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acacia-may · 11 days

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Make A Wish [Vanessa's First Birthday With the Black Bulls Fic]

When Yami, Gordon, and Finral realize they have somehow missed their newest squad member's birthday, they take it upon themselves to celebrate with her late even though none of them know the slightest thing about throwing a birthday party...It's the thought that counts though, right?

Happy Birthday, Vanessa!

Relationships: Finral Roulacase, Yami Sukehiro, Gordon Agrippa, & Vanessa Enoteca Friendship; Early Black Bulls Found Family

Genre: Early Black Bulls Friendship Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life, & Wholesome Found Family Bonding

Rated: G

Word Count: 5,397 (A/N: It's actually shorter in length than some other one shots I've written but divided into "chapters." The entire work is posted below the cut of this post because it's really not that long though 😅)

A/N: Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the lovely Vanessa! 💕I wrote this story about her first birthday with the Black Bulls way back before I had a Tumblr so since I never actually posted it here (and I think I exhausted all of my Vanessa's birthday story ideas for this work 😅) I thought it might be an appropriate to cross-post here in celebration and for any of my lovely Tumblr friends who may have missed it on AO3. Hope you enjoy it! Cheers!!

Link to Entire Work on AO3. Full Text Below the Cut. Thank you for reading! 🎂

CHAPTER 1: What's a Birthday Without Leeks?

“Captain Yami!” exclaimed Finral as he suddenly appeared through a portal in the wall. Yami huffed and narrowed his eyes.

“We talked about this, Finral,” he grunted though Finral’s confused expression did not inspire the slightest bit of confidence that he remembered. Yami tilted his head pointedly towards the door. “Knocking…”

A faint blush filled Finral’s cheeks as he shuffled his feet almost sheepishly. “Sorry… I did knock a couple of times, but you didn’t answer.”

Yami’s brow furrowed. “So you just came in anyway…?”

Finral stared intently at the floor and leaned forward—seemingly curling in on himself. “Sorry, Captain…” he began to apologize again. Sighing, Yami shook his head. This kid would apologize for breathing if he let him. Yami didn’t think his squad members’ pasts were any of his business, but he did occasionally wonder what kind of hellhole Finral had come from that made him feel like he had to apologize just for existing.

“We talked about this too, Finral,” he said with a pointed tilt of his head. Finral’s eyes widened, and his face flushed.

“Sor—” He stopped abruptly. He must’ve remembered at least one of their ‘stop it with the excessive apologizing’ talks. “Um…” Fidgeting, Finral’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I…uh…didn’t mean to interrupt, but it was important.”

“What’s important?” Yami asked against his better judgment and instantly regretted it as Finral began twisting his hands almost nervously.

“Well, you know Vanessa—”

“Finral,” Yami interrupted with a huff. “Aren’t you two supposed to be friends now? I thought we were past all this…” Or at least he had hoped they were. Perhaps his relief that Finral and Vanessa had seemed to reach some sort of understanding was a bit premature, but in his defense, Finral hadn’t brought any more flowers into their hideout or otherwise tried to flirt with the poor girl in weeks—naturally, he had hoped this signaled the end of that drama, or at least his involvement in it.

Confusedly, Finral tilted his head and blinked at him. “Past what, Sir?”

Yami quirked an eyebrow at him and debated whether to respond or not. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the middle of whatever Finral had going on—or perhaps more accurately whatever Finral thought he had going on—with the newest member of their squad, again. He was their magic knight captain not their parent for crying out loud—was it too much to ask that they work these things out on their own without involving him? However, if he knew Finral at all, he knew that he was just going to tell him anyway so they might as well get it over with.

“Just spit it out, Finral.”

“Did you know it was Vanessa’s birthday last week?” Yami’s eyes narrowed. This was not what he had been expecting…

“Her birthday?” he repeated. “How do you know that?”

“Well I heard her telling some guy in the market how old she was, and when I asked her about it, she said her birthday was last week so she’s older now.” Finral paused and sighed. “We completely missed it, Sir. We didn’t even have cake.”

“And Vanessa’s upset about this…?”

Finral shrugged. “I don’t know…I don’t think so. She didn’t act like it was a big deal. I don’t think she’s ever celebrated her birthday before.”

Yami twisted his mouth to one side. Finral had a point. After all, the poor girl had been locked up in a cage when he had found her—he couldn’t really imagine the Queen of Witches bringing her cake and presents once a year, but… “Not sure what we can do about that now. We’ve already missed it.”

“Well, what we if celebrated it late? We could get a cake and some decorations.”

Yami snorted an almost guttural laugh. “Decorations? Who’s decorating? You?”

“Gordon has some ideas…”

“Gordon?” questioned Yami raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s—” Finral paused, and his face flushed. “Oh shoot, he’s waiting out in the hallway. I completely forgot.”

Before Yami could protest, Finral had rushed over to the door and ushered Gordon into the study. Mumbling quickly and indistinguishably, Gordon handed Yami a piece of paper with a long list of items beginning: decorations, cake, presents…

“You think we have the money to pay for all this?” Yami huffed, and Gordon immediately set a pouch of Yul on the desk in front of the Captain murmuring something Yami couldn’t quite decipher but assumed was probably encompassed in Finral’s next statement.

“If we all pitched in, we could put together something nice, right?” With a slight shrug of his shoulders and an earnest smile, Finral pulled out a bag of Yul from his pocket and put it on the desk beside Gordon’s money. “And we could use a lot of what we have already. Gordon has lots of craft supplies, and we should have most of the ingredients to make a cake, I think. The only thing we’d really have to buy is a present and if we’re missing a few ingredients or something…”

Yami’s brow furrowed. These dumb kids… they made it sound so simple—conveniently forgetting the fact that they didn’t know the slightest thing about decorating and could probably burn water on a good day. Yami couldn’t imagine what they’d do to an actual cake.

“Please, Sir,” continued Finral. “It wouldn’t have to be fancy or anything, maybe just a nice dinner with cake—but if Vanessa’s never celebrated her birthday before, we really should try to do something for her, shouldn’t we?”

Finral fidgeted with his hands, but he and Gordon both stared at their captain with an almost pleading earnestness. Yami shook his head. Knuckleheads…both of them…

Shifting, Yami raised a questioning eyebrow, but his mouth twitched in the corners just barely. He sighed.

“Alright. Fine,” he conceded. “But you morons had better not burn the place down.”

Finral and Gordon visibly brightened as Yami pulled out a small bag of Yul from one of the desk drawers and added it to the growing pile of Yul on the desk. “I’m putting you in charge of shopping”—he held out the money to Finral—“Remember this doesn’t grow on trees, got it?”

Finral nodded solemnly though his face was bright with a wide, excited smile. “Yes, Sir.”

“Gordon will stay here and decorate, and I’ll fry up some meat for dinner. As soon as you get back here, we’ll all try our hand at that cake…”

Before Finral and, probably Gordon too though Yami couldn’t understand him most of the time, could start with their reassurances that surely, they could manage baking a cake, there was a knock at the door. Finral jumped but quickly calmed himself as an apologetic Vanessa appeared in the doorway with pink in her cheeks.

“Um…I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said with downcast eyes. Yami sighed. Between her and Finral—and for all he knew, Gordon too—he ought to make an apology swear jar…

“No. No, it’s fine. You’re not interrupting anything, and you don’t need to apologize,” Finral hurriedly interjected. “We were…um…just…um…talking…”—he nodded repeatedly as if trying to convince himself— “about…um…you know…guy stuff…”

Blinking, Yami shook his head at the ever-reddening Finral. He had at one point rather foolishly wondered if his influence might make the kid a better liar, but he seemed to be getting worse and Vanessa seemed to be a getting a bit wise to it.

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head inquisitively at Finral. “Guy stuff?”

As Finral rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and stumbled his way through some “Um…well…uh…”s, Gordon stepped into Yami’s line of sight and started whispering something or other and pointing at a line item on his list that read, “Get Vanessa out of the house so we can surprise her.”

He placed a hand on Finral’s shoulder, and Finral looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes—clearly indebted to him for saving him from further shoving his foot in his mouth. “We were just talking about how we need a few things from the market.” Yami waved his hand almost dismissively. “You wouldn’t mind going to pick up a few things would you?”

Vanessa brightened. “Not at all. I’d be happy to go. What do we need?”

“Leeks.” Yami resisted the urge to roll his eyes at a blushing, fidgeting Finral who, naturally, decided to try to salvage his faux pas by adding, “And…and soap.”

Yami shut his eyes and took a deep breath. This kid was a lost cause. He opened his eyes to find Finral staring at him seemingly realizing, in some mixture of horror and confusion, what he had had just said. As he began to mouth Sorry… Yami glared at him, and he shut his mouth abruptly. Yami sighed.

“Yeah…leeks and soap…also some milk.” He quirked an eyebrow pointedly at Finral before turning back to Vanessa. “Pick up some cheese if you want some too and uh…”—Gordon held out the paper to him again and Yami read aloud—“Strawberries.”

If Vanessa questioned their impromptu shopping list, she didn’t show any indication of it as she repeated back to them, “Okay so leeks, soap, milk, cheese and strawberries. Anything else?”

Yami whipped around to glare at Finral as if to make doubly sure that he would not be adding any other random items to their shopping list. “Nope. I think that’s it.” He gave a handful of Yul to Vanessa, mentally lamenting how much they were going to spend on groceries they didn’t even need. What the hell were they even going to do with those leeks?

“It looks like it’ll storm later,” he continued glancing out of the window at the few clouds in the sky. “So take a magic item with you and give us a call when you’re ready to come back, and we’ll have Finral open up a portal for you.”

Luckily, Vanessa didn’t seem to pay much attention to Finral was gaping at them, Yami assumed, in awe and amazement at the ease of his captain’s lie, and she didn’t seem to notice Yami’s pointed tilt of his head and glare which was directed at the young spatial mage until he finally managed, “Yeah. Um…no problem. Just let me know when you’ve finished shopping, and I’ll come pick you up so uh…you don’t have to walk home in the rain…?” His tone lifted and his voice squeaked as if he was asking a nervous question, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Vanessa blinked at him. “Okay…but I really don’t mind walking.”

“But the leeks—the leeks could get wet,” interjected a fidgety Finral. Vanessa’s brow furrowed, and Finral’s face flushed as Yami, once again, resisted the ever-intensifying urge to roll his eyes. “And you—you could also get wet…and…um…just please call…please…”

“Okay,” answered a visibly confused Vanessa. Yami honestly felt bad for the poor girl. It was a wonder she wasn’t onto them what with Finral’s extreme inability to keep a secret.

Gordon handed Vanessa the wicker basket they often took to the market to carry their groceries and promptly ushered Vanessa out of the room, clearly confused to say the very least.

As soon as she was gone, Finral, still red in the face, sighed with relief. “Well…that could’ve gone worse…”

Yami narrowed his eyes at him but huffed. “Just get going. We don’t have a lot of time until Vanessa gets back.”

Finral nodded as he opened his grimoire and made a portal for himself. “Yes, Sir.”

“And Finral? I hope you like leeks because you will eating them until they are gone.”

Twisting his mouth to one side, Finral nodded apologetically before he disappeared through the shimmery portal.

CHAPTER 2: Requiem for Decorations

The pan sizzled as Yami seared the meat he was cooking. He sighed. If all else failed, at least they’d have an entrée. Yami glanced over at the clock on the wall. Finral really should have been back by now, but knowing him, he was probably still indecisively perusing the store and debating what to buy or had completely forgotten about shopping the minute he saw a pretty shopkeeper or beautiful store patron. Finral was so distractable and indecisive they probably should’ve sent Gordon. Yami resisted the urge to roll his eyes and mentally conceded that, unfortunately, Gordon couldn’t just portal to and from the store. Of course, this only mattered if Finral managed to use his spatial magic to shorten the shopping trip—looking at the clock on the wall now, Yami wasn’t so sure if it made much of a difference.

Yami scooped some of the cooked meat onto a nearby plate and conceded that Gordon was probably better suited to decorating and arts and crafts, anyway. Of course, a wall currently blocked his view of any of the decorations Gordon was currently making and hanging up in the Hideout’s common room.

“Hey, a little help here?” called Yami at the ceiling as he pat the wall with his hand. There was a long pause as Yami brought the stove to a low simmer and scooped up some more of the crispy, thoroughly cooked meat. Then, the wall began to move. Where it moved to, Yami wasn’t sure, but it did allow him to see Gordon and his decorations which were rather dark and gloomy for a birthday party.

Gordon had hung strips of dark fabrics from the ceiling like bunting and had strung dark streamers and papers with cut-out designs from the rafters. Yami supposed the doom and gloom was partially his fault for insisting Gordon only buy craft supplies which were on sale and such sad, dreary colors were often in the bargain bin—but, he conceded with a sigh, it was too late to worry about that now.

“Woah…um…this is…um…” stumbled Finral appearing through a portal in the wall—a small bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Gloomy.” Yami shrugged, and Finral sheepishly shuffled his feet before admitting quietly.

“I was going to say ‘a little frightening’ but yeah, gloomy too. Did we not have anything colorful?”

Yami twisted his mouth to one side. “Guess not.” His eyes narrowed Finral. “What took you so long?”

“Well, it was hard to decide what to get…”

“So you chose flowers”—Yami quirked an eyebrow at him—“after I specifically told you not to bring any more of those in here?”

Finral fidgeted. “Sorry. But it’s only this once—for her birthday, and yellow roses are her favorite.”

Yami huffed as he stirred some of the meat around in the pan so it would crisp on both sides. “It’s fine,” he grunted. “But just this once.”

Yami turned to glare sternly at Finral who nodded very solemnly and set about filling a vase for those flowers. “I got something else too,” he added as he arranged the yellow flowers in the vase and set it in its place of honor on the counter. “I can show you—”

“I’m sure it’s fine. You can show us after we make this cake.” Yami tilted his head towards the cookbook and ingredients he and Gordon had gotten out earlier.

“Right,” answered Finral, nearly jumping as Gordon suddenly appeared beside him. He quickly calmed himself as he perused the recipe. “This doesn’t seem too hard.”

Yami blinked at him. He had to admire the kid’s completely unwarranted optimism.

Finral’s brow furrowed as he began gathering ingredients. “The recipe says ‘Baking Powder,’ but we don’t have any.” Gordon who had been put in charge of dry ingredients, promptly provided a container marked ‘Baking Soda,’ and Finral tilted his head. “Do you think we can just use this Baking Soda instead?”

Yami frowned. “Hell if I know.”

“They both have “baking” in the name so they have to be similar right?”

Apparently, a nod from Gordon was all the reassurance Finral needed as he promptly substituted baking soda for baking powder. Gordon mixed together the rest of the dry ingredients as Yami finished up his meat and prepped the oven to the sound of Finral’s increasingly more frustrated mutterings to himself. Yami was almost afraid to ask, but he asked anyway.

“What’s goin’ on, Finral?”

Finral had half an eggshell in one hand and the other half in the other as he carefully tried to separate the egg whites from the yolk—the evidence of numerous failed attempts scattered around the counter in various bowls, cups, and other less conventional dishes.

“Just trying to get these egg whites…the recipe calls for four of them. Why does it need so many?” Finral lamented as he sighed sorrowful at the collection of broken eggs.

“We’re gonna run out of eggs,” Yami huffed. “Just use whole ones instead.” Yami had no idea what that would do to the cake, but at least it would stop Finral from breaking every single egg they had. “I’ll fry up these busted ones—scramble ‘em maybe. If our cake doesn’t turn out, we’ll have meat and eggs at least.” Yami shrugged, but Finral nodded almost gratefully as he added four full eggs into the cake batter.

Yami pulled his frying pan back out and fried up those eggs until thunder began to crash loudly outside bringing all baking to a halt. Gordon and Finral rushed to press their faces against the window.

“Woah. It looks like it’s going to storm.” Finral turned back towards Yami with a tilt of his head. “Wait…how did you know it was going to rain?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you told Vanessa—”

Yami cut him off. “That was a lie.” He quirked an eyebrow at him. “You should really learn how to tell one before we end up with more leeks.”

Finral flushed and twisted his hands. “Do you think Vanessa’s already bought everything on the list?”

“It was a strange list—might take awhile to find some of that stuff.”

The lines in Finral’s face softened before he sighed in concern glancing out the window at the darkening sky. “She’s not going to get caught out in the rain, do you think?”

Yami shrugged. “We told her to call. If doesn’t want to get wet, she will. Now let’s hurry up and get this cake in the oven. How many more ingredients are there?”

“I think this is the last one,” said Finral holding up a tiny spoon. “3 ½ teaspoons of vanilla, but I can’t remember how much I’ve already put in.” Finral’s brow furrowed. “Did you see how many spoonfuls I put in?” Yami and Gordon both shook their head, and Finral sighed. “I’ll just start over I guess.”

Yami’s eyes narrowed at him, but at this point, there was no salvaging whatever they were making here so he didn’t see what it mattered if there was twice as much vanilla. Once all the ingredients were added—despite most of them, perplexingly, ending up on Yami, Finral, and Gordon’s clothing—Yami stirred the batter quickly and poured it into the cake pan he had greased earlier. It was a miracle the thing had even made it in the oven, and Yami felt proud of himself for that much at least. He thought he deserved a nice, long rest and a cold beer. Reclining on one of the sofas in the common room, he popped the top off of bottle and put his feet up.

“Ah…” he sighed taking a nice, long, and refreshing sip. Then, another and another. Eventually, he opened his eyes and turned to Finral who was practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy and whose unsettled and anxious ki was getting harder and harder to ignore. “Alright kid. You can show us what you bought Vanessa for her birthday now.”

Visibly brightening, Finral pulled out the small bag he had brought home with him earlier. “Alright so I didn’t know what to get, and I spent a lot of time looking at different things. I got the flowers, but they didn’t really seem like enough to be a whole birthday present but then I saw these…”

Yami raised his eyebrows at the small velvet box Finral handed to him. As he opened the lid, his eyes widened. He shut it again immediately. “How did we afford these?”

Shuffling his feet, Finral stumbled, “Well…we all put our money together right? And they weren’t as expensive as you think and…” His voice trailed as his blush deepened. Yami blinked at him. They were really going to have to do something about that lying thing… But as it was now, Finral just fidgeted and downcast his eyes as his cheeks flushed more and more red and he stumbled with an almost unbelievable earnestness, “Do you…do you think she’ll like them?”

Yami sighed. He wasn’t sure if Finral was incredibly stupid or incredibly generous—probably a little of both. He didn’t bother asking Finral how much of his own money he had contributed to cover the difference as he was sure Finral wouldn’t tell him even if he did, but he gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and a slight, lopsided smile. “Yeah. They’re great.”

Finral’s cheeks flushed an even deeper red, and he began to sniffle as if he was genuinely moved which quickly turned to an almost confused sniff. “Do you smell something?”

Yami sniffed the air. It was almost acrid like something was burning… “The cake!” Yami rushed to the kitchen with Finral and Gordon in tow and quickly opened the oven. Smoke billowed out and filled the room causing them all to cough. “Open some windows,” Yami called as he swatted at the smokey haze with his hands. Once Gordon and Finral had returned from their window-opening mission, the three Magic Knights starred dejectedly at their sorrowful excuse for a cake.

“It’s kind of…” Finral paused as if trying to think of the proper word. “flat, isn’t it?” Flat, burnt, lumpy and disaster were all words which came to mind while inspecting the cake. It didn’t look appetizing and possibly didn’t even look edible. “It looks like it didn’t rise at all.” Finral looked to Yami apologetically. “It looks burnt too. Do you even think we can eat it?”

Yami shrugged. He certainly wouldn’t want to if he had a choice. They probably should’ve just bought one, but it was too late for that now. Gordon brought a kitchen knife and scraped a piece off of the top of the cake, which was the least burnt, for them to taste. It was dry, grainy, and still a little burnt but not nearly as bad as the bottom half of the cake which might as well have been ash—still it left Yami with a parched, unpleasantly dry mouth. He reached for his beer, only to find it empty far too soon. He definitely needed another.

“It’s not…that horrible is it?” questioned Finral who was washing down his taste of cake with copious amounts of water. Gordon nodded in agreement and mumbled something before cutting off the least burnt parts of the cake which crumbled on the plate. He and Finral tried to put them back together with icing, but only succeeded in making a mess. They were certainly lucky that Vanessa had no frame of reference otherwise she would probably be disappointed.

“I don’t think it’s gonna get much better than that,” Yami shrugged once Finral and Gordon had shaped the crumbling cake pieces and icing into a sort of blob.

Finral tilted his head at the plate and sighed. He shivered as a gust of wind blew in from the storm that was obviously brewing outside, and as Yami turned to close the window, the wind blew water droplets onto his face from the rain which suddenly turned from a sprinkle to a torrential downpour. As he wiped his face with his hands, an almost unsettling rustling and wuthering sound came from the common room followed by Finral’s exclamation of a string of colorful language Yami thought, a bit proudly, he had picked up from him. He may not be able to teach him how to lie, but he could make sure he had the proper vocabulary for instances when a day’s work of decorations get drenched and destroyed into a soppy, soaking mess by a window that was left open during a rainstorm.

Gordon had picked up a pitiful wad of mushy, sopping papers that had once been hanging from the wall and was cradling it almost mournfully in his hands. Finral joined Gordon in his sorrowful requiem for the decorations, and Yami exhaled before he shrugged.

“At least it can’t get any worse right?”

He had, of course, spoken too soon as Vanessa burst through the door soaked to the bone and taking in the scene in utter confusion.

“Vanessa!” exclaimed Finral sniffling and quickly straightening his shoulders. “Um…uh…why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” she said as she pushed a sopping piece of pink hair out of her face. “No one answered so I just started walking back. It was fine until the really heavy rain.” Finral, Gordon, and Yami looked amongst themselves almost guiltily. If Yami had to guess, Vanessa had probably called in the midst of the burning cake and ruined decorations, and they hadn’t even noticed. She pulled a bundle out of her basket which was carefully wrapped in her Black Bulls robe. “I protected the groceries though. Especially the leeks like you said. I don’t think they got too wet.” Vanessa smiled brightly and earnestly as she unwrapped the bundle to reveal their extremely random shopping list of items kept relatively dry by her cape which should have—at least partially—been protecting her from the rain. Gordon and Yami both turned to look at Finral, but the poor boy was trembling and eventually broke down.

“I’m so sorry, Vanessa! It was all a big lie. We didn’t need leeks or soap or any of that. We were just trying to get you out of the Hideout so we could surprise you.”

Vanessa’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. “Surprise me? Why?”

“For your birthday,” Finral explained. “We felt really bad that we accidentally missed it so we were trying to do something to celebrate it, just a little bit late. We tried to make a cake but it got burned, and we had decorations but they got ruined. We still have presents though and part of the cake is okay and…” He stopped as Yami placed a hand on his shoulder so he would notice Vanessa’s widening eyes.

“You wanted to celebrate my birthday? You did all of this for me?” she asked almost in disbelief. Finral nodded. Gordon mumbled, and Yami shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. It was these knuckleheads’ idea. Now why don’t you get yourself dried off. We’re having meat, eggs, and leeks for dinner.”

CHAPTER 3: My Wish

After dinner, Gordon and Finral almost sheepishly brought out their cake blob; however, when Finral insisted that Vanessa open presents first, no one protested. If Yami was being honest, Finral seemed more excited about the presents than Vanessa though she was so pleased with the flowers, Yami couldn’t help but wonder if the other gift was even necessary.

“There’s something else,” Finral beamed and practically bounced up and down as he reached for the velvet box from earlier which Gordon had since tied with a shiny silver ribbon. “It’s from all of us. Well, the flowers were from all of us too, but they were kind of a decoration and a present and this is just a present and…” Finral rambled but stopped himself as he held out the box to Vanessa. She tilted her head inquisitively at it before she carefully untied the ribbon and opened it.

She gasped. “These are… beautiful…” she stumbled as she held up one of the earrings—the beautiful purple, diamond-shaped gem sparkling as it dangled from her grip. Finral’s cheeks flushed pink, but he positively beamed as Gordon held out a mirror for Vanessa to try on her new jewelry.

“Thank you so much!” Her face seemed to light up as she looked at herself in the mirror wearing her new dangling earrings.

“You should thank Finral,” Yami insisted, and Gordon nodded in agreement. “He picked ‘em out.”

“It was nothing,” Finral answered—shuffling his feet as his blush deepened. “We…uh…still have to have cake…” The words seemed to tumble quickly in an attempt to change the subject. “Or uh…at least you need to make a wish.”

“A wish?”

Finral nodded as he absent-mindedly began looking around. “Yeah. You make a wish and blow out the candles…” His voice trailed before he looked up perplexedly at Yami. “Do we not have any candles?”

Yami gave the kitchen a quick once over before twisting his mouth to the side with a shrug. Luckily, Gordon appeared with a large, white candle from goodness only knows where which would have to do for now.

“Usually the candles go in the cake…” Finral explained before Vanessa interrupted in confusion.

“In the cake?”

“We take them out before we eat it,” he added quickly. “But we don’t have candles that small so we’ll just have to use this big one and keep it off to the side.”

Gordon handed Yami a matchbook, and Yami lit the candle before Finral continued his instructions with a reassuring smile. “Alright now close your eyes, make a wish, and blow the candle out.”

Vanessa nodded and closed her eyes—for a long, long pause. The longer Vanessa kept her eyes closed, the more Finral began to fidget. “Do you…do you think my directions were confusing?” Finral whispered to Yami who just shrugged.

“Is everything alright there?” he asked. Vanessa slowly opened one eye and then, the other. She downcast her gaze and began to twist her hands.

“I’m sorry…I…”

“None of that apologizing,” Yami waved his hand and eyed the vase currently housing those yellow roses as a future apology jar.

“Right…um…” Vanessa’s voice trailed. “It’s just…you’ve all been so kind. You did all of this for me…it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I couldn’t wish for anything else…”

Yami chuckled. “Well it’s your day. Your birthday only comes once a year, a wish for something you want isn’t going to hurt anybody.”

Vanessa’s cheeks flushed. “I know. It’s just…” She paused and looked up at Yami, Finral, and Gordon with a kind smile. “I already have everything I could wish for.”

Yami blinked at her, almost disbelieving that a real person could say something so saccharine with such a genuineness. Vanessa didn’t seem to notice how unusual a statement this was and bustled a little as Finral sniffled and Gordon moved towards her with fervid mumbling. “Oh um…I…” she began as if she was going to apologize again, but it was Finral, in a twist of irony, who motioned for her to stop and interrupted.

“I’m so glad you’re on our squad!” Gordon mumbled something that must’ve been concurrence, and Yami was fairly certain both of those knuckleheads were wiping tears from their eyes as Vanessa stood up from her seat and wrapped her arms around them. Yami shook his head at them, but his face softened. Morons.

As Finral wiped his arm across his face and Gordon dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, Vanessa smiled up at Yami almost expectantly. Yami blinked at her, but eventually sighed and conceded to joining their group hug, throwing an arm around Gordon and Finral. Vanessa just beamed as she smiled back at her squad mates, and when she met Yami’s eyes, he couldn’t hold back his lopsided grin as he said, “Happy Birthday, Little Birdie.”

Bonus: Epilogue

Once they had somewhat recovered from the soppiness and realized the candle still needed to be blown out, Yami shrugged his shoulders and quipped dryly, “How about you wish for a chef for this squad so you can have a real birthday cake next year?”

Vanessa smiled brightly, closed her eyes, and made a wish.

#vanessa enoteca #finral roulacase #yami sukehiro #gordon agrippa #early black bulls #black clover fanfiction #happy birthday vanessa!!#thank you for reading

9 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Could I request some yandere Sukuna from jjk crushing on one of Yutadoris sorcerer teachers and before she realises it, sukuna has taken over yutadoris body and I’ll let you decide the ending

Thank you for requesting! :3 I hope you enjoy it! Sukuna is second best boy for me from the series so I am always excited for him ^-^

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Up till now, you hadn’t had the chance to build an opinion on the creature that Itadori was. Perhaps, it wasn’t your place to judge him at all, but having been assigned as one of the people teaching him the ways of the Sorcerers, you almost felt obligated to have some kind of opinion.

The truth was, he was a good kid. Anyone with a few social skills could see that. Though he was young, he took what he was doing at the Jujutsu High seriously, and despite being immensely chipper, for someone who would be executed at some point, he wasn’t a bother to have around. Even if this wasn’t the way of life he wanted, he pretty much committed to it now.

And yet, of course, you feared him.

You feared that someday, he wouldn’t be able to keep the threat residing inside of him at bay. You feared he was a ticking bomb on two legs, no matter how well he appeared to have it under control. No one could assume what was going on beneath that carefree expression and cheerful smile. What Sukuna was doing underneath the farce that was this sweet boy.

At first, you thought it would get better the more you knew him. The first meeting had made all hairs on your body stand up straight, but even then, you didn’t run from it. You might have looked pretty disgusted the first time Sukuna spoke up through a mouth on Itadori’s cheek, but otherwise, you had kept your composure.

No matter if you were a graduate from this school, or if they trusted into your abilities enough to teach the kids, or if you believed in yourself and your skills, it all meant nothing when you thought that you’d have to restrain the monster hiding inside of Itadori. How long would you be able to withstand it? A second? Two? You could be relieved if Sukuna made a quick process of you, but you feared he wouldn’t.

Glancing over your shoulder, you watched Itadori jotting down the things you were writing for him on the board. A yawn escaped him casually before he went back to taking his notes. He looked just like any other student. As if he was taking a typical class on an everyday topic, but you couldn’t shake the feeling. You knew you were being watched.

The thought that it wasn’t Itadori who watched you was actually worse than if it was him.

Sighing, you brought your eyes back forth to the blackboard, simply hoping that it was just your imagination running wild. You really, really did not want it to be true. However, sorcerers were specialists when it came to cursed spirits. You should have known better than to push away your intuition like that.

On the other side of the room, Yuji couldn’t help but wipe some sweat off his brow, relieved that you didn’t see it. Sukuna - as always - was a pain in the ass to deal with. If he wasn’t running his mouth, he at least seemed to think he deserved to see what was going on, eyes crawling over Yuji’s skin no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

Turning his head, shielding the eyes with his hand - nothing ended his attempts. Yuji was so glad that you were focused on your task of teaching him, refusing to spoil him with your gaze all the time. Why Sukuna decided to take an interest in you, not even Yuji had been able to get that question out of the cursed spirit. However, every lesson it got worse. Usually, Sukuna would stay put if it wasn’t Fushiguro that Yuji was talking to, but you seemed to make him restless.

Catching a glimpse of the clock over the door, he sighed in relief. Only ten more minutes left before this would be over once more. Even though Yuji had no problem talking, you and he had yet to really get to know each other. You were careful, and with Sukuna acting up, so was Yuji. He almost expected you to not like him very much for apparent reason, so how in the world could he have explained to you what was going on without it freaking you out?

“Hey, I think you shouldn’t teach me anymore because Sukuna is stirring up my body!” sounded weird AND suspicious. It would have probably earned him a re-evaluation or execution right away. Yuji knew that if he wasn’t able to control Sukuna anymore, that would be his end, and he had yet to reach his goal. He should have told you then and there, but something held him back.

Something that decided it was time for more action than sitting out this precious time with you.

Yuji’s hand tensed before it drove forward hard, letting go of the pen between his fingers. With a tender click, it fell to the ground, rolling towards you and catching your attention. Surprised, you glanced at Itadori, who smiled nervously at you, clutching his own hand, and you raised a brow, wondering if he was having a cramp or something.

Picking up the pen, you walked over to your student to return it, putting it in front of him on his desk, as Itadori managed an awkward, “Thank you!” while trying to take it. His movements seemed unnatural, sort of revolting as you could see his muscles tense and release beneath his skin. This was weird, right? You weren’t imagining things this time, or were you?

The answer was taken from you as his hand suddenly flinched, body jolting over the table to grab for your wrist, and you barely had the time to react. You knew what you had to do, jujutsu was like second nature for you, but the surprise hit harder now that your body was actually trying to have an opinion on Itadori.

Still, you were going in for the kill. If it had to be you or the boy, then you were your priority, no matter how much your heart already seemed to regret having to do this. What you didn’t expect was... he was faster. “Ita--?” you managed to press out before you were hit roughly in your face.

Your eyes shut close as his second hand reached for your head, fingers clawing into your hair and skin, sinking into the hollows of your skull and digging in. Despite it all, you managed to open your eyes again, one covered by the palm and clouded in darkness, the other one staring right into what you hoped - and at the same time feared - where two red irises staring back; Two that belonged to the same face, but different pairs of eyes.

“Unfortunately, I think this lesson ends prematurely. A shame, I do like watching you even if it’s just from the back.”

Even though you could not assign the voice to anyone you met before, your body froze up almost instantly as you watched the face back away from you, showing you half of a lopsided grin. The expression spreading out on his face was none you would have thought Itadori was capable of. “You can’t blame the boy, he was trying so hard to keep me away from you,” the person before you spoke, and the unappreciated realization of who was standing in front of you took over your mind.

Sukuna.

Almost instantly, as you thought his name, black marks began to spread over Itadori’s skin, crawling deep down to his chest and appearing back on this arms. “I finally found a fine woman, and yet it took me months to get to you. We have to commend him for that, don’t we?”

The more he talked, the less you felt incapable of moving. Despite the fear feeling like a blizzard freezing you up, you warmed your body with thoughts of who you were. You were a graduate of this very same school. You had survived so many spirits, but seen so many good men fall. If this was your turn to die, you wouldn’t go down like prey in the eyes of your hunter.

Gripping his wrist with both your hands, his grip tightened unbearably so, but you pressed the words out of your mouth anyway. “What do you want?” you brought forth through gritted teeth, and Sukuna’s lips curled into an almost pleasant, yet condescending smile. “Just you,” he explained, suddenly letting go of your face, making you stumble forward.

But the next moment, you felt his pointer against your forehead. In a wondrous moment of clarity, you realized what was going on. You’d not let him have his way and give that spirit what he wanted, but it was too late to make use of your abilities and blow off his arm or your own head in an attempt to flee. All you got was darkness and the feeling of everything around you collapsing to the ground as you blacked out.

“Fuck,” you winced as your mind slowly regained conscience. The ground you were laying on could only be described as fluid, but it wasn’t wet at all. Nevertheless, when you opened your eyes, you jolted up and into a seat, seeing all the red that covered the surroundings. If not for the buzzing energy of this place, you might have thought you were dead. With the memories of the happenings returning to you as you tried to remember, you wished you actually were.

“Finally awake, I see,” a voice called out, amusement and mockery laying in its tone. Your eyes caught the sight of the hundreds of skulls first before it managed to lift high enough to see the special grade cursed spirit splayed out enthroned on them. “Welcome to my world,” he grinned, and it made a shudder run down your spine while you began glancing around carefully.

“What did you do?” you asked, seeing nothing but darkness and bones wherever you looked. “Why am I here?”

“Ah, so many questions,” Sukuna sighed, your head snapping forward as you heard footsteps in front of you. “Isn’t it great that we’ll have a lot of time to clear them up?”

You didn’t react to this, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you would humor him. Still, you eyed his hand suspiciously as he squatted down, reaching out to caress your face. You almost feared a cut from his sharp nail along your cheek, but nothing happened, and you noticed his eyes almost transfixed on his finger on your skin. “Where’s my body?”

“Safe,” he mumbled, appearing to be in thought. But just as quickly, his eyes snapped up to meet yours again. “Figured it out already, haven’t you?”

“What could someone like you want from my soul, even dragging it here for no apparent reason?”

“Told you, didn’t I? I just want you; the rest is a surprise!”

Standing up again, Sukuna spread his arms open as if he was inviting you in to them. “Don’t be so stiff, Darling. We’ll have fun here!”

“Darling?!” you croaked in disbelieve, spouting the words which were absolutely revolting to you. “Don’t worry,” Sukuna chuckled.

“You’ll come to like me soon enough.”

856 notes · View notes

peachtree-dish · 3 years

Text

A Te Che Sei Il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 4 Di Volta in Volta

Luglio 20, 1969

“Commander Neil Armstrong is making his way out of the spacecraft and is taking his first steps down the ladder to the moon’s surface. In mere moments he will be the first man to step foot on the moon…” The voice was narrated through the tv screen as the events of the first human moon landing played out in front of nearly the entire village. Those who did not have access to radio or television were crammed into their neighbor’s houses to either listen or watch on the small television screens. The usual Sunday atmosphere had been disrupted by the whole world waiting with bated breath as history played out in their living rooms. Luca sat between Giulia and Alberto in front of Massimo’s secondhand TV, fighting the urge to press himself against the class so as not to miss a single detail. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before because he had stayed up listening as the Apollo 11 crew had taken their last orbit around the moon before landing their naveta spaziale on the surface. Behind him, his family was sitting at the dinner table tightly pressed between Massimo and the several cats that had found some form of purchase on his broad shoulders. Luca had not thought it possible, but Massimo’s eyebrows seemed to be furrowed even deeper than usual; they were the only indication that he seemed just as anxious as everyone else.

Luca’s eyes widened as the man on the screen as the astronaut hopped onto the last ring of the ladder, his hands gripping tightly to it as if he were afraid to float away into the expanse of space. Beside him, Alberto squinted closely at the emerging astronaut and rubbed his chin.

“Their suits kinda look like that old diving suit, no?” he muttered in Luca’s ear. Guilia loudly shushed him from Luca’s other side, promptly cutting off any further commentary. Instead of vocalizing his agreement he instead gave an energetic nod to Alberto before the older boy could swat Giulia’s arm in revenge.

“I can see my footprints as I step away from the spacecraft…the surface appears to be covered in… fine, sandy particles…” For one moment, Luca pictured himself bounding across the surface of the moon, the old diving helmet pressed tightly to his shoulders, and space sand floating behind him. He could almost feel himself levitating away from the worn, wool rug of Massimo’s small kitchen, thousands of stars floating above him.

Giulia gasped, startling Luca back to reality, “He’s letting go of the spacecraft!” Sure enough, Armstrong’s grainy figure on the screen was slowly letting go of the ladder and stepping into the unknown of space. In a moment of trepidation, Luca reached wrapped his hand around Guilia’s as they waited for the next few moments to pass. He could hear Alberto inhale sharply beside him, assuming he was just as anxious as the rest of them.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” in one moment the entire world released its breath with a cheer.

Massimo slammed his fist down on the table with a shout of “Vittoria” ringing through the house. His outburst startled the cats into a hissing mess and Nonna Paguro slapped his arm with her cane, claiming a premature heart attack. Around them adults and children were shouting and cheering, many even taking to the streets, their cacophony mixing with the howling of dogs. Giulia hurriedly leaned over to wrap her arms around Alberto and Luca’s shoulders, relieved giggles echoing in their ears as she rushed over to embrace Massimo in earnest. Luca grinned, sparing one last glance at the screen as the rest of the astronauts filed out of the ship, before turning excitedly to Alberto. Without a moment’s hesitation, Luca embraced him, only realizing mere seconds after that his hand was still entangled with someone else’s. At his friend’s stiff posture and flushed face, Luca’s excitement died only to be replaced with confusion. He rocked back onto his heels, one hand draped awkwardly around Alberto’s neck and Alberto’s left hand resting on his hip.

“Alberto?” he breathed, forcing the older boy to peer at him as he pulled away. Alberto blinked rapidly, his hand clenching and unclenching around Luca’s and his green eyes looking desperately around the room. He licked his lips and did not fail to notice Alberto’s eyes following the movement. He opened his mouth to say something before a loud crash broke the atmosphere between them. Machiavelli’s son, Bocelli, had become spooked in the excitement and had managed to knock over Massimo’s favorite tea kettle along with a few teacups. While the kettle had merely been bumped from the impact, three cups had met a disastrous end on the floorboards.

Amidst shouts and curses from the adults, Alberto had firmly and quickly untangled himself from Luca, rushing to the pantry to remove a broom and pan for the mess. Lorenzo was trying his best to scoop the remaining cats into his arms so they wouldn’t get hurt and Daniela was simply yelling at them all to move. Massimo was cradling the kettle with his arm, gently checking for any damage while Giulia remained unseen in the mess, her eyes flitting between Luca and Alberto who still hadn’t said anything. On the carpet, Luca watched as if frozen, unsure of why he felt like crying.

The days following the moon landing and the Apollo 11 crew’s return to earth found Giulia and Alberto working overtime to fill the town’s orders. At least, that was what Luca was telling himself. Since their awkward moment on the rug, Alberto hadn’t spent as much time around Luca, instead of spending hours out fishing and hauling the day’s catch through the streets. His conversations with them would always be clipped, though not unfriendly and he always found a reason not to spend time with them. Giulia, feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, tried to ask Alberto what was going on while they delivered, but he simply brushed off her inquiries with a forced grin. In her opinion, his lies reeked more than days old trash left in the heat. Her frustration grew to an extreme one evening when Alberto bid them both a halfhearted goodnight from the dinner table, claiming he would be staying up later than usual to fill in the finance charts. Ignoring Giulia’s glare and Luca’s hurt expression, he pulled out the counting charts Massimo had been filling out the previous afternoon and began adding the day’s earnings.

“I think he really does hate me,” Luca admitted to Giulia once they passed the archway leading to the docks.

“Don’t be ridicolo, I think he’s just... acting weird?” She floundered, unable to come up with an acceptable response.

“Oh, really, Giulia?!” Luca burst, his frustration surging, “He's not the one who acted weird, I was! I messed up, and now he can’t stand to be around me. I disgust him!” He kicked at a pebble, his expression strained. Luca tried to inhale deeply to calm himself, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t allow it. He turned back to a solemn Giulia, his voice choked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” To his mounting horror, large drops of water began to spill down his cheeks and before Giulia could even reach out to offer comfort, the teen was tearing down the cobblestones leading to the water's edge. Giulia’s calls were lost in the water as it enveloped him, his salty tears mixing with the sea. He swam for a long time, wanting to avoid his own home for as long as possible. He couldn’t stop thinking about Alberto’s hands on his hip or how it felt to look down into his eyes. Had they not been interrupted, what would have happened? And then he remembered how Alberto had looked frantic, almost afraid of what Luca was going to do. With a half-formed snarl, Luca dove towards the ocean floor. Reaching a shallow cave, he sat down and curled in on himself while his stomach heaved, and his tail thrashed.

“Stupido, stupido, stupido, stupido…” he sobbed over and over, unable to silence Bruno in his mind.

Giulia marched into the house fuming, her eyes landing on Alberto who stared at the wall in front of him, his expression blank. Wordlessly, she picked up the discarded papers on the table and smacked them across the back of his stupid, curly head.

“OW! What the-” Alberto spun around to glare at her.

“Non posso crederti,” she seethed, her hands shaking.

“I don’t have time for your hormonal dramatics, Gi,” Alberto deadpanned, moving to stand and escape from the redhead’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare,” she pushed him back into the chair, her brute strength surprising him. Small as she may be, Giulia was still Massimo’s daughter.

“How can you both keep hurting each other like this? You’re friends, no? Start acting like it!” She flailed her hands hysterically in such a way that Alberto almost wanted to laugh.

“We are friends, tutto bene,” He argued, inwardly wincing at the lie.

“Then why does Luca always look on the verge of tears after being around you? What happened, fratello? You haven’t been the same since the moon landing.” Giulia stared him down with both fists resting on her hips. She rarely referred to him as her brother, and when she did it was because she was trying to show how much she actually cared. That was the one thing Giulia and Alberto always agreed on, they hated to show feelings. Alberto could feel the anxiety he felt on that day building again inside him. He hadn’t meant to make it worse; he was going to make a joke about Luca being scared, but then he had grabbed Alberto’s hand. They touched each other easily all the time, frequent in their affection and friendly nature, but Luca had never held Alberto’s hand like that. Alberto hadn’t wanted to let go. It was just a harsh reminder that eventually he would have to let go of Luca forever. He swallowed thickly and peered at Giulia.

“I’m not going to get in the way of Luca following his dreams,” He said slowly, trying to get his friend to understand. “Luca is meant for grander things than whatever I had planned, I’m just helping him realize that.” Giulia stared at him for a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing her eyes shut.

“Oh, Dio, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Giulia, listen,” He began only to be interrupted by Giulia holding up her hand.

“Silenzio, Bruno. I know you don’t believe that. Luca wouldn’t have any of his dreams without you, and if he were to lose you, those dreams would fade.” Alberto shrank into his seat, not wanting to look her in the eye. With a defeated sigh, the young girl sat beside him.

“You’ve never told us about how you ended up alone, and I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she interrupted him before he could speak. He swallowed his objection and let her continue, “but I wish you could understand that we’re not like your old family. Berto,” she reached out and held one of his hands in both of hers, “we will never abandon you, and neither will Luca. But I am afraid that if you continue to act this way, he’ll think you abandoned him.”

Alberto’s head snapped up and he gazed fiercely at Giulia, reminding her of the first time he revealed his sea monster form to her.

“I would never abandon him.”

She stared back coolly and pointed at the bracelet on his wrist, “Then prove him wrong.” With that she stood and marched upstairs, her steps sounding with finality. Alberto watched her empty seat for a few moments, his ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. Before he could reconsider his actions, the chair scraped harshly along the floorboards, and he was rushing towards the warm ocean.

“Luca!” He called desperately into the waves, not caring if any of the other sea folk were sleeping. His shouts startled a school of pandoras swimming by, and they rushed past him as fast as possible. Alberto sped towards Luca’s home, his heart thundering as he reached Luca’s window. Peering in he found Nonna Paguro sleeping on her side of the room, her snores rattling through the water. To his growing anxiety, he found Luca’s bed empty and so turned towards the island where he had often hidden. Crashing clumsily upon the rocky shore, Alberto called out to the tower, its windows and roof dark and unresponsive.

If he looked too closely at the darkened mouth of the tower, he’d see a small child, crying anxiously for his papa to come home. Pushing the dark memories away, Alberto took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Feeling the anxiety in his chest close to bursting, he dove back into the darkened waters and shouted again.

“Luca! I’m sorry, please talk to me!” He swam frantically, his gaze twisting in every direction, hoping to catch a glance of blue. He swam farther out to the ocean, the fields of seaweed sloping into rocky, sand-filled terrain.

“I’m s-sorry,” He gasped, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating towards the moonlit surface. He felt his hope slipping away with them when he heard a hiccupped cry.

“Alberto?” Luca’s voice was raw from his emotional outburst, but it was still the most beautiful sound Alberto had ever heard. Twisting around with enough force to nearly snap his neck, Alberto found Luca peering out from underneath an overhanging rock bank. He felt his own sob of relief escape his throat before he swam down to his friend. The older boy floated in front of Luca, unsure of how he would react.

“Is everyone okay, you sound upset,” Luca’s eyes were red-rimmed, and they pinned Alberto to the spot with their concern. Alberto wanted to slap himself; Luca was obviously hurting yet here he was making sure Alberto and everyone else was alright. How selfish can you be, Alberto?

“No, everyone’s fine, but I’ve been an idiota, Luca. We only have days left before you go back to Genoa, and I’ve spent the past two weeks ignoring you because…” He stopped as he felt his fear resurfacing. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“But that doesn’t make se-”

“I know, that’s why I said I’m an idiota,” he chuckled drily at Luca’s confusion. “You got me off the island, but there are days I feel like I’m drowning.” He explained patiently, “There are so many new things here and I feel like I’m always behind while you’re always ahead.” He swallowed, watching as Luca still looked confused. “I feel like one day you’re going to realize that I’m slowing you down and I don’t want to get in the way of you becoming who you’re meant to be, even if that means I get left behind.”

Luca’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock, “Alberto, there is no dream worth having if you’re not in it.” Alberto stood stunned before him, his mouth had gone shockingly dry considering the saltwater in it.

“Caro,” he whispered, pulling Luca into his arms, too overwhelmed to finish speaking.

“I thought I offended you,” Luca admitted softly, his voice humming against Alberto’s collarbone, “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, when in reality I thought I grabbed Giulia’s hand, I promise.” Alberto felt his stomach drop out from him. He badly wanted to contradict Luca, tell him he had wanted more than anything to grab his hand whenever he could. But he wouldn’t, his fear wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t offend me. If anything, I can’t blame you. No one can resist my good looks and charm,” He joked, laughing a bit too loudly to be considered natural. Luca snorted and pushed away from him, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, Berto,”

I really do, Alberto thought helplessly.

“Thank you for coming after me, again.” Luca laughed exasperatedly, hiding his face in his hands with a groan. “Giulia probably thinks I’m the most dramatic idiot in all of Italy.”

Alberto shrugged and glanced to the side, “Eh, you’d be surprised, she has her own moments. Must be an Italian thing.” Luca glared at him halfheartedly through his claws.

“Do you wanna head back to your house, or…” Alberto motioned his head back towards Porto Rosso. Luca smiled and motioned back to him.

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow you.”

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve only been waiting for over a year,” Alberto teased, swimming back towards the shining lights of the port town, his best friend’s laughter ringing behind him.

31 Agosto 1969

The last weeks of summer came and went with the laughter of children and a full season of fishing; having decided that winning the Porto Rosso Cup last year had been enough of an adventure, Giulia, Luca, and Alberto had instead spent time behind the scenes helping with the race alongside Signora Marsigliese. The woman had been extra grateful for the help and had run the three of them nearly ragged with preparations. With no Ercole in sight, the race had been far more enjoyable for all the town’s children, and even more so for their families.

Alberto volunteered to keep watch in the bay as the kids swam, already used to having lifeguard duties. He made sure to help anyone who got stuck or might have struggled especially hard. It made Luca’s heart especially warm to watch Alberto interact with the smaller children, encouraging them and even allowing the smallest bambina to latch onto his tail when she got too tired to swim back to shore. This year, Daniela and Lorenzo actually helped by offering water to kids as they struggled up the hill, this time without threatening to dump it on their heads.

In the end, the race was one by a brother and sister from the Ricci family who both were so exhausted they could barely keep the trophy held up between them. The end of the season also meant that Alberto would be working in his many diverse side jobs once it got too cold.

“Do you actually like working in la panetteria? Luca asked him from where he sat on the floor packing his things away.

“It’s not bad,” Alberto shrugged nonchalantly, “it was kinda stressful at first, but Signora Aurora is really nice, and I don’t make nearly as many mistakes as Ciccio.”

“I don’t think anyone could make as many mistakes as him, Ciccio’s a league unto his own,” Luca muttered absently, comparing two different books in his hands. In Alberto’s opinion, they looked the exact same.

“After the weather gets colder, I start baking in the mornings at the Pasticcini, and then Signore Ciano has me help him and Guido in their garage. I offered to help Padre D’uva at the church, but” he shrugged again with a half-smile, “babies don’t really like getting baptized by sea monsters.” Luca snorted and rolled his eyes at the image of a scaled Alberto trying to dunk a screaming child.

“I guess your smile and good charms don’t work on everybody, amico.”

Alberto flipped upside down on the bed and bit his lip suggestively and waggled his eyebrows, “Just you then?” Luca paused a moment to look at him and his gaze was almost enough to make Alberto stop. The young monster tilted his head to the side, considering Alberto’s features.

“Eh, could use some work,” He answered finally turned his head back to his bag, trying to stifle his laughter as Alberto made a face.

The sound of knuckles rapping on the doorframe causes them both to look up. Giulia leaned against the chipped white paint and smiled warmly, “Mind if I come in, ragazzi?” Alberto happily scooted to the side, ultimately remaining in his upside-down state.

“You’re not done packing?” Giulia asked incredulously. Luca only pouted from the floor.

“I can’t decide which books to take,” He ran a hand through his already stressed curls, the motion capturing Alberto’s attention even from his angle.

“You’re such a nerd, you know that right,” She ruffled his hair affectionately.

“As a nerd, it is, in fact, my job to know that, Giulietta.” The brunette stuck his tongue out defiantly before tossing the books back onto their pile. With a groan he stood and stretched his back, the muscles popping into place. Throwing himself on the bed he looked up at the ceiling and said, “I can’t believe summer’s already over, I feel like we just got back!” He flopped back down, his arm thumping Alberto’s stomach.

“Hey, attento!” Alberto swore. He swung himself back up and flopped backward, tugging Giulia along with him. Luca patted his stomach by way of apology before sighing dramatically.

“Why doesn’t school go by this fast?”

“Because then more people would enjoy it,” Giulia sighed from the other side of Alberto, who remained oddly quiet. He turned his head from one side to the other, watching how the late afternoon sun turned Giulia’s hair a violent copper and how it made Luca’s eyes seem molten. Suddenly reaching out, he tugged both close to him and said, “Vi amo, ragazzi.” Luca and Giulia shared a look of befuddlement.

“…Okay?” They replied in unison

“Learn as much as you can and then tell me everything in your letters, okay? Just like before. Except for this time, I’m going to learn new things, too. That way, we can all share what we learned next summer.” He grinned proudly at the thought.

Giulia sat up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you feeling okay, pazzo? Do you need a doctor or something?”

“No, I’m serious. Giulia, you remember what you asked us at the beginning of summer?” She cocked her head to the side before nodding.

“I asked what you wanted to be when we got older.”

“Esattamente! And I have no idea, but I want to find out.” He looked at both Luca and Giulia as they processed his words. Luca was the first to move, wrapping his arms tighter around Alberto’s middle and grinning into his shoulder.

“I think that’s a great idea, caro. I’m proud of you.” Giulia nodded in agreement as she settled back down.

“Even if you don’t figure it out this year, or the next, just goditi il viaggio, like my mama always says. Life is about discovery, if you can’t enjoy it, learn from it.” Alberto hummed contently in response.

“Your mom sounds smart,” he mused.

“She is,” Luca and Giulia answered together, causing the trio to burst into a fit of giggles.

Later that evening, when Massimo climbed upstairs to check on the children, he found Giulia, Alberto, and Luca curled around one another on Giulia’s bed. Alberto had both arms wrapped protectively around both his daughter and Luca while they snored away peacefully. Machiavelli waltzed between his legs before alighting himself upon the bed and curling up next to Alberto’s head. He softly chided the cat to remain quiet and leave the children to their dreams. Without waking them, he softly tucked them in with the blanket from Alberto’s bed before walking out of the room. As he closed the door, he chanced one last glance at his little family and allowed himself a small smile. He could not wait for summer to return.

#luca pixar #luberto #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #luca fanfiction #giulia is tired of this sh!t #giulia marcovaldo #massimo marcovaldo #massimo is the best father #a te che sei il mio grande amore #they share one brain cell #machiavelli #found family #queer fanfiction #queer romance #young romance #friendships #questioning sexuality

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coffeecakefanfics · 3 years

Text

In the middle | Midsize!FemReader x B.B

A/n: This is for my midsize girls but tbh anyone can read it <3 also requests are open

Warnings: Mentions of Ass throwing, Drinking, Mentions of body insecurities, Mentions of cuts and bruises,18+ themes

Being Midsized is weird. You’re too fat to be skinny but too skinny to be fat, you’re in this weird middle ground where you feel uncomfortable yet sexy at the same time. You LOVE your big thighs and ass but HATE your tummy, it’s awkward

Y/n suffered from this problem, she had a great set of tits and a decent ass and the CUTEST tummy ever! The problem though? Finding and outfit for parties, parties like the pool party and hangout that Tony made mandatory for the Avengers. The sound of laughter shook through the compound as Y/n walked into the indoor pool and hot tub, music was playing and drinks were in hand.

“There she is!” Nat yelled and held her drink up. A couple people cheered and Y/n bowed playfully. A laugh tumbled from her lips as she grabbed a bottle of a mikes hard, something sweet.

“Come on get in,” Nat motioned for the girl to get into the hot tub. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

“Come on, take it off!” Sam teased.

“Shut up, I’m getting in” she laughed and tugged at the ties of black cover up.

“Take it off, take it off!” A couple more people joined in. The girl laughed and turned with her back to them and let the cover up drop to her waist, playful cheers filled the room now as she dropped the cover up.

“Daamn mama,” Wanda whistled.

“I know I know,” Y/n played back. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault, he’d blame it on the way that the highwisted black suit cupped her ass, the way her thighs jiggled when she walked, how incredible the view of her breasts were sitting in the top that he let his mind wander to how gorgeous she’d look under him.

“Bucky?” she voice pulled his mind back

“I think pretty boy might like the view,” Tony chirpped.

“Tony shut up, leave the kid alone,” Y/n rolled her eyes at the older man.

“What were you saying?” Bucky felt his cheeks dust

“I was asking if you were going on the mission tomorrow?” her eyes were soft, and innocent, glints of happiness shook through them.

“Yeah, Me, you and Steve are running this one,” he bit his lip. The night continued on, drinking, laughing, it was almost. . . peaceful, that was until the sex talk started.

“Come on Y/n how many?” Thor was the one poking now.

“Ew no i’m not here to get slut shamed,” she laughed and sipped her drink, Bucky’s eyes drifted to how her lips sat so perfectly against the bottle.

“Don’t be a baby,” He continued pushing.

“Fine but you can’t laugh,” she shot him a look and he held his hands up in defence, “My body count is 3,” she shrugged and took another sip.

“You’re lying,” Sam scoffed playfully and sipped his own drink.

“I’m serious, My first was a kid named Damien Salazar in 11th grad, then there was Troy Cash my second year of college and then I had a guy after we broke up that was so bad that I forgot his name,” she shrugged.

“I really was expecting more,” Thor shrugged himself.

“That’s hurtful,” she teased, “Even if it was more I wouldn’t be less of a woman for it, no one is,” she spoke stern.

“No that’s not why we’re curious, you just never talk to us about this stuff,” Wanda noted.

“I mean you club with us and throw ass all the time but we never get to the personal stuff like that, you’re the only one we didn’t know,” Nat slung an arm around the girl, who laid her head on her.

“That’s a fair point,” The girl laughed.

“Question,” Bucky spoke up, “What the fuck is throwing ass?” The laughter after was deafening.

“Oh poor sweet baby Buck,” Sam patted his back before giving a pointed look to the girl across from them.

“Sam Wilson I know damn well you do not expect me to corrupt that poor man,” she shot up from Nats shoulder

“Come on, the man is 106 years old and hasn’t been twerked on, do him a solid.

“I can’t and won’t have this conversation,” she rolled her eyes and took the last sip of her drink. “I am off to bed, See you two freaks in the morning,” she waved and wrapped a towel around her body.

The mission went smooth, well except for a few bumps and bruises and a gash to Y/n’s suit, but it went smoothly. Back at the compound she found herself restless, tossing and turning in bed led her to the kitchen, standing over a pot of coffee waiting for it to brew.

“Can’t sleep?” The voice made her jump, spinning around to find Bucky standing by the table.

“Jesus Buck, A warning,” she smiled at him.

“Want a cup?” she pointed to the pot behind her. Bucky simply nodded.

“Nightmares?” she asked and slid a blue cup across the table to him.

“I don’t have nightmares,” he spoke, taking a sip.

“Okay Bucky,” she dropped it, holding the warm cup in her hands. It wasn’t nightmares him up it was a feeling of, hate? no that’s not the word, discomfort in his body. Something he never spoke of was the insecurity of his arm, he hated how the metal felt. It kept him up sometimes, there was a point in time where he would try to claw it off, the scars are faintly there.

“What’s got you up?” he asked, carefully.

“Personal shit, I don’t need to make it your problem, her words were flat, nothing like how she normally spoke to him.

“I’m here you know, to talk” his words tumbled, he never knew or was good at opening up.

“You too buck,” She smiled and took a sip. Bucky studied how she leant against the counter, her her shirt draped her body, loose and hiding her figure, how her shorts were slightly risen up. He loved her body, he loved how she looked in her suit, it hugged her ass and tits perfectly and outlined her figure, Bucky loved her tummy when he could see it, like when they sparred.

“Earth to Buck,” she was grinning at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and felt a blush creep up his face.

“What’s on your mind?” she had finished her drink and sat the cup in the sink.

“it’s uh- nothing,” he sipped the coffee.

“it’s not nothing because you drifted off, so spill” Bucky felt his head spinning, he couldn’t ask her that, he had too much respect for her.

“My door is open if you need it,” she smiled and let her fingers dance across his shoulder on the way out. Bucky let out his breath and hung his head. He was so down bad.

Once every three months shield brings their agents in to spar with the avengers, test them on hand to hand combat. Y/n was slowly walking around the ring with her hands in defense, everyone stood around watching her and then new initiate.

“Go!” Fury yelled, the initiate jumped at the girl who dodged, tripping her up. The initiate growled and lunged at Y/n again tossing punch after punch and throwing kicks. Y/n caught the girls foot and used it to pull her down.

“Time!” Fury called again. Y/n locked eyes with Bucky who smirked at her. Y/n held her hand out to the initiate, the girl took it and smiled at Y/n.

“Hey you did great, work on your defense a little more and you’ll be perfect”

“Thank you” the girl smiled and left the ring.

“Maybe if you lost some weight you’d be too,” a males voice spoke, accidentally too loud. Y/n’s stomach dropped, feeling sick. Her shoulders slumped for a second before a fire lit behind her eyes.

“In the ring now!” she barked.

“Oh shit,” Sam cleared his throat.

“Here we go,” Tony took a deep breath and shook his head. The young man scoffed and set foot into the ring.

“Go!” Fury called. The man lunged, prematurely and ended up getting a shoulder to the stomach as Y/n took him down. He hit the ground with a huff.

“Again” he demanded. Y/n cracked her fingers, and held her defense. The man was agitated, he was bouncing on his feet, rookie mistake. He threw a couple punches that landed but when his strategy didn’t change Y/n saw the opportunity and sprung loose. She blocked his punch with her forearm before kicking the back of his knee causing him to tumble, she set her foot on his throat, not putting any pressure, just to freak the kid out.

“Listen up, I worked my fucking ass off to be in the place that I am in today, you’re all here to do the same, every one of you was seen as better than your peers. With that being said does anyone else have any more dumb shit to say?” Her voice was sharp, thick, heavy. The initiates eyes were trained on the ground, some were shifting, the energy in the room shifted and was uncomfortable. Y/n jumped out of the ring and grabbed her bag, letting the gym door slam behind her. The team looked at each other with almost pity for the girl.

“Nat, you’re in” Tony spoke calmly, trying to return the air.

“You fucked up kid,” He half sneered at the initiate who fumbled down the steps.

“I’ll go check on her,” Bucky mumbled to Sam.

“Let her cool off a bit man, she’s hurt,” Sam offered. Bucky shook his head and left the gym.

The door to her room was in fact unlocked, but Bucky still knocked before entering, waiting for her voice to speak.

“Come in” She had her back to him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I just wanted to check on you, I’m sorry I’ll-”

“No, no it’s okay. Thank you, it means a lot,” she smiled at him sadly. His heart broke at the sight of her.

“Look about what that kid said, he doesn’t know shit,” Bucky spoke carefully, he was trying to tread lightly. She sat on the edge of her bed and let her head fall into her hands.

“He’s right, I mean i’m in the gym 6 days a week and i’m lifting weights for 5. But no matter what I do i’m still in this awful middle ground of being too fat but also ‘skinny’ and I fucking hate it. I hate my body and how it looks and I constantly feel like I stick out on the team,” the tears had started again. Bucky sat on his knees infront of her.

“Well fuck them,” he tilted her chin up.

“So what if you’re not tiny? You are still stronger than hell, you have such an amazing body, I mean you have the prettiest thighs i’ve ever seen, you have a nice rack and you have the best stomach,” Bucky smiled at her. She shook her head and wound her arms around yourself.

“You are fucking beautiful, every inch of you. Your acne, your stretch marks, your freckles, everything you hate about yourself I find, and this is going to make me sound gross but I find it sexy Y/n. You’re not going to be everybodys type but sure as shit you’re mine” Y/n bit back the smile that was threatening to break through.

“Even my tummy?” she tried, playful

“Especially your tummy, you kidding?” he grinned and pushed her hair back, holding her cheek. “You are beautiful,” he spoke, barely above a whisper before connecting their lips. Y/n froze at first, unsure of if he was sincere or messing with her. He pulled away

“I’m sorry I should have asked,” he stammered and started to move away.

“No, I liked it” Y/n nodded and kissed him.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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khaotic-kitsunes · 4 years

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Generosity

And we’re starting off the Mirio scenarios with a delicious serving of Alpha Mirio~

Boy oh boy was this fun to re-read, I hope you all enjoy!

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

You frowned silently, stopping in front of your front door to look behind you at a grinning Mirio; it was a frustrating situation really. You had spent the entire day out with Mirio on his day off, accompanied by his friends Tamaki and Nejire; which wasn’t a problem, they were great and you had a fantastic day, right up until an hour ago.

That was when your difficulties had begun. Mirio had entered his rut and though he hadn’t said anything about it, you could smell it and it was driving the omega in you insane. A problem made worse when he insisted on walking you home since it was both late and dark out; while you could understand his reasoning, understanding did nothing to actually help with that discomfort you felt.

Having to pretend like you weren’t dripping just from the smell of your alpha friend.

“Something wrong, (Name)?”

You let out a soft whine, turning to face your front door while smacking your head against the hard surface, infuriated with how clueless he was pretending to be. He was too good of an alpha to push his problems onto those around him, so of course, he was falling back onto his innocent act.

“Mirio…” You trailed off softly, lifting your head to look at him once more, chewing on your bottom lip while you tossed around the words in your head, debating how best to approach the subject. You didn’t want to offend him, nor did you want to risk your friendship with him; however, he was in a rut with no partner and you, an omega, the perfect solution for his problem, were aching to be filled with a knot. All because of him and his stupid, frustrating rut.

“…I know, I’m sorry” He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his grin fading to a half-hearted smile. He was already aware of the problems he had caused you; it was just one of the reasons he insisted on taking you home.

Mirio would feel terrible if something happened to you because of something he had caused.

“If you want…you can come inside, we could help each other out?”

Your face burned as the words fell past your lips, it was too late to take the words back, even if Mirio did look like you had just slapped him stupid; apparently, he hadn’t been expecting that to be your first reaction.

Then again, it wasn’t technically your first reaction, you had been smelling his rut for a while now; multiple thoughts and scenarios had gone through your head, it could be the reason you were actually brave enough to offer your help to him.

“Ah, are you s-” You cut him off with a dirty look, you weren’t in the mood for unnecessary hesitation; you were in the mood to experience his rut.

“If you ask me ‘are you sure this is what you want?’ or anything similar, I won’t speak to you for a month.”

He closed his mouth quickly, nodding his head in understanding before moving so that he was pressed up against you from behind, his lips ghosting over your scent gland; pulling a soft gasp from your plump lips.

“Then open the door, (Name), before I knot you right here and now” He paused, grinning against your skin while his arms wrapped around you, keeping you tucked up against his muscled chest; stirring up every single omega instinct inside of you.

“I’d do it, you know? Right here…fuck you so hard, you’re screaming for more and then the neighbours would come out, see you getting fucked senseless and loving every fucking second of it” He growled out, his words filled with promise while you fumbled with your keys, somehow managing to get your front door unlocked and open; it didn’t matter how appealing that threat sounded, it wasn’t a sensible idea.

Not for you, nor for the pro-hero.

“Oh? Inside it is”

His cheerful tone had your head spinning, from a growling alpha behind you to a happy-go-lucky friend in less than a second was a little much for you to process; though, it didn’t help that his scent was clouding your mind.

If you weren’t careful, his rut would stir your heat prematurely and that, would be a dangerous situation for the both of you. You might even end up bonded to one-another and while you wouldn’t complain, you weren’t so sure Mirio would be of the same thoughts.

“Come on, no backing out now” Mirio hummed as he pressed his hand to the small of your back gently, giving you the push forwards that you needed; spurring you to turn and drag him into the apartment with you, a giggle spilling past your lips as he kicked your door shut.

“You little giggle pot” He chuckled, pulling you up against his chest before leaning back against the door, his lips claiming your own in a heated kiss, quickly stealing your breath away with little care.

Mirio grinned against your lips when you moved your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible; uncaring if it was strange, even in your current situation. If you wanted him close, you would have him close; after all, you were about to have his knot inside of you. A little contact wouldn’t kill him.

You hoped.

“As much as I’m enjoying the taste of you on my lips,”

Your face flushed as he spoke, finally pulling your head away from his so that you could stare up at him, curious as to what he had to say to you in such a moment. Though you wished he hadn’t interrupted the kiss like that; while you were technically helping him with his rut, you were also enjoying having the opportunity to pretend your buried feelings weren’t one-sided.

“I’m only just barely holding on to my sanity. This isn’t a casual fuck (Name), this is instinct driven and today, you’ve agreed to be my omega for my rut…” He trailed off with a smile, his large hand cupping your cheek with a gentleness you weren’t quite expecting from him during his rut, not that you were complaining.

“You understand, right? Good” He turned you away from him as he spoke, his voice sounding uncharacteristically strained, almost like it was taking every last drop of willpower he had not to fuck you right then and there. You didn’t bother arguing with him, instead taking off into your apartment; seeking out the room that gave you the most comfort. Your bedroom. A room that no alpha had been invited into, until now.

Mirio was hot on your tail as you made your way into your bedroom, his low growls of appreciation thunderous in your ears as you stripped yourself of your clothing; complete with a cheeky little butt wiggle while you crawled onto the soft mattress.

“You know, I think you’re going to look good with my knot buried inside of you” Mirio groaned out as he crawled onto the bed behind you, having already used his quirk to get rid of his clothes, his hard, aching cock rubbing up against your dripping folds, pulling a soft whine from your plump lips; the mere sound of you the final straw.

Large hands closed around your wrists, pinning them to the bed in front of you while he pushed himself inside of you; your hot, welcoming body making him curse out loudly. You weren’t entirely sure if you should scold him or ask him to treat you as if you were actually his omega, so instead, you settled for whining out his name softly while rolling your hips back hard.

It didn’t take long before Mirio was leaning over you completely, his larger form pushing you into the mattress while his hips moved at a merciless pace; his body and mind completely driven by his rut. You could do little more than whimper and moan out his name beneath him, pinned to the bed, helpless and ravaged by the man you wish you could call your permanent alpha.

Instead of that, however, it was a temporary agreement; one that you benefitted from, so it wasn’t too bad of an agreement. Just, a temporary one.

“Fuck…you feel so good wrapped around my cock (Name), such a good omega, taking it so well”

His praises had you pushing your hips back in time with his thrusts, soft whines spilling from your lips while you worked for his approval; your instincts driving you to do anything and everything possible in your current position to make him happy.

Your dream alpha.

“Oh? You like that? Hearing your alpha praise you?”

His questions had you squirming, quiet and almost inaudible answers falling from your lips while he buried himself inside of you over and over again, his thick cock rubbing against your sweet spot without even the shortest of breaks; it didn’t matter how broken you were beginning to sound, with your choked out moans and soft pleas for him to fuck you slower, it all fell on deaf ears.

Mirio was far too busy enjoying your body, his hands having moved from your wrists long ago to instead settle on your soft skin; groping roughly, wanting to hear more of your sweet noises. Noises only he could stir up from inside of you.

You pressed your head down into the bed more as you felt a familiar pressure build in the very pit of your stomach, many lonely nights with various toys having given you enough experience to know that this was your orgasm approaching; though it felt stronger than any other time previously.

Maybe it was because you had an alpha fucking you senseless, or maybe because it was Mirio specifically; you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that you were screaming out Mirio’s name at the top of your lungs while your walls clamped around his throbbing dick, pushing him over the edge moments later.

Your cries of pleasure only grew louder as Mirio rutted his hips up against yours roughly, somehow managing to push his large knot inside of you while it swelled up into its full size, faint dribbles of his hot, thick cum managing to slip past his knot and down your folds onto the bed below; but you didn’t care.

All you cared about, was how good it felt to be knotted by mirio for the first, but hopefully not the last, time.

“Fuck…you feel good, so good”

Mirio groaned against your ear, his body heavy atop yours while you squirmed into a comfortable position on the bed, deciding to just enjoy the feeling of his thick semen filling you for now; especially since there was little else you could do.

“Mm…full…” You hummed softly, closing your eyes while you lost yourself in the feeling of his warmth; his deep chuckle the only thing able to stir your mind back into thinking properly once more.

“That’s right baby and you’re only going to get fuller from here. That was a single, quick round…I have so much more in store for you.”

#cheeky kitsune #mirio togata #togata mirio #reader x mirio #bnha x reader #mirio x reader #togata x reader #reader x togata #omegaverse #alpha!mirio #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests

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grimark · 2 years

Text

Fic First Line Games

Rules: DON’T REBLOG THIS ONE, MAKE A NEW POST! List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

Tagged by @sl-walker and I think I'll put most of it under a cut because wow that's a big wall of text.

1. That caulker’s mate is a striking man, but he has a way of almost fading into the background. (this, and other such inconsequential questions)

2. Billy is on his way to work when the demon shows up again. (before a mirror late at night)

3. They were born premature, of course. Emily came first, and Gabriel was dragged kicking and screaming along behind her. Even their own mother didn’t want to keep them for any longer than she absolutely had to. (Comorbid)

4. Cornelius wasn’t stupid, he knew Freddie Des Voeux only invited him and his friends over when he felt like slumming it. But Freddie had subscriptions to at least three different streaming services, and Sol said his weed was decent, and he generally ordered a better class of takeaway than the rest of them would be able to afford on their own. So Cornelius was happy to let him have his little Common People moment in return. (down, down in an earlier round)

5. As a steward on the research vessel Terror, Billy was not technically qualified to leave the ship. Which was bullshit, because he’d been rated AB at the end of his last interplanetary expedition, or pretty close to it anyway. (fruiting bodies)

6. Sol had been looking forward to seeing Cornelius soon. But he and Billy had gone away for the weekend, and for all of Saturday it seemed Cornelius had been too busy to reply to any of Sol’s texts. (nothing compares to a quiet evening alone)

7. It had been a big achievement for Cornelius, scoring a job on the stem cell research team at Terrebus Laboratories. Certainly a step up from his previous job as a technician at a pathology lab. Longer hours, greater responsibility, more demanding work, and not all that much more pay. But the project made all the difference. (sustenance, blessed sustenance)

8. Being a werewolf was this: a warm summer evening, driving to anywhere, laughing at Sol sticking his head out the passenger side window, whooping and cheering into the wind. (know how a man becomes a beast)

9. The first time they met, Billie and C kind of got off on the wrong foot. (In my head I paint a picture)

10. Once he had recovered from the attack, John’s friends and family were all surprised when he kept taking his daily run at Hampstead Heath. (a man who’s pure of heart and says his prayers by night)

I don't know if there's any really obvious patterns? I tend to prioritise giving context over generating drama or interest, and I pretty much always focus on describing something a person is thinking or doing, rather than broader environments or events. So maybe that means I need to work on my descriptive writing a bit more, but I already knew that.

Anyway, tagging some people who I know write fic if you wanna do this, for however many fics you feel like doing @edwardashley @fireferns @bloodyholly @ahamkarabone @o-rchidae @stepmommycrowley

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pennamesmith · 3 years

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Skeletor Ain’t Heavy

Two brothers seek out a community, and Wrong Hordak reflects on the past. More Skeletor stories, if you want ‘em!

Two brothers walked the hallways of Bright Moon palace. They were Horde clones, cautious, curious, and concerned.

“Are you sure this is the right way? I’m certain we passed that decorative waterfall twice already,” the shorter clone complained. He had swept-back ears, and two extra eyes that would never open.

“Don’t be rude,” the other chided. Tired wrinkles hung at the corners of his eyes and mouth, but he shared the same chestnut shade of hair as his brother.

“Not only do you trespass in my domain, but you insult me as well! I know the way, I’ve been there before,” squawked the gangly robot guiding them. He strutted purposefully ahead before halting at an arched entryway. “Ha! Here it is! Now, with this magic spell, we shall open a gateway to an evil, little-known dimension!”

He knocked on the door. It swung open.

Wrong Hordak stood on the other side, bouncing on his feet and wearing an effervescent grin. “Hello, Skeletor!” he said to the robot. “And welcome, brothers! Please, come in!”

The exuberant clone stepped aside and beckoned the other two through the door. They followed, and found themselves in a modest space filled with a number of other Horde clones. The flock milled comfortably about the room, striking up conversations, taking fruit slices and coffee from a table in the back, and gradually getting settled around an open ring of chairs.

“Is it your first time here?” Wrong Hordak asked.

The older clone nodded. “Yes. I am named Sunder, and this is Zed. Skeletor told us about your support group for former members of the Horde. May we join you?”

“Of course!” Wrong Hordak beamed and motioned for the newcomers to join the circle. As they did so, the only other person in the room who wasn’t a clone — a prim-looking lizard — quirked an eyebrow in Skeletor’s direction.

Double Trouble, a plate of honeydew in hand, sauntered over to where Wrong Hordak stood. “I thought Skeletor left with the princesses on that big interdimensional field trip?” they whispered, bemused.

“Oh, he couldn’t find a pet sitter for Relay,” Wrong Hordak replied, gesturing to a small robotic puppy sitting happily on a pillow in the corner. Skeletor gathered it up lovingly and almost seemed to smile.

“Stop licking my face, you dratted dog!” Skeletor whined as Relay greeted him enthusiastically. “Gah! You’re drowning me!”

He made no motion to put the mechanical mutt down.

“What? But that doesn’t… oh, never mind.” Double Trouble sighed and wrapped themself around Wrong Hordak’s arm. “In that case, darling, we may as well get started. I want to hear from the fresh meat!”

They joined the group. Wrong Hordak gave a short clap to bring the session to order, and the ring of clones hushed. They watched him expectantly.

“Welcome, everyone!” Wrong Hordak began. “Thank you for coming. Today we are joined by two new friends. Brothers, are you willing to share your stories with us?”

Zed nodded. “We’ve been living in the Crimson Waste since the end of the war, under Huntara’s protection. We were both on the Velvet Glove when it became, ah…”

“The Space Tree,” one of the other clones supplied.

“…The Space Tree, thank you. I am — was — being grown as Horde Prime’s next holy vessel. But I decanted prematurely when he was defeated by She-Ra.” Zed looked guiltily away from the others. “I have never known a world without freedom from Prime. Yet his evil will always mark me.”

“Whereas I,” Sunder continued, “served the Galactic Horde for many years, and committed many atrocities in Prime’s name. There was even a time when I imagined myself his top general, though I have since learned that this was a lie he told to many of us.”

Several of the clones nodded sympathetically.

Sunder touched the wrinkles on his face. “But even we clones grow old. I was scheduled to be decommissioned, until Prime fell and awakening came upon us all. His death granted me new life.”

“Hello, Sunder!” the group greeted in cheerful unison. “Hello, Zed!”

“Thank you for sharing, brothers,” Wrong Hordak commended. “Is there anything you wish to ask of us?”

Sunder shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “There is. I came here because I want to know… how can I live with what I have done? How do any of us atone for the pain we caused under Prime’s control? We’ve worked as hard to heal the planet as anyone, but is it enough?”

“And how can we be sure never to harm anyone else?” Zed cut in. “How do I know I will not make the same mistakes that created Prime?”

“My goodness! Such pathos,” muttered Double Trouble, not unkindly.

“I also have this fear,” one of the clones volunteered. “My sleep cycle is often interrupted by unpleasant fantasies. I imagine myself saying, ‘If Horde Prime created me in hatred, am I not doomed to hate?’”

Wrong Hordak nodded in understanding. “It is not shameful to have such thoughts. And I also know what it is like to have memories that… no longer give me pride.” He narrowed his eyes. “I served Horde Prime in many battles on many planets before I met the liberator Entrapta and her friends. Regretfully, I can remember most of them.”

“Yes, I have such memories too,” said Sunder. “Sometimes I wish they could still be taken away from me, but I know that is not the way.” The old clone had an earnest expression. “Please, what rituals may I perform to calm the storm inside my mind?”

“I have found that nothing works for every one of us without error,” Wrong Hordak replied, glancing around at the gathered individuals. “Yet for many of us it is beneficial to think of choosing love instead of hatred. It is not an easy task, of course, but it is still our greatest power, to choose.”

“You are who you choose to be,” Double Trouble stated sagely, their features flickering for a few moments.

“As for my memories,” Wrong Hordak went on. He took a deep breath, as if he had been pondering what he was about to say next for a long time.

“Looking back, I find most of my life acceptable and good — and most of it I wouldn’t change. I can see the surprise in your face! But yes, I would choose the same progenitors, the same siblings, whatever their flaws or mistakes. I would fall in love with the same person and plan the same future.”

He shared a warm look with Double Trouble. “So the regrets — and there are many of them — are not a rejection of fate. They are essentially hindsight. If I know them.”

Wrong Hordak spoke the if with conviction.

“Now certainly, if I had just been decanted, knowing what I know now, I would have behaved differently. I might imagine that I should have done this, could have become that, and my life would have been richer, more governed by love and concern for others, more full of life, spirit, humor, adventure, experimentation, risk-taking.”

He gave Double Trouble another knowing glance. “However, in those moments I am looking at my life as the director of a play might look at the script. They might say ‘cut that awful scene’ or ‘have him act more compassionately.’ But they are the director. They know the end of the story! Whereas I, an actor, had to grope along, trying to find the right way, and trying to find the courage to do what I should have done.”

Wrong Hordak sighed. “So now, I suppose I have to forgive myself for being a messy infant. For being afraid of bullies, for not understanding others, for wasting time, for feeling negative and discouraged, for not expressing love more effectively, for not opening myself to the experience of what others were willing to give me.”

Zed and Sunder were leaning forward, listening intently. Nevertheless, something in their expressions still seemed uncertain.

“I don’t understand,” the older clone ventured. “Wouldn’t you still change the past if you could?”

“And how do you know what to do now?” Zed added.

“I don’t,” Wrong Hordak shrugged. “I have imagined, if there were an all-powerful being, and they told me, ‘Very well, I shall grant you another try,' and if I lived the same life over, only better, what would happen? At the end, would I feel satisfied? Proud?”

“Yes?” Sunder tried.

“Maybe?” Zed guessed.

“I would not,” Wrong Hordak replied, gently. “Because there would still be an entire universe of variables! As a result of the experience of the second attempt I would only cry out, ‘I’ve failed again! Now, as a result of the second attempt, I clearly see how it should have gone! Oh please, let me stay for one more try!’”

Sunder contemplated this. “And how would your hypothetical omnipotent being respond?”

“They would say, ‘It is no use, Wrong Hordak. Nothing can be perfect. The third attempt would only bring an increase in wisdom and a completely new set of regrets.’”

Zed and Sunder sat back as they took this in. Then they looked at each other, and seemed to reach an unspoken agreement.

“I believe we have much to discuss,” Sunder said eventually.

“Do you meet at the same time every week?” Zed asked.

Wrong Hordak smiled.

Later, after the group had concluded their meeting and most of the attendees had left, Wrong Hordak paused thoughtfully while he stacked the chairs and cleaned up the space.

“Witless fools, do I have to do everything for you?” Skeletor muttered, passing by with the mop.

Double Trouble noticed and approached their clone lover. “That was a lovely speech you gave today,” they said. “Would you really not change anything in your life?”

“There are many things I might have done differently,” Wrong Hordak admitted. “But if the events of my existence had not transpired exactly as they did, I would not be where I am now. And I like where I am now very much.”

“Bravo,” Double Trouble applauded.

They embraced.

“Hmph! That’s your opinion,” Skeletor grouched. “I don’t do things for humanity, I do them for me!” He shook his head. “Oh, why do I surround myself with fools? Even the robots are smarter than you!”

#spop #Skeletor #wrong hordak #double trouble #horde clone OCs #wrong trouble #the ex horde support group #WH’s big speech is taken almost verbatim from a letter written by one of my parent’s mentors #smith stuff #fan fiction #thank you for reading

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bubmyg · 4 years

Text

lost - knj

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre/warnings: travel!au, roommate!au, bookstore owner!namjoon, strangers to lovers, ft platonic reader x taehyung, fluff, lots of angst regarding uncertain futures, namjoon has a cat named marie

word count: 16,451

summary: taehyung’s warning was simple: stop and you’ll never want to start again or the one where you’re left alone in a loft apartment above a bookstore owned by a man with the sweetest dimples you’ve ever seen.

a/n: my first fic in three months omg...i hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it :-(

Tiny succulent leaves spiraled outward from a central lobe rooted somewhere in the limited space provided by it’s miniature clay home. The pot rattled with the dips of open road, contained mostly to the corner of the dash and the dusty van window yet a victim of the unforgiving lack of traction still attached to the tires that had carried you for miles up until this point.

One thousand, two hundred and thirty-one miles. And counting.

You tucked your knee into your chest, lounging so the seatbelt started to cut into your neck as your head lulled to the side, eyeing Taehyung’s profile.

“You’ve kept that one alive,” You commented absently.

A noise of surprise broke the hard line of Taehyung’s clenched jaw. He glanced at you, genuine innocence shining through his confusion. It mirrored in his blunt, “Huh?”

You nodded toward the bouncing plant, “If you think about it, killing aloe vera would be kind of ironic…”

“Oh,” Taehyung wrinkled his nose, adjusting his wrist where it laid languidly on the top of the steering wheel, “I think succulents are more my speed. Or at least, the speed of traveling. My daisies didn’t appreciate the darkness of the bedroom. The sunflowers protested the living room on day one.”

“At least if a succulent spills it doesn’t immediately shrivel up and disintegrate…”

By bedroom, Taehyung meant the front section of the shades of beige van he’d acquired in high school, the area with a barely functional bed nailed to the floor of the “trunk”, with windows covered by tattered pieces of flannel you’d hand sewn to resemble curtains. By living room, he meant the back half, where a tiny, rainbow rug sat in the center of splintered wood and a few fold out lawn chairs, matching flannel curtains from the bedroom drawn open to allow sunlight to push through the thin layer of grime gathered in each corner of the windows.

His daisies had spilled fresh potting soil into your clean pillow case, one you’d shaken free of debris by holding it out the open window of the van while Taehyung shrieked with laughter. His sunflowers wouldn’t even balance on the tiny lip between the window and the inside, ceramic pot tumbling through Taehyung’s clumsy fingers and shattering onto the rug. A glittering piece of the white pot still sat lodged between a space in the wooden floorboards.

You grunted in acknowledgement, unfurling your legs to heave yourself forward, snatching the tiny plant from its place on the dash. You turned it gently in your palm, “This would have been nice to have a few weeks ago.”

The tiny seaside town you’d rumbled into by accident of the lack of fuel in the van’s tank lead to three nights of camping in crab infested sands, gorgeous sunset photographs you’d clipped to the twine string zigzagging through the living room, and a horrible ripple of blisters sun stained into Taehyung’s shoulder blades.

He gestured to the scarf you’d prematurely yanked from your luggage shoved into a compartment on the bottom of the vehicle, knee directing the steering wheel as he balled the fleece and tossed it at you. “Good thing it’s almost winter. Put my aloe down.”

You unfolded the pleats of the scarf once you settled the pot back against the windshield, curling it around your arms to settle back into the seat. Your eyes drifted to the scenery beyond the plant, coming first in the fashion of a neon highway sign advertising the next town. You glanced at the tiny red tick on the fuel tank meter.

“Are we stopping tonight?”

Taehyung’s gaze met the places yours rested on. He sighed, palm pressing into the steering wheel first until his fingers gradually curled around the leather. “At least to get gas and dinner, yes. Look and see if there’s any hotels around, please? And then maybe how far we are from our next stop? I don’t want to hang around too long and miss the harvest festival…”

The tiny tag clipped on the digital map of your phone showed a tiny motel with a singular Yelp review from someone named Min Yoongi within walking distance of the gas station Taehyung had turned into. Your legs crossed where you sat on the edge of the blow up mattress in the bedroom, eyes squinted as you twirled around the general vicinity of the tiny town with the tip of your index finger.

“Status update, copilot,” The van rocked as Taehyung took a running jump into the open back, momentum causing him to crouch in the center of the living room. Your mouth parted to respond in time with a tinkling crash to your left.

“There’s a motel across the street,” You uttered in an unimpressed monotone, locating the source of the crash as three similar aloe plants to the one on the dash tumbling off your tiny bookshelf to the rug below. Three sad aloe plants a mess between the sprinkle of potting soil in between grains of rainbow.

A sheepish look crossed the geometric edges of Taehyung’s smile. “I’ll clean it up,” His cupped palm swept over some of the more elevated piles of soil as if to prove his point, “Will you go see if they have anything available?”

“Got it, boss,” You stood, crouched still due to the proximity of the top of the van to your head, and began to edge your way outside.

Your hesitation came near the very bookshelf, the sign of the crime, sole of your shoe squashing into the center of the limited pile Taehyung had created by scraping his hands across the rippled weaving of the rug. You stayed crouched at the waist, fingers thumbing through the titles, titles a cumulative collection from your own personal belongings and the various shops you’d stowed away in the growing months of your journey. Their dusted and rough covers slowly transitioned into the item you were looking for, a slick yellow folder bursting at the pockets with the mixture of paper clipped, stapled, typed, and handwritten papers curled within. You squeezed it’s outer edge, thumb feeling into the tiny rip that was begging to form on the spine of the folder.

“I can’t clean if you don’t move,” Taehyung’s hand wrapped around your ankle, startling you to do a hop step into reality.

The imprint of the ripped folded scratched at the crease in your thumb where you rubbed your palms together, quick strides weaving you down a deserted sidewalk to cross a deserted street where a three story, house shaped structure sat. Your palm flexed into the ends of your scarf still dangling from around your neck, tucking it tighter to you to avoid the stream of words that began to ink across the forefront of your subconscious from the simple touch to the folder.

The interior of a structure whose exterior gave off the impression of outdated was instead rather modern, like stepping out of a deserted movie from the eighties to step into a fifties diner in the twenty-first century. Sleek tile in patterned squares wrapped around a black, raising desk, one that had a tiny stack of business cards and a credit card reader clipped to either side. A man was hunched over a laptop placed on what appeared to be a second level to the desk, it’s lid plastered in various hand drawn stickers peaking over the countertop as fingers continued to audibly hack away at a keyboard.

His black curls bounced when the screen door clattering shut behind you, wide eyes either perpetually surprised or simply shocked at the presence of a person in the otherwise desolate area. You assumed it was a little bit of both once his shoulders relaxed into the black polo hugging his toned upper body but the circular innocence to his eyes remained.

“Hi!” He chirped as you squinted at the gold plated name tag strapped on one side of his shirt. Jeongguk. “...how can I help you?”

“Do you have any rooms available?”

The surprise traveled into the rise of Jeongguk’s eyebrows into his shaggy fringe. It was short lived this time, though, movements instead turning frantic as he lifted the sticker covered laptop to the top layer of the desk, resuming his furious hacking with his tongue poked between his cheeks so that a dimple appeared to the side of his lips.

“I do,” He said after a moment, glancing up at you as his fingers continued to work, “Plenty, actually. Just trying to, uhm…”

“There!” Jeongguk cheered finally, voice an octave louder than before and there was a twinkle in his crinkling eyes as he directed his full attention to you, “How many nights and how many beds?”

“One and two,” You rested your forearm to the counter, thumbing one of the business cards out of its plastic tray. A fond smile curled onto your lips when you noticed the tiny logo was the same doodled design gracing a sticker pasted to the center of his laptop lid. GCF Motel and Design. “Please…”

“Of course, absolutely. Coming right up…” His index finger tapped hard at the touch pad a few times before a different color illuminated the stars in his eyes. He blinked, nodding once to himself before he cupped the credit card reader and dragged it toward you. “It’ll just be fifty for the night. Card reader is here—it works, I promise—or I can take cash. And make change for you, if...you know.”

“I have a card,” You said gently, plucking the plastic from the tiny holder stuck to your phone case. The chip reader clicked to life after a few passing seconds of your card sitting idle in the slot, taking longer in its processing that left you in a silence with the bouncing man across from you.

“Have you been busy lately? There’s that harvest festival a few miles from here this weekend, so I wasn’t sure…”

“No. No, uhm,” Jeongguk glanced at you under the shadow of his bangs, “You’re actually my first guest in two weeks.”

“Oh.” Two tiny electronic beeps signaled you to take your card but you were still delayed in doing so. You smiled warmly at the man across from you instead, “Well, then I’m happy we stopped here.”

“We means you’d like two room keys, right?” The tiniest of red dusted the apples of his cheeks, gaze cutting away to the level of the desk you couldn’t see.

“Please. Tae should be here any minute—”

The screen door clattered harshly when your tall best friend tripped through the threshold, loud in his, “I got the living room clean!” while Jeongguk’s perplexity amplified ten fold.

“Uhm, here’s your room keys. It’s on the third floor. Stairs and elevator are behind the desk,” Jeongguk passed over two green cards, holding them separately to each of you. You accepted yours with a gentle smile, Taehyung with a sleepier confusion that almost mirrored Jeongguk’s. His movements grew jerky again as he rustled behind the counter, presenting two sheets of paper in your direction now. “...and here’s a sheet of stickers. They’re mine. I hand draw them and sell them...I have my own website, it’s listed on the logo sticker in the center.”

You fondly assessed the page as you drew it closer to your nose, eyeing the etched star shape and the shaded in hues of a tiger flower. “Thank you, Jeongguk,” You said gently, holding the stickers to your chest.

“Of course!” He chirped while Taehyung continued to squint between the room key and the sticker page. “I hope you enjoy your stay...don’t hesitate to come find me if you need anything. My room is the only one on this floor if I’m not here at the desk.”

You were gentle in turning the door knob to a close while Taehyung flopped dramatically onto the nearest bed corner, still clutching his sticker sheet that he stretched above his face.

“Motto out the window tonight?”

Taehyung hummed, twisting the sheet to the right and then to the left, “For one night only—” He blinked to the side of the paper at you, “—did you look at these?

The motto hadn’t applied for three nights of your travels, the sleepy town with the sticker making motel owner included, the motto Taehyung’s sentiment that if your head ever touched a real pillow again, you’d want to cease your travels. A just keep going, arbitrary reason for continuing to blow through your college savings to travel the country. The first night had been in a storm when it was simply too dangerous to board up in the back of the van. The second night had been after Taehyung had contracted a cold from sneaking into a resort pool in a downtown tourist center. The third seemed to have no other motive than genuine exhaustion. You blamed the third potted plant spill of the month.

Mention of the motto made your mind drift to your travels as a general cloud of thought, one that generally evaporated into the back of your conscious so that you were able to focus on the paper map Taehyung had shoved into your grip from the last rest stop or the delayed play by play instructions on your phone due to the limited signal or simply forgotten due to your laughter at whatever ridiculous song Taehyung had decided to blast over your carefully wired auxiliary cord.

Just like you ignored your dwindling funds in the debit card you’d just mindlessly shoved into the barely functioning card reader, ones that funded the purpose of the sparkly eyed boy perched on a plastic stool in the lobby. Your purpose remained nothing but the ghost feeling of the rip in your yellow folder still digging into the crease of your thumb.

“You should order some from him. It’d make his week,” You said gently.

Taehyung laughed, “I don’t think he delivers to a traveling address, kid.”

You tried to manage the panic in your voice.

“Tae.”

He didn’t answer, just a grunt from outside the van where he was currently pumping air into the front driver’s side tire. Panic could only manage itself for that one call. You tried again, louder and with a slap of your hand against the nearest open door.

“Taehyung.”

The van rocked again and he answered verbally this time, agitated. A peek of one half of his face became visible, “What?”

“Where’s my folder?”

Taehyung blanched, full features coming into view, “What?”

Your hand did a dramatic sweep across the bookcase, collecting your tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice in your wake to let it drop unceremoniously to the floor. “Where is my folder?” Another book, a title you didn’t recognize but a cover you connected with the flea market Taehyung had insisted on visiting near the beach, dropped to the floor from your grip. “It’s not in its spot any longer.”

“I had to take everything off the shelf to get all the soil up,” One foot made it inside the van as your stack of discarded books continued to grow. “I swear I put it right back but it may have fallen—”

“Fallen out? Of the van?” Two more books plopping audibly to the pile. You thought about Jeongguk and his stickers and what would happen if someone threw out all his sketches. His sense of purpose suddenly gone due to someone’s recklessness.

“—behind something,” Taehyung finished, nudging you aside to retch the shelf away from where it was bolted to the wall. It only came a fraction of the way, barely enough for Taehyung to lodge his fingertips down it and effectively rule out any possibility of your folder being there. Instead, every book still clinging to the shelf flopped sadly to the floor.

The miles you’d traveled up until that point seemed to rush by in your peripheral, every open stretch of rolling road, the glittering nightscape of lively cities, the blackness of the sea current swallowing up ruts in the shore, the decades old gas stations that drained your cash from your wallets into the tank to the freshly renovated rest stops that had patterns pressed into the concrete intentionally and not just because a local raccoon decided to test his luck with some half dry concrete. It propelled you back into the moment, thousands of miles ago, where you’d stood in the same spot in Taehyung’s parents driveway with a cardboard box at your feet filled with things still labeled from when you’d moved out of your college apartment.

“Why did you keep this?” Taehyung had teased with a wrinkled nose, handing over your tattered textbook from your world literature class freshman year, the second volume in a group of three you’d paid a month's rent for. Highlighter bled into the outer edge, marking the thin off white pages appeared a mirage of rainbow that contrasted a shade more neon than the rug you’d stretched out below your feet.

“I paid for it,” You defended, settling the paper back between one side of the shelf and a heavy, dolphin shaped paperweight that you’d stuck felt on the bottom of to keep in place on the road. “Besides, it has full, translated classics in here.”

Taehyung pretended to understand the fascination of literature that came with your education with a raise of one eyebrow and a single, gentle nod that shifted his gaze back to the remaining contents in the box. He ruffled for a second before retrieving one of the items draped on the bottom.

“Okay—” He stretched your manuscript folder up in two hands so as to not let the contents on the inside spill out the sides. “—explain why you keep this.”

You snatched it from him, holding the yellow protectively to your chest. It looked a bit comical, the whole situation, you hovering over the disorganized stack of papers that you’d written off, figuratively, of course, chin resting on top of the folder as you stared hard at the worn spine of the text book you’d just placed to the shelf.

“If anything…” You moved slowly with the folder in hand, stretching it toward the felt dolphin and textbook. One hand clutched it while the other brushed aside things to make room for it, tight palm effectively dragging the weeping edges of the folder apart so a tiny rip formed in the yellow near the top of the makeshift spine. Gradual movements turned frantic as you shoved it onto the shelf, pushing the dolphin to hold it in place as your thumb remained on the newfound rip.

“...I paid a lot of money for the printer and pen ink it took to write all of that. It’s like keeping a twenty dollar bar of gold that can never be converted into usable currency.”

The dolphin was the only thing remaining on the shelf, staring at you while you stared at Taehyung, blank, not moving. Somewhere, up on the dash, the unharmed succulent rattled with the gust of wind that curled against the outside of the van.

“We’ll find it, it couldn’t have gone too far. There isn’t much space to search anyway—”

“Why did you touch it in the first place?” Your sharp cut in didn’t register in your mind as unreasonable, not at first. Instead, your mind drifted to all the times in which he’d be apprehensive of your unwillingness to throw away the folder, to, as he put it, simply transfer all the handwritten files into digital versions to zip away with the ones that were already locked in a cloud somewhere, all the times you’d caught him staring, perplexed as you pulled out the folder and flipped it open to make sure none of the pages had shifted order. “You know how much it means to me.”

“This would be different if I was intentionally trying to sabotage something of yours. I moved it to clean. It has to be somewhere in this general vicinity,” Taehyung held his hands palm up to you. Penance. Until he ruined it with a sighed, “Besides...don’t you think it’s time we throw it out anyway. I don’t think a constant reminder of rejection is—”

“Go on with your trip,” You said suddenly.

He paled in front of you, knuckles and all where they grew tighter on the edge of the unhinged bookcase. “Our trip…” He corrected, drawing out the silence at the end as punctuation.

“Your trip,” You shoved yourself off the floor, stepping past him to hurdle to the cracked concrete outside. “Help me get my luggage.”

Taehyung spluttered, lips foaming like a puffer fish out of water, eyes narrowing like you’d just grown a third hand from the tip of your nose. “Dove, we’ll find your folder. We can keep it up front so it never gets lost again. I wasn’t trying to insult your situation, I just care about you and—”

“Tae,” You said his name gently, the calmest you’d managed to spit it out in the entire ordeal, calm like the ghost of a smile that dimpled into your cheeks, “It’s not about the folder.”

“Go on. Go to the harvest festival. Hit the next few cities. I’ll be fine here.”

His eyes bulged now, “You expect me to leave you here? There’s nothing here and I’m no stranger to how our funds have been dwindling.”

“There’s a motel. And a cafe somewhere according to the map. I’ll find a job. Maybe I can rake someone’s leaves when the seasons start to change,” You smiled, “I’ll figure something out.”

“And when I come back? Will you want to go with me?” A bit more forceful, Taehyung set his eyebrows and added, “I will be coming back for you.”

You shrugged, opting for simple, “I don’t know.”

The tension sagged from Taehyung’s person, all the confusion and frustration and bubbling anger, returning him to the default of your best friend complete with a tiny half smile. A loaded inquiry in the way he tilted his cheek into his curled fist.

“Why, dove?”

“The motto,” You stretched out a hand toward him, “I quite liked the bed in the motel.”

“...so I think I’m going to stay around a little longer,” You finished your, shortened albeit, story to the pouty lipped cafe worker, offering a tentative smile.

The man who’d introduced himself as Yoongi and the owner of the tiny building, removed a hand from where it had been perched on his hip, gently plucking the wad of bills you offered to him. The register opened with what would have been a small puff of dust if the space around it weren’t so meticulously clean, the sleek black counter top and the checkered floor free of any imperfections. Yoongi had swept away the little particles of gravel you’d tracked in after he’d handed over your carefully crafted club sandwich.

“So, are you planning on staying at Jeongguk’s place?”

You blinked, a useless piece of collected information about the town in your short twenty-four hours there slipping out. “Are you the Min Yoongi who left a review on his motel?”

A charming smile crossed over the man’s gums, shoulders bouncing silently as he began to pool your change in his cupped palm for you. You took his nonverbal answer, leaning closer on your elbows, “Is Min Holly some of your relation? They left a review, too…”

Yoongi’s nose wrinkled when he laughed a second time, plopping your change down in a small tin next to the register when you motioned him to keep it. “...something like that.”

“It’s a fine place to stay, by the way. Just a dumb joke we have going,” He fished behind the counter for a rag, rubbing it over the places in the counter that had been touched. Dark eyes assessed you playfully from under white fringe, “There’s a review hidden in ours that says we make grilled cheese sandwiches without cheese.”

“Are you...in need of any help making those bread sandwiches?” You panicked when one of his eyebrows disappeared into bangs and a snort racked his shoulders, “Sorry, that was really forward. I just...my travel funds have been running low regardless of me stopping here. I really need a way to make money during my stay.”

“I don’t think Seokjin would appreciate having to split his already limited tips,” Yoongi continued to wipe at the counter, shuffling down the row of bar stools you sat at and back up.

“...you said you have a background with literature, right?” You nodded. “You could check with Namjoon and see if he has any odd jobs for you. He owns the bookstore on the next block over…”

“If anything, he could have you paint the outside,” He meticulously began to fold the rag, shaking his head, “The place looks like it just time traveled from the eighteenth century.”

Yoongi wasn’t wrong. All the buildings in the town seemed to be situated in a similar fashion, curled into strips of three or four businesses about three or four blocks long yet, it appeared that the majority of the buildings were abandoned or at the very least, not functioning businesses any longer. You pinpointed the specific building you were in search of on instinct that the one centered in the middle of a strip of buildings that appeared completely out of place had to be the one Yoongi teased about the exterior. Chipped cream and dark brown lined the paneled walls and thick frames around doors and windows, two stories of windows coated in a visible layer of dust and webs on the corners. As you strolled closer, you could make out the beige pink hue of plastic letters pasted onto the inside of the left display window, Monie’s, with a looping cursive font displaying a phone number and a website. Propped up in the thin stream of dust and crumpled window stickers was a sign, black coated in specks of brown with neon orange advertising help wanted.

You wrapped your fingers around the door, pulling it open to step inside.

The first thing you registered was the temperature difference, winter chill just starting to nip into the air outside but the bookstore was coated in something that somehow bordered the favorable side of cozy and unbearable. Minimal lighting added to that ambiance, bulbs caged in thick metal where they were screwed in planned intervals above the bookshelves. Plants littered the empty spaces in between already crowded furniture, bonsai trees to be exact, curling in their awkward shapes out of hand painted pots. Any decorations that maybe could have been placed on walls occupied by floating bookshelves instead littered the displays in each of the front windows, a massive plastic snowman, fake holiday grass plopped on top of fake winter snow, a myriad of specialty figurines ranging in sizes and shapes and colors all centered around a wooden table that appeared as though it had been made directly from a fresh stump. Perhaps, judging by everything else, it had.

The books were another thing, appearing more like library shelves than those you would see in chain bookstores or in the aisles at various department stores. Titles varied in size, in their positions in how they laid against each other. In fact, there seemed to be no reason to the way they were organized, obscure children’s books tucked in between used biographies of a fourteenth century royal and three new copies of the first book in the latest dystopian young adult series.

You turned down the last aisle, one that seemed to harbor anything from an entire encyclopedia set to preschool board books, to find a steep staircase at the end of the shelf. The dark wood matched that of the outside of the building, leading upward into a shadow until you could no longer see where it went. Careful footsteps carried you across creaking wood covered in various colors of woven rugs, testing a hand onto the rail of the staircase. One foot on the first stair and it creaked worse that the floor, the second a wail just as bad.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the tiger striped cat that bounded down the stairs past you.

You yelped, clinging to the staircase as your knees gave out in your brief moment of panic and had you sinking to a crouch. A deep swallow into you cradling the posts between the stair railing and you managed to get your heart rate to calm by pressing the blunt end of your palm against your chest.

A voice acted like the pull start of a generic lawn mower, kicking the roar of blood in your ears back to life.

“Where are you going?”

It was spoken kindly, a genuine inquiry in which the tone matched the man who stood within the row of books. Namjoon, your conscious presumed. He was tall, a long navy coat fluttering against his khaki jogger covered ankles. A deep maroon t-shirt showed off the glitter of a pendant necklace dangling between the defined planes of his chest where the terror of a cat was now cradled. Thick rimmed glasses rested on the very tip of his nose, deep set brown eyes magnifying when he nudged the frames up with the tips of his index and middle fingers. A gentle smile indented permanently into his mouth, showing off dimples that became deeper set the more his laughter grew at your prolonged silence.

“Oh, sorry I...I was just—”

“Unfortunately, my business is not enough to harbor a second floor,” His nose wrinkled with his smile as he dropped his gaze enough to place the cat onto the floor before effectively shoving bracelet covered wrists into his pockets, “Can I help you with something else?”

“I’m looking for a job,” You blurted, still standing firmly on the second stair while the cat, calmer this time, scurried past you once more. It creaked again with the two movements, the cat and the nervous shift of yours, and you allowed yourself to wince this time.

The man tilted his head, dark brown locks sticking behind the glass and frames. “And why would you come here in search of that?”

“Yoongi sent me,” You blinked, “Uh, Min Yoongi. The guy that owns that cafe up the street? I’m going to be staying in town for a little while and I’m in need of something...I have a literature background, if that makes my case any more compelling. At the very least I could reorganize your shelves or something—”

“My shelves stay as they are,” He cut in absently, waving a hand. Go on.

“—besides,” Your finger pointed dumbly toward the window display behind him, “You have a help wanted sign in your window.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the trajectory of your finger, shaking his head, “No...I don’t think I do.”

You clambered off the staircase, pointed in brushing past the tall man to stalk determinedly for the opposite window display. The sign stuck to the window in some sort of build of debris that you didn’t particularly care to question but instead made it hard for you to pull up when you were straddling a tiny train set and a mountain of fake snow in an attempt not to harm any of his decorations. It came in a cloud of dust, coating your fingers and glittering in the baths of afternoon sun that cut through the window.

You found that he’d trailed after you, close enough that when you stumbled out of your awkward stretch position you could press the sign just spaces from his chest.

“See.”

He took it from you, that trace of a smile still prominent as he squinted at the object in his grasp. His sleeve curled over his fingers, gradual in clearing away the grime build up over the printed words.

“Oh,” He simply, “I suppose I do.”

More than the confined heat of the sun through the windows warmed your body from his gentle carmel stare, something that curled your toes into your shoes as your hand had the opposite reaction in jutting out towards him. Quietly, you offered your name.

“Namjoon,” He settled his free hand in yours, giving it a firm shake without pulling away. Instead he tilted his head, “What’s your story?”

You tilted your head in the opposite direction, “Is this my interview?”

His smile grew warmer when his teeth appeared under his lips, “And if it is?”

“I’ve been traveling with my best friend for the past few months. We started after our university graduation and didn’t look back,” A halfhearted laugh followed the slip of your hand out of his, “Truthfully—” kind of, “—I was starting to run out of money. Your town seemed to be about my speed,” You set your shoulders, “...so I told Taehyung to leave me here. Now I’m in your store asking for a job.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The motel, Jeongguk’s right?” You brushed your foot into the floor, “He told me I didn’t have to pay for anything until I left, or at least built up enough to afford his rates, but—”

“That won’t do,” Namjoon dismissed. Curtly, he turned, stalking off between the shelves with the sign tucked to his chest.

You were sure you looked like a personified exclamation mark wrapped around a question mark but you allowed yourself to stumble after him anyway, trailing him between the awkward route of shelves you’d yet to explore in your short venture through the store. Finally, you arrived at a small desk, one with a clear glass top with flyers and charts and business cards lodged underneath it. A register, the most modern item of the entire store, took up most of the desk space, placed directly next to an illuminated desktop computer that displayed a background of a light blue koala character etched out in a vaguely familiar art style. You noticed the cat from earlier had wandered back into view, now perched on a red leather stool that was placed behind the counter and let out a particularly discontented mrow! when Namjoon shooed it aside to take a seat.

Ring clad fingers began to clack away at an outdated keyboard for the modern monitor, features scrunched at the center. Namjoon’s glasses slipped down the length of his nose, this time purposely, as he leaned closer to the screen, mouth parted as eyes darted over the contents. His entire expression shifted when he leaned away, soft smile returning as he gestured for you to join him on the opposite side of the counter.

“Have you ever worked with any type of cataloging software?”

You blinked at the foreign objects on the screen, a whirlwind of passwords and edit options, and ISBN numbers that you didn’t understand other than how to finesse the cheapest textbooks when you were still in university. His whirlwind explanation that hadn’t allowed you any time to answer the initial question ended with a single syllable laugh.

“I’ll help you,” Namjoon promised, spinning on the stool to face you. His gangly legs crossed, elbow meeting the thickest part of his thigh as he cheek settled into his palm. “And dusting? How are you with a rag?”

A smile broke out of your tense uncertainty, “That I can definitely do.”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against his cheek, “I think I can find plenty for you to help me with here, if you’d like. I can’t promise much pay.”

“But no staying with Guk. You can stay here as part of your payment.”

You subconsciously glanced outward around the store, to the crowded shelving and potted plants and lopsided books, as if maybe a bed would manifest somewhere that you hadn’t seen it before. To that, Namjoon laughed, louder and so that his face scrunched up around his eyes.

“I live in the apartment above the store. That’s where the staircase leads. I have an extra bedroom…”

“But that’s only if you’d like,” He rushed suddenly, voice growing an octave as his hands flailed, “I know we just met so if you’re not comfortable living with me, you can absolutely continue to stay at the motel. I just thought it might be easier on you financially and travel wise if you were already here, you know. The bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment. There’s two bathrooms, too—”

“Thank you, Namjoon,” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, waiting until he relaxed under your touch, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I accept your offer, if you don’t mind having me, of course.”

He started to shake his head only to be interrupted by a strangled meow from below your feet. You watched as the cat curled in between your legs, butting into your shin while an audible purr rumbled into its next meow.

“You’ll have to bargain with her for use of the bedroom, actually. It’s unofficially hers at the moment,” The tiny cat continued to nuzzle into your jeans, tail curling happily each time she threw her body weight into you, “It seems like you’ve passed the Marie test.”

You crouched, allowing her to inspect the curl of your fingers before she happily began to settle her chin into the crevices of your palm, rubbing back and forth until you began to flex your fingers in her fur.

“Miss Marie, can we be roommates for a little while?”

She mewled in response, bypassing your hand to jump into the open space on your thighs. You adjusted her in your arms instead, stretching back to a standing position to smile at Namjoon.

“First task complete.”

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “Which was…?”

“Befriend the cat that ratted me out,” You grinned, bouncing her a bit in your arms, “What’s next, boss?”

“Why don’t you two start by cleaning out those window displays while I go to retrieve your things from Jeongguk,” He slipped his glasses off between the pinch of his fingers, allowing them to twirl back and forth for a moment, “Who knows what other hidden treasures are in there.”

You found your things stacked in a neat pyramid on a bed. Your bed. You clutched the ‘treasures’ you’d uncovered in the window displays a bit tighter to your chest.

It was a modest room, full size mattress squeezed into a vast majority of the room, leaving just enough room for a dresser and closet doors that folded open to one side. Your things looked massive in the center of the bed, particularly with how they’d been stacked in awkward, Jenga like angles. You frowned until you found a slip of paper dangling off the very top piece of your luggage. You cradled Namjoon’s things, a curly haired teddy bear and a miniature pair of leather shoes, into one arm to pluck the note.

It was another sheet of stickers, different from the first, with a handwritten note in swirling purple marker scrawled to the blank side.

Come back and visit me! Or maybe I’ll come into the store more now...Here’s some of my newest designs as thanks :)

“Jeongguk insisted I bring you those.” You crinkled the edge of the paper in hand, startled by the soft voice. It was Namjoon, now without his long coat, arms folded across his chest where he leaned against the doorframe. He nodded toward the other contents in your grasp, “What are those?”

“Oh!” You passed aside the paper to grip the bear and shoes in separate hands, stretching the items toward him. “Just some things I found hidden in the displays…”

He pushed himself up off the door, pulling the bear into his grasp first. Long fingers tucked into the wirey fur of the toy, scratching gently as a fond smile slowly worked upwards into his cheeks. Crinkles formed underneath his eyes as he pressed the bear underneath his arm, cradling the two tiny shoes next, raising them up above eye level for inspection.

“You’re right, I forgot about these,” Namjoon passed the shoes into one palm, closing his fingers to hold them at the center of his chest. “Thank you for doing that, by the way. It looks wonderful.”

You returned his grateful smile, unsure of how to accept a thanks for a task assigned to you as an employee. It was the first time since the morning that you’d allowed yourself to think of the yellow folder, one that symbolized the exact opposite of the gracious, polite expressions Namjoon had yet to fail to provide.

It’d been less than twelve hours, but you had no reason to assume he would offer anything otherwise. A less than conventional situation with a less than conventional job offer with a less than conventional boss with less than conventional job benefits.

His mouth fished once, twice, gawking at the shoes in his hand before his gaze settled back on you. Lips pressed together, head tilting.

“...would you like some tea?”

The disarray, library aura the maze of shelves in the store provided came as a result of the equally disorienting ordering process from Namjoon, so you learned. He avoided section titles, author groupings, or series shelving. Instead, there was some mental list of steps all based around bogus marketing techniques that accounted for the haphazard strew of books to the point where you weren’t quite sure he had meaning to it anymore and was simply doing it to stay to some imaginary regiment he’d convinced himself of.

Best selling young adult dystopian novels were on the far shelf, the one closest to the desk, and hidden behind the busy leaves of a bonsai in the back left corner. There were three copies of the first and second books but only two of the third book. Children’s books were placed backwards on the shelves, spines facing inwards, the shapes giving them away. Biographies were always placed on the third shelf from the bottom, eye level.

No romance made the cut to “easy on the eye” locations.

“I’d be replacing them every day,” Namjoon explained as he gave you the third tour of the store with a third set of instructions for shelving. You weren’t sure how to politely tell him that he wasn’t in the position to assume he had that much patronage daily.

In the end, he’d left you isolated to cataloging month old shipments, boxes piled high with novels at the top of outdated best seller lists scattered in between obscure titles of obscure genres with obscure authors that you often found yourself squinting at in wonder with their unfinished tab open on the blinking monitor in front of you. Cataloging meant updating the system first so that when your second customer of the eight hour day came in, you could properly run their crossword puzzle booklet or copy of the town newspaper through the bar code scanner without having to employ the help of the tiny red calculator hidden within the contents of the desk.

Eventually, you convinced Namjoon to let you update the website too, starting with the boxes you still had left to do and moving onto those things already existing on the shelves when a customer appeared for something new on the shelf simply because they had seen it online. Namjoon had eyed the customer like they were leaving with a third arm rather than a newly acquired how-to manual on toothpick crafts and promptly requested you do whatever that was.

Your reorganization of the window displays had done a number in themselves, cleaning away the cobwebs to make the neatly arranged scenery, now free of any cheap decorative foliage or precipitation, visible from the sidewalk. Three different individuals had appeared with comments about such, one in question of if the newly cleaned window decals had always been there, one asking if that was the current working phone number, and the third asking if the store was under new management due to the “new changes”.

Aside from updating the website and reorganizing his conglomeration of acquired decorations, you couldn’t get Namjoon to budge on anything else.

Especially not ordering some more romance novels. The best sellers in your short time as an employee. The genre tab you were constantly updating on the website.

You tried to mention it casually over a cup of tea one evening, your feet propped up on a wooden coffee table similar to the one you’d placed fresh flowers on in the shop.

“Okay, former literature student,” Namjoon swung his feet off where they had been resting across from yours. The patchwork red recliner he sat in creaked as he leaned forward, white mug cupped in two hands with the rim resting on his smiling bottom lip, “...and I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this already. What are some of your favorite authors? Go.”

You hesitated. Of all the classics, the literature tailored for a specific class genre, the novels you’d exhausted class discussion after thesis on, you’d still honestly answer that easy to read, cliche romance were your favorite, especially when written by a select few authors you’d claimed to some sort of unspoken circle you trusted.

There were things to learn in even the cheesiest of cliches, in generally the most ideal situations that were few and far between the reality you’d seen, love could and would prevail. Love was the start, the middle, and the end to the spines of worn romance novels, ones often criticized for having the same plot hidden under ten different covers plastered in warm pastels and photographs of flowers draping over bicycles and down the sides of beach side houses.

But just because it’s ideal and not realistic doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist in what you strive for. At least, that’s what you stood by, particularly when your pencil or your fingers moved to creatively express that very mantra in the plot of your own romance story lines. They were romance at the surface, or at least hidden underneath the flaps of your tattered and lost yellow folder.

The tear itched at the bend of your thumb and you rubbed it as you squinted at Namjoon, pretending to be in thought. “That’s a hard question.”

“Is it?”

He’d garnered enough information about you in the last weeks to understand you were well versed, at least enough to recognize, to understand, and to adapt. Lying could work but would be virtually useless in the face of your almost stranger roommate. The laymen’s, internet speak resting in the deepest recess of your conscious cooed to you quietly.

It’s not that deep just tell him you enjoy the occasional Nicholas Sparks novel.

Instead, the cursed part of your conscious blurted, “Have you ever read Twilight?”

Namjoon didn’t laugh at you but with you. “I have, actually…” His lips puckered to take in enough tea to coat is tongue, another gentle laugh shaking his shoulders, “Is this your way of saying Stephanie Meyers is your favorite author?”

“No! No, I mean...not necessarily,” You shrugged, “I enjoy the occasional cliche. Even in the easiest cliches there can be a lesson to be learned. Just with some padding. Like bumpers on a bowling lane, you know. You still make it to the pins just with some extra help.”

“Right,” He lounged again, taking the natural rock of the recliner with him before releasing his foot so it swayed his relaxed stature, “That makes sense.”

“The artistic value isn’t lost simply because it’s popular or it’s based on something popular, you know,” You glanced behind his head, to one of the various artwork pieces he had nailed throughout the apartment. This one was a canvas coated in navy birds, ones that grew sloppier in shape the smaller they grew towards one corner. “It wouldn’t be popular otherwise…”

“I don’t disagree,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes but they crinkled on the edges, “I also wouldn’t fire you if you told me the Twilight franchise was the peak of literary and cinematic history. I just would...respectfully disagree.”

“Would you fire me if I told you I write romance?”

“Is it about vampires that sparkle?”

“No.”

“Then no,” He grinned this time, “If you can’t answer your favorite author question then who inspires you when you write? Most art is modeled after that of which we’ve already consumed so I can’t imagine you’re any different.”

No thought of the yellow folder burned through the itch on your thumb as you rattled off your extensive list of ever evolving authors, ones you adored in middle school then reread in college to find new light (or some glaring darkness you missed in the naivety of your uneducated youth. See: the glitz and glamour of The Great Gatsby) within, those young adult novels of dystopian future in which you’d always wanted to teach your own university course on all the way down to the grossest cliches that had you and Namjoon wrinkling your noses.

“They’re still wonderful,” You bargained, “In every sense of the word. Wonderfully awesome, wonderfully terrible. Refreshing to read, refreshing to pick out eyebrow raising and quite frankly glaring issues that high school teachers choose not to point out in their lessons.”

“Have you ever thought about ordering more for the store?”

“There are plenty of popular titles in the store,” Namjoon resisted immediately. His mug of tea was empty now, nothing to divert his attention from staring directly at you. For a moment, you feared you’d imposed on something like when you’d offered to reorganize the shelves.

Gently, you tried to express your point and correct him, “Yes, but not that’s currently popular in the last five years, or even the last decade. It would be a good selling point, at least to garner a bit more profit—”

“No.” He wasn’t harsh. Just firm. “I’m content with our current inventory.”

“However, if you would like for me to order you something to read, I would be happy to do so. You know where the catalogs are.”

That’s not the point. You sighed in the defeat of your changed window displays and online catalog update.

“That’s okay, Namjoon. Thank you anyway, though.”

“So, what do you think?”

There were two expectant pair of eyes blinking at you, one the curator of the dish placed just beneath your nose, the other wholly hoping for your features to be unable to hide the disgust of whatever cheese, tomato, and bread contraption currently resting on the part of your bottom lip, ready for a taste.

“I haven’t even taken a bite yet, Jin,” You laughed, testing the warmth of the sub bread against. You turned the sandwich in one hand, wincing when some of the cheese spilled out and singed at the skin of your palm. “It’s hot.”

“It’s delicious,” He argued, dragging the bar stool closer to you.

“It’s already on the menu,” Yoongi mumbled.

“It’s not,” Seokjin slapped his palm on the counter, ears growing red as he fumed at his boss, “This stromboli has nacho cheese instead of mozzarella. Instantly better.”

“If it’s good, you can make it for everyone who orders it,” You eyed Yoongi as you gave it another temperature test and he smiled shyly, “The nacho cheese gets too hot...I don’t want to have to handle it.”

Tentatively, you jutted your teeth out to take a nibble off the corner of the steaming sandwich, managing to acquire a mouthful of bread, pepperoni, and of course, the seeping nacho cheese. Yoongi was right, it was scalding, but it burnt your taste buds enough to mask any horrid taste that may exist and you managed to swallow it down with a minimal wince.

“Amazing right?”

“They can’t even speak—”

“They can’t speak because it’s so amazing,” Seokjin nudged your side while you tried to digest the burning coals currently sliding down your throat, “Right?”

“It’s not too bad,” You croaked finally, making prolonged eye contact with a viscarly annoyed Yoongi as you dragged your ice water closer and downed two, three, five gulps. “Would probably be better if it weren’t the temperature of the sun.”

“That’s not a yes—”

“Maybe, but it’s also not a no,” Seokjin happily clapped in the seat next to you, making a full rotation on the bar stool in victory before he swiped the plate from under your nose and went to take a bite for himself.

His high pitched screams muffled by the way too large bite of yeast and runny cheesy came in time with the ding of the cafe door that had Yoongi straightening and you snorting.

Namjoon ignored the way Seokjin’s palm began to rapidly slap against the counter top as he waddled directly for you, a large cardboard box cradled to his chest as he happily chirped your name in time with the slap of his sandals against the tile. He deposited the box to the empty bar stool on your opposite side, only then allowing his gaze to deviate to a violently coughing Seokjin.

“Is he okay?” He asked simply, that same comforting calmness etched deep in his tone.

“Loaded question,” Yoongi grumbled.

“He’ll be fine,” You dismissed, waving your hand over your shoulder. Seokjin coughed in outrage. You placed both hands on either side of the taped lid, tilting your head, “What do you have here?—” After a second, you perked up, “—Is it this week's shipment?”

Namjoon’s hands covered yours, soft with the vanilla pine lotion you knew he kept on the bottom shelf behind the counter in the store. Gentle thumbs nudged your appendages aside, instead tucking his nail underneath the tape and flicking across it.

“You reviewed my final order list, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, you were going to order some extra crossword books and replace those couple copies of encyclopedia that Marie...had an accident on…”

“Right, but—” He balled the tape when it reached the far end of the box, still holding your eye contact as he began to fold open the flaps on the box, “—I added a few more things before I sent it in.”

“Oh yeah?” You couldn’t help but grin too, “And what did you order?”

“Well, first of all…” Namjoon shuffled around, trying his best to shield the contents inside from you until he retrieved what he was looking for. An exclamation point coated his features when his fingers wrapped around the desired book, drawing it out with a giddy grin.

“Is that Gatsby?” You gaped, reaching for the paperback book in his hand. You took in the horribly refurbished cover, sighing blissfully as you looked at Namjoon. At the same time, you each breathed, “Hate Gatsby.”

“I bought ten copies I think,” Namjoon took it back from you, flicking it back into the box like a frisbee, “If anything, we can put them to Marie’s litter box. Lead her there.”

“I like this already. Show me more.”

“The next one I bought for you, if you want it,” He shuffled a bit longer this time, eyebrows meeting his hairline when he finally latched onto the item yet seemed to struggle a bit more with lifting this one. The veins in his arms strained, bottom lip tucking under his teeth as he threw his shoulder into it, letting the heavy hardback hit the top of the counter with an audible thud that silenced Seokjin’s moaning behind you.

“Twilight?” You laughed, stroking your fingers over the raised text, “I can’t believe you brought yourself to write this on an order.”

“I can’t believe I did either,” Namjoon beamed, glowing in the rays of your praise, “I thought you’d like it and I wasn’t sure if you had a copy of it so…”

“My copy is in the van,” You flattened your palm to ignore the itch on the bend of your thumb, forcing the rush of emotion down past the sudden lodge in your throat, “This is a nicer copy than mine, anyway.”

“Isn’t that the book about vampires?” Yoongi deadpanned. You slid it toward him, letting him turn the heavy text over to read the soft pink cursive that curled a summary across the back cover. He eyed Namjoon, “You...ordered this?”

“I got a few copies for the shop too,” He ignored Yoongi, addressing you as he instead shoved a stapled packet of paper toward you, bits of other paper and an envelope fluttering to the top of the box in the process. “And I...consulted some of the newer best seller lists and ordered the things that sounded interesting from those. I’ll let you shelve them, if you want.”

“You haven’t read this, have you Joon?” Yoongi continued to gape at the cover, flipping it back over to stare open mouthed at the table of contents.

“I could help you next order too,” You flipped through the list, running your index finger over the highlighted titles, “...if you like.”

“Uhh…” You heard an excessive amount of extra fluttering, peering over the top of the packet in your hand to see him ruffling at the papers and envelopes that had slipped out of his grasp when he passed you the list. You watched as he pried open the singular envelope with crooked index finger on the flap, wincing as he did so. “Yeah...yeah maybe.”

“What?” You asked gently, trying to laugh, “Is that the bill for all this fresh content?”

“Yeah—” Yoongi had stopped where he’d been rubbing at bits of nacho cheese Seokjin had spilled over the counter, watching Namjoon carefully. A smile met his lips, one that never even touched the crinkle around his eyes or the sparkling softness in his irises, “—something like that.”

“Can I tell you something?”

You paused where you’d been mid chopping vegetables, a task you’d handed off to Namjoon only for him to show sizable difficulty with. You tasked him with dishes instead, handing off each new soiled piece for him to dunk in the basin piled high in bubbles. He hesitated with his wrists hidden underneath the suddy mess, fingers holding onto the wire edges of one of the charred racks from within the oven.

After a second, you started again, allowing the slice of metal through the onion slices under your moist fingers to fill the cramped kitchen once more. “Of course,” You glanced at him once you’d finished the row you were on, absently sweeping the pieces back and forth across the cutting board underneath a cupped palm, “What’s up?”

“I’m not very good at ordering books for the store,” He held up a palm when you tried to suppress your reaction, “I know you know this, but I’m just...acknowledging that it’s always been like this. I don’t like to think of myself as pretentious, but I suppose my ordering and stocking habits are a bit on that side.”

“In the beginning, I had a reason for it, or at least, what I convinced myself was a viable reason. I’d purchased the shop after living in the apartment above a quickly failing bakery for far too long. I wanted it to be something that thrived in this secluded little town.”

“Like a bookstore,” You nodded without any sort of teasing or malice. You were a book person, after all. You craved the homey feel of a locally owned bookstore in any crevice of the Earth, probably contributing to some twisted fate in the universe to how you ended up in one particular place in one particular line of employment after being lost on the road for so long.

“Right, but not just any bookstore. I wanted to give the place something unique,” White bubbles gathered and slipped down the length of his knuckles when Namjoon drew his hands out of the water, letting them grip on either side of the sink as he leaned into it, “A scavenger hunt of sorts sounds appealing, right? Once you find the book in the store, there’s some sort of satisfaction to it. Especially if you don’t really know what you’re looking for and you end up stumbling upon an extensive history of stuffed animal fur.”

You wrinkled your nose, “We have that?”

“Somewhere,” Namjoon nodded gravely, cracking a smile at your indignation, “I would have no idea where it is.”

“And to an extent, that business plan works. Keep just enough popular titles to appease to the general public. Keep more obscurity to draw the crowd craving originality. Garner revenue from individuals on any spectrum of literature pretentiousness,” He shrugged, letting his shoulders roll up to his ears as his chin dropped, “It worked for maybe five months. Then the newness wore off.”

“I’ve never really been able to recover even with our normal patronage. Now that there’s appeal for business in neighboring towns, all of us have started to suffer. People would rather stay in a Hilton next to a Panera and shop at the three story Barnes and Noble than tour our locally owned amenities that provide damn near the same thing.”

“Jeongguk and Yoongi have been able to adapt, though,” Namjoon’s shoulders relaxed again, letting his hands dip down into the water to grab at the wire rack. He passed the rough edge of the sponge over the edges now exposed out of the water, soft enough that the fibers barely pulled any of the grime from the utensil. “I can’t seem to find my way out of a rut.”

“Have you tried?”

Namjoon laughed, “I ordered Twilight, didn’t I?”

“But did you order New Moon too? Or the other two books in the series? What about the DVD adaptations?” You started to dice the onion now, speaking to the tiny pieces you nudged aside with the tip of the knife, “Did you put them in alphabetical order? Or did you at least consider creating a young adult section? Or a vampire romance section? I can offer more recommendations—”

“I can’t afford to pay the bills,” Namjoon said gently. “Not...not anymore. Way before I hired you, even.”

You grew silent, letting yourself sink into the lip of the counter top.

“I had to start using my monthly order funds to pay rent on the store. And my personal rent. And the light bill. And…” He sighed, dunking the wire rack a few times in silence to rinse it of the bubbles.

“That’s what those envelopes were today. Notice of eviction.”

Your mouth fished, pursing at the seam of your lips and puffing your cheeks out as you pondered the terrifying thought. Never mind that this was your temporary home and temporary place of employment but this was Namjoon’s livelihood, his greatest accomplishment, his love.

Behind convoluted marketing strategies and a quietly picky selection in what he read in his personal time, there was a man who absolutely adored the power of literature in its simplest form, tangible, physical books. You’d witnessed the way his eyes lit up when the tiny bell at the front of the store tinkled with the arrival of someone new, his long legs and eager persistence quick to beat you out from behind the counter to assist the customer, whether that be to point out a general area as to where something may be located, to recommend something of his own, or to simply offer a casual conversation over a cup of coffee he offered in a floral paper cup from the tiny room underneath the staircase.

“So, what do we do?”

He was puzzled only for a moment, the furrow in his eyebrow traveling upward with the smile that appeared as he dragged his hands out of the water. Massive palms dabbed to his thighs as he backed away from you, bumping into the edge of the counter on his way but he found his target, the massive stack of sliced open mail. Some ruffling with semi damp hands that splattered visible water droplets over the counter later, his pinched fingers appeared triumphant holding a mint colored envelope with a red printed logo stamped on the return address corner.

“There’s uhm…” Namjoon’s fingers pried inside, drawing a folded piece of paper out. Through the back, you could see the same red logo, bold and in the center of the page this time. “One of the companies I order from sent this not too long ago. I don’t know if it’s a sign but it kind of seemed like a sign.”

You abandoned your chopping to accept the paper, now doused in vague water spots, from his grasp. He voiced the contents your squinted eyes began to scan.

“Basically, if we can get sales above a certain threshold by the end of the month, I can apply for a grant worth—” He was in front of you now, reaching his index finger over to hover above a bolded monetary amount, “—that. That would give enough time for you to help me implement some of your ideas…”

“And if none of it works,” Namjoon shrugged, folding the paper back into it’s neat little pamphlet, letting it dangle to his side, “then I guess this wasn’t really meant to be.”

A small part of you envied him in that moment. Perhaps there was more than what presented itself outwardly, but Namjoon was frustratingly calm about simply giving up something he worked so hard to achieve simply because of a couple of setbacks. The yellow folder that triggered you to step off the trunk of Taehyung’s rickety travel van certainly could not relate.

Instead, you blurted, “You want my help?”

His normal composure fractured a bit, longer pauses, hums even, stationed between stumbled words, “If you’d like to, yes, I’d love to have your help. Outside perspective is the only way I’m going to change my ways. I don’t think I could do it, not productively, by myself.”

“And of course, if you’re still around by then,” Cautious brown irises met your own, swimming in something unreadable, a guard almost, “I know you’ve said you aren’t sure when Taehyung will be back. If he does come back—”

“He’ll be back,” The skin behind your neck grew hot with how quickly you assured that, a statement mostly spoken to sate the tiny nagging part of yourself that was left lost with your entire situation as a whole. Namjoon blinked, unwavering, chin twitching just enough to nod.

“But I’d be happy to help for as long as I’m here,” You allowed yourself to smile even if the line wobbled a bit. You resumed your chopping in silence, only long enough to finish off the vegetable underneath your palm before you were sweeping your work space clean, dusting your fingers off in the process.

“Where should be start, boss?”

You were tasked with reorganization while Namjoon took to his computer, conjuring up flyers dedicated to those few events you’d agreed upon after exhausting a list of potential, quick ways to garner attention and profit. Aside from making the store more navigable for the average person (as well as setting aside some funds specifically to order the missing books in series), bringing people into the store seemed like an obvious answer to gaining short (or long) term interest in the store.

An easy way to bring people into the store was to host events.

Armed with three massive stacks of flyers in the basket on the front of Namjoon’s spare bike, you took off on an advertising run. You stopped at Yoongi’s, watching Namjoon wallpaper flyers to the glass windows outside the cafe while Yoongi looked disgruntled between the spaces in the fluttering paper yet made no attempt to remove any of them and quietly took a stack you handed him to hand out to customers as they came in. Jeongguk barely let you get the question out of your mouth, appearing with a sheet of thick, round, metallic stickers of his own design that he used to plaster the various event flyers over the front of his desk and a promise to photocopy the flyers and post them to every gaming community he knew online.

The first event advertised was in connection with the local elementary school, parents pouring through the doors one Wednesday after school while their beaming teacher brought up the rear. You settled them in with fresh baked cookies and hot chocolate while Marie made her rounds, resisting gooey chocolate off of chubby fingers and happily deciding upon a small girl in the corner who was completely enamored with a dinosaur themed pop up book she’d discovered with Namjoon’s help.

You’d watched quietly where he knelt next to her on the shorter shelves, one’s you’d specially arranged for the event and as a way to pinpoint the location of the children's books previously scattered aimlessly about. He’d murmured gently too her, offering books on the shelves she couldn’t quite reach until she made grabby hands at a slightly disgruntled stegosaurus when Namjoon had flipped open the first thick page.

Hoseok, their teacher, drew you out of your fond trance. His arms were filled with educational books, ones a level between the ages he taught and that of high school, glossy pages filled with just enough text and just enough pictures to appeal to all ages. Wavy red hair parted down the middle, fluttering against shining apple cheeks as he beamed giddily at you, rainbow cartoon smiley faces in a repeated pattern on his shirt almost blinding you all the same.

“I did some shopping while you two watched over them,” Hoseok admitted bashfully, a slight pink tinting his ears as he glanced at the book on top of his stack, a midnight blue cover with an abundance of jungle animals spilling across the surface. “I hope they weren’t too bad.”

“Not at all,” You softened, pulling your gaze away from Namjoon when the little girl proudly parked herself in his lap and began to chatter absently about the next dinosaur that popped into view, a triceratops by first glance. “I could give you a discount since they’re for the school?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—” Hoseok’s eyes widened, tossing his fringe as an absent habit, “—I’d like to support anyway. I feel as if I don’t do that enough lately.”

“It would be no problem.”

He brushed past you to place his towering stack on top of the counter, already digging deep in the pocket of his bright purple jeans. A wad of cash was pushed across to you before you could even begin to swipe barcodes through the system.

“Consider it a donation.”

The dinosaur popup book sold during the event along with a dozen other children’s books that Namjoon assured you were relics, books he’d forgotten were on the shelves at all let alone ones that would sell instantly upon being relocated to an easy to find vicinity (whether that be grouped or closer to the ground where two foot tall humans could scan at eye level).

Other things started to leave too, filling the space in between scheduled events. You saw a fair amount of hand sized romance novels leave the door, ones you plopped randomly onto a singular turnstyle you assembled from multiples hunks of plastic in a dusty cardboard box in the room underneath the staircase, flowery covers with fraying spines shoved into purses and jacket pockets. Magazines started to go, new and old issues alike after you ordered them in stacks on Namjoon’s wooden table as it sat in the front window display. Series started to go as a whole, limited in quantity but at least as a whole rather than in the first and third book with the second book to be ordered from an online delivery or serviced from a nearby chain.

You sold out of crossword puzzle books when the second event came, murder mysteries and a fair few of the popular horror authors leaving the store too when the local florist used the space to teach a beginner’s bouqet workshop. The blonde headed man, Park Jimin in all his charming giggles and devastating smile, brought in his self written gardening manual, giving Namjoon a sizable check to be able to sell them while he did his workshop.

You had every reason to believe it wasn’t the atmosphere of the bookshop that had elderly women kissing red lipstick stains into his blushing cheeks and selling out his small stack of green pamphlets but Namjoon wasn’t one to turn away the check.

“What do you know about daisies?”

Jimin’s expression immediately grew amused, glancing at you from under shaggy fringe as he hunched to untie the cat covered apron pressed to his stature. He freed the knot at his spine, straightening once more as he shrugged it over his head and began to meticulously fold it.

“A lot,” His eyebrow cocked, letting the apron fall to his now empty table, “What are you wanting to know?”

“Let’s say you were trying to grow a plant in a moving van—” You crossed your arms, “—could you do it?”

His nose wrinkled at the bridge, “With a lot of finesse, probably. But if we’re talking about a plant that’s good with traveling...succulents might be a good bet.”

The dip between your thumb and palm itched and you rubbed it at your hip, smiling, “That’s what I figured.”

Locations around the store were progressively growing blurrier each time you glanced up from the harsh lighting off the computer monitor in the shop. There was a soft glow from the moon where it reflected on the floor panels at the front of the room but it didn’t quite reach through the rows of thick shelves (you’d rearranged books, not furniture. Namjoon wouldn’t budget on layout) but otherwise, you worked in the dark, fingers working on muscle memory around the keyboard as you continued to plug in information to the online application.

The events worked, giving the store a two month boost in sales that granted you, at the very least, a chance to save the store. It was just that, a boost, nothing that could sustain long term even with newfound organization and aggressive attempts at community engagement. Even with all that, you lacked the funds to properly distribute across all things that needed tending to, particularly the ordering that would require you to keep up with the amount of product that went out the door after the first event.

It was a curve, one with a sharper downfall than the first.

Creaking on the staircase alerted you to Namjoon’s presence, phone flashlight outlined Marie where she sat cradled in the curve of his elbow. He placed her on the floor when he reached the bottom, allowing him to properly balance the basket curled on his opposite forearm.

“...alright?” He murmured. The wicker container was slid to the counter top next to you as he slid onto the free stool.

You hummed, flicking your index finger up and down the scroll to send the typed text whirring by. “Just about done,” You placed your chin on your shoulder, gaze cutting away from his gentle smile to nod at the basket, “What do you have there?”

“Oh!” Namjoon thumbed at the lid, digging inside to present you with two plastic wrapped sandwiches. He placed those aside, returning with a metal thermos next, followed by two paper plates and forks you recognized from the utensil drawer in the apartment. “I packed us a little paperwork picnic.”

You dragged one of the sandwiches closer, careful in picking apart the wrap to discover sliced tomato, floppy lettuce, and careful strips of bacon stuck between two fresh buns. Lemonade was dunked into two plastic cups by the careful hands of Namjoon, his smile growing when you shot him an inquisitive glance.

“I said packed for a reason,” He teased, nudging you when you pinched at one of the ranch drenched piece of greenery, “Jin insisted I take them when I was picking up lunch earlier.”

“Was the picnic part your idea?” You accepted a glass from him, drawing it to your bottom lip without taking a sip.

His gaze remained unwavering as his hand dipped back inside the basket, tripping it across the glass counter top a bit but managing to retrieve the checkered strip of fabric at the bottom of the basket in the end. It fluttered from its folded position when he lifted it higher, showing that it wasn’t a full checkered blanket but instead a strip of fabric, sheared at the edges and appearing to be a leftover from something sewn. It was just big enough for each of your glasses to sit with a comfortable distance from each other, something Namjoon completely by gently drawing your cup out of your grasp and settling it next to his.

“Maybe,” He watched as you continued to squint at the end of the sandwich, “...that means the food is safe to eat. Promise.”

You let yourself take a sizable bite, chewing thoughtfully through the crunchy bacon. You swallowed, serious into the next nibble you tested, “You have more trust in Seokjin than I do.”

It was quiet as the two of you began to dig into your meals, the first of any sizable food you’d had the entire day as a result of being cooped up in a mountain of tax papers, profit spreadsheets, generic online bell curve generators, and the daunting application that hung on the thread of an accidental click to send its incompleteness spiraling into the cloud of uncertainty for the store.

Your typing resumed in silence too, scrolling rather as you simply scanned over the answers you’d provided for the longer answers, open ended questions reminiscent of essay portions of school applications. The words by themselves registered but the combination of such into sentences didn’t comprehend in your mind, subconscious elsewhere as the pixels flashed through your blurred peripheral by means of your own flicking fingertip.

“So what’s your story?”

The screen stalled at your command, shoulders sagging. Softly, you wiggled the mouse to click out of the screen at hand, bringing up the smiling koala cartoon whose name you’d learned was Koya. “Is this another interview?”

Namjoon’s fingers warmed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until your stool spun on its own accord. He continued to hold onto your wrist, thumb traveling upward to brush across your knuckles.

“No,” His voice grew warm, quiet for the ambiance created in the quaint shop near the midnight hour, “I only know a fraction of your story, the rising action, maybe? I’m not too sure. I don’t have enough information to even begin to plug it into the imaginary literary equation.”

“You graduated with a literature degree and you have questionable yet defendable taste in books read in your free time,” Namjoon squeezed your skin, “What else am I missing?”

“I write sometimes,” The words came so quick that your conscious had to pause to gather your next thought, trailing your gaze over Namjoon’s head. You squinted, blurring the darkness of the children’s shelves a bit more as you corrected, “I’m a writer.”

“I had a book deal right out of graduation, something I’d worked ages on. Revised three different times to appease to different agents, none of which ended up signing me. Self publishing was an option I just saw the other side. Heard too many pitches that made me a bit too hopeful.”

“And then finally I found someone who wanted to take me on. Who assured me that I could make big waves within their agency. Said they’d never quite seen anything like my writing style, something that didn’t quite fit in my declared genres,” You laughed bitterly, letting your hand drop from Namjoon’s to rub across your lap, “Said they’d never quite heard anyone as headstrong about my particular beliefs either. Said it was a good thing, made me memorable.”

“I got all the way to their corporate office in the city to sign off on the rights. I even went to the effort to type up my notes and my drafts and whatever else I could find—” You offered a smile, “—I prefer handwriting—” sighing, you spread your fingers apart, pressing at the bend in your thumb, “—Had it all stapled and put together in a nice folder.”

“Then they told me they couldn’t sign me. I don’t remember the exact reason. I think I stopped listening to them after my potential agent was called out of the room for a phone meeting with another prospective client.”

A shaky inhale kept the mist of tears that involuntarily gathered in your waterline at bay, gaze darting to your wringing fingers, “Have you ever played that jelly bean game? The one where half the blue ones taste like raspberry and the other taste like disinfectant wipes or something? It kind of felt like that. Going in expecting one thing and leaving with the exact opposite.”

“I didn’t know I could feel that lost,” You admitted out loud, further elaborating, “I had no plan other than that. It seemed like all my other friends were graduating with a perfect bridge into their new lives,” You let yourself smile, “...even Taehyung. He was always planning on traveling after graduation.”

“He never really understood what I was going through. I didn’t expect him to. Like I said, he had his own plans, one that hadn’t included me until a week or two before they were to begin. I don’t blame him for not understanding how to handle me. And in a way...I feel guilty for placing that kind of responsibility on him. He didn’t need to feel obligated to care for me but he did and he always had and for that I’m sorry.”

“I guess I thought doing something impulsive would give me a purpose again. At the very least, maybe it’d renew my purpose. Maybe I’d want to start a whole new book. Maybe I’d want to try self publishing if I forgot about the horrors I endured through the other process,” A tear appeared now, slipping down the bridge of your nose as your lips wrinkled into a shriveled petal and you shook your head, letting your palms lift and fall back into your lap with an audible slap, “Nothing.”

You startled when something scuffed on the floor, gaze focusing on what you could see in front of you once more. Namjoon had shuffled closer, bringing his stool with him until his knees bumped into yours, close enough for the warmth of his palm to cup your cheek this time soft in using the curve of his thumb to collect the stream of tears as they began to fall more freely.

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured, waiting until his silent gaze met yours.

“This gave me a purpose again. You gave me a purpose,” You grinned, some of the excess tears spreading over your tongue, “At first it was just wanting to figure out why this strange man with a cat wanted to arrange his bookstore like that.”

“Old dog new tricks,” Namjoon insisted, voice gentle for the first time since his initial question.

You let both your hands cup his wrist, holding his hand against your face, “You reminded me of my initial purpose. What I grew so far from...that there’s so much warmth in literature and books and the written word.”

“There’s always worth in spreading that type of love to the community,” Your lips curled in the edge, not quite reaching your teeth, “It’d be a shame if you didn’t get to continue to do so.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” The intimacy expanded outward, encasing your statures in a safety bubble when his forehead touched yours, holding you there by means of his hand on your cheek and your fingers around his forearm. He waited until he no longer felt new splashes of tears underneath his diligent thumb before he spoke again.

“Have you ever thought about trying again?”

Namjoon was so close, the warmth bleeding off his dark irises giving your uncertain heart a squeeze. It didn’t cut into your confusion, “Try what?”

“To get another book deal,” He straightened just enough to pick at your opposite cheek with his free hand, placing stray hairs aside in a meticulously soft way, “Just how far have I inspired you, honey?”

You swatted at him, squawking until he held up a hand in surrender.

“I haven’t, not with...that book anyway. Truthfully, I trashed everything but my handwritten notes that day. I think I even impulsively deleted the files or if they’re still out there I wouldn’t know where to find them.”

“I suppose my next question as to if I can read anything by you is moot now.”

“I’m sure there’s some embarrassing poems out there on my undergraduate literary magazine website…”

Namjoon cocked an eyebrow, “That’s a scavenger hunt I’m willing to have.”

“And it’s one I’m willing to help you with—” You giggled, managing to catch his hands when they went to do grabby hands around your body at the computer mouse, “—after we submit this paperwork.”

“Ah, right,” Warm hands landed on your hips, spinning you to face the monitor while a heavy chin settled on your shoulder, “The whole save my passion thing. I suppose the poems can wait.”

You wrote a poem in undergraduate about a divorce as told by the family cat, the detached perspective of an animal who has no conscious understanding of anything in the human world, yet is still watching his life crash before his eyes. He’s not getting food as often. Everyone is always yelling. Suddenly, dad isn’t there anymore. His tiny human, the child of the family, comes and goes in a confusing schedule. But he still has to be a cat.

The script on that section of the university page barely functioned any longer, drawing your poem into mismatched fonts with spacing that surely wasn’t what you’d originally intended. The flit of your gaze over the up and down scroll of the page fit the same detached sense that the cat in the story had.

Life still went on around you as the crippling rejection email for the store grant hovered in the next tab over from your poem. Namjoon’s absent restocking of the shelves at the front of the store proved that.

You clicked out of your poem, letting the etched red logo at the top of the email cover your vision once more as you sighed. A bitter tap of your index finger later and the image was hidden, just leaving the wall of text that was just several different ways to say you didn’t receive the grant. You’d opened all their resource links, those hovering in the next browser over while Koya watched on behind them.

None of those would work, either. You didn’t buy from their partner supplier. Your store square footage wasn’t enough. You didn’t specialize in one specific genre. You didn’t offer library-like services alongside the business aspect.

One tab had the generic question plugged into a search engine, easy ways to make money. You felt like you were applying for school again, scrounging for scholarship opportunities on survey websites that did nothing but implore armies of viruses into your hard drive. Some of those resources still sat in unorganized folders in your email, ones you mindlessly scrolled past with your cheek scrunched into your curled fist, fingernails pressing crescents into your palm the harder you squeezed.

University emails changed from graduation subject lines to assignment subject lines to personal sprinkled within, exchanges with members of group projects or monthly subscriber updates from clubs you participated in.

Junk emails continued to pour in on the daily even if your email was virtually untouched since you’d sat out on the road which meant the folder continued to dump an unprecedented amount of data into your deleted file never to be cleaned out where you used to diligently empty it. You did that with a clear conscience, a small victory in your hazy consciousness as your finger misjudged and you found your drafts opening.

There was a singular email, the body text left blank and the subject line half typed. Manuscript...A tiny paper clip indicated that something was attached.

For a second, you feared you’d overloaded Namjoon’s system with the file size until the PDF materialized across the screen, blank at first until the last of the near eighty pages downloaded and you found yourself face to face with the typed contents of your lost yellow folder.

Your laughter drew Namjoon from his task, his silhouette shadowing over what was already dark in the store, another late night venture between the two of you when the news of rejection had the both of you searching for something to do that wasn’t nothing. He was smiling at first until he caught a sheen on your cheeks, laughter slowly materializing into sobs before he could properly reach you.

He uttered your name, hip catching on the edge of the counter as he lunged for you yet reeled back at the glaring title on the screen. The initial hug his instinct wished to provide stalled, hands instead landing on your shoulders as he squeezed.

“What’s this?”

“I think this thing is haunting me,” You groaned miserably, “Either that or your computer itself is haunted.”

Namjoon kept a firm grip on you as he shook the mouse, minimizing the tab and all the others until Koya’s smiling face spread across the screen. Gentle pressure turned you, hands leaving to spread palm up, fingers wiggling.

Softly, Namjoon encouraged, “Let’s go to bed.”

Marie’s meow managed to piece some of the scrambled pieces together once your slow advancements at the lead of Namjoon’s hand paused, leaving you to realize this isn’t your room.

“This is your room,” You audibly expressed, flinching away from one of the two foot tall character’s he had curled in the doorway.

He let go of your hand to allow you to make your decision, assuring that his searching gaze ducked to find your own. “Is that okay?”

Your whimper welcomed the stretch of one of his hoodies across your torso, snug to the fresh coffee ground and fresh rain scent that clung to his duvet as long fingers tucked it around your body. He settled in next to you, just close enough to stroke at your cheek with his thumb and the flat of his mouth.

“Hey Namjoon?”

He shifted closer, curled knees encasing yours as his fingertips began to stroke down the back of your head. “Yeah, love?”

“Do you want to try again?” You regarded him with just your eyes, mouth and nose hidden underneath the hem of his sheets. “To keep the store?”

His lips lingered on your forehead this time, cradling the back of your head until the shaking of your shoulders subsided. The tip of his nose pulled back to brush where yours would be underneath the blanket, nodding so the skin brushed accidentally a second time.

“What else is there to do?”

You found a warm bagel and a handwritten note on a napkin in place of Namjoon’s stature when you woke. Raw eyes found it difficult to decipher the shapes he’d quickly scrawled with a blunt tipped marker but somehow you made out store. You abandoned the plated bagel and headed for the staircase.

“If that’s not Marie I don’t want you down here,” A laughing voice ordered your descend when you’d barely made it to the fourth stair.

“Why?”

“Did you not read my note?”

“It said that you were working in the store.”

“And that you’re not allowed down here yet.”

You continued your descent a few slow stairs at a time, “I won’t look.”

Namjoon snorted, an image you saw when you already broke your promise to find him seated at the counter completely swamped in crafting materials. Strips of construction paper, jagged cardboard, stacks of printer paper still half hanging out of their packages.

“What are you doing? DIY decorations?”

He looked up where he was furiously spinning a shard of pipe cleaner, “I thought you said you wouldn’t look.”

“Oops,” You shrugged, bare feet chilled all the way up your legs to where your sleep shorts began as you shuffled toward him, squinting at the mass chaos he’d created. Your gaze trailed upward from the browns and purples and metal utensils, starting to offer a generic question once more until you found your manuscript still open on the computer monitor. “What are you…Namjoon what are you doing?”

He grunted into the last spin of his fingers, securing the last, electric blue pipe cleaner in the poorly jabed hole through the top of the object he held in whitening knuckles. An audible breath slipped through his lips, hanging ajar for a second before his lips drew upward into a smile.

“I, uhm,” Namjoon thrust the object toward you, “I made you something.”

It appeared to be made of three separate pieces of cardboard, a front and back cover with a sizable strip bent to accommodate either, acting as a mock spine. Purple construction paper was glued over the brown substance, dobs of glue staining some of the edges but flat otherwise. A trio of electric blue pipe cleaners sat in neatly spaced, tightly spun balls on the far left side, binding the ball of pages instead that had already begun to bend at the cardboard covers. The same messy handwriting that covered the napkin now forgotten in Namjoon’s bed graced the front, the title of the novel larger than your name. The back held similar penmanship, the synopsis you’d provided to various companies scrawled just above a tiny, attempted portrait of you.

“I know you said you got rid of the other one but if you ever wanted to try again, you know, to get it published—” Namjoon smiled, tucking his arms between his legs shyly as he leaned toward you, “—now you have a potential mock up to show them, too.”

You kissed him with your palm pressed into the pair of scissors he’d dropped when he heard you descend down the stairs, body leaned awkwardly over the counter until he stood to intercept you. His palm held onto the side of your neck while you clutched the book to your chest, breathing into the open seam of his lips.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’d make you ten more copies if you wanted me to.”

Your laughter stopped just a hair short of kissing him again when there was a knocking at the front door, gentle at first and then frantic when you jumped away from Namjoon. Through the spaces in the shelves, you could see Jeongguk, his over exaggerated waving growing smaller as you and Namjoon approached.

“Was I…” Jeongguk’s gaze flashed to Namjoon’s flushed cheeks when you pulled the door open, “Was I interrupting something?”

Namjoon did an astounding job of holding in his irritation, “What do you need, Guk?”

“Oh!” He perked up again, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. A sheet of paper was thrust against your chest, “Special delivery. You need to look at it now.”

“What—”

“No time to explain,” Jeongguk shot you a thumbs up, taking backward steps that had him stumbling over pieces of gravel on the sidewalk as he went to dash in the opposite direction of the hotel, “See you later!”

Namjoon went for the sheet of stickers while you came to inspect the tiny piece of notebook paper balanced on top of it.

“Are those tiny aloe plants?” He continued to awe, pointing at the characters on the sheet.

Hey dove, good news! I found your folder. If you want it uhm...look up. I guess.

Taehyung stood across the street, hair entirely longer than how’d you’d left him, adorned in a matching baggy grey sweatsuit with your yellow folder clutched against his chest.

He braced for the impact of your arms throwing themselves around his neck yet still managed to stumble back two or three paces in a fit of laughter as you clung to him. “Hey there,” He greeted, nose in your hair as he managed to properly weave his arms around your waist and squeeze. “How’ve you been?”

The initial joy seized in your heart as you pulled away to look at him, softening, “I’m not going to go back with you.”

Taehyung’s grin grew wider, all geometric edges and bouncing fringe as he nodded. A gentle understanding, leaning in closer to murmur, “I didn’t think you would, kid, not from the second you stepped out of the van—” After a second, he said a bit louder, “—and besides. That’s not what I asked you.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing over your shoulder to where Namjoon continued to regard the interaction fondly. You smiled, turning back to Taehyung.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

He shook his head, gentle in sliding his hands down your arms before taking your hands, shaking them gently between your bodies, “I’m not going to stay much longer,” One hand left you to take the folder he’d shoved underneath his arm, “Just wanted to bring you this.”

You took it gently, rubbing thoughtfully at the old rip in the spine. A few more had joined it from whatever turmoil it had endured in the last months. “Where did you find it?”

“I’d put it underneath your seat when I cleaned. To keep it safe,” Taehyung’s smile was regretful and amused all the same, “Forgot I put it there…”

“Are your succulents okay?”

“Mhm…” His hand cupped yours where you held the folder, “You still haven’t answered me. Are you okay?”

Another involuntary glance behind you to Namjoon who offered you a thumbs up this time. “Yeah,” You nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, Taehyung, I’m great.”

Taehyung’s smile was equally as fond, nodding once to your rapid ones, “I’m glad…” He trailed off, patting the folder in your grasp, “Well I, uhm, just came to return that to you so—”

“Can you keep it?”

“What?”

“Can you keep it safe for me?” You pressed the folder back against his chest, “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah I can…” Taehyung gradually pulled it closer until it was hugged against his chest, taking a step backward, “Yeah. I’ll keep it safe.” He made prolonged eye contact with you, smiling, “I’ll see you?”

“Of course,” You touched his chest, “And hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?”

You patted him and then your folder.

“Don’t get lost out there.”

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x reader #namjoon imagines #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #namjoon x reader #fic: lost

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #fic challenge #rare pair #uk2 #canon compliant #fluff #ortega #these people in this room (don’t shine like you)

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riversofmars · 4 years

Photo

Okay, so as everyone is going mental about this first preview, here is my contribution! Oneshot inspired by the picture, very dark, psychologically unstable Doctor. At least she has River there to talk to... or does she? Rated M for emotional distress and trigger warning for referenced suicide attempt. Thoroughly cheerful read all in all! Read on AO3 or keep going under the cut :)

How Many Second In Eternity?

The Doctor ran a second horizontal line through eight vertical ones, completing another count of ten on the floor of her prison cell. She had run out of space on the dark walls, so she had turned to the floor. Carefully she returned her piece of chalk to the trouser pocket of her red jumpsuit, she had only been given the one and it had taken a lot of begging, so she had to look after it. It had also become precious to her as it was the only thing she owned. Within minutes of her arrival at the prison they had taken everything from her. Her sonic screwdriver, her psychic paper, everything else she carried in the pockets of her long coat, the clothes themselves of course, along with her dignity.

She sat cross-legged in the floor, tapping a steady rhythm with her index finger. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. She tapped in perfect time with her heartbeat, which was the only thing she could hear apart from her breathing. The walls of the prison were thick, sometimes she thought she was the only one here, and outside the one window was nothing but the emptiness of space.

“Must we do this again?“ A voice sounded behind the Doctor but she didn’t move, she didn’t even look up. That particular voice had long lost its startling qualities and element of surprise. There was a predictability to it by now.

“Apparently we do.“ The Doctor’s voice was weak and feeble, barely above a whisper.

“Why always me?“ River Song stepped out of the shadows and into the Doctor’s field of vision. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Who else would it be, River? You are always here to me. I can always see you.“ The Doctor spoke the words almost like a mantra without looking up at her. She was just going through the motions, it had become a sort of ritual.

“Why not my parents for a change? Or Donna? You miss Donna! Clara perhaps?“ River suggested looking around the cell, clearly annoyed. It was only them here.

“You know there is only you…“ The Doctor huffed and, looking at the new line she had drawn, she wiped a tear from her face. She was surprised that they still came every now and then. She would have thought she’d run out of tears. They didn’t announce themselves and sometimes she didn’t notice she’d been crying for hours.

“Because you still think my data ghost could actually be here and that would mean you’re not crazy.“ River concluded throwing her hands in the air, thoroughly exasperated. She shook her head and started circling around the blonde woman on the floor.

“Great, so let’s do the dance again but let’s try to save some time.“ River carried on and clapped her hands together.

“You will ask if I’m here and I will drop cryptic hints one way or another and you will avoid them - pretending like you didn’t hear - because really, you don’t want to figure it out.“ She laughed in a bitter sort of way.

“Because if I’m not really here, then I’m a figment of your imagination. That makes you certifiably crazy and that’s not a very nice thing to admit to yourself.“ She paused for a moment, waiting for her words to sink in but she didn’t get a response. So the carried on, even more annoyed: “Or I am some sort of data ghost and I am here. In which case my mind is still trapped in the Library and you never came to save me. Therefore, I’m a constant reminder of your failure.“ She came to a halt in front of her and crouched down leaning in.

“Am I close.“ She questioned, the Doctor didn’t answer and avoided her gaze. One-two-three-four, her fingers tapped one the cold floor. So River straightened up again and carried on wandering around the cell, getting more and more angry for her lack of response. “So we keep pretending like it could be either and you hope you’re not crazy but equally struggle to face your mistakes and regrets. And you’ve had so much time to think about this. About the times where you went wrong and the things that you didn’t do and now might never do. And somehow I’ve come top of that list.“ She laughed. “And that’s a pretty high bar, you have so many regrets, so many mistakes…“

“And I’m paying for them!“ The Doctor snapped, suddenly jumping to her feet, she took some threatening steps towards her and jabbed her finger at her.

“This is new.“ River realised, taken aback for a moment.

“I’m paying for my mistakes, River, when will it be enough?!“ The Doctor buried her face in her hands, letting out a sob. Her legs gave way, clearly not used to carrying her own weight anymore. River remained silent for a moment, just watching her curl over, shaking with sobs, all the while her fingers tapping the same four-time-beat. It had sped up. Just like the Doctor’s heartbeat upon her emotional outburst.

“What’s with the tally?“ River asked softly. It was a question she had never asked before. She looked around the cell, covered in chalk marks. “They’re not days, this is an astroid, there is no day or night, so what’s with the tally?“ River pushed on when the Doctor didn’t answer.

“They’re the people I’ve killed, River.“ The Doctor whispered at last.

“You’ve never killed anyone.“ River was quick to correct her. She had never intentionally harmed anyone.

“Not killed then.“ The Doctor breathed and gave a shrug. “The people who’s deaths I’m responsible for, does that sound better? People I didn’t save.“ She wiped her eyes and looked up at her. Her gaze was distant now, her voice devoid of emotion, as if all emotion had drained out of her along wth her tears. “Every time I remember another, I add them and think about what I should have done to save them.“ She traced an idle finger along the closest set of lines on the floor. “I never realised there were so many. This is what happens when you have time to think… You’re right, I have made so many mistakes, so many regrets…“

“Doctor, this isn’t right.“ River spoke firmly. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for not being able to save someone, you’re not a God, you can’t save everyone.“

“I’m holding myself responsible for not saving you. Every day.“ The Doctor’s voice was bitter, angry and regretful. It wasn’t so much the fact that she had allowed River to sacrifice herself all those years ago. It had been her choice and the Doctor had done what she could. She had saved her consciousness to the Library’s data base and without knowledge of who River was at the time. She didn’t blame herself for that. It was the fact that she had never gone back. After learning who River was, falling in love with her more and more after every encounter in their reverse timelines… even after Darillium when their story had come full circle, why had she never gone back and tried to save her? For fear for failure? For feeling too guilty? She liked to tell herself it was, because she hadn’t figured out how to save her yet. She hadn’t wanted to give her false hope or cause her pain by paying her visits before the day she could save her. None of the possible explanation took away from her self-loathing.

“You did the best you could.“ River spoke softly.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this River, how many more lines will I have to draw?“ The Doctor sobbed, her emotions returning like a tidal wave, sweeping her away. Her distress turning into fear, into blind panic. “My brain just won’t stop!“ She buried her face in her hands, then ran them through her hair, pressing against her temples unable to remain still. “Thousands of years worth of memory… going at a frantic pace… It’s only when you’re here that I can even…“ One-two-three-four.

River crouched down next to her and took her hand, stilling her tapping fingers. For a moment, her touch felt real, comforting and warm and everything else disappeared. The Doctor’s racing thoughts ground to a halt, focusing on her wife’s hand on hers.

“It’s okay, I’m here.“ River reassured her with a smile.

“Of course you are…“ The Doctor said softly, firmly, as if it was the obvious, inevitable conclusion as her emotions ebbed away. She didn’t allow herself to doubt. River sat down next to her and put her arms around her. The Doctor leaned against her and closed her eyes. She could sense her there even if she didn’t feel her. There was no warmth radiating from her body, her didn’t hear her breathing or her heartbeats in the silence or smell the sweet perfume she missed so much. Whether she was a ghost or a part of her subconscious, either way she wasn’t real. Her brain was tricking her into feeling her touch and rationally, she knew that.

How much longer would they have to keep doing this, she wondered. What was a life sentence to an immortal? She had potentially infinite regenerations ahead of her. Whole of life in prison, in other words, eternity. And it wasn’t even like she could put a premature end to it. She had nothing but her piece of chalk…

There had been one time when she had tried - probably too early on - when she had still got cutlery with her meals… it had been messy and she didn’t do a good job of it, it wasn’t even serious enough to make her regenerate but there had been no cutlery since. She hadn’t had the strength of her convictions back then, it had been born out of anger and impulse. She would do a better job of it now but that option was gone. And even if she managed to injury herself seriously enough, she had no means of interrupting the regeneration process. Entertaining the idea, as tempting as it was at times, was pointless.

At the time, they hadn’t even bothered to bandage up her wrists, they had just taken the fork away. It had been River that had looked after her. That had been the first time she had appeared to her. And she had told her that she was a idiot to think she could cheat eternity like that.

“How many seconds in eternity, River?“ The Doctor whispered, barely audible.

“You know… there is this mountain of pure diamond…“ River retorted with a sad smile stroking her wife’s hair.

“I know.“ The Doctor sighed. “It takes an hour to climb it and an hour to go around it.“

“And every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak.“ River hummed.

“And when the entire mountain is chiselled away the first second of eternity will have passed.“ A tear ran down the Doctor’s face again as she felt her age in her bones. The millennia weighing her down. “And the fact that you’re quoting that back to me means you’re in my head and not really here.“ She should just accept that and be done with it.

“Or, I’m stuck in the greatest Library in the universe and where there is plenty of books on the Brothers Grimm.“ River countered.

“Hm.“ The Doctor huffed, taking her point.

“All I’m saying is: You’re one hell of a bird.“ River kissed the top of her wife’s head.

“Ha. That’s funny. Cause I’m a girl now. That’s funny.“ The Doctor laughed despite herself. She couldn’t believe she had actually just dropped a pun in the middle of her emotional breakdown. She kept laughing and it felt good, though her muscles barely remembered how to.

“All I’m saying is, don’t give up.“ River chuckled.

“There it is again!“ The Doctor exclaimed suddenly and stopped laughing. She leaned forward, listening.

“What my love?“ River frowned as her wife pulled away, barely paying attention to her now.

“The knocking…“ The Doctor jumped to her feet and rushed to the other side of the room, pressing herself to the wall to listen. She knelt down and knocked herself, almost as if answering. One-two-three-four.

“Can’t you hear it? There is always four knocks. Almost sounds like…“ She looked around and River was gone. One-two-three-four. The Doctor’s head whipped back around to the wall as she was sure she heard knocking again, more insistent, again and again, like the sound of drums. “It’s always here when you’re not…“ She mumbled and turned round to check again but River wasn’t there anymore. So she tapped her fingers, one-two-three-four.

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- HERMIONE'S HELPING HAND

Between The Boy Who Lived, and this chapter title, Ron is once again left out of the gift of getting one explicitly named after him, poor thing. Hell, even the twins and his mum got one.

HPHPHPHP

Remus hesitated, his eyes lingering on the book, his hand brushing where his chapter had ended, but his eyes traveling from Lily, whom he owed the book to, to Harry. James' words lingered in his mind now more than ever, and well, he couldn't think of a better opportunity, while Harry still seemed so pale and unsure, and the topic had just been presented...

"Harry can I talk to you?" He made the snap decision, not letting himself talk himself out of it again.

James and Sirius exchanged a pleased smile when Harry said yes at once, nothing but surprise, and perhaps a hint of guilt as he followed him out of the room up the stairs.

Lily watched them go just as curiously, before turning accusing eyes on the boy's left, "and what's that about?" Easily recalling Remus' foul mood this morning and hoping it was all going to be put away for good when they came back.

"Why should we tell you?" Sirius asked with a slight touch of sulk in his voice. "You won't tell us who the Half-Blood Prince is, though you clearly know."

Lily pursed her lips in answer, preparing to launch a volley of defenses as James turned to her as well, but then shocking both of them, he said, "Dumbledore hasn't been the only thing on Moony's mind of late, the way he's been acting towards Harry in this future, or I should say hasn't been around him at all, it's really been getting to him. I encouraged him to have a chat with Harry about both of those things, I'm glad to see he's finally taken my advice."

"Prongs," Sirius whined. "You've gone soft! Where's my Marauder that would dangle this over her head until she gave something up!"

James just shrugged without answer, and it was Lily's turn to frown at the expression on his face as he turned to Sirius and easily distracted him with a chat about Tonks, offering new solutions to a problem they weren't even sure she had yet. Still, she eagerly jumped into this least anything else surface.

Harry waited patiently for Remus to order his thoughts. He'd known he deserved whatever was coming for ages, and whatever had finally gotten Remus to deliver it he was grateful. He just wasn't sure what to expect. His past experiences only offered what Vernon or McGonagall would have done. He was positive in this instance to lean more towards McGonagall, with a stern lecture about his temper and how Harry should think before he vented what he had on Remus the previous day. He wanted to start with another apology, which Remus truly deserved. He even still had some unanswered questions about their last talk, but held it all in, letting him speak first like he was owed.

"Harry, I just wanted to say before this went on any farther," he couldn't help making an agitated face already, the whole summer had been bad enough, but for him to not have even been heard of that breakfast, "I really do understand why you lashed out at me, I deserved it and can quite easily believe how you grew to resent me over the years. Just please hear me that I'm trying, I won't so blindly follow Dumbledore again-"

"Remus, I never resented you!" Harry finally cut through, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "The thought never even crossed my mind! I guess, I mean, you could have turned out worse." He felt a little guilty for adding that, but he also seemed determined to speak his mind. "You could have been like Snape."

The thought had been lingering for ages. He often wondered why the idea didn't baffle him a lot more than it should, his mother being friends with someone like Snape. It made him briefly at times consider he'd somehow learned this on his own, though he had not a clue how that was possible, clearly Snape wasn't sharing that information. It still made his point though, "Snape hates me even though he and my mum used to be best friends, and you could have been the same way. You could have blamed it all on me." Remus' scandalized expression simply made Harry nod, thinking that proved his point.

"I'm still ashamed I took that out on you," Harry went on before Remus could pull himself back into speaking, forcing himself to get this all out while he had the chance. "If I can find a way to make that up to you I will-"

"You already are," Remus promised, only hesitating for a moment before reaching out and taking his shoulder. "What you're giving us is a gift we wouldn't have even known to ask for, that's more than we could ever thank you for, so everything in between should just stay in this house, eh?"

Harry grinned at once, completely relaxing and all at ease now just as he was. It was still baffling, how little his proximity seemed to bother Harry. No matter how much he kept seeing to the contrary, he still kept expecting Harry to pull away from him for any number of reasons, but he never did. There was a longing in his eyes, one that didn't quite match what he held for the rest of the family. It was almost regret, or something more, but what Remus was sure of was that Harry wanted to know him. If it really was because they grew closer in this future then he could finally rejoice he'd done something right at least.

The smile dimmed for a moment, but before Remus could even start to worry what crossed his mind, Harry offered, "ah, I feel like I should, I don't know, apologize for everything Dumbledore does as well. I don't know, it's kind of weird since he hasn't done it to you all yet, but I can see how much he means to you. I, get that, for so long he's the only one who," he stopped with a now familiar pained expression, but waved him off, promising he wasn't pushing any farther. "Well, considering how my first lesson with him went, let's just say now they probably won't be going better the rest of this year, but I just, can't, despise him for everything." He finished lamely. He really couldn't wait until he never had to deal with this feeling again, of being incomplete. A piece of his mind that was missing a huge chunk of this conversation, that just like no matter what Snape did, he couldn't hate him with all his being.

Remus surprised him by laughing. "I'm a big boy Harry. I promise I can deal with whatever thoughts I have towards Dumbledore without blaming you."

Harry winced in shame, and Remus realized that wasn't the best choice of words, so he soothed, "we promised you we wouldn't do anything until we heard all you have to say." Not that they had a choice, he couldn't help mentally grumbling with one eye out the window, but his point still stood.

"Thanks Remus," Harry grinned at him. When he looked like he was just going to wave it off, Harry insisted, "I mean it, for everything, then and now."

Remus beamed, and Harry grinned right back. That look never failed to make the premature lines across his youthful face vanish, and Harry wished he'd seen that smile outside this house. He couldn't recall one though, and very much hoped it was somewhere in his future.

He led the way back downstairs, the cheerful mood still pouring off both of them now. The other three noticed at once. The slight tension between the two for the past few days finally leaving almost a physical thing. James and Sirius felt like hugging them, they couldn't stand to see the two fighting, or whatever that passive ignoring each other nonsense had been.

Lily almost happily picked up the book and began at once. Despite the climate Harry was still living in, his sixth year having the same air as all seven years of their school with the way it had started, there was finally something to be smiling at that couldn't be taken away by this book.

As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before.

"You're giving me horrible flashbacks," James sighed, rubbing his own forehead with the memory of those first few weeks coming back, all that homework that never seemed to end.

Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice.

Sirius mock fainted in surprise.

Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.

Lily began giggling hysterically again like that was still the funniest thing she'd ever heard. James rolled his eyes at her while Remus and Sirius just grinned at Harry, congratulating him on at least finding one class he could have an ease of, they wished they'd had this thing in school.

Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo;

Causing at least the four graduates to burst out with further laughter and Harry to huff he was just so glad it was so funny to look back on for them, he certainly hadn't been as amused at the time.

but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.

"One of the very few reasons I actually liked that class," Sirius agreed with a crazy grin still in place. "Got to use quite a bit of language in that class, and the one time she ever told me off for it was when it was directed at Snivellus."

"He deserved it," James said fairly when Harry looked like he was trying not to laugh. "I don't know what crawled up his arse that day to decide to drop that thing down Padfoot's pants, but-"

He was cut short by Harry bursting out laughing as hard as they just had. He was honestly a bit relieved, he hadn't been entirely convinced Harry still would laugh at that kind of thing after what he'd seen in Snape's memories.

One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.

"Oh," Lily sighed, she couldn't imagine how much that would sting for the poor dear.

Remus just clucked his tongue. He felt a little bad for Hagrid, but surely a teacher would know not to take it so personally a student wouldn't continue with the class. He had any sympathy at all because this would be his first year with such a sudden drop, especially his three favorite students.

Over breakfast Hermione was looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table that Saturday and insisting to the boys they should explain themselves.

"I'm sure he's just busy," Sirius tried to sooth, as Harry started to look very guilty for this. Neither of them believe it, but Harry appreciate the attempt anyways.

Ron protested they had Quidditch tryouts this morning.

"Whoo!" James hooted at once.

And besides that, how were they supposed to tell him they hated the stupid subject?

"Next time start with the bad and end with the good news of tryouts," James huffed when Lily had kept going, but he was still smiling hopefully for that to come.

Ron told her to speak for herself, if they hadn't dropped that class they'd be teaching Grawp to tie his shoes right now.

"Ehh," Sirius waved his hand vaguely, and Harry wasn't all that reassured no one here really denied Hagrid may have tried to get away with that for an 'advanced' class.

Hermione insisted she hated not talking to him, so Harry assured her they'd go over there after tryouts.

"Priorities," Lily huffed, wishing he'd set his friend first, especially after a full week of not going to see him.

He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. Still, he reminded her that with as many people had signed up, this was going to take all morning. He had no clue why the team was so popular this year.

"It comes and goes every year," James waved off.

Hermione got impatient with his naivety, telling him it wasn't Quidditch that was popular, it was him. Frankly, he'd never been more fanciable.

Harry suddenly looked quite alarmed at his friends deduction, surely she couldn't be right about this one! It didn't help no one in here looked likely to protest it, they just looked a bit amused. Now that his affection for Cho had been entirely eradicated, they'd actually been really curious who would catch his eye next, so Hermione bringing it up was quite entertaining.

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry and explaining now everyone knew he was right, they found him quite brave holding his ground like he had last year. You could still see the marks that evil woman had left on his hand last year.

Harry's hand twitched uneasily at the reminder again, and it didn't help they all adopted the same murderous faces now as they had first hearing of this. Whatever those centaurs had done still didn't feel like good enough retribution for leaving a permanent mark on their boy.

Ron inserted you could still see the marks where those brain had attacked him, even beginning to shake his sleeve back to prove it.

-And it didn't help he'd shot up a few inches, Hermione finished, ignoring him.

"Honestly, if those two dance in anymore circles, they're going to put a moat around Hogwarts," Remus sighed.

Ron inserted he was tall.

Sirius snickered hard for Harry's friends, somehow finding this even more entertaining than Prongs and Evans had been.

The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed.

Lily's heart had started to grow heavy at the start of this, the sting always present of being denied this for her child never appreciated when it was pushed to the for-front of her mind. By the end she was trying to stop herself chewing on the inside of her cheek, the unease for Remus squirming so much inside her she thought she was going to be sick. With an uneasy glance up though, she saw both were trying to pretend like they hadn't heard a thing. It was of some relief, at least, that their little chat had soothed what once could have been a very awkward moment, but for now she tried to get past that as fast as she could like the boys clearly wanted.

He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

Harry, unwrapped the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

Remus couldn't help it, even knowing Harry didn't hold that against him, at least now, like he did, he still made a face that a bloody book store sent more mail to him than he did. That could just never be right. It helped that James, sitting right next to him, still just looked miserable like the rest of them rather than resentful like Remus wouldn't have blamed him for.

Hermione was delighted, saying now he could give that graffitied copy back.

"Graffitied," Lily gave a half-hearted giggle to at least try and push the good mood back in.

Harry told her she was mad, and proceeded to mutter 'Definido' over both covers of the books, while Hermione looked scandalized.

"For what you're doing, or ruining a book?" Sirius asked with genuine curiosity, clearly ignoring Moony's moment as much as he could.

"Couldn't tell you, a bit of both probably," Harry answered naturally enough.

He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, 'Reparo!'

There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.

All four of them started chuckling, a pure sound of amusement they all needed. "Clever," Lily couldn't help but congratulate, having never thought for a moment he was going to give it back, now he even had an excuse. The temptation to tell him exactly whose book he was keeping was still on the tip of her tongue, but she restrained herself, they'd just gotten their good mood back, no need ruining it with certain information.

Harry decided he'd give the 'old' copy back to Slughorn, who wouldn't complain, it had cost him nine Galleons.

"And that man has never passed up a bargain," Remus smirked.

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.

Ron determinedly asked with a casual tone if anyone they knew was dead this morning, as he had every morning.

Lily sighed, this was honestly the reason she hadn't gotten the paper through much of her youth, it was depressing to turn every page and expect as much.

Hermione did tell of an arrest, and Harry asked with some curiosity who, keeping to himself the hope it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

All five of them scowled for her name being brought back up, Azkaban was almost too good for what they owed her. Almost.

Stan Shunpike, apparently.

"Ouch, didn't see that one coming," Lily muttered, her lower lip pouting in surprise.

She read out the article which gave the details f his arrest as being under Death Eater suspension.

Harry at once said there was no way, while Ron offered he could have been under the Imperius Curse.

"They still shouldn't have arrested him until they knew for sure," Harry seethed.

Sirius just gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, honestly wishing this was more of a surprise to them. They heard all the time of arrests from the last people you would think. Crouch was a good example, but there were others out there doing explicit things you wouldn't think to point a finger at.

Hermione read out the rest, he'd been caught overheard knowing of Death Eater plans, and that didn't seem the kind of thing the Imperius Curse would let you shout about.

"That's even worse!" Harry snapped.

"Calm down Harry, I'm sure it won't last long," Lily tried to placate, though none of them were really any happier about this development, they weren't sure why Harry was in such a temper over it. It was just too common place to them.

"He shouldn't be in there, he doesn't deserve it!" Harry insisted.

Ron instead switched to saying he was probably showing off then, hadn't he been that bloke boasting to a veela at the World Cup about becoming the next Minister of Magic.

"That was also a moment you claimed a broom could reach outer space, so," James trailed off with a pitiful shake of his head.

Harry agreed that was him, and was still aghast anyone could take Stan seriously.

Sirius suddenly flinched, his favorite joke escaping him as they all realized where Harry's ire could be stemming from, and maybe he didn't even realize it except his own choice of words.

Harry couldn't say anything, not looking at any of them. Sirius sighed unhappily, not wanting to say any empty words, but shimmied just a bit closer to him anyways, as much a promise as he could offer they wouldn't let this happen to anyone again.

Hermione explained the Ministry wanted to look as if they were doing something, people were terrified after all. The Patil twins almost hadn't come this year, and Eloise Midgens had just been withdrawn last night by her father.

Harry's misery only grew at this news, that was as depressing as it could get, hearing of more parents like Seamus' mother. It was somehow even more sad to see this didn't surprise anyone around him, this sort of thing must have happened all the time.

Ron was dumbfounded, surely parents knew Hogwarts was the safest place for anyone with Dumbledore here.

Hermione lowered her voice to the barest whisper as she pointed out they may not really have that.

Harry glanced to the staff table in surprise to find he wasn't present. In fact when he cast his mind back, their headmasters seat had been as empty as the Gamekeepers this week.

"That is, unusual," Remus agreed slowly, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice and almost getting there this time.

"I mean, not really, if you think about it," Lily tried. "Maybe the Ministry reinstated all of his titles in the community, plus the Order of the Phoenix, he can't just be sitting around in his office all day."

"We never exactly kept tabs on him at the table, so I couldn't say how often he was there at our time," James agreed slowly.

Hermione kept lowering her voice further as she wondered if he was doing something for the Order? It was all looking very serious.

Sirius was already smirking, and without any preamble this time stated, "I always look Sirius! I hate using anything to change myself otherwise, who would want to deny the brightest star!"

Harry snickered in surprise while his friends rolled their eyes.

Harry and Ron did not answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.

Harry felt cold chills erupting all along his arms as that memory was given back. He didn't even have to pretend what that news was like, he'd lived it only days ago hearing his parents weren't going to be in this world with him much longer.

When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins' parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.

"I'm sensing a triangle forming," James said extra loudly, well aware Harry just couldn't keep a smile in place this time around. Surely even the coming Quidditch tryouts would help with that!

"At least I'm not anywhere in that shape, though I'll still probably be hearing about it," Harry huffed.

As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms,

"Poor things, not being Harry Potter and all," Sirius snickered while James puffed up his chest, well aware none of them would be making the house team, breaking his sons record of being the youngest in a century.

to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

He came forward with confidence, reintroducing himself as Cormac McLaggen, and explaining he was here for the Keepers tryouts.

Harry asked if he'd tried out last year, thinking the size of him would surely block all the goal hoops without him even needing to move.

Remus snickered in surprise while James mind was already wiring clinically. "Nah, doesn't necessarily mean skill if he can't stay on the broom."

"Or Ron just beat him out," Sirius sniffed.

He explained he hadn't, he'd been in the hospital wing that day. He'd eaten a pound of doxy eggs on a bet.

"Well I can't help but like him just for that," Remus burst out laughing even harder.

"Honestly, I'd probably be rooting for him if Ron weren't trying for the same spot," Lily agreed.

Harry made a face at both of them, he had no good will towards him, even if he couldn't explain the feeling.

Harry dismissed him then to stand with the others, pointing over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face and wondered whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both 'old Sluggy's' favorites.

"He'll learn fast," James scoffed.

Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch.

"Not bad at all," James approved, his eyes many miles away back on the pitch himself. "Get a good handle on just how often they're in the air."

Harry couldn't help the shy smile, blushing a bit at the praise he hadn't been expecting. He was only doing what he thought was obvious at the time, to help out his team.

This was a good decision: the first ten was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.

Causing all five of them to burst out laughing, Harry hardest of all as he'd tried to hold it in at the time.

The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

Lily scoffed at that one, they would have made better cheerleaders. She didn't even like the game and couldn't understand why they'd bother if they didn't either.

The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.

The Marauders laughed extra hard at that one while Harry rolled his eyes, thinking they could go annoy their own tryouts.

Harry was getting seriously annoyed,

"What did I do?" Sirius demanded.

"I'm sure you weren't any help to dad when he was going through this," Harry shrugged without remorse.

"Don't encourage him by responding to that Harry," Remus groaned, when he laughed was bad enough.

"No, Harry was right that time, Sirius was laughing his arse off and I had half a mind to kick him off the field. I was Siriusly annoyed by him too," James couldn't help joining in with a chuckle that time, causing Remus to make a face at him of pure betrayal while the others just laughed harder.

as he shouted that anyone else who wasn't from his house should leave now! There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.

"At least someone was enjoying themselves," Harry gave a grudging laugh as well, everyone around him still giggling too much to hold onto that agitation that had been hovering over him at that time.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; a new find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot.

Harry was beaming at this, he had a really good feeling at least these weren't decisions he'd regret. It was the other positions he wasn't feeling as sure of, and hoped he wouldn't let his dad down with any of the others.

Pleased though he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

He had to even threaten some away with hexs if they didn't stop badgering him about it.

"Yeah, I'd believe him," Sirius nodded along, having actually done as much to one who had the gall to tell Prongs what a sham he was after all that.

Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George,

"A shame twins don't come along more often," James sighed, still eyeing Lily hopefully, who was ignoring him.

but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie, Demelza, and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

Harry had deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever.

"Ah well, I'm sure Ron's over all that by now anyways. He won the last tournament after all," James smirked.

"This next one both will be playing in it, it's going to be a blast," Sirius already agreed with high energy to get to that!

As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was a delicate shade of green.

"He could be nervous and still readying himself," Remus pacified, all of them at ease and sure Ron would do fine. He'd lived through the worst of it last year after all.

None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To Harry's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five.

"A tough score to beat," James grudgingly nodded. "I suppose if they tied you'd just have them do it over again?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed with agreement, fingers crossed it wouldn't come to that and Ron would do brilliantly.

On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction;

Harry blinked in surprise, rubbing his forehead for why that would cause a stir in his memories.

the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth.

Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.

Someone called a good luck for him.

Harry looked around, expecting to see Hermione, but it was Lavender Brown.

"Ooh, bet Hermione loved that," Sirius rolled his eyes. He already disliked her for her previous tendencies in Trelawney's class and hoped Ron didn't really return the affection. He'd still take Hermione's stubbornness over some giggly girl.

He would have quite liked to have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that as the Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch Ron do his trial.

James gave a sympathetic nod, thinking there had been many times during his captaincy he'd had to show more restraint than he had all previous years of school because of that badge.

Yet he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen's red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily.

McLaggen began smearing at once, stating his sister hadn't really tried, she'd given him an easy throw.

"Urgh, what a sore loser," Remus wrinkled his nose up in disgust as well as the comparison.

"Honestly, even if they had tied I'd rather Harry give it to Ron now just for that," Sirius agreed.

Harry coldly responded what rubbish that was, Ron had nearly missed that one.

McLaggen took a step nearer Harry, who stood his ground this time.

"That'a boy," James approved, his eyes narrowing and his hand twitching for his wand. Even knowing Harry could handle himself against some pompous seventh year didn't mean he was going to stand for that.

McLaggen demanded another go, but Harry refused. Ron had the better score, he was Keeper. End of discussion, now McLaggen needed to leave.

He thought for a moment that McLaggen might punch him, but he contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what sounded like threats to thin air.

"And good riddance," Lily sniffed, as happy as any of the boys for the way this turned out.

Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.

Ron was congratulated on doing brilliantly, and this time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face.

"Wonder if Hermione did something to her, or said something," Sirius snickered.

Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.

After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade good-bye to the rest of the team and headed off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Harry felt extremely hungry; he hoped there would be something to eat at Hagrid's.

"Quick, check he has all his teeth!" James yelped in alarm.

"And all his sense," Lily agreed with a giggle while Harry rolled his eyes at all of them. Not all of Hagrid's cooking was that bad...

Ron was happily running them through his experience, applauding Demelza for what a tricky shot she'd pulled, had a bit of a spin on it.

"I missed Ron doing this!" James laughed.

Hermione looked amused as she again agreed how brilliantly he'd done, and Ron furthered this by laughing at McLaggen going in the completely wrong direction for his last shot! He'd looked like he'd been Confunded, he finished with a laugh.

Harry missed the others laughing around him this time, an idea just on the edge of his mind-

To Harry's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these words.

and then he nodded to himself, a slight smile in place as he thought it was all but confirmed.

"Oh, she didn't," James said, a look of mingled exasperation and amusement in place.

"I'm thinking she did," Sirius nodded slowly, like he couldn't decide if he should be outraged at such a display of interference in Quidditch or laughing his arse off she'd pulled something like that.

Lily easily decided on laughter, at all of the boys expression for this, for Hermione herself, she was just giggling up a storm for so long they couldn't help but join in. Hermione was very many things, but they couldn't deny she helped her own too.

Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail.

The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.

Hermione backed up a step with nerves, saying she still found him a bit scary.

Sirius scoffed, he quite liked that beast and was honestly considering getting his own now.

Ron scoffed she'd ridden on his back once!

Harry ignored them both and came forward to bow, waiting until it was returned before going up and stroking him. He whispered for the hippogriff alone if he missed him too?

Lily's voice hitched in her throat, her hands shook across the cover. They'd actually managed to go two whole chapters without that being brought up, and yet somehow it was worse as Harry reminisced with a beast of all things about it.

They were interrupted by an angry shout telling them to get away, he'd take some fingers off! Then Hagrid recognized them. He stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh dear," Lily sighed.

"That could have gone better," James agreed with a wince.

Hermione looked stricken, but Harry grimly said not to worry about it.

"I disagree," Sirius looked a bit wide eyed with alarm. "The last people Hagrid was ticked off with got their heads nearly knocked off."

"I haven't cursed McGonagall lately," Harry half-heartedly defended.

"It's been a week, surely he's just making his point clear they offended him." Remus pacified. "Soon as they get to talking to him he'll come around."

"Wish he would have already," Lily sighed, still wanting to smack him for treating her son that way.

He walked over to the door and knocked loudly, telling Hagrid to open up.

There was no sound from within.

"I'm just picturing him on the other side, arms crossed, pouting," Sirius laughed a bit, though it did nothing to erase Harry's uneasy frown.

Harry threatened if he didn't, he'd blow this door down, even pulling his wand out.

"You've been a bit violent today," James noted.

"Not taking any nonsense with his friends, right after you," Sirius agreed good naturedly.

"You actually pulled it out!" Lily gasped, she honestly couldn't picture it.

"I'd have really done it to," Harry said without too much remorse. He wouldn't just let Hagrid ignore him.

But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.

"I, can almost imagine," Remus said slowly. Despite the obvious contrary, he rarely thought of Hagrid as intimidating. It wasn't pleasant picturing that anywhere near directed towards Harry.

Hagrid growled he was a teacher, even calling him Potter to emphasize this.

Lily couldn't help but make a little face at that. It hadn't even registered until this moment Hagrid, as a teacher, had never actually referred to Harry as such and the contrast now was startling.

Harry apologized at once, addressing him as sir.

Hagrid was stunned at this, asking since when did they call him sir?

Harry returned since when did he call him Potter?

"Harry's really got all the teachers on their toes this year with that mouth," Sirius gave an appreciative laugh.

Hagrid was not impressed, calling them ungrateful little things,

"Ungrateful is a little harsh," James frowned in defense. "Honestly Hagrid, would it have been much better if they'd forward you they were dropping the class?"

"Maybe a bit," Remus sighed, he still felt some sympathy for Hagrid despite his attitude about it.

still mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Hermione scurried in after Harry, looking rather frightened.

All five of them scoffed at that. Honestly, even at his worst they'd never actually be afraid of him, and after what Hermione had just done, they would have thought she'd be more bemused at his behavior like they were.

Fang was happy enough to see them, drooling over their robes at once, while Hagrid demanded what they wanted? Thought he was lonely down here without them?

"Um," Lily muttered, feeling a little bad she'd never really thought about it. The other teachers could all converge in the staff room if they wanted company, but it was a bit depressing to suddenly wonder how many went out to go see Hagrid just for a chat.

Harry at once corrected they'd missed him, and Hagrid snorted in disbelief.

"This is getting offensive," James sighed. "I'm all for the theatrics to prove your point man, but you're holding a bit of a grudge against students not wanting to take a class."

"Hagrid's always been big on gestures, I'm sure this seemed like a significant one to him," Harry sighed, though even looking back he wasn't sure what he could have done differently.

He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down three bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.

James still had the urge to knock that out of Harry's hand for his health.

Hermione began talking to him timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong.

"Never pictured your face on a potato before," Sirius snorted, "though I'm sure it's helping Hagrid a bit."

She said they really had wanted to continue with his class. Hagrid gave another great snort. Harry rather thought some bogeys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly thankful that they were not staying for dinner.

"Thank you, now I'll never eat at Hagrid's again, not that there was much of a chance before," Remus muttered.

Hermione insisted they had, it just wouldn't fit in their schedules.

Harry agreed without belief.

"Oooh," Lily huffed, wishing to make him look at her and really acknowledge what his problem was. She couldn't blame him for being a bit hurt, but now he was starting to make her son look guilty for something he really couldn't help and she wouldn't lightly stand for that.

There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around: Hermione let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed.

They felt some concern start lighting up the room, surely Hagrid hadn't found something even more horrible than Grawp already!

It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing.

This was so entirely the opposite of what they'd just been fearing, they all got a good laugh for the harmless things and the overreactions to it.

Harry asked what those were, and Hagrid crisply answered grubs.

Ron uneasily asked what they'd grow up to be, and Hagrid said nothing, they were for Aragog.

"Naww," Remus offered, though he was the only one who bothered, the others got a shifty look in place at the reminder of him.

And without warning, he burst into tears.

"Ooh, that poor dear," Lily said in sympathy at once, suddenly realizing Hagrid's overreaction to the kids may have actually been out of focus for something else.

"Please tell me you're talking about Hagrid," James still had his nose crinkled in disgust, even as it flagged a bit for Hagrid in sympathy.

She ignored him, actually trying to keep going with just the tiniest bit of hope they were misunderstanding this. She never would have thought she'd be hoping for an Acromantulas good health, especially this particular one, but Hagrid had this way of making her care for things she never would have thought she could simply by his own huge heart.

He explained in half broken sobs Aragog was dying, he'd been getting more ill over the summer! He didn't know what to do, they'd been together so long!

Sirius couldn't help but frown for the poor man as well. Aragog had technically been the reason Hagrid was expelled, and yet Hagrid still cared about him so much. It really was sweet, even if he couldn't bring himself to feel the same for something that had once condoned eating Harry.

Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear,

Sirius still managed a gag for that, he'd somehow prefer the man eating spider to that monster!

seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped four years previously.

Hermione offered if there was anything they could do to help, ignoring Ron's look of panic.

"I'm sure Ron would be exempt from this offer," James offered half-heartedly.

"Remind me to grow arachnophobia so I can be as well," Sirius huffed.

Hagrid explained there wasn't, his family had been acting a bit funny lately and it probably wasn't safe for anyone else with how restless they've been.

"Funny?" Remus repeated slowly, wondering if Hagrid was really ignorant of their true nature in this. It didn't seem likely, with as knowledgeable as he was of species in general, but surely Hagrid knew it wasn't common of someone to go in and out of a nest like theirs so freely.

Ron muttered he'd seen that side of them.

Harry was the only one who managed an uneasy laugh, the other still couldn't for that not so friendly reminder.

He thanked them through, it meant a lot they'd offered.

After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.

"Was that all it took?" James sighed. "Next time I'll bring one along with me!"

"Please don't dear," Lily muttered, not entirely sure if he meant it or not.

He explained he'd known they would probably have to drop his class anyways, they'd have to get a Time-Turner with how busy they already were.

Hermione said it wouldn't work anyways, they'd all been smashed in the Department of Mysteries, she'd seen it in the Prophet a few weeks ago.

Lily shivered, but altogether tried to ignore the goosebumps flying up her and her soul crushing for once again having to remember all that had transpired in there.

He still apologized for the way he'd acted, though the errant thought slipped out if Grubbly-Plank had still been teaching they'd probably-

At which all three of them stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.

"See, lying and flattery really does get you everywhere!" Sirius burst out laughing. Even Lily gave an uneasy chuckle back just to hear him keep saying such things, the constant reminder he may not be able to one day made almost all of his many annoying habits just a bit funnier than usual.

Harry, who had abandoned the rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of his back teeth,

"I was joking," James muttered.

was eager to get back to the castle for dinner, especially before he had to endure Snape's detention.

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt.

Lily snorted enthusiastically and Remus couldn't help snickering as well. The two Quidditch zealots still looked more torn than anything, deeply wanting to praise Hermione's clear conniving skill and even the lingering effects the spell had, but she'd interfered in Quidditch!

Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held her back.

He flatly asked her if she really had Confunded Mclaggen?

Hermione blushed, but admitted to it, he should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny.

"Urgh, I'd have done it on principle as well," Remus scowled.

James gave a little huff, but the worst part was he really could picture Moony doing the exact same thing, and he still wasn't sure if he'd laugh or scold him for it either.

He had a nasty temper, there was no way Harry actually wanted him on the team.

"This is true," Sirius sighed. "It's just the principle of the matter, it's like cheating Ron's way onto the team!"

"The one time you don't condone cheating," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Quidditch," James insisted, "is not to be trifled with!"

Harry didn't disagree, but pointed out her prefect status, this was a bit dishonest of her.

"And?" The three Marauders muttered, that really was the least awful part of this, it was quite brilliant under any other circumstances in fact.

She snapped at his smirk to be quiet, while Ron reappeared and looked at the two suspiciously what was keeping them.

"Poor Ron's jealousy might be making a comeback," Sirius chuckled uneasily, hoping Ron didn't get the wrong impression and pick another row with Harry.

Harry just scoffed, it was a ludicrous idea to him what Sirius was implying, but at the same time something uneasy lingered in him for it about Ron getting the wrong idea.

Harry and Hermione together said it was nothing, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry's stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

He was enormously pleased to have caught up to him, asking if he'd instead like to spend the evening with his group of classmates from the train again?

"Ugh, and so it begins!" James groaned.

"You're lucky you had so much practice ducking away from Lockhart, you'll be using that on this one as well," Sirius groused.

He'd already invited McLaggen and Zabini again, and Melinda Bobbin would be coming, her family owned a chain of apothecaries,

James was already miming snoring at this point, and Sirius and Remus were shifting restlessly like they would have walked right past him already. Harry honestly wished he'd done the same.

and, of course, he hoped for Miss Grangers company as well.

Lily was ignoring them and smiling fondly at this, having quite the flashbacks to her own years in school again, some of the happier times.

Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.

"Ouch," all five of them muttered, Remus most potently as he'd experienced that along with... well every time Slughorn had tried to catch up with James and Sirius.

Harry said he couldn't, he had detention with Professor Snape tonight.

"The fact that you use his title," James scrunched up his face in disgust, even as he weighed in his mind which would be more reprehensible to listen to that night. Both really were coming out equally unappealing.

Slughorn gasped almost comically, saying he couldn't stand for that. He'd speak to Snape and see them both later!

Sirius did get a good laugh out of that, very much wishing Harry could sit in on that conversation.

"I'll bet Slughorn's hoping to use his old status on him to get his way," Lily said fondly.

"Was Snape in this?" Harry asked in disgust, his respect for this stupid club dropping every moment more it was discussed.

"Yes," Lily frowned reproachfully. "We spent so much time debating in class, trying to outdo each other with our potions, he thought we were a riot and invited him along all the time."

Harry tried very hard not to roll his eyes while Lily bit her tongue for a moment to stop herself pointing out Harry should be very grateful to him this year in particular.

Harry hardly waited until Slughorn was out of earshot before scoffing Slughorn had no chance, Dumbledore had been the only one that detention would be postponed for.

"It's honestly a miracle he did it the first time," James agreed.

Hermione wished he would come, she didn't want to go alone! Harry guessed she was thinking about having to spend more time around McLaggen.

"Don't know what she's thinking, I'd take the chance to further Confund him," Sirius' smirk turned into that cruel little twist Harry uneasily recalled getting first hand experience of in a Pensive. He'd seen it several times in here as well when they were speaking of Snape. "Wonder just how many times you can use that spell on someone, think they'll miss their mouth and start shoving food up their-"

"And this is why I never wondered why Slughorn only invited you to his big parties, instead of all his gatherings," Remus rolled his eyes.

"She does know she can just, not go," James snorted.

"Suppose she felt morally obligated or some such, him singling her out like that," Harry shrugged without much concern.

Ron snapped Ginny had probably been invited! He didn't seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.

Remus sighed in pity for Ron while the others seemed happy enough to gloss over this. They obviously couldn't care that much, since his friends blew them off and Lily couldn't find them much of a big deal since she went to so many. He however knew exactly how Ron was feeling, and he hadn't even cared that much for it.

After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.

She was again asked if there was anything of interest in there, and Hermione agreed she'd found Ron's dads name, hurriedly tacking on he was alright as he looked up in alarm.

"That's not how you start a conversation!" Lily squeaked as Harry had nearly startled out of his seat in alarm as well. Considering all these kids had been reading of the paper, not to mention past events, Hermione should start with the end of that sentence!

She read out how his job had been tipped off about the Malfoys house, though nothing had been found.

"Aw, see Harry, he wasn't dismissing you at all," James grinned.

"Pity he didn't find anything," Sirius sighed.

Harry told the two about their conversation back on the platform, and decided Malfoy must have taken whatever this was with him into the school already.

Hermione disagreed he couldn't have done, they'd all been searched upon arrival.

Harry was startled at this news.

"The Boy Who Lived to be the Chosen One is far to special for such a thing!" Sirius dramatically declared while Harry fought back the compulsion to whack him upside the head, he hated both of those titles, let alone them being strung together!

Hermione explained of course he hadn't because he was late, but Filch hadn't let anyone in until they'd been probed, she knew for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated.

"Eww, why would he even have that," Lily muttered.

Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.

Harry got a blissful little smile in place for just such a small moment the others hardly noticed. They hadn't thought about this at least since Malfoy had stamped on Harry's nose, quite the distraction, but now they were back to wondering just what was up with that. Hermione did have a point it should be next to impossible for Malfoy to get anything to horrible into the school, could he possibly be putting this project of his off until next summer?

Harry redirected his mum could have owled it to him.

"Nah, mails probably still being checked," Sirius disagreed.

Harry was painfully wrenched from his little memory of watching Ginny, her hair the same color as the fire behind her surely making her stick out more than she should, and responded with agitation, "thought only Umbridge did that mess!"

"She was much more invasive about it," Lily seethed at the reminder, but more calmly explained, "but it has been known to happen in a more broad sense, just to know the kind of thing getting in, not what it actually says or what it is."

Hermione replied Filch had been bragging that was checked as well.

Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school.

"It's a good thing Malfoy doesn't know about the secret entrances into the school," James agreed with a sigh.

He looked hopefully at Ron, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring over at Lavender Brown.

Sirius gave a suggestive smirk, muttering what could possibly be on Ron's mind, while the others ignored him.

He tried to ask his thoughts on the matter, but Ron snapped at him to drop it.

"Well he's not in a fun mood," Remus rolled his eyes.

Harry was riled at once, saying it wasn't his fault Slughorn had ignored him.

Ron didn't want to hear it, announcing he was off to bed considering he didn't have any party invitations.

Remus winced while the others just sighed, honestly feeling a bit bad for Ron but there was no good answer for that problem.

Demelza Robins came in then, and went to Harry with a message from Snape. To quote, he was to come to his detention tonight no matter how many party invitations he'd received.

"Of course he'd rub that in, as if Harry asked for it," James grumbled.

"The one time Slughorn could have done some good," Sirius sighed in agreement.

He should also know he'd be sorting rotten flobberworms, and there was no need to bring gloves.

"He wouldn't have bought gloves anyways!" Remus snipped. "So the warning was just a preinsult."

"That's Snape for ya," Harry agreed.

Harry grimly thanked her for the message.

"I'm finished," Lily told with a shake of her head. That could have been, worse, she supposed. At least overall it wasn't getting into the terrible state it could have been, considering Harry's past track record.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #The Life That Never Lived #Marauders #HP #HBP #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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theworldinclines · 4 years

Text

Title: take a chance on me

Pairing: Wave/Pang

Ao3 link

It’s a coincidence that the placement exam falls on the Monday following Pang’s 18th birthday, but Wave has an inkling that the administration purposely scheduled it this way in an attempt to foil what should be a happy day with stress.

Pang has long refused to do anything in celebration of his birthday because, for one, it’s a Sunday this year and no one does anything worth doing on Sunday nights, and two, he’s never been much of a fan of his birthday anyway. He doesn’t hate it or anything; there’s probably a spectrum of some kind where on the far end resides Ohm, cake-obsessed and always ready to pop balloons in his own face; on the opposite is someone who had a dramatic trauma occur on their birthday and now despises it terribly; and in the middle is Pang.

He just doesn’t care all that much about giving a big hoorah about it. When he was a kid, sure; being little means action figures and colouring books and all the things that make a birthday worth having. But being older, the most he’ll get is a bit of money or a kind Facebook message from his relatives.

The most worthwhile part of the day has always been waking up to his baby sister smushing her hands onto his face and insisting that she give him a birthday blessing in the form of a smooch, a loud smack of her rosebud lips on the bridge of his nose. His mother will prepare breakfast and dinner and the family will share the meals, but the time between is just dull. What’s there to celebrate about being another year older? All he’s ever found is that adults don’t listen and don’t care, age notwithstanding, and the poorly-maintained planet is just another sun-cycle closer to destruction.

Because he knows Pang, Wave knows all this too.

His birthday had always been a nice event in his household, way back when his parents were around; they made him feel necessary to their lives and reminded him that he should view every day (birth-date or not) as a gift. In the years after their passing, he would have thought that his birthday would become one of those traumatic, avoidable occasions. Instead, it became the one day out of the remaining 364 that brought him close to his parents even in death, and he cherishes the few hours in that day where he can feel like they’re keeping a special eye on him.

Wave also knows that trying to force someone to feel the same about anything is tricky at best and offensive at worst. When he commissions Ohm’s help in preparing Pang’s birthday ‘surprise,’ he’s doing it with the purest of intentions in the hopes that he can brighten Pang’s opinion of his birthday, not to shove his own down Pang’s throat.

He’s anxious, to say the least, but this last-minute plan came only a week before when they found out the set date of the placement exam. It would mean their plan would go into action and if they succeeded, the surprise could be a way to further cheer Pang’s high spirits. Should they fail, Wave would pray that the surprise might cheer Pang’s disappointment.

So it’s to his ultimate relief when Pang comes out of his meeting with the Director victorious, and Wave’s heart feels fit to burst from his chest as he can finally shriek into the walkie-talkie that they’ve done it. They actually pulled through, just like he’d believed they could all along. Looks like Pang’s usual optimism rubbing off on Wave wasn’t for nothing.

He hasn’t moved from his seat at the head of the table, still waiting for Pang’s arrival despite having allowed the others to use the ridiculous Silly-Spray and mini-confetti cannons prematurely. But, God, Pang’s a sight for sore eyes when he finally walks in, his hands bashfully shoved into his pockets, an amused glint in his eyes at his friends’ antics. He also looks exhausted, but the shouts of the Gifted bring a smile to Pang’s face that has Wave smiling as well, standing to join them in their raucous cheers of success.

He doesn’t want to shove into Pang’s moment with their friends and is content to just take in the happiness that they’ve all been waiting a year and a half to feel. He can’t believe they’ve actually made it to this point. Wave lets himself get caught up in the manic energy of the group, ducking behind the fishing hat he’d stolen ages ago from Pang and doing what he can to avoid the haphazard aims from Ohm’s double-cans of Silly-Spray. Those may not have been the best idea, in hindsight.

Regardless, Pang’s sporting a euphoric smile and in the moments that Wave catches a glimpse of him, he can feel himself grinning wider too… even with his arms covered in multi-coloured rubber string and confetti bits.

They’re so tired, but it’d been so worth it to be here now, together. The group share hugs amongst themselves before departing and Wave has to actively try not to tear up, that’s how soft he’s become. And he doesn’t even give a shit. The hugs given to Pang are extra tight, the looks thrown Pang’s way extra thankful and admiring, and he deserves every bit of it.

Once the room is cleared out and the remaining two boys are left in the hall, Wave turns to Pang, suddenly hesitant. He has no reason at all to be, except for maybe the stupid wink Ohm had tossed at him before leaving. Getting his mess of an ass involved in this had been ludicrous on Wave’s end, but you live and learn.

Pang leans against a wall to cover his face with his hands, and Wave is about to become concerned when Pang pushes his fingers up into his hair and reveals a beaming smile. He shakes his head and looks at Wave.

“I can’t believe we did it,” he says.

“I can,” Wave replies. “I told you we’d get our win.”

“It’s one thing to say it, but to actually…” Pang gives another shake of his head. “Everything’s going to change. We get to be in the Gifted again, for real; we can be seen together around school—”

“No more solo lunches at the canteen,” Wave agrees, already looking forward to being able to sit with the others. It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s missed their table. There’s a pause, and then Wave says, “I need to go up and check out the gear. Could use a hand.”

Pang nods easily, hands in his pockets, and follows after Wave for the back staircase that leads to the roof. Wave is still nervous, but he knows he doesn’t have to be. He focuses on keeping his breathing relatively normal as he pushes open the door onto the rooftop. He stands back to allow Pang to step up as well.

Pang’s relaxed grin melts into amused confusion at the sight before him, in the space where years ago were crates and assorted Ritdha items have now been settled a few containers atop a blanket. He looks at Wave with that same amused confusion on his face but wanders over to the spot with Wave trailing just slightly behind.

“I know you don’t like your birthday that much,” Wave starts, “but I…” Pang turns to look at Wave, who’s definitely red-faced and unable to hide it under the late-morning sun. “This is the first year we’re together for it, and I wanted to do something special. And now with today’s success,” he hurries to add, “it’s… fitting.”

Pang must recognise Wave’s worried frown because he smiles and takes Wave’s hand. “I don’t care about my birthday, but I wouldn’t say no to celebrating if it’s with you,” he tells him, and it’s such a relief that Wave can’t even roll his eyes at Pang’s line. He knows it isn’t a line anyway; Pang has never been anything but devastatingly sincere in every word he’s said to Wave.

His kindness is so much of the reason why Wave wants to return it tenfold, hence a picnic in their spot. It’s cheesy and romantic and all the things Wave never thought he’d want to share with anyone. Maybe more that he never thought he’d have anyone to begin with. But here he is. Here they are.

Pang pulls Wave down onto the blanket and asks, “So, you did this all yourself?”

“I had… some help.”

Able to read Wave like a book, Pang grins. “That explains the bickering that went on between you and Ohm.”

“How?”

“He knew about this and you were worried he’d let the secret out, so you argued all day because you couldn’t say what you actually wanted to. Next time, pick someone who you have more faith in to cover you.”

“He can become invisible!” Wave reminds Pang. “That comes in handy when you have to sneak on to the roof at five in the morning and set up a picnic.”

“Fair enough.”

Aware of Pang’s eyes on him, Wave purposely doesn’t look at him. If he does, he’ll just blush again and no one wants that. Except for Pang, likely, because he’s a sadist.

“So what d’we have?” Pang pops the lid off one of the containers and grins down at the cut melon. Next is the apple slices, and a couple bags of dried and flavoured seaweed. Wave had even prepared sparkling grape juice for the occasion, which he thought was a nice touch at the time but now feels sort of embarrassed about. But Pang appears thrilled by it all, so Wave tells himself that he’d done alright.

“Alright? Wave, I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

Wave realises that he’d spoken aloud, which would be horrifying if Pang weren’t looking at him like Wave had painted the galaxy’s design just for him. He could shrug off Pang’s words and let the moment pass into another conversation, or he could be honest.

“You deserve it. I… I know you were scared to face the Director earlier; I know you weren’t sure you’d make it out with anything resembling success. But you did it. You did that. You spent your 18th birthday trying to figure out how we could win and we did.” Wave pauses, reaching for Pang’s hand even as his brain tells him he’s making a fool of himself. “I wanted to have something to thank you for… for the last year.”

“You guys let me lead; I didn’t do anything.”

“Not just that. I meant—being with me.” Pang’s eyebrows furrow and he tightens his hold of Wave’s hand. “I wasn’t in a good space when we met, you know that better than a lot of them still might. But you partnered with me the first time around against the Director, and again last year when I told you how I felt.”

Pang smiles at the memory, although there’s a bit of sadness too. They’d confessed on the night of Namtaan’s accident, and their happiness at the admission was bittersweet because of its catalyst. “You said I’d be an idiot to bet on you,” Pang recalls. “And you remember what I said?”

“You…” Wave can’t help but smile too. “You told me you’d be an idiot not to.”

“And I was right, as always,” Pang says, joking and fond. He secures an arm around Wave’s shoulders so that he can tug him against his right side in a hug. He puts his chin on Wave’s head and repeats, softer, “I was right.”

Wave squeezes his eyes closed behind his glasses, trying not to cry. He’s so absurdly fortunate to be Pang’s anything that sometimes the reminder that he’s his boyfriend is staggering.

“Thank you for this, Wave,” Pang says. “Seriously.”

Wave lifts his fingers to Pang’s left cheek so that he can print a kiss onto the other, but he doesn’t reply as he settles back against Pang’s side.

“Your birthday’s in a couple months,” Pang says after a minute. “We’ll do anything you want.”

“This is fine,” Wave says. This is everything, he doesn’t say.

“We’ll see,” Pang says, mysterious. Another few moments pass before he asks, “So, are we going to be roommates now?”

Wave snorts, lips ticking up into a grin. “I guess.”

“We could do a quad with a couple of the other guys. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“You’re the worst,” Wave says, though he conveniently doesn’t explain why.

Pang kisses the top of Wave’s hair and Wave can feel his smile even then. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Wave says, obviously, his voice threaded with emotions he doesn’t care to dissect.

He just settles onto Pang’s chest and lets himself breathe as Pang’s arm slides from his shoulders down to instead cradle Wave’s waist. The breeze is lovely, and they won today. They can afford to have this moment.

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vespertineflora · 4 years

Note

Hi! I see you're looking for xiyao prompts? Because I can't stop thinking about Jin Rusong's funeral and Jin Guangyao needing Lan Xichen to comfort him, because, yes he orchestrated A-Song's death but he was still his baby... Hope you don't mind the angst bomb!

OOF i don’t mind at ALL, thank you for the submission!

Something I have a love/hate relationship with in MDZS is the ambiguity of some of Jin Guangyao’s crimes. It is not actually confirmed or not whether he had a hand in killing Jin Rusong? He does list him in among the deaths he feels responsible for, but whether he did it himself, hired an assassin, or just feels guilty that it happened (because he felt like Rusong would have needed to die regardless, even though there’s a fairly high percentage chance there would be no ill effects despite the incest bc jgy and qs were only half-siblings) is a bit ambiguous.

I love it because it means the fans get to play around with different versions of those realities. I hate it because WHAT IS THE TRUTHHHHHHH???? I usually like having stable facts to work with hahaha. Long story short, for this version of reality, we’ll assume he did have a direct hand in Jin Rusong’s death.

~~~

The body was sent away to be prepared for burial and never returned to Carp Tower.

There was no wake.

No funeral rites were read, no prayers were uttered, no joss paper was burned, no offerings were made. Shou ling was a rite elders earned from their children, their grandchildren, not the other way around. Children were not to be mourned--or at least, if they were, they were mourned only in silence.

On the day Jin Rusong was to be buried, Jin Guangyao and Qin Su rode to the graveyard together, alone. They stood beside their son’s grave and hung their heads silently as he was lowered into the ground. Tears hung in Jin Guangyao’s eyes and streaked slowly down Qin Su’s face, but even their crying was done in silence, not a word said to their precious A-Song or spoken between them. They had hardly spoken at all in these past few days, since the morning they had woken to the frantic cries of the servants, the pounding of panicked footsteps through the courtyard outside of their bedrooms, and finally the disturbance, the announcement that Jin Rusong had been found in his bed, his throat slit.

Even knowing the death was coming, Jin Guangyao had still found himself unprepared to receive the news.

Continue Reading on AO3 or below the cut

The only sound in the graveyard was the whistling of the winds through the trees and the rhythmic shoveling of dirt into Jin Rusong’s grave, slowly burying one of Jin Guangyao’s many, many regrets.

Though there was little he was allowed to do, Jin Guangyao made sure that Jin Rusong was buried with his favorite toys; two exquisitely detailed dragons carved from a deep mahogany that Lan Xichen had given him for his birthday not three months before. It felt like the least Jin Guangyao could do.

Once the deed was done, they piled back into the carriage and returned to Carp Tower, though once they had arrived, only Jin Guangyao climbed out of it. A travelling bag was loaded into the carriage in his place, and after the most solemn and briefest of farewells, the carriage set off once more, headed in the direction of Laoling. After such a trying time, Qin Su had wished to spend a few days away from Carp Tower, at home with her father, and Jin Guangyao had seen no reason not to grant her such a small reprieve.

Jin Guangyao headed inside. His thoughts felt unusually bogged down, the world around him felt heavy and slow--a servant said something to him, but he heard the words as if his head was wrapped in thick linen, caught nothing more than the indication he had a guest waiting for him and allowed himself to be led, fighting past the fog to put on some semblance of normality for whoever it was he was supposed to be receiving; catering to guests was what he did best after all, and he thought, vaguely, that it might be nice to have some distraction.

As soon as the servant opened the door for him and allowed him to step inside--Jin Guangyao froze, the attempt at a smile faltering completely on his face as his eyes fell upon his guest.

Lan Xichen rose quickly to his feet at the sight of him, his too kind eyes swollen and outlined in red, pain stitched into the furrow of his brow. His robes were entirely white and almost plain, lacking any of the normal embellishments he was normally seen wearing: dressed in funeral attire, despite the distinct lack of a funeral.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen said, and never had two syllable been more full of distress, full of longing, full of sympathy.

Jin Guangyao opened his lips to speak... and found for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t know what to say.

Before Jin Guangyao could even find his voice, Lan Xichen had crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight to his chest, pressing his face to the top of Jin Guangyao’s head, leaving Jin Guangyao stunned all over again.

“A-Yao, I’m so sorry,” Lan Xichen lamented, sounding strained and muffled from where his mouth was pressed against him. “I just received your letter this morning, I came as quickly as I could.”

Ah, yes, the letter. There had been no formal announcement of Jin Rusong’s death yet, as there was no need to announce a funeral that wouldn’t occur, but the day it had happened, Jin Guangyao had written a brief letter to Lan Xichen--because if anyone should know, should be told before the news spread as gossip inevitably would, it was Lan Xichen. He was the boy’s uncle, as much as he possibly could be. Over the years, with nearly every visit of his to Lanling, he would take time to play with A-Song, bring him toys, tell him stories. Lan Xichen had... loved him, Jin Guangyao was sure of that, and he’d deserved to be informed personally of his passing.

“We buried him this morning,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice sounding hollow, even to his own ears. He felt his eyes stinging, moisture welling in them, though still no tears fell, as had been the case over and over in these last few days. He hadn’t cried yet in all that time.

He wasn’t sure he deserved to cry, considering.

“Oh, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen heaved, his grip on him tightening, a slight tremor in his strong arms giving away his sorrow. “I wanted to be here for you, I’m so sorry I missed it.”

Jin Guangyao shook his head vaguely. There would have been no point in Lan Xichen being there for the burial, as it had been hardly more than watching dirt get pushed into a hole in the ground. He said blankly, “There was nothing to miss.”

The deed was done, the evidence now deep underground. Jin Rusong was... a liability. Despite his sweet face, his cheerful grin, his gentle nature, he had been dangerous. He’d been... a threat to everything Jin Guangyao had worked so hard to attain up until now, he’d been evidence of the nature of his relationship to Qin Su, and now that he was gone, it was one less loose end left to unravel him.

That was all this was. He’d told himself that over and over. That was all Jin Rusong was. He wasn’t something to be missed.

After all, Jin Guangyao had dreaded him from the moment Madam Qin had come to speak him before the wedding and revealed the truth; he’d prayed the baby wouldn’t make it from the womb, that he would die during birth, that some sickness would come to take him, as sickness was wont to do with children so young, or some injury would befall him... The older he grew and the stranger he seemed, the deeper Jin Guangyao’s fears ran that his mere existence would topple everything, and it had gotten to the point where he felt as if he’d been backed into a corner, with no choice left but to do what fate hadn’t seen fit to.

Jin Guangyao should feel relieved now. Part of him did. But the other part...

The other part kept flashing back to the silly grin A-Song wore while playing with his toys, to memories of his first words, A-Song reaching for him and babbling for his papa. He thought of Qin Su rocking him gently to sleep at night, of Jin Ling laughing as A-Song took his first wobbly steps in the effort to chase him, and of Lan Xichen holding A-Song in his lap as he spun him some fantastic tale that left the young boy’s eyes sparkling with wonder and delight.

Before all this, before the tragedy of truth had struck him, back when Jin Guangyao had first learned that Qin Su was pregnant, he’d been so happy, so overjoyed. His heart had been full of hope, he’d started making premature plans to lay out the future he might have with his child, and thought endlessly about how much he’d try to show his love for the tiny life he was helping bring into the world. He’d wanted to be there for his child, to support them and love them unconditionally, to be the type of father that Jin Guangshan had never been for him, and yet...

Somehow, somehow, he’d managed to be worse.

And just like that, Jin Guangyao finally felt it, felt the tears bubbling up in his chest, in his eyes, finally spilling over, running down his cheeks until he pressed his face against Lan Xichen’s robes to let them soak up the moisture instead. His breathing clipped, exhales getting harder until he was choked by a sob. His arms, which had been hanging limply at his sides, were suddenly motivated enough to wrap around Lan Xichen’s back in return.

“I’m here now,” Lan Xichen told him, soft and sweet, nearly a whisper. His hands rubbed gently over Jin Guangyao’s back, giving him comfort that Jin Guangyao didn’t deserve. “I’ve got you.”

Jin Guangyao was nearly tempted to shove Lan Xichen away, to rip himself from his arms and peel away to some distance part of the grounds, somewhere far from the gentle warmth of Lan Xichen’s kindness--but Jin Guangyao was nothing if not selfish. He had arranged the execution of his own son, he had the nerve to be upset over it, and now he was going to take comfort from one of the people in the world who had loved A-Song the most.

The sobs came hard, and Lan Xichen held him tight. Jin Guangyao wasn’t even completely sure who he was crying for. He’d kept his distance from Jin Rusong; he’d been too painfully aware of the boy’s ultimate fate to allow himself to grow that close to him, to spend more time with him than he had to. It was hard to feel attached to something you knew you’d have to let go of--but it was impossible to avoid completely. Jin Rusong had been his son, his flesh and blood, his one chance at a legacy beyond the scope of his own life. He’d cradled his tiny body in his arms and had feared and loved him all at once.

He wasn’t sure it was A-Song he was mourning so much as... the life he should have had, the son he should have had, a son not born of unwitting incest, a son who he could have cherished and loved and raised to be smart and clever and kind and perhaps even good in a way that Jin Guangyao had never been afforded the chance to be. That was what Jin Guangyao had wanted for his child, and that was the chance he'd been denied.

Because this, too, was just another facet of his life that Jin Guangshan had ruined for him, had tainted beyond all recognition into something dirty and irredeemable. His pride, his sworn brothers, his marriage, his child... there was nothing of his that Jin Guangshan hadn’t ground into the dirt beneath his heel, and nothing that Jin Guangyao could pick up and wipe completely clean again.

Killing Jin Guangshan was the one death to his name that Jin Guangyao would never regret, not in a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes. He’d gotten exactly what he’d deserved.

Jin Guangyao hadn’t been aware of it in the depths of his sobbing, but at some point his hat must had fallen away, because he felt Lan Xichen’s fingers stroking over his hair, cradling his head to his chest, a chest that Jin Guangyao felt shaking in return, making it all too clear what Lan Xichen was doing for him. Lan Xichen was holding back his own tears, his own pain, in favor of comforting him.

That made him feel more guilt than anything else did. Of everything he had, of everyone in his life... it was Lan Xichen he loved the most, who had done the most for him, and knowing he’d hurt him was just as gut-wrenching as the actual murder of Jin Rusong, even though it was far too late to take any of it back.

It took a few hard minutes for his cries to soften, his thoughts still somber. Whether or not he deserved comfort, he knew it would only hurt Lan Xichen more if he were to extract himself from it--no, this, letting Lan Xichen hold him close and give him comfort, was for the best. It was the kindest thing he could do for Lan Xichen in the wake of yet another atrocity committed by his hand.

That was, unfortunately, something Jin Guangyao knew from experience.

When he could bring himself to move again, he pulled Lan Xichen over to the daybed, sitting down with him upon it as they rearranged their arms to continue holding each other as close as they possibly could, both shedding quiet tears, and Jin Guangyao trying to return as much comfort as he was given. Eventually, Lan Xichen managed to ask about Qin Su... and when Jin Guangyao explained her trip to see her father, Lan Xichen committed to staying in Lanling with him until her return.

Over the next few days, their grief poured out of them in quiet, twisted up moments, more tears shed between them than could ever be counted. They spent parts of those days and nearly all of their nights tangled in one another’s embrace and taking as much comfort as they could in the solid warmth of their bodies pressed together.

By the time Lan Xichen left, his heart seemed a bit less shattered than when he’d arrived; it was the slightest of blessings, but it was the most Jin Guangyao could have hoped for.

As for Jin Guangyao’s own heart... well, it was hard to say. It hadn’t been in one solid piece in years, in decades, and at this point, enough of it was missing that it didn’t seem worth the effort of repairing. A piece of it had been buried with his mother, and another piece had been buried, strangely, with Nie Mingjue; a piece now rested in the grave alongside his A-Song... and Lan Xichen, knowingly or not, always took a piece with him when he left.

#jin guangyao #jin rusong #xiyao #mdzs #the untamed #answered a thing #wrote a thing #Anonymous

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iaintyourbro · 4 years

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Loving your posts and I have a question. The low affection under the Highwind scene is implied as romantic?

Hey anon!

The biggest difference between the two scenes is how much dialogue is shared prior to the fade to black. The next morning is almost exactly the same. I’d say they’re both slightly romantic, with the High Affection scene of course being more obvious.

So the one thing people seem to get confused on the Under the Highwind scene is that it is based on Tifa’s affection for Cloud, not Cloud’s affection for Tifa. We already know what he feels for Tifa - we found all that out in the Lifestream.

The Ultimania talks about what goes on in the Lifestream. The majority of the Lifestream event was pretty much about Tifa. So, Cloud’s subconscious is Tifa, Tifa, Tifa.

On to the Highwind scene, which has two different versions. The more of these I answer regarding affection points, the more I think the devs want you to feel like a fool at this point in the game. All those decisions you made wayyy earlier in the game can bite you here if you’re hoping for a good outcome. Of course, after a certain point, you no longer can make decisions for Cloud, so whatever you did in (mostly) Midgar, does affect this scene, which I always thought was odd.

Tifa’s affection is what determines if Cloud is comfortable enough to tell her he wants to say a lot to her. If she seems like she’s not interested, then Cloud will say they should get some sleep. The conversation is cut short. Unfortunately, since we’re dealing with polygon characters, it’s hard to tell WHY Cloud feels that Tifa isn’t interested, but I think that’s why a lot of people think it’s CLOUD that isn’t interested... which makes no sense after you get out of the Lifestream.

For Both Scenes, Tifa says this:

But deep in my heart I heard you calling my name... Or at least I thought I did.

Cloud will respond differently between the two. Here’s the High Affection Scene:

So Cloud acknowledges it immediately that he knew he heard Tifa calling him. He will then go on to say some more.

Cloud’s awkward, dorky, true self is back, so you get a bit more raw dialogue coming from him. He’s still an awkward ham, but does give it a shot here to say something...

Tifa helps him out a bit.

The famous line. After this, Cloud responds with a good ol’ “.....” and we get a fade to black.

Here is how this scene plays out with Low Affection:

Prior to this dialogue, Cloud says “I see...”

Cloud seems a bit confused here, and realizes it was Tifa.

He wakes up to Tifa when his mind is mended, so why would he be somewhat surprised that it was her calilng out to him? We know he has feelings for her, we know that he’s aware that she was helped him through his messed up mind, so how is he confused here?

Instead of Cloud trying to talk about his feelings:

The conversation is cut short and Tifa seems somewhat surprised, but agrees.

The low affection scene really doesn’t make sense the more I look at it based on what we see in the Ultimanias and the Lifestream. However, I can see why people can grasp at this meaning Cloud doesn’t care about Tifa. They don’t make it very clear within the game that this is about Tifa’s affection for Cloud. People assume this is Cloud’s affection for Tifa. The same happens with the Gold Saucer date.

It’s Tifa and Aerith’s affection for Cloud that determines which one comes to his room. That’s probably why they go to his room and he doesn’t go to their rooms. He has no clue they have “high or low affection” for him.

In any case, no matter which prior fade to black scene you get, Tifa STILL wakes up leaning on Cloud. Cloud is a little softer with her after the high affection scene.

The other fun thing to point out is how Tifa addresses Cloud in the morning. If you get the low affection scene, she says:

“Mmm... Good morning, Cloud.”

In the High Affection scene, she’s a little more awkward:

“Umm... G-Good morning, Cloud.”

Cloud also adds a line in the High Affection scene saying “Sorry, did I wake you? It’s almost dawn, Tifa...” In the low affection he says “Morning, Tifa. It’s almost dawn.”

So is there some implied romance in both versions? Definitely in the high affection scene, for sure. That’s the whole banging on the rocks jokes you get.

The dialogue prior to the fade to black on the low affection scene feels awkward and clunky, which it should. Cloud reads Tifa wrong and ends the conversation prematurely. So if you ask me there, I’d say not really.

But, remember, Cloud and Tifa will still wake up in the same way no matter which scene you get, he will still encourage her before walking back to the Highwind, and he will still cheer her up when she realizes how empty the Highwind is. None of that changes.

The other major difference is how the rest of your party reacts.

If you get the High Affection scene, Tifa asks “Were you watching?” and then collapses in embarrassment, implying something physical went down.

If you get the Low Affection scene, then Tifa asks “Were you listening?” and then walks away and taps her foot awkwardly.

I think both scenes, because of the after fade to black scenes and prior to the part where Cloud either confesses or not, are supposed to be implied romantic. It’s not over the top in either scene. They definitely made this a very subtle thing. High Affection is definitely more obvious.

In my opinion, based on the amount of dialogue, the Ultimania’s, the fact that they DID want to make it a lot more obvious more happened between those two, AND what we saw go down in the Lifestream, the High Affection scene makes a lot more sense.

#cloti #cloud x tifa #under the highwind #ff7 #ff7 spoilers

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rwbyremnants · 3 years

Link

WARNING: Light-but-sudden gore later.

Heyyyy we still out here, I promise. More coming soon! Maybe a new fic once Lady Stardust wraps up!

=Chapter 27

The rest of the evening went quite well, all things considered. Yang politely answered Mrs Schnee's every question, only side-stepping a few about her parents that were too painful to answer, or about how intimate she and Weiss had been. For that, Weiss felt grateful; she didn't want her mother to think of her that way if at all possible.

Neither did she want to think of her mother that way. An hour or so later when Kali finally shook loose the bonds of minimum wage servitude, she couldn't help noticing the warmth of the smiles that passed between them, and saw Yang squinting suspiciously, as well. But they very quickly afterward set to work.

“So,” Kali finally sighed just as Weiss was coming back downstairs to fetch herself a glass of milk, and Yang a glass of juice. The two mothers were sitting very close to each other on the couch, poring over various documents. “If these figures are accurate…”

“They must be. Jacques keeps impeccable records. Do you think we really have a-” Her voice cut off when she noticed her daughter standing there. “Oh! Did you need something?”

Shifting awkwardly, she said, “Just something to drink. Am I interrupting… anything?”

“No, no. Go on.”

She went through into the kitchen, trying to shake the feeling of being out of place in her own home. That feeling hung around a lot lately. She wanted to ring her sister and ask her to come home - help it feel less strange. But that wouldn't be fair; Winter had her own life to live. Maybe she would write her a letter.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a gentle hand in the small of her back. She turned, expecting her mother, only to find Kali instead.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Oh… I'm fine. Why?”

“You're pouring that milk into the juice.”

Starting in complete shock, Weiss took a step back and gaped down at the glass overflowing with two different liquids that most certainly did not mix well. “Oh… oh, poo.” Grimacing, she carried it over to the sink to dump out.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” she asked again. “Your father?”

“It’s not that. I… oh, you’re going to think I’m silly.” But the Belladonna matriarch wasn’t budging. “You and… my mother.”

Kali smiled very slightly. “She’s a wonderful woman, Weiss. She’s simply been through a very difficult situation. I was a little premature in passing judgement on her for not being there for you… because it wasn't truly her choice. Once on the other side of all this, I think you’ll find you’re glad to be her offspring.”

“No, not that - I meant, um… you and my mother.”

“Me and…” Her eyes slid closed as she nodded. “Ah.”

“It’s none of my business, of course. I’m sorry.” Kali didn’t respond; merely stood by waiting as Weiss rinsed out the glass and went back to start over. Eventually, she decided she had to finish her thought or she might never get out of there - and she might as well, now that the subject had been touched upon. “It’s just- I mean… you spent so much time flirting with me, and now, you and she are so close, and I’m… a little confused about that. But as I said, it’s none of my business, and I’m definitely making a big deal about nothing.”

Chuckling gently, Kali sidled closer and slid an arm around her back, granting her some comfort. “I’m fairly sure your mother isn’t one of us, Weiss. Don’t worry so much.”

“Did I say I was worried?”

“Yes. Body language and tonal inflection count.”

“Tonal wha…?” But when Kali only smiled easily, she sighed and looked down. “Then you aren’t interested in my mother in that way?”

“I didn’t say that. But even if I were, it’s… irrelevant.” At Weiss’s alarmed expression, she held up her other hand to waylay any complaints. “I only mean that even if she were interested - which she is not - I’d never accept her feelings. She’s barely a few days on the other side of leaving a husband who hurt her, as well as their children. I don’t date married women, and especially not ones who are in pain from that marriage, and too fragile to make wise decisions. It’s… not a good idea for either party. Do you understand?”

That did grant the poor girl some relief. However, she was a little surprised to find that underneath that relief… she felt some disappointment.

“Weiss?”

“Sorry,” she sighed as she poured the juice and put it away. “I must really be irritating to you right now.”

“Did you… want me to be interested in courting your mother?”

Weiss swallowed hard. She didn’t want to upset Kali, but it had to be said. “Not if you were still interested in courting me. It’s too strange.”

“Ahhh. Well, I can see how that would be awkward. I did try to assure you that I was teasing, but…”

“You should probably just ignore me,” she laughed uneasily as she tried to back toward the door - but Kali caught her by the wrist, drew her in close so that her hazel eyes were filling most of her vision. “H-hey! I almost spilled these!”

A long, tense moment passed, and Weiss felt her heart thumping louder. It wasn’t the way it did for Yang - that was its own unique, beautiful mess that she sought out whenever possible. But Kali was a different matter. It was as if she wanted both women to take care of her, but in different ways; in Yang, it was physical, romantic. Sensual. With Kali, there were thrilling hints of that, but the rest of it was completely different.

She wanted her to mother her. And she had done such a good job of it thus far that she craved more of that, to receive what she had missed from her own parents. The craving just manifested in an oddly sensual way because she wasn’t used to feeling it.

“I’m sorry,” Kali told her very simply. “Sometimes, I forget my own sapphic strength.”

“M-Mrs. Belladonna…”

“I’ll never flirt with you again. That is a promise. As for your mother… well, I stand by what I said before.” Her voice took on a tinge of urgency as she embraced Weiss warmly. “What’s most important to me now is to be there for both of you, and help you through this. It’s silly since we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I already feel like you’re family. And I need you to be alright. Even if not now, then soon, with all of us working toward that goal.”

Weiss melted completely into the hug, squeezing back as best she could with the two glasses in her hands. It was nice having someone on her side - and the Dragons were quite good at that. But after a moment, she found herself saying something that was a little at odds with her feelings and actions.

“I suppose… you don’t have to quit flirting. Just as long as you keep an eye on the line and don’t cross it.”

Kali laughed, squeezing her just a little. “New lesbians are so cute.” Her lips pushed into the top of Weiss’s head, prompting a giggle. “And delicious.”

“Close to that line,” Weiss warned as she backed away. “And with Yang upstairs!”

“Maybe I’ll wait just long enough for you two to get frisky and barge in,” she threatened with her eyebrows waggling. Weiss would have been upset, except that she had all but asked for this herself. What was wrong with her mouth lately?

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

Of course, Kali never made good on that threat. She and Yang didn't do any such thing, either; they studied. Now that her father was temporarily sequestered, she wanted to get back to keeping Raven from beating her up again. Yang groaned and complained, and tried to distract her with kisses, but in the end they got some decent work done.

Next came another dreary school day. The homecoming dance was on the immediate horizon, and decorations were going up all over the hallways, reminders about “appropriate conduct” on every bulletin board. The Dragons had plenty of fun deriding the very concept, since none of them would be going.

“We know our kind isn't welcome there,” Blake sighed as she finished off the last dregs on her tray. Kali probably offered to fix her something more appetizing, but she didn't want to be the only one eating out of a metal lunchbox or brown bag. At least, that's how Weiss would feel in her shoes; she herself had only suffered through one lunch in her freshman year that was catered, thanks to her father. The other kids made such a big deal about it she thought she would never live it down.

“Our kind, the Dragons?” she asked. “Or our kind… the Boston Marriage kind?”

Coco shrugged, working on her teeth with a toothpick. “Six of one, half-dozen of the other.”

“We could still all go. It might be fun!” The withering looks she got said otherwise, and she ducked her head down. “Or not. Sorry.”

“Hey, why not?” Yang sighed with a lazy smile. “We'll go to the dance, raise a little Cain, and then head back to Kali's to, y'know… be ourselves.”

“Or Shopkeeper's.” The instant she said it, Blake's face fell, and she stared down through the table. “Damn. I forgot.”

Weiss reached over to pat her back. “It'll take some time. And… we'll find a new place, like we talked about.”

“I'll wear a suit,” Yang piped up, to take their mind off the fire. “Pick you up, show you a good time.”

“No, thank you. I like the idea, but I'd rather see you in a pretty dress.”

“Yeah,” Coco laughed easily, propping her boots up on the table. Weiss curled her lip in disgust, but no one paid her any mind. “I'd pay good money to see that myself!”

Glaring at the sunglasses-clad girl, Yang snapped, “If I gotta wear one, so do you.”

“Nah. My Velvet will look like royalty, and I don't want to upstage her. Although… I'll be on Fox's arm when we arrive…” Now she looked the tiniest bit less confident.

“Hopefully, Cinder will be able to come by then,” Blake sighed. They all fell silent after that.

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

After cheerleader practice let out, Weiss almost pushed and shoved Ruby into Pyrrha's car. It had taken some convincing to get her to hang around until after they were through shaking pompoms and memorising cheers for the home team. Penny tagged along with her ever-present smile in place, and the both of them looked quite contented in the backseat. In no time at all, they were all seated in the malt shop, barely crammed into a single booth.

“Hey, squares,” Yang grunted when she joined them a few minutes later, pulling up a chair to sit at the end.

“Oh!” Pyrrha gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “Here, sit next to Weiss!”

Before she could fully rise, Yang forcibly pushed her back down by the shoulder. “Cool your heels. I can sit next to her later. Besides, you were there first.”

“Hello, Yang!” Penny piped up with a chipper grin. “My name is Penny, and it's a pleasure to meet you!”

“Uhhhh, yeah. We've met before, I think.”

After thinking for a moment, she grinned again. “So we have!”

“Hey, sis,” Ruby began with a hesitant smile. She was just beginning to have some confidence around Yang now, after their sickbed visits. “How's, um… your shoulder? Is it better?”

“Yeah, better. Still kinda aches sometimes, but Watts said to expect that for another month or two.” The waitress came over to drop off two malteds and a cheeseburger in front of Pyrrha and Penny, so she waited for her to leave. “Uh, what have you been up to, Rubes?”

Smile both cherubic and excited, silver eyes lighting up, she replied, “Me and Penny are gonna apply to become writers! For the Vale High Voice!”

“Actually, I think I would make a better copy editor,” Penny put in pleasantly. “But I'll leave that up to Miss Goodwitch. She's the faculty advisor.”

“That's wonderful,” Pyrrha told them immediately, smiling as wide as Ruby. “I did a few articles for them last year, and was on yearbook committee. It's the bees’ knees!”

Yang looked a little unsure of what to say. But the instant Weiss kicked her under the table, she smiled over at Ruby and said, “Great! Wow, I didn't know you were into writing.”

“Yep! Well, before now, I just, y'know, wrote stories about… well, it doesn't matter.”

“Sure it does. C'mon, tell me what you wrote.”

“Umm…” Blushing a little, she looked down at her fingers, playing idly with a napkin to distract herself from being forced to talk about her hobby. “Stories about… well, kinda like Anne of Green Gables, but with magic? Fairies and wizards. I don't know, they were silly.”

Voice suddenly quite hallowed and serious, Penny leaned in to say, “Oh, they weren't silly! I enjoyed Ruby's books!”

“Books?” Yang asked, her smile growing wider still.

“I know, I'm a cube,” Ruby muttered, red to her roots. “And they're only in notebooks, not a real-”

“Get outta town! That's pretty great, little sis!” At her stunned expression, Yang gently socked her in the upper arm. “I ain't so good at reading, especially not a whole book. So you writing one is a big deal!”

Still wincing from the light punch, Ruby grinned. “W-well, they aren’t very good…”

“I told you they are,” Penny said simply, as if her stating that settled the matter.

“Can I read one?” When Ruby buried her face in her hands, Yang said, “What?”

“They’re not real books!” she squealed. “Just a bunch of scribbles!”

However, Ruby underestimated two things: Yang’s growing interest in her estranged sister, and precisely how stubborn the brute could be if she put her mind to it. That was something with which Weiss was intimately familiar, so she helped convince Ruby that there would be no dissuading her by that point.

And Ruby loved it. All Weiss needed to feel secure in her decision to push them together was to see how earnestly ecstatic the younger girl was to be hanging out with her big sister again.

The sky was getting dark by the time their little rap session was interrupted. Weiss had been about to check her watch and head home when it turned out not to be necessary.

“Hey, kid. Takin’ too long.”

Weiss blinked up at the tall, lanky man. She needed no introduction; ordinarily, she would be demanding to know why some stranger was coming up to their table. But he was almost a dead ringer for Raven - same brooding, dangerous eyes, same pale skin and black hair. Both fairly tall; Yang obviously got the averages of her mother and father's heights. That made this man…

“Sorry, Uncle Qrow!” Ruby squeaked with a duck of her head. “Lost track of time! Can, um, can we give Penny a ride?”

One of his broad shoulders shrugged. “Hurry it up.” Then he leaned down and squinted hard at Yang. “Huh. So it is you. Been a while, Little Dragon.”

“Hey.”

That was an awfully short reply. Even while Weiss was staring between the two of them, Ruby was hopping up and dragging Penny with her - almost as if trying to avoid an incident.

“You, uh… get my birthday present?”

“Yeah. Thanks for the two bits.”

“Mm.” He reached over to tousle Ruby’s hair. “C’mon, squirt.”

“See you guys!” Once Qrow had turned his back, hands in the pockets of his grey slacks, Ruby mouthed the word “Sorry!” at her sister before fleeing.

The table remained silent for another minute or so. The waitress brought their check in the meantime. Weiss moved to the other side of the booth and dragged Yang into it next to her.

“What happened? I mean, that was a pretty chilly reception.”

“I agree,” Pyrrha said in a hesitant tone, idly moving the straw around her malt glass.

“Drop it.” After a few seconds of them staring, Yang sighed and grunted, “Family stuff. Okay? Just… he only ever had time for Ruby. And she's not even his niece by blood. Why couldn't he take me in, too?”

Stunned by these sudden admissions, Weiss breathed, “Raven's your mother. I'm sure that's… well, of course she would get custody. He probably didn't have any choice.”

“Yeah? Well, I don't remember him fighting very hard. And Ruby didn't, either.” When Pyrrha winced, she snapped, “I know! I know already, okay? Little perfect golden child was too young, and too upset about Summer dying. But I didn't get to be upset. I had to go live with the one person on Earth who would say anything bad about Summer Rose, who was way more of a mom to me than the bitch who gave birth to me.”

By that point, she was trembling all over. With rage, or with sadness; it wasn't easy for Weiss to tell, but she put an arm around her all the same. She clung a little tighter, and eventually the tension lessened, Yang’s breathing evened out.

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha whispered very quietly, as if worried she would break something if she were louder.

“Nah. I’m… gonna be fine. Promise.” Then she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Summer’s gone, and so’s Dad, and nothing’s gonna bring them back, anyway. So I might as well just… move on with my life.”

“Yang…” But Weiss didn’t get a chance to say anything else before she was getting up.

“I need to pee. Ladies, anybody else? No?” Without really waiting long enough for an answer, she pushed through to the restroom in the rear of the soda fountain, shoulders still taut despite her efforts to appear casual.

Pyrrha slumped a little lower in her chair. “Good grief, that was…”

“Awkward? Unpleasant?” As Pyrrha nodded, Weiss slumped forward herself, dragging her malt glass over to sip the last few drags from the bottom. “At least now I understand why she resents them. Imagine, being asked to raise only one of two sisters!”

“Or being one of the two. Not a nice situation for anyone involved.”

Her eyes flicked towards the bathrooms. “Should I go check on her? Probably not. She probably wants to be left alone for a minute.”

“You know her better than I,” she answered with a self-conscious laugh. “But… maybe just check on her, and ask if she wanted to be alone? Then you'll know for sure.”

Deciding she was right, Weiss made her way to the ladies’ restroom. Yang was seated on the sink, head in her hands. When she looked up to see who had come in, Weiss could at least see that she had not been crying - which was good, even if it didn't necessarily mean she was alright.

“Oh… hey, you.”

Weiss tried for a smile. “Hi. Sorry if I'm intruding, but… I wanted to check if you were alright. But I can leave! Just say the word.”

It made her sad that Yang actually debated the options. In the end, she sighed and leaned back against the mirror. “Wish it didn't still bother me. But just seeing his or Ruby's face… reminds me nobody wanted me. Not Raven, or Dad, or Summer… Qrow…”

“Ruby did,” she told her firmly. “And now you can't pretend she didn't - and if you try, I'll scold you until you see reason.”

“Fine,” she snorted, gesturing for Weiss to come closer. She did, and she reached out for her hand, squeezing it gently. “And I've got you, too. The Dragons. I shouldn't complain.”

“No reason you shouldn't, if you need to. Just want you to keep in mind that your sister loves you quite a bit - and not having you in her life was painful for her.”

Finally, Yang's expression turned truly sad. “Really? I mean… I can tell she's all smiles around me now, but not… she really missed me, huh?” When Weiss only nodded firmly, entirely convinced it was true, her violet eyes flicked toward the tiny window at the top of the wall. “Damn. I've been a terrible big sis.”

“Don’t say that,” Weiss reassured her quickly.

“Yeah, I have. Don't butter me up.”

Leaning up on her tippy-toes, she gave Yang a gentle kiss to the cheek. “You were still missing Summer, and feeling hurt. It's… you weren't mean to her much.” Knowing that wouldn't help, she added, “But you're already making it up to her now. Don't feel too bad.”

“Why do you love me?”

“What?”

“I'm a jerk,” Yang whispered in such a fragile voice that she had to double-check that this really was her girlfriend, The Dragon. “To you sometimes, and to Ruby, Qrow… even my mom, who is a real piece of work on her own. Sometimes, I'm really worried that… that I'm just a bad seed.”

Voice as gentle and soothing as she could make it, Weiss whispered, “You're strong, and loyal, and brave… and tender with me. Don't be silly; nobody's perfect. And you, Yang Xiao Long, are one of the best. I mean it.”

For a long moment, they simply stood and let their leather-clad arms hold each other. They had been through a lot in their lives, and a lot of it very recently. Then Yang left a kiss on top of Weiss's head, close to where Kali had so recently.

“What would I do without you, Schnee?”

“Probably fall apart,” she sighed airily while striding for the door. Yang let out an easy laugh as she followed.

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

Out of respect for their parents, Weiss and Yang retired to the train depot for a little post-dessert enjoyment. Pyrrha drove them, as they were still trying to let Yang's injury heal.

An hour passed with the two of them taking turns wringing pleasure from bodies that were quickly becoming so familiar. Once, they tried Weiss reclining back against Yang's front while the brute reached around to fondle her from behind. That was nearly as magical.

“You two really ought to fix your hair,” Pyrrha said as she glanced in the rearview mirror at them. “People will talk.”

“Let 'em talk,” Yang purred into Weiss's ear.

“Stop that!”

“Never.”

Blushing, their chauffeur went on, “We’re almost there, anyway. Do y-you want me to… drive around the block again?”

“Yeah,” Yang sighed wearily. “But you probably better take me home now instead.”

“Okay. I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault. Just gotta do what I gotta do.”

Weiss did offer to go in with her, but Yang declined. She thought it was more important that she spend a little one-on-one time with Raven. That sounded like a fate worse than death to Weiss, but she knew the reason was to hopefully help bridge that enormous emotional canyon between them.

As Pyrrha began driving them home, Weiss now in the front seat, she sighed and looked over at the tall redhead. “So… want to come up to my room and listen to the radio?”

“Oh? Shouldn’t we do our homework?”

“Probably. But… I think we can take a break for a little while. Maybe I could scare up some of my old comic books.”

The smile that stretched across her friend’s lips told her she had done the right thing. Even if she didn’t mean to, she had been a less than ideal “best friend” of late, and this was something they both needed.

Once they got back to Atlas Heights, Weiss stowed her jacket under the seat out of habit; she didn’t know why she kept doing that, but also didn’t much feel like going back for it just now. Then they began to head up to the front door.

“Think we could find any of Kali’s cooking in the kitchen?” Pyrrha asked quietly. “Maybe some pie?”

“Pyrrha! We just ate!”

“W-well, my metabolism is higher from all that track-and-field,” she hedged, cheeks pinkening a little.

Chuckling a little, she said, “Alright, we’ll check. But don’t be too disappointed if you’re out of luck; the way he packs food away, Whitley must have a hole in his stomach or s-”

What a sentence to be interrupted. Weiss had just been wondering what the noise behind her was, but didn’t even get time to fully turn and investigate before she felt white-hot pain in her abdomen. When she looked down, it was to see the very tip of a thin blade sticking out just below and to one side of where her navel lay, gleaming with her own blood.

“Or s-something.”

#princess and the dragons #freezerburn fanfic #rwby fanfiction #rwbyremnants #1950s au #gore tw

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