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myfavoriteinvestment · 3 years

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rowaelin month day 1 - can’t help falling in love

prompt: "I just realized I'm desperately in love with you"

Meeting Aelin for the first time, Rowan begrudged that she was beautiful. Arrogant as he could be and incessantly swaggering, but she was beautiful. There was something sweet, and yet so sharp, about her features. His eyes traced them greedily the first, the second, the third time he met her, and even today, as she set her bag next to his in the library and took a seat across from him he couldn't help it. He absorbed every bit of her; golden hair and aquamarine eyes ringed with gold. The small nose, sharp but softened by the sun kissed freckles scattered along it. The cheekbones that framed her face and lips painted a threatening shade of red.

"So, Rowan, what'll it be today?" Aelin asked, pulling out her notebook and flipping her hair over one shoulder. He didn't know it yet, but it was a nervous tic.

"The same as yesterday, Aelin. Calculus." He gave her a long suffering look and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was beautiful, but it didn't make tutoring her any easier.

"No originality." She sighed. "How disappointing."

"Let's just start."

So they began, and Rowan questioned not for the first time why she had bothered asking their teacher for a peer tutor. She was clearly skilled. She knew what she was doing. He worked up the courage and asked for the first time.

"I'm pretty busy," She explained. "I just want to make sure that I'm understanding everything and that I know what I'm doing, you know? Sometimes I'm so tired in class and I just want to make sure I'm getting everything. Sorry if that makes this seem like a waste of time." Rowan shook his head. He admired her dedication to her education. He certainly cared for his own, but not this much.

"No, I don't mind at all. I have hockey, but that doesn't really start for a while."

"Right, right, you're on the hockey team! You just don't seem like it when we're sitting in the library and you're teaching me math, you know?"

"And you don't seem like the type to be aspiring for Julliard, but here we are."

"Shhh!" Aelin exaggerated. "That's a secret!" Rowan looked at her pointedly.

As he opened his mouth to say something, another boy walked up to the table they were sitting at. Rowan recognized him. He was a year younger, in Aelin's grade.

"Chaol! What're you doing here? I'd expect Dorian at the library, but you're usually at the gym." Chaol. That was his name. And Aelin seemed to know him, seemed to be very familiar with him in fact. And who was Dorian. Rowan found that these questions rose no matter how hard he tried to tamp them down.

Chaol's cheeks were coated in a slight blush. "Could I talk to you, just the two of us?"

Did he plan on asking Aelin out? Rowan couldn't deny that no matter how much he ignored it, a part of him hoped that wouldn't happen.

"What do you say tutor? Can the two of us finish for the day?"

The other part knew that was stupid, because that was it really. He was her tutor, and maybe they were friends. Acquaintances probably. It wasn't something he wanted to think too much about. So he mumbled a yes and hoped Aelin heard him, beginning to pack his things.

And he froze, because Aelin kissed him on the cheek. Then ran off with Chaol, behind the bookshelves.

Fuck this, he thought. Fuck the searing heat in the spot her lips had pressed against his skin, fuck the fluttering in his stomach, fuck his uneven heartbeat. Fuck the lipstick smudge on his cheek. Still, he bit his lip hard enough to hurt to hold back he didn't know what. A smile? Maybe.

He stood from their table and then Aelin and Chaol popped back out of the bookshelves. "Guess who has a date?" She sing songed. The lightness in his chest turned sticky and heavy like tar and it became hard to breathe. "Me, stupid. God, don't look at me like that, it's not that confusing!"

"That's- it's nice."

"It's very nice, Rowan, thank you very much. See you tomorrow? I'll tell you all about it after you teach me fancy math, I promise." Aelin smiled and whirled around, walking out of the library with Chaol.

After that, Rowan had no choice but to come to terms with his feelings for Aelin. He didn't just think she was beautiful, she was funny and her wit and swagger was captivating. Conversations with her were entertaining and he noticed the small things she did, like the way she narrowed her eyes when she concentrated or sighed under her breath when she didn't understand.

Tutoring sessions were his time with her, but they became almost unbearable. Chaol stopped by every day within the first hour of their two hour session, dropping off a coffee that he could tell was too bitter and kissing Aelin before going about his own business.

In March, when colleges were sending acceptance letters out, Rowan would be lying if he said Aelin wasn't the first person texted when Yale sent him the letter saying he got it. The next day, Rowan found Aelin at their table, books and papers out, two cups of steaming liquid. She looked up as he set his things down and smiled wide at him.

"How does it feel to know you're going to an Ivy?" She asked, and passed him a cup. He pried off the lid and smiled when the sweet smell of jasmine tea wafted up to him. He preferred it to coffee. Aelin, though was drinking coffee, and he suspected it had far too much sugar for it to be healthy.

"It feels great. And nerve wracking, honestly." He replied. She nodded.

"Yeah, I can see how. I'd be freaked out too if I got into such a prestigious college."

"And maybe you will." He raised his brows. "Julliard?"

She sighed exaggeratedly. "I don't think I'm good enough for Julliard, truthfully."

"Well, apply next year. If only so you can come visit me at Yale." Aelin's face brightened with a mischievous smile.

"If you say so."

They settled into comfortable silence for a bit, and then Rowan started their review for the day. When it had been an hour and a half and Chaol hadn't stopped by yet, he had to ask. "Where's the boyfriend?"

"No longer my boyfriend. Looks like I have to buy my own coffee from now own." She sighed in that dramatic way of hers again. Rowan couldn't help the overwhelming relief that slammed through him. Now he could-

He could what? He could ask her out? Tell her that he knew Chaol had never bothered to properly learn her coffee order because he noticed the way she winced when she sipped the too bitter liquid? Tell her that he knew she was brilliant on the piano, though he'd only heard her play once? That she was beautiful and smart and funny and so, so brilliant, and they'd only have a year together before he left?

He couldn't do it. Or maybe you're afraid, that awful voice everyone had in their head mocked him. Rowan didn't want to admit to that either.

So all he said was, "Oh, I'm sorry." Aelin flashed a smile at him, and it twisted a knife through his gut because it wasn't her swaggering grin. It was gone sooner than it had come. They continued with their session until two hours came to an end and Aelin stood abruptly, leaving the library faster than she did before.

On May 3rd, Aelin turned 17, and Rowan remembered it. He carried her present with him all through the day. It was tucked into a small black box, her name written in gold marker in his quick scrawl. When he sat at their table at the library, he felt like the wait for her had been broken down into each separate millisecond. It was torture on his stomach, his heartbeat pulsing and fluttering in and out of it.

After what felt like decades, Aelin sat down across from him. "Hey Rowan," She smiled at him. In all the time they'd spent together, he had learned all her different smiles. There were the ones that curled at the left side of her mouth and made her shoulders pull back arrogantly. She was sure to start teasing him when her smile pulled slowly, eyes glinting mischievously. When she smiled like that, he couldn't help but grin himself.

But this smile, the one that was pure happiness, simple joy, it was his favorite. She looked at him from across the table and her eyes gleamed with it, sparkling, the shades of turquoise and gold even more vibrant. Aelin furrowed her brows and he realized he'd been staring.

"Happy birthday!" Rowan blurted out.

Aelin's brows rose and she laughed into that beautiful smile of hers and he was knocked breathless again. "Thank you, Rowan."

He reached over into his bag and pulled out the flat black box. "I got you- I don't know if- I figured-"

"Thank you, Rowan," She said again, smiling wider and coming to his side of the table and kneeling next to him so she was just a bit shorter. "Now let me see what's in her."

She traced her fingers over the box, her smile growing softer. "I love your handwriting, you know. I know you think it's messy, and it is, but it's the pretty kind of messy, you know?" She looked over at him and blushed a little. "I love your handwriting." She traced the five letters of her name written in his scrawl again.

And then Aelin opened the box, and she gasped a little. It was simple, he knew that, but most of Aelin's necklaces were, to his notice. It was something she'd be able to wear with most outfits. She pulled the gold chain out of the crushed velveteen it was laid on and looked closer at the turquoise gemstone pendant.

"I- The color, it reminded me of your eyes, so you know..." He trailed off.

She turned to look at him. "I love it, Rowan," and Aelin threw her arms around his neck, red lipstick blurring in the quickness. It was his raging pulse, it was a fiery inferno, it was his urge to kiss her. She was so near, so close to him, lavender and lemon verbena intoxicating him.

And why not? There was nothing to lose.

He pulled back from where his head was pressed to her neck, arms holding her tightly. Rowan wasn't sure whether he moved first or she did. But their mouths were upon each other, softer than he'd thought he would kiss her. But it was soft, it was sweet, it was everything he had wanted to do after sitting across from her all year long.

When Aelin pulled back from his mouth, she huffed a little laugh and rubbed his lips lightly with her thumb. “You’ve got lipstick on your lips now.” She smiled, pressing her forehead into his neck.

Holding her against his body, red lipstick smudged against his lips, standing in the school library, Rowan had never felt so calm. So warm. So happy. And he realized, with a desperate suddenness, he loved the girl in his arms.

“I love you.” He whispered against her hair. And it was peaceful.

#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #angsty #throne of glass #fanfic #day one

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snivellussnoop · 3 years

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He Wished a Lot of Things

A trans Snape/Snupin one-shot (which you can also find here on my AO3 and here on my Wattpad!)

On a side note, why do we only do trans Snape stuff for a single week? Let’s make this bitch year-round.

Word count: 2804

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

He saw them first in his second year as the boy stepped out of the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest entirely exposed. Beneath the long black hair, whose water-dripping tendrils had been strategically placed over his chest, Remus Lupin could have sworn he had just laid his eyes upon two long, red scars.

The image kept him awake at times. He never asked; he knew Severus Snape was touchy to talk to in the first place, and scars — which he knew from personal experience — were even touchier. So he kept himself quiet, feeling different about the boy from then on, wondering about the newfound mystery of him every time their eyes met from across a classroom. But the question remained, and so did the scars.

‘How did you get them?’ he scrawled eventually on a piece of parchment after weeks of grappling with the thought, passing the letter casually across the long table in the Charms room and slipping it under his thin fingers. It took what felt like years to get a simple reply; one in such elegant cursive that his own handwriting looked like aimless ink above it.

‘Get what?’

Such a fruitless answer. But Remus wasn’t expecting much else. He tagged along almost every day as his friends taunted the boy; of course his responses would be slow and guarded.

‘The scars,’ he wrote back, and then, because he knew that Severus was more often injured by others than by accidents, he revised his question. ‘Who did it to you?’

He watched in anticipation as Snape contemplated the words, scribbling something below them but not giving the square of parchment back. The wait was endless. The class was the longest Remus had ever attended.

But he was answered when they left the classroom as the hour marked the end of the lecture, Severus catching him by the door and shoving the piece of paper back into his grip.

“Biology did this to me, Remus,” he said plainly. “Now get out of my way.”

Snape pushed past Lupin, his green-accented robes flowing behind as he hurried down the hall. Remus watched in puzzlement, slowly unfolding the parchment and wondering what the boy’s answer was even supposed to mean. Biology gave him scars? He couldn’t have been born with them; they looked far too fresh.

Looking down at the parchment, Remus gave a small laugh. Severus had taken the past thirty minutes to draw a werewolf in the bottom lefthand corner, tongue lolled out, heart-eyed as it reached up at the moon. The moon, which Remus noted with another charmed giggle, wore a subtle frown in its center.

He didn’t ask about the scars again for years.

—

He saw them again in the courtyard, but really only because he was looking for them. They had faded a lot since Year Two, and he wouldn’t have noticed had he not previously known.

James Potter had picked another brawl with him, and, in embarrassment after realising that he was losing, had hexed the boy’s shirt off. His hair, shoulder-length now, wasn’t long enough to conceal the traces that were left, and Remus found himself staring. Studying. Almost forgetting where he was. He tried to piece together the puzzle of the two faint red lines across Snape’s ribs, following them from left to right, over and over, looped like a scratched record.

And this didn’t go unnoticed. Severus Snape, trying his best not to squirm under the humiliating attention, stared back.

Remus looked away.

—

“Why do you have scars?”

He had found him in the library, sitting in the farthest aisle from the entry, completely empty aside from the two of them and the slight traces of a mild mouse problem.

Severus narrowed his eyes, slipping a ribbon in to mark his current progress in his book and turning around to face Lupin with a look of blank scorn.

“Since when did the lore behind my physical attributes become your affair?” he hissed. “It isn’t difficult to avoid inquiry about a potentially sensitive subject.”

“Mm,” Remus replied, less morally driven than his usual as he remained phlegmatic against the very fair point. “Luckily, the nerves on one’s chest are often not very sensitive at all, causing related issues to not hurt much in the least aside from inward intrusion.”

“Insightful,” Severus replied snarkily, closing his book and tucking it under his arm. “Charming that my skin is so important to you. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were interested.”

He stood up, and Remus, although towering over him in terms of height, felt suddenly very small.

“But I am interested,” he choked out, clearly missing the meaning behind the term. Snape closed his eyes and sighed with a deep and tired sense of resignation.

“My scars were put there by none other than myself,” he replied. “Don’t be concerned by this; I’m not actively suicidal and the process was beneficial, if anything. Incredibly safe.”

And he left. Remus said nothing. Somehow, although given more information, the situation became even more cryptic, and he understood less and less as he went.

But that was what Snape was. To him, anyway, the boy was an enigma first and an interest second. There was nothing else to it, and nothing else to him. Ambiguity and nothing else. Ambiguity and scars.

—

Remus saw Severus again at the Yule Ball, not like he was difficult to spot, being the only person there in all black, a sleek tunic covering his scarred frame.

“You really went for a new look, didn’t you?” he found himself asking snidely, smirking at the lack of change in his clothing. “That shade of black is just a touch lighter than usual. That’s a big step for you.”

“That shade of unwelcome involvement still hasn’t left your repertoire, however,” Severus was quick to reply. “I’ve been here for three minutes and you’ve shown up already. I should have stayed back and studied like I wanted to.”

A reply left Lupin’s lips before he could filter it out. It was disjointed, random, almost desperate, hitting them both head-on and leaving Severus more shocked than he’d ever inherently been.

“Dance with me.”

There was a silence, the soft motion of a punch glass being set down on tablecloth, and a shocked verbal receipt.

“What?”

Remus knew he couldn’t back out of his own words. He was too timid; too stubborn to admit to anything as a fault.

Giving a slight bow, he held out his hand as the music picked up. An offering, for once, that wasn’t ill-intended.

Tentatively, like a lamb accepting slaughter, the boy’s hand slipped into his.

—

“Potter can’t know.”

Snape whispered it through feverish kisses, leaning back against a pillar in the corridor as Remus lost sight of his own reserve, grasping at his shoulders, his hair, anything he could possibly bring closer to himself.

“James,” he corrected, pulling them both around the corner in the hall as he noticed the faint sound of a stray student’s footsteps, “won’t suspect a thing.”

—

“Good riddance to this bloody school,” Remus heard Sirius scoff as they packed their suitcases for the last time, all carrying diplomas and wearing flashy hats. Remus always found the hats silly, but he saw now why people were so fond of them when they left.

“Is James already back home? I know Peter left last night and I haven’t seen either of them since,” Lupin said, opening the dorm dresser drawers and forcing the last of his sweaters inside his case.

“Yeah. I think they took the last available train together yesterday,” Black replied. “Shame. We could have all left together like the years before. Like old times. This is the last time we’ll be leaving as students, you know.”

A small crunch came from under one of Lupin’s sweaters as he nodded in response. “Yeah,” he said. “Shame indeed. I’ll miss these memories. This school. It’s become my home, you know. And these last few hours…”

Pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment from under his sweater, Remus paused as he saw a faded pair of handwriting styles and a silly illustration of a werewolf. His heart jumping in his chest, he put the drawing back under the sweater and closed his suitcase, picking it up and preparing to leave.

“…this is it.”

Sirius took their things to be loaded onto the train. Remus himself spent a good hour wandering the halls, so empty, so familiar, wishing them all a sincere goodbye. He scanned the small groups of people that were still left, hoping somewhere in the back of his head that the artist of the drawing under his shirt would still be in the building somewhere.

He wanted to speak to him. To ask him about what he would be doing in the war. To offer his address; to offer connection. But he didn’t find the boy anywhere, nor did he find a trace of him. No vandalised books, no cursive notes, and nobody in a sleek black tunic.

He was told by Horace Slughorn to check the library. He thanked him, but insincerely; he’d already looked there, and it was empty.

—

If he knew where Snape resided, he would have shown up. Written, at least. But all he had was the drawing. That was all he had for years. For a long time, he wasn’t even sure the man still existed.

November of 1981 left him connectionless and alone. He felt himself slipping into nothing, the sand of eternity slowly rising over his head until he couldn’t breathe. Every day was a nightmare.

He relied on the Prophet for his entertainment, for his distraction. Anything to make him forget, even for a moment. Anything at all.

And then something did make him forget that he was alone. An announcement that one couldn’t look past. That he couldn’t, anyway.

It wasn’t a major headline, but it was on the bottom left of the front page, announced in capital bold letters with a small, grainy picture too blurry to decipher.

HOGWARTS POTIONS PROFESSOR HORACE SLUGHORN REPLACED IN POSITION BY SEVERUS SNAPE

Immediately, without even thinking, Remus threw the paper on the floor, stood up, and grabbed his coat.

—

“I’d like to see Professor Snape.”

He was directed down to the dungeons, which he approached slowly, stopping for minutes on end to stare at the architecture he’d almost forgotten; the arcs and pillars that he grew up between. He didn’t need a map of this place. His feet knew the way down the spiral staircase. His very skeleton understood the path necessary for the destination of Slughorn’s old office.

He knocked on the door three times. It opened just before he could knock a fourth.

They were both still for a long time.

The response was quiet.

“Lupin.”

Remus wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. He felt uncomfortable to be once again under the confusing gaze of Severus Snape.

“I saw your name in the Prophet,” he said plainly. “I’m… sorry to intrude. If you want me to go, I—”

“How very timidly-mannered to leave upon an inkling of silence,” Snape said, attempting to sound scornful, but his tone was weak; almost relieved. As he stepped aside to let Lupin into the room, Remus understood with a sudden sort of mental blow that Snape had just recently lost all of his connections, too.

He walked softly inside, taking one step to the left as Severus closed the door behind him. And then, jokingly:

“Potter can’t know.”

Sadly, they laughed.

—

Lupin didn’t even ask to see him anymore. He just walked right in.

Snape provided him with an extra key, one he used often for their weekly rendezvous, once leaving a toothbrush there on accident and never bothering to take it home again. Little by little, the visits became normal, essential, even. They became fueled by connection, by touch, by everything they had lost since graduation.

Little by little, they’d see more of one another. Day by day, Snape would unbutton his sleeves just a little more, finally comfortable enough to show the grotesque mark on his wrist, and Lupin would wear his shirts a little looser, exposing the scars on his neck as they led up to the ones on his jaw and nose. Closeness was their comfort, and they’d revel in it like Shakespearean kings, like Duncan of Scotland, doomed as he was, surrounded by the small joys of his imperfect world and his tarnished reign. Though their environment was muddled by blades of wilted and bloodied grass, the small fireflies within, the light that, although rare, warmed the hands and entranced the eyes like none other, were what they noticed the most.

They one day found themselves undoing the clasps of one another’s shirts, their kisses slow and even, their breaths soft. Lupin’s hands found themselves running across the bare skin of Snape’s chest, smooth, oddly hairless, comfortingly warm. His fingers found themselves on his ribcage. They lived there. And then they stopped.

Although they were almost completely invisible, his hands had found the scars. Scars that, over time, he had forgotten about.

Running his fingers over the rough lines, he looked down at them, and then back up at Severus, who had a sudden expression of what seemed almost like terror.

Remus gave them another examination. He noticed their placement, their edges, how each one stretched in a long like under his pectorals, as if something had been above them that was removed.

And then he understood.

His breath catching in his throat, Remus realised that there was so much about this man he didn’t know. There were struggles that he and his friends had only added to. Parts of him and his life that he never got to see.

He understood then why Snape was built the way he was, why his waist was thin around the center and wider around the hips, why his neck was sleek and his collarbones strong, why his skin was smooth and had a significant lack of hair. He understood why he never saw him shaving and never noticed forgotten stubble on the curves of his jaw. He understood why he would hide his chest with his long hair after a shower; why he said that biology was what gave him these marks in the first place. He understood why he hid himself with tight, concealing clothes and why he would shy away from the connected questions.

All at once, Remus understood the scars.

Quietly, softly, he placed a hand on Snape’s back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. He watched the scared, vulnerable eyes below him and, in an instant, wished he could undo everything he and his friends had ever done to him. He wished he could have supported him; kept himself from prying. He wished a lot of things.

“They don’t define you, you know,” he said eventually, his thumb tracing Snape’s bottom lip as he stroked his hair. “It took me years to understand that about myself, but it’s true. It’s true for me, and it’s true for you.”

Severus looked like the most fragile thing on Earth.

“Do you find them distasteful?” he whispered out, leaning his face into Remus’ bare shoulders, self-directed venom behind his every syllable. “Do they drive you away, knowing about them? About why they’re here?”

“Hey,” Lupin replied, soft as he hugged him close and leaned his chin on the top of his head. “Don’t worry.”

He held him as if it was the last time he ever would. He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let himself. Fighting back a newfound wave of emotion, he closed his eyes and wished he could articulate how little this knowledge would change anything. How Severus was just as beautiful to him as he had always been. How he didn’t care about the body he used to have or what he used to be, because, to Remus, he was still Severus Snape. He was always Severus Snape, and he always had been, and he always would be, no matter what.

Always.

Still, words were never his strong suit. Emotions never left his lips in prose. So what he said was barely as elegant, not even close to what he wanted to communicate.

But what he said communicated it well enough, because, once he spoke them, they both turned into a crumbling mess of tears and sniffles, holding one another as tightly as they both could manage. His heart thudding in his chest, his breath hitched with a feeling he couldn’t describe, he chose a very decent thing to say. A thing that left them in a very peaceful silence for a very long time.

It was a whisper. And it was safe.

“I have scars, too.”

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luna-dare · 4 years

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hi! can i please request for harry potter x hufflepuff!reader where she is a redhead but is not a weasley so he ask ron for advice but his advices are a mess and he thinks she sees him as a freak but in reality she thinks he’s really cute? sorry if it’s kinda messed up. thank you!

It’s a Potter request! I haven’t done one of these yet. Thank you for the request!

Harry stared from the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. From your fiery red hair to your gorgeous smile, you were absolutely perfect. You had always been so kind to everyone, whether they deserved it or not. You were also gifted in herbology. Your very being radiated with life.

A newspaper smacked him upside the head. “Sorry, Harry, but you were staring,” one of the twins said. “Again,” the older boy smirked.

“Honestly, mate, when are you going to tell her?” The other questioned.

“He doesn’t plan on telling her because he’s worried she’ll reject him.” Hermione took the newspaper and proceeded to flip through it while the boys nearby groaned.

“Harry, you’re a fumbling mess! Fix up and just go.” Seamus rolled his eyes at the Potter boy. Many Gryffindors had grown tired of Harry’s pining. If Dean heard one more word about the Hufflepuff, he would not be held responsible for what happened to the Seeker. Even McGonagall was aware of Harry’s not so little crush on the girl. She may or may not have placed the two together in a few projects for this very reason.

“Harry, don’t worry about being rejected and just go for it.”

“Harry, Neville just told you to go for it. If that doesn’t tell you that this has gotten ridiculous, I don’t know what will.”

He looked between his friends before allowing his eyes to drift back to you. He sighed in defeat. “I would if I could but… how? It’s not like I can just walk right up to her.”

“Technically you can.”

“Not helping, Hermione.”

Ron contemplated for a moment before deciding something. “I’ll help you.”

“What? Are you joking?” Harry sent Ron a bewildered look.

“You help with girls?” The twins doubled over laughing. “Harry’d be better off on his own than with your help. When was the last time you even properly flirted with a girl, Ron?”

“I don’t see either of you boasting a girlfriend either.”

“Very perceptive, dear brother. Maybe next you’ll realize that there’s a puking pastel in your drink.”

“What?!”

“I wouldn’t mind the help…” Harry knew that he needed to do something. He couldn’t spend the rest of his time at Hogwarts staring at her without doing anything. It was time to act on these feelings.

“Suit yourself.” With that, the twins got up and left the dining hall. Harry then turned to Ron.

“So, what do I do?”

“First,” the redhead leaned over the table, “you’ve gotta reel her in, see. Let her know your interested, but not too interested, understand?”

“I- I guess?”

The next day, there was a quidditch match. It was Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff. The match had been pretty intense. The quaffle had gone back and forth across the field. While Harry looked for the snitch he saw it all play out. You were a chaser, so wherever the quaffle was, you weren’t far behind. You had scored a few points and almost got hit by a bludger during the game. Harry swore he almost had a heart attack when it neared your head.

He finally spotted the snitch, diving for it. The Hufflepuff seeker was quick to follow. As they raced for it, Harry pulled ahead just enough to grab onto the small golden orb. The elation of the crowd sent a surge of pride through him. He turned to his teammates, waving it in the air. When they had all landed, the twins hoisted Harry onto their shoulders.

Harry saw you leaving the field. Your shoulders sagged but you didn’t seem too upset about the loss. He could see the sheen of sweat on your skin. You had worked so hard during the game, he almost felt bad about getting the snitch first. When the twins put him down, he made his way towards you, calling out, “[Y/N]!”

You turned around, giving him a tired smile. “Hiya, Harry. Good game today.”

“Yeah. Good game. Um… [Y/N]? Can I ask you something?”

You were thankful that your cheeks were already red from exertion during the game. You were confident they’d be a lovely shade of pink right about now. “Sure thing, Harry. What’s on your mind?”

Poor boy’s throat went dry and his mind went blank. “Did… did you…” His voice cracked. Quickly clearing his throat, he said, “Did you just win a quidditch match? Because y-you look fly.” Smooth, Harry. Real smooth.

“Harry, you just beat us?” You fought down a smile. His face lit up and he started shuffling. All he could think was ABORT! ABORT! He came up with some weak excuse before fleeing to the safety of the changing room. The moment he came in, the team, along with Ron bombarded him with questions.

“Did you do it?”

“Did you tell her?”

“What’d she say?”

Harry shrunk down before hesitantly telling them what happened. “Quite the lady killer we’ve got, ay guys?” Fred watched Oliver repeatedly hit his head on the wall. Ron blanched at him for a second before shaking his head.

“Alright, so that didn’t work. Guess we’ll just have to try something else.”

The next day, the boys had come up with a different plan. “’Actions speak louder than words’, right? That’s what Hermione said. Try showing [Y/N] how you feel instead of telling her.” Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? It’s not.

Harry had roped the boys and Hermione into helping him. They wrote multiple small notes, each with a clue to where the next was. Harry was supposed to be at the end of the trail, holding a final one that told you how he felt. He then used his invisibility cloak to hide them in their designated places. Tomorrow was Saturday, so all he had to do was wait.

When mail came the next day, Harry watch as your owl came to you and gave you the first note. Once you had opened it, he got up and headed to the final spot. The twins winked at him. Neville gave him a thumbs up while Dean and Seamus rolled their eyes.

Harry waited for about 15 minutes before he heard someone start to approach him from behind. Well that was fast. He got up to greet you. “[Y/-” It wasn’t you. It was Filch. In the grumpy mans fist were about half the notes Harry and the others had made for you. The boy could feel the color drain from his face.

“Hello, Potter. Expecting someone else?” The two looked at each other for a moment before Filch grabbed Harry’s arm and started dragging him back to the castle, likely for detention.

On the way to Filch’s office, Harry saw you looking around for the next note. It was probably the first note that Filch had found. He wondered how you’d feel after you didn’t find it. He looked down and continued to shuffle along with Filch.

He didn’t see when you smiled at him. Nor did he see how that smile slightly fell when you saw Filch. But, you noticed that both of Filch’s hands were clenched. One around Harry’s shirt, and the other around slips of paper that looked exactly like the ones folded in your bag. You were giddy as you headed back to your common room.

Morning came and Harry spent a fair amount of breakfast pouting about the failed attempt. Seamus and Dean were both slightly annoyed that they were kept up late for nothing.

“Cheer up, Harry, I’m sure Filch adored all those lovely letters you wrote him yesterday,” Fred grinned.

“Sod off.”

The group started to laugh before they all froze. They watched as leaves came out of Harry’s cup. A flower bud appeared in the center. It slowly opened to show an intricate pattern of petals. Once it stopped, Harry gently brushed his fingers against the flower.

Neville was grinning to his ears, looking from the flower to Harry. “Do you all know what that is?” The Weasley brothers all shook their heads while Harry continued to stare at it. “Harry, that’s a camellia!”

“This the part where you tell us why that matters?”

“Make sure to speak English, mate.”

“Camellia flowers represent love, affection, and admiration. And, look who sent it.” Neville pointed to the Hufflepuff table. Your wand was still in hand as you waved at Harry. Your smile was brighter than Harry had ever seen it. You got up and made your way out of the dining hall.

“[Y/N]?”

“I may or may not have got a little impatient, but I doubted you’d get to the point if I didn’t.”

“Wait, you knew?”

“It was kind of obvious from the start, considering how much you stare at me.” Harry face-palmed at his own foolishness. “But,” you gently took his hand, “it was cute to watch the great Harry Potter struggle to tell me his own feelings.”

“Cute?” A faint blush rose to his cheeks while you nodded. “I thought you’d think I was mad. What with the whole pickup line fail, not even mentioning yesterday...”

You kissed him on the cheek. “Hogsmeade next weekend?”

“I- I’d love to.”

Down the hall, cheers erupted. The twins were wooping while the others applaud. A loud “Finally!” came from Seamus. Some of your own friends were whistling with the group. You both laughed at their antics before leaving hand-in-hand to enjoy the rest of the day together. It seems Hogwarts has a new #1 couple.

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

Text

546 Days Without You — Eight: Day 225

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader, platonic!Namjoon x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 4.4k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 8 / 15

Warnings — minor language

A/N — Taglist is open! Comment or submit an ask if you want to be added :)

Previous — Next

Once Bang PD gives his blessing on the next Tour, everyone at the company hits the group running. Choreography is created, photography and promotional material are completed, tour dates and locations are worked out, and the final details are worked out for the album. Everything is coming together beautifully, and about time, too! The release of Map of the Soul: Dream is less than six weeks away, and the excitement is only growing.

All of this is over your pay-grade, and gratefully so. You've spent most of the past month gawking over the wild success that your song Silhouette has been on Soundcloud. You had millions of plays by the end of the first day, let alone the impressive amount you have thirty-five days later. Your pride and joy has been in the news, on tons of fansites, and all across social media. No one expected the youngest Min sibling to do anything solo; you've taken the world by storm, rivaled only by the boys themselves. The overwhelming consensus is that you blew it out of the park.

"It's actually worked out perfectly from a marketing standpoint," Bang PD said at a meeting recently. "Your fame is only going to fuel the fire of the comeback since we've been radio silent since December. Thanks to you, we've been given a little push that we needed. But you know what would be even better?"

You knew what he was going to suggest, and you scoffed when he said it aloud.

"Put your song on the album as a feature and tour with the boys. People will lose their damn minds, I know it."

"The only person who's lost his mind is you, PD-nim."

While you'd teased him at the meeting with the boys, the idea has pricked your interest. While the thought of performing in front of tens of thousands of people terrifies you in a way you can't explain, it also gave you a sense of excitement. Your anxieties are holding you back, you know it, but what can you do against your own dread?

"That must be a pretty interesting batch of ochazuke."

You smirk and turn towards the leader of the group, lifting the bowl of green tea on rice. Or, as it's called in Japan, ochazuke. "Made enough for two. Want some?"

Namjoon's dimples deepen as he sneaks around the corner with a giddy grin. "You're the best. Jin and Yoongi's cooking skills have rubbed off on you."

Due to the busy schedule, you've temporarily moved back into the dorms to be closer to the madness. You've done similar things in previous comebacks, and the boys always loved having you around 24/7. This is never more true than around mealtime. With the two oldest members gone, aka the only ones that are qualified to operate anything in the kitchen, there have been weeks at a time where takeout is the only thing the group consumes. As your workload has lessened due to the nature of being a music producer, and their's has gotten heavier, you've taken it upon yourself to make home life a little more normal.

"I asked Yoongi to send me the recipe last time I wrote," you reply, pouring a serving of green tea over Namjoon's portion of the fish and rice. "I got it yesterday with his letter. Figured it would be a nice pick-me-up."

The member agrees and takes the dish with a slight and grateful bow. "Eat with me? I have to run back to the studio after, but the summer day is gorgeous, and I feel like we haven't had alone time in a while. Just you and me?"

You grip your lunch between your hands and nod eagerly, allowing Namjoon to lead the way to the expansive balcony of the dormitories. Being several floors off the ground and in the heart of Seoul, the area around you is gorgeous. The buildings stretch tall and imposing, casting shadows across the space as the mid-day sun streams through the light cloud cover.

He's right. The day is as close to perfect as you can imagine.

Once you both settle into the chairs in the corner of the balcony, under the wood and vine-woven covering that shades a little of the harsh sun out, you start to dig into the meal. While it doesn't taste exactly like when Yoongi makes it, you're elated to have a piece of him back.

"If you ever get tired of producing, you can always open a restaurant," Namjoon chimes, clearly enjoying himself as he scarfs down the dish.

You chuckle, replying, "Thanks, but I think I'll leave that to Mom. Music is my life. I can't imagine doing anything else. Ever."

"Actually...I wanted to pick your brain about something related to that. You mind?"

Taking another big bite, you shake your head. There are very few times you're not excited to have an in-depth conversation with Namjoon, about everything or anything. "Shoot."

Namjoon leans back in his chair, resting the bowl against his thigh as he chews lightly on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit. "With the comeback and album release just around the corner, I've been thinking..." He turns to face you. "I'm not sure if Bang PD was kidding or serious when he offered to put you on the album that first time, but I talked to him about it after you shot him down...and I think it would be a really cool idea."

Your stomach does flip-flops at the thought. Instantly, you're shaking your head fervently and placing your bowl on the side table. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"'Cause."

Namjoon gives a disappointed scowl. "Not good enough, [Y/n]."

"I just don't want to, Namjoon," you retort, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "If my song goes on 'Dream,' then it has to be performed. By me. On tour. In front of fifty-thousand people. I'm...I'm just not ready. I put out one song to exercise a creative outlet, not to get famous or perform life or anything like that. It's like 'Mono.' I never intended it to get this much attention."

"If I had the chance to perform 'Mono' on stage with the members, I would fucking take it," he replies wholeheartedly.

"That's you, Joonie. That's not me."

Breathing a soft sigh, Namjoon takes another bite of his lunch. "Look, I've told you all this before. So have all the other members. We're not here to force you to sing in public or do anything you don't want to do. I just wanna be sure that you're not hiding behind your fear."

It takes every fiber of self-control not to roll your eyes. "Of course, I'm afraid."

"Of what? Not living up to BTS? Your brother or boyfriend?"

"Maybe at one point that was it, but no. It's not that anymore."

"Then what is it?"

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you hug them tightly as you try to vocalize your fears. "You guys know me. The real me. I'm sarcastic and snarky. I make inappropriate jokes and I use humor to mask my pain. I'm a little on the abrasive side and I like to pretend I'm the toughest person in the room. But when I'm in front of crowds or around people I don't know, I shut down. I get quiet. My inner lioness quiets and turns into a mouse. I just...Thinking about getting on that stage to sing and rap in front of thousands? That's probably my biggest fear."

Namjoon listens patiently, just as he always has. He's never rushed you or interrupted you; it's one of the many things you adore about him. As dorky and destructive and silly as he can be, above all else, Namjoon is the one person in the world you can go to about anything. This includes your brother boyfriend, best friend or childhood friend. Namjoon will give you the facts, an outside perspective, and a logical solution. He tries to be as objective as possible and not let emotions get in the way, all while being a gentle and caring soul.

"So, stage fright?" You nod a wordless reply. "That's completely normal, [Y/n]. We all started like that, and we all still get nervous when shows begin. And this isn't me trying to convince you, but I hope you realize that those anxieties are an outdated form of self-preservation. Those fears you have about being in front of crowds, it's leftover from a time when humans had to hide. Your brain is trying to keep you safe, but you can reprogram it. You don't have to live in that place of irrational fear forever. You don't have to let your mind keep you there. You can be stronger."

You crack a smile at his comparisons. "Of course you'd look at it that way."

"Well, it's true." He shrugs his shoulders. "Again, not trying to convince you otherwise. I just...Don't live in fear of others for the rest of your life, [Y/n]. Our time is short, and the time we have together—in front of the spotlight—that's even shorter. You have a chance. If you take it, you know you have all of our support. And if you don't want that, for a reason other than fear, you have it then, too."

Both of your phone's buzz. As you look at yours, you see an unknown number pop up on the screen. Figuring it's probably a spam call or journalist or someone else you really don't want to talk to, you ignore it.

Namjoon groans lightly at the text he's received. "Someone mixed up the names of the songs for the final version of the album. I gotta go fix this before they send it off. That's the last thing I need." As he stands, he gives you a grateful smile. "Thanks for the lunch and conversation. Always can count on both of those to be good with you. Sorry to leave so quickly."

You return the expression, waving your hand nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it. Go take care of business, boss."

The leader rolls his eyes and heads towards the door. He turns and points at you, still walking backwards, and says, "I meant what I said! If you want to include Silhouette, let me know. I send off the final version later tonight, say eight. Let me know before then? Just give me a call, and you're on."

"What would you do?" you shout after him, fingers playing absentmindedly with each other. "If you were in my shoes?"

Namjoon stops in mid-step, grip on the doorknob and eyes settling somewhere on the Seoul skyline. He takes a moment to think, then turns back to you with the response, "I'd go for it. What do you have to lose but the chance of a lifetime?"

Sometime after Namjoon leaves for the studio, you're sitting alone in Genius Lab, a pad of music sheets in one hand, a pencil in the other. Your mind continuously shifts back and forth between a wholehearted yes and a horrified no. Every possible angle replays over and over in your mind, including your conversation with the true middle member from earlier.

Glancing at the clock, you see the minute hand tick past the twelve. You've been here for hours, trying to bury your mind in writing another melody, but nothing is coming to you. You even went through Yoongi's unpublished works to see if anything your brilliant brother came up with would spark something. To no avail, the time has ticked past seven.

"Another hour," you murmur. "Gotta make up this damn indecisive mind."

Knowing you're not going to get anything else done tonight, you set the writing materials aside, stretch your legs, and make your way to the door. Tugging the hoodie over your hair, you shuffle back towards the balcony with the intention of getting some fresh air. The sun has yet to set, and the majestic hues that cascade across the tall buildings remind you of the first date you had with Seokjin all those years ago.

It brings a smile to your face, and you settle your front against the edge. Arms resting against the solid railing, your eyes focus upward. The moon is full and shining, and ever since the last album, it's a constant reminder of the man you love most.

Your phone rings again in your pocket. Retrieving it, you see the same number as before. It had called you again earlier in the afternoon after Namjoon had left, and you'd ignored it again.

Huffing an annoyed breath, you swipe the answer key and place the phone against your ear. "Okay, what the hell? How did you get this number and why don't you give up on trying to sell me shit I don't want, nor need, and I'll have you know that I—"

Obnoxious, hiccupy, overly familiar laughter comes through as clear as day. It cuts you to your core, stunning you enough to spur you into a sputtering silence.

"Holy hell, Jagiya, that's some way to answer the phone!"

Your knees buckle, and you have to trip the railing to stay upright. Lower lip quivering, body trembling, eyes watering, you slide onto the ground and pull your legs to your chest. The free hand cups over your mouth as you try to hide the whimpers that escape.

"Jagi?" he murmurs, his voice softer than before. "Hey, are you okay, [Y/n]?"

You swallow hard and close your eyes, allowing the tears to fall. God, his voice sounds just as calming and perfect and lovely as ever. Despite the eight months of separation, it's the one thing that can bring you back to the last time you heard it—on that training field right before you said goodbye.

"S—Seokjin...is that...you?"

The love of your life gives a small, breathy chuckle. "I told you I'd see you soon, Jagiya. Have you ever known me to be a liar?"

A laugh slips out, tumbling past your weak sobs, and you finally allow him to hear your emotions. "God, yes! You lied about that horrid dress I wore to the MAMAs that one year. I looked terrible, and you looked like a King. You lie all the time, you big oaf."

"Excuse me, I thought you looked like a Queen!" Seokjin scoffs. "That's the last time I try to compliment you."

The lightness in his voice brings a smile to your face. Wiping the tears away with the sleeve of your hoodie, you ask, "Wait, how can you call me? I thought they didn't allow cell phones for Privates."

"They don't, not for Second Class at least. Guess who got a promotion and some special perks along with it?"

You gasp and wiggle in your seat from excitement. "You're First Class now? That's amazing, Jinnie! I'm so damn proud of you."

"I was hoping you'd get all excited," Seokjin says, elated at your response, "but I was starting to think you'd moved on after you wouldn't pick up."

"I didn't know the number, idiot! You know how many scammy calls we all get. Trust me, the last thing I felt like dealing with today was a journalist prying into my love life or asking about my future as an artist."

Your boyfriend makes a sound of understanding, then shifts the conversation. "I know I've written to you before about your song, but I have to tell you now. Jagi, I'm completely serious when I say I've never heard you so excited about anything. Or more passionate. Or sounding more beautiful. Silhouette is a masterpiece. I'm so proud of you." After saying such sweet words, he tosses in a playful scoff. "Although, I have to admit I'm a little pissed I didn't get to hear the process of you making it. And I'll have to ignore the fact that Taehyung-ah got to do that with you. Should've been me!"

You lean your head back against the railing, flashing an infamous smirk. "I know, I know. Believe me, when you get back, we'll compose plenty of music together."

"About damn time!"

There's a lull in the conversation as you stifle your laughter and Seokjin brings his voice down to a normal volume. "So, these phone privileges, how long do you have?"

"A half-hour or so," he replies. "I have my own phone for work at the base. To communicate with my team, that kinda thing, but we're allowed a half-hour a day after shifts to talk to our families. I knew my first call had to be to you."

"Not even your mother? I'm honored."

"Yeaaah, I'll hear about it when I call her tomorrow, trust me."

Sentimentality tugs at your heart strings at his confession. "I appreciate it, Jinnie. I could use a pick-me-up."

"That reminds me..." He pauses, and there's shuffling on the other line, as if he's getting comfortable and settling in for a long talk. "How have you been, [Y/n]? I know we talk through letters all the time, but..."

"Just not the same?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "Exactly."

You bite your lower lip in anticipation. Half of you wants to tell him everything that's going on. The other half is fighting so hard against it. You just got him back after over half a year. Do you really want your first conversation to be about you? There are so many things you want to hear from him, about his life in the military. Even just to hear his voice would be a relief. Who knows how regular these talks can be.

But the things floating around in your mind have to settle soon, otherwise you might regret inaction.

"So...this can be a regular thing?"

"As regular as every day, if you want it. When I get a new phone, one maybe not made by the military, we can even facetime. How does that sound?"

An immense wave of relief washes over you, causing your to sigh, "God, Seokjin, that—that sounds absolutely perfect. I've missed you."

There's a smile in his voice; even over the phone, you've always been able to tell. "I've missed you, too, [Y/n]-ah. So, tell me. How's life been? How's the album coming, and tour? The boys? Anything on your mind?"

"Awww, but I was going to ask you the same thing. I wanna hear about the military and your work with your new team and how things are going."

"Next time," he laughs. "Promise. I've been dying to hear about the outside world, more than just bits and pieces through letters and word-of-mouth. Tell me what's on your mind; that'll make me so damn happy, you have no idea. And you sound a little pre-occupied. Is there something on your mind?"

Taking his words at face-value, you decide to relent and bring up the subject that's been occupying your mind all afternoon. "Well...if this is going to be a regular thing, I could actually use your advice right now."

"About what?"

"I'm torn, and I've talked to Namjoon, but there's still so much I need clarity on. If you're up for listening, I'd love you a million times more."

"A million times more than infinity? How can I resist such a pretty lady's request?"

You tell him everything. All your fears, all your dreams, all your reservations and wishes, everything you discussed with Namjoon, and your own thoughts. Seokjin listens intently for the next few minutes, drinking in your words as if they're the last he'll ever hear.

Even with nearly eight months of separation, with nothing but letters to connect you, you pick up on caring for each other as if no time has passed at all.

When you finish your explanation, you wrap up with, "I just—I'm so torn. Like I said, I think deep down I want to do it. I wanna have Silhouette on 'Dream.' I wanna tour with our boys. I wanna live that secret dream and show the world my creativity and work and eight years' worth of effort. I'm just...I'm so terrified, Jinnie. It makes my skin crawl thinking about the stage, the audience, the crowds..."

As you trail off, Seokjin speaks up for the first time in nearly ten minutes. "I know how you feel, better than anyone I think, but I think you're underestimating just how much you've grown and changed. Even, and especially, since December. You've become a lot bolder, a lot more sure of yourself and your music, and a lot more willing to share. This time last year, would you even have thought about releasing your own song? Let along contemplating its addition to our next album?"

"No," you reply, stifling a laugh at the idea of your former self. "Definitely not."

"See? That's exactly what I mean. You've changed, Jagi, in all the best ways. I've seen it. The boys see it. Clearly Bang PD sees it, too. Why else would he ask you several times to join them on tour? It's just been a gradual change, so slow and sneaky you didn't notice it yourself. But look back on the last year. You've come such a long way. I bet, if you wanted to give it a go, you'd find tour invigorating."

"You live for tour, though."

"I didn't at first," he admits. "I was just good at hiding it. As the oldest, I felt it was my job to put on a brave face for the other members." Seokjin groans a little bit at the confession. "You know me. You know how introverted and private I am. I have come to love performing, but there were shows where I almost died of fright. I had to grow and change, just like you are now. It's growing pains, but it will only do you good in the end."

"You really think so?"

"I do." There a hint of pride and warmth in his voice, one you've surely missed. "You asked Namjoon what he would do if he were you. He's as honest as they come, and I have to agree. If I were you—because at one time, I was you—I would take the leap of faith. What's that quote you love so much? 'Take the leap of faith. Aim for the moon. Even if you miss'—"

"—'You'll land among the stars," you grin, mumbling the remaining portion of the saying.

Seokjin gives a deep and amused chuckle. "That's my girl." A beat of silence fills the space. "What're you thinking about, Jagi?"

"That it's been too many damn days without you," you admit, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. "I've counted every one."

"We're on Day 225," your boyfriend agrees. "Don't worry. I've been keeping count as well."

"Only 321 more to go. Didn't think I'd survive 546 days without you, but we're halfway there, so there's hope I suppose."

"You know, that's what I wanted our song to be called originally, but I chickened out and forgot to give it an actual name."

Your eyes open. Staring up at the sky overhead, you see the stars start to twinkle, the moon rise over the buildings, and the sky shift from warm hues to cool tones. "Our song?"

"The one I left you, the one Namjoon gave you. I know we agreed to put it on 'Dream,' but don't you think it should have a proper name?"

"I agree. What was it? '546 Days Without You'?"

Seokjin scoffs at the English phrasing. "Or the Hangul equivalent."

You burst into laughter, hearing him laugh right along with you. "You're such a hopeless romantic."

"Only for you."

"That's a damn lie, Kim Seokjin."

"Okay, okay, Min [Y/n]," he confesses, and you can almost see him lifting his hands in defense. "Caught me in a lie. But I do love you, and that's not a lie."

Your tone softens at his adoring words. "I love you, too."

"So, when do you have to let Namjoon-ah know of your decision?"

"Um..." You pull away from the phone, looking down at he digital clock. It reads just after seven-thirty. "Like, right now? Shit."

"No worries, Jagi," Seokjin says with casual ease. "I'm at my daily limit anyway. I'll text you from this number tomorrow, okay? You'll have to let me know what you decide. Just know, whatever you choose, you have me in your corner."

You pull yourself up from the ground, brushing off your pants and pulling yourself together. "I adore you, you know that?"

"I do," he laughs. "Goodnight, [Y/n]."

"Goodnight, Jinnie. Sweet dreams."

The call ends, and you lower the device from your ear. Your heart is at ease for the first time in what feels like months. The conversation you so desperately needed to have with the person you yearned for most has settled your soul. The restlessness you felt today has subsided, and in its place is certainty and resolve.

Quickly calling Namjoon, you get him on the second ring. "Put it on." It comes barreling out of you like an instinct. Because of that, you know you've made the right decision. "Add Silhouette to 'Map of the Soul: Dream.'"

Namjoon hesitates before asking, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm thrilled! But don't let anything I said pressure you."

"I'm sure," you nod, even if he can't see it. "More sure than I've been in a while."

"All right," he relents, sounding more excited than anything else. "Track thirteen is all yours! Gotta say, cutting it a bit close."

"I know, I know. I'll explain when you get home." You push back into the dorms, leaving the balcony and your fears behind. "Also, is it too late to change a track name?"

"Um...technically no? Which song, and to what? And while I'm at it, why?"

You huff out a sigh, having too much energy to stay home any longer. "Screw it." Grabbing your scarf, you dance towards the door. "I'm coming down there. Give me five."

"Um...okay, but [Y/n]—[Y/n], are you still there? Helloooo? You didn't tell me why we're changing it? What the hell, did I break the connect—"

Taglist — @joyful-jimin, @gracehiii, @live-2-fangirl, @rjsmochii

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know.

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating.

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle:

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever.

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life.

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary.

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal.

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)

But back to the letter.

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her.

She wished she knew what he looked like.

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality.

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said.

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.”

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—”

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.”

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.”

“Mo-om!”

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.”

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car.

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late.

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears.

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work.

It was then that the misery kicked in.

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now.

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.)

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue.

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it.

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs.

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry.

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood.

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess.

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile.

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait?

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice.

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse.

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more.

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be.

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.”

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!”

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.”

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um��” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.”

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!”

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight.

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him.

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.”

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop.

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.”

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him.

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought.

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him?

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again.

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.”

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.”

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back.

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope.

One that looked strikingly familiar.

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised.

Because it was his own.

Bloody hell.

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?)

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend.

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible.

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

(Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names?

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.)

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm.

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm.

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.”

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.”

Emma groaned. “I hate you.”

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.”

Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.”

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.”

“Any time, doll.”

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter.

And with a very peculiar expression on his face.

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him.

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop.

He handed her the letter.

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted.

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise.

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.”

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice.

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped.

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.”

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones.

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice.

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—”

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them.

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.”

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient.

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought.

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.”

“Not well,” repeated Belle.

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.”

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.”

“Very ill, you say.”

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.”

“Um, yes.”

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?”

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said.

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—”

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.”

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.”

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.”

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years.

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations.

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together.

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it.

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly.

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight.

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #deckhand hook #lieutenant jones #captain swan #fluff #omg so fluffy #tooth-rotting fluff #captain cobra #librarian killian #honeysuckle #profdanglaisstuff #one shot #rated g

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rusticpumpkin-blog · 6 years

Text

Beyond Love | Paul Lahote | 3 |

This is a longer chapter and I dont really like it all that much but I’m not realy one for angst.

|Previous|----|Next|

The ride back to Forks was silent as I sat in the passenger seat of Pauls old White pickup truck, it was dirty but it was actual dirt and according to the tool belt that he had to move out of my way to the bed of the truck he worked construction. Something to warrant the callouses that I felt on his hands.

That thought along with all of the not so subtle sideways glances he’d been shooting at me was enough to make my face about 3 shades redder.

"This is it right?" He asked pulling to a stop in front of Charlie's place house, our home. I nodded moving to unbuckle my seat belt.

"Hey Kat." He said getting my attention as he put the truck into park making me glance over at him as I reached for the door handle.

"Yeah?" I asked a little wearily.

"Are you single?" He asked the question so blatantly it made me replay it in my mind in case I wasn't hearing it right.

"Uh, Yeah, I am but you do realize that we met like 5 hours ago right?" I scoffed rolling my eyes threw the blush at the face that formed on my face. He looked like I’d just ran over his dog or kicked his grandmother or something like that, completely deflated. For some messed up reason I felt bad about it too.

"Thanks for the ride Paul." I sighed opening the door and nearly having to jump to get out of his truck.

…

I decided to move my bedroom around again, my mind clinging to everything that happened today, all the looks and things like that. I’d never really had a guy look at me like that before.

Hell even the guy at the gas station didn’t try to hide the way he looked me up and down.

I didn’t know how much I liked it, less than 6 months ago I was the ass end of a very bad prank where I was a joke date to the prom. The guy was stunning, nothing like Paul or any of the Quileute boys.

He’d fooled me into actually thinking he had feelings for me, I’d made my parents go out and pay for this stupidly expensive dress for him and his friends to ruin it by dumping punch all over me. I’d already spent the night thinking that he’d stood me up, then he and his friends had to add insult to injury and make it a point that he would never go out with a fatass like me.

Like I was.

I stopped looking in the mirror of my closet door lifting my shirt and looking at my stomach if I looked at it from the right side I looked… good. Not too skinny, not to fat there were a few stretch marks and I was pail on my tummy but I wasn’t as bad as I was right? I don’t look bad enough to do that again right?

I started physically hurting, my mind going to places it had no right going. Worrying about things that didn’t make sense. I shouldn’t be worried about never seeing Paul again, he's a 20-minute drive away. I had a thousand other things to worry about at this moment but here I was having an emotional freaking break down over the possibility of this being just another fucking joke.

I didn’t even take the time to change out of my clothes, take the shower I wanted or crawl under the comforter before I went to sleep.

…

I drug my feet as I sauntered downstairs at around 1 in the afternoon my hair still a mess and in my PJ's. "Late night?" Charlie scoffed at my appearance.

"Yeah." I grumbled walking to the fridge.

"Already turning heads are you?" He asked as I sat at the table with all the things I needed to make a sandwich. I glanced up at him confused.

"Paul Lahote came by this morning on his way to work, dropped off the stuff you left in his truck last night." He said eyeing me like he caught me doing something wrong. "It's not like that.” I shrugged as I started making my food.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you weren't out of bed yet." He scoffed making my face warm up again bringing back the events of the night before and the feelings that came with them.

Charlie sighed standing up making me notice that he was still in his work uniform. "I only came home for lunch, pizza sounds good for dinner?" He asked sounding tired.

"Yeah, are you ok?" I said kind of concerned with how tired he seemed. Wanting to take the focus off of myself just for a bit at least.

"Animal attacks happening again, it’s been a few years but this time we're gonna find them." He said like he was trying to assure me.

"Animal attacks?" I asked.

"Yeah some kind of mountain lion or something, don't worry about it. Just stay out of the woods." He sighed before he walked out the door.

I saw my bag and hoodie sitting on the couch. I sat down turning on the TV and getting into my bag for my phone, I honestly can't believe that I didn't notice that it was missing last night.

I just scrolled through my news feed for a while listening to the travel channel drone on about aliens getting bored quickly. I pulled out my sketchbook flipping to the next clean page thinking that drawing would help clear my mind. Seeing scrawled on a fresh page in heavy-handed letters a phone number and Pauls name with a note that said 'call me' Making my face instantly heat up and a pit form in the bottom of my stomach at the same time.

The whole situation just seemed like it would be best if I just left it alone and didn't bother. That way I won't get hurt if it is a prank. Besides Paul could do so much better than me, according to the way he looks he probably has done better than me. So even if this isn’t a prank, I’m doing him a favor leaving him alone.

…

I didn’t recognize the number that called me but it was a local one with a Forks area code. So I answered it and to my honest surprise it was the gas station that I’d applied at yesterday, I wasn't expecting a response at all to be honest let alone one so quick.

The older gentleman asked a few questions over the phone and asked me if I would be interested in the job. Of course I was, I wanted money to start saving up for a car of my own. I didn’t want Charlie getting the idea that he should use the money to buy me one.

He also explained that the payment was under the table so I would get paid with a personal check every week that he told me I could cash at a local grocery store. The great thing is that it was more than minimum wage and I would be working alone after training.

I was given Tuesday as a start date and like that I had a job.

I scoffed to my self after the phone call looking at the receiver as another feeling crept into my stomach. The guy didn’t ask many personal questions about work history or education anything like that and I had a feeling that the guy from the night before with wondering eyes, pushed them to hire me anyway. It made me a little sick but he was going to school soon so I wouldn’t have to deal with him forever.

…

My thoughts were broken when someone knocked on the door behind me. I thought that Charlie must have ordered the pizza already which confused me because he watched me eat like 2 sandwiches like an hour ago. I grabbed my wallet and walked over to the door anyway preparing to pay the pizza guy.

But it wasn't the pizza guy at the door, it wasn't the pizza guy at all.

Unless Pauls job was to deliver pizza in which he failed because he didn't have any pizza inside. However for some reason, the pressure that I felt on my shoulders and the pit in my stomach lessened instantly at just seeing him standing there in a red flannel and jeans. He’d obviously even taken the time to slick back his dark hair.

"Hey." He smiled at me, my fuzzy mind still wasn’t working right. The only thing I wanted to do was hug him and it made absolutely no sense at all.

"Hey, Paul." I mumbled absentmindedly moving to tuck some flyaway hair behind my ear.

I almost lost my shit when I realized my hair was tied up and he could clearly see the scars on my head and face. My smile dropped and I turned that side of my face away from him.

"I um, brought your stuff back." He said, sounding nervous probably completely regretting the choice to come back and see me again. Why else would he be nervous around someone who looks like me?

"Thanks, Charlie told me." I muttered absent-mindedly folding my arms over my chest.

"I have another question." He said sounding like he was doing his best to sound confident, even though the last time he asked a question it didn’t go so well for him.

Please, don't ask about my scars.

"Hm?" I asked still not looking at him. "Are you busy?" He asked confusing me making me look up at him.

Does he not see my face? Can he not tell that I'm not the type of girl that he would want to take anywhere? When I made eye contact he glanced down at his boots patiently waiting for my answer.

"Because if you want I was wondering if you would let me take you to dinner." He continued a little shakily said obviously this guy was blind or thinks I’m a complete idiot.

"Why?" I asked wanting to know what he was playing at. Did he think I was that much of a fool?

"Well, last night I was kind of upfront and really fucking creepy. I thought you would like it better if you got to know me first. I know this really good place on the edge of town, best burgers on the peninsula. I was hoping you would let me take you out." He said really quickly his nerves apparent it made me blush for no reason what so ever.

"Paul, are you blind or do you think I’m stupid?" I scoffed he looked at me his eyebrows arching in confusion.

"Uh, no actually I have pretty good eyesight. And you’ve never given me the I’m a fucking dumbass vibe, why?” He said confused.

"So you're just going to ignore my face then?" I asked pointedly.

"No... I don't get what you're asking, or why." He said sounding so hopelessly confused that I almost laughed at him.

"I'm not the type of person someone like you should be seen with." I scathed moving to shut the door but he held up a hand stopping me from doing so and looking at me confused.

"Why?" He asked sounding desperate to know.

"What do you mean why? Dude, look at my face. I'm pretty sure that you can get plenty of other girls who are more on your level." I said my voice dripping with venom because more and more it was looking like another prank at my expense.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about 'on my level'. I get it I was weird before but I’m being honest when I say I wanna take you out. If you don’t now that’s fine, I can wait until your cooler with it or whatever." He said pointedly in an almost forceful tone that quite frankly caught me off guard. This guy really was going gung-ho about this whole dinner thing.

"Look, dude, I'm skating by at a weak 4 and your a solid 11 out of 10." I said making him scoff at me. I watched as the color darkened on his cheeks as he shuffled his feet.

Did I just make this dude blush?

"Well whoever told you that is wrong." He said. "I don't need anyone to tell me anything, I can look in the mirror you know." I retorted sharply getting annoyed that he was making me actually think he was being serious about all this.

"Well, you're wrong." He said simply.

Oh that smooth, cheeky, bastard.

I couldn't even think about a valid come back from that comment and my face just kept getting warmer and warmer.

"Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you're frustrated? but anyway about that dinner." He said smirking triumphantly at me.

"And what if I say no?" I asked raising my eyebrows at him a matter of factly.

"Then I go home cry about it for about 3 hours, drink myself to sleep and then try again tomorrow." He said as smoothly as if he had it already planned out but he continued. "And the next day, and the next day and then if its still no then I will try the day after that. Then If its still no I might take a break for one day where I sit in my bathtub, waisted out of my mind contemplating what aspects of my life I would need to change to get you to go to dinner with me." He rambled on jokingly earning a short laugh and a 1/2 hidden smile from me.

"Come on Kat, what could it hurt?" He asked continuing on with the joke.

"A lot more than you think, you’ve still not really given me an answer as to why. Every girl in town already heard your pick up lines?" I chatted having no doubt in my mind that Paul was a player. He just looked like he could have any female he wanted sitting at his beckon call, why he was wasting time on me I couldn’t tell you.

"Normally, I don't even have to bother asking if they're single or not." He shrugged bitting his lip and winking at me like that was supposed to make me feel better.

"Uh-huh... maybe I should keep playing hard to get then. Since, that's the only reason I have your attention apparently." I said raising my eyebrows at him threateningly and kind of feeling empowered by the look of horror that washed over his face momentarily making me actually laugh.

"Come on, please, I’m begging here." He whined in a fake begging tone. I sighed glancing outside behind him it was a gloomy day perfect for a hoodie and jeans.

"I guess." I muttered not wanting to admit that he was getting to me. The way his face brightened up told me that he didn't hear my apprehensive tone.

"Stay right here I'll be down in 5 minutes." I said before leaving him at the door.

Within 3 minutes, I was internally screaming at myself as I attempted to tame my hair that was wild and poofy from me not brushing it after my shower this morning.

There is absolutely no way I'm going to have it managed in 5 minutes. I gave up, braiding it back loosely enough to hide my scar and getting dressed in jeans a t-shirt and a hoodie.

I wasn't expecting the dazed look on his face when I walked downstairs he stood right at the door where I left him.

"Are we going or?" I asked walking up to the doorway pulling my bag over my shoulder he hadn't moved at all.

"Yeah, sorry." He said. He was acting like a gentleman the whole time, opening the door and everything it felt like it was a bit much. Forced, and that made me nervous about the whole situation. I could tell he was still nervous especially the way he kept fixing his hair or checking to make sure his shirt was still buttoned.

The ride was silent and again somehow he was able to get to my door and open it before I had the chance to myself.

"Dude, were at a burger place, not some fancy restaurant." I scoffed as he closed the door behind me. "I just want everything to be perfect." He said quietly. Putting a hand on my shoulder and leading me inside as it started sprinkling.

I was on edge, just waiting for someone to jump out and tell me I’ve been punked or something. But by the seconds that his hand was on my shoulder the feeling was melting away and it was nearly all gone when we sat at a booth and he instantly reached for my hands.

God why is his hand so warm? And, why am I comfortable with him touching my hands like this?

I can't explain it at all, the way he was making me feel. Comfortable? At ease? Like we’ve done this a million times and it was just another Saturday night.

“You see this?” He asked as he examined my palm trailing his finger along a line there a smile playing on the corner of his mouth that I couldn’t read as his dark eyes flicked up to mine.

If I didn’t know better I would think that his breath caught just the same as mine as I watched in the fluorescent lights his pupils blow out almost completely covering his chocolate colored irises. I almost didn’t get the chance to make out the flecks that were the color of brown sugar before they were flattened around pupils.

“Yeah.” I breathed completely lost in his eyes. A small part in the back of my mind somewhere was freaking out about the kind of look he was giving me. A look that was so… intense that it didn’t make sense it made me feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. Like I wanted to see that look on his face every time I saw him it was so in love.

In love and he’s known me for about 24 hours. How stupid is that? Why does the idea make me feel so warm and content? So at ease about this completely unrealistic situation that would no undoubtedly be swept out from under my feet at any second.

Sometimes I hate how right I am.

"Paul?!" a voice chimed gaining the attention that he had been giving to me so easily that it smacked me back to reality a lot quicker than it should have. I pulled my hands away from his and back into my lap on my side of the booth where they should have been to begin with.

It made me want to smack the shit out of the pretty waitress that walked up to the table. She was the Barbie doll kind of perfect I dreamt about being when I was little. Perfect blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a figure that put mine to shame.

Even her smile was flawless as she beamed at Paul, making me want to just disappear into the seat and never, ever admit that I thought for a bit that I had his attention. It was a stupid idea.

I glanced at Paul even though I knew better, I knew it would sting if he was looking at her thinking the same things I was and those thoughts would be clear on his expressive face.

It wasn’t him looking at her like he had been me though. Confusion was one thing on his face, annoyance was another. The waitress whose name was Tiffany according to the nametag on the front of her apron.

"Since when do you work here?" Paul asked the annoyance from his face in his voice, it was sharp and cut me to the bone even if it wasn’t directed at me. Tiffany didn’t act like it bothered her one bit as she shrugged saying something like last week or something like that trying to start a conversation by asking why it been so long since he’s been here.

I just looked down at the table while he ordered his food from memory the way she giggled while writing everything down made me feel like some sort of awkward 3rd wheel. She just made a comment about how she should know exactly what he wants with how often they ate here and the worthless feeling that I had before was starting to change into something else.

The confidence I felt just seconds ago was still there surprisingly and I had to fight not to tell her to go away and leave us alone, but that wasn’t my place. I didn’t know her enough to be as angry as I was at her right then.

"And what does side piece of the week want?” It was the first thing that she said directed at me. I was still processing what she’d said wondering if she really just decided to talk to me like that when Paul spoke.

“What in the fuck is wrong with you?! You can't just fucking talk to her like that Tif WERE CUSTOMERS.” Paul snarled at her as I stood and walked past her.

“Oh no, I’ve hurt her feelings, poor thing should know better.” Tiffany sneered, loud enough for me, and everyone else on this side of the dinner to hear clearly. “Besides what is she like 15? Not like you to go for the young one's baby.” She added as I pushed past the door and out into the rain.

“Kat!” I heard Paul shouting over the fat cold raindrops as I walked towards the edge of the parking lot. I’d decided about 4 yards ago that I wasn’t going anywhere with him.

HOW IN THE HELL WAS I SO STUPID?!

“Babe comes on, don’t b-.” He started as he caught up to me. I whipped around faster than he could finish stabbing him in the chest with my finger. “Don’t you fucking dare call me that!” I hissed before continuing on walking.

“Kat, please, I didn’t know she worked here!” He said grabbing my arm yanking me to a stop and to be honest it hurt but I wasn’t about to let him know that I just ripped it out of his grip glaring up at him. “Would it matter?!” I snapped. “Would it honestly matter where we went because I would be willing to bet that anywhere between here and fucking port Angles we would be running into someone that wasn’t supposed to be there!” I shouted at him. Not really knowing where all of the anger was coming from but it was here and the more he tried to get me to stay and talk the worse it got.

“Just stop and listen to me for a second, it's not like that!” He said clearly getting angry himself. “Fuck off, Paul. Leave me alone!” I shouted still and again he grabbed my wrist twisting it as he pulled me back to face him but the second that he saw my face he let go of my arm.

“I’m sorry!” He gasped as I turned on my heel again and started walking towards what I hoped was home, I still don’t really care as long as it was away from him.

“No, Kat I- I didn’t mean to, please just let me explain what happened back there and then I can drive you home or we can grab drive threw whatever you want!” He begged getting in front of me and I just sidestepped him. “What I want is for you to leave me the hell alone! I don’t know what in the hell made me think for a fucking second that you were actually interested in anything other than getting laid.” I scathed not looking at him.

“You thought that because that’s not what I want, I mean eventually but not right now, not ever if you don’t want just give me the chance to-.” “The chance to what Paul? The chance to make me look and feel like the biggest fucking fool on earth? Or the chance for me to actually fucking believe you before you find a new side chick for the week?” I snarled.

“The chance to show you that’s not how it is!” He shouted back at me. “What do you mean that’s not how it is Paul? YOU MET ME YESTERDAY!” we were both just screaming back and forth at each other at this point. It hurt.

It hurt a lot more than it should looking at him right now.

The way he looked halfway between exploding and breaking down crying at the same time.

“It was fucking mental. Psychotic. Completely unrealistic that you would be this upset about someone you just met yesterday. Do you not understand that Paul. Do you understand why just from this right here I should never fucking talk to you again?!” I shouted at him and he froze the anger that had taken over some of his features drained and his face paled even in the dim street lights.

“Well do you?” I asked because his face made me feel like a fucking monster for saying something like that too him.

I saw his lip quivering as he breathed deeply before answering the most mournful “Yes.” I’d ever heard in my life and it almost made me want to apologize… almost.

“I’m glad we're on the same page then.” I hissed before turning away from him and continuing through the rain.

I walked for a few yards expecting and half wanting him to follow after me but he wasn’t there, he wasn’t even on the road back towards where his truck was parked, like he just disappeared. I was left alone on the forested road with nothing but a few streetlamps that did nothing but make the forest around me look more ominous.

The howl that I heard way too close made me jump even if it sounded sad. The fact that Charlie had told me that there were killer mountain lions out in the trees made me want to sprint back to Pauls truck but I refused to. I hated the fact that I wanted to go back to where he was to feel safe.

It was stupid.

This date was stupid.

This whole situation was so fucking stupid.

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thebooktrooper · 6 years

Text

Together

A Drarry Fanfic

Draco finds out about the Dursley's treatment of Harry after Harry reveals a secret during one of their fights. Words: 3.5k Find it on aos

“Scorpius! Albus! Get over here right now!” Draco’s voice thundered through the house, but he didn’t care. Someone had gotten paint all over the rug upstairs. The expensive carpet that his mother had bought him and Harry for their wedding

The floorboards shook as the twins ran up the stairs at lightning speed, not willing to anger their father more by taking their time. Draco and Harry had adopted them a year after they married. The boys looked extremely similar, but not identical. Albus’s hair was a shade darker than Scorpius’s, and he was about an inch taller. They were Draco’s pride and joy, and only a year from going to Hogwarts.

“Would one of you like to explain why, when I came upstairs, I found paint smeared all over my favorite rug?” Silence. Utterly frustrating silence. “Which one of you did it? It had to be one of you,” It took all his self-control not to curse or raise his voice to a complete yell. Again, he was met with silence and two guilty looks. “Fine, then you can go to your rooms until you are willing to talk.”

Both boys slunk away to their respective rooms, not daring to speak. Draco ran a rough hand through his hair, and let out a sigh. It was nothing a quick Scourgify couldn’t fix, and he mumbled the spell under his breath with a quick flick of his wand. What angered him was that the boys hadn’t said anything about it and that they didn’t own up to it.

It was days like these when Draco missed Harry the most. With his promotion in the Auror Department, he was hardly home anymore during the week. Not that Draco minded staying at home with the kids. He loved Albus and Scorpius, and he loved spending time with them and getting the chance to watch them grow. But he loved doing that with Harry by his side, not by himself.

Draco ate dinner alone that night, too stubborn to take back what he had said to the boys. They had to be taught their lesson, and if he gave into them, they would never learn to own up to their mistakes. They could have breakfast in the morning.

Harry didn’t come home until late around midnight. Large bags hung underneath his eyes, his hair was a mess, and his normally crazy hair stuck to his head from sweat. This was how he came home many nights, but Draco was still not used to the air of exhaustion that hung around Harry.

Draco met Harry at the door, waiting until he dropped his bag and took off his cloak to give him a hug and peck on the cheek.

“I missed you,” Draco whispered, not caring about the dirt and sweat that was transferring onto his robes.

“I missed you too,” Harry said. Draco stepped back and cast a quick scourgify and freshening charm on Harry. It couldn’t replace a shower, but it would be good enough for the moment.

“Want any dinner?” Harry nodded and followed him towards the kitchen. Draco cast a heating charm on the leftovers from his lonely dinner and set them in front of Harry. He made tea in an attempt to keep his hands busy. All he wanted to do was take Harry right there and then, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Harry was too tired to do anything but eat, shower, and sleep. Just like always.

“You’re amazing, Draco. Thank you.” The words ease the tension in his chest a bit. Draco set the teacups down on the table and kissed Harry’s cheek, grimacing at the roughness of his stubble.

“Of course, love.” He took a sip of his tea, contemplating what he wanted to say next. Should he mention Albus and Scorpius’s punishment? Harry wouldn’t find out if he didn’t tell him, and he was stressed enough as it was. There was no need to bother him with the misbehaving of their kids. Besides, he had dealt with it, hadn’t he? “You look exhausted. When was the last time you got a decent nights sleep?” Harry shook his head.

“Since before I got promoted. Everything is going into chaos; half the department is at St. Mungo’s since our last case, which means our resources are extremely limited. It’ll be better in a few months once everything settles down.”

Draco nodded in understanding, even though he wanted to scream in frustration. That’s what Harry said every time he brought up his promotion. That it would get better. But it never did. It only got worse. Harry just got more tired and more frustrated.

“You need to quit,” Draco blurted out. Harry looked up sharply.

“Draco, we’ve talked about this. I can’t just-”

“No, you listen. You’re working yourself to the bone. You haven’t spent time with the kids since you got promoted. There are others who need you. When was the last time you talked to Ron? Hermione? When was the last time you slept for more than 4 hours or had a decent shower?” He shook his head, “You’re trying to play hero again. You don’t have to be the hero for everyone all the time. Sometimes its enough to be the hero for your friends, for yourself. ”

“The kids are sleeping. I don’t want to fight with you right now Draco.”

“When are we going to talk about this then? You don’t get home until midnight half the time, and the other half you’re too tired to say more than a few words.” Harry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m going to shower. Thank you for dinner.” Draco shook his head.

“The kids asked for you to say goodnight to them. At least visit them, please?”

With a nod, Harry left him alone and went upstairs. Rubbing his temples in frustration, Draco summoned the Firewhiskey and poured himself a glass. Why did Harry have to be so damn stubborn? Why couldn’t he see that Draco needed him?

The familiar warmth of Firewhiskey spread through his body. Draco’s head buzzed slightly, and he savored the slight numbness the drink brought.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs, making him spin around in shock. Harry stalked towards Draco, a piercing glare pointed right at him.

“That was a quick shower,” Draco commented, not sure what had angered Harry.

Not deigning to respond, Harry walked past him and pulled two plates out of the cupboard and without a word, made two PB&J sandwiches.

“Who are those for?” Draco asked. Harry looked up and glared at him.

“Our children, who you, apparently, left starving in their rooms for half the night.” His voice was sharp and cold, not leaving room for contradiction.

Draco scoffed. “I didn’t starve them. They went to bed without dinner because they wouldn’t own up to spilling paint on the rug. I was going to give them breakfast.”

“So starving them was your first resort? The rug is fine, Malfoy.” When they had married, they both took the surname Malfoy-Potter since Malfoy had proposed. They only went back to their individual last names when they were really mad at each other.

“They wouldn’t own up to it! We can’t let them get away with everything in life. Otherwise, they’ll never learn.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Harry said, voice filled with venom. “Now I’m going to go bring our kids these sandwiches, and try and convince them that you’re not going to make them stay in their rooms forever and let them die.”

“What-”

“Whats next, huh? Are you going to beat them? Stick them in cupboards as my aunt and uncle did me?”

Shocked speechless, Draco sat there and stared at Harry, who had angry tears running down his face.

“When I agreed to raise Albus and Scorpius with you, I thought I could trust you to take care of them when I couldn’t.” Harry picked up the plates and started walking to the stairs. “I guess I was wrong.” The words were like a sharp blade thrusted into Draco’s heart.

It wasn’t until the clock chimed three that Draco stood from his seat and went to lay down on the couch. It wasn’t until four that he fell asleep

He woke up the next morning to the sound of the stairs creaking. Groaning, he sat up and stretched out his back while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“We should talk,” Harry said. His voice was softer then it was last night, but it still didn’t hold the same warmth it typically did.

Draco nodded, ignoring the pain in his head. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, hoping Harry would still sit next to him even if he were in a bad mood. The sofa dipped as Harry tentatively sat down.

“I don’t know what to ask you.” Draco whispered, “I have so many questions, and I don’t know the right ones to ask.” Harry nodded. “Are the boys alright?”

“They’re fine. They didn’t fall asleep last night until 1, so they’ll probably sleep in for a few more hours.” Draco nodded. “I owe you an explanation for last night.”

“And I owe you an apology.” Draco had gotten better at apologies through the years. They were still hard for him, but he knew when one was needed. And this was one of those times.

“Me first.”

“No,” Draco paused. “I was a dick and unfair to you and the boys. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just angry, angry at you, and at them, and at myself. It’s a shitty excuse, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You’re doing a fucking fantastic job at the ministry, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. I just worry about you. I worry if you still care about the kids if you still care about me and the life we’ve created together. I’m sorry I was so terrible yesterday, you didn’t deserve that after coming back from work.” He glanced down at Harry’s pajamas. “Are you not going today?”

Harry smiled. “Not for a long time.”

“You quit?”

“With the Malfoy and Potter fortunes combines, I think we can handle a few years without either of us working. I sent my resignation letter last night.”

Draco grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Thank you,” he whispered. Harry nodded.

“I’m sorry too. I completely overreacted last night. You were just trying to look out for me. You’ve been doing so much around here, and I haven’t shown an ounce of gratitude. You’re a great parent, Draco, and I wouldn’t want to raise our children with anyone else.”

Draco’s lips curved into a small smile. “You mentioned something about your aunt and uncle?” Harry froze, and Draco quickly backtracked. “I’m sorry, nevermind. We don’t have to talk about that. You had said some things, and I wasn’t sure if I had-”

“No, Draco. I need to tell you. I’ve been meaning to. I didn’t want you to find out like that, though.”

“Find out what?”

“My aunt and uncle weren’t the nicest of people” Harry started, grimacing. “Well, they were. Only to my cousin though.”

“You’ve never talked about them before. Are they the muggles you stayed with every summer?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice was quiet. Not the mad quiet that it had been last night. Scared quiet. “I’m never told anyone this before, not even Ron or Hermione. So bare with me, ok?”

“Of course.” Draco drew soothing circles on Harry’s hand and scooched closer so that he could hold Harry in a comforting embrace. “Take as much time you need.”

Harry was silent for a few moments. “My aunt and uncle hated anything that wasn’t normal, so you can imagine their disgust when I appeared on their doorstep.” Harry scoffed, “Dumbledore left me there the night my parents died with a letter. He didn’t even stay to see if they brought me inside or not. ”

“He just left you outside and left?” Draco asked, frustration bubbling in his stomach. “What if someone had taken you? What if you froze?”

“Would’ve made their lives a lot easier, I reckon. They hated me from the second they found me, and tried their best for the next ten years to squash the magic out of me.”

Confused, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry tighter. “What do you mean?”

Harry swallowed thickly. “My aunt raised my cousin to hate me, pretty much. So when she and my uncle couldn’t deal with me, he was constantly watching for me to do something wrong or ‘freakish.’ And when I learned what to do and what not to do, he ended up just making up stuff to get me in trouble.”

“He and his friends made a game called ‘Harry-hunting” where they basically chased me down and beat me to a pulp.”

“Did he ever get in trouble for it?” Draco already knew the answer, but maybe-

“No, he would always get away with it by telling my aunt he caught me doing something freakish. She would give him a prize or something for it and send me to my cupboard until my uncle came home.”

Draco’s mind was reeling. A prize? For beating up someone? And wait-a cupboard? “Cu-cupboard?” He seriously didn’t mean he slept in a bloody cupboard, of all places.

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice was becoming softer, more hesitant. “They didn’t want to give me Dudley’s second bedroom, so I had the cupboard. It was my room ‘till I got my first Hogwarts letter.” Draco’s face grew angrier, and he had to make a conscious effort not to squeeze Harry’s hand too hard. “I mean, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It fit me fine until I was 9 or so. I was always a small kid, so it wasn’t ever too cramped.”

“You slept in a bloody cupboard for ten years, and you don’t consider it a big deal?” Harry flinched, and Draco immediately felt bad. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet. You can keep going if you want.”

“No, no, you’re ok. Just give me a second.” Harry took a deep breath. Draco mindlessly drew patterns on his back with his fingers. “My aunt made me do all the chores around the house since I was 6. I had a list every day, and if I didn’t finish all of them perfectly, she would tell my uncle and lock me in the cupboard. I cooked all their meals ever since I was tall enough to reach the stove. Everything had to be perfect. Normal.”

“They made you work like a fucking house elf,” Draco muttered. “And then punished you for not doing everything? You were 6!” When he got his hands on them, he would make them regret ever setting a hand on Harry.

“I was a fast learner.” Harry said defensively, “I kind of had to be, you learn quickly when you don’t get to eat for not washing the windows.” He flinched.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Draco whispered, “They had no right to do that to you.”

“That didn’t stop them, did it?” Harry asked bitterly. “My uncle, he-he” his voice cracked, and Harry went silent for a moment. “He was the worst.”

Draco couldn’t imagine what could have been worse than his cousin and aunt, but let Harry continue uninterrupted.

“He worked for most of the day, so I only saw him at nights and on the weekends,” Harry winced again, making Draco’s heartache for his pain. “Weekends were the worst because I was left alone with him all day.”

“What did he do to you?” Draco whispered, nervous at the hollow sound of Harry’s voice.

“It was routine for him to come home and listen to Dudley and Aunt Petunia take turns blaming me for whatever I did and didn’t do that day. I would cook dinner for them, he would deal with me, and I would sleep in my cupboard for the rest of the night.”

“Deal with you?”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice shook. Draco hadn’t heard him sound that afraid in years. “He-he thought that he could beat the magic out of me if he did it hard enough and often enough.”

“He beat you?” Draco whispered, shocked. He had heard a rumor here and there, but they were just rumors from untrustworthy sources. Pure speculation. Yet…

“Yeah.” Harry took a deep breath. “He would throw me around a bit, throw a few punches and kicks here and there. He liked to hit me with his belt a lot. My magic helped a lot of scars go away but…” He looked up at Draco. His green eyes sparkled with a vulnerability that left Draco speechless. “Well, you’ve seen them. Ron and Hermione have too when we were hunting Horcruxes. I just let you all believe they were from the tournament and the war.”

“That bastard,” Draco hissed, “hit you enough to leave scars that have lasted for more than ten years?”

“I told you, he hoped that if he did it enough, he would beat the magic out of me.” Harry shook his head, “I had always been confused when I was younger. I had never been allowed to say ‘magic’ or anything like that. I just knew I was a freak that did freakish things.”

“You aren’t a freak,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s exposed shoulder. “They were wrong.”

Harry shrugged. “He gave me the harshest punishments. My aunt normally only made me go a day or two without food. If he was mad, he would throw me in the cupboard after a beating and leave me in there for a week without food. My aunt would sometimes slip me scraps, and I could sometimes sneak out to get something from the pantry, but if I was caught, it was another week in the cupboard.”

Draco felt his heart drop. No wonder Harry had been so mad the night before. He had seen Draco as his uncle. As his sick, abusive uncle. His stomach flopped with guilt.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Draco looked straight into Harry’s eyes, showing him that he was serious. “I’m not like him. I promise. I would never do that to our kids. I’m sorry that I did yesterday, I was angry, and I had no right, and I won’t do it ever again. I promise.”

Harry shook his head and brought his hand to cup Draco’s cheek. “No, don’t apologize. I overreacted. Maybe it wasn’t right, but I know you aren’t abusive. You’ve been such a kind, loving dad to those boys. I know you aren’t like him.”

Draco still felt guilty but didn’t say anything. He merely pecked Harry on the lips, savoring the moment. He would avenge the Dursley’s treatment of Harry, but that could wait for another day.

“I was always afraid of being like him,” Harry said in a timid voice. “He was all I knew growing up. I never had a loving father to look up to, not until I met Mr. Weasley. And by then it was almost too late. Those ideals and punishments had already been driven into my head.”

“Is that why you were so hesitant adopting Albus and Scorpius?” Harry nodded.

“Yeah, but then I decided that if you of all people would be able to keep me in check. You wanted them too much to let me, or anyone for that matter, hurt them.”

“That may be the smartest idea you have ever had.” Draco shook his head. “I love you, Harry. You know that, right? You didn’t deserve anything they did to you, and I swear I’m going to make them pay.”

“No, Draco, please. Don’t risk it. They’re not worth it.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Avenging what they did to you is worth it. Maybe in a few years though, catch them by surprise.”

“I don’t want to risk you going to Azkaban for killing muggles, Draco. We have kids, remember?”

“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, Draco leaned back into Harry’s arms that had wrapped around him. “Can I visit them though? Rub your success in their faces? Make them feel guilty?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Harry said gently, “and I doubt anything you say will make them feel guilty.” Draco raised his eyebrow. “Ok, fine. Just don’t torture them or anything.”

“Whatever pleases you, dear.” Draco kissed Harry again. “The kids will be up soon.”

Harry sat up straighter to stretch out his back. “I’ll make us all some breakfast.”

Draco shook his head, pushing Harry back on the couch. “You had an exhausting day yesterday and little to no sleep. You rest, I’ll make breakfast.”

“You did too, Draco. I haven’t made breakfast in weeks-”

“I haven’t made you breakfast in weeks.” Draco retorted. Harry sighed, before brightening up with an idea.

“Why don’t we cook together?” Harry asked, hope seeping through his words. “We haven’t done that in months.” Draco’s lips spread into a broad smile.

“I like the sound of that.”

#drarry #fanfiction #writing #thebooktrooperwriting #draco malfoy #harry x draco #harry potter

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cyclone-rachel · 6 years

Text

“Bouncing Boy, what’s that you got there?”

“Dunno,” he admitted, as he dumped a cardboard box in front of Triplicate Girl, right on the coffee table. “I don’t think we ordered anything that would come in such a big box. Did you?”

Triplicate Girl split up, as the three girls shook their heads.

“Is there a name on it?” White Triplicate Girl said, inspecting the box, though found nothing.

“What if it’s a gift from someone?” Purple Triplicate Girl asked with glee.

“Let’s open it up, already!” Orange Triplicate Girl squealed, as she started tearing off the tape.

As the three girls teared open the box with enthusiasm, the three dug through the packing peanuts and pulled out something very peculiar.

“Dolls!” Orange Triplicate Girl said cheerfully, holding up a small, plastic toy that resembled a cartoon-y version of herself, complete with large head and a small body.

“Aw, they got my color wrong!” Purple Triplicate girl whined, looking at the paler shade of purple on the Triplicate Girl’s clothing.

“But they did get our cuteness right,” White Triplicate Girl said, smirking.

“Hey, these are cool!” Bouncing Boy said, digging through the box and pulling out a cute, extra-rounded version of himself. “They’re little action figures! And really well-made, too!”

“Are you nerds playing with action figures again?” Lightning Lad teased, as he and Timber Wolf entered the living room.

Bouncing Boy tossed them their two dolls. “Yup! Check these out!”

Lightning Lad caught the Timber Wolf toy, and Timber Wolf caught the Lightning Lad one.

“I didn’t know we had action figures,” Timber Wolf muttered, looking over at the cutesy Lightning Lad doll, whose outfit was spot-on to the real one, and even had the same scar.

“D’awww, look at you,” Lightning Lad said, holding up the Timber Wolf toy to the real one’s face. “You even have cute little fangs and everything.”

“What’s everyone so happy about?” Phantom Girl said as she drifted by, Saturn Girl not far behind.

“Oh, Phantom Girl, you’re gonna love this,” Bouncing Boy said, almost bouncing in excitement as he grabbed the other two dolls in the box and tossed them to their respective doubles.

Phantom Girl grabbed the object from the air with confusion, though when she saw what it was, she spinned around in excitement.

“Oh my gosh! Look at me!” Phantom Girl twirled around in the air, excitedly showing off her doll to Saturn Girl. “Isn’t this the cutest thing? It’s like a cute cartoon version of me! I love it!”

Saturn Girl chuckled at the doll in her hand. “These are pretty cool…”

“What’s everyone looking at?”

The others turned to see Superman walk in, and a very tired-looking Brainy following him.

“Why do you look like you just crawled out of bed?” Phantom Girl said, floating over to mess with Brainy’s already-messy hair.

“I didn’t go to sleep last night,” Brainy admitted. “I’ve been up since yesterday working on updating Computo.”

“Jeez, Brainy, you update Computo like five times a week,” Lightning Lad groaned, then smirked as he reached into the cardboard box again. “Think fast!”

He tossed the last two toys at Brainy, though he only managed to catch one as Superman caught the other.

When Superman saw the doll in his hand, he started to laugh. “This is so cute! Look, Brainy! It looks just like you!”

Brainy looked at the doll that Superman held in front of him, which looked like a cute action figure version of himself… who happened to have a cutesy frown on his face.

“Oh, ha, ha,” Brainy muttered, then looked down at the figure in his own hands. “Look, this one looks just like you.” He smiled a bit as he saw that Superman’s toy, unlike his own, was less cartoon-y as he still had a muscular body, though the head was still fairly large, and the legs thin. “Did you guys make these?”

“No, they just came in the mail today,” Bouncing Boy said. “I wonder who made them?”

Superman traded dolls with Brainy. They did, indeed, look very well-crafted. The limbs could be posed a bit, like an artist’s wooden mannequin figure. Though very cartoon-y, their costumes and hairstyles were very accurate to their real-life counterparts.

“Who could’ve sent these?” Timber Wolf asked, as Lightning Lad took the doll from his hand. “Pretty weird that they didn’t even put in a note, or something. Do you guys usually get fan mail like this?”

“Sometimes, but it’s usually letters and drawings from little kids,” Saturn Girl said, as Phantom Girl admired the pretty plastic strands of her doll’s hair.

“We’ve never had stuff like this sent to us,” Lightning Lad said, when Bouncing Boy traded dolls with him.

“There’s someone out there with a lot of time on their hands,” Triplicate Girl, now one person again, said as she smoothed out the doll’s uniform.

Superman laughed as Lightning Lad and Bouncing Boy started making their dolls fight. “Still, this is pretty nice of them to do for us.” He turned to Brainy. “What do you say, Brainy? Wanna make your action figure fight mine?”

“Sure thing,” Brainy said, putting the mini-Brainy in Superman’s empty hand. “Have fun.”

Superman frowned lightly. “I-I meant, we play with them together…”

“Thanks for the offer,” Brainy said earnestly. “But I still have work to do. You guys have fun with the dolls for me.”

“Come on, Brainy!” Triplicate Girl wheedled. “You can’t stop working for five minutes?”

“Not really,” Brainy said, turning to go. “I can play with my doll after I finish updating Computo.” With that, he left.

Lightning Lad scoffed. “Jeez, when doesn’t he have a pole stuck up his butt?”

“Speaking of butts, my mini-me is totally kicking yours!” Bouncing Boy said tauntingly, as the mini-Bouncing Boy make a punching motion at mini-Lightning Lad.

As the others continued admiring their new action figures, Superman looked down at the two dolls in his hands. The mini-Superman, looking very heroic yet comical with the muscular body and large head with big round eyes. And mini-Brainy, with a comically large head and a frown, much like the one Brainy usually had on him.

—-

“Brainy? Are you still up?”

Brainy looked up from the monitor. “Hi, Superman.”

Superman blinked. “Have you gotten any rest?”

Brainy didn’t look very good. His hair was a mess, probably from all the times he ran his hands through it in frustration. There was a noticeably large stack of coffee cups at his side.

“I’ll rest in a bit,” Brainy said, now smiling. “I’ve almost got this update ready. It should be done sometime tonight.”

Superman smiled. “That’s great. I just wanted to know if you were free tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure,” Brainy said, not looking up from the monitor, which made his face glow blue. “Why?”

“Well, I just thought about going to see what Smallville looked like in the 31st century,” Superman said quietly. “And I was wondering if you could maybe go there with me, just the two of us. You know, just to sightsee a bit.”

Brainy blushed. “I’m not sure, Superman. I’m usually pretty busy, but maybe I can cancel my plans if nothing too important comes up?”

Superman sighed, but tried not to show his disappointment. “It’s fine, Brainy. Thanks anyway; maybe Bouncing Boy or somebody can take me.” He was about to go to bed, but remembered something. “Oh, you forgot this!”

He gently set the mini-Brainy on top of the monitor, so that it was sitting down, its legs dangling and its head lolling to the side, though it sat still.

Brainy looked up, and smiled at Superman. “Thanks. And sorry again.”

Superman forced a smile. “No problem.”

As Brainy went back to his typing, Superman walked off to bed, and Brainy started to frown. It’s not like he didn’t want to spend time with Superman; he’d spent plenty of time with him the past few weeks. But now that Brainy was starting to see him as more than just a teammate, it was starting to get awkward to be with him alone.

He looked up at the mini-Brainy sadly; as he finally finished his typing, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed that he was locked away in his room, working, as the others played with their dolls all day.

‘At least mini-Brainy got to have some fun today,’ Brainy thought, as he started to close his eyes. ‘Maybe one of these days, I can ‘let loose’, like Bouncing Boy always says…’

It was hard to tell if he was imagining things, or if he was dreaming, though he had a vivid idea of himself, free from his work, maybe even wearing some casual clothing, having fun in the city with the other Legionnaires, though he did also imagine himself particularly close to Superman, subtly trying to latch to his arm…

THUMP!

Brainy jerked back to consciousness when he felt something strike the back of his head. He jumped up, looking around for any possible intruders, though found nobody. Instead, his foot collided with something.

It was the mini-Brainy, sprawled out on the floor, thankfully still in one piece.

Brainy smiled weakly. “You gave me quite a scare.”

The doll blinked.

It took Brainy for that to register into his sleep-deprived brain, though he acted quickly when the doll pounced at him, trying to grab his leg.

“What in the-?” Brainy said, as he saw the doll get back up, its tiny arms stretched out in an attempt to grab his leg-

Without hesitation, Brainy kicked it, sending it out of his room and into the hallway, and hitting the wall hard. Its tiny left leg was broken, leaving it to hop on its one leg towards him.

He heard a scream from nearby.

“Bouncing Boy?” Brainy said, running towards his room. He forced the door open, just in time to see something very strange.

Bouncing Boy, in his pajamas, was floating up in the air, his doll on his shelf, which was already stacked high with cartoon and anime figures. He was floating right above his head, some kind of blue aura surrounding him, thought it quickly left him… and went into the doll’s body. The regular Bouncing Boy went limp, and fell back down on the bed.

Brainy ran over, and started shaking Bouncing Boy’s body. “Chuck! Chuck, wake up!”

He didn’t get a response from the body; Bouncing Boy’s head lolled from side to side.

“Brainy? Is that you?”

Brainy looked up into the hallway, and saw Superman, still wearing his superhero outfit. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with these dolls!” Brainy said, then gasped when he saw mini-Superman sprinting over to Superman’s leg.

Superman tried to shake it off, then screamed when Brainy’s one-legged doll came into the room to chase after his larger counterpart.

“What’s happening?” Superman asked.

“I don’t know!” Brainy admitted, when mini-Brainy suddenly jumped up and grabbed him by his arm.

“Get off!” Superman said, then kicked out hard.

It was a bit confusing to everyone what happened next. Superman’s kick sent his toy upwards, and it crashed right into the hallway light, leaving them in complete darkness, just as Brainy managed to tear mini-Brainy from his sleeve. The two superheroes then accidentally ran right into each other, head first. They were both momentarily stunned, as the two of them fell to the floor.

In the darkness, they could hear something bouncing.

“Bouncing Boy? Is that you?” Superman called out. “Are you-OOF!”

Superman didn’t get to answer; Bouncing Boy had turned himself into a sphere and started bouncing around, and from the sounds of it, he hit Brainy, as well.

“Bouncing Boy, it’s us!” Superman said, as he tried to get to his feet. “Superman and Brainy!”

“Something’s not right,” he could hear Brainy say. “Let’s go to your room, now! Something’s up with these dolls!”

Superman and Brainy scrambled in the darkness to get to Superman’s room, which was down the hall. They could hear Bouncing Boy bouncing after them.

The two of them finally managed to get inside, as Superman closed the heavy metal door on Bouncing Boy.

“That was close,” Brainy said, sighing in relief.

“That was weird,” Superman said, walking over to turn on his lamp. “Why do you think he…?”

He stopped his sentence when he took a good look at his hands once they were well-lit. They were green, and made of metal, as were his arms…

“Brainy?” Superman said, turning around… and saw himself, looking at his own body in confusion.

“Superman?” the other Superman- no, Brainy, said in disbelief.

“But… you’re me,” Superman said, pointing a green finger at him, then at his, no, Brainy’s, chest. “And I’m you!”

Brainy was about to answer, though another loud noise cut them off. “What was that?”

They could see something bright flashing through the door.

“I think the dolls are doing something to our bodies,” Superman said. “I think it got Lightning Lad!”

Brainy struggled to keep all his thought straight. “Okay, first thing first: we need to get out of the Legion Headquarters.” The two of them looked over at the window.

“A-Alright,” Superman said, then walked over to open the window. He noticed that Brainy’s legs were actually pretty heavy.

“Let me,” Brainy said, effortlessly opening the window and helping the now smaller Superman through.

The two flew down to the still-busy streets, though Brainy led Superman to an emptier part of town, and the two landed on the sidewalk.

Finally, Superman could register that he was in a completely different body. “This is… weird. I’m so much smaller now!” He brushed his hair out of his eyes.

Brainy looked down at his new body, as well. “This is pretty different for me, too.”

“What, being able to see the top of someone’s head?”

Brainy frowned down at him.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Superman said sheepishly.

Brainy sighed. “Alright, fine, but we need to think. There was something weird about those dolls, they possessed our teammates, and somehow made us switch our bodies.”

“We have to go back,” Superman said, pacing up and down the sidewalk as he thought. “The others are still there in danger, and we need to figure out how to reverse… whatever happened to us, and then we have to do something about those puppets, then we need to find out who did it…”

“Clark,” Brainy said, “you need to stop pacing and calm down. We can’t help them like this.”

“But we’re stuck like this,” Clark asked, looking down at himself. “We gotta help them, even if it means we’re still in these bodies!”

“I know,” Brainy said, “but we don’t know how to use each other’s powers. We can’t help them if we don’t know how to fight! We need to think rationally.”

Superman calmed down. “Right. So… how do I use… your… body?”

Brainy sighed. “This might be harder than I thought.” He stood up straighter. “How about you teach me your powers, first?”

Superman smiled sadly. “Brainy, sometimes I wish I knew.”

Brainy sighed. “Our friends are doomed.”

————(insert stuff here)————-

“We are not good at this,” Superman said, trying to catch his breath as he leaned into Brainy. He knew better than to be angry at Brainy, but he accidentally let some of his frustrations out. “Just saying, though, I don’t understand how you could mess up with my super strength, I’ve been able to lift stuff ten times my weight when I was a baby.”

Brainy frowned. “Well I do not understand how you can not even stretch your- my limbs! And what happened to that twelfth-level intelligence? A Coluan infant is probably smarter than you, at this point.”

Superman stood up and crossed his arms, though even standing up he didn’t seem very impressive to the much-taller Brainy. “Well, I’m sorry that I can’t use your body! I’ve never been a computer before! How am I supposed to know how to use this weird computer brain of yours?”

“Well I’ve never been a Kryptonian before,” Brainy countered. “Did you expect me to be a superhero overnight?”

“No, but apparently that’s what you’re expecting of me right now, isn’t it?” Superman snapped.

#submissions #submission #legion of superheroes #losh #brainysupes #fanfics #gosh #poor these two #having to work out their issues like this

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letterstokyra · 5 years

Text

Dimpy goes to play with Skimpy and Pinky

It was holiday time in Baobab village and all the children were enjoying not having to wake up early and hurry to school. Many of the children had gone to the Northern regions to visit their families and so everything had become rather quiet. Dimpy enjoyed the first few days of the holiday, but then got bored and lonely.

“Mommy Monkey, what can I do?” Dimpy nagged “I’m bored”

“Why don’t you play the acorn game?” Mommy suggested.

“I played that yesterday” Dimpy grumpily snorted,”and it’s not fun playing it on my own” he pulled a face and slouched on the couch.

Mommy monkey felt sorry for him but she also did not know how to make Dimpy feel better.

“Here my boy” she said as she ruffled his hair “have some Marula Juice and Marsh Reed Biscuits .”

Dimpy continued to be very unhappy and bored and sometimes Mommy and Daddy monkey became so tired trying to entertain him and keep him happy. Sometimes Mommy monkey took him for walks and they had lovely picnics together in the wilderness. Sometimes she took him swimming in the waterhole by the windmill. Dimpy’s favorite outing was to go with Mommy Monkey to the market. He got to see Baby Mongoose and Juvenile Jackal and sometimes even the Lion Cubs. They were still very young and so Mommy Lion mainly kept them at home where she could keep an eye on them. Mommy Monkey would always treat Dimpy, at the end of the shopping day, to a Banana dipped in Marula syrup. Mmmmm it was so delicious! Dimpy would eat it while he skipped home and Mommy Monkey had a tough time cleaning Dimpy up in the bath that night. He would have syrup everywhere! Dimpy never seemed to get tired, not like Mommy monkey who flopped into bed at the end of each day, totally exhausted from the day’s activities.

One day Post Man Porcupine arrived with his usual load of letters. Post Man Porcupine used his quills to spike the letters onto so that none of them fell off. Sometimes he had quite a load on his back and needed to rest under the shade of the big Baobab tree in Baobab Village. Whenever he came to deliver letters to Monkey Tree, Mommy Monkey sent Dimpy down with some refreshments like Berry juice and fresh bread with homemade wild tomato jam. Post Man Porcupine appreciated the meal and the extra chance to rest.

This particular day, Post Man Porcupine had a letter addressed to Dimpy. He told Dimpy to look for a small yellow envelope half way down his back.

“It will say Master Dimpy Monkey” Post Man Porcupine instructed as he used one of his loose quills to pick the tomato seeds out of his teeth. “Have you found it?” he enquired.

“Oh Yes!” squealed Dimpy as he ran off to show Mommy Monkey.

“I’ve got a letter, I’ve got a letter…” he bragged loudly as Mommy Monkey swung down to the lounge area from the bedroom where she had been dusting and sweeping.

“I wonder who it can be from?” she said as she reached out and took the letter and examined it for a clue. Dimpy grabbed it out of Mommy Monkeys hands and started to rip it open.

“Be careful you don’t tear the letter Dimpy” Mommy Monkey scolded Dimpy.

At last Dimpy had the letter and started to read it. Dimpy was still young and had not been taught how to read properly, so he asked Mommy to help him and together they read what was in the letter.

Dear Dimpy

This is an invitation to come and play with Skimpy and Pinky on the 10th August 2019. Bring your pajamas and toothbrush for a sleep over. We will have lots of fun!

From Skimpy and Pinky

“Oh Yes, Oh Yes!!” squealed Dimpy in pure delight. “Please can I go Mommy? Please?”

“We will ask Daddy Monkey when he gets home from work” replied Mommy Monkey, not wanting to promise anything to Dimpy and then disappoint him. Skimpy and Pinky were two naughty little yellow monkeys who lived in the next village.

The afternoon seemed very long. Dimpy waited at the edge of the thorn trees waiting to see Daddy Monkey coming along the path on his way back from work. It was nearly 5 o’clock when Dimpy finally saw his Daddy walking slowly along the path. His Daddy looked very tired. Dimpy ran to his Daddy and offered to carry his bag. Daddy agreed. He had been very busy at work and could not wait to sit down to a plate of Mommy Monkeys delicious food.

“Daddy, daddy” Dimpy Shrieked in excitement “I got a letter today from Skimpy and Pinky!”

Daddy looked puzzled; Dimpy did not often receive letters. “What did they say?” asked Daddy.

“They want me to go and play and sleep over” Dimpy smiled from ear to ear “Please can I go, Oh Please Daddy”

“Let me talk to your Mother” Daddy replied with a worried look on his face. “Three naughty monkeys together” he thought. “Not sure if that is a good idea – triple trouble!!”

That night after Dimpy had gone to bed, Mommy and Daddy monkey spoke. They were concerned that Dimpy would not behave himself at Skimpy and Pinky but after much discussing; they decided to give Dimpy a chance. The next day, at breakfast time, Daddy Monkey spoke to Dimpy.

“You can go my boy” he explained, “But you need to remember what we have taught you about manners and obeying rules.” Daddy looked very stern.” Remember that every action has a consequence Dimpy and you must try your very best to be on your best behavior.” Dimpy nodded fervently, smiling while he promised to be the best behaved Monkey in the land. Dimpy was so excited and swung from branch to branch singing one of his favorite songs “Fe Fi Fo Fum, I smell lots of Monkey fun!”

That day, Mommy Monkey spent the day washing Dimpy’s pajamas and getting his things ready for his stay at Skimpy and Pinky. Dimpy was very good and helped Mommy Monkey to get all the housework done and his bags packed. He wanted to show his Mommy and Daddy that he could be a good monkey. After lunch, Daddy Monkey came home from work to say goodbye to Dimpy. Daddy had arranged for Jerry Giraffe taxi service to come and fetch Dimpy and take him to Monkey Village on the other side of the mountain where Skimpy and Pinky the yellow monkeys lived. And that is exactly what happened. Soon Dimpy was on Jerry’s back and off they headed. Dimpy was so excited and he waved frantically to his Mommy and Daddy – “Bye Mom, Bye Dad” and then he was gone.

The trip went quite fast. Gerry giraffe could walk very fast and Dimpy had to hold tight so that he did not fall off. On the way they saw Rinaldo Rhino and Lester Leopard and even had a drink at the Elephant dam. One naughty baby elephant filled his trunk with water and sprayed it all over Dimpy! Dimpy was shocked at first but then joined in the fun and jumped onto Baby Elephants back and went for a swim in the dam. Soon they were on their way again.

“One last corner Dimpy and we’ll be there” Gerry Giraffe grunted. And he was right. There ahead of them were two excited little yellow monkeys, Skimpy and Pinky. They shrieked as they saw Gerry Giraffe and Dimpy and ran up the road to meet them. Gerry Giraffe bent his long neck down so that Skimpy and Pinky could climb on too and the three little monkeys started to chatter and talk about what fun they were going to have. Eventually they got to the Monkey tree and Gerry Giraffe went on his way again. Mrs. Yellow and Mr. Yellow were happy to see Dimpy and gave him a big hug.

“Welcome Dimpy” they chuckled “we are so happy you could come”.

Soon it was bed time and three tired monkeys eventually fell asleep with great plans for the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Yellow were also a little nervous because they knew that all three of these monkeys were mischievous little chaps.

After breakfast the next day the fun began and the three little monkeys made their way down to the river to catch some fish. As they got close to the river, they heard singing. It sounded beautiful. It was the voice of a young human girl.

“I’ll come to the river in the morning light, oh it’s such a lovely sight, I’ll wash and I’ll dry and feels so clean, and then I’ll go home to rest and dream la la la la la la”

It was a young girl washing in the river.

The three monkeys hid behind a tree to have a look.

“Don’t look” Pinky whispered “She’s got no clothes on”

All three monkeys covered their eyes but before long all three monkeys were peeping!! Pinky, a girl monkey looked to see if Dimpy and Skimpy were looking and they were!

“I’m going to tell, I’m going to tell” she shouted and with that the young girl got such a fright that she grabbed her clothes and ran into the human village to her family.

The three monkeys continued down the road and soon forgot about what had happened. They played in the mud and climbed the highest trees. “Let’s play hide and seek” suggested Pinky “I’ll be on first” and the other two monkeys went to hide. They decided to hide together and found a very good hiding place in a hollow tree trunk. It took a very long time for Pinky to find them. While they were waiting, Skimpy asked Dimpy if he wanted to hear a rude joke that he had heard from Barney Bat. Dimpy knew it was wrong, but he nodded in agreement and they both had a very good laugh. In fact their laughing gave them away and Pinky managed to find them.

“What are you two laughing at?” she asked, hoping they weren’t laughing at her. Before Dimpy thought about it, he had splurted out the joke. It was very rude and Pinky blushed.

“I’m going to tell, I’m going to tell,” she shouted and walked away in disgust.

They continued to play in the bushveld and it was not long before they started to feel hungry.

“What’s the time?” asked Skimpy “I’m hungry”

“It’s lunch time for sure” replied Pinky as she looked up at the sun to see how late it was.

“What can we eat?” enquired Dimpy.

“I know where we can get bananas” Skimpy eagerly offered “Over at Farmer Browns banana plantation.

“Oh my! No we can’t do that” exclaimed Pinky “Mommy has told us we cannot just go and pick bananas there, it is stealing!”

“Oh shut up Pinky!” hollowed Skimpy “Stop bossing us around and anyway, nobody will miss a few bananas! Farmer Brown is very rich!”

Dimpy agreed and off they went, Pinky lagging behind because she felt guilty.

They climbed over the fence and got stuck into the banana trees, stuffing themselves with bananas until they had stomach ache!

“Ooh aah!” they rolled on the ground in agony. Pinky looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was setting. “We need to go home” she suggested, also holding her stomach. “We have such a long way to go now and my stomach hurts”.

“I know” suggested Skimpy, “There’s a short cut through old Charley Cheetahs cave. It will save us an hour of walking.”

“No!!” protested Pinky. Mommy has told us that Charley Cheetah will kill us. He is a very grumpy cheetah. We can’t take the short cut!” Pinky started to cry her stomach was so sore.

“You are the biggest monkey Dimpy” suggested Skimpy “You can go in first and frighten the old grump and then we’ll run through the cave.”

Dimpy felt very important and so that is what they decided to do. Pinky was afraid but she also did not feel like walking the extra distance around the cave.

Quietly they crept into the cave and Dimpy led the way. Before they could proceed though, Charley Cheetah growled “Who goes there?”

Dimpy got such a fright that he jumped and hit his head on the cave wall. He cried out in pain and all three monkeys ran as fast as they could out of the cave as Charley Cheetah growled loudly behind them. After a few km, Dimpy stopped. His head was badly cut and blood ran down his face.

“Ahh that looks sore Dimpy” fussed Pinky “Eina!” exclaimed Skimpy.

The three monkeys could do nothing else but make the long walk home. Dimpy was in such pain that he could not even jump and skip and swing from branch to branch.

Eventually they got home. Mr and Mrs Yellow were so worried. The sun had set and it was getting dark.

“Where have you been?” groused Mr Yellow.

“We have been so worried!” cried Mrs Yellow.

Pinky just burst into tears and fell into her mother’s arms. Dimpy collapsed and Mr. Yellow led him to the bathroom to clean him up.

When everyone was clean and bandaged, Mr. Yellow wanted to know what had gone one that day. Dimpy and Skimpy could not look at Mr. Yellow but Pinky just blurted everything out. She told everything, from the human girl bathing in the river, to the dirty joke, to the banana plantation and then Charley Cheetahs cave. Mr. and Mrs. Yellow were not happy and scolded the monkeys for their bad behavior.

“Do you remember the song we taught you when you were younger” asked Mrs Yellow – “The one about your eyes and ears and mouth and hands and feet?”

Pinky and Skimpy nodded. “Let’s teach it to Dimpy” suggested Mr. Yellow

And so they did.

Be careful little eyes what you see ….

For the Father up above is looking down in love

Be careful little eyes what you see.

Be careful little ears what you hear…

Be careful little mouth what you say …

Be careful little hands what you touch …

Be careful little feet where you go ….

Three little monkeys got themselves into lots of trouble but they learned a big lesson.

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itsmewhorunsthistown · 7 years

Text

It’s Easy With You

So I’m in the process of writing a Fraxus fic and here is chapter one which you can also read on AO3 here hope you enjoy!

(1)

The sun was high in the sky as Freed sat in Magnolia’s biggest park, reading on a park bench under the shade of a giant tree. He had just arrived in the new city and as his parents were busy setting up their stage they had given Freed and his siblings the time off to go explore their new home for the upcoming months.

Unlike his siblings Freed had taken the opportunity to go read in peace, and had set up a silencing rune around himself so that he could fully concentrate on his studies. He was so engrossed in his book that he didn’t notice someone had approached him till they entered the rune and let out a yelp of surprise at the sudden wave of silence that must have hit them unexpectedly.

Freed grabbed his book tightly in alarm, looking up at the person who had joined him with a suspicious glare.

“Woah.” The boy spoke in awe, turning around and jumping out of the rune before jumping back into it, a grin spreading across his pale face. His hair was a vivid blonde, stark against the paleness of his skin. He looked almost sickly, but the amber eyes that were staring at Freed with excitement made it easy to forget that observation.

“You’re a wizard! Man, I’ll totally forgive you for not answering me if you tell me how you made it silent here. I literally can’t hear anything but us.”

Freed blushed lightly as the other rambled, sitting back on the bench and holding his book against his chest as if to protect himself from the excitable stranger.

“It’s r-rune magic. I can make rune circles and the rules I dictate for them must be followed. So, um, I made it so only sound from inside the circle can be heard.”

The stranger wasted no time in sitting next to him on the bench, looking around at the writing that surrounded them.

“So are you part of a guild? Magic this strong needs to be used for good in a guild, right?”

“S-strong?” No one had ever called Freed’s magic strong before. His magic was only just being learnt, and he’d only perfected the silencing rune because he got so sick of the noise that followed him everywhere he went. It wasn’t flashy, it didn’t bring any good to his family and it was hard to keep up. He’d been unable to use it to do anything worthwhile, it just meant that he could sometimes concentrate.

“Yeah, totally! I think this is pretty strong.”

The weight of the compliment startled Freed so much that he dropped his control of the spell and sound came crashing in around them. The stranger laughed, standing up from the bench and holding out a hand for the other.

“I’m Laxus. Come on, I’ll show you my guild. It’ll be better than yours because Fairy Tail is the best.”

Freed stared at Laxus’ hand with caution, fidgeting with the corners of his book. “I’m not part of any guild.”

“Well then, this will be even more impressive.”

The excitement and enthusiasm etched on Laxus’ face made it hard for Freed to look at him directly. Freed wasn’t sure why his heart was beating so quickly, or why his face felt warm but the thought of taking his hand and seeing his guild was incredibly exciting, so Freed quickly leant forward to grab hold of it.

“I’m Freed Justine.”

“Okay Freed Justine, lets go.”

Following Laxus was easy for Freed and this ease continued for the next few months.

His days settled into an easy rhythm while he was in Magnolia. In the mornings he would help get his parents out of bed and help his older sister make breakfast for the family. Then, as soon as he was set free, he would run over to Laxus’ house and the two would go on some adventure or another until Laxus got tired. This tended to happen after a few hours of energetic running from place to place and when it did Freed would tug him back to the Guild or to Laxus’ mother’s home.

Laxus’ mum was a kind woman, although she was stern when it came to Laxus over exerting himself. She always wore long dresses and had her blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail, which made her glare even scarier than it was when it was down. She had lines on her face from a mix of laughter and stress, and her Fairy Tail insignia was black like Laxus’, placed on her back and between her shoulders.

Freed liked the afternoons at their house the best. Freed would sit with Laxus in his bedroom and they would talk, or study thick books about magic, unless his mother made them sit in the kitchen with her as she cooked.

With Laxus’ help and encouragement Freed was learning all sorts of new magic. It took him ages to write out the runes, but Laxus would be patient as he experimented in different rules than just silence.

For Freed, who had never had a friend like Laxus before, this was one of the most exciting moments of his childhood. He looked forward to his days, and even started enjoying helping his family with their act as a good reception meant they could stay in Magnolia for longer.

However a good reception couldn’t last forever, and eventually his parents informed them that they had to leave for the next town.

Freed had stared at her in shock as he was given this news over breakfast, sprinting out of the house without so much as saying goodbye, knowing he needed to find his friend before sundown.

When he got to Laxus’ house however, the other wasn’t in and his mother wasn’t sure where he had gone. He stayed around waiting for him for a bit before deciding to go check at the Guild, but he wasn’t there either. Nor was he at the park, or the forest, or the other spots around town where they often spent their time.

Freed spent the whole day trying to find his best friend but it wasn’t until the sun was about to set that he finally found him on the outskirts of town, a bag in his hand and a nervous expression on his face.

“Laxus!” Freed shouted, darting forwards and coming to stop only a few feet away from him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Laxus looked considerably shocked at the sight of Freed, before a relieved smiled filled his face and he let out a little laugh. “I’ve been looking for you too, have we just been missing each other all day?”

Freed let out a little laugh at the thought, smiling up at Laxus warmly. “That must be so. Why were you looking for me?”

“Oh, well, I got a letter from my dad yesterday, and I’m going to go on a quest with him! So I’m going to be gone for a while, not sure how long but, yeah. I wanted to say bye.” Laxus’ voice didn’t sound as excited as Freed thought it ought to be considering how he and Freed had spent all of the previous Sunday trying to convince Macao to take them out on a real quest. In fact, he sounded much more nervous than he normally did, and he already looked exhausted.

Freed had no idea what Laxus had said to convince his mother to let him go on a quest. The thought made him uneasy.

“A quest? Are you sure you can handle that Laxus? Y-you already look pretty tired.”

Laxus let out an annoyed huff at his words, crossing his arms. “I’m not weak Freed.”

“I know!” Freed spoke quickly, hoping he hadn’t offended his friend. “I’m just worried I guess. Cause I.. I won’t be here when you get back.”

Laxus dropped his arms to his sides in shock, hurt flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, uh, we’re moving on to the next town. For mum and dads performance.” Not for the first time Freed found himself unable to look at Laxus, but this time it wasn’t because his excitement was dazzling him. He felt guilty. Freed had never had to say goodbye to anyone he cared about before because he didn’t normally have people he cared about. “I wish I could stay but I can’t leave them. I’ll send a letter when we get set up in the next place, so you can tell me that you got home safe?”

“Oh… I’ll miss you.”

Freed looked up at him, opening his mouth to speak before he was cut off by a shout from the distance.

“Laxus, that you?”

Laxus jumped at the voice, spinning around and waving at a tall figure that Freed didn’t recognise before turning back to Freed.

“That’s my dad, I gotta go.” Laxus spoke quietly, reaching forward to squeeze Freed’s shoulder. “Write me and I’ll write back.”

Freed stared at him as he let go of his shoulder, all his emotions building up in his chest as he saw Laxus starting to turn away.

“Wait!” He cried, rushing forward and throwing his arms around his best friend. He held onto him as tightly as possible, ignoring his heart hammering in his chest as he pressed his head into the crook of his shoulder. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I love you.”

Freed wanted to say more, to tell him to stay safe and stay in contact, but he knew that by saying those three simple words Laxus would understand.

For a brief moment he felt Laxus hugging him back before he drew away, smiling at him softly before he turned around and began to walk towards his dad.

Lifting his hand to wave at him, Freed could hear the smile in his voice as he raised his voice to speak. “I’ll see you again, Freed.”

Freed didn’t reply. He simply watched Laxus leave and promised himself that he would return.

#fraxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fairy tail #freed x laxus #oneshot #mine w #hope you guys enjoy!!

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oxfordeliterp · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, KITSON!

You have been accepted to play the role of ARIA BELLEFONTE with the faceclaim of PHOEBE TONKIN. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. From the ‘pinot noir painted lips’ to her thriving under bright lights, it’s clear in every line of your application just how much you understand Aria. It’s clear you know just how much important Elizabeth was to Aria and just how much of an impact her death has had, as beautifully shown in your sample. You managed to turn a sophisticated writing style into something so fluent and so cursive that every fancy word and every letter you picked for your application complete a complex feeling that represents Aria wholly. Your writing brings her to life in such vivid detail, capturing her magnetism and her grief in a wonderful balance. To quote what you wrote and adapt it to the context, damn this application for making us feel. We need to meet straightaway.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns:

Kitson &/or Kit

Age:

Time-zone:

I’m currently residing in the CST tz but once college starts back up again in the fall I’ll be switching to the EST tz.

Activity level:

Since it’s summer and I don’t have too much on my plate, my activity should be about a 7/10. I do babysit quite often but I still have a lot of free time on my hands

Triggers:

Whether my stomach of steel is a blessing or a curse is a question still unknown to myself. It takes a lot for something to truly unsettle me. So, with that being said I personally don’t have any triggers, but will take careful precautions to be mindful of others!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character:

Synonymous with BLACK. She is slanted. All pinot noir smeared lips and little baggies of cocaine spilling from a jeweled bustier. Cheap. The broken starlet, the tortured little princess, the whore.Spoilt, spoilt, spoilt and now she’s rotten. Decaying. A false god, Dionysus personified. Perhaps it had begun years ago, the decomposition. Perhaps it had been inherent. This anger within her thick, black, and pulsating. SHE HAD LOVED THE NIGHT SO MUCH , SHE BECAME IT. All fishnet stockings, ripped and glistening diamonds choking her perfumed neck. The degenerate and strange old hollywood starlet with porcelain flesh and eyes like death, cigarette ashes and slinky lingerie and cocaine powdered noses. A tragedy in its truest form of an angel fallen. A primordial being, dirtied, sullied. She is the void. Emptiness, darkness, loneliness personified. But she doesn’t mind. Not anymore.

You are a GIRL and you are a WOLF. A beast, they deemed you, ravenous, they said. Terrifyingly so, you agreed as you cut another line of cocaine. But once upon a time, you had been PUERILE & PURE, an unbroken doll composed of eager eyes and painted cheeks. Now, you thrive beneath BRIGHT LIGHTS and hot hands, solace found beneath a heavy touch against turning hips and nicotine sullied breaths mingling against your liquored lips. Perhaps you have lost yourself in the neon jungle, painted a doll-like exterior visceral shades of melancholic blue,

BUT YOUR NAME IS STILL ARIA BELLEFONTE AND YOU ARE A HAZY FEVER DREAM OF A GIRL.

( THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN TO BE TRUE. )

Gender and pronouns of the character:

Female. Uses she/her pronouns.

Changes:

If you’d accept it, I’d like to use Phoebe Tonkin as Aria’s faceclaim.

Traits:

( - J E A L O U S ) she sees others with their seemingly perfect family and their put together lives and yearns to drown cities with her tears. instead she laughs, mocks the malleable and obedient children, and tosses back another flute or two of champagne, snorts another line or two of pretty white party favors off her mother’s collection of vogue magazines or the bible she keeps hidden in a mahogany drawn from her brief religious stint her freshman year and thanks the lord above that she hadn’t become her parents. but all aria wanted was to be admired for more than her look, more than her last name, and she often wonders how different her life might’ve been had she continued murmuring her Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s in the front pew of the church. Whether her parents could have loved her in the way she wanted them to love her, been proud of her accomplishments, no matter how small, like other parents were. She knew no family was perfect and that every one percenter had familial problems, but seeing them chatting casually over brunch made her blood boil. Watching the pretty and perfectly moulded girls introduce their gilded boyfriends of three years to their seemingly doting mothers made her want to scream.

( - O B S E S S I V E ) there is something so terrifying about an addictive woman with an addictive personality. & aria bellefonte is just that. she latches onto anything, whether it be drugs or booze or exploiting her sexuality, to keep herself from drowning in her thoughts. she obsesses to the point of it being hazardous, drinks herself into a drunken stupor all to forget the lack of parental adoration and approval. with no love from mommy, and all money and material belongings from daddy, aria had been spat out unto a man eats man world with nothing but ignorance and a need for fleeting bliss. almost childish and almost mature she’s stuck in between two conflicting personalities. she is both the addictive drug and the addicted.

( + P A S S I O N A T E ) aria was all late nights spent dancing across penthouse floors, body swaying to white noise and the deafening silence. far too glamorous, far too beautiful, far too free for anyone to truly tame. she wasn’t like the others, and preferred red rimmed eyes and distant recollections of nights spent with various different men and women to a traditional relationship. yet that didn’t stop her yearning. she is wild and fiercely independent. a beacon of passion dulled by prescription pills and excessive amounts of alcohol.

( + M A G N E T I C ) there is something so naturally compelling about aria. something so different. she’s exotic almost, yet entirely mundane. in a world of opulence, she is the woman across the room sipping beer from a champagne flute, puffing plumes of smoke from her father’s cigar into the air. she is the woman eating a cheeseburger amidst a crowd of calorie counters. she is late nights spent riding backseat in a cab, cigarette between pinot noir painted lips and a blunt tucked into her back pocket. there is something about her that draws you in and spits you out after a night of neon lights and adventure, dank bars and dirty sex. she had never been pristine nor pretty in the traditional sense, she is raw and unconventional— an enthralling enigma.

Extras:

It was so, so hard trying to decide on a major for Aria, and I’m still debating a bit between Sociology or Psychology. Both seem to fit her to a degree, I just can’t decide at this moment which is the more suitable option.

i. Aria has always associated flowers with death for reasons unknown. Maybe it was the pungent scent of yesterday’s plethora of floral harvests bringing to mind nothing but funeral parlors, adorned with already wilting flowers, their lives ending before their time for the sole reason of capturing their beauty. Or perhaps the affiliation had been made due to the lethal nature of countless plants. Belladonnas, lustrous and plump, yet waxed in fatal poison. Roses armored in thorns eager to impale wandering fingertips. There was something dangerous about flowers. Pretty and poisonous, much like herself. Perhaps that was what had roused the link between the two.

ii. Aria has a nasty habit of fingernail biting. Having developed it at a younger age, she is constantly going through spurts of recovery from her grotesque desire to gnaw at her thumbnail when under pressure to spiraling out of control and chewing off each and every nail when partaking in an especially enthralling conversation or viewing a particular intriguing movie.

iii. Aria drinks coffee like she breathes air. Excessively.

v. Perhaps a lifestyle of obedience had never been in the cards for the hardened shell of the already hardened exterior. Born unto the biting air and falling temperatures, Aria hadn’t been birthed to be warm and amicable. She had been meant to be a force of nature. Dangerous, sardonic, blatant, and honest. Yet she yearned to love and be loved in return. But a hurricane of a girl drowning past selves to make room for the newer, better, improved Aria’s could never truly be loved in the way she wanted to be. Yet she continued on in an attempt to please two expectant parents. A form of self destruction, natural selection at its finest as the girl shed skins to fit into certain habitations until the incessant adaptions had grown tiring. It hadn’t ever required new identities to disguise a broken past, and Aria had desired to become a simpler version of the intricate entanglements she had woven. Simply herself. Perhaps brazen, perhaps rash, but entirely true to the soul she had become. Never the beauteous woman draped over the hero’s arm nor the hero himself. Sutton the cunning villain, the serpent in the garden of Eden. For she deceived. She broke. She burned. She singed all those who treaded too close. She destroyed all good that came her way. Matured at such a young age, deprived, depraved, broken and mended and broken again. A work in progress, a listener but never willing to open herself up in return, a friend but never deeming many her own, an enigma in every sense of the word. The only connection she has to her parents and past is her last name. Nothing else.

vii. Elizabeth Pemberly. The girl she sought hard to forget. Yet she is lingering in nightmares, a stitch in her side. Inescapable. All the prescription pills popped, and champagne bottles chugged, and blunts rolled and each broken boy and girl made a home out of for the night and she still couldn’t forget. Damn her. Damn that Elizabeth Pemberly for making her feel.

vi. Born November 13, Aria is a Scorpio. “The Scorpio woman should never be taken lightly. They aren’t flaky, fluffy, or helpless creatures by any stretch of the imagination. Direct, and brilliantly sharp, Scorpio women only focus on the fundamental essence of any issue and disregard the superfluous. They like clear endings and beginnings, with no grey areas in between. A Scorpio woman wants her certainties to remain just so - absolutely rock steady and assured. She wants to understand everything and knows how to craft just the right question to obtain the answers she seeks. Scorpios are intuitive, controlling, and sometimes self-destructive, but in all this they have a certain deadly beauty to their personalities. They are fearless and stubborn and even when life gets a little tricky they merely take it on the chin and keep going. Self-confident, resourceful, and strong, Scorpios are driven to succeed; they work hard and are willing to sacrifice anything to get to their goals. They are also complex and secretive, choosing who they divulge their secrets to carefully.” [x]

vii. Aria’s alignment is chaotic neutral.

( I have bolded what I feel pertains especially to Aria’s personality and beliefs. )

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment you can be because it represents true freedom from both society’s restrictions and a do-gooder’s zeal. Chaotic neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

This type of character will at least consider doing anything if they can find enjoyment or amusement. Life has meaning, but theirs has the greatest meaning. According to chaotic neutrals, laws and rules infringe on personal freedom and were meant to be broken. This character is always looking for the best deal, and will work with good, neutral, or evil to get it; as long as he comes out of the situation on top. The chaotic neutral is constantly teetering between good and evil, rebelling, and bending the law to fit his needs. (3)Chaotic neutrals can also be completely random and unpredictable.

They may shift allegiances at a moment’s notice, or remain with a leader for years. The chaotic neutral character feels that there is no plan at all for the universe. Things just happen. They tend to believe in luck and chance, rather than fate or destiny. They don’t care what happens to others, yet will not necessarily go out of their way to harm others. If someone stands in the way of their happiness, they may kill that individual or move on to something else. Their priorities tend to change as they experience new things in life. They may even appear to adhere to another alignment for some length of time, only to switch at an inappropriate moment. They can be the worst tricksters, conning people, not for gain, but for sheer amusement. The chaotic neutral may not be driven by fame or wealth, but may only take actions just to see what happens.

A chaotic neutral character will keep his word if it serves his interests. He may attack an unarmed foe if he feels it necessary. He will not kill, but may harm an innocent. He may use torture to extract information, but never for pleasure. He may kill for pleasure, but is not likely to do so. A chaotic neutral character may use poison. He may help those in need and he prefers to work alone, as he values his freedom. He does not respond well to higher authority, is distrustful of organizations, and will disregard the law in pursuing his self-interest. He may betray a family member, comrade, or friend, but only in the most dire of situations. Chaotic neutral characters do not respect the concepts of self-discipline and honor, because they believe such concepts limit freedom to advance their self-interest.

PARA SAMPLE

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with its routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. The erratic pulsating of jaded hearts incarcerated within uncompromising ribs sustained until one day its seemingly everlasting palpitations eventually ceased. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, wake up. Again and again and again. Over and over again. Repeat. Until the perpetuity of existence no longer seemed so daunting anymore.

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— people moved on and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. Yet she defied the consensus and took a cursory hiatus from her quotidian procedures to mourn the unforeseen death of the girl who had settled in her heart.

Inhale,

Exhale,

The air hung static and bore the lethal scent of melancholy and death like an intoxicatingly bitter fragrance. Hushed was the erratic surging of one stone heart intermingling with the motionless atmosphere. Silenced was the volatile screaming of her. Befallen was a certain sense of placidity. Submerged was the room as Aria Bellefonte with her white powdered nose listened impassively as the story had been told. Tongue swollen, lips bruised from keeping it all in. Although her battle wounds were inconsequential in comparison to the traumatic injuries that had been inflicted upon her Elizabeth, she was weakened. Paralyzed by apprehension.

The inferno, the fervor that momentarily raged within had gone compliant. The vitality and perseverance to keep herself ignited had been usurped by sorrow. It was tragic, truly, witnessing the happiness stone-cold Aria had momentarily possessed being expelled from her body like air from lungs the very moment she heard that Elizabeth Pemberly had breathed her final breath.

Inhale,

Exhale,

Forget and forgive.

But after such an unexpected tragedy, how could she truly be capable of overcoming her need to blame others and begin to do so?

Life became dull cycle that the bitter girl forcibly underwent everyday. Biting remarks and glassy gazes throughout the daylight hours and a typhoon of emotions in the dead of night. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Do it over again. Wake up, breathe, eat, party and sleep. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Again and again. Repetition was key to overcoming, right?

Of course it was.

Seconds passed with a certain lethargy. Minutes. Hours. Days. It was common knowledge that the world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with it’s routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve.

And maybe the world would never cease it’s incessant rotation for one measly broken heart, but Aria Bellefonte would. For she ceased to exist without the faulty tha-thump resonating within the hollow of her chest. Aria Bellefonte ceased to exist without the unbearable pain of her lover’s demise on her delicate shoulders.

Hazel hues swept throughout the room, fleeting from object to object before landing on the mirror. The facade had been eradicated long ago, she knew that now. Concealing the sorrow lurking within seemed futile. But she had spent the entirety of her life donning a caustic personality and a cold stare to match. She couldn’t stop now. She wouldn’t. And so Aria continued to spend her nights painting a bitter frown bright shades of red before slipping out into the night. Dead, like usual. But broken this time. For once upon a time, she had felt alive.

#aria bellefonte #accepted

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sickficksandmorr · 7 years

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Part 1 of 2

Aiku and James were going on a mission today! James was pumped! They would be riding in a boat and everything! They would be going to the kingdom of Sizzitries to try and figure out who had kidnapped Mr. Platries wife. Mr. Platries was a wealthy merchant in the kingdom of SIzzitries and offered a lot of money for whoever could do this job. James had taken it right away, timidly asking Aiku if he wanted to come with. Aiku had agreed much to James's delight. The day had finally arrived. They were both all packed and ready to go. Aiku had flattened his ears to his head and put on a hat and and had tucked his tail into his jeans, wrapping it around his leg. As they said their goodbyes, Aiku fought to hold back coughs. He had woken up that morning with a sore throat, but had shrugged it off and gotten ready anyway. After they said their goodbyes, they hitched a ride to the docks. Their ride happened to be an old pickup truck where they had to sit in the very back. The way the truck bumped along the old road made Aiku's stomach feel a little sensitive but he said nothing about his discomfort, not wanting to worry James. James was oblivious to Aiku's discomfort. He was just super happy to have him there. They conversed about nothing of matter until they made it to the docks. They paid the man for his hospitality and jumped out of the truck, running to catch their boat. The boat they would be taking was just your average ferry if not a little bit smaller than usual. They boarded and Aiku took the nearest bench as residence. He rested his head against the back of the bench and closed his tired eyes, coughing a couple times into his over sized sleeve. James happily sat next to Aiku on the bench. The smaller of the two opened one eye to make sure it was James sitting next to him and not some stranger. Aiku leaned his head on James's shoulder, trying to rest. "Did you not get enough sleep last night?" James asked. Aiku yawned. He had stayed up rather late because a cough kept waking him, but he didn't want to tell James that and have him worry. This mission meant a lot to him. He simply shook his head. James sighed in disappointment. "You knew we had an important mission today and you still stayed up late?" Aiku nodded sheepishly. "Get off me." James was disappointed. Aiku didn't care enough about him to go to sleep early. That wasn't like him. Actually, it wasn't like him to stay up late. Aiku was usually the first in bed. Rosie was usually the one who stayed up until like five in the morning. Aiku took his head off of James's shoulder and instead tried his damnedest to stay awake during the four hour long ferry ride. The duo didn't speak which Aiku was grateful for. His throat was really starting to bother him now. He stifled a small coughing fit into his sleeve again. James didn't seem to notice. Again, Aiku was grateful. James was lost in his thoughts. He was worried and disappointed. Aiku hadn't gone to bed last night until after ten when he was normally in bed by nine. He'd also had to be woken up by James when he normally woke up early on his own. He had been sluggish through the whole getting ready process and that sluggishness never really left. Aiku had been slow to respond to questions, and he had been moving really slowly. They had almost missed the ferry because of how slowly Aiku had been moving. Just what was the cat boy trying to pull here? James sighed and glanced over at the cat boy. Aiku's eyes were glazed over and he was staring at something James couldn't see. Maybe he was daydreaming. ... James, having festered in his thoughts for too long, angrily yet gently shoved Aiku when they reached the island to get his attention. Aiku hiccuped queasily and blearily looked over at James. "We're here." James said gruffly, standing. Aiku nodded and stretched out every limb before standing so he wouldn't get lightheaded and fall back over. They grabbed their luggage and hopped off the ferry and onto dry land. Aiku could have cried with happiness when his feet touched the sand. The boat had been making him feel sick to his stomach to go with his growing list of aches. By now he had a headache to go along with his sore throat and all of his limbs felt really heavy. He felt like he was trudging through thick mud or something. He was also beginning to find it hard to think clearly. He hoped he could get through this mission. They walked to their hotel. Every step made Aiku's luggage seem heavier and he was tempted to ask James to carry it, but James seemed super pissed about something. So again, Aiku kept his mouth shut. When they got to their hotel, they figured out where their rooms were. They were both relieved to have separate rooms. Aiku didn't want to wake James up at all hours with his coughing and James was still a little pissed at Aiku. That night was rough for Aiku to say the least. At one point he woke up couching so hard he had to dash to the bathroom because the jostling forced something up. He had just made it to the bathroom in time. He spent the rest of the night camped out in the bathroom since it seemed like every other coughing fit had him puking. He finally got to sleep and stayed that way at around five in the morning, having to wake up at seven. It seemed like he had only blinked when the alarm on his phone went off. He had only turned on the alarm because he hadn't woken up the day before. He begrudgingly got up out of the bathroom floor and took care of his morning routine before turning off his alarm. He got dressed and hid his ears and tail before stepping out of the room, subsequently running into James who was walking down the hall. "Oh, you're up!" James sounded presently surprised. Aiku nodded, too afraid to open his mouth least another bought of coughing overtake him. "Did you get enough sleep?" Not wanting to upset James any more than he probably already was, Aiku smiled and nodded again. "Awesome! Let's go to breakfast." James seemed much more chipper this morning, maybe now would be a good time to tell him he wasn't feeling well. Then again... It was probably just a small cold, nothing too serious. James probably didn't need to know of his slight discomfort. Besides, Aiku was already the weak link of the group, he needed to toughen up. If Rosie could get electrocuted half to death and still smile, Aiku could handle a small cold himself. There was no need to let James know of his ailment. He would be fine. So they went to breakfast. Aiku barely picked at his food, his appetite completely gone thanks to this cold. James didn't seem to notice or if he did, he didn't seem to care. James hadn't really been paying attention to anything around him, he was too busy reading over the poster for the fifth time. "So we have to go to town hall and look for the man with the service cat." James said as the waitress picked up their plates. "A service cat?" Aiku asked. His voice was hoarse and all scratchy and sounded a little congested. The cold must be moving to his throat. "It's like a service dog, its trained to do all the things a service dog does but it's a cat." James tilted his head as he got a good look at Aiku for the first time since leaving. Aiku's eyes were glassy with dark circles underneath, his nose and cheeks a dark shade of pink, his face a pale sickly color, his hands shook really bad as he reached across the table. "Can I see the paper?" James offered the paper to the clearly sick teenager with a look of skepticism. "Are you okay..?" Aiku looked shocked for a second. He grabbed the paper and coughed into his fist. "Yeah I'm fine." Came the blatant lie. James glared at the younger teenager. He was obviously not fine. "Th-" Aiku broke into a harsh cough and ended up gagging. He cut himself off to swallow harshly before continuing. "The p-paper says cat neko." James winced at just how bad Aiku's voice sounded. It sounded like he might just be loosing his voice. James thought back to yesterday. Aiku had seemed fine if not a little tired. Why was he suddenly so sick? "It does?" James paid for their meals and they stood up. They stood side by side and Aiku pointed to the part of the poster that said it. "See?" James squinted. In really small letters it did indeed say neko. "Ugh. So he has slaves?" James pouted. "He's rich! What do you expect?" Aiku tried to snort but ended up giving a hacking cough. "You don't sound okay..." James stated. "I'm fine. Come on, lets go meet the guy." Aiku took a few wobbly steps before his legs give out and he began to fall. James quickly scooped up the sick boy before he could fall. He winced at how warm the other felt. Maybe it would be best to get Aiku to bed. "I'm okay... I-I can walk..." Aiku rasped, standing back up shakily. James's heart broke. Aiku was hurting and James hadn't noticed soon enough to keep it from getting too bad. Now Aiku must think he was blowing his sickness out of proportion when it was, in fact, really bad. "You are clearly not okay! Let's get you back to the hotel. We can catch the ferry back home tomorrow and send someone else to do the mission." James decided. Aiku looked at James the way a frightened little kid looks at their parent. "I'm fine." "I think you have a fever." James concluded, leaving no room for argument as he scooped Aiku into his arms. "We are going back to the hotel and I'm going to take care of you." He walked them back to the hotel and brought Aiku back to his room. "How much did you eat at breakfast?" James demanded. "I ate..." Aiku said tentatively. "How much?" "Well I wasn't really hungry so I didn't eat a lot.." James sighed. After making sure Aiku was comfortable, James opened a can of soup and heated it up in the microwave before forcing Aiku to eat at least half before he was satisfied. James went to the bathroom to find a thermometer. He came back out with a thermometer and some pain killers. "Do you hurt anywhere?" He asked. Aiku was hesitant, but he nodded. Seeing the hesitation, James decoded to press further. "What hurts?" The question was gentle, it didn't need to be answered. Again, Aiku was hesitant to answer. "My um... My head... And... My throat." "Is that all?" Aiku gulped, looking down at the bed. Finally, he broke. "M-my whole b-body hurts..!" Aiku sobbed, putting his palms to his eyes.

#part 1 of 2 #aiku #Rosie #james #oc #original #original character #sick #sickfic #emeto tw

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drunkenough2write · 4 years

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Sober at 8:58 am

Ive started to numb everything out, push everyone else thats left away. I havent talked to Kaylee in about two months, or the guys in a few days, ive been avoiding anish and Molly and you and i obviously havent talk in a while. I had a moment yesterday i was doing ...something... and i started thinking about you, i let that numb thing go for a minute and i just kept saying “i love you Michael” over and over and i dont know what im doing. i dont know if i want you because im bored with him or because youre the one im supposed to spend the rest of my life with. i dont know if you and i are good for eachother or if we just romanicize the fuck out of eachother to the point weve tricked our minds into believing that we belong together, i dont know if those late nights spent in your arms, or those car rides with our fingers intertwined and the windows down meant nothing or meant everything. ive spent endless hours closing my eyes just so that i can picture your face, i have a hundred pictures of you i cant convince myself to delete. Everything makes me think of you, music and movies and people on social media, i think about what youd do when im scream singing in my car, windows down and crazy hair and music i havent listened too since middleschool, i think about you standing behind me in the shower and laying next to me in bed, i think about you shooting me looks across the isles of grocery stores and gas stations, i think about you picking at your nails and the warts on your fingers while i drive and roll my eyes at you, i think about you when i get high, how you get so paranoid, how you get a look in your eye like youre all alone and the worlds a stimulation trying to break you down and invade your inner thoughts and you look at me and i wonder if you trust me and i just want to wrap you in my arms and kiss your face and let you know that i got you no matter what. I dream about you, your long hair and jaw line, lanky body and strong arms, i dream about you walking in and the rest of the world falling away, you being all that i see and all that i know and nothing else in the world mattering even the smallest bit. Im scared Bugs, im scared of losing you, im scared of losing me, im scared that he will come back and i will pick him and one day ill wake up from yet another Michael dream and think “what the fuck am i doing?” but be so deep into it that theres nothing i can do, and im scared ill pick him and one day he will stop picking me and im scared that i cant love anyone. I spent years being the girl a guy could love, i perfected it, manipulated every boy i met into becoming obsessed with me, tricking their minds to the point i was all they thought about and i never got caught, i played boy after boy perfecting my actions and it worked. Ramon was so invested i didnt even notice, all his friends knew about me, he told them he was falling in love with me and all i thought about at the time was how he had a weird sex face and it didnt feel serious, then there was London, the boy who flirted with me in highschool and told me i was going to marry him and then years later told me i was ugly in highschool, so i convinced him nobody could understand him like i did, i let him be a douche bag, and make every possible stupid mistake he could and told him that he was amazing regardless, i supported all of his dreams even though i thought they were dumb and far far out of reach all while entertaining others. At the same time i was sleeping with two frat guys in different frats that hated eachother and i made them both believe they were the hottest guys id ever seen and the best lays any girl could have all the while one looked like hed never stepped outside and was not packin and the other had a nice body but a jew nose and lasted like 4 minutes everytime, and they both faded out eventually. Then i reconnected with Reese and unfortunately he had been in the game longer and saw past the face i put on, he reached into my heart and plucked at the parts he knew would give him a safe place and i fell for it. i became his escape from home and work, he would come over at 3 am after work and slip into my bed and play his music and we’d fall asleep and id wake in the morning and leave for class and come back to him leaving, There was one night i was convinced he had real feelings for me. he was hanging with preston and their friend ethan who had moved out of state and came to visit, Preston went to ASU and lived in dorms near mine. They went to a strip club and then got super drunk and went back to prestons room, Reese called me and let me know he was still coming over at about midnight and Preston stole his phone saying he wouldnt make it and i just laughed at them and said id be up for a while if he changed his mind, even though i was so tired i couldve slept for an unholy amount of hours. i got a few snapchats from his snap that preston took of reese’s head in the toilet and figured he wouldnt be coming over, but i stayed up for a little while and then i got a call at 5 am he slurred his words trying to tell me he was coming and that he was lost but escaped Prestons room, Preston and ethan eventually found him and got on the phone trying to figure out where i lived, i told them and came out to meet them, Sophmore year of highschool i had a class with both Reese and Preston but i dont think either of them knew i had existed at the time. when i walked out they all looked at me and Reese looked so sad, red eyes and tears on his cheeks, he almost tripped over his own feet into my arms, i hugged him and looked back at his friends, they told me to take care of him, i smiled and took him back to my room. i put his stuff in the closet and helped him change and he followed me into bed, his arms around me (something he never did) and he cried, told me i was all he cared about, said all these things and passed out and for the first time since meeting him i felt like he wanted me for me, but i was wrong, i was a safe spot, a hidden island where he could get away from the rest of the world and eventually he met someone else. then on new years i got a snapchat from kaylees younger sister asking if it would be okay if she gave my snap to her cousin ransom whom i had only met a few times, i said sure and his first snap said he was gonna make me his. i laughed, i liked when guys were forward, unfortunately that was one of the only things i liked about him, over the next month i played with him, careful not to break him entirely, he tried to get me to take his virginity and him being the mormon cousin to my childhood mormon best friend i knew i couldnt and then one day i got a snap from some guy i met on tinder, his name was Alex Decker, he hyped me up on snap all the time and i was on shrooms so i responded, asked why he was always nice to me he said “why not?” we talked a little and eventually i invited him over we hung with my friends, i got free tickets to a suns game and we all went and we took our first selfie and i didnt pull my tricks, because he wasnt like every other guy that walked my way and stuck their tongue down my throat after talking to me for 15 minutes we hung out probably 7 times before he kissed me, i had convinced myself he was gay or just not interested and let down my gaurd, we were watching Game of Thrones, the Episode where you learn about Horridor and the reason behind his name, and i started crying and he made a joke and i punched his arm out of sadness and he kissed me, it moved pretty fast after that, he asked me to be his girlfriend on Valentines day, 12:04 am - we decided to say it was the 13th instead, didnt want to be cheesy, he brought me roses the next day and we dated for a while, i pushed and pulled every day, pushed him away only to ask him to come back hours later, i was a bad girlfriend, a bad friend, and when i ended things i was more scared of losing his family then him. I went to California for spring break and he spent the night before i left and he found my stash on notebooks and read everything, went through my poetry books and found which ones i dedicated to other boys and other loves and he went crazy, he read every secret and every lie and he told me living in my head was the worst place to live and he sent me pictures of everything that made him mad and he spent 9 hours in my room going through everything and i was so angry i redownloaded tinder, figuring id end things when i got home and then came Remmington. When i got back to Arizona we threw a party at my house and a bunch of people came over, he had written me a letter and got so drunk he let Colden read it to the room, it was horrible, i got obnoxiously drunk and ended up blacking out and then passing out on the bathroom floor and Alex took care of me all night. i was going to therapy at the time and one day on the day before my therapy day i had a huge art project due and had to pull an all nighter after pulling one the night before and he told me he would stay over and help me and we would take shifts and he’d shade stuff while i slept and id do whatever else i needed to do and i said that that was fine, when it was my turn to sleep i fell fast asleep and woke up to him sitting next to me on the bed crying, confused i got up and hugged him and he started rambling about how he couldnt do it and just losing his shit, he wasnt making any sense so i got him water and made him lay down and once he fell asleep i got up and did the rest of my project until 10 am the next day i went to class and then alex gave me a ride to therapy and picked me up after, he took me to my favorite restaurant in arizona and then we went to the batting cages and a few days later i ended things and he still stuck around for a while, even while i was talking to remmington, then i found out about the STD stuff and remington made me feel like trash and got a bunch of his friends to bag on me too. after that i dropped everyone, i didnt care, i took londons virginity and i didnt care about anything else and Molly and i started hanging out more and more and then one day i drove past the gilbert temple and parked in front of a house across the street from the mormon church and a lanky boy in a white sweatshirt and a dad hat hopped in the car with molly and i and i was a total bitch to him until we stopped to eat and he said his dad worked on heavy equipment and molly got distracted and i thought this boy was 20 and he was 17 and my heart swooned. that was the day i met you. You surprised the hell out of me. everytime i talked to you all the games and tricks and all the bullshit id been using stopped existing and i had butterflies and lost words and a smile i couldnt get rid of. and boy was it a whirlwind. and the world started and ended and spiraled and now we are here. wheres here? i have no fucking idea. all i know is that i want someone to see me, see my crazy and my annoying and my insecurities and see everything good and bad and love me, and for the past year ive met 3 boys that do and in my luck ive found so much heartache and so much dissapointment. because M i dont deserve any of you and if i could cut myself in half and give all my love to each of you i would, but i cant. and what do i do when you wake up and realize i was only worth the chase? what happens when its finally us and im not everything you figured i would be? and life isnt everything you thought it would be with me? what then?

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