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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CXXXVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Book 6 was beyond complicated to write due to some artistic choices I made lmao but again I do hope you guys like it even if I don’t feel it was perfect bc I enjoyed how most of it turned out -Danny

Words: 4,005

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Listen to: ‘The Black and White’ -by The Band CAMINO.

Chapter Thirty-Five: A Prophecy.

Harry walked back to his chair and sat down heavily.

"Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. I considered it almost a miracle when Emily agreed to move in next door so she could keep an eye on you..."

Even though Lord Voldemort perished that night in Godric's Hollow, his followers continue to hunt down answers for months, neither Harry nor Mel would've been safe in the wizarding world.

"You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died —and your father too, Mel— to save you. They gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood, Harry. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love me. She doesn't give a damn —"

"But she took you. She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you. And as for you, Mel, you were just a baby, therefore Voldemort's followers couldn't tell if you were as skilled as your dad. It was only until last year when Voldemort realized you were hiding great power."

"I still don't —"

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, Harry, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years."

"My mother isn't a Dumbledore," Mel frowned. "If that's what kept Harry safe, living with his aunt, then why did I only meet you after I turned eleven?"

"You were a direct descendant from my brother and not me, you weren't in danger as much as Harry. Once I found out about your outbursts I talked to him, I knew you'd need his protection... I'm afraid his guilt stopped him. I've been taking his place, having you come into my office for a weekly lesson as a way to make sure you would be both, protected, while also learning to defend yourself."

Harry came into a new realization.

"You sent that Howler. You told my aunt to remember — it was your voice —"

"I thought that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son."

"It did. Well — my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she — she said I had to stay. But what's this got to do with..."

"Five years ago, then, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well."

The memory of that small boy came to her. He didn't look much different from the Harry sitting beside her, except perhaps, for the way his gaze had darkened.

He'd always known Harry and Mel would eventually be hunted, and he'd made sure they'd be ready. Dumbledore had a plan from the moment they set a foot in the castle. She wondered exactly how much of everything happened accidentally, and how much had been planned.

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby? Ought I to have told you then? You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age, just like I refused to tell Mel about the rumours surrounding our family."

'The knowledge would be too much at such a young age'. Now, after four years, Mel felt weaker than when she was eleven. Somehow thinner, and far more fragile.

"Do you see? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't —"

"I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act."

Mel visibly deflated, a new wave of hurt crashing against her heart.

"So it's true, then?" She asked. "Caring only makes us weak?"

"My dear, I defy anyone who has watched you as I have —and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined — not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a pair of young souls on my hands..."

Mel had held something similar whenever she would reach out to kiss Harry, and nothing else in the world mattered when they were alone together... but after the third task, they were always so alone.

"...You came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself... you, Mel, gave away part of your own life, selflessly risking your own well-being just for the frail chance to see Harry again, and I did not tell you, because to tell you after having almost lost each other in such a way would've been beyond cruel, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon.

And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all."

"...I still don't understand," Harry responded, though now his voice was a bit more quiet and fearful.

Dumbledore admitted what they already knew: Voldemort tried to kill him because of the prophecy, and he'd tried to stop it before it could be fulfilled. Now, years after and once again in a proper body, Voldemort set his mind on hearing the whole thing, looking for a way to end it.

The sun was fully out now, and as he finished, Mel felt the first glimmer of hope peering through.

"Mel broke the prophecy," Harry said quietly. "She crushed it against the ground..."

She closed her injured hand tightly without caring about the sharp pain that shot up to her elbow.

"I knew we could get rid of it."

"How?" Harry frowned. "How could you know?"

"Because that orb was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly," Dumbledore explained, looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes.

"Who heard it?" asked Harry, though he already knew the answer.

"I did. On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."

As Dumbledore stood up to retrieve something from a cabinet, Mel continued her story.

"That was the reason why my uncle knew what Voldemort was looking for," She swallowed harshly. "As soon as that thing broke I recognized the figure. How could I not? We've been seeing her for three years..."

Dumbledore came back holding the Pensieve, he put the tip of his wan on one temple and pulled, Mel stood up abruptly.

"Maybe I shouldn't be here to hear it."

"You've earned your place in this conversation," Dumbledore replied. "Your life is linked to Harry's, is only fair for you to hear it too... that way you'll be able to make an informed decision."

"Only if he agrees."

She was used to Harry keeping her at a proper distance from his doings, nevertheless, Harry grabbed her wrist.

"Sit down... please."

Before she could reply a figure rose from the Pensieve, there stood a small version of Sibyll Trelawney with a voice Mel had only imagined thanks to Harry's tales from two years ago:

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES... BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES... AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT... AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES..."

Professor Trelawney vanished slowly.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said after a moment. "It... did that mean... What did that mean?"

"It meant... that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

"It means — me?"

Dumbledore eyed both teenagers carefully before speaking.

"The odd thing is, Harry, that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to three babies, one of them being Mel."

"What?"

"I thought it was meant to be Matthew's baby," He sighed, "an Auror and a Dumbledore... but alas, you were born at the start of the month — and you were a girl. There were still two more babies in line. Both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?"

"The official record was relabeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child. It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring."

"Then — it might not be me?"

"I am afraid that there is no doubt that it is you."

"But you said — Neville was born at the end of July too — and his mum and dad —"

"You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort... Voldemort himself would 'mark him as his equal.' And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong! He might have marked the wrong person!"

"He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him. And notice this, Harry. He chose, not the pureblood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing), but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

In her mind, an alternate life started to take form: Mel as the orphan, Harry's parents alive and well, it was her the one facing death every time...

Then poor scarred Neville, while Mel and Harry lived surrounded by their families, perhaps even together. The fact that the only reason why Harry was the chosen one was a matter of gender and dates...

"Why did he do it, then? Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then — or even Mel... She's a Dumbledore — She's the strongest!"

"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course, except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head Inn, which Sibyll chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sibyll Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My — our — one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So he only heard..?"

"He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. And once Mel was born at the start of July as a girl, and you a boy, this only narrowed it down to his apparent advantage. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not' —"

"But I don't! I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or — or kill them —"

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore replied carefully, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all.

That power is what has aided Mel to know if you're in danger and allowed her to help, that power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you. So you see, Mel," He added, "caring it's never useless."

"The end of the prophecy... it was something about... 'neither can live...' "

"'... while the other survives,' " Dumbledore concluded.

"So... so does that mean that... that one of us has got to kill the other one... in the end?"

"Yes."

They stayed silent for the longest time, Mel found her voice at the same time as her courage.

"Okay," She spoke. "We just have to make sure you're the one that lives."

Dumbledore's face hinted at a smile, but it did not form fully. Harry stared at her like the thought of surviving was next to impossible.

"I feel I owe you two other explanations," said Dumbledore carefully. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as prefects? I must confess that I rather thought both of you had enough responsibility to be going on with..."

Mel let out a dry chuckle, Harry just sighed.

"The second and final... is about the decision you ought to take."

"What decision?"

"Your lifeline," He started, "I've been reading about it since the third task... It's called Unio Azoth — A universal cure for any kind of injury, you heal with life itself, and it's always effective. However, not many people dare use it because it demands great sacrifice from both sides of the connection. It's created through highly complex magic, or it can happen, as it was your case, after multiple shared near-death experiences," He paused. "It can also be removed."

There was a split second in which the students didn't know how to react.

"You're saying," Mel started. "We've been hurting each other for a whole year — and you hid this from us?"

"You were on bad terms after the tournament, the removal can only happen if both sides consent, and you were holding onto it tightly, Mel."

"Is it dark magic?" Harry asked abruptly. "Our connection?"

Dumbledore took another long look at him.

"I believe that what you're trying to ask is if it's damaging for any of you," He replied. "Which is something that depends on the circumstances. There have been moments your connection has improved your lives, but it's also damaged you physically to a great extent. You're asking a question only you can answer, Harry."

"This could've fixed everything between us," Mel felt her anger increasing. "And you just let us argue instead? Why?"

"It was your impulsive actions that kept me from speaking, I couldn't risk one of you trying to cut it without the other knowing, it would've resulted in tragedy."

"We would've acted differently if only we’d known! The reason why we fought was because of how guilty Harry felt about putting me through extra pain — We could've just cut the damn thing — You thought I would've just decided to abandon him?"

"Isn't that what you were attempting this year?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"Harry and I couldn't stop fighting, I was tired — I had to keep my distance," Mel stood up. "He spent a whole year drowning in guilt thinking we couldn't change things —"

"When I found out it could be removed," Dumbledore's voice came out just as firm as hers. "You were already far too traumatized. Losing this would've felt like losing a limb. You weren't ready to make a choice then, but I can't keep you in the dark any longer, you have the whole picture now, so you can make an informed decision, but I must ask you to think —"

"I don't need to think it over," Mel said, but Harry spoke at the same time.

"I want to keep it."

"What?" She looked at him in disbelief.

Harry stared at her.

"It's thanks to this that I knew you were having panic attacks, you've saved my life many times now, I owe you — and it doesn't have to hurt, you can control it, I just need to learn how to do it too!"

"You've been nagging me about how much of a burden this was and suddenly you cling to it as if it were a blessing?" She narrowed her eyes.

"It's just..." His jaw tensed. "It works both ways — if I give it up and Voldemort takes you... I can't leave you to deal with it alone, you'd do the same for me. You've already done it."

Mel shook her head, speechless.

"The decision is yours to make..." Dumbledore concluded. "You have until next term to tell me, and then we'll do whatever you please."

They were walking side by side without speaking. She did not wish to fight, and she felt like it would happen if they were to bring up... well, everything.

"I'm sorry," He muttered.

"I don't want to hear it. I'm to blame as much as you are. I ignored you — Dumbledore's right, knowing would've tricked us into thinking we could deal with it on our own, it would've killed us... I've been selfish enough this year to know I would've felt tempted to try and cut it on my own. I won't admit it in front of him, though..."

"You weren't —"

"I don't want to have this conversation," She stopped walking. "Everyone thinks I'm like my father or my uncle... and I'm not. When I was with you I was just Mel... whoever that's supposed to be. When we fought I got lost — you said awful things to me, but you were the only one who wasn't treating me like some overpowered freak..."

"I can't promise we won't fight in the future, but there are worse things than disagreeing and the thought of dying without telling you that I..." He came to a halt, voice breaking.

They wanted to talk about so many things, and yet Mel felt like they would never get to say anything at all.

"You know," She said softly. "We've gone through so much already... and it's hard, looking at you and having to pretend I can continue like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm feeling so alone, Harry," She forced the words out of her. "I miss you."

She'd almost been murdered that night, treated like a ragdoll, and traumatized until there was no safe place in her world. Still, nothing made her feel quite as vulnerable and tiny as Harry's understanding of her, the way he knew every single corner of her mind as if it were his own.

Harry gazed at her with hurt, he clenched his jaw and shook his head lightly. She was ready to watch him leave when suddenly, he hugged her.

Mel was having trouble breathing against his shoulder but her arms kept him close, one hand made its way up to the back of his head while the other went to the middle of his back. He was a few inches taller than her, but she still felt like they were a perfect fit.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled against her hair, and Mel knew he wasn't just talking about Sirius.

"Me too," She closed her eyes tightly. "We'll find a way through this... together."

Next Chapter —>

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#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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mojofun · 4 years

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Good Friends Will Be Stupid Together (Chris Evans x OC)

Hello people; this is an entry for another writing chllenge I participated in. The prompt was “Good friends don’t let you do stupid things together”; let’s see how the king of dorks and OC handle the tension. I wanted to tag @lebakedbeaute and, also, give a shoutout to @kitkatd7 for the many funny and wonderful prompts in this challenge. I hope you enjoy this story 😊

Warnings: gets a little cheeky in the end, but nothing graphic

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Emerson groaned, bringing a hand to her head when it throbbed painfully. Blurred memories all came back in full force, making her feel dizzy; she fell back on the pillow with a huff.

All of a sudden the lights came on; she covered her eyes with her hands, hissing in pain

<<Sorry babe, but I couldn’t see anything>>

That voice.

Once a sign she was dreaming, now straight from her nightmares. As soon as the blaring lights grew dimmer, she removed her protection and blinked to focus on the indistinct figure that stood by the door. It took her a while, but she could eventually distinguish the unkempt blond hair and his omnipresent smile that made her insides flip.

Damn, she thought. Of course, I had to make a fool of myself in front of him

She slapped herself mentally a thousand times

<<How are you feeling, Em?>> His thick accent made the butterflies in her stomach stir to life, though in her conditions it was remarkably similar to the need of throwing up that she was adamantly suppressing

I’m not about to make this situation even worse

<<Like I ran into a train head-on>>

He chuckled lightly, handing her a glass of water and something fizzy

<<What’s that?>>

<<Drink it, it will make you feel better>>

<<But->>

<<Just drink it>>

<<Oh, right, I forgot I was talking with the king of hangovers>>

The man cackled again

<<Snarky even after a whole night spent drinking; you’re something else, babe>>

<<Stop calling me that>> She muttered, forcing a sip of the concoction down her throat; it made her stomach even more upset, but she held on to the last sliver of her dignity

<<No can do, babe>> He took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and walked to the door <<Sleep Em, you need it. Goodni->>

<<Good morning, rather>>

<<Whatever, talk to you later>>

<<Sure. Thanks, Chris>>

Once left to her own devices, Emerson felt her head buzz with an unhealthy amount of thinking for someone so hungover as her.

It was nothing new, though- the thinking part.

The drinking had been for a while her last resort into the most lethal curse known to humanity: unrequited feelings.

You drama queen

Shut up brain. Why are you so active now when you can’t function properly around him?

That snarky comeback was enough to shut up her subconscious, but she kept thinking hard.

Chris had been her best friend for years, and she always had a crush on him. Nothing unmanageable, but it was there.

The problems began a few months earlier when he asked her to accompany him to a family event- not as a date, her mind reminded her.

Emerson sighed, skimming through the memories with a wistful smile: he’d been so caring, so damn sweet that night, holding doors and even giving her his jacket when they left. It had been such a damn perfect evening that she’s almost leaned in to kiss him when they reached her apartment.

To this day, she thanked whatever guardian angel stopped her, though a part of her wanted to know what he tasted like, what it would feel like to be in his strong arms as their lips met

<<Fuck>> She groaned, sinking even deeper in the pillows- wait, pillows?

Yes, there was definitely more than one

Chris really thought of everything, damn him; as if I’m not in love enough already

Sleep came sooner than she hoped, and she was immensely grateful for that: it was the only time her mind let her enjoy some peace and quiet.

Outside the door Chris leaned against the wall, sighing deeply. The major crush he’d developed on his best friend was anything but good.

He cursed himself daily for being such a fool, but there was nothing he could do: Emerson was just too beautiful, too funny, too sweet, too… Too perfect.

He sighed again; he needed to learn how to live knowing he’d only ever be her best friend.

________________________________________________________________

<<Good morning, princess>>

Chris’s way-too-cheerful voice greeted her the next morning when she finally emerged from her bedroom

<<Hi>>

<<How are you?>>

<<Good, thanks; the headache passed>>

<<Awesome. Want some breakfast?>> <<N->> <<I made pancakes>>

The woman stilled, brushing her black hair out of her face, fixing her caramel eyes on him with a pout <<Damn you>>

<<You know you love me, princess>> He joked, pulling the chair out for her. When she was seated, he handed her a tall stack of pancakes with an insane amount of syrup, just the way she liked them

You don’t even know how true that is, Chris

<<Thank you>>

<<You’re welcome>>

The small smile he gave her was enough to make her blush.

He let her eat in peace, going as far as to bring her a glass of orange juice directly at the table. When she was done though, he became serious

<<Emerson?>>

She flinched

I know that tone: dad-Chris-mode is on

She fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt- not hers; she’d… Commandeered it from the blond a while earlier. He didn’t know, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The knowledge that he’d changed her made her cheeks even redder, but she said nothing about it

<<Yes?>>

<<Can we talk?>>

<<Sure; you know you don’t need to ask me>>

<<Actually, this is about you>>

I knew it

<<Uh, ok. What’s up?>>

His gaze grew stern, his lips no longer curled in a smile

<<I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, Em. You’ve been acting… Weird, for a while now>>

Oh fuck

<<Weird? What do you mean? I’m always weird>>

Those words forced a smile on his lips; it was small, but it was something, and it brought a smile on her face too

<<Yes, but you’re a nice weird, wonderful even>>

Stop it, you dork

<<Recently though, it’s been more of a bad weird>>

<<Bad? In what way?>>

As if you don’t know, her brain reprimanded her. You’ve been humiliating yourself even more than you normally do, and that’s saying something

Shut up

Chris’s baby blue eyes stared at her gravely

<<Do you remember almost leaving the club with that guy yesterday night?>>

His tone was displeased, and she knew she deserved. Guilt ate at her, but back then it had been the only way she found to cope with everything

<<Yeah, I do>>

<<He could have hurt you, Emerson. You didn’t know him>>

<<I’m aware of that. By the way, thanks for saving me>>

Another small smile appeared on his gorgeous face

<<Good friends don’t let you do stupid things>>

She laughed

<<Really? I thought that’s all we do together>>

He joined her laughter, reclining back on the couch; seeing his arm inevitably reach out to touch whatever was next to him, just like he always did, made her grin fondly

Damn you, dork; how are you so adorable?

<<That may be true, but Em>> He became serious again <<I’m worried about you. Why would you do something like that? It’s so unlike you>>

<<I… I don’t want to talk about it>>

<<Em, please. You->>

<<I said I don’t want to!>> The young woman barked, looking away the moment she saw confusion and hurt on his face <<Please. I don’t want to>>

<<Babe, you’re making me worry>>

<<You don’t need to. It’s my fault, I’m the one who’s been stupid enough to->> She barely caught herself in time <<Never mind>>

<<Dammit, Emerson>> Chris pleaded, standing up from the couch and kneeling in front of her <<Talk to me; you know you can tell me anything>>

Seeing him like that cut her breath short; her brain galloped miles per minute, transporting the kneeling man into an entirely different universe in her imagination…

She cringed, gritting her teeth and stomping her foot

<<Em! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?>>

The female stopped moving, staring into his azure eyes that held so much more affection than she felt she deserved, and yet…, It was not the kind of affection she wanted

Ever the selfish fiend, her subconscious cried out.

Her restraint was dangerously close to snapping.

As soon as their eyes met again, she gave in ad cradled his face with her hands

<<Babe, what->> He couldn’t finish that sentence because she pressed her lips against his; while her eyes closed, his stayed wide open.

It only lasted for a moment, but she relished it. However, seeing him so taken aback when she opened her eyes again made realisation dawn on her, and she felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her immediately

<<Fuck. Chris, I- Fuck. Excuse me>> She stood up so fast that he almost toppled over and she ran past him, headed toward the door.

At that moment, he realised what was going on. She liked him, and she thought he didn’t reciprocate: that’s why she’d been so strange as of late.

He had to stop her

<<Emerson, get back here>>

She ignored him

<<For crying out loud Emerson, come back now!>>

A hand slammed on the door before she could open it, while a muscled arm wrapped around her waist

<<Let me g->>

His lips on hers interrupted her speech; this time her eyes were blown wide, while the man closed his to better enjoy the sensations the kiss gave him. Finally, after a while, he pulled away; she blinked at him in puzzlement

<<What…>>

<<As I said before, good friends don’t let you do stupid things. Well, not alone>>

That reply made her laugh, and he held her tight while she shook her head in amusement. He guided her to the couch, wrapping his arms around her when she sat down

<<Em?>>

<<Yes?>>

<<Did you… Did you mean it?>>

<<The kiss? Yes, honey; it was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done->> Chris snorted, earning himself a swat on the chest as they laughed <<But I meant it completely. Luckily, good friends don’t let you do stupid things alone>>

The blonde snickered and pecked her lips

<<Is that all we are? Good friends?>>

<<I still want to be your best friend, Chris, but I wouldn’t be opposed to, let’s say, exploring other dimensions to or relationship as well>>

<<When you put it that way…>>

He leaned closer to her.

Finally, both of them closed their eyes to fully enjoy the kiss.

Putting themselves out there might actually be the stupidest thing they’d ever done, but they were grateful it happened; so grateful.

--------------- Extra -----------------

<<Chris?>> Emerson called

<<Yes, princess?>>

<<Can we, you know… Do more stupid things together?>>

The blond actor cackled: seeing her like that only made her more adorable in his eyes. He pecked his cheek while she ran her hands on his chest

<<More stupid things…

As in a greater number or, you know… Sillier than this?>>

She beamed at him, chortling softly at her dumb joke. Then, her expression changed. The salacious smirk on her plump lips cut his breath short. She grabbed him by the shirt and whispered, pulling him closer

<<I was thinking you, actually>>

The last thing the blond actor remembered was picking her up and hurrying down the corridor in a flurry of clothes.

The TV show they planned on watching would have to wait.

#kits250challenge #writing challenge #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x ofc #chris evans image #chris evans fanf #friends in love #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fluff #chris evans fic

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arthurmorganismycowdad · 5 years

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A/N: ok hi I wrote this listening to my Arthur playlist so like. It gets emotional. I decided to give my idea of what the whole, Arthur returning to Isaac and Eliza to find two crosses in their place thing. Details to keep in mind: I imagine Arthur to have been around 21 when he and Eliza had Isaac, which would make him 25 in this. I also included a tiny tiny part of an oc called Annie, but she’s literally just a memory so she’s really not that significant. Just a heads up for any confusion! Enjoy!

It was muscle memory at this point. The ride to the house just in the corner of the woods. The trail between trimmed shrubs and branches that created an arch above it, almost like it was welcoming him into its grasp. It was a pretty house, too, no doubt. Folk wondered how Eliza Holliday, the sweet, quiet barmaid could afford something like it. She had been living with her parents in their tiny little shack in town, when all of a sudden word spread that the house in question was bought by her. It was strange enough that she could afford it, a girl her age, and even stranger that she’d occupy it alone. Folk couldn’t make sense of it.

No one linked it to the heist. The answer to their question was right in front of them, clear as day, but no one could think sweet little Eliza could be responsible for the robbery at the mayor’s house, during a party at that. It didn’t even enter their mind.

It wasn’t her. Arthur, however, the same can’t be said for. No amount of persuasion could have made Dutch and Hosea part with such funds, so he reckoned he’d get it himself. With the help of Annie, Eliza’s strange friend, the possibilities were endless. She was a brave girl, Annie. Did more for Eliza than Arthur even knew. Made her smile when she felt down. Planned the Mayor Heist. Died for her. Arthur was forever indebted to Annie. A brave, strong girl. Braver than he could ever be, he imagined. To think, she ran with a gang he was supposed to hate. Their leader was out for Dutch’s blood. Annie may be gone, but the leader she turned on wasn’t. She won that fight.

Her name was Willy, which is odd. She wasn’t a fan of Wilhelmina, according to Annie. She was a good leader at some point. Raised Annie from when she was a little girl. Willy found her wandering around, Annie only 8 years old, looking for Dutch. They both had the same mission even then, only with very different reasons. Willy wanted Dutch dead. Annie was looking for her uncle, at the wishes of her dead mother. Willy worked her magic and did so for 10 more years, turning Annie away from her old idea of Dutch. Her mother’s idea of him. Manipulating her into thinking she was the best parent for her. Annie’s story was a wild one, but she had a kind heart. Right to the end.

Arthur still thought about her. It was impossible not to. Eliza loved her, he knew that much. And Annie loved her right back. The last thing she said to him before she faced Willy one last time was to keep Eliza and the baby safe. He hadn’t even been born yet, and Annie was already looking out for him.

Eliza wasn’t the same after Arthur returned to the house with Annie on the back of it, wrapped up in cloth from head to toe. He understood full well how she felt about her. It was fair, too. He knew he wasn’t in love with Eliza. And she wasn’t in love with him. Both had different people on their mind, and both needed each other to hide that pain.

He didn’t want to think about Mary. Eliza and Arthur weren’t romantic anymore, if they ever really were. They were close, though, and she always encouraged him to talk. She was good at that. And it sure was refreshing to have someone listen. Dutch and Hosea meant the world to him, as did Bessie and Annabelle, but he never felt he could mention Mary around them. He didn’t want them to think he was a fool. He already thought it about himself.

He always got lost in thought on this ride. It was a nice area, full of birds singing and wind rustling the trees. He was glad Isaac was going to grow up somewhere as nice as this. His own childhood wasn’t something he wanted to throw on his own son. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want him constantly moving with the gang, and why he and Annie bought the house for Eliza. He deserved a settled childhood, away from the life of an outlaw. A normal life. If Arthur couldn’t have it himself, he’d make sure his son could.

He didn’t like being away from them. He promised to visit for Isaac’s fourth birthday, which would mean 2 visits that month. That promise couldn’t be kept, which broke Arthur up inside. Trelawny messed up information he had on a job, and it led to the gang hiding out in a barn for a week. So now, a week late, Arthur was surprising them.

His favourite part was hearing the cheer Isaac let out when Eliza would call for him. He was growing so fast, it was like he defied the laws of time. He was a curious kid, too, always running around the garden and getting intrigued by the smallest things. Eliza told him the boy had stared at a blade of grass for 20 minutes, totally amazed. She reckoned he’d be a drawer some day, just like his Pa. it was probably the only trait Arthur wanted to pass down.

He was nearing it now, just about to turn the corner towards the final trail to the house. He imagined the smile on Isaac’s face as he hopped off the horse and ran to hug him. His little boy. God. He never thought he’d get to say that. And Eliza. He was lucky to have her in his life. So damn lucky. There was a love there, even if it wasn’t romantic. They cared for each other very much. Their little family of three.

The horse slowed as the house came into sight, and Arthur prepared his big announcement of his presence. Unconsciously, a smile was forming on his face. He missed them more than he knew. He was finally here. The beautiful house that meant so much to him. The trees that surrounded it making it look like something out of a fairytale. The crisp white paint that was still as bright as the day he painted it. The porch he sat at with his little family and watched the stars on.

A wooden cross. A second cross, right beside it.

The smile dissolved, and was replaced with confusion. He urged the horse to stop, pulling the rains and hopping off. A name was carved into each cross.

In an instant, he was back on the horse, riding back through the trail, that once seemed like something out of a dream. Now it was a nightmare, as branches reached for him and leaves begged him to stay. The wind howled instead of lightly whistling, and the shrubs seemed to close in on each other. He had to go. He had to find them.

The town wasn’t far from the house. Passers-by jumped as he dashed through it, towards the saloon where it all began. She would be in there, standing at the bar like she was that night, a smile on her face. Isaac would be there too this time, running around the saloon or playing on the counter. There would be an explanation. They’d be ok.

The music came to an abrupt halt as he burst into the room, throwing the wooden flaps open and stopping where he stood. Mickey stood at the bar, drying a glass. The second he saw Arthur, his face paled. The boy was red in the face and tears were already streaming down his face. His breath was hitching as he stood there, waiting for the saloon-owner to tell

him.

‘Arthur...’ he began.

‘Where are they?’ he said, his words shaking as they left his mouth.

Mickey stared at him, unable to form the next sentence. He was an older man, late fifties. Not only an employer but a friend to Eliza. He was kind to Arthur, too. Didn’t even complain when his presence prompted a shootout in the bar. Mickey was a good man, and knew what he said next would break the boy’s heart.

‘I went to the house and... and...’ began Arthur.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could respond.

‘Where are they, Mickey?’

‘I’m so sorry, Arthur.’

Arthur stood for another moment, breathing heavily, unable to control it. The moment he raised the gun, Mickey threw his hands up. As frightened as he was, he knew the boy was just processing. To hear your world has been taken away isn’t easy.

‘Stop lying to me!’ said Arthur, though it sounded like a whimper now. He wanted so desperately for it to be a lie.

‘Son,’ came a voice behind him. ‘Lower the gun.’

Hosea. Arthur turned to see him, standing with a newspaper in his hand and a look full of sorrow on his face.

‘News got to camp after you left,’ he said. Arthur stared at him, the gun already fallen to his side. The tears had stopped. Now it was just shock. Hosea held the newspaper towards him. He read the words, which barely sunk in, and could only stare. ‘Young mother and child shot dead in Home Robbery’. The saloon matched his silence. His feet slowly moved out the door, stopping when the air from outside hit him. Hosea followed closely behind him. The boy practically fell into his arms, hiding his face in Hosea’s shoulder.

He hadn’t cried like that since he was a child. Hosea only remembered one time, when Arthur was around 15, that he sobbed talking about his mother. It was the first time he really opened up to Hosea. He was a broken person when they first found him. They healed that somewhat, then Mary came along and broke his heart. And he was right back to the broken child they’d found years before. Eliza and Isaac healed that again, only for that to be torn away from him too. Hosea wished it could be different. He wished the life they lived could be better. He wished Arthur could be happy and keep the things that made him that way.

But it just wasn’t like that. And it never would be.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john marston #young arthur morgan #isaac morgan #eliza #hosea matthews #fic #my writing #long post

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