab some hydration berries for himself if they didn’t shrivel so quickly, but at least fire types don’t dehydrate easily.

Anything else? They could go down to the item dispensary and peruse the orbs and seeds available, but their funds still aren’t overly impressive. And they aren’t planning on getting caught in any dungeons or intense battles.

...Okay, he knows better by now than to assume that will hold true. Still, by this point they’ve mostly gotten by without items, so he thinks they'll be all right without any fancy aids.

Besides, Nia will probably want to bring a book, and their sparse packing leaves plenty of room for that. They could almost pack up Nia’s beloved new blanket too, if they wanted to squish everything in, but that feels like a waste of space if they'll be indoors most nights. He’s basically a walking heater for the riolu at this point anyways.

Tobias looks around the room and his gaze catches on his guitar, leaning carefully against the wall by the window. He frowns at the instrument, fingers flexing as he itches to hold it. He’s been enjoying relearning it, and it calms him down on late nights, but it isn’t really an essential item. Their pack would be better off carrying something actually useful.

“You’re taking your guitar along, right?” Nia asks, startling Tobias out of his thoughts. She must've followed his gaze and guessed what he was thinking.

Tobias shrugs, looking back at their satchel. “Probably not. It’s not exactly useful.”

“It makes you happy,” Nia protests, like that makes it useful, somehow. “Plus, I like hearing you play. So if we’re taking a vote…”

Tobias flushes, falling still. Part of him still wants to argue, rationality over sentimentality and all that, but. Well. If Nia doesn’t mind him taking up the space, then…

Tobias silently gets up to retrieve the guitar. He tucks it away in their bag amongst the other items, pleased with how neatly it slots in between their supplies and a book about abilities that Nia had handed him to bring along.

Packing complete.

It’s only a few short hours later that they go to the medical floor with trays of food in hand, including some of the occa berry flambé that they’d helped make earlier in the day. They call a greeting to Fen and drop off a meal with the leafeon that has them purring their thanks. Next door, Maggie seems pleasantly surprised by their appearance.

"Hello, you two! Good to see you."

“You eat yet?” Tobias asks, holding up one of the two heavy trays he’s carrying.

Maggie smiles, taking the meal with a single vine and settling down in her nest to eat. “I was just starting to feel peckish, actually. Thank you, dear. Will you stay and eat with us tonight?”

“If that’s all right!” Nia says, holding her second tray—which she was insistent on—out to Sage with a smile.

The ivysaur, who had been eyeing the door as if it was just expected for him to leave any time Tobias showed up, blinks in surprise. Then, with a bashful smile and a murmur of thanks, he takes the meal with his own vines.

Tobias and Nia sit down close to Maggie and dig in.

Off to the side, Sage shifts awkwardly on his short legs. His leaves sway with the motion.

“Sit down already,” Tobias grumbles. “We aren’t chasing you out.”

Sage looks even more thrown by the peace offering, but with a glance at Maggie and Nia, he finally settles down as well on Nia’s other side. Maggie smiles soothingly at her apprentice's nerves, and Tobias is surprised that the open affection doesn’t feel…grating, this time. In fact, it feels kind of ridiculous when Maggie immediately turns her attention back to Tobias and Nia with bright eyes, clearly thrilled to have them here.

Tobias wonders how he was ever threatened by Sage’s appearance. Maggie has more than enough love to go around.

As they eat, Maggie questions what they’ve been up to today with a note of amusement in her voice. Her gaze lingers on the patches of flour still caught stubbornly in Nia’s soft fur, even after the riolu had scrubbed at them for a solid half-hour earlier.

Nia groans and dives into her mishaps in the kitchen, including when she’d tripped over a morelull and knocked over a slurpuff who was busy mixing up dry ingredients for a crust. Tobias laughs as he replays the scene in his head, but flushes when Nia follows it up with an exasperated comparison to Tobias basically being “Gordon Ramsay” in the kitchen, whatever that means. It’s clearly a compliment.

Maggie laughs. “That doesn’t surprise me, actually. Tobias was always very careful with measurements when he helped me make our medicines, even when he was small. He has a good eye for detail, when he’s invested.”

Tobias feels his face grow hotter as Nia and Sage look at him with astonished expressions.

“You don’t have to look that surprised."

The ivysaur winces and looks back to his meal with a quiet, “Sorry.”

Nia just shrugs with an easy laugh, as if to ask if he could blame her.

The conversation flows smoothly as they catch up. Sage is quiet, almost silent, but he’s clearly listening, tracking the conversation with pricked ears and sharp garnet eyes as he picks delicately at his meal. Tobias isn’t sure if it’s because the ivysaur is still cautious after Tobias’ initial hostility, or if he’s just that quiet by nature.

Nia tries to pull the grass type into the conversation a few times, but after a few short, almost shy answers, she relents and lets him bask in the conversation without necessarily participating. Maggie doesn’t seem worried about the ivysaur’s silence, so Tobias doesn’t concern himself with it either.

During a lull in the conversation, Maggie says, “You know, your mission from today has me thinking. Sage and I might have to steal you for ourselves soon—we could use some extra hands to gather the last of the autumn herbs later this week. The northern part of the Haven will likely have its first heavy frost soon.”

“Oh. About that…” Nia trails off, giving Tobias a pleading look.

Tobias sighs, putting his fork back onto his tray. Leaving it up to him, huh? “We’re actually heading out again tomorrow morning.”

“So soon?” Maggie asks with a bewildered expression.

“August dropped off a letter today approving our travel, so…” Nia says, dejected.

Maggie smiles, leaning over to brush her muzzle over the top of the riolu’s head. “You’re fine, dear. I knew as soon as we spoke with August that you would be traveling again soon. I’m just going to miss you. And worry, of course.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tobias says. “We always are.”

“You’re always getting into trouble, you mean,” Maggie corrects with a playful glare. “Let a mother worry, Tobias. And just do your best to come home without any new scars, all right?”

Tobias’ hand drifts up to his scarf. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nia wince and trail a paw over the scarf on her own arm, right where she’d gotten bit by that panpour outlaw moons ago.

“We’ll be careful!” Nia finally says, though her smile doesn’t look nearly as confident as she sounds.

Maggie doesn’t seem convinced either, but drops the conversation to return to lighter topics. Such as how, just yesterday, Sage had given his first bitter medicine to some of the guild children who had come down with a cold.

Tobias laughs at the distraught expression on the ivysaur’s face, more than familiar with the experience after years of doing it himself. “How’d you like giving Bella her dose?”

The little bellsprout could be a menace when she wanted to be. Tobias can still feel the phantom smacking of her tiny root-arms.

Sage groans and drops his face into his tray.

“He made a valiant effort,” Maggie says, patting the ivysaur’s shoulder with a vine. Which means that Sage was surely near tears by the time they were finished.

Tobias uses his fork to point a bite of occa berry dessert in Sage’s direction. “Word of advice? Honey. Drown her dose in the stuff, but don’t tell her it’s anything but what it is. She can’t resist honey, but she won’t eat it if you try to trick her. Stubborn as a mudbray, that one.”

Tobias half-expects the ivysaur to dismiss his words, since Sage is older than him and the one actually in the medicinal role now. Instead, the ivysaur perks up and nods, reaching over his shoulder with a vine to pull a notepad and inkwell off the nearby desk and start writing something down.

Tobias blinks. He didn’t mean to actually take notes. The earnest faith in the gesture has his face heating. He looks away, stuffing a bite of occa berry flambé into his mouth. It’s delicious.

Soon enough, they’re all finished eating and it’s time to head out. Sage quietly insists that he can take the trays down to the cafeteria, leaving Maggie alone with Tobias and Nia.

“You two be careful on your trip, you hear?” Maggie says, voice firmer as she pulls them into a hug. “I don’t want to hear about you getting caught in any more fires or deadly fights.”

“No promises,” Tobias mumbles.

Maggie gives him an extra hard squeeze before releasing him.

“We’ll be careful, Maggie,” Nia says, stepping away with misty eyes. “See you soon, okay?”

Tobias can’t seem to say anything. The words stick like sap in his throat. He swallows against the lump of them and bumps his head against Maggie’s leg once more before stepping away.

The meganium sees them off as they pad down the hall and back down the tree.

“Xander’s team next?” Nia asks.

“You could go on your own, you know.”

“I could. But..?”

Tobias huffs, but doesn’t argue as he follows Nia to Team Shellshock’s quarters. The riolu knocks on the door, and childish shrieks rise up from behind the wood. Luca’s distinct little voice yells, “Hide! Hide!” and Tobias grins.

Avery is the one to answer, the kirlia’s gentle expression lighting up. “Nia! And Tobias. Lovely to see you two.”

“Good to see you too,” Nia says warmly. “Could we come in for a sec?”

Avery steps aside for Nia and Tobias, and as soon as Tobias crosses the room’s threshold he’s tackled by a writhing mass of blue and black fur.

“Gotcha!”

“Surrender, outlaw!”

“Lainey, sit on his head!”

Tobias puts up a halfhearted fight as the shinx cubs work to hold him down. Tiny paws step on his arms and belly and legs and his vision is taken over by lashing tails and gleaming, golden eyes.

“Don’t suffocate him, kids,” Xander calls idly, before his voice is drowned out by childish peals of laughter.

Tobias lets the cubs think they’ve won for a few moments, before twisting and gently throwing them off with an exaggerated roar. Leor squeaks and scrambles away to dive behind Team Shellshock’s items chest. Laine and Luca hiss playfully at Tobias before following their more timid brother, probably to come up with a new plan of attack.

Tobias smirks and moves to join the other occupants of the room.

Xander, Avery, and Nia are watching the cubs peek over the items chest with fond, amused looks. Felix is crouching beside the kids’ hiding place and murmuring something that quickly catches their attention. Kry is nowhere to be seen, probably out training or something while the cubs are here wreaking havoc. She doesn’t seem like much of a kid person.

Tobias stops at Nia’s side, purposefully putting his back to the shinx cubs to make himself an easy target.

“So you’re heading out again already?” Avery is asking.

“You two are the most restless ‘mons I’ve ever met,” Felix calls idly from beside the chest. “Try not to come back all banged up again, all right?”

“I’ll second that,” Xander says, and Tobias is surprised when the luxio’s golden gaze focuses not only on Nia, but Tobias as well. “Be careful.”

“Always!”

Xander chuffs a quiet laugh, as if well aware of how untrue that statement is. “Regardless. Do you two have everything packed up already?”

“I think so?”

“We travel light,” Tobias says.

Xander flicks his tail, looking thoughtful. His eyes stray over to the items chest on the side of the room, though Tobias thinks he isn’t focused on his siblings at the moment. Avery follows his gaze, and Tobias wonders if the kirlia is reading the luxio’s mind, since they apparently use telepathy with each other fairly often.

Avery must be, because they smile at Xander as if pleased with something he’d suggested, then back at Nia and Tobias. “Do you two have any orbs in your inventory?”

Nia looks to Tobias. He shakes his head.

Xander nods, and Avery goes to the chest, murmuring a quiet, “Excuse me,” to shoo the kids off the lid before opening the top and rummaging through it. They find what they’re looking for quickly, returning to Tobias and Nia with a shiny blue wonder orb in hand. Without hesitation, they hold it out.

“Take this with you. Just in case.”

After a beat of surprise, Tobias reaches out to take it, rolling the surprisingly heavy orb around his hands. “What kind is it?”

“An all power-up orb,” Avery answers. “It raises your team’s attack and special attack for a few minutes.”

“But...aren't these really rare or expensive or something?” Nia asks, gently taking the orb from Tobias’ hands to peer closer at it.

“The two of you seem to attract danger wherever you go,” Xander says, not answering the question. “I’ll sleep better if you take it.”

“We both will,” Avery amends.

Tobias’ immediate impulse is to reject such a rare, pricey item just being dropped into their laps. However, he remembers how desperately he’d wanted any kind of helpful item back on the Aqua Jet, when they were traveling via the river and the mystery dungeon hit. It would be undeniably good to have as a back-up measure.

Nia seems equally unsure for a moment, but then she smiles and cradles the orb closer. “Well...thank you, then. It’s really too much.”

"Not at all," Avery says.

Xander’s shoulders lose some of their tension once they accept the gift, and that's what convinces Tobias not to put up a fight. They mean it. They're just worried about their safety, about Nia and maybe even a little about Tobias. And somehow, their concern doesn't feel like pity, but something warmer. Something easier to stomach.

Nia gently bumps Tobias with her hip, so he rolls his eyes and tacks on a quiet, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Xander opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, his ears swivel in the direction of the chest.

That’s Tobias’ only warning before the shinx cubs yell, “Attack!” and charge Tobias once more. Felix must’ve been giving them battle tips, because this time they move as a coordinated unit, tackling Tobias’ legs. The charmander lets himself go down with an exaggerated oof, and the kids shriek as they swarm his chest, pinning him down with their soft little bodies. While he could still wriggle free if he really wanted to, their combined weight does hold him down pretty effectively. Tobias “struggles” for a few moments more before going limp with a dramatic groan.

“Victory!” Leor says.

“Drag him to jail!” Luca shouts.

“Throw him in the pit!” Laine adds.

“Whoa, where’d you hear that last one?” Felix asks, startled.

“From a cool story Bella found in the archives!"

Bella. Of course. Tobias has said it before and he’ll say it again: that bellsprout is a menace.

“Looks like I’ll be having another chat with Arlo,” Xander sighs, sounding all too much like a father.

Nia and Tobias head out shortly after, despite the shinx cubs’ whining over losing their playmate. At the door, Xander catches Nia in a one-armed hug, brushing the top of her head with his chin. The familiarity of the gesture catches Tobias off-guard, but Nia simply hugs the luxio back, unsurprised by the open affection.

As they leave, Felix and the kids’ loud goodbyes and Avery’s much quieter farewell following them into the hall, Nia hesitates.

“I feel like we should tell Team Evergreen that we’re heading out again, but…”

Tobias can only imagine the awkward tension that would rise if he was shoved into the same room as Andyn right now.

“I’ll leave that one to you.”

“That...might be for the best. I won’t be too long.”

Tobias waves her off, turning to head back to their room. He can get some more practice in on his guitar before they sleep. “Just remember that we head out early.”

“When do we not?” Nia counters, giving a wave of her own before setting off towards Team Evergreen’s quarters.

Tobias is relieved that Nia didn’t want him to join for that last visit. Between working in the kitchen this morning and seeing Team Shellshock and the shinx kids earlier, Tobias is just about done socializing for the day. He’s more than content to flop down in his nest and strum at his guitar for the rest of the night before they get back on the road tomorrow.

To Tobias’ surprise, Nia returns not long after they parted ways, when the moon is just starting to rise into the sky. She assures him that it went well, even if Andyn was a little quieter than usual, and that they all wished the two of them safe travels.

“Wished you safe travels, you mean,” Tobias snorts as he plucks away at an aimless melody. “Andyn probably hopes I fall off our flight ‘mon and into the ocean.”

“I don’t think she’s that upset,” Nia says, lying down herself. She eyes Tobias for a moment before reaching into their satchel and pulling out her book.

The night is peaceful, after that. Tobias works his way through some of the simple melodies from the music book they’d picked up in the archives, familiarizing himself with the easier tunes before trying anything more advanced. Nia reads her book, kicking her legs and occasionally mumbling something to herself.

It’s getting close to midnight when Nia finally yawns and slides her book back into their satchel. She curls up in her nest, blanket pulled tight over her shoulders until it bunches up by her chin, and watches as Tobias plays.

Eventually, Tobias figures he’d better get some rest too and slides the guitar and music book back into their satchel. He closes the curtain until the room is only dimly lit by his own tail flame, and curls up in his nest. He doesn’t realize until he's settled in that Nia isn’t actually asleep yet. Instead, she’s watching Tobias, clearly still wide awake.

“What’s up?” Tobias asks.

Nia shrugs. “Just…can’t sleep.”

Tobias knows the feeling. While it was easy to get lost in his music for the evening, Tobias won’t be surprised if he’s up for a while yet. Especially with their flight tomorrow, he has a lot on his mind.

For a moment Tobias just gazes back at Nia in the dim light, wondering if either of them are going to be well-rested come dawn. Then, he thinks of similar nights long, long ago, of looking at his sister or parents with a similar restless itch under his skin.

An idea pops into his mind.

For a moment, he hesitates. This is something…sacred. Something he hasn’t shared with anyone else since he lost his family. It feels wrong to even think about sharing it.

Then again, that’s what he’d thought about discussing Vivi and his parents at all, before the cart ride from Asra to Shivergleam. And that was…nice. Really nice. Swapping sibling stories with Nia. It hurt, but it also made something in him feel…looser. Like stretching out a stiff muscle that he hadn’t exercised in forever.

Tobias sits up before he can second-guess himself. “C’mon. I have an idea.”

Nia props herself up on an arm. “What?”

He climbs out of their nest and holds out a hand. “Trust me. It’ll help.”

For a moment Nia looks unsure, but then a smile crosses her face. Tobias helps her to her paws, and she doesn’t let go once she’s standing. He decides not to think about it too hard and gives her paw a squeeze, grabbing Nia’s beloved new blanket and slinging it over his shoulder.

“C’mon.”

Nia laughs under her breath as they leave the room, making sure to shut the door extra quiet behind her so they don’t disturb the other Pokemon on the floor.

“Where are we going?”

“Sure, just let me ruin the surprise.”

Nia's brows raise, but she doesn’t ask any more questions and just follows with an air of palpable curiosity. Tobias leads them to the staircase and starts climbing up, up, up through the guild.

“Are we visiting Maggie again?” Nia whispers.

“No.”

Tobias has done this many times over the years, since first arriving at the guild. But he’s always done it alone, sneaking past Maggie’s sleeping form to climb up to his favorite spot. He’d thought about asking Maggie to join before—she would’ve indulged him. But somehow it had always seemed a bit too painful before now. Before Nia. Now it feels less like chasing something he can’t get back and more like…sharing something he loves. Making it new again.

They finally reach the mail floor, evident by the cool breeze blowing into the staircase. There aren’t many fliers that work at night, so the floor is empty, the platforms bordering the edges of the room opening up to patches of clear night sky.

“Oh,” Nia breathes, registering where they are.

She follows him wordlessly as he goes to one of the far platforms and sits down at the end of it. She sits beside him, then casts a nervous glance below them to the Haven's trees, black and spindly and thin with the coming winter. She scoots back an inch.

Like this, they’re sitting at the edge of the world, the sprawling forest below and an ocean of stars above.

Tobias hands over Nia’s blanket, now heated by his own scales, and she gladly takes it to wrap herself up. He’s hardly surprised when she still scooches over to press against his side. The night air is cold, after all, chilly enough that he won’t argue against a little extra warmth himself.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Nia says, hushed. “I couldn’t really appreciate the stars in Asra, since we were on a stakeout. But here…”

“Peaceful, right?”

Nia hums her agreement.

For a moment, they’re quiet. The wind whistles by them this high up, stronger without the blocking force of the forest and carrying with it the crisp scent of the Silenfroar Mountains. Tobias can kind of see where the mountain range sits, a void of pointed black on the horizon that blots out the sky.

Tobias moves his eyes up to stare at the stars, feeling something in his throat tighten even as the rest of him relaxes. Even when he was a child, scared of nothing more than shadows on cave walls, his parents would lead him to the mouth of their cave to look up at the stars when he couldn’t sleep.

It makes him feel small. But in a comforting way.

“This is where we became a team.”

Tobias looks at Nia. “What?”

“Well. Technically we became a team down in the tunnels.” Nia smiles at Tobias. “But I consider this to be where we actually became one. For real.”

Right. After Afon’s Cap, when Nia finally stood up for herself and Tobias agreed to stop being so awful to her. They shook on it. Tobias can still see Nia in the pink evening light, paw outstretched and smile hopeful.

He flushes and looks away. He gestures vaguely with a hand. “Sorry. For. Y’know.”

Nia barks a laugh. “Being a bit of a jerk at first?”

He grunts.

“It’s fine. You’re much sweeter now.”

Tobias shoots her a look. “I’m not sweet.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Nia coos, giving his arm a patronizing pat. He shoves her away, and she laughs, immediately swaying back to his side.

“You have been so sassy lately,” he grumbles.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be nice.”

A brief moment of quiet. Then, a giggle from Nia.

“What?”

“I was just thinking about when we first met.”

Tobias has a brief flash of memory, from months ago. Spotting a strange, unfamiliar Pokemon—a riolu—unconscious in the middle of a nearby field. Waking her up to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Getting a blank stare and rising panic in return before Nia bolted into the woods and right into a mystery dungeon, Tobias hot on her heels.

Tobias snorts. “You were a mess.”

"I was!" Nia laughs. "I'm actually kind of embarrassed by it now. Can you imagine Kry’s reaction to seeing me run away from everything like that?”

“You were terrified of a seedot,” Tobias agrees, amused by the thought.

Although, knowing now how wildly different the Pokemon world is from Nia’s own, Tobias can’t blame her for being so freaked out. If anything, he’s a little embarrassed by how harshly he’d treated her. He wasn’t exactly a comforting presence at the time.

“But look at you now. Taking down steelixes all on your own.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Nia whines, paws coming up to hide her face.

“Nope. It's objectively awesome. And you aren’t going to tell anyone, so.”

Nia snorts another laugh. “I can’t believe I was so close to becoming a researcher instead of a Seeker. I can’t believe I fight on a daily basis!”

Tobias blinks, looking over at her. “You almost became a researcher?”

“I never told you that? Before I thought of teaming up with you, I thought becoming a Seeker was too scary, so I was going to become a researcher instead. Like Alistair and Tawny.”

Tobias wrinkles his snout, trying to picture it. On one hand, Nia would be right at home surrounded by all those books and the cozy environment of the guild every day. He could see her getting along well with the gardevoir and ribombee down in the archives.

But on the other hand, Tobias has also seen Nia’s eyes light up when she travels somewhere new. Seen how insatiably curious she is about the world and all the Pokemon in it. He's seen how her riolu nature shines through when she’s defending someone in a fight, and how genuinely happy she is when she can help out a client. All of that good would be smothered, stuck here at the guild.

And where would he be, if Nia hadn’t decided to come rescue him in that dungeon? Dead, at worst. Stuck in the medicinal quarters and miserable at best. Maybe Nia would’ve been happy as a researcher, but Tobias is immeasurably glad that they’re here together instead, as a team.

They both fall quiet again, looking up at the stars. The moon overhead is bright, painting everything in shades of black and silver.

“Humans went to the moon, y’know,” Nia eventually says.

Tobias gives her a dry look. “Ha ha. Funny.”

Nia blinks, looking genuinely caught off-guard. “No, really! Not, like. All of us. It was only a few. But we really did.”

Tobias squints at her, doubtful. But Nia doesn’t break. “…I thought you said humans couldn’t fly.”

“We can‘t. Or, well. Not on our own. But we built machines that can!”

Machines. Right. “Like…the cars you were talking about on the way to Asra?”

“Yes!” Tobias can hear Nia's tail give a happy thump against the wood. “Cars are great—they're so much faster than walking. And I loved the train in Ghatha. It was really similar to our own trains, so I wonder if a human had a hand in inventing that.”

“Probably. Don’t know if a Pokemon would’ve come up with something like that on their own. It was…kind of cool, I guess.”

“Oh, just you wait. There are so many cool human things I wanna show you! When I—"

Nia’s words cut off abruptly. Tobias feels a jab at his heart, knowing exactly why she'd clamped her mouth shut so suddenly. He wouldn’t ever get to visit, of course. And Nia wouldn’t get to visit him, either, if she left and went back to the human world. Giratina made that pretty clear. Tobias’ hand drifts up to his scarf, skimming the worn material comfortingly through his fingers.

The dark feels heavier, suddenly. Pressing down on them. Suffocating.

“I’m scared,” Nia eventually murmurs, curling tighter into her blanket. Her breath billows into the night air. “Of what will happen if we can’t do this. If we fail.”

Tobias knows the feeling. While Nia has two worlds’ safety on her mind, Tobias is struggling with just the one. He tries not to think about it too often, or it settles on his chest like a rock slide.

“Do you really think we’ll be able to find Xerneas?” Nia whispers, eyes trained on the mountains in the distance.

Tobias takes a moment to think before responding. “I don’t know. It’s not a great sign that Xerneas and Yveltal have been hidden for so long without anyone stumbling across them, but…”

“They’re the only lead we’ve got.”

Tobias swallows. “Yeah. But if worse comes to worst…we’ll just have to figure something else out. Failing isn’t really an option.”

Not with how much is on the line. They have to find a way to fix this if they want to keep everyone and everything in both of their worlds safe.

Nia turns to tuck her head into Tobias’ shoulder, her breath tickling his skin. The touch is grounding, somehow. Distracting enough to keep him out of his own head. They need a distraction. They can’t do anything until dawn anyways.

“Have I told you how much my family loved stars?” He blurts.

Nia’s breath catches, audible with her so close. “…No?”

Tobias wants to tell her. Wants to share. It’s still a terrifying feeling. His heart beats hard in his chest.

“We…lived in the mountains. Not the Silenfroar range here, but across the sea. Near a little village. But we lived way up, in a cave.”

Nia is silent. Tobias thinks she might be holding her breath.

“The sky was really clear, up there. It felt like we could reach out and touch the stars at night. Like…like it was just us and them.”

Tobias kind of feels like that now, actually. It’s a strange sensation. Deja vu, in a way. A little painful. A little sweet.

“And if it was ever too cloudy to see them from our cave, my…our parents would take Vivi and I flying. It was…”

The most magical thing he’d ever experienced. Something that makes a deep longing ache in his chest, even now. He hates that the world took that away from him. Won’t let him evolve to fly himself.

Nia’s hand slips free of the blanket to hold his own, her fur almost as warm as him.

Tobias takes a deep breath. “It was one of my favorite things. Vivi’s, too. When we couldn’t sleep, we’d sit at the mouth of the cave and they would teach us about constellations. Sing us stories.”

Nia is silent, hanging onto Tobias’ every word. Tobias closes his eyes. He can almost imagine it, fuzzy but warm. His father’s wing around him and his sister, keeping them sheltered from the chilly mountain breeze. Their mother humming and singing folk tales about the constellations. Tobias’ head bobbing as his eyes slipped closed and sleep washed over him.

“Do you remember any of the stories?” Nia asks.

Does he? He’s kept his memories locked away in the back of his mind for so long that trying to excavate them feels like wading through a sea of cobwebs. His eyes scan the sky, landing on a bright constellation vaguely resembling a head with big, round ears. He points at it with his free hand.

“That’s the teddiursa cub.”

Nia follows his gesture. “Teddiursa?”

“We saved one on our first mission. Uh. Small. Orange fur. Claws.”

“Oh! The cute little teddy bear!”

"Yup. He pairs with the ursaring.”

Nia follows Tobias’ finger as he trails up and to the right, where another collection of stars create the larger, blockier form of an ursaring head.

“Ursaring?”

“It’s what teddiursa evolves into. The story…” What was it again? “The story says that the teddiursa got lost one day. The ursaring was his mother, and she looked for him frantically, for three endless nights.”

Nia makes a sad sound in her throat.

“Desperate, the ursaring prayed to the stars, asking Jirachi to help her find her cub. Jirachi, the wishmaker, heard her and made her a part of the night sky, to be seen by all. The teddiursa saw his mother in the night sky, and wished to join her. Jirachi granted it, and the two have lived together in the sky ever since.”

Nia hums. “We have a similar set of constellations in our world, actually. Ursa Minor and Ursa Major.”

“Really?”

Nia nods, stars reflecting in her eyes. “I don’t remember much about the story associated with it, but…I think it’s sad.” She turns a smile onto Tobias. “I can’t decide if your world’s version is happier or not.”

Tobias blinks. He’d always assumed the story was a happy one, because the mother and child were reunited. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…they’re trapped in the sky, right? Are they happy there?”

Tobias frowns, looking back at the constellations. “…I like to think they are.”

Nia laughs softly. “Look at me, being the pessimist. I like your way of thinking better.”

Tobias makes a vague noise in his throat. They have enough things going wrong with the real world. Why not choose to believe that at least the teddiursa and ursaring got a happy ending?

“Thanks, Tobias. For sharing with me.”

Tobias isn’t sure if she means the story, or his memories, or his spot here, looking at the stars. Maybe all of it. He shrugs, embarrassed. “Who else ‘m I gonna tell? Xander?”

Nia gives him an exasperated, fond look. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. Maybe you can’t see it, but they really do want to be your friend. You guys seemed to be having a lot of fun when we sparred the other day.”

It can’t be that easy to make friends. Not when Tobias has spent the last eight years of his life almost entirely alone. But Nia is better at emotions than he is, so…

“It wouldn’t be…too terrible. Training with them again sometime.”

Nia grins, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Come on. Is it really so bad to have a few friends? You and I are friends, right?”

Tobias scoffs. “Duh. You’re my best friend.”

Nia’s smile drops with surprise, and Tobias tenses. His face burns with heat, and he snaps his gaze out to look over the trees, mortified.

Why did he say that? And so naturally, too. Best friend. What is he, five?

(Then again, it’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?)

Tobias can still feel Nia’s eyes on him, and steals a glance to find her eyes a little shiny, her expression a bit wobbly. “Tobias…”

“We should get some sleep!” Tobias says, too loud as he jumps to his feet. Nia nearly falls over in his haste. He doesn’t offer her a hand up this time, pacing a few steps into the flight floor and willing his stupid nerves to calm down.

He doesn’t hear Nia follow after him, but in a few short seconds she’s at his side again and stepping in front of him. “Tobias?”

He grunts, staring at his feet. At least the night hides how red his face is.

“Hey, I'm...I'm going to try something, okay? Feel free to tell me to stop.”

Tobias looks up, confused.

Nia looks just as embarrassed as he feels, somehow, shuffling in her blanket. But slowly, slow enough for him to stop her, she steps closer to wrap him up in a hug, cheek pressed into his scarf and blanket enveloping them both in warmth.

“I’m really glad you’re the one who found me in that field,” she murmurs. “You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for.”

Tobias feels his throat tighten up. As much as he knows that that’s not true—he’s a pain to be around more often than not—he also believes that she means it. His hands fall to the arms around his torso. His chest feels uncomfortably warm, a completely different sensation than when he uses his flames.

Nia squeezes him once before stepping back, closer to the stairs. She has a shy smile on her face. “C’mon, we should get to bed. One of us needs to be awake for tomorrow’s flight.”

Tobias relaxes, relieved to settle back into their usual banter. He moves to follow her down the stairs, ignoring the heat lingering in his cheeks. “I still don’t get how your two modes for flight are either screaming in terror or passing out.”

“It’s exhausting to be scared out of my mind! And I’m not scared when I’m sleeping.”

“Until you slip off our flight ‘mon and fall into the ocean.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I might, if you insist we meet up with Junie in Stonebrook.”

Nia laughs. “C’mon, avoiding her won’t do you any good. You know she’d find us eventually anyways. And if you don’t want to fend her off alone, then you have to keep me alive.”

“Darn. All my plans, foiled.”

Nia laughs. Her tail wags as she talks, the blanket over her shoulders swishing with the motion. Tobias will never admit to finding it adorable. "Hey, do you think we’ll get to see Fliss tomorrow?”

“The braviary? Sure, if she’s around.”

“I hope so,” Nia says, “She was so nice, and she knew a lot! And she didn’t change how she treated us after she found out I was human, either. I wonder if—”

Tobias listens idly as Nia chatters on, the sound of her voice a comforting background noise for the short trip back to their room. Sleep sounds less daunting, after getting to unwind with Nia a bit. He’d been worried that sharing his space, his memories, would feel wrong, but instead it’s the opposite.

He feels…lighter. Ready for the journey ahead, no matter what it may hold.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #riolu #charmander #pokemon #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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stellar-skyy · 5 months

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Hellooo!! May I please request Зима as a lover? Just sweet fluff with how he caught feelings, how he expresses his love, silly things about him, headcanons, etc. I hope this wasn't too confusing and I'm super sorry if I broke one of the rules, you can just ignore this if I did. Thank you so much nevertheless!!

WINTER ADRIFT — Zima x reader.

i. SUMMARY: Zima as a lover. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: Fluff, so fluffy, headcanons, gn!reader, 0.7k words. iv. A/N: Hiii anon!! I was really happy to write this, I love this silly little man. Thank you for the request! ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ

Zima is a very serious looking person. He doesn’t smile often, his words are few and far between, and when he does speak it is quiet and under his breath.

Despite this somewhat intimidating appearance, Zima is a very soft person at heart. He adores his little bird, his notebooks filled with scribbled poetry and other writings, and of course you.

You, who appeared in his life as quickly as rainfall, bringing a certain light that he’d never experienced before. You, who split his life into two: the Before, and the After.

Before, he was a lonely poet wandering the Far East, with no one but wild animals to keep him from complete isolation. There was only his bird, his poems. It was a quiet life, one that let loneliness seep in far too quickly for his liking, but it was predictable and calm.

And then came the After. Before, he didn’t mind the solitude. But After—After, he couldn’t bear it, because he’d finally gotten a taste of what it was like to not be alone.

Zima’s days turned from sitting still for hours, writing diligently in his notebook, to walking alongside you through trees, watching the snow fall against his windows together, and baking bread in a kitchen far too small for two.

He fell for you very quickly, even if it took a while for him to realize it. It was only when he reflected upon his notebook and its contents, and noticed the sheer amount of writings dedicated to you. He doesn’t quite focus on his work after he’s penned it, so it was easy enough for the poems to be composed and then tucked away into his mind without realizing how many of them were a reflection on his feelings towards you.

By the time the two of you were properly together, he had already written enough to spill the contents of his heart ten times over.

He’s a very early riser, so he always ends up waking up before you. When he wakes up, he likes to look over at you; to watch your chest rise and fall in a careful rhythm, and observe the way your lips slightly part with every puff of breath. He’ll brush a hand over your forehead first, moving any loose strands of hair out of the way, before pressing a quick kiss to it.

Physical affection isn’t easy for him—in fact, he’s rather shy about it. He would prefer to hold your hand or chastely kiss your cheek rather than be overly affectionate, but if you ask for a hug or kiss, he won’t refuse.

(He gives amazing hugs. Just tight enough to feel secure without being restricting, and warm enough to keep away the winter chill.)

Even if he wants to shower you in sweet words and compliments, he isn’t flawless in the language and sometimes his speech fails him. Talking out loud is more difficult than writing, so the loving compliments he does give you are to be treasured.

Instead of words, he leaves you with gifts. A poem, dedicated to you. Wildflowers, picked from the snow and tied together with a ribbon. Baked foods, each more delicious than the last.

He’ll spend hours with you, not talking, just existing in the same space as him. If you sit with him long enough, you’ll be able to hear quiet mumbles under his breath as he becomes fully absorbed in his writing.

He knew he loved you as soon as the animals became as comfortable around you as they were around him. It began with his bird, who despite being all but glued to his side ever since they had met, decided to land on top of your head and settle in your hair. Next came the rabbits, and the ferrets, and then all of the rest of the creatures.

Those animals were his companions, his friends. It was inevitable they would love you just as much as he did, and seeing them warm up to you so quickly was only further proof that you were the one for him.

Seeing you sitting there, with his bird nestled into the crook of your neck, a fox curled on your lap and an elk resting at your side…

He can’t think of a moment where he’s felt more content.

“Hmm? What are you smiling about?”

“Ah… it is nothing… you simply look… perfect."

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#✒️ — writing #st. pavlov foundation #reverse 1999 x reader #r1999 x reader #reverse 1999 x gender neutral reader #reverse 1999 x gn reader #r1999 x gn reader #r1999 x gender neutral reader #r1999 zima x reader #zima x reader #reverse 1999 zima x reader #r1999 fluff #reverse 1999 fluff

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aromantic-misguide-to-romance · 1 year

Text

Hair headcanon - the new three

Mephistopheles

his hair looks smooth and nice but if you’d ever touch it, it’d turn out actually much rougher than you’d expect – blame the fact he dyed it without the needed practice... but with a suspicious potion of very dubious quality

btw yes his hair was originally black and one of the reasons his hair never gets to fully recover is his persistence at never letting any roots show

the damage isn’t that bad – mostly normally barely noticeable since his hair is good at keeping appearance

his hair also knows better than to try to curl in humid weather. And also after all the potion abuse it isn’t in the mood anyway to cause trouble

in general it’s a very obedient mane that takes styling well but excessive attempts make it finally lose its shine so he doesn’t try too hardit gets tangled and knotted a lot so he has to carry a hairbrush with him – not a comb since individual hairs are usually quite thin and even fragile if handled roughly

in general it’s pretty average… just like Lucifer’s actually

Raphael

his hair looks spiky and rough but it’s actually surprisingly soft

not the softest hair ever, but gives a pleasant and quite smooth sensation if you touch it

he never really brushes it though. Maybe once in a century I guess? But it’s not like it needs it much – yeah, it’s messy but not tangled and it’s enough for him to run his fingers through his hair to keep it from getting knots

usually it stays in its place once left alone, but any intervention and it’s incredibly messy

mess with his hair and it will stay like you left it with hairs sticking out left and right

on the other hand, run your fingers through it once and its orderly again

it catches all dust, dirt and whatever else very easily though

he isn’t particularly interested in hair care, he does what he needs to keep it clean

doesn’t react to weather much – if anything, it just seems heavier and flatter in humid weather, but won’t curl

Thirteen

that one that actually knows how to dye her hair properly

she knows how to keep her hair in a good shape while keeping it look exactly as she wants it to

but note, it’s not Asmo’s level of self-care obsession – she definitely likes to like her own reflection but her approach is actually pretty practical, so she’s not going to star in a Panthene’s ad anytime soon

the closer to the end of the hair, it gets slightly rougher and more worn out but the change is more or less marginal thanks to the proper hair care

she knows how to brush it to keep it from tangling, from drying from getting dirty fast and what brush straight hair needs for which task

she doesn’t style her hair much – normally she just keeps her hair down, but it’s not unlikely to see her with her hair tied

has plenty pretty accessories and ties her hair in various ways – most often it’d be a side ponytail, but sooner or later you’ll witness other options as well

if she needs to be more formal, probably a loose side braid

generally keeps it rather practical and doesn’t try any elaborate but fragile and time-consuming hairstyles

does her hair curl in humid weather? Yes. And she absolutely rocks that look

#obey me headcanon #obey me #obey me!#obey me raphael #obey me mephistopheles #obey me thirteen

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piracytheorist · 2 years

Text

It has come to my attention that it’s a popular interpretation that Yamato in Adventure was not ashamed by his emotional expression and that he didn’t care what others thought of him, and I kinda hope I read it wrong because otherwise... excuse me what

In any case, meta time

Yamato may have a loose control on his feelings because he’s had such a tight hold on them that by the time of Adventure they break out of the overflowing bag, but that doesn’t mean being like that is a conscious choice he makes - or something that doesn’t annoy him. Whether you consider the novel (where he directly wonders how he became so emotional in the Digital world) or not, in the third episode already we see a bunch of moments where he clearly isn’t used to openly showing emotions.

He watches over Takeru as Gabumon covers him to keep him warm, and as soon as Takeru notices him, Yamato turns around, red as a beet.

Taichi asks him about his relationship to Takeru, Yamato is

very

open about it (he could’ve just said that they’re brothers and leave it there, but he added the divorce and living separately thing) and then

fucking runs off to brood alone and play the harmonica

. He reveals one (1) piece of personal information and he immediately needs a moment alone to go be emo.

At the end of the episode, Takeru thanks both Gabumon and Yamato for saving them, and they’re both shy and humble about it, Yamato especially to the point where he almost looks uncomfortable getting such attention.

I think all that, of course, ties with Yamato’s lack of confidence when it comes to his relationship with Takeru. Since Takeru isn’t part of Yamato’s every-day life (though I think it’s clear he wishes he were), Yamato’s interactions with him end up being awkward most of the time, and adding to that Yamato’s own self-image issues, he goes to extremes in an effort to not only protect Takeru from danger, but to also “stop” him from drifting away from him.

In a few words, he wants to be Takeru’s brother more than anything else, but he also wants to present a “cool” exterior so he ends up awkward, hence him getting red in the face when he’s caught genuinely caring for him.

Much later on, while helping Jou at the restaurant, he doesn’t mention once about how Digitamamon threatened Jou’s life. Even when he starts losing his patience and swallows it all down with a “It’s fine, don’t worry,” he never thinks about saying “Yo this Humpty Dumpty guy threatened you so I ain’t leaving you behind bro even if I’m almost abandoning my real bro” because he knows that will show vulnerability in front of Jou. It’s not that Yamato worried he’d show "weakness” by being cautious - if anything, Jou is the most cautious of the group, he’d understand better than anyone - but that he'd show fear (for Jou) and at the same time, he’d reveal that this was reason he was so irritable (besides being separated from Takeru).

And of course, per Yamato standards, that blows up to Yamato blaming Jou to his face, storming off to brood alone outside the restaurant, and calling him incompetent and a burden when Taichi suggests they run off all together.

But then Jou proves he’s nothing of that, and what is Yamato’s reaction?

He doesn’t even look Jou in the face when he thanks him for saving his brother. It’s only when he apologizes that he raises his head, and you still see it on his face (and hear it in his voice) how absolutely embarrassed he is by his own actions.

Sure he knows gratitude and an apology were in order, and while it’s understandable to be humble during the latter, it’s a bit telling that it even influenced the "thank you” before it.

It’s not an easy moment for him. Yamato knows already about the front he puts up to push other people away, and at this moment he has to push it away because, frankly, he messed up, and he owed Jou an apology. Just because he is willing to do it doesn’t mean it’s easy for him to expose himself that way.

I mean, that’s the whole entire reason THE FRONT™ exists, isn’t it?! Why the heck would Yamato even need to have a front if he didn’t feel embarrassed and weak and useless every time he expressed any type of passionate emotion?

But wait, there’s more!

That’s right, I’m pulling out the big guns - the reason the Front™ exists in the first place. Mommy Issues™. If your child reacts like that to seeing you after entire months of separation (at least on his side), you know you fuckin’ fucked up.

And the thing is, it’s not that Yamato doesn’t want to run to his mom and hug her. It’s not that he doesn’t care. But the boy is even embarrassed to admit that, when talking about saving the world, he includes her in it.

Notice how he first starts saying “I will-” and then cuts himself off to change it to “We will”. But a “We’ll save the world” statement is cool. Running to your mother, hugging her and probably bursting out in tears is not (at least according to Yamato’s standards at the time). It’s emotional and vulnerable and we can’t have that, let alone in public.

After his big fight with Taichi, he claims he wants to go on his own to “find his path” but honestly, did anyone believe that? Considering that, well, he didn’t - he simply ended up in a dark cave of his own emo creation - and that they still were in actual grave danger, the main explanation behind it is that he felt so deeply embarrassed that he not only went and provoked Taichi, but that he also allowed himself to be driven down that path, and that he couldn’t handle this embarrassment while in the company of the others.

As for the “Yamato doesn’t care what others think of him” part,

I... I don’t even know where that came from. Again, why would Yamato need to put up a front to make himself look good, if he didn’t care about what other people thought? Yamato initially found his purpose by trying to be a responsible big brother - something that included someone else; he couldn’t be a big brother just on his own. So his first main purpose was something that depended on how other people saw him, even if it was just Takeru. Yeah Yamato wanted to see himself as this and that, but the entire point of emotional suppression was that he’d look “cool” - and that was by societal standards. It’s not like Yamato woke up a day after the divorce and the separation and decided “These are the rules I live by now that I chose all by myself and who cares what image that shows to the others”. He cares what people think of him - what he “doesn’t care” for, is whether he’ll have friends or not. In his situation, he preferred people seeing him as mature but cold and unapproachable (that he could handle), over seeing the shimmering mess beneath (that he absolutely could not handle).

So really, it goes hand-in-hand. Yamato worries about what others think of him, because his own self-image is horrendous, so he depends on their impression of him to make up for it. So he swallows his emotions dry, assumes the roles of housekeeping and caring for his little brother, keeps others at a distance so they won’t really see the vulnerable side of him and ~~expose~~ him, and you get a neat, shiny wrap over a package bursting with fear, pain and loneliness.

And that’s why Gabumon’s influence was so important to him. Yamato hated that he was so emotionally vulnerable, thinking of himself as weak; Gabumon instead saw his emotional intelligence as his strength, because being very emotional himself, he didn’t care who’s “cool” and who’s “awesome”. Yamato only thought he was useful if he was a good brother, and lost himself when Takeru started getting by on his own; Gabumon instead turned and told him that no matter what, they’re still brothers and that he cares for him. When Yamato tried to act tough by asking Gabumon to leave, Gabumon was ready to do it, not because he was calling his bluff, but because even after everything he’d still respect Yamato’s wishes, and that was the shock that Yamato needed to realize how he’d been sabotaging his own happiness all along.

Again, I might have misunderstood what other posts had wanted to say, so this isn’t an effort to combat anyone, just some of my own analysis, and in any case I always love to write and share meta on my blorbos 💙

#Yamato Ishida #Digimon #digimon meta

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writing-with-olive · 3 years

Text

How to write essays fast

I've been writing a lot of papers, so that's what's on my mind.

So this mostly applies to your standard 5-paragraph paper, though it's fairly straightforward to adapt it to longer (or sometimes shorter) assignments.

One of the main things to note is that essays are VERY formulaic, so knowing the formula and being able to write down your ideas in a way that fit into the formula is probably the number one way to get stuff done fast. Because of that, most of what I’m covering is breaking down the formulas so they’re more accessable.

Also this got very long. If there’s anything you want me to expand on just let me know in the comments or send me an ask/DM and I’ll make another post that goes more in-depth about it.

Structure (I hate this step, so I’ve figured out how to do it very fast becuase it’s still important)

The first thing to consider is prewriting and structure. To start, there are two major paper structures I usually consider. The first goes

Introduction

Main point #1

Main point #2

Main point #3

Conclusion

This is good if you have a lot to say on the topic, or if it's something closer to a summary essay where there's not really an opposing side. In something where there are distinct sides, (or if you have less to say to support your own side), you may want something that looks like

Introduction

Main point #1

Main point #2

Why the other side is wrong

Conclusion

The "why the other side is wrong" side is involves thinking through the MOST credible arguments the other side might make, and methodically breaking them down to show how they don't work. The stronger the argument you choose, the more effective this is.

Since I personally hate prewriting with a passion, I usually do this step very fast and end up with an outline that looks like

Intro [insert thesis statement]

P1: [three word summary]

P2: [three word summary]

P3: [three word summary]

Conclusion

(thesis statement, introduction, body paragraphs, and conclusion tips are all below the cut)

Usually, this is enough so when I look at my outline, I can see what I'm trying to focus on for each paragraph - and do so without straying from my main point.

For the prewriting, the main things to do are identify with basic structure of the two will serve your purposes better, and write a thesis statement that solidly supports your argument.

Thesis Statement

There are so many guides about creating thesis statements that are powerful, but I'm just going to quickly go over how to be fast about it.

The first thing to know is that a thesis statement is usually a complex sentence: it's your entire essay distilled down to a single line. The general formula I follow goes something like this:

"In their [media type] [name of specific piece], [creator's full name] explored/demonstrated/other verb [theme you're going to be arguing about] demonstrated/using/as evidenced/as shown by [example 1], [example 2], and [optional example 3]."

For example, a thesis statement that follows this format might go

“In his short film Job at Place, David Davidson explored the manifestations of human stupidity through the absurdity of the main character’s home, school, and office.”

Or, if you're writing a historical piece, it might look something like this:

"In [place/time period], [thing you're arguing was happening]: they had to/the conditions were such that/other thing to set up a list [example 1], [example 2], and [example 3]."

For example, a thesis statement that follows this format might go

“During the Tusken Invasion of 32nd century Tatooine, it was the lives of the children that were most affected, from their social development and connections with others to more personal struggles they didn’t yet have the tools to overcome.”

The examples you give are going to correlate to your paragraphs - example 1 is for body paragraph 1, and so on.

Introduction

I like to think of the introduction as a funnel that gets more and more specific.

First, write a broad statement that touches on whatever theme you’re referencing.

Job at Place is about human stupidity, so something like “while great minds have flourished throughout the ages, so have the not-so-great.”

Tatooine is about war, and about child development, so something like “children’s development has always been impacted by the state of the world around them.” or “war has many effects, many of which impact those not directly involved with the conflict.”

The idea is that it’s a broad statement that can almost be looked at like a universal truth.

Next, you’re going to go deeper - two sentences that narrow down the time and place you’re talking about specifically, and how that time and place fit into your universal statement.

The fourth sentence gets even more specific - introducing how the thesis sentence fits into your first three sentences.

Then the last line is your thesis statements.

Body Paragraphs

Your three main body paragraphs all follow the same formula. (I’ll get to the “why the other side is wrong” paragraph in a minute)

The first sentence you’re going to want is a topic sentence. For this, you’re going to want to look at the example you gave in your thesis statement that corresponds to this paragraph, and see how it relates to your central claim.

If we’re going with the Job at Place example from above, for the second paragraph, you might open with a line like:

“A striking characteristic of Davidson’s short film was the abnormality of the main character’s school, used to showcase exactly what happens when poor decisions get taken too far.”

Everything within the paragraph will then back up the claim you’re making in the topic sentence (which in turn is backing up your thesis).

For each paragraph, you’re probably going to want about three pieces of evidence, either in the form of direct quotes (plucking words directly from the source) or paraphrased quotes (summarizing what happened in your own words). The quote should be used to directly support your argument.

After each piece of evidence, you’re going to want about... twoish lines of analysis (this number can change as you need it to, but two lines is something solid to fall back to).

While analysis can take all kinds of forms, one pattern you can use if you’re stuck is

evidence sentence

what it means

how that meaning ties back into your main point

Following this pattern, a piece of analysis of Job at Place might look like:

“One of the first images of the private school is that it’s a tall spire with creaking stairs and loose floorboards. Despite this, the principal has eight personal cars parked outside on full display. While the first glimpse of the school might indicate that there is little money to care for the structural integrity, the notion is directly negated by the principal’s actions. By using these two images, Davidson demonstrates what can happen to the youth when those in power let greed carry them away.”

After you write your analysis, include some kind of transition phrase, and go onto the next piece of evidence.

The last line of your paragraph is going to transition into the next paragraph while also summing up the main point of what you talked about in the current one. (This line can also get moved down and tacked onto the beginning of the next paragraph, before the topic sentence, but I have found it tends to look less cohesive that way).

You might choose something like:

“While the school was a disaster in its own right, it wasn’t the only example of human folly.”

If you’re writing a “this is why the other side is wrong” you’re going to want to think about the MOST compelling arguments the other side could make. Take the top one (or two), and figure out ways to crack them apart using evidence from your source material.

In this case, your topic sentence might start off with something like

“While opponents might say [insert compelling counterargument], their reasoning breaks down when one takes into account the evidence.”

At this point, you’re going to follow the same formula as above. The main thing to keep in mind is that for the duration of this paragraph, your point is that the other side’s claim of X is wrong.

Conclusion!

If you know what you’re doing, this is actually the easiest part.

(wait, what??????)

The thing is, you NEVER want to introduce new ideas into your conclusion. Instead, you’re summarizing your main points.

The formula I follow per sentence is:

Thesis statement but reworded (you can change the sentence structure too)

Topic sentence for paragraph 2 or 3, but reworded (I’ll explain why you shouldn’t do the sentence for P1 in just a sec)

Topic sentence for paragraph 1 or 3 but reworded

Topic sentence for paragraph 1 or 2 but reworded

Wow sentence or question (i’ll get to this too)

The idea for the middle three sentences is you don’t want them to read as repetitive, so you’re going to mix up the order so it doesn’t match the order of the rest of the essay. This will help to keep it fresh.

The wow sentence is basically the last impression you get to make. I find it’s usually a good idea to go just a tad dramatic (it sounds dumb, but it has never failed me). If I can’t think of anything, a declarative statement on whatever major theme was being discussed throughout the essay usually does the trick.

Examples:

All of this shows that in the absence of friendships and platonic love, humanity will falter.

Fiction may seem far fetched now, but if the world falls into those same mistakes, it’s only a matter of time until it becomes a reality.

Art has existed for as long as humans have populated the earth; it’s not going away any time soon.

A lesson everyone must understand is the most powerful weapon isn’t anything physical or tangeable: it’s the ideas that exist in the minds of those who care.

(I told you they were going to be dramatic) A way I look at it is if you can’t imagine dropping the mic on the last line, it needs to be stronger (yes I found that plagiarized with not even a whisper of credit on Pinterest, but it works).

If you wrote a SOLID essay, consider ending with a question aimed at the reader (this will push your essay in the direction of either the positive or negative extreme: a strong essay will become stronger, a weak essay will become weaker). Questions can be a call to action or rhetorical as a means to drive home your final point. Becuase they’re more nuanced to the content of the essay, I don’t really have great examples to give you though (sorry).

Hopefully this is useful to at least some of you - good luck!

++++

Tagging:@candlemouse

If you want to be added to or removed from any of my taglists (found pinned to the top of my blog) just let me know :)

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wonder-kid-pugh · 3 years

Text

They are Always with Us - (Christen Press X reader)

Everyone was anxious this camp. Of course they were. The World Cup was only a few months away and roster selection was only around the corner. Which meant that every camp mattered. You needed to come and prove that you deserved a spot on that roster.

But that wasn't the only reason everyone was anxious

"Is she here yet?" Ali asks in a quiet whisper to the table which consisted of me, Ash, Pinoe, Becky, Alyssa and Alex.

Pinoe shakes her head slightly. "No. She and Tobin are arriving soon. Tobin flew out to her so she could keep her company and so they could come together".

Alex let's out a low sigh as she runs her hand through her hair. "Gosh. I wasn't sure if she would come or not. I don't know if I would be able to do it if I was in her shoes".

Ash stabs at her food as she shrugs, "I mean the World Cup is just around the corner. Every camp matters at this point".

"I know but we would all understand if she wouldn't come to this one. I mean she just lost her mom..." Alex says before trailing off at the moment end.

It was the sad reality of the situation. It's only been a month since Christen's mom passed away. We all knew how close she is with her family especially her mom. And to be honest we didn't know if she would come to this camp. It really killed us all to see the usually happy smiley and optimistic forward so sad. I remember attending the funeral with Tobin to offer support for Christen. It was crippling watching Christen leaning into her dad and sisters so devastated.

"Do we know who she's rooming with?" Ali asks again trying to move on the conversation quickly not wanting to dwell on the sad truth.

Everyone shakes their head and shrugs before I voice quietly. "I am". Everyone's head snaps to me in mild surprise. I guess they all thought she would be rooming with Tobin.

"Just make sure to give her the space she needs this camp. And maybe just keep an eye on her" Ali advises me with a small smile while I just nod. And with that the conversation swiftly moved onto talks of the World Cup.

After finishing up my food I throw away my trash before deciding to go to my room for a nap. But my eyes widen when I see one of my best friends standing there in front of me. "Tobin! Hi I didn't know you were here yet".

She gives me her signature big grinned smile as we both hug. "We only got here a short while ago. Was about to go get food. Christen said she was tired and went to take a nap in her room".

I nod as I bite my lip fiddling with my phone in my hands. "How is she?"

Tobin sighs letting out a huge huff of air as she scratches the back of her neck. "Didn't speak much to me on the flight or anything. I think she's still trying to come to terms with it. I think she just wants to busy herself now to distract herself". Tobin gets a cheeky smirk on her face, "She did say how she really wanted one of your big bear hugs though".

Of course Tobin knew about my crush on Christen. The three of us hang out all the time and caught me staring at Christen.... multiple times. That and Tobin was practically my sister of course she knew.

I can already feel my face burn as Tobin winks at me. "Shove it Tobs". She laughs a big belly laugh as she nodded her head towards the room. "Seriously though I think she would really like to see you".

I nod as I move towards my room, "Sure I'll see you later Tobs". She nods as she walks into the elevator, "See you later Lover girl".

I throw a middle finger back at her over my shoulder as I hear her cackle before the lift door's close. As I opened the door to our room I peak my head in, smiling when I see Christen was already passed out on the bed. But it's soon replaced with a frown as I see how exhausted she looked with subtle tear tracks on her face.

I move to plop down on my bed next to hers. But freeze when she starts to shuffle on the bed. She flips over onto her side so she's now facing my bed. A few loose strands falling into her face. I carefully and gently go to brush them out of her face and smile as I see her subconsciously smile before nuzzling her face into the pillow cuddling further into the blanket draped over her.

I climb back onto my bed ready to take my own nap. I stare at the ceiling for a bit. Usually if I was roomed with Christen I would be a nervous wreck. Worried I would let slip my feelings for her. But right now I can't focus on that. Right now she just needs me to be there for her. And as I drift off the last thought on my mind was that it didn't matter.

Cause Christen Press is way out of my league

---

I yawn tiredly as I stretch my arms over my head until there's a loud pop from my back. Media days sucked. They were always long and tiring.

And as much as I love Alex being paired with her both was awesome and sucked at the same time. Cause when I'm paired with her most of the questions get directed towards her with allows me to just sit quietly and answer a few questions as I wait for time to pass. But it almost meant everyone wanted to talk to her and so it always over ran and took forever.

So when I was finally released from media hell I couldn't wait to just curl up and crash for the night. Or maybe talk to Christen.

I would have been perfectly happy with either or.

Cause we haven't been able to fit in a proper conversation since she was already down in the meal room when I woke up from my nap. So apart from a small smile and a hug we haven't gotten the chance to really catch up.

As I'm digging around my sweatpants pocket for my room key I'm pulled from my task as I hear someone call me from behind. I turn to see Tobin and Mal walking towards me. "Hey guys".

Tobin grins at me, "Looks like Media has you dead on your feet". I just give her a blank 'really?' look causing the two to fall into giggles.

"Yeah well then your paired with Alex it seems like it's never ending media" I sigh. "Honestly I don't know how Alex does it. I'm pretty sure she answered the same question in about 6 different ways".

Mal scrunches her face in a small grimace. "Ouch. Media days are always kinda sucky. All we did was play Mario Kart all day".

I pout while the others once again laugh at my misfortune. "Lucky for some". My eyes flicker to my door as I swallow already feeling the heat from my cheeks. I clear my throat playing with my hands as I drop my voice slightly. "So uh have either of you seen Christen yet?"

Mal just shakes her head simply while Tobin gets a wicked grin on her face her eyes filling with mirth and glee. "No. But last I heard was that she was going to the roof".

When she winks at me I know I've been caught and rub the back of my neck shyly at Tobin let's out a big laugh while Mal looks between us confused. Swallowing back my embarrassment I shake my heat hoping the blush would die down quickly. "Uh I'm going to go check on her. Make sure she's okay".

But obviously Tobin sees through that as she winks at me. "Go get her Tiger".

I narrow my eyes at her and slap the back of her head as I walk past get towards the stairs. But wince and speed up when I hear Mal.

"Wait what?"

It takes a second before I hear Mal gasp and release a small "No!" Along with Tobin's hearty laugh. I mentally groan at the fact now Mal knows about my crush on Christen. Mentally working it out in my head how long is it going to be before the rest of the youngins as well as the entire team finds out.

Many many many stairs later and I'm finally on the roof. But now we come to the difficult part. What many people don't really know is.

I may have a 'slight' fear of heights

So when I look to see Christen leaning over what looks to me as a really rickety railing I can already feel my heart start to pound and I haven't even left the doorway.

So instead on focusing on how high we're up at the moment cause the thought alone makes me feel dizzy, I focus on Christen. How she has her arms crossed leaning on the silver metal railing. How she's wearing a pair of shorts and a loose and baggy shirt. Which upon further inspection I realize is mine. I smile thinking how many of my clothes she must had stored away somewhere.

Any time I bring it up she would always unapologetically smile at me as she wrapped her arms around herself and argue that my clothes were always warmer. But that's probably to do with the fact that I'm taller than her and my clothes are always bigger and baggy on her which makes her ten times cuter.

She had her long curly hair tied back in a ponytail keeping her hair out of her face and splayed out on her back. Except for these small strands near her face which are flying around due to the wind.

For a split second her elegance and beauty had me in such awe that I forgot about my fear

"Are you okay?"

I instantly curse myself out in my head. Of course she isn't okay. How stupid could I be. I physically wince at my stupidity but Christen just looks at me from over her shoulder and sends me a small smile before looking back out over the railing.

I gulp and pull at the neck of my jersey hoping that would help me breathe but it doesn't. Swallowing hard I take tentative steps towards Christen. Once I make it beside her I grip the railing hard with what could only be described as hanging on for life or death grip. With the railing in both hands I force myself not to look down and just breathe.

I only open my eyes when I see Christen sigh and step back still holding the railing but moving so that she now has her chin on her arms against the railing peering up at me through her eyelashes

Oh sweet Jesus

"How was media day?" Her voice is soft and light but still slightly strained.

I shrug being as brave to tap my thumbs against the railing in an attempt to distract myself. I fail. "You know. The usual. Long. I just let Alex do the talking mostly. Which is easy cause who would want to talk to me with her in the room?"

I meant it as a joke but obviously she doesn't find it funny as she frowns at me. "Your still important too Y/n/n".

I blush and make the mistake of looking out over the railing and then settle for looking at my shoes. "I...I know Chris. Just...". I sigh, "Who would want to talk to me when you have Alex Morgan in the room?"

I can see from the corner of my eye that she pouts at my statement before leaning her head against my bicep making me tense. "Well no offense to Alex but I much rather talk to you all day than Alex". She gives me a cute smile as she looks at me sideways. "Especially if it means I get more if those special bear hugs".

I bite my lip and look down but in doing so I accidentally ended up looking over the railing and down all the way to the ground. I felt like I wanted to keel over and just barf. My vision was starting to go wavey. The only thing keeping me upright was the fact that I knew Christen had other things on her mind to be putting up with my shit and the fact I was holding onto the railing so tight I was surprised there wasn't a dent in it.

There's a small silence. It was peaceful. The only noise there was the wind and the slight flapping of out clothes. And while I was trying to figure out what was best to say I guess Christen could see right through me.

"I miss her" she says softly distracting me from the urge to spill my guts over the railing. Her voice cracked slightly at the end. Accompanied by a tiny sniffle at the end. And I could see her look up and blink rapidly no doubt fighting back tears. "I miss her a lot".

I frown as I watch the person I love so much start to crack and crumble slowly. I open my mouth hoping to provide some sort of comfort but nothing comes out.

I sigh as I run my hand over my hair before I gently put my hand on hers. "I know Chris. I know". I close my eyes and take a deep breath before deciding to disclose something that not many people know about. "Have I ever told you about my family?"

I wait as I watch her think for a second before shaking her head. I dig around in my pocket for my wallet before I pull out a small picture and hand it to her. I smile as I watch her handle it so delicately. "I know everyone thinks Tobin and her family are my family, which I suppose is kinda true. Cause in College Tobin and her family practically adopted me into theirs". I point at the picture. "But that's my real family".

I can see Christen furrow her eyebrows in confusion as she looks at all the different people in the picture.

I look at the picture over her shoulder and smile fondly remembering the day it was taken. "This was taken the day I got my first call up to camp". I take a deep breath before I look away knowing what her reaction is going to be. Cause everyone has the same reaction when I tell them. "I came back from practice one day to see the entire orphanage had thrown me a party to celebrate".

And just as I expected her head pops up in surprise and her eyes widen

I can see how her mouth opens and closes several times but no words come out. I mean I understand that's usually the reaction I get from people. That and pity.

I shake my head smiling softly at her. "I didn't tell you to get sympathy or anything like that. It wasn't that bad. I mean it had it's moments and money was pretty tight most of the time but I have pretty awesome brothers and sisters". I wait a second as she continues examining the picture. "Did you know your mom knew?" I ask quietly.

Now that gets a reaction as her head snaps towards me and she stands up properly. "Really?"

I nod with a smile. "Yeah. Once I told her I wasn't related to Tobin she asked where my parents where and I told her the truth". I chuckle a bit as I rub my thumb over her knuckles. "She didn't treat me differently at all. All she did was hug me and she always invited me over for the holidays". My smile drops slightly, "I wish I had taken up at least one of those offers now. She truly was amazing".

"She never told me" she whispers quietly. She looks as if she's replaying all the conversations she had with her mom trying to think if she ever mentioned it.

I squeeze her hand. "I asked her not to tell you. I always thought she would but I guess she kept her word".

Christen looks down. "It was always important to her. Keeping her word".

I smile brushing some of those fly away hairs from her face and behind her ear. "It just made her even more incredible than she already was".

Christen looks down as she clasps her hands on a long beaded necklace. It takes me a second before I recognize it to be her mother's. "I really miss her".

And it seems that was what breaks the dam as her voice breaks and tears start to leak from her eyes. She starts to curl in on herself before she burrows into me. I hug her with one arm the other still holding tightly to the railing. But as I feel her tears start to wet my shirt I chide myself and ignore my fear and throw my arms around her holding her securely into my chest. I whisper small coos and reassurances in her ear as her sobs eventually start to die down.

As she stops crying she nuzzles her face into my chest making me let out a content smile. "Sorry".

I rub my hand in small circles on her back as I squeeze her tighter into me. "It's okay. Nothing to be sorry for". She looks up at me gives me a teary smile before her hands stop on my chest and she scrunches her face. "Y/n/n? Your heart is pounding. Like it's about to jump out of your chest?"

At that reminder my right hand goes back to clutching the railing while the other rubs the back of my neck sheepishly almost like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "Well" I stutter. "I might...kinda...have a fear of heights and we're really high right now and-"

Christen's eyes widen before she chuckles and takes my hand pulling me away from the railing and back to the center of the roof well away from the edge. I can already feel my vision getting better. "Why didn't you say so? You would have comforted me just as well from here".

With red cheeks, I shrug shyly scuffing my shoe against the ground only looking up when Christen giggles.

"Well that was really sweet of you Y/n" she smiles before she bites her lip. "Honestly I thought it was maybe... because of me". She scoffs quietly. "Stupid right?"

I blink at her owlishly trying to register her words before they finally click. Did she just....?

"What? No! I-I mean I..." I stop stumbling over my words and take a deep breath as I see her smile clearly amused at me. "I mean yes my heart was beating fast because of how high we are up. But I do like you and if we weren't this high up and there was a threat of me getting throwing my guts up right now you would definitely have my heart racing. I just always thought you were way out of my league. I mean your....you".

She bites her lip as she smiles and shakes her head at me as if I'm telling some bad corny joke. I gulp hard as she steps closer to me as I stay frozen in my place. "You never give yourself enough credit Y/n. I never understand how you can't see how amazing you are. I mean you came all the way up here, even though your terrified of heights, just to check on me". I see her eyes flicker down to my lips, "I think that's amazingly selfless of you".

And before my mind can catch up she leans in and kisses me softly at first as her hands lean up again my shoulders. As my mind slowly starts to comprehend what's happening my hands slowly move to her waist as I kiss back.

She pulls back only to come back for another kiss moving even closer so there's practically no space between us. Her hands move down and untuck my jersey from my joggers. I gasp as the kiss starts to get more intense and I have to hold myself back from letting a moan slip through my lips. Everything is better than I could have ever imagined. But while every part of me screams to let this continue. I know I can't keep letting this happen.

I pull back breathing heavy and I can see Christen inch in for another but using my grip on her hips I hold her back. Her eyes furrow and scrunch in confusion and concern as she searches my face for any tells.

I sigh screwing my eyes closed for a second trying to prepare myself. Not wanting to fall for those green eyes before I open my eyes. "Chris I would love nothing more for us to continue this. Like you don't know how much this pains me". I look into her eyes sincerely, "But I know your not in the right place right now. Your still getting over your mom and probably stressed about the World Cup and everything".

I can see her features ease at that but she's still slightly hesitant. "I promise you I would love nothing more to keep doing this. I just want to give you a little time to make sure this is something you want and not because your sad and want something to distract you. I don't want to take advantage of you like that".

With that Christen nods and smiles while on sigh glad I was able to convince her of my intentions. "Your too good Y/n".

I just smile down at her as I take my hand. "I just want what's best for you Chris....even if you decide that isn't me".

I move her hand to my chest directly over my heart. "But just so you know that I was being serious". I let her feel how fast my heart was beating. Even faster than when I was over at the ledge. "See? No where near the edge and you will have my heart racing. All systems were ready to go. And when I get back to our room I'll definitely need a cold shower".

I smile brightly as Christen bursts out in giggles trying to hide them behind her hand. "Gosh you make me laugh even when I think it's not possible anymore".

"I will make a fool out of myself everyday if it means I get to hear you laugh" I tell her honestly giving her hand a small squeeze. She smiles and gives me one small chaste kiss.

I smile into the kiss before we break apart and lean my forehead against hers. "Just remember. The ones who love us never really leave us". I point to her heart, "They'll always be in here".

She opens her mouth and scrunches her nose at me trying and failing to hide a smile blooming on her face. "Did you just...."

But before she could finish I nod. "Quote Harry Potter? Yes. Yes I did".

She giggles at me and gives me one last peck before pulling me by the hand back to our room.

"C'mon you dork I want some special bear hugs when we get back to our room".

#Christen Press #Christen Press x reader #Christen Press imagines #Christen Press imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #uswnt

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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

Text

You Aren’t Somebody? (Bucky x Reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2647

Summary: Bucky knows that the reader has struggled with an eating disorder before, but thought they were doing better. Little does he know, they had just gotten better at hiding it. Until one night, he catches her doing something she had promised she had stopped

Warnings: eating disorder, purging, angst, fluff

Tags @abitgryffindorky @buckys2thicc @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @barnesplums @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @thundering-barnes

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s finals week and I am running on energy drinks, reading fanfiction, and longgggg hot showers. But the semester is almost over, and then I have no obligations aside from my hobbies. I see the requests and I’m working on them I promise! I have a list of all the requests that I get, and I am working through them I PROMISE!!! Thank you all for all of your support.

A/N 2: This deals with heavy and dark themes of mental illness. The specific warnings are above. If you feel that in any way reading this will be harmful to your mental health and your journey, PLEASE skip it. I write from my own experience and I know what I would’ve wanted to hear in these situations, and writing/reading fics helps me feel comforted. This fic is based on one experience more specifically than most of my fics, so I apologize if it’s not exactly the same as your experience. This is what I would’ve wanted to hear. If you need or want someone to talk to, vent to, or get advice from, feel free to message me, really. I’m here! <3

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

Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his.

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky.”

He looked you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red, voice raspy. He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

“You promised.”

You closed your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you had promised. But that was because you never thought you’d see the day when you were purging again. You thought you had gotten over it. You really thought that this time you wouldn’t slip up.

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

You had been struggling with an eating disorder for a while. The cause, you weren’t quite sure. An innocent diet soon turned into a competition for yourself, but the end goal was never there. At first you had thought it was just about the weight and how you looked, but then you found that some of your behavior patterns were tied to your emotional ones.

Stress was the major trigger, you had come to learn.

Whether it was a mission gone wrong, you getting injured, someone else getting injured, or even just basic social interactions you thought could’ve gone better, you found yourself inclined to comfort yourself with food.

Until you panicked, which would lead you to the bathroom with music blaring and water running to cover up the noises of your retching.

You hated it, and every time you told yourself it was the last time. But the more you did it, the more you felt the urge to do it. At first it was triggered by large stressors, but now smaller things could trigger you to want to throw up. You tried to keep it hidden, unaware of the true reasons for why you did it. You were able to help yourself sometimes, it wasn’t worth bringing anyone else into.

You couldn’t explain it to yourself, so how were you supposed to explain it to anybody?

The best way that you had figured out how to describe it was that whenever you felt a negative emotion, you could soothe it in a physical way with food, especially with all the warm comfort foods that are known. But at the same time, that feeling lasted as long as you could taste, and you would feel guilty as you felt full. When you threw up, it felt like you were also throwing up the negative emotions.

But when you said it out loud, it didn’t make sense. When people are sick and throwing up it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. Inducing it hurts sometimes, but it’s almost not as bad. Like you know it’s coming, and you’re in control of what’s happening and you could stop at any point. And there had been times where you could soothe yourself in other ways, and you knew your own physical limits. You knew when you had to stop for your own health.

Until you couldn’t stop.

Which is what led to you fainting on a mission after purging too much. Your electrolytes had bottomed out and you almost had a heart attack at an age no one should. Bucky, your boyfriend who was on the mission with you, had put it together when the first words out of your mouth upon gaining consciousness were “Is this a glucose drip?” while tugging at the IV.

He hadn’t been mad, not exactly. He wasn’t mad at you but he was furious with himself for not noticing, and for making you feel as though you couldn’t tell him. You assured him that you did trust him, but he wished you had come to him before you could’ve gotten yourself, and those on the mission, seriously hurt or killed.

Nonetheless, you still didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Can you try to tell me about it?” he asked gently, running a hand through your hair. He held you to his chest, you unable to meet his eyes.

“It won’t make any sense,” you had said, tears glazing your eyes.

“I want to understand. Can you help me understand?”

You paused for a moment. “It’s a long story and I don’t know where to start. There’s so much going wrong.” you had said, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“I have all the time for you. And it doesn’t have to make sense, these things rarely do. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to listen.”

And true to his word, he had. He had listened and held you while you tried to talk about what you could. He didn’t understand everything, he naturally had a ton of questions, but they weren’t for that moment. He had promised to help you the best that he could, and you had promised to try and tell him whenever you felt the urges get too strong. And if you couldn’t, to tell him after.

It was easier to talk to Bucky than anyone else. Not because he was your boyfriend, but because he seemed to understand you more than anyone else could. He had his own share of mental health struggles. Neither of you knew exactly what the other was going through, but you both understood that it was easy to feel alone and guilty even though you couldn’t control it.

It was rough, but he was never mad. He was sometimes firm, and sometimes you had gotten angry with him. Only to later apologize to him with tears in your eyes. He was never mad with you. He understood that this was something internal. Upon research he had done and conversations he had had with Bruce, he understood that this had nothing to do with him. Some people thought eating disorders were about getting attention when it was one of the furthest things from the truth.

All he could do was love you and be there for you.

And to your surprise, talking about it did help.it took a long time, months, of long and hard conversations, panic attacks, slip ups, and really dark days. But it got to the point where Bucky felt that you were doing better, making an effort to tell you how proud he was and how much he loved you.

And you were doing better, in a way. But you had been slipping up more recently, and you hadn’t told Bucky. You didn’t know how. After going the longest you’d ever had between slip ups, you found yourself retching over the toilet. You would have gone to Bucky but he had been away on a mission that was extended a few days. You couldn’t interrupt him because your feelings were too much to handle. People needed his help more than you did.

You were going to tell him, but he had been so tired when he had come back. He needed his time to relax, and it wasn’t the right time to tell him. And the next day when he was rested, you felt that it was irrelevant. Any negative feeling you had felt the day before had since past, and you didn’t see the point in bringing it up today. It would worry Bucky, he wouldn’t want to go on missions, and you weren’t going to do that to him. Besides, it was just one time.

Right?

You soon found yourself purging when Bucky wasn’t around. If he had gone out with Steve, if he was on a mission, or if he was down in the gym you found yourself taking more opportunities to give into your urges. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but you were spiraling. But at this point you had been slipping up so many times, you had been so secretive about it.

It would kill Bucky inside to know that you were hiding this from him again. He would feel like you didn’t trust him. You trusted him with your life.

You just didn’t want to let him down. Not again, not when he had explicitly told you to come to him and you had been blatantly ignoring that.

You wanted to tell him, you did. But you couldn’t let him being so proud of you be based on a lie.

One day you were hunched over the toilet, legs sahking and tears streaming down your face from exertion. Bucky was away on a mission, so you didn’t even bother with the music or the water. What you hadn’t anticipated was him coming back hours earlier than he should’ve

The mission had gone much more smoothly than anticipated, which everyone was happy about. Bucky was glad he would get a few more hours with you. He had gone up to your shared room and let himself in, surprised to see you weren’t there. But then he heard you coughing from behind a closed bathroom door.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. You had been doing so well, what had happened?

He walked over to the door, knocking on it and calling out your name. He heard you muffle a small fuck before he knocked again.

“Y/n please, let me in.”

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, you on the other side washing your face. You could feel the tears from exertion be replaced by ones of shame and embarrassment, biting your lip slightly. What the fuck were you going to tell him?

When you finally turned off the water, you rubbed your face with a towel, sighing heavily into it. When you took it away, you looked long and hard at the doorknob.

Bucky sighed on the other side of the door. “Y/n please. I’m not mad. We’ve been here before, I just wanna talk to you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a breath before you made your expression nuetral and opened the door.

Bucky’s eyes immediately saddened when he took you in. your face was still red and there were tears in your eyes. You had tried to put up a front, he could tell that too. Sometimes you got angry with him because you didn’t want to be vulnerable. He was prepared because like he said - he’d helped you before.

Before he could say anything you crossed your arms. “You’re home early,” you said coldly.

“Y/n.”

“How’d the mission go? Well, I assume.” you tried to slip past Bucky but he was blocking the door.

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, the mission went well.” He wanted to be gentle with you. “But how are you?”

You shrugged, trying to appear oblivious. “I’m fine,” voice wavering slightly as you looked away.

“Y/n please. You’re not fine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The same thing that always happens” you said bitterly. “Something stupid comes up, I start feeling like shit about myself and I ignore it until I’m puking it up with everything else, alright? It’s the same story, different time, and now I have you looking at me all hurt just like I was worried about which is why I couldn’t tell you!” you exclaimed, eyes filled with anger and tears. Bucky looked at you as if you had just punched him in the face. He would’ve much preferred that you had.

“Y/n.”

You shook your head, trying to get through the door that he was blocking. “Bucky, just let me through the door, forget it.”

“Y/n just talk to me please, I -”

“JUST LET ME THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR.” You yelled, surprising Bucky. It had been a while since you had gotten this angry or defensive. But he stood his ground. Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his.

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky,” you said, feeling tears threatening to spill over.

He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

You closed your eyes and felt a pang in your stomach. “Bucky, I - “

“You promised,” he said, voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Why do I have to talk about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anybody”

“You’re hurting yourself, y/n.” he said calmly.

You shook your head and narrowed your eyes slightly, tears falling. “That’s different Bucky, you know it is.”

“You aren’t somebody?”

You looked at him for a moment before a sob escaped your body, leaning on the counter for support as you brought a hand to your mouth. Bucky quickly came up behind you and pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know how to tell you, I -”

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright y/n, I’m here.” Bucky kept whispering reassurances in your ears, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

After some time passed, you didn’t know how long, you were able to calm down enough to take some shaky breaths, hiding your red face in Bucky’s chest.

“When did this start happening again?” he asked softly

“I don’t know… few weeks at least, not really sure.”

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. A few weeks and he hadn’t suspected anything, and you were alone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on a mission, I couldn’t interrupt that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back?” he pressed gently.

“You were so tired Bucky - ”

“Y/n.” he said more firmly.

You paused for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t take those answers. If they were truly the reason then you would’ve told him the next day or the day after, as soon as the opportunity came. There was more to why you waited, and Bucky knew that.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered.

You heard Bucky sigh. He was angry with himself, for not being approachable to you. All he wanted was to make you feel safe enough to come to him, and to hear that you hadn’t because you thought he had expectations for you crushed him. “Y/n, I told you you could tell me about this. When have I ever been disappointed or angry with you?”

“You haven’t. You were just so proud and I - I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were proud of a lie.”

“Hey, hey look at me.” Hesitantly you looked up to meet his eyes. “None of this was you lying. You put in the hard work day after day, and I told you I was here to support you. But I never did the work for you. You did that. I’m proud of you and I always will be because you’re a fighter. It’s okay to have bad days, it’s okay to slip up. It’s okay to need a little help too, and that’s what I’m here for. A slip up doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in before. I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve made, and of the work you put in. This doesn’t change anything sweetheart.”

He pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

#Bucky Barnes #buckybarnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x you #MCU fanfiction #mcu imagine #mcu fic #MCU #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #eating disorder comfort #tw eating disorder #tw

399 notes · View notes

lxngbottom · 3 years

Text

Cramps. | N.L. (+ D.T & S.F.)

in which the reader is having a really bad period, so her three best friends come and check up on her.

warnings: pain, periods, bleeding, swearing, we know how it is.

i’m on my period rn, & these three boys are my fav characters so this is mostly to comfort me (and idk if you guys can even relate, but my periods get THIS bad) (edit: this was NOT supposed to be this long but oh well i love these three)

gryffindor reader! (but anyone can read obv)

—

somehow, you had managed to make it through the previous school day. but, the whole time your stomach felt like it was completely turning on you, and with every step you took, the bleeding was so heavy. you couldn’t even remember the last time you went through so many pads and tampons in one day.

on top of that, you were an absolute emotional wreck. and, that became apparent to neville when seamus laughed over tripping over your shoe lace, and you looked up at your three best friends with tears in your eyes.

“merlin, y/n! i was only messing with you! what’s wrong?” seamus furrowed his eyebrows at you, only for you to bend down and groan in pain as you attempted to tie your loose shoe laces.

“i can’t do it!” you whined, a tear finally escaping your tired eyes. you stood up, and sniffled, not noticing the genuine concerned looks plastered across the three boys’s faces.

and then, if things couldn’t get any worse, you felt someone tap your shoulder. you turned around to meet a terrified looking ron and harry, staring down at your legs,

“y-y-y/n... blood! t-t-there’s blood running down your legs!”

you looked down, and sure enough, there was a bunch of it. you automatically began to cry, and the sobbing only got worse as you realized that this was happening in front of not one, not two, but five boys.

“nev—neville... p-please give me your jacket...” you choked out, rushing as the blood seeped between your thighs. he did so quickly, tossing it to you, and your tied it around your waist before running into the nearest bathroom.

“why would you point that out?” dean asked ron, eyeing him,

“what?! would it be better for her to stay like that the rest of the day?” the ginger snapped back, still not putting two and two together. ron wasn’t exactly wrong, but his execution was awful.

the boys sighed, deciding that maybe waiting outside the bathroom would do you some good. but, unfortunately, as 15 minutes passed, you never came out.

“m-m-maybe someone should go and get hermione. or lavendar. or one of the parvati twins?” neville suggested, scratching the back of his neck. seamus shrugged, honestly clueless on how to handle the whole situation.

luckily, a saving grace skipped by, grabbing the attention of all of the boys,

“ginny!” ron called out, and she stopped in her tracks, “thank merlin you’re here!”

the look on her face was questionable as harry, ron, neville, dean, and seamus all stared at her.

“w-what?”

dean spoke up first, more than concerned, “y/n went in there. she—she had—blood running down her legs. and, she started crying...”

that’s all it took for ginny to nod her head, “okay. you guys go ahead. i’ll take care of her!”

they did so reluctantly, more so your three best friends. as ron and harry wanted to be away from the whole scenario as soon as possible.

and, that was the last they heard from you yesterday. today, they waited for you to come down from the girl’s dorm, but you never came.

they waited for you in the great hall, but again, you never came.

little did they know, you were curled up in a ball on your bed, sobbing from the excruciating pain that filled your whole body. this cycle was hitting you like a truck, and you’d wished that somehow you had been more prepared for it.

hermione had left you reluctantly that morning, never seeing a fellow girl having such a bad period before. you had cried all night, and you and her both had barely gotten any sleep. so that’s why when neville saw hermione drifting off to sleep during a shared class, he was absolutely baffled.

as that same class ended, the three boys caught up with hermione,

“hey, granger! where’s y/n?” seamus asked, and she rubbed her eyes.

“she—um—“ a yawn interrupted her response, “she’s in our dorm. she doesn’t feel well.”

neville’s mouth went agape, and he finally put two and two together.

“i wouldn’t go and see her, though. you guys embarrassed her yesterday. she told me all about ronald, and ginny, and seamus. she’s really upset, and... she’s just in a lot of pain. so, just let her be for a while.”

and with that, she left the three boys. they gave each other weird looks, mentally questioning each other.

you on the other hand at this time, were crying as you changed out your bed sheets for the second time that day. it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable experience to have to explain to a house elf why you needed a bunch of new clean sheets.

dinner soon came, and even then, the boys expected to see you sitting with them, eating and laughing. but, you still hadn’t left that dorm.

so, neville packed some extra food, and the three made a journey to gryffindor tower, just to see if they could break the rules to make sure you weren’t dying. (of course, all three of them were convinced that you were on your death bed.)

they slipped past the prefect, climbing up the stairs to your dorm.

dean was just about to knock when they all heard your voice,

“stop, hermione! please! i don’t care that i missed my classes! i’ve been puking all day, bled on my bed, almost shit my pants four times, so, i really don’t care about snape and what he said about me! piss off!”

seamus’s lips curled, and the sound he let out could only be described as pure disgust. but, neville nudged him,

“she can’t help it. don’t be like that...” he whispered, still not sure if you were alright with visitors at the moment.

“well, i’m sorry! but, dean, neville, and seamus are all worried about you! they—“

that’s when they heard a blood curdling scream, and it sounded exactly like you. it made them jump,

“I WANT TO KILL MYSELF! FUCK!”

“don’t say that! it’s only for a few days, y/n! i told you i would help you with anything you needed!”

“then you can start by fucking off! go away!”

the boys looked at each other,

“maybe—“

“yeah—“

“later.”

they all mutually agreed, and ran down the stairs before hermione had the chance to see them.

they settled in the common room, deciding to do their homework until they knew it was a safe call to go and see you. they all worried about you tremendously, as they had never heard you talk to a fellow friend like that. you simple weren’t that type of person in their eyes. you had always been patient with people, so it was a wonder to them how you loved them so much.

they spotted ginny, walking up to the girl’s dormitories with a glass of ice cream in hand. they naturally assumed it was for you. and truth be told, when ginny entered with a sweet smile on her face, holding the cold treat, you realized you had never been more happy to see a weasley before.

as pathetic as it sounded, you cried to ginny while eating the chocolate ice cream. you sobbed to her about all the events of that day, and the day before. your crush on neville and how you believed he didn’t feel the same, the way that seamus chewed too loudly, and how hermione was too uptight sometimes. she simply listened, knowing that’s all she could really do.

finally, the three boys saw ginny coming down the the glass now empty, and they ran up to her,

“is she okay?”

“what’s happening?”

“can we go and see her?”

she chuckled and shook her head them, “she’s fine, you guys. calm down. i’m not so sure if she’ll want to see you guys, but you guys can sure try.”

they all three looked at each other, slightly terrified.

but, they sucked it up and made their way up again. of course, seamus couldn’t hold back from making a snide comment,

“i swear, if i get a book thrown at my head and end up in the hospital wing with a concussion, i’m blanking it on neville.”

“why me?!” neville scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air,

“because! you fancy her and are the most worried about her! she’s just on her period! is it really that big of a deal?”

before neville could answer, dean cut in, “yes, seamus. it is a big deal. maybe not to us, but to her it is. try bleeding out of your dick for a week while your inside are ripping apart!”

if you would’ve been present, you definitely wouldn’t hugged dean for that one.

they finally arrived, and they argued for a moment over who would be the once to knock on the door. it felt like they were stepping into a death trap. finally, neville agreed to do it.

he did so gently,

“what?” you asked, “who is it?”

dean and seamus eyed each other, definitely panicking.

“erm—it’s... us...”

you groaned, and looked down at your state. you were only in your bra and underwear, trash bucket in your lap, nausea getting the best of you... again.

but, you figured seeing your three best friends would bring you some comfort. this wasn’t their fault, and you didn’t want to take it out on them anymore.

“um... you can come in, but warning! i’m—“

before you could warn them, the door flew open,

“naked...” you breathed out, looking down at the trash can.

they all went wide eyed, and neville covered dean and seamus’s eyes with his hands, and closed his own.

“close the door, you gits!”

neville did so with his foot, still covering everyone’s eyes. you let out a small chuckle at the fact, and shook your head.

“you guys can look, you know. you act like we haven’t been best friends since first year.”

“b-b-but you’re—naked!” dean responded, through neville still keeping his own hand over the boy’s face.

you pursed your lips as you felt vomit climbing it’s way up your throat, “who—“

that’s when they heard it. the violent sound of puking. neville thanked merlin that his eyes were closed, because he probably would’ve puked too.

“who cares?” you breathed out, wiping the slobber from your chin. that’s when seamus took neville’s hand away from his eyes, and realized how you looked.

you looked unrecognizable almost. you looked exhausted, pale, and like you had just been hit by twenty cars at one time. your eyes were all puffy and red from crying, and your hair was definitely not put together like it usually was. makeup was smeared all down your face, makeup from the day before that you simply didn’t have the motivation to get up and wash off. but, seamus couldn’t help but notice your bra and underwear.

“you—“ he chuckled, “you have teddy bears on your undergarments, y/n?”

you clenched your jaw, and tightened your grasp around the trash can, narrowing your eyes at him. his eyes widened,

“kidding! i was only kidding! they suit you well!”

finally, dean shoved neville’s hand off as well, and neville opened his eyes back up reluctantly. neville and dean took in your state, much less of a laughing matter to them, as they were more of the calm friends.

“merlin, y/n... are you alright?” neville asked, approaching you slowly. you shook your head,

“i’m dying...”

the three boys gasped, and you looked at them funny, “i’m kidding... but i feel like i might...”

that settled their nerves a bit, the theory of you dying slowly fading away. you spit in the trash can, and set it back down on the floor. of course, seamus being the curious cat he is, looked in the trash can.

“don’t look at my vomit, finnigan! don’t you have any manners?”

he jumped back, and nodded his head.

“what are you guys doing here, anyway?” you asked, laying down fully on the bed, stomach and legs exposed.

“well—we know—you—you sorta—“

neville sighed at dean’s awkwardness about the whole situation, “we know you’re on your period. and, we know that you’re in a lot of pain. and, we just wanted to come and check up on you.” he glanced at the other two boys, “right?”

“yeah, definitely!”

“totally!”

you giggled at seamus and dean, “oh, what gentlemen. how could i ever thank you?”

seamus couldn’t hold it in. the comment just slipped from his lips,

“well, seeing you in your bra and underwear is thanks enough in my book!” he joked, nudging dean.

surprisingly, the only one who laughed beside seamus... was you. this surprised the boys, as you were sure that would earn seamus that book to his temple, or at least a smack to the face. but, it didn’t.

“see? i told you guys she’s fine! she’s laughing like she always does!”

neville seemed to look over at you for reassurance, just to make sure that seamus hadn’t crossed a boundary with one of his crude jokes. it was something that seamus had done quite a few times, without even realizing it, but it was simply because he didn’t know how to put a filter on. you knew at the end of the day that seamus wasn’t trying to disrespect you. plus, it was something you had go get used to, being one of his best friends and all.

at one point, the boys had eased into the floor, getting things for you if you needed it. seamus even asked why exactly girls even got periods, and you explained it to him in full detail.

“so... like—the inside of your uterus is actually tearing? i thought dean was joking about that!”

you shook your head, “unfortunately, it’s not a joke, finnigan. it’s very real...”

“well, is it this bad for all girls?”

“no, actually. some girls only bleed for a couple of days, and it’s very light. they can go without cramps, puking... lucky bitches!”

that’s when the boys fell silent, even seamus himself. until he raised an eyebrow,

“is it bad that i’m kinda curious? you know—to see how it feels to... bleed... down—there...”

dean furrowed his eyebrows, but neville nodded his head in agreement.

“well, boys... i can’t make you bleed out your dick for seven days straight... but, i can punch you guys in the stomach with full force and show you how cramps feel!”

collectively, they all disagreed, which caused you to fall into a fit of laughter.

“but—it can’t be that bad, right? i mean, everyone can get a stomach ache...” dean questioned, but unsure of what he had just said.

“let me put it to you like this, thomas. imagine the weasley twins sneaking a muggle laxative into your morning pumpkin juice...” you started, “but that stomach pain for a whole week.”

dean put his head down, finally understanding. no wonder you had talked about almost shitting your pants.

that’s when the door swung open, revealing a surprised hermione,

“y/n! where are your clothes?! boys are in here! and plus, they’re not even supposed to be in here, anyway!” she snapped, immediately storming over to your closet, and pulling out a random shirt, throwing it at you.

“but, it’s too hot! and, any tightness hurts!”

“i don’t care! i couldn’t imagine sitting around with ronald and harry with my—lady parts hanging out!”

you chuckled at her hidden shaming, quite used to it by now. “oh, whatever, granger! it’s the same difference as a bathing suit! lighten up!”

seamus and dean snickered at the look on her face, and the way she stormed out.

“she’s right, y/n. not about—you know, we don’t care... but, just—seamus will be talking about it for the rest of his natural life if you keep your clothes off any longer.” neville stated, standing up and taking his sweater off. he passed it to you, making sure not to touch you in anyway that would make you uncomfortable.

you smiled at the kind gesture. sure, it was a sweater, and you probably should choose the lighter t-shirt that hermione had snagged out for you. but, it was neville’s sweater, so, how could you refuse?

you slipped it on over your head, and pulled your hair through the hole. it was quite comfortable, and you were just the right amount of warm and cool. so, it worked out in the end. “thank you, longbottom. that was sweet.”

his face turned red at the small grin etched upon your face, but he shook it off and sat back down on the floor.

you all began talking again, not even noticing when seamus had gotten bored and ancy, and started snooping in your drawers. but, his eyes went wide at the sight of something in your drawer. he picked it up, and stared at it for a moment.

“uh... y/n...” he started, voice a bit shaky, “what’s this?”

he held it up, and you, dean, and neville all looked over.

“that’s a tampon, finnigan. i use it when i’m on my period so the blood doesn’t leak out.”

he took a beat of silence as he connected the dots, and his eyes seemed to widen even more,

“and... you have to put this where exactly?”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville x reader #neville longbottom smut #dean thomas #dean x reader #dean thomas imagine #dean thomas smut #seamus finnigan #seamus finnigan imagine #seamus x reader #seamus finnigan smut

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cinnamonest · 3 years

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Xingqiu - Yandere Profile

I actually just got my sweet bookworm boi to his next to last ascension, my hydro baby, my angel, I love him even if bc of him I have to marathon fight the oceanid

I’ve had a lot of reqs for him & Chongyun dating back to January again lol but it only felt right to wait until I finished both so I could release them at the same time, so, Chongyun’s will be up immediately after this!

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TWs: fem reader, yandere, confinement, manipulative behaviors, mentions of homicide, gaslighting, Xingqiu being a spoiled arrogant brat

TWs (below cut): noncon/dubcon, manipulating and guilting reader into sex, overstimulation, fluids/cumplay, humiliation

Since there's no canonical age but he has a bit of the rounded young face I'm tagging with the sh*ta tw as well!

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Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 7 Brutality: 3 Physical capability: 4 Mental/emotional instability: 6 Restrictiveness: 7 Sexual sadism: 5 Stubbornness: 8

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Tries to buy his way to you, initially. He's grown up seeing the power that money holds over people, and, well, his father can always just wave a bit around and get whatever he wants from most people, so why should you be any different? He goes for stereotypical "girl" things like flowers and jewelry at first, unless you have some prominent and well-known interest, in which case he'll invest in something related to that.

Honestly, for all his chivalry and all that, his maturity is something of a faux one, a sort of projected self-image of the gentlemanly figure he strives to be... but when he lets that slip, he can be something of a childish spoiled brat. The thing is... he's completely unaware and refuses to acknowledge that he can be so immature. He likes getting what he wants, when he wants it, exactly how he wants it, and being denied the things he wants isn't particularly common in his life. So rejection comes not so much as a disappointment so much as a shock. No matter, you're just... a brat, yourself. You think you're too good for everyone, he reasons, so you play hard to get.

Really, after recovering from the initial shock, he realizes he likes things this way. He likes challenges. It would be no fun if you came to him easily. You may be a brat, but in the end, the one thing he refuses to ever do is lose. Chivalrous gentlemen are fine with having to earn their things, so really, he's thankful that you reminded him of his morals, of his desire to truly earn the things he wants. It will make it that much more meaningful.

So he goes heavy on the idea of "courting", following whatever old and prudish traditions may exist in Liyue. If you're from somewhere else, he figures, that could be why -- clearly he hasn't followed through on whatever is normal for your culture. Silly him. He makes an effort to research whatever those traditions may be, and goes to the absolute maximum on performing them. Lavishes you in gifts of all kinds, constantly giving you compliments. He even goes to the effort of, if all else fails, reading romance novels targeted at women to get a better grasp of what exactly you're supposed to like, and emulates those behaviors.

Overall, though, in later stages Xingqiu slightly more mild for a yan, allowing you to have interactions with others (even if he’s irritated), such as his family, family servants, and his friends, and will even take you outside now and then. However, he will cut off your ties to those friends you had before that weren't mutual friends. He's also one of the least likely yanderes to ever kill someone, and will avoid hurting people if possible -- if anything, he prefers more discreet methods like ruining their life socially or financially.

He's also a lot more moody behind closed doors than he is to most people. His attempts to be oh-so-mature eventually kinda crumble, and the more comfortable he becomes around you, the more he lets his immaturity show.

He could assign family servants to looking for you, but really, he prefers to do it himself, this is about love after all, he doesn't want to assign them to a task they would never perform as diligently as he could. But rather than stalking, he chooses to just kind of... stay with you. He's somehow always where you are, "coincidentally" running into you everywhere and then somehow nothing having anything to do, because he clings to you for hours until you finally have to go home, and even then, he'll just follow you to continue the visit there if he can. No point in watching from a distance when he can be right there with you. And again, he's actually surprisingly unaware that his clinginess is so obvious, he's oblivious to how obvious his infatuation is. Which is a bit odd, considering that he's usually fairly perceptive, but he's so confident in the fact that he is normally perceptive that he allows himself to slip into abnormal behaviors without really realizing it, because he's not constantly on guard in the way some less socially adept yanderes are.

On a genuinely sweet level, there's one little thing he keeps hidden from you. He's actually written a lot of love poetry for you, verses about you and all of the things he loves about you so much... Despite usually being fairly confident in his work, he can't bring himself to show it to you. He's too flustered. And considering your negative reactions to his affection (read: not wanting to be kept like a captive animal), he is actually a bit sensitive to that perceived rejection, which further discourages him. He keeps them all stashed away, stuffed into some fairly hidden drawer. Should you ever come across them and bring them up, it's one of a very few things that will genuinely make him super embarrassed, and he'll just insist they weren't about you, even though the details make it obvious they were, and storm off, never bringing it up again.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

It's not kidnapping. It's... relocating. He's far too chivalrous to resort to something so brutish as kidnapping! He'll make sure you want to come with him. He can easily arrange for there to be rumors and reports of... occurrences near your home. Criminal activity, maybe false rumors of mysterious disappearances. Hell, he'll get Chongyun to testify that your house has demonic spirits in it. Something to make you want to move out. Maybe some things start happening to you -- you get the feeling you're being watched, you get threatening messages mailed to your home, you have strangers (read: randos who will do anything for some mora he gives them) telling you you're not welcome in the area and to get out. It's all incredibly confusing and scary and you have no idea what brought it all on!

Luckily for you, you have a rich, generous friend who makes it more than clear you're welcome to come stay with him for a while at any time. Eventually, no matter what it takes, he can push you to a point where you'll take him up on that offer. Something feels... oddly ominous about the way the gates to his family estate close behind you once you walk in. Like they're sealing your fate.

And once step one is done, step two of his plan goes into place - make sure you never want to leave. He can make that happen, there's plenty of space here for you to roam, plenty for you to do, and even when he's not there to entertain you, there's plenty of servants to keep an eye on you and make sure that whenever you try to leave, they'll smile and tell you you can't go just yet miss, there's this or that going on tonight! The young master said he had something important for you when he gets back later! You can't go out now, there was just an attack by some deranged person in the town still on the loose! Just... go back inside for now.

Of course, it's wishful thinking, but he likes to maintain the delusion that he can just keep this going indefinitely, that you won't finally one day put your foot down and tell him you've been stuck here nearly a month and you're ready to at least go visit home. He might even entertain it a bit - sure, you can go visit your old house with him and collect some of your old things to bring back with you, but he makes sure to make it look at though whatever problem he made up is still occurring. Nonetheless, if you're insistent, or at whatever point you finally crack and catch on, demand to know what's going on - well, it's not pretty. He gets into something of a tantrum if you don't comply, but ultimately, in his own little huffy, ticked off way, says you can't leave, and that's that, no more questions allowed, and no more of this ridiculous demand to leave. Of course, darling is taken aback at first, even thinking he's joking, but it soon becomes very clear he's completely serious, and intends to enforce that command.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

When he's with you, he's tends to be pretty clingy, both physically and in conversation, never ceasing talking about this or that, and he's actually a sleep-clinger as well, keeping an iron grip around your waist when you sleep. So, whenever he's at his home, he insists on you being in his presence, usually physically touching, so you won't really get an opportunity while he's just in another room or something because you can't get any privacy to begin with. When you're in public, he's incredibly watchful over your every move and incredibly clingy then as well, so don't expect such a chance to arrive either.

Thus, your best bet is to try when you're under the watch of guards, whenever he's gone for whatever reason. They've been instructed to watch you from a distance, you see, he doesn't want them interacting with you directly, so you'll have a few chances here or there where they get distracted or their backs are turned. There will likely eventually also be a time where there's a scheduling error, you end up unsupervised! However, physically getting out of the estate is still difficult. There's still posted guards everywhere. So all in all, it's fairly difficult, especially in broad daylight, the only time he's not with you.

When you're inevitably dragged back kicking and screaming by some poor guards that aren't getting paid enough to deal with this, after getting back and hearing the report he deals with it in that unnerving saccharine way of feigning ignorance to try and get a reaction. Now, he knows you weren't trying to get out... right? Surely you got distracted by a bird or something, right? That's the only reason why you'd ever try to leave, right? It's obvious he knows better, and is just fucking with your head, but it's best not to lie. What he wants is an admittance of guilt and an apology, preferably down on the floor begging for forgiveness.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Moderate, leaning towards difficult. He's perceptive, and intelligent, but that intelligence is largely a sort of book-smarts type of intelligence. He's generally crafty and a prankster himself, so pulling things over on him is difficult because he's familiar with the mindset and methods of doing so, but he can be tricked if you put on a believable enough act. Basically, a darling who is a good actor stands a much better chance.

However, he's ultimately a learner. You can get away with some tricks or plots once, but he won't fall for the same thing twice. Any sort of escape or deceit you've tried once, he'll make active efforts to guard against and prevent in the future.

Manipulation, though, you can forget it. He's way too proud and stubborn to be emotionally manipulated, in the end getting his way and what he wants takes priority over making you happy, so don't expect to be able to manipulate him based on the notion of something making you happier.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Fairly lenient, actually. You get a lot of access so long as your behavior is good, so really it's wise to be on your best behavior in the long term of things. He can get you anything you want, especially reading material. And you actually get to go outside, yay! He's like my earlier Childe profile on that -- he likes to go on dates, and he's actually really enthusiastic about it! He's big on date planning, wanting to see everything there is to see and do everything there is to do together. The rules are that you just need to be physically attached to him in some way -- you can hold his hand, grab at his sleeves, or he can do so to you (although he'd prefer you cling to him. He likes the image it projects to people around you). He actually gets really hyped about said dates whenever you plan them, he'll talk to you for hours plotting out all the things to do on this particular outing. At one point, his smile drops and his voice goes low and he tells you that, just a reminder, you know the rules for dates, right? ...Good.

Similarly, if you ask, he'll let you accompany him on more trivial outings as well, say if you'd like to go grocery shopping, and he certainly won't turn down a trip to the bookstore. The same rules apply, although he's a bit less excited for something so mundane.

One thing he won't do, surprisingly, is let you have anything to do with Guhua arts or skills. He won't teach you anything he knows nor let you learn, and if you were a follower of it before, he'll cut off your access to any material. His reasoning is that he just doesn't really think anything to do with combat suits you. You're better off learning more passive skills and hobbies.

In reality? He can't stand the thought of you ever being able to present a challenge to him in that sense. It would kill his ego if you ever managed to do something related to the Guhua arts better than he can, or even half as good as he can.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Well, to occupy your time, he has things that need cleaning you know... Honestly, he's messy, and he's already used to having maids, so he kinda treats you like one to some degree. Of course, he's active in his little heroism adventures, but when it comes to his own living spaces and such things he can be a bit lazy. So, he'll give you tasks to do sometimes, he likes the power rush too that he gets from ordering you around a bit. It soothes the ego.

Outside of your strolls together, you can't be going outside (and you don't get to choose when you do go on your little walks and dates, he does, although he may grant you the wishes of your begging). Also, don't actually try to talk to the guards. They're there to watch you, nothing more, so pay them no mind, and by no means should you ever have a reason to make conversation with them. If there's an emergency or something you need, you may inform them and get help, nothing more. And really, they're more afraid of this rule than you are -- you'll have difficulty finding one even willing to talk to you, they all take the warnings they've been given very seriously.

He eventually gets nitpicky and makes all sorts of little behavioral rules, it's incredibly obnoxious. But honestly, suffering his bratty tantrums is enough of a punishment, even if he didn't usually follow it up with actual punishment, which, for him, tends to be something perverted in some way.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He actually gets jealous rather easily, often over people who are no real threat. You can never be too nice to anyone -- even after he introduces you to his father and older brother, he expects you to be happy to meet them... but not that much. If you show too much excitement or happiness over any other being, he gets pouty, especially other men, but also your friends, male or female, family, even animals. His first reaction isn't to kill, rather, just an increase in isolation. Drag you back home and make sure you get a lot of time to yourselves, seeks reassurance that you really love him. If it's his own family, he might get grouchy towards them, snap at them a bit, bitterly drag you back off to your own room, where he'll then proceed to get equally grouchy towards you until you have given him enough reassurance he deems sufficient. In his own time, when you're not around, he makes sure to make it perfectly clear to those around him that they aren't to get in between you two.

He's one of the better yans to have in this regard, though, because he's unlikely to resort to killing anyone. He's got too much of his self-image invested in the idea of morals and justice to be able to do so, he can't delude himself into believing it's right or acceptable. It's not impossible to push him to that point, but it wouldn't just be someone you show any positive reception towards -- if Xingqiu did end up killing a rival, it would have to be one for whom you have very blatantly made clear you have actual romantic and sexual affection, someone who poses a genuine, real threat.

Xingqiu is a sort of open book when it comes to jealousy -- it's obvious to everyone around you that he's mad at someone else for even looking at you, and he doesn't try to hide it. It makes him that much angrier if someone doesn't obey his silent demand to stop interacting with you, doesn't seem fazed by his glares and coldness. He'll meet with them privately and make things clear verbally, since he tells himself maybe they're just dense and too stupid to understand. But they only get one more chance. Cross him twice, and they'll likely find themselves in financial ruin after pulling some strings through the connections of his father and brother.

What would make him significantly more likely to kill someone is someone who poses a legal threat, someone who catches on to what's going on and threatens to get him in serious trouble for it. Even if he tried bribing them, well, they'd likely just pretend to accept, and someone so bold likely wouldn't bow to threats.

This is where he can slip into the mindset of a delusional yandere. He once again projects the image in his head, that knight he wants to be for you, and hey, sometimes to save the princess, the heroes in his martial arts epics have to get their hands dirty, have to unfortunately get blood on their hands for the sake of the greater good. And hey, then it's usually called character development. Most of his fictional heroes tend to have killed at least one person in a sort of epic battle to defend something precious to them. This is no different. Of course, ambushing an unarmed person and running them through hardly counts as an epic battle, but he doesn't really take that part into account.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Again, a bit of a spoiled brat at times. He's pouty, gives you the cold shoulder, yet dramatically inserts himself in front of you and whatever you're occupied with so you can't do anything. Basically he's forcing you to acknowledge his pouting and ask him what's wrong so that he can pull the "oh, nothing" until you ask again, and maybe he'll eventually bitterly, passive-aggressively make it clear what you did wrong. The bright side is he's easily soothed - an apology and some groveling will fix his attitude pretty quickly, although he'll have an infuriating air of superiority about it all, telling you he's glad you were able to understand what you did and have, hopefully, learned to correct the behavior in the future.

Worse offenses, things that make him genuinely and truly infuriated, are significantly worse, but rather uncharacteristically for him, he's quiet. And that's what's do frightening about it - for once you almost wish he would blabber or complain or whine like you're so used to, but his fury is dead silent. He moves without speaking, harsh motions that will either shove or tug you to wherever he's trying to maneuver you, and he shows how he feels through actions rather than words - he slams doors and objects, stomps, everything about his body language is frightening enough to make you stiffen and jolt.

Thankfully, Xingqiu is a milder yandere when it comes to severity of things he'll do to you in moments of anger -- he's one that can control himself well enough not to severely hurt you, break bones or anything like that. When it comes to his flashes of anger, at worst he might slap you in his tantrums, but he has at least enough self-control and empathy for you to manage better than a lot of yanderes.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Below. It's mostly that he thinks rather highly of himself - he's an important person you know. He saves people, he goes around doing his little vigilante thing, and he's not afraid to flaunt sometimes.

If you happen to also be from a rich family, you can earn a little bit more respect from him, you're cultured and sophisticated. If you're intelligent, you can get some validity in his mind as well. He'll still consider himself more intelligent and higher status, something you'd be mindful to remember, but he'll begrudgingly acknowledge it.

A commoner darling, though? God forbid an airheaded one? Forget about getting any respect - you're more like... A cute little puppy to him. Dumb and loud and clumsy, but nonetheless very cute and loveable. You were just... Made to be something of an accessory to him. And he loves and values you, you mean the world to him really, but that's all the more reason why you should accept your place as such.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

It drives him up the wall. You know, his father could arrange his marriage to a ton of young rich daughters in Liyue who would be more than happy about it, but he can't get the attention of ONE girl he likes? It's infuriating. And it makes him all the more insistent to have specifically you.

For Xingqiu, it's a mix of both desperation and a pride thing as well. One one hand he desperately does truly want his feelings to be returned, he wants you to love him, he wants the fantasy he has in his head of you two having a long, happy future together. On the other hand, rejection is also a mark on his pride, and that irritates him beyond comprehension.

So don't expect him to ever give up, really. Unlike a lot of loving yans though, he doesn't blame himself, he directs the rejection hurt outward - maybe you're just so spoiled yourself that nothing is good enough for you. Maybe you're just playing hard to get. Maybe you just think constantly turning him down is funny, it's amusing to you, and, well, he doesn't take lightly to you trying to play games with him. So while he'll continue to try and earn your love, don't be surprised if it results in an irritated mood swing every now and then.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

A lack of desire/hesitancy to resort to violence or more morally wayward methods. He stakes a lot of his pride and self-image on being a chivalrous, upright, just person, someone who should exemplify right and punish wrong, and unfortunately for him he's not a delusional and can't convince himself that he's doing the right thing. He wants to be a gentleman, your knight in shining armor, the storybook hero he projects in his head that always comes to save his princess, who in turn is receptive and showers him in praise and affection and gratitude. You're the problem, you see, you're not following through on your role in all this.

As such, he really, really hates having to dirty his hands in any way, or do anything that he knows is wrong and will consequently drag him into guilt. Not that he can't be driven to it, because he certainly can, but if it reaches that point, that means you didn't cooperate with him to begin with, which would have made things so much easier, so he'll definitely rid himself of that guilt by redirecting the blame to you, or deluding himself into some bizarre justification.

Another thing... his family's compliance. Honestly? His dad is far too busy and far too done with Xingqiu's shit to expect any help from him. His son tends to be picky, whiny, and demanding -- now that you're here, he's finally satiated, finally actually paying attention to the important matters his father wants him to be involved with, finally not causing nearly as much trouble now that you're around. You can bet he's more than happy to put in some extra funds and personnel to restrain some random commoner, so long as his son is satisfied. His brother doesn't really agree with it all, but his brother wants this and his father is supporting it, so... his hands are tied. He turns a blind eye. And the staff, the servants? They're getting paid far too much to care, and besides, the family is incredibly influential -- should they get fired, it could smear their reputation. It’s kinda really discouraging, being surrounded by so many people, but none of them willing to help you.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Bounces back and forth. On one hand, he wants to maintain, again, a gentlemanly and sophisticated image, and in his mind, such people don't normally think about such things, don't behave in lewd or degenerate ways. On the other hand, he's a nasty little perv that secretly sinks to the absolute depths of depravity. There's not much he can't get off to. If his poor brother hadn't been so busy being concerned about the martial arts books under his bed, and had dug further, he would have found that those books are actually just a cover-up for a different set of nasty, gross materials he's spent years accumulating -- some of the most vulgar smut you've ever seen, stuff you question how he ever even got ahold of. Surely the book house wouldn't sell this kind of material... it's honestly a mystery how he manages to get so much.

With his first few interactions, he tends to display the former image, but the more time he spends with anyone, the more that inner little pervert side tends to come out. He's definitely one to get touchy, his light grazing little touches become firmer and more daring, his hands always rest just at a point that's right on the boundary of being inappropriate. Sometimes he'll straight-up grope you and pass it off as teasing. He's also like Kaeya in that he intentionally tries to embarrass you by making your mind go to lewd places, making obvious innuendos and euphemisms, then pretending like he doesn't know why you're looking at him like that... oh, is that what you thought he meant? Wow, you must have such a dirty mind, you little pervert.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Something like rape is barbaric! Of course he would never, eeeeever do something so awful, so unbecoming of someone like him. And he really never will. He's another yan that will simply... Secure your consent by whatever means necessary.

In the end he'll most likely guilt trip and gaslight his way into it. I mean, you're staying with him for free, he took you in, he feeds you and clothes you and you can't show one little bit of gratitude? He treats you like a wife and you can't fulfil your end of that role? Don't be selfish. He loves you so much... He'd do anything for you... don't you want him to be happy too?

He'll try different approaches. If seduction doesn't work off the bat, he'll try gaslighting, if that doesn't work, he'll try guilt tripping, if that doesn't work, he'll make up a bizarre lie - he has to have sex or he'll die, somehow! You get the idea. If you really, really, really push it, he may just resort to a vague threat of sorts - nothing too bad or deadly, but hey, it would sure be a shame if this recent market crash affected your family financially... Not that he knows anyone who has power over the local commerce or anything.

With a more timid, soft darling, you're likely to end up essentially... Dubcon'ed. Half-noncon'ed. He just kinda... Slowly goes for it, and at your protests insists no, it's ok, you'll feel good... And a timid darling too afraid to stop him doesn't exactly fight back or resist, so hey, silence is a green light.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Experimentation

As I've said, he's a nasty little perv deep down, and he can get off to, well, a LOT of things. And he loves to try new things out, no matter how weird it may be. He's one you can get into a lot of things involving toys and objects, or physical forms of things applied to the body (think temperature play, hot wax, nipple clamps -- anything that has to do with objects being used on you). Part of the fun of it all is having something new that he's never tried before! Even if it turns out to not be his favorite thing, he'll still enjoy the trying it out, and those things he DOES find himself liking, well, he'll just have to add them to the little mental list of favorites.

And he, honestly, enjoys the little reactions you often have to the notions of this or that -- the shock and sudden fear on your face when he tells you today you'll do this or that, and how you shake your cute little head so rapidly. It's not that bad, he promises, and he's done a lot of research and reading to be sure he does things correctly, so no worries!

Body writing

It's kinda comical because you can't make out a word. With his canonically horrendous handwriting, but fondness for the act of writing, it makes for what essentially looks to you like abstract art on your body -- but just know it's the lewdest, most degrading shit you can think of that he'll get all over your thighs and stomach, marking you as his. If nothing else, he gets off to it, and based on the little things he whispers in your ear, you know it's the same sort of humiliating things. If he takes his time, he can write better, but he gets caught up in the heat of the moment.

Lingerie

He's a fan of lacey, frilly things. And he will definitely invest in as many as he can buy, ornate and intricate things, stockings for your legs that have pretty lace patterns at the top of the thigh, bras and panties that are somehow both lacey and perfectly see-through. He's also a big fan of things that have holes in them for easy access, so you can wear it the whole time. And, if he's feeling meaner, he'll definitely have you walk around in just that for a while -- not out where anyone else in the estate could see you, of course, but in his room with him.

Master/slave

He's not a sadist per se, and doesn't really put you in pain, but he loves your submission. And no better way to exemplify submission than with service. The little bastard already makes you act like a maid outside of bed, but now he likes it even more -- there's a certain rush of power to laying out a command and seeing you follow it. Not to mention the cute look on your warm face as you follow though with the degrading shit. Oh, and you'd better believe he gets humiliating. It's not necessarily degrading in the sense that he says or makes you say bad things about yourself, but rather, just the commands themselves, getting on your hands and knees and crawling over to him, and demanding you slowly strip down. Make it cute, give him a show, you know? He won't be cruel in the things he says about you, yet your pride is still wrecked by the end of it all.

Voyeurism/masturbation instruction

He loves to watch you get off, honestly. It ties into the slave thing to a degree, making you follow every little command, telling you exactly how to touch yourself and move your hands. He'll sigh and tell you no, you're going to fast, you can't do it that fast yet... and if you get too overexcited, he'll just have to make you stop, since you can't seem to listen, and maybe not get to cum until tomorrow, so you can learn to behave better about it next time.

Fluids/Cumplay

He has something of a fixation with all kinds. He loves seeing the trail of saliva from your mouth when you pull off his dick, the way cum drips out of you and runs down your thighs. He also likes seeing it splattered across your face, your chest, in your hair, something about the sight of it nearly has him hard immediately after and ready to go. But he also likes how it will gross you out, leaving you tied up so that you can't wipe it off, are forced to just stay there with it dripping out of your holes and down your skin in a way that makes you shiver. And, really, he loves your fluids too, sweet salty slick that's just so mesmerizing to watch coat his fingers and face. But his favorite thing, probably has to be running his fingers through your own juices and slick, collecting it on his fingers, holding it up to your mouth and telling you to suck them clean. Somehow, it's even hotter when you're licking your own fluids off of his fingers, although you doing so with his is certainly nice too.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He’d like an heir one day. He's one to want a kid, maybe two, but not a whole lot. Just enough to have a proper family structure, much like the family he was raised in. It's the proper thing to do, he thinks, a natural part of the social order and continuation of a legacy. As a natural extension of his spoiled brat tendencies, he often doesn't think very responsibly in regards to preventing children, so, lucky for him, that ideal will likely come to fruition eventually, if physically possible.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Absolutely uses overstimulation. Whatever sorts of toys exist in Teyvat, he's rich enough that he can easily obtain them - little things he can attach to you and leave buzzing, or thick plugs and internal toys to stuff you full and leave you there to suffer in stimulation and stretching for hours on end. And he doesn't leave you alone, no, he stays close by, leaving you tied up and blindfolded, the occasionally lazy checkup of "oh, how are you holding up over there? I almost totally forgot you were there!" in a mocking tone while he goes about reading his books or practicing or jerking off to the sight.

Also ruined orgasms. Ugh, he's the worst. Gets you right to your peak, likely also after hours of edging, and then just... stops. Right as you reach the high, stops all motion, leaves you whimpering and sobbing, it's literally painful to actually reach it, and then still have that orgasm taken from you. And he'll be sure to remind you that if you were good, you could experience it in full, he could make you feel so good and let you ride out that high... but so long as you insist on being such a stubborn little princess, unfortunately, he can't just give you that. He hates this too, you know, he says. He'd love nothing more than to share pleasure, but you insist on being difficult.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Legs and thighs. He likes the aesthetics of legs, the softness, the way the flesh feels in his hands. The way touching them can make you jolt, the sensitivity, the way they leave little marks so perfectly if he sucks and bites at the skin. It's just really pretty.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere xingqiu #yandere x y/n #tw: noncon #tw: dark content #tw:shota

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tired-beholding-bitch · 2 years

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with a love so sweet (in your heart, in your heart)

well

what was I to do, not write a fluffy Valentine's Day fic?

yeahh not a chance. how I love writing obnoxiously in love people. and i especially love writing obnoxiously in love idiots

if you couldn’t tell, yes, I have been thinking nonstop about the Soup Sickfic universe since two days ago and I could not live without this -- it just makes me so happy to write them being happy and also dumb and also having big fat crushes on each other ✨

hope this will make you just as happy reading it as it did for me while i was writing it :)

happy valentine's day! 💕❤

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

«Does- does the ice cream taste haunted, to you?»

Martin, for the second time this month, isn't completely certain about how he found himself in his current predicament, exactly.

The predicament being, at the moment, the fact he's sitting down on a park bench, eating ice cream with his boss who maybe-kind-of doesn't hate him, actually. On Valentine's Day. And freezing his butt off in the process, because parks are not places to be in February. And also panicking, a little bit, because he might be almost, somewhat, a bit in love with said boss.

Also, that isn't completely accurate, now that he thinks about it.

And he will think about it, because it's still a better option than staring at Jon as he oh so carefully eats his ice cream.

(It's one scoop of rum and raisin, an old lady ice cream order, and he's eating it with a little plastic spoon despite asking for a cone, painstakingly slowly, savouring each tiny spoonful with great concentration. Which is also very old lady-like.

Martin shouldn't find that as endearing as he does, he's pretty sure.

However. It isn’t his fault it’s adorable. He sort of feels like he's about to collapse, with the amount of blood too busy rushing to his face to attend to any of the other very important functions it should attend to.

It doesn't help that his hair is tied back in a hastily fastened bun, messy and practical, that somehow still manages to look effortlessly artsy on Jon.

There are a couple of loose strands framing the angles of his face in a way that makes Martin's heart stutter in his chest, vague metaphors crowding his mind in flashes – something about loving hands carving wood in the shape of him, and about the sun kissing his eyes golden, and just. It's a lot.

He will not think about that. He cannot.)

In fact, unfortunately, he knows how he ended up in this situation.

It was Tim. Of course it was Tim.

Tim, who has been incredibly obnoxious about prodding and teasing and needling him into asking Jon on a date ever since the Great Soup Incident, as it's been referred to since they all went out for drinks once his flu had completely relented.

That was three weeks ago.

Martin has not known any peace since.

Tim had initially pitched his theory on that first evening back, over their third pint of beer – the two previous rounds, in Martin's humble opinion, being the only reason he could ever come up with such an idea at all.

«I think Jon likes you, Marto.» he had said, casual as anything, an arm around his shoulders ready to slap his back when inevitably the words registered and he almost choked to death on his drink.

Sasha had raised an eyebrow, looking at them from across the table. She didn’t comment, even though it was obviously a sign of alcohol poisoning starting to set in and they should have gotten Tim to an hospital as soon as possible, probably. Far from letting it drop, her silence only served as further encouragement for Tim to elaborate.

«No, no – hear me out, alright? What I think – and not only I'm amazing, in general, I also know the both of you very well –, yes, so what I think is that Jon is panicking. Why, you ask? Well, naturally because he has a big old crush on you, Martin, my friend! And he has no idea how to deal with that because he's also been an ass to you!» Tim had explained, cheerful, like his reasoning made perfect sense and not at all like he was about to blackout from a concussion, which would have been the more logical conclusion.

He had turned to Sasha in despair, silently begging her to agree with him – she's so level-headed, surely she was going to see that there was no rhyme or reason to any of that, no universe in which Jonathan Sims had a crush on him. On him. It's simply unthinkable. Preposterous.

Sasha had looked him straight in the eye. Then she had smiled, light and dangerous.

«Actually, I agree with Tim. It really sounds like a Jon thing to do.» she had said. The traitor. That’s when he first realised his friends are cruel, awful people, mocking him so.

And it hadn't stopped there, either.

It's been three very long weeks of constant nudges and winking and a lot of elbows planting in Martin's side every time Jon was in the same room as all of them, supposedly doing something prove Tim's convictions.

Except it never stopped.

It was all the time, while Jon was in his general vicinity. Even in the remote, extremely unlikely scenario in which it could have been useful data to prove his point, Martin doubts it could have been an accurate analysis of Jon's behaviour anyways.

Because the thing is, he couldn’t exactly deny that something different had happened.

That something had changed, after that Thursday evening in Martin's flat.

Jon is… trying.

He apologised properly, for one.

He's less harsh on his mistakes, which makes it easier for him to relax and make less mistakes, which in turn makes Jon smile at him, now, apparently?

Jon smiling at him is a thing that happens, now.

He'll bring him his first cup of tea of the morning, as he has been doing since he was transferred to the Archives and which never prompted anything more than a mumbled, distracted thank you before. And even that only when Jon noticed him leaving the mug on his desk.

But the Monday following the Great Soup Incident he had looked up from the statement he was busy glaring at when Martin had knocked on his office door, and he had thanked him with the same quiet, delicate tone he had used while he was sitting on his bed and giving him water and medicine. Like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

And he had smiled at him. It was a small thing – it had scrunched up his nose, a little.

Martin had almost spilled the tea, startled, and then he had stammered something about work to do and nonexistent families to contact and had rushed out of the room before Jon could register the glowing red blush on his cheeks, or the fact his eyes had very much lingered on his lips. On the way the unfamiliar expression barely pulled the corners up, softening his features, as he wondered how it would feel to kiss that smile wider. To hear him laugh, maybe.

(He's pretty sure the day he hears Jon laugh is the day he dies.

Martin just knows – it simply isn't something he'll be able to survive, not with the way his breath catches on the faint lines that appear around his eyes when he's happy, something aching and sweet tightening like a fist around his heart every time he manages to smooth out the semi-permanent frown on his forehead.)

And, yes, maybe it is a bit weird that Jon also takes his lunch break with him.

Honestly, it's really weird he stops for lunch at all – Martin has been concerned about him not eating for months, and they have all been taking turns to try and needle him into taking a break with varying degrees of success – but it's especially so that whenever he does decide to have lunch, it's because Martin asks.

That... never seemed to be the case, before.

But he can't really complain, and it eases some of the ever-present worry about Jon working himself too hard that he has to wrestle with on a daily basis.

What’s more, he gets to sit across from him at a cafe table and longingly gaze at him as he gestures wildly with his sandwich while he goes on some tangent or other about deep sea gigantism or the questionable accuracy of historical records or another surprisingly fascinating topic Martin knows nothing about. He would listen to a two-hour lecture on the merits of white rice over balsamic vinegar with no regrets, if it meant he got to witness Jon's hair bouncing happily as he got more and more animated, hands dancing in front of him, cheeks going red because he forgets to stop talking to take a breath more often than not.

Along with other evidence – as Tim keeps calling the strange little instances of Jon doing distinctly un-Jon-like things – and the fact that his co-workers are bastards, Martin really had every reason to not be surprised at all when he walked into the Archives, that morning, and was greeted by an incredibly tense standoff between Jon and Tim himself. At his desk, for some reason.

However, Martin is also an idiot, and he was surprised.

Even more so when this was somehow followed – in a turn of events that left him kind of dizzy, holding on for dear life to a world that had mostly made sense five minutes before – by Jon stammering out an unbelievably awkward you– since Tim refuses, w-we are set to investigate a supposedly cursed ice cream parlour later, Martin. Don’t leave for lunch before one, please before promptly disappearing inside his office with not but a glance back, leaving Martin to gape at the closed door like a very confused fish.

So, yeah. This – this being the fact that he just had to utter the words does this ice cream taste haunted to you and also probably the cold he will end up nursing after sitting on a park bench in February – is all Tim’s fault.

He set them up. Like. Like they’re in a corny Christmas romcom, except it’s not Christmas and also this is real life and also Jon is his boss and there isn’t one single chance in the world he would not think Martin’s embarrassing crush on him is anything other than that. Embarrassing. Tim is delusional. And also an awful friend trying to make him embarrass himself, like he doesn’t manage well enough on a daily basis.

Except.

Jon doesn’t, in fact, turn around to glare holes into him, or try to drown Martin in his single scoop of rum and raisin, or even simply get up to walk away like he figured would happen in the best case scenario.

No.

Jon does the one thing he could have never even begun to imagine would happen.

He snorts.

It’s such a small sound Martin would think he hallucinated it, if not for the fact his own body wouldn’t betray him like this, making him think up something that sends his brain into a frantically blinking blue screen error, not able to process literally any thought besides.

Jon. Laughing – and not about anything, but laughing at Martin’s awkward attempt at lightening up the somehow tense atmosphere that had settled upon them, desperately trying to ease Jon into the comfortable, playful banter he had gotten used to hearing from him during their lunch breaks at the cafe.

A part of him is really smug about it.

He was right. He died. He must have done something right in his life and also his mother’s pastor was wrong, clearly, because he died and this must be Heaven.

Jon’s laugh is, possibly, the most adorable thing about him to date.

(That’s saying something, considering Martin spends a considerable amount of time cataloguing every cute thing about Jon in a growing list in his head.

The fact every new thing he discovers usually bumps up to first place immediately, displacing the previous one, is irrelevant. So is the fact first and second place are also irrelevant per se, because it’s simply impossible to classify them objectively anyway.)

He’s really proud of himself, actually.

Not only he made Jon laugh, he also did not immediately melt in an adoring puddle on the ground next to him. He’s just blushing. A lot. If he tries very hard he can probably pass it off as rightful awkwardness at asking an incredibly stupid question.

That is, until Jon – for some unfathomable reason, that Martin cannot begin to guess and that sends his poor overworked brain into yet another shortcircuit – casually puts a hand on his arm, steadying himself as his laughter dies out slowly.

It’s just – too much. The way his fingers tighten a bit, enough that he can feel the pressure even through his coat. How Jon looks up at him, a smile still playing on his lips, and there’s the tiniest smudge of ice cream right at the corner of his mouth.

No one can blame him for losing control of his mouth.

«Jon. Is– is this… a date?» he asks, and then immediately slaps a hand over his face in despair, wishing there was a way to physically grab the words and put them back.

There isn’t.

He keeps his hand on his face because he cannot possibly face him after this – not as he immediately starts trying to come up with a good enough apology for all that. There aren’t enough apologies in the world, probably.

Hey, sorry, it’s just I’ve been pining after you for a year and you suddenly decided I was someone worth smiling at and it’s becoming really difficult to, y’know, not fall in love with you even more. Terribly sorry about all that.

Yeah, no.

Before he can do the sensible thing – which, he suspects, would be learn very quickly how to vanish into thin air – Jon starts talking instead. He… also doesn’t let go of Martin’s arm, even though currently he’s using that hand to cover his eyes, which means his knuckles are brushing against his cheek.

Martin is going to have a heart attack.

«No. No, this- this is a case follow-up. F-for an incredibly idiotic case.» Jon says, and there’s a hint of humour in his voice, irony masking something deeper. Martin can’t quite detect what it is – nervousness, maybe? But why would he–

«B-but. We could, if you- if you were amenable and you, of course only if you wanted it to be a- a date, we could. Go. On one. A date? T-together?»

Oh.

It’s enough to convince him to glance cautiously in Jon’s direction, peeking through his fingers. Jon is looking at him very expectantly, and in the sun it’s easy to see he’s blushing, too, a little.

He’s smiling.

It’s a new one, all subdued, sweet as honey. It’s also the fondest expression Martin has seen on his face yet, softening the sharp angles of him into something novel, warmer than the crisp February air could ever be. He wants to cradle that expression in his hands and memorise every detail of it.

It’s comforting, in some way, to find out Jon is also an idiot.

«Jon. Jon. If I’m amenable? I’ve– I’ve been sighing after you for almost a- a year. Yes. God, yes, I’m amenable.» he says, and it’s exasperated and yet he can’t even pretend to hide the quivering happiness in his tone, the grin splitting his face that he can’t seem to get rid of.

He doesn’t think he imagines Jon’s blush growing deeper, either, or the mumbled how would I know, it wasn’t that obvious that he muffles into his shoulder.

He isn’t even mad Tim was right.

(The ice cream tastes much better after that.

Probably because he has to hold it with one hand, the fingers of his right intertwined with Jon’s as they make their way back to the Institute.

And yes, they forget to let go of each other before entering the Archives. Because they’re both idiots and they were too busy sneaking extremely-not-subtle looks at each other to realise their mistakes, apparently.

«I told you it was going to work, Sash!!! They couldn’t possibly be that dense.»)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #teaholding #!!! this is SO cheesy and i love it #i in fact enjoy being as cringe as possible for valentine's day #featuring as much gay panic as i could possibly cram into a single fic #rip martin #also fun fact:#that first line of dialogue popped into my head the SECOND I was done with the other one #and I was like #no we cannot do this #we have other stuff to write brain you CANT do this to me #... it did #also ofc tim and sasha know perfectly well what they're doing they're just having a grand time fucking with them #as they should #honourable mention also to the rum and raisin ice cream #+ i hope it's still valentine's day somewhere (like here it is but yeah) because i'm kind of late with this

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strawwritesfic · 3 years

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Loki Laufeyson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: A Bird in the Hand

Summary: …is surely not worth its asking price.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (some foul language; not Thor Ragnarok compliant)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

A Bird in the Hand

Once upon a time in a realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless mass of dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed–and that, really, was all you could see through the window you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident thunder god for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to adjust her sodden pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat.

“Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced, “the food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked.

Aliyah grinned. “Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much,” you said.

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you should keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced.

But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because, if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She stood and crossed the room to give you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib, and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you got up, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner.

You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Now that you thought about it, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time you did not suppress your shriek. As it faded into the overstuffed furniture surrounding you, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it.

The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

“Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone–”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuinely confused by your behavior–like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian.

“Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again–oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange.

“Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your Prince Charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” You lifted your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass.

Loki let out a single bark of laughter. “Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble,“ he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate.”

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?”

Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion–which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him.

“You want me to leave my family?” you asked.

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

“And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear–and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word:

“Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever–but his eyes were not on yours anymore.

“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: You gently touched his other cheek.

Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn’t a position he relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living, depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around.”

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you:

“What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you for you. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door–and you grinned.

“Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside.

You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough–them and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: Against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

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delldarling · 3 years

Text

bearberry bargain | pyre

male arctic fox shifter x gender/body neutral reader 10,261 words lemon | older shifter, knotting, oral, penetrative sex, no choking but there is throat touching, tricks and bargains, getting lost note: this was the Story of the Month for December 2020 over on my Patreon! It is loosely tied into the same world as my dragon fellow Arroven, but reading Arroven’s story first is most definitely not required.

————-　🦊　————-

The tundra is a gorgeous, but unforgiving landscape. You can hear the words on repeat in your head, clear as a twice damned bell. Worse than that, you can see Bristle, the orc woman that had served as your guide out here, in your mind's eye saying the words as she gestured to the fog drenched terrain. And The Mirrored Teeth are a little more dangerous than most. In the rain, or like now, in the fog, the stone spires gleam. They are beautiful, and all too easy to mistake for a far off porch light, or street lamp—but that isn’t what’s truly dangerous out here.

Bristle’s partner, a curly haired satyr by name of Rhim, with coins jingling in his carefully coiffed beard, had then stepped up to speak. Unfortunately, The Mirrored Teeth weren’t named for the teeth-like spires alone. The mirroring, or in this case, echoing, is the real danger. Voices carry strangely out here when the fog is thick, and if someone is lost? Our first instinct is to travel towards a light, or someone shouting. Whether the voices are our own, bouncing back to us from the spires or the mountains, or they’re the product of a still-living magical area?

They’d both spoken in unison then, smiling at each other with the ease of familiarity: Don’t follow the voices.

Each person in the tour group had been given a small token after their list of safety precautions, to serve as a tracker in case someone was separated. One person had asked if it was likely to get lost, and Bristle had snorted before she’d adopted her tour guide voice again. To come out here in the first place, everyone had been asked to sign a waiver because, inevitably, someone did end up wandering away. They followed voices that sounded like loved ones from past or present. They followed voices that sounded like themselves, calling out warnings. It was generally why people ended up taking the tour in the first place, listening eagerly for a voice they’d long since thought lost, or some kind of warning from their future self, so compelling and entrancing that they must be the product of magic. Most, though not all, of the people were generally found. Overtired and aching from sleeping on the ground out in the cold, but otherwise unharmed. Whatever caused the voices, magic or not, didn’t seem to hurt people, only leave them confused.

A few of the others currently with the group had come out for more academic reasons. Art and science in most cases, but otherwise those going on the tour were magic chasers, looking to record the fog voice phenomena for further study.

You might not have come out here with a recorder, but you can’t exactly deny that magic chaser applies to you as well. Claims of The Mirrored Teeth holding tangible residual magic are terribly rampant. You’ve wanted to witness it for yourself, to hear the voices, or feel the soft ache of magical energy on your skin, just the once. You’ve wanted… Well, it’s hard sometimes, not to want to feel the call of magic.

“And look where it’s led you,” you mutter, searching your pockets for the hundredth time. You know you won’t find the token, that you must have lost it when you slipped on some slick moss about an hour ago, but you can’t stop yourself now. It’s like trying to leave a loose thread alone once nervous fingers have found it. You keep reaching for the token, keep trying to find it, even though you know nothing you do will help any longer. You don’t recognize any of the surrounding terrain.

When you’d started out with the tour group, there hadn’t been anything but fog and the scrubby ground, hardened by a hidden layer of permafrost. You’d seen pictures of the teeth-like spires, but hadn’t been able to spot any when you first arrived. Now, every time you turn around it feels like you’re surrounded by the damned things. They radiate a soft glow, magnified further by the heavy mist and from far off? They look just like the teeth they’re named for. “Done in by moss,” you add, straining your eyes to see further through the fog. ”Not even by the voices!” Which, frankly, was disappointing. Not that you wanted to be lost in the first place, but hearing some of the voices the Mirrored Teeth are known for would have at least given you a better reason. An expected reason to be lost or wandering away from the group. Instead you’d simply slipped, brushed off a handful of withered greenery and pebbles, and had gotten back to your feet to find yourself alone.

You’d shouted yourself hoarse after the first half hour, calling out for Bristle and Rhim, staying in the same place, or assuming you’d stayed in the same place. You’d bent to find the token again, but even that had apparently been too much movement. Every time you lifted your head to look away from the ground, there was a different bit of flora springing up in front of you—and then you’d nearly smacked yourself head first into one of the spires, none of which are clearly marked on the map you have of the surrounding area. There’s always too much mist to plot them.

“Bristle! Rhim?” You call out again, cupping your hands around your mouth, not knowing if you should even hope for some kind of answer. What if they don’t answer because of the echoes? What if that’s the reason they’ve yet to answer in the first place?

The soft crack of a branch makes you whirl, throat growing tight when you spot the shadow of three figures through the fog. They straighten up, huffing, and the fog slowly spins away, shadows coalescing and revealing an older man shouldering a pack that he’s clearly just dug up from the ground. For a moment, he’s silent, staring, hand clenching tight at his pack as his eyes rove over your face. His gaze dips to your feet and lifts quickly back to your face before he wipes the surprise from his expression. “I hoped I was mistaken,” he grouses in a soft voice, tossing his head to get his ragged mane of salt and pepper hair out of his eyes. “But ‘lo, a human. Those tours are getting earlier and earlier every year, aren’t they?” He sighs, not asking like he expects an answer, but more like he’s just making an unpleasant statement. For half a second you have a retort on your lips, but the longer you stare, the more words vanish from your vocabulary.

The man has clearly tried to tame his ragged hair, weaving it into a messy, short braid that’s just long enough to hang over his right shoulder. There are earrings hanging from his right earlobe, dangly things that clink softly while he brushes impatiently at the dirt on his knees. His jacket, once a lovely heather gray, and obviously a match to a long lost suit, is patched and worn in multiple places. His jeans are nothing to write home about either, with frayed hems and patched knees. He has silvery stubble on his cheeks, and crows feet at the corners of his copper eyes, and—and a long tail, like a bottlebrush, fur standing on end. Until he sees that you’re watching. The tail vanishes behind his legs and your eyes zero in on his sharp nailed fingers, the backs of his knuckles covered with pale, soft looking hair. He grimaces, baring razor edged teeth, and promptly makes to stride past you, not even bothering to wait for you to get out of the way. He draws a rough breath as soon as he bumps into you, flinching away from actually knocking you to the ground, but it’s near enough to set your temper stoking.

Frankly? His manners are atrocious. But you’re also lost somewhere out in the tundra, and even if he doesn’t know where your tour is, he knows of them. You wrestle your temper into staying silent and rush after him.

“Wait! Hey, wait up,” you ask, ignoring the thrill that runs through you when you snag hold of his jacket sleeve and his tail bristles again. He’s not just hiding a tail either. His feet look more like great canine paws, which means—

The man whirls, and you spot two furred ears hidden under his uneven hair before he yanks his arm away from you, breathing far too fast. “Surely you know better than to grab at a shifter?” He hisses, leaning in close to your face. For half a second, he’s close enough for you to feel warmth radiating off of his body, but then his nostrils flare and his voice grows quiet. “Or are you from one of those backwater humans only villages in the East?”

“I’m—I’m sorry for grabbing you,” you blurt, mildly startled by his proximity to your face. “And while yes, that wasn’t a smart idea, I’m lost out here. Would it have been smarter of me to let you leave me in the dust before I asked for directions?” You take a slow step back, though you don’t let your eyes drop from his. You’re not going to take your eyes off of him for even a second if it means the fog is going to swallow him up and leave you all on your lonesome again.

The shifter narrows his copper eyes, highlighting the faint wrinkles in his brown skin. “Lost, you said?” He straightens, and keeps staring, eerily still. His frown only grows more pronounced when you nod your head. “You’re three days out from where the tours start. How long have you been lost?”

“Three days,” you repeat, uncomprehending. For another few seconds, the words don’t make any kind of sense. You’ve been separated from your group, according to your watch, for just over an hour. When you glance at the timepiece, only another handful of minutes have passed, but not enough time to even come close to explaining three days worth of travel. Your pulse is already racing, but it’s beginning to grow past the point of discomfort and into painful territory with how hard your heart is working. How the hell are you supposed to get back? “That’s not possible,” you breathe.

He doesn’t soften, but for a few moments he doesn’t look quite so irritated. “If you heard anything at all on that tour, then I’m sure you know it is possible. Residual magic, yes? It can do quite a bit more than just throw voices like a puppeteer.” He shifts his weight, like he’s ready to leave the moment you give him a chance.

“I’ve been lost for an hour,” you say, hoping that will spell out exactly how ridiculous you find his claims. “And I did my best to stay in one place. I’ve barely even begun to walk anywhere, and I didn’t—didn’t feel anything magical.”

“Isn’t it terribly rare to feel anything magical?” He asks, only gently mocking. “So few people even notice when something magical has happened to them. Now, it sounds as if the fog leapfrogged you through space,” he adds, wrinkling his nose. “Or did those green guides of yours not mention that something like this might happen?” He waits, but when you don’t immediately answer, the shifter sighs again, shakes his head and pivots, heading back into the still-swirling fog, ready to leave you behind.

You make another desperate grab for his sleeve, thankful that he only grimaces when he turns back to face you again. “In fact, yes, they did forget to mention! If you happen to have a satellite phone, or maybe-”

The shifter laughs and your grip on his sleeve grows slack. He’s rather handsome when he smiles, and looks like some kind of down-on-his-luck musician, dreaming of his glory days. You hastily let go of his sleeve, before he decides to yank himself away a second time. “Me? Ol’ Pyre, wandering about the tundra with a satellite phone?” He lifts his bag, clumps of dirt still falling from it. “I’m coming out this way to spend the winter in my other skin, and generally? Foxes have no use for phones.” He lifts his chin, scenting the air, and then nods his head in the direction behind you. “Head that way and the fog is likely to lead you right back.”

“Likely or certain?” You press, scowling. “Because there’s a rather large difference between those two options, and I’m not going to risk myself on likely.”

Pyre huffs out a sharp edged: “Which do you think?” before he registers the way your hands are starting to shake with nerves. His mouth opens, and then snaps shut. For a long moment he’s quiet, gritting his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not prepared for more than an evening trek through the tundra, are you? Enough food for a snack and dinner round a campfire before they herd you back?”

A small wave of relief loosens your shoulders. If he’s asking, then surely he’s not going to turn tail and leave you all by your lonesome? You start to smile, ready and willing to ask for further help, but Pyre turns away with a quiet curse.

“Pitiful idiots,” he says, glancing up at the sky, even though he can’t see anything but the vague hint of daylight through the thick fog. “Three days. And leaving would be akin to murder.” He bares his teeth, still looking up for a few seconds longer before he turns a sharp look your way, fingers curling and uncurling at his side. “I’ll lead you as far as the Slavering river. If you stick to that and keep yourself from wandering off into the fog again, you’ll certainly make it close enough for those idiot guides to find you.”

Slavering, the river is called, Bristle’s voice picks up in your head again, because they once thought the tundra a hungry thing, with teeth besides. She’d gestured to the West, though none of the group had been able to spot or hear the roar of the water yet. It had just been another wall of fog over hard earth and low growing shrubs. We’ll end our hike there.

You offer Pyre your hand, still worried about the trek, still ill at ease with what the fog has done, but feeling decidedly less panicked. Residual magic my ass. As soon as I’m back, the guides are going to expand that little safety speech of theirs.

“Thank you, really. I appreciate it. If I hadn’t—”

“Save your breath for the walk,” Pyre mutters and fully ignores your outstretched hand, skirting around you in a wide arch so he won’t risk touching you accidentally. He doesn’t get more than a few paces away though before he’s turning to look at you over his shoulder. “And keep up. If the fog decides to deposit you somewhere else, there aren’t many other helpful shifters wandering about the area.” He saunters off ahead, trusting you to make your own way, but the fur on his tail doesn’t lay flat until you’re jogging to catch up with him.

“Are there dangerous shifters then?” You risk asking, thankful for your heavy coat and the weight of your own pack. Bristle and Rhim hadn’t mentioned any shifters in the area at all, but then they also hadn’t told any of you that the residual magic might move you without your knowledge. Perhaps they would have, if you’d been allowed to stick around, but it feels like a glaring oversight, now that you’re all the way out here. Maybe this is why they make everyone sign the waiver. Not because of some idiotic, siren-like voices, but because of magical fog.

Pyre’s ears twitch, visible for only a split second through his hair. “Don’t wander off,” is all he chooses to add before he falls silent, doing his best to stay several steps ahead of you to discourage speech.

“That’s encouraging,” you mutter, and his ears twitch again, but he doesn’t respond. The walk to the Slavering is going to feel like a very long one from the looks of it, and it isn’t just because everything looks much the same no matter which way you turn. You shove your hands deep in your coat pockets, watching the middle of Pyre’s back, and do your best not to unconsciously search for the lost token. You already know your pockets are still empty.

————-　🦊　————-

Despite Pyre’s desire for absolute silence, he mutters about things without thinking. He comments quietly on a hare speeding away when a noise startles you. He grabs up handfuls of wild berries off of the scrubby bushes you pass, promptly dropping any that are too spoiled to be edible. He flicks some of them away with soft, but mocking farewells until he recalls that you’re not far behind him, listening to everything he says. Pyre’s threadbare shoulders always rise with embarrassment, but after the third time it happens and he remembers you’re there, he sighs, shaking off his chagrin. He pauses just long enough to grab your arm and slap some of the berries into your open palm, doing his best not to meet your eyes.

When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on your fingers, touch careful and tense. “Eat those if you’re feeling peckish, or save them for this evening and you can boil them down into tea. Don’t dive into any of your stores if you can until sometime tomorrow.”

“What about you?” You ask, noticing that he’s barely kept any at all for himself. A berry or two slips away, rolling off of your hand and dropping to the ground.

Pyre arches a brow, closing your hand around the berries so no more can fall before he takes a step back. “I’ll be hunting as soon as I leave you by the river. I’m more than well equipped to look after myself out here. A few berries won’t make much of a difference.”

“Is this a regular thing for you then? Coming out here to the tundra once a month for shifting?”

“For the winter,” Pyre corrects in a sour tone, and then turns back to his chosen path again. “Coming out to the tundra isn’t a regular thing for you though, is it? Or was it just the magic that left you so frightened?”

The berries he’s given you are small and gleaming red, and you don’t much care for his continued irritable attitude. You pop three into your mouth while you ignore him, expecting it to be, at the worst, bitter. Instead it’s dry. You make a noise of distaste, which makes Pyre glance back again. He stops, confused for all of two seconds before his eyes widen and he chokes on his laugh. The sour twist of your mouth is clue enough. “Definitely not a regular traveling spot,” he states. “Unfamiliar with bearberries?”

“I hope that isn’t what they taste like when they’re boiled,” you mumble, doing your best to refrain from scrubbing at your tongue. “And no, the tundra isn’t really a prime vacation spot for me or most anyone else. The draw of lingering, tangible magic is a little too much for some people to ignore though. Maybe not everyone, but some of us.”

Pyre hums, tail raising when he hops over a strange looking crack in the earth. “Feeling a call?” He asks, voice far too even to be pleasant.

That’s a personal question in most places, and Pyre has already quietly mocked your interest in magic once. He does seem the type to poke at uncomfortable topics though, to try and get a rise out of someone. His tail is still bristled out as well, quietly hinting that he’s not in a pleasant mood. “Is that why you come out here during the winter? I don’t hear much about other shifters vanishing for an entire season, fox or not.”

“The only call I’ll ever feel is the one to shift,” he grumps, but he does smack his lips and slow down for a moment, letting you keep pace. “I make bad decisions,” Pyre finally adds, as if that clarifies anything at all.

“All the time? Or-”

“Smartass.”

“That wasn’t even hard, are you really going to fault me for that one?” You wait, patiently, but no answer is forthcoming, and then he rushes forward a few steps ahead. “I’ll take that as a yes?” You call out, but Pyre just keeps walking, like he’s reached the end of his tolerance for speaking politely with another living being. “Well, that was nice while it lasted,” you mumble, frowning when you spot his shaking shoulders. He’s—he’s laughing. Maybe he isn’t suffering from lack of manners entirely, but instead has been too long out of practice.

“Not all the time,” Pyre calls back when he trusts his rasp of a voice not to betray his amusement. “Just a fourth of it.”

For the season, he’d said. You snort and don’t even try to hold back a smile when Pyre tilts his head to look at you. His head immediately snaps forward and he shakes it, as if to ward off an unhappy thought. He’s grumpy because... he’s awkward and shy? The last of your fear, still borne aloft by the way he’s spoken thus far, by his quiet mutter of akin to murder eases immeasurably. You follow after him now in less strained silence, a bit more confident now that you’ll make it back to the tour group in one piece.

————-　🦊　————-

Your confidence lasts until early evening, when visibility is becoming a huge issue for you. No matter how well you might see in the dark, the fog feels like it’s pressing in on you from all sides. Pyre hasn’t slowed by much, but then you see the pale, rapid swish of his tail, moving so fast it looks for a moment like he has more and then you recall that he’s a shifter. His eyesight, as well as his sense of smell, are by far better than your own. He might be able to keep going well into the night, but—You grunt, catching your toe on a white rock the height of your ankle. Before you can fall, or do much more than exclaim in quiet pain, Pyre has his hands on your shoulders, keeping you up and steady.

“It’s dark,” he says quietly, by way of apology. “We’ll stop for the night just up ahead. Can you make it?”

“Without tripping over rocks or falling on my face, you mean?” You breathe in, and promptly swallow. He smells a bit like fresh campfire smoke and the faint citrusy scent of the bearberries and he’s entirely too close. You don’t necessarily want him to move away though, not with the darkness growing thick around you. “Probably not,” you admit quietly.

Pyre hums, breathing in slowly, and the sound is terribly intimate. “...you need a hand?”

“Unless you’d rather I trip and skin my knees and palms in the dark? Yes.”

“Humans,” Pyre says, amused, and clucks his tongue as he takes hold of your wrist, turning away to continue on and pull you after him. He only pauses when you try to tug your hand away.

“You can hold my hand instead of towing me along like a kid at the fair. I don’t even have sticky fingers.” You turn your hand, thankful when he lets you adjust his hold. His fingernails, thicker due to his shifting nature, dig a little too hard into the side of your hand before he reflexes his grip.

He pauses, tense, even though his palm is a soothing warmth against yours. “Not sticky,” he finally agrees. Pyre hesitates, like he wants to say more, but a low, strange voice calls out something from far off. As soon as you hear it, the voice has it’s hooks in you. Your entire body grows tense, hair prickling, listening as hard as you can to try to make out the words. “No,” Pyre says in a low growl, trying to interrupt your concentration. He’s only barely louder than the voice. “Don’t listen. It’s all too easy to-”

“That sounds like—”

“It sounds like nothing that matters. Even if you know the voice, it doesn’t matter.” Pyre grunts when you turn your head, trying to follow the fading voice with your ear alone. He rips his hand out of yours so he can take hold of your face, pulling you close until you’re nearly nose to nose with him, thumbs on your cheekbones, fingernails scratching gently behind your ears. “Right now, the only thing that matters is making camp for the night. We’re heading this way and you are not going to go looking for that voice in the dark.”

You suck down a fierce breath, closing your eyes as the last of the echoing voice fades away. As soon as it’s gone, your shoulders start to slump, and you feel strangely hollow. “That is why they make us sign that waiver?” You ask, opening your eyes to find Pyre still terribly close, his hands still cradling your face.

For a moment, he lingers, breath warm against your lips, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening the longer he stares at you up close. The bright copper of his eyes is muted in the darkness, but the white in his hair, in his eyebrows, stands out brilliantly, and you think there might be more of it now than there was earlier this afternoon. “I knew you’d be a bad decision,” he whispers, and inexplicably, you think he might be about to kiss you. Your heart begins to gallop around your chest, your hands lifting to grasp at his wrists, his own still on your face—and then Pyre pulls away, dragging his nails over your skin. He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you quietly through the dark.

You’re not sure whether you should ask about his other bad decisions again… But you desperately want to.

Putting together the camp is a chilly affair at best. The shelter you help Pyre fumble through in the dark, though of course he has no trouble navigating the process, is little more than a heavy tarp tied securely between two of the tall, white teeth. There isn’t much wind, but now the mist is heavy enough to dot your eyelashes and bead along your sleeves. You don’t quite believe Pyre when he says he can get a fire going, forcing you to sit next to the small ring of stones he’s gathered. “There’s a copse of trees not far from here,” he explains, tilting his head to your right, though you can’t see anything through the fog, and especially not in the dark. “And I’ll be able to scrounge up enough for a fire.”

You want to ask him if he’ll be able to find his way back to you. If he thinks you’ll be safe sitting here on your own, especially after the voice from earlier. Voicing your concerns feels a bit too much like an invitation for bad luck though, and you still don't know Pyre very well. He might be helping you out of the goodness of his heart, but he's already dubbed you a bad decision. You're not sure you want to push things. “Won’t the wood be wet?” You ask instead, chafing your hands together to stir up a little bit of heat.

“No fear of shifters,” Pyre scoffs, straightening up and pulling his bag off of his back. “No screaming at strangers when you're lost in the foggy tundra, but you're worried about damp firewood?" You scowl, knowing full well he can see your expression. That surprises a rough sounding laugh out of him. "I may choose to spend my winter as a fox, but that doesn't mean I don't turn back into a man when spring comes." Pyre brandishes a small box, a tin filled with what sounds like matches. He rattles them about for emphasis. “Charmed matches are a necessity out here, not optional. Even if the wood is damp, they’ll catch well enough to last us the night.”

Charmed matches aren’t exactly common. A package of them, when used only in dire situations, should last someone a score of years at least, and as the spells to make them are some of the few guarantees of still working magic… They cost a pretty penny. “...should you be wasting them on me when I’m supposed to find the tour guides tomorrow?”

Pyre shakes the box at you, silently insisting you take it from his hand. When you take it from him, there’s more hair, more fur on his fingers than there was earlier in the day. You wonder if it’s a conscious change to help stave off the chill, or if it’s simply too close to when he shifts. “We need some way to boil a bit of water for bearberry tea, don’t we? Unless you’d rather eat them plain.” He sounds like he’s smiling, but the dark is getting more oppressive and you can’t see it. Pyre’s tone turns a little more serious, a little more apologetic as he continues: “And using them seems to keep away the voices, so yes. As I’ve taken responsibility for your safety—”

“Responsibility,” you murmur, arching a brow, but you can’t exactly disagree.

“—I’ll do exactly as I said. You’ll get to the Slavering, and I’ll even give you a match as a gift. You can make a torch as you head back and the voices should leave you be.”

You don’t shake the tin of them, knowing that they’re valuable, but you stroke your finger over the top, following the raised patterns of letters. “Will they work, even if they’re unlit?”

Pyre waits, and you don’t know whether he’s reluctant to give you an answer or he doesn’t actually know. “Are you worried about me going to grab the firewood?”

Well, it was kind of ridiculous, trying to hide your nervousness from him anyway. You’re lost in the tundra with someone you don’t know. No matter how resilient you are, it’s going to be nerve wracking. “I’ve never felt quite as strange as when I heard that voice, even with you pulling me back from it…” You stop, a frown growing on your lips. “But the voice didn’t do anything to you. You had no problem telling me not to listen to it.”

Pyre crouches, his knees popping, and groans quietly, rubbing at the patch just under his left kneecap. You can see his hands, pale fur the only spot of brightness in the night. “They don’t much affect shifters. We’re…. We’re already rather full of magic ourselves, even if it isn’t the kind one can use by uttering spells or mixing ingredients in a pot. Whatever the reason, the voices don’t seem to like magic. So a box of those matches?” He reaches out to tap on the tin with one long nail. “It should keep you from falling prey for the few moments it will take me to gather wood. I still wouldn’t get up though, then you might risk dropping it.”

You don’t know everything about the tundra, even with what research you did before you came on the trip, and the talk of magic here? It’s still something people want to study. One of the ones that came with a recorder would probably be thrilled to hear this much about the place from… Pyre might not be a year-round local, but he knows quite a bit. If he can hold off his shifting, maybe you’ll ask him to talk to one of them. “I’ll be safe,” you say, extrapolating, “as long as I stay sitting here. You’ll be able to find me again?”

“...I’ll be able to follow your scent, yes,” he admits, like he expects you to be irritated with the thought. Far, far away, another voice echoes, much fainter than the one you’d heard before. It doesn’t sound pained or panicked though, it sounds a bit like—Pyre takes your fingers, almost crushing them around the tin box in your hands. The voice vanishes. “You’ll be safe,” Pyre repeats, and a breeze whisks through the area, catching at his wild grey and white hair.

“Then get the wood,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “I’ll wait.” Pyre’s hand, still curled tightly around your fingers, eases. He brushes his thumb over the valleys between your knuckles and then pulls away.

“A few moments only. I promise,” he whispers, and then his canine-like feet are scuffing through the hard dirt and lichen covered rocks.

As soon as he’s gone, you soothe yourself by running your fingers over the tin of matches, trying to figure out what words are written along the top in fine, curling letters. There are too many loops though and when you do your best to try and focus on it, bringing it up close to your face, all you can see is that places on the tin have been worn down. Whatever it might say, the color on the tin won’t help you figure it out. It feels like only seconds, but another noise echoes in the darkness, your heart jumping back into overdrive. You clutch at the matchbox, but then Pyre is stepping out of the heavy fog, dropping a heaving armful of twisted branches and thick tangles of what looks like weeds.

“Moments, I thought you said! What was that, 30 seconds?” You ask, trying to calm your racing heart.

Pyre laughs. “I think you were just lost in thought, hm? It’s easy to lose track of time in the dark.” He kneels at the ring of rocks, cursing, even though you can’t hear any popping in his limbs this time. “Now, give me the matches and let’s get things a bit warmer, hm?”

You hand them over, and then get to work. You feel more than see Pyre’s surprise when you start picking up the branches and weeds. “I may be human, but I can help do a bit of work. It’s the last I can do after you helping me like this, what with your shifting getting close.”

“Noticed that, did you?” He asks, tin creaking as he opens and closes the lid. You glance over, but other than his pale fur, you can’t make out what he’s actually doing. A second later and he’s striking one of the charmed matches over a rough rock, and then it blazes merrily in a bit of fire smaller than a penny. “I won’t be a danger. I’m old enough to keep my wits. My… I should warn you, my breed of shifting isn’t always so pretty as others though.”

“Is that why you come out here?”

“One of many reasons,” Pyre mutters and holds the match to the wood in the fire pit. The match doesn’t burn down immediately though, or even catch the weeds when he touches it to them. Pyre deposits it carefully in the exact middle of arrangement, planting it almost like a seedling in the wood and weeds. Only after he removes his hand does the match start to spark, and then fire twists open like a blooming flower. It’s gorgeous. You lift your eyes to Pyre, awe clear in your gaze, and then you have to blink. He’s still the older man you saw this afternoon. He still has a mostly human face, but his arms look longer now, and his copper eyes flash strangely in the firelight. He glances at you, and you see that his mouth has grown wider, the edges either curling back towards his cheekbones or… Or his jaws are elongating. “Frightened?” He asks, and then you realize that you’ve been staring.

“Mildly startled,” you correct, refusing to look away. Whether he’s a pretty kind of shifter or not, you can still see him in his eyes and the way he holds himself.

He chuffs, and the noise warms something deep in your chest. “Smartass,” he says, sounding very fond. “I’ll make some of that tea now then, if you’d like it.”

“Bearberry tea,” you muse, reaching in your pocket for the rest of the berries he’d given you. Pyre unearths a small cooking pot from his bag, as well as an earthenware mug, glazed some kind of deep green. He hands you the mug and then holds out the pot, nodding his head when you lift your berry filled hand over it. It takes longer than you would like. Pyre has to mash the berries down and then he surprises you by standing and tugging at the tarp edge of your shelter. Water, mist really, beaded so heavily along the taut plastic that there’s enough to fill the pot near to overflowing. It’s much more than you would have thought, but Pyre seems unsurprised, even though you’ve both been relatively dry since he started building the fire.

“Alright,” you finally say, watching Pyre stir the faintly pink water with a metal spoon from his bag. “You mentioned bad decisions, and I’m not wise enough to leave it well alone. What are all these ‘bad decisions’ that drive you out into the tundra for an entire season? And, I can’t not clarify, were they flings?”

Pyre stares at you, eyes gleaming in the firelight, his too wide jaw falling open due to your blunt questions. When he laughs this time, it’s a sharp bark and more fox-like than human. “Oh, you are one of them. Much more perceptive than many of the others.” He licks his lips, still human-smooth, but his ears have grown longer. They’re peeking out from the sides of his head, poking through his hair now. “Some of them were flings. Some of them were just… A way to stave off loneliness, even if they were unpleasant.”

“And where am I falling on that scale?”

Pyre arches a thicker brow, baring his sharp teeth in a slightly eerie smile. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a fling with someone like you, but your companionship is more than enough if that’s all you want to give.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Then how, exactly, am I a ‘bad decision’? Making friends isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

Pyre’s smile wavers. “No, no it isn’t.” He looks away, into the middle of the fire, where the charmed match is still blazing like a seed of flame. “The bad decision is that my loneliness drives me to go looking in the first place.”

You let a few moments pass in relative silence, puzzling over his words. It sounds more than strange, but you can’t put your finger on why. “What does that mean?” You finally ask, noting the way he’s digging his nails into his thighs.

He looks back at you. “Anyone who wanders out here is an offering, of sorts. To help bear the brunt of winter. The tours… They’re more like a ritual than those guides of yours realize.”

Your head feels strangely empty. Ritual, he’d said. Slowly, you think back to the myths linked to the tundra, to the Mirrored Teeth, to the folktales attached to cities and Serpent Towers. There had been something about bearing the brunt of winter, holding it back from sweeping over the land…

“Your time here will be no more than the three days I promised. You will be taken back to the Slavering, with only this time gone from the memories of others, and I will do nothing but what I promise: to lead you back, if that is all you desire.” Pyre creeps closer, long arms and long fingers bracing himself on the dirt. All it takes is a single stretch and he’s by your side, towering over you in his half shifted form. “The bad decision was that I was given the right to choose without any warning. That I could only claim those I charmed away.”

“You charmed me?” You whisper.

“You heard my voice,” Pyre explains and your heart beats painfully in your chest. He is why people vanish from the tours and come back tired and dirty but… But most of them come back unharmed.

“What happens to those that don’t make it back?” You ask, trying to quell your panic.

Pyre’s shoulders hunch. “Sometimes people react poorly, and they run. Running in the fog is never wise.”

“How am I… How am I supposed to help you keep winter from swallowing the world?”

Pyre barks out another laugh, though he’s grimacing. “Those years I don’t have a companion, winter escapes my hold. It’s much easier to keep in check with help.”

“Helping how?” You ask, voice going brittle.

“Companionship. You’re already bound to the three days,” he says quietly, nodding his head to the pot of slow boiling bearberries on the fire. “You ate three of them. If…. If you choose to help, to spend the winter with me, then you can drink. You’ll be with me through the entire season—”

“Out in the middle of the tundra, with nothing but a tarp and an evening's supply of food?” You ask, getting to your feet. You take a step away from the fire, nervous energy making you move, and then freeze when you hear a far off voice again. You glance down at Pyre, angry and convinced it must be him, but then you recognize it. The voice, low and soft as it echoes strangely through the fog, is you.

“The voices are possibilities only,” Pyre says, talking over the needy sounding moan. It vanishes, like nothing more than smoke on a fast moving breeze. “And I would take you back to my home, I wouldn’t make you wander out here and sleep on the freezing ground!” Pyre starts to get to his feet and then thinks better of it. He stays where he is, looking up at you, holding out a hand. “If you drink, all I require is companionship. Loneliness lets the ice creep further out, but friendship, or, or anger or passion keeps it at bay. With your help I can bind the overflow of ice in the teeth. But if three days is all you’ll allow, then I’ll find another, I promise. You’ll be free of this, and you’ll forget this ever happened.”

You’re out in the middle of the tundra, wreathed in magical fog and standing before a shifter, a… a spirit? A deity? That keeps winter at bay. You did want magic, didn’t you? You ask yourself. You look down to his open hand, brown palm calloused, nails long and sharp, white fox fur growing longer along his arm.

“No one will even notice I’ve been gone?”

“You’ll be lost in the fog for three days, according to them. What life you’ve missed will feel like a blink, but no. They won’t realize you’ll have been gone for the entire winter.” Pyre’s mouth closes, stubbled throat working as he swallows.

Slowly, you sit back down, picking up the glazed green mug and holding it out for Pyre to fill. “The winter then. If we end up hating one another? You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Pyre doesn’t answer, but he watches like a predator after he fills the mug with bearberry tea, copper eyes caught on your lips. You finish half the cup, and what chill lingered in your bones slowly fades away. Carefully, Pyre takes the cup back and downs the rest, long tongue licking stray droplets off of his lips.

————-　🦊　————-

You travel with Pyre for three days before you reach the banks of the Slavering, only when you do, the tour guides aren’t waiting for you. This is where the Slavering begins, the thick snowmelt coming off of the high mountaintops and rolling down through the craggy rocks to make a river. There’s a cave entrance not far from the rapids, covered over with weeds and just large enough for Pyre to stoop over and fit into. You stop at the entrance, with him close behind you, and stare into the far off dark.

“It’s not like a dungeon in there, is it?”

Pyre grumbles, somewhere between indignation and a laugh. “You always know just what to say. No, it’s not like a dungeon. There’s plenty of modern day amenities inside. I’m a shifter, not a beast.”

Cautiously, still not entirely trusting him, you head inside. It’s dark at first, and earthy smelling, just like a cave, but then Pyre strikes another one of his charmed matches and pulls you to the side so he can lead. There’s a lamp up ahead, the frosted glass globe just big enough for Pyre to reach in and set the match. Heat and light seem to roll through the entire area, a locked, wooden door revealing itself to the side of the lamp. The cave floor, still cold and a bit damp, is actually stones, pieced together into what looks like a strange little map. You frown down at the stones, eyes tracing the edges of a single, deep blue vein, wondering why the chips of pale rock surrounding it strike you as strange.

“The Teeth,” you murmur suddenly. “You have a map of the teeth in front of your door?” Some of the spots are much smaller than others, more like a pinprick of pale stone as opposed to some of the hefty chips. If you unfocus your eyes, the map looks like a reflection of the stars.

“Magic,” Pyre explains, though he doesn’t sound pleased with his own answer. “There’s plenty to talk about when it comes to the Teeth, and the voices, just… Let’s go inside. It’s going to start snowing soon.”

When he opens the door, all the lamps inside are lit. Much like Pyre himself, his decor is frayed and worn down. There are heavy furs on the walls, and tapestries too, both simple and grand, but fragile looking. There are furs on some of the furniture as well. There’s a large stone fireplace, with hooks over the mantle made of horn and a set of stone stairs that curve out of sight. There’s no sign of things like phones or televisions, but you feel like you should have expected that. Companionship through a screen probably didn't fulfill the parameters of his… his curse?

That’s something you decide to ask about later. After all, you have the rest of the winter to spend with him, and he explained plenty over the three day trip to the mountain. The teeth are made of contained winter. The larger the teeth are, the more someone helped Pyre through that season. Through friendship, or anger, or passion, they melted the ice and snow. Pyre would take the melt and bind it in magic-made spires, but he couldn’t build on only one. Each spire was the product of a different person, each fling or friend made or fight had melted the snow at different rates. If your help has already begun, then you know some of the snow must have melted already due to your anger over the past few days, but it’s not something you think you can hold onto. Pyre tricked you into the three days, gave you the bearberries and bid you eat if you were hungry. You’d eaten three of them. The rest of the winter though? That you chose yourself. At least for a while, you’re ready to try and enjoy a little bit of the magic, keeping back winter or no.

“It’s not quite past midday,” Pyre says quietly, voice a strange melding of fox and man. “If you’d like food, I will make it for you. If you’d like a rest, I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” You ask, only sounding mildly sarcastic.

Pyre narrows those coppery eyes of his. “Sometimes I think you say these things on purpose. Yes. Your room.” He heads for the staircase, his toenails clicking on the stone floor before he reaches the layers of rugs, the soft padding of his feet on them makes you smile. “I would hardly complain if you decided to join me in mine, but even so, you will have your own space.” He tosses his head, earrings catching in his hair and then vanishes up the stairs.

You move at a much more sedate pace, still examining your surroundings. There’s a very old looking table, covered with the remnants of a puzzle that looks to be from forty years ago at least. There’s a rack of old bottles, some of them look like wine, but others are clearly beer, and still others look like glass bottles of soda, the liquid half evaporated. Pyre’s house is going to be a treasure trove of history, of things left behind by others. The winter is going to be very long, you’re certain, but it won’t be forever. All of the people that left these things behind have obviously left and returned to their homes. You turn on your heel, slip your bag off of your shoulders and leave it at the foot of the stairs. You can come back for it later.

The lamps, all seemingly lit from that single charmed match, spiral up the staircase. There aren’t any doors that open up off the sides, only a hallway at the very top and three open doors leading to the far end. The first one you pass is a bathroom, with a large tub carved out of the stone of the mountain. There are elderly looking cupboards in there, and what looks like a wood burning stove, though it’s empty. The toilet, you assume, is behind the drawscreen, and when you peek your head farther in, there’s also a shining, copper mirror hanging on the wall. The second room is where Pyre is, hands fussing over the thick curtains around the bed. There’s a fireplace against the wall, and a nightstand next to the bed, and more furs draped over a chair made of wood and horn in the corner. There’s a worn desk, obviously hand-made by someone unskilled, but a beautiful bookcase next to it, filled with books in various states of wear. Some of the spines are cracked, but others still are pristine. To the right of the bed, there’s a single paned window. Snow is coating the sill outside, thick flurries weighing down the weeds that are growing in the cracked stone.

Despite the magic, despite the voices and his promise, it still hadn’t felt quite so real, wandering through the tundra with him. He’d said the snow would be coming down soon though.

“It’s lovely,” you answer, honestly, even if not everything is to your taste. It almost makes you want to laugh though, because it definitely looks like it’s somewhere removed from the normal world, some kind of strange mish-mash of time periods all pressed into a two story place. You wonder, without Pyre, would anyone ever find this place?

“Parts of it,” Pyre says, strange looking hands pausing in their tying of the curtains. He’s looking at the headboard, you realize. There’s a faint gouge in the dark wood, but it doesn’t look like it was from Pyre. It looks like a very human scratch. Warmth crawls over the back of your neck, though you’re not sure whether it’s embarrassment or eagerness. You’d been feeling a healthy dose of attraction with Pyre before he told you about everything, and it had taken a bit to sort through your feelings on the matter, even with you making the final choice to come here. You still don’t know how things will continue, but for now…

“Let me see what I can do to help make a few more lovely memories then,” you say suddenly. Heat is pulsing through you now, warming your cheeks and the tips of your ears and zinging down along your spine. Pyre’s head snaps to the side to find your hands working slowly at your clothes. He doesn’t move any further, doesn’t even tip back his head, just stares at you over the crest of his shoulder, pupils swallowing down the copper of his irises.

“If—you don’t have to do anything,” he insists, and his tail swishes, slowly, just the once. It doesn’t bristle out as it had when you’d first spotted him.

Your coat drops to the floor, and his eyes follow it. “I know. We were flirting though, before you told me about all of this, and I still…” You glance away, only for your eyes to snap back to Pyre as he drags his patched suit jacket off of his shoulders.

He slows when he realizes you’re watching, but doesn’t stop. A slow grin pulls at the corners of his wide mouth. “You still want to feel magic?” He taunts, and laughs when you roll your eyes. He stops laughing when the rest of your clothes hit the floor, the hint of a whine escaping him when you take a step closer, shivering when you feel the temperature of the stone on your bare feet. “My room,” Pyre says roughly, though you can’t tear your eyes away from him. He’s still a wonderfully strange mix of man and fox. His face is still humanoid, with lips and stubbled cheeks, and so is the shape of his shoulders through his holey t-shirt. There’s soft curls of hair peeking out of the stretched neck of his shirt, but along the backs of his arms it looks more like fur and his feet are still wholly canine. His tails, tails plural, are starting to grow longer too, and you recall the way he’d seemed to coalesce into one person when the fog had rolled back.

Pyre crosses the room, hesitating before he places his hands on your shoulders, thumbnails scratching gently at your bare skin. The chill of the room had been seeping into you, but at his touch, warmth chases it all away. When you slide your hands up his chest, Pyre’s eyes fall closed, gray lashes bright against his skin. “M’ room,” he repeats again, but pulls you into a kiss as he tows you out the door. There’s no more time for examining the hallway or the knick-knacks he might be keeping in his own space. There’s his lips and his stubble scratching at your skin and his hands splayed over the back of your neck and the base of your spine. He coaxes you into his room with deep, slow kisses that leave your head spinning, whispering things that make your pulse speed. “Want, want the smell of you on my sheets,” he says against your neck, dragging sharp teeth carefully over your throat. He growls when your hands dip to undo his trousers, your thumb following the trail of hair that vanishes beneath his underwear. “If this is, if it’s—”

“I agreed to the winter,” you remind him and then he’s turning you and letting you fall back onto his bed. You have a moment to register soft fur, and crocheted blankets, and comforters too, before Pyre is pulling his shirt off and tossing it across the room. He wrestles with the rest of his clothes, leaving you another moment to admire him. The hair on his chest and trailing down his abdomen looks human, much coarser than the fur on his arms and below his knees. Between his legs is a thick cock, hard and beginning to leak, with a small bulge near the base of him, and then your gaze is drawn back up as he crawls onto the bed, moving much slower than he had in the hall. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush, just leans his body over yours to kiss you again, careful with his teeth. He groans when you reach up and tug at his braid, pulling the rough tie away and tossing it to the side. You comb your fingers through his hair, tangling your fingers in it to keep him kissing you and tense when his cock slides over your thigh, hot and hard and enough to make you buck up, already seeking friction. Pyre kisses you until you’re breathless, leaving you sucking at your own lips and trying to calm yourself as he urges you further up the bed, back to a veritable nest of pillows.

He isn’t slow when he settles himself between your legs, hands curling around your thighs and pushing them carefully back towards your chest. He isn’t slow when he drags his tongue over you, hot and slick and slightly rough. He’s careful as he can be with his teeth, but there are a few pinches that make you gasp and tremble. He laves his tongue over them, soothing the sting, but his nails are pressing hard into your skin and you’re fairly certain you’re going to bruise, simply from the continued pressure. Pyre is noisy too, whining and groaning as he tastes you, as you do your best to rock yourself against his tongue, hand tugging at his hair while he sucks and eats. The ache of orgasm, painful-but-sweet, is starting to build, starting to make you tense everytime he opens his jaw, teeth dragging over tender skin, leaving you wet and shuddering. He huffs when you whimper, and pulls away before you can come, copper eyes as bright as flame when he moves to sit back against his headboard. The loss of him feels sudden, and the cold is sharp without his warmth against you.

“That was on purpose,” you murmur. Pyre arches a brow, trying to keep from smiling when you scowl at his crooking finger. You still get up, on shaking knees and gasp when he tugs you over and onto his lap, your back against his chest, cock slick and sticky against your ass.

“I want to feel everything when you shake apart,” he murmurs, hand splaying over your sternum as he helps you arrange your legs. By the time you’re straddling his thighs, his fingertips are dipping into the hollow of your throat and his cock is rutting against your thigh and every part of you is on edge, desperate for more. You’d been so close. Pyre licks at the side of your throat, pressing his hand harder against your chest to keep your back still. “Lift your hips,” he urges, and takes his cock in hand, dragging the head over you as you do your best to listen. Like fitting a key into a lock, Pyre finds the correct angle, breathing raggedly as you press yourself down. As soon as you’ve taken enough of him, he lets go of himself and then presses on the top of your thighs, making you gasp out his name as you take him in deeper. He eases off after a moment, letting you adjust, letting you wriggle and groans out your name roughly as you do your best to ride him.

You think for a moment about saying something, about teasing him or trying to rile him up, but it’s all you can do to keep up what rhythm you have, heart beating terribly fast against the hand he has on your chest. He lets you move, lets you reach back and clutch at the messy locks of his hair, his breath warm against your throat and the top of your shoulder and then Pyre pushes roughly against your thigh again, thrusting up until his knot is grinding against you. “Fuck, fuck, Pyre, that—”

“Too much?” He asks, waiting while you shake, trying to steady your breath. You’re probably going to ache later, probably won’t want to do much but doze or take a bath in that massive stone tub, but right now? Right now you want to be greedy.

“More,” you get out and Pyre laughs, that eerie, fox-like noise echoing in your ear as he teases you with the knot, pressing you down and then pulling back his hips. Pillows cascade off the edges of the bed, spilling over the floor. You start squeezing, doing your best to drive him over the edge, so sensitive it almost hurts. “Please,” you whisper and then you’re too busy for speech. His knot stretches you and his hand dips between your thighs, stroking and his fingers press into the base of your throat. He’s not choking you, but he’s starting to squeeze and then you’re coming. Pleasure washes over you in a fierce, pulsing ache that shoots down to your toes and fountains back up your body. You shout out his name and shake in his arms, eyes falling closed as his knot expands, locking you in place. Your eyes flutter open and closed and drift to a steamed up window, much like the one in your own room. Weeds are still poking up through the cracks, but now it’s not snowing outside, it’s raining.

Pyre turns his nose to the space behind your ear, breathing deep, his own limbs growing loose. “The winter might well be softer this year,” Pyre mumbles, voice raspy, his hand smoothing down your sternum and over your hips. “And I have you to thank for that.”

“We still have the rest of the winter ahead of us,” you remind him, but you’re too sleepy to argue with him any further. Whether you end up enjoying the rest of your time here, you do know one thing: Passion will definitely be a huge part of fulfilling your bargain for the winter.

————-　🦊　————-

#exophilia #werefox boyfriend #male werefox #shifter boyfriend #d.darling writes #d.darling queues

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itsblissfuloblivion · 3 years

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Prompt #69 for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny FicFest 2021: "His pickup line wasn't as good as mine. Just saying"

Ao3 // FFnet

hey, tis us, last kids joining the party. hopefully it’s still alright!

It’s a Tuesday, so the din of the pub is a bit muted in comparison. Loud and full enough that nobody will get ideas about getting to know their table neighbours, but quiet enough that you don’t have to shout to be heard. Harry’s boot sticks to the floor as he steps inside and for a moment he’s about to let loose some colourful swears about arseholes who don’t understand that spent gum belongs in a bin, but his attention is quickly pulled away by another arsehole at the bar trying to flex his flirtation muscles.

If Harry reads the bloke’s mark’s facial expression correctly, said flex has been wholly unsuccessful so far. And Harry’s made his own study of the current focus of said bloke, since Sixth Year in fact, so Harry’s comfortable saying he’s something of an expert on Ginny Weasley.

Slowly - with a slight drag on his gummed left heel - Harry picks his way through the shadowy bits of the pub towards Ginny as she continues her valiant attempt to scan the menu. Soon, Harry’s close enough to join Ginny’s ‘enjoyment’ of her current companion.

The bloke is mid-build, just shy of Harry’s height, and almost as into his boy band hair as he is to excessive use of perfume. Things he apparently is not into include reading body language, accepting personal space boundaries, and wearing hats correctly. Harry winces - half for Ginny’s nose and half for whatever this stranger is about to have done to him - when Perfume Lover leans in closer to Ginny. “Hello, beautiful! No need to check that out, I already know what’s on the menu - me ‘n’ you.”

Harry’s suppressing his snort, and a bit of horror, at the line when Ginny leans in close, eyes sharp. If Boy Band knew what was good for him, he’d pay more attention to Ginny’s blood thirsty look than the fact that she’s drawing close. But honestly, Harry can’t fault him too much - for getting distracted that is - because one whiff of her hair and the simple warmth of her as she draws near still sends Harry’s heart pounding. That’s about where Harry’s ability to relate to Ball Cap begins and ends.

As expected, the content of Ginny’s low whisper is less ‘want to get out of here’ and more ‘guts for garters’ because the pick up artist is soon backing away with a shocked expression, stumbling over barstools and an innocent busboy.

With a grin, Harry steadies the busboy on his feet and swipes a paper napkin to drag the bulk of the gum from his boot. He doesn’t break stride as he tosses the napkin in a bin and makes his way towards Ginny, who has returned her attention to the menu and the tiny red straw between her lips.

Somehow, he doesn’t end up sprawled on the floor when she twirls it, or when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, or even when the waitress returns with a new drink. Instead, he keeps pace to end up with one arm draped around Ginny’s shoulders just as she’s left alone at the high top table. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?”

Ginny snorts, nose crinkling as she stabs at the ice with her straw. “Reckon I’m sticking with the other bloke tonight.”

Harry frowns even as he claims the free stool closest to Ginny. “His pickup line wasn’t as good as mine,” he swipes her drink, ignoring her indignant ‘Oi!’ and takes a sip, “Just saying.”

“How about get your own drink, Mr. Just Saying?” Ginny grumbles, though the blow of her grousing is softened by the quick press of her lips to his.

“I can’t decide between the burger and the stew.”

Harry raises his hand in the hopes of beckoning someone with relevant resources to bring him a pint. He receives a nod from behind the bar and soon turns his attention back to Ginny. “Is the new Firebolt nearby?”

Ginny tears her eyes away from the menu. “Pardon? No - we’re on the Cleansweep - ”

“Oh,” Harry shakes his head, “Must’ve just been my heart taking off.”

“If you promise to shut up I’ll do that thing you like so much,” Ginny manages to mutter with a roll of her eyes, pausing only once the waitress arrives with Harry’s drink. He takes a long sip while Ginny orders - apparently having decided on the burger. When the waitress turns to him he gets the same - though changing medium rare for medium well. Plus he adds, “And can we have the stew to share? With some bread.”

Once they’re alone again, Ginny nudges his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You got me all hyped for it too,” he shrugs and slips his arm back around her, “Besides, I’m not above asking for a takeaway box.”

“Glad you seem to know the real path to my affection, that line was bloody awful. Time to move on,” Ginny winks, “I’ll keep my promise.”

“No, no. You said Boy Band had better lines than I do and now I’m proving you wrong,” Harry takes another swallow and swipes at his upper lip. “I’ll earn that thing I like the real way.”

“Which is?”

“Wooing.”

Ginny sighs. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Nope,” Harry pops, sitting a little taller in his chair.

“Anyhow,” Ginny says, fiddling with his fingers, “How was the meeting with Kingsley?”

“Relatively unnecessary,” Harry shrugs, “At least I think so. But you know how they like to get input and whatnot. Which means lots of almost shouting and then Kingsley puts on that face and says, ‘You’ve all given me a lot to think about.’”

“Does he change his mind much, pre to post meeting?”

“Depends who offered alternatives,” Harry answers, taking another swallow of his ale. “Which is for the best. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit people say.”

“What did you ever do to make Robards hate you so much?” Ginny asks with a chuckle when Harry’s forehead connects with her shoulder.

“I dunno, but he must. Either that or he really values my ability to half take notes and mostly doodle magical creatures.”

“Do you take requests? I want my face on the body of a harpy.”

The din of the crowd briefly increases and Harry leans close enough that Ginny’s soft flowery scent overcomes the smell of stale beer and miscellaneous fried foods. “Gin, your face is already on the body of a Harpy.”

“Har-har, you know what I mean.”

Harry shakes his head and tips so his nose nearly touches Ginny’s. “There’s something wrong with my eyes,” Ginny perks up, rapidly searching him for any injuries she neglected to notice and he continues, “There must be. Because I can’t seem to take them off you.”

She groans, shoulders slumped back against her barstool. “Harry, you have terrible eyesight. And that might have been the worst line yet.”

“Noted,” Harry nods like she’s just given him a tip on a case, “I’ll keep trying.”

“Please don’t.”

“I love a challenge.”

The waitress returns with their admittedly overdone dinner order and Ginny nearly spears Harry with the prongs of her fork. “Do not make me sick up, this smells too good to waste.”

Harry scofs. “Right. We both know you’re tougher than that. Should I remind you that your secret weapon was the Bat-Bogey Hex - a hex largely based on snot?”

“And it still is,” Ginny grins after she swallows an impressively large helping of her food. “Talking about gross, though,” she follows, eyeing Harry sideways, “any specific plans for my brother’s stag do? And don’t tell me you’ve cracked under pressure and let George organise it.”

There’s something very Molly Weasley-eque in her expression as she says it, freckles alight and splattered over her cheeks and nose in a way that always has Harry’s insides twisting and burning, without failure. So he smirks, leaning in closer.

“Which brother is that?”

Ginny kicks at his shin, wobbling on her barstool. “The one with the big nose and lanky limbs?”

“Oh, that one,” Harry widens his eyes in mock realisation. “Right, yes. No, I’m doing it."

“And?”

“And?” Harry parrots, sipping another spoonful of stew.

“Remember the bogeys, Harry,” she scowls, huffs away a red strand of hair falling on her cheeks.

His elbow planted firmly on the bar, Harry offers her his most dazzling smile, green eyes glinting mischievously behind his round glasses. “Aw, Gin, it’ll be nothing much. Just your regular boys’ night out - a little bit of getting pissed, a little bit of going to a strip club.”

Ginny laughs throatily, her head leaned back and her long, red hair grazing over her waist, eyes closed shut. “Can’t wait to read Skeeter’s take on you visiting a strip club. Honestly, Harry?”

“Nah. But we will get pissed at George’s though.”

“Figured. Good for you, you deserve it,” Ginny smiles and tops it off with a bite of warm bread. “Thanks for the laugh.”

“I aim to please,” Harry smiles back and, for a while, they both eat in contented silence, the pub’s buzz fading in the background as they enjoy each other’s presence and the feeling that they’re safe, and seen, and loved.

Later, there’s a clatter as Harry pushes his empty plate further up the bar and scans Ginny promptly before he says, “Alright, hear me out - one last try.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, bored, swishing her spoon in his direction. “Shoot.”

Harry clears his throat.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but Snape was so fond of me he tried to adopt me, right?”

Ginny’s forehead promptly connects with the bar top.

“That’s it,” she grunts, ginger hair pooling over her arms, spread over the black countertop, “we’re leaving. Check, please,” she raises her head to speak, voice heavy with distress.

“Women,” Harry pretends to roll his eyes, “nothing ever pleases them.”

Ginny sticks her tongue out in response. She then hops off and strides towards the loo, hair flicked over her shoulder.

Harry shakes his head, grinning; he rummages through his pocket, thumbs brushing over the hardwood of his wand, feels the cold metal of the coins piled in there. Five silver ones rattle along the counter and the barman nods his thanks.

A whiff of flowery scent floats near him, her lips suddenly close to his ear as she whispers, low, “You must be absolutely knackered, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Harry dips his chin slowly, green eyes connecting with her mischief-laden brown ones, a wide, playful grin on her face. “Ginny Weasley, was that a pick-up line?” Harry whispers back.

“Sue me,” she winks.

“No way. I’m rather turned on, actually.”

“Good,” Ginny follows, evilly, her lips still close to Harry’s ear. “Bathroom? There’s a private space in the very last one.”

“Fuck yes,” Harry exhales, as though he’d just received a punch to the plexus, and lets her drag him after her.

#clare's hinny ficfest #hinny #harry x ginny #canon compliant #banter & flirting #conversations at the countertop #hinny being hinny and loving a challenge #itsblissfuloblivion writes #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

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WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

#john wick fic #santino d'antonio/original female character #santino d'antonio #c: euphemia volpe #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #spilled ink #john wick oc #i'm fine we're fine this is all fine nobody panic #gonna #q #this so that i can pretend i don't see it djhfbjdf #x: senza tentazioni senza onore

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thora-jane · 3 years

Text

Twin-Way Mirror (pt vi)

(a/n): Hey everyone. My mental health's getting a little bit better. These past few weeks I've had some depression/anxiety episodes but I think I might be on the better end of it now? I will say that the stories I post may be more spread out over time (I had a lot of this already written before I made the tumblr account, and I haven't had the time/energy to write more of the story. So like...idk thank you for your patience and understanding? anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)

Summary: Thanks to the Weasleys, you start to recover from the attack at the world cup

Word Count: 2,229

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, reader has a bit of a ptsd attack, also things get a little bit spicy but nothing nsfw.

TAGS!: @aliiiyyaaah @superblyspeedydragon @bamboozledflamplant

***

Someone was moving you. Everything was spinning. Mudblood. Mood. Blood. Mud and blood filled your mouth, swirling with bile and spit. Spit. Something smelled terrible, you smelled terrible. Reeking.

You felt a hand on your cheek. The pain stabbed across your face like a knife.

You bolted upright.

And screamed.

“Hey, hey hey hey it’s alright,” you heard George’s (or was it Fred’s?) voice through your ragged and panicked breaths, his hand placed gently on your back, “(y/n), we’re safe now, we’ve made it home.”

You finally looked around, you were on the couch in the burrow’s living room.

“Home?” You asked. You looked up, George was rubbing your back and Fred was sitting on the arm of the seat, eyes flitting back and forth between looking at you and down at his hands with what appeared to be shame. You looked back at the rest of the room, where the others had managed to find room standing and watching you, Harry and Ron stone-faced, Ginny with her jaw clenched, Hermione appeared to be on the brink of tears, Mr. Weasley looked awfully serious, and Mrs. Weasely was holding her muddied and bloodied hand to her chest, a damp rag in the hand at her side and fear on her face.

You felt your face gingerly, most of the caked on mud and blood had been smudged off, except for the grime around the large bruised and scarred lump on your face.

“Yeah, home,” George nodded again with a smile, “How are you feeling?”

You held your head in your hands, “Who was that?” You felt your eyes well up as you sat up more and looked down at the rest of your body, you were still covered in mud, and there appeared to be a boot print right in the middle of your shirt.

“Death Eaters,” Harry piped up from the back, “Voldemort’s followers. They stormed the campgrounds and-” He stopped, looking at you, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, and it took you a second to realize you were crying, the salty tears stinging the wound on your face.

“Oh it’s alright Harry,” you interrupted yourself with a shaky breath, “I don’t mind, keep talking-”

But Mrs. Weasley interrupted you, “Alright everyone, I think it’s best we give her some space. I’ll come back in a bit to help clean you up more, sweetie. Get some rest.”

The others filed out of the room quietly, but Fred and Geroge stayed beside you in silence, after a moment you sighed and bit back a smile. “I don’t suppose I look any better than either of you now, eh?” You chuckled, but it came out more like a twisted sob. George’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulled you into a gentle sideways hug, “I wouldn’t say that. Why, look at Freddy over there, you could hardly believe we shared the same womb! He’s hideous!” He chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder. You let out a wince at the pressure and he frowned, turning to you, “you’re in pretty bad shape, (y/n), but I doubt it will last. Is there anything we could do to help?

You looked back down at your crusted and soiled shirt, “A change of clothes would be helpful. And cleaning up doesn’t sound like the worst idea either.” you smiled, or at least offered what you could manage of a smile without hurting your face, “I’ll go get my clothes-” You started trying to get off the couch with a long and pained groan. Everything hurt, your stomach, your legs, your hand. And Merlin, you could barely move your wrist without tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

George seemed to catch on, and he carefully eased you back onto the couch, “I’ll go get you a change of clothes. Stay here, alright?” he stroked the back of your head for a moment before getting up and leaving.

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment before nuding him with your foot, “Oi, I don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since...well, I can’t remember.”

“(y/n)...I’m so sorry this happened.” He said, looking up at you hesitantly.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re both here now, yeah?” you shifted in your spot on the couch, leaning forward as you tried to maintain eye contact, but he only looked away again.

“No, no (y/n) it’s not alright. I shouldn’t have let you out of my reach. I shouldn’t have let the crowd separate us, I should have forced my way back sooner-” his voice was dead serious, something that you hadn’t thought was possible before now.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for this,” your voice was a little uneasy, you could feel it as you tried to keep your breathing steady, “Because I’m fine now. We’re home, you heard your brother-”

“No, but (y/n) you’re not fine!” he snapped, standing up and gesturing to your body in one big sweep of his arm, “They were going to kill you! And whose fault would that have been? It wouldn’t have been yours I can tell you that!”

“Freddie,” George’s voice was stern as he returned to the room, a change of clothes in hand, “Go get some things to clean up. What’s done is done and we can only start moving forward. I don’t think either of you are in a state to start pointing fingers,” He walked towards you on the couch as Fred went off to the kitchen, his hands balled into fists.

George knelt down beside you, brushing the hair from your forehead and dabbing at your lingering tears with the edge of his sleeve. “How are you feeling?” he asked, holding his hand under your chin carefully and examining your face.

“A bit banged up, surprisingly,” you quipped. You paused, looking down at the clothes in his hand, “So...should I change?” You looked back up at him, a bit embarrassed by your current lack of mobility.

“Oh! Yeah,” he agreed with a bit of a start, “You can’t quite be up and about right now, huh?” He glanced around the room before snatching the blanket off the back of the couch and holding it up in front of him as a curtain between you two, “I swear on Fred’s life I’m not going to move this until you say you’re done, and I will scream bloody murder if anyone walks in,” He delcared in what you assumed was a mock-stoic voice from the other side of the blanket.

You began to peel off your muddied pants and slide your sore legs into the new pair. It wasn’t until after you had them on that you realized how this unfamiliar stripey pair fit quite loose, “These aren’t mine?” you mumbled to yourself, and from the other side of the blanket you could hear George clear his throat.

“I uh...couldn’t figure out how to open your trunk so I..grabbed a pair of my pajamas. I promise they’re clean. I can get you yours later it was just...short notice and I didn’t want to be a bother-”

“It’s alright,” you assured him as you started to lift your shirt over your head, “At least they're clean- OW!” you felt a screaming pain stab it’s way through your wrist after you had managed to get one arm out of your sleeve.

“Are you ok?” His voice was nervous, and you saw the blanket shift beside your head-

“Oi!” You almost shouted, “Watch the blanket!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” you heard him mumble as the blanket lifted up a little bit, “I guess we’ll call it even from this morning.”

You had managed to carefully wrangle your way out of your shirt and pull one of the sleeves of George’s shirt before it dawned on you, “Oh Merlin, did you see me? Just now?” Your stomach twisted as you shrugged on the second sleeve and looked at the open front of the shirt, “Damn buttons.”

“If it’s any comfort, I only saw your shoulder. And I looked away as soon as I saw-” He stammered out nervously, as you gave the buttons down your front a calculated stare.

“Just...never bring this up again, yeah?” You muttered mostly to yourself before your first attempt at buttoning up your shirt. But your try was unsuccessful, pain twisting the muscles and bone in your wrist as your right hand went to try and help the button through the hole. You let out a faint gasp of pain, and from the other side of the blanket you heard George shift his stance awkwardly.

“Do you need any help?” he piped up from his side.

You paused, sighing as you carefully moved the shirt to cover your front without buttoning it, “If I must. But if you try to pull something then so help me Godric the second I get my wand back you’re dead.” He let the blanket fall to the floor and his hands flew up to his face, squinting through his fingers. It was clear he was trying to lighten the mood as he perched himself on the edge of the couch. You chuckled at his efforts and reached for one of his hands with your good one, placing his fingertips on the buttons of his shirt, “You don’t have to do it with your eyes closed, dimwit.”

George smirked, opening his eyes slightly and making it clear he was staring directly at the buttons he was fastening, “Y’know, I don’t usually do this for folks,” he smiled looking back up at you with a dramatic wink. His eyes stayed latched to yours as he worked his way up the trail of buttons, making a point to not stare at your chest.

“Oh? This isn’t a regular occurrence between you and your roommates? You don’t sit in a circle helping each other tie your ties each morning? You don’t fix Fred’s hair and make sure Lee’s robes are nice and straight?”

George laughed, “Keeping Lee’s robes straight is Fred’s job.”

“Well someone ought to tell him he’s not doing a very good job of it, Lee’s robes wouldn’t stay smooth unless he used a charm,” you sighed, a weak smile lingering on your face.

“Oh! That reminds me,” George reached into his pocket and pulled out your wand, “managed to get it out without a scratch!” He tucked it into your messed-up hair and smiled, “Good as new!” His hand lingered on the side of your face, carefully touching the area around the swollen and bruised gash for just a moment, “You don’t look that bad, really. A little roughed up but give it some soap, water, magic, and time, you’ll be back to your wonderfully-faced self,” his voice was encouraging, but your thoughts had drifted off to elsewhere.

“Oh my god, you took on a Death Eater.” You blurted out, eyes widening, “Are you ok? Did he get you at all? Are you alright?” Your hand reached for his face, there was a scratch just below his cheek bone but other than that and a few smudges of mud he appeared fine,

“I’m alright, (y/n), really,” he patted your hand.

“Oi, I got you out of there too, y’know.” Fred interrupted from the doorway, “Where’s the worry for me?”

“Oh my god, Fred!” Your voice was startled as you scrambled off the couch and stumbled across the floor over to him. He had just barely managed to set down the bowl of water and sponge before you practically collapsed in his arms, “are you alright? What on earth were you two thinking? Running into danger like that? You could have gotten yourselves killed!” You winced at the pain pulsing through your body, but you only hugged Fred tighter. After a second you let out a muffled sob into his chest and you could feel his arms wrap around you, patting your back.

“But it’s alright,” you heard him whisper, “You said it yourself, we’re home,” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and you could feel another body hug you from behind.

“We’re here, (y/n). Now c’mon, it’s late and you should get some sleep,” You felt George lean down and kiss your cheek before helping you shuffle back to the couch and wipe the last bit of mud from your face.

***

You woke up the next morning feeling sore, but minimal agony in comparison to the night before. As you opened your eyes, you realized you were face-to-chest with one of the twins. You figured the two of you had slept on the couch the night before. As you poked your head out from behind his shoulder, you saw the other twin asleep in the chair. Neither of the boys had changed their clothes from yesterday, and you looked down to see the large gold “G” against a green sweater, with its sleeves wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“Mmm, (y/n), are you up?” George murmured, his eyes not opening.

You smiled softly at his warm embrace, “No George, go back to sleep,” you whispered, laying down again with your head against his shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he nodded, barely awake as he pulled you closer and nuzzled his face into your hair with a sleepy sigh.

#fred and goerge weasley #fred wealsey fic #fred x you #fred x y/n #fred weasly x reader #fred x reader #fred weasley #george x you #george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #george x y/n #george x reader #george weasley

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