#also i apologize i have the worst handwriting known to man

[avid-mreower]

this is canonically what they sleep in i know it i am in their walls

kockdaily 114 + a forgotten doodle i just found in my attic !!

18.12.23

[spacedikut]

exam help ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a self-indulgent blurb about spencer helping with exams :) 1.7k

a/n: first fic of the year :D happy 2021!

masterlist

Another anguish-filled screech reverberates from your and Spencer’s shared office, bringing even your pet fish in the tank to attention.

It’s the third one this hour. Spencer tries to ignore it, just like you told him to, but God you sound like you’re in pain and Spencer can’t exactly ignore that, can he? He loves you and cares for you and- oh. A thump reaches his ears. A textbook, maybe? Did you punch your textbook?

He considers for a moment that the neighbours will be alarmed, perhaps call the police or tentatively knock with a, “Is everything okay in there?”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

What would he tell them? Oh, my apologies, my partner has exams coming up and just told me they get why unsubs do that now. I am also terrified.

There are many instances where Spencer feels useless. During his job, when his mother would have an episode, when his friends have problems he just wouldn’t understand. But, somehow, and maybe controversially, this is the worst type of uselessness. The type that leaves him staring at the wall, questioning everything, the type that makes his stomach drop because all he can do is watch.

He’s been watching you for the last two weeks. He’s sick of watching, of being no help, and he needs to do something before he breaks and does something illegal.

(The illegal thing is doing your exams for you - not illegal as in, perhaps, murder)

Your frazzled head pops out from the office, one hand rubbing your eyes and a permanent frown etched on your face, and with a fragile voice you ask, “Can you make me a coffee, please?”

Now, Spencer feels hypocritical, but he has to say it. “Another? Are you sure?”

He sees the internal battle within you, how you try your hardest not to snap. It’s not his fault you’re stressed. He’s just trying to help. “Yes, I’m sure. Please, Spence,”

“Of course. I’ll bring it in.”

“Thank you.” With a pained smile, you’re gone again into the dark abyss of where you’re studying.

With quick, ingrained movements, Spencer makes your coffee with too much creamer and marshmallows. Unusual, yes, but your current diet consists of coffee and whatever he can force you to consume – like marshmallows.

But then, hello, he spots a chocolate bar haphazardly close to the bin, grabs it, and hopes you let him watch you eat it.

Stepping into the room as quietly as possible, he’s smacked in the face by the smell of lavender. It makes him nauseous, the intensity of it, quickly followed by a lurch of his heart because you poor thing, you’re being crushed by the weight of your degree – literally. The other day you purchased an insanely heavy weighted blanket and you’re drowning in it.

Now, if you were to ask Spencer who the most beautiful person on the planet is, he’d say you in a heartbeat. He’s thought that since you first met and, years later, still stands by that. But now, right now, glowering at him in the dimly lit, lavender drenched study that you used to love oh-so-much? You have the face of a French bulldog, all grumpy and furrowed and too many creases on your face to make Spencer feel like he’s actually helping when he places the coffee and snack on your desk.

Despite the crabby expression, your words are filled with love and appreciation – which happens to be Spencer’s favourite mix. “Thank you, my love.” You take a sip of the coffee, hum in delight, and for the first time in days there’s a spark of something other than torment. “You’re the best.”

Spencer’s hand holds the back of your neck and he places a series of soft kisses to your temple, mumbling, “I love you. Very much. Is there anything else you need?”

“Death.”

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

At that, you grace Spencer with a weak half-smile. It’s enough to overwhelm Spencer, overflowing and only able to be shown through a chaste, encouraging peck on your lips and a half-hug, Spencer bent at the waist to hold you in your desk chair. He noses your hair, hoping his closeness will alleviate some stress, before stepping back and praying his eyes tell you everything he wants to say but know will elicit annoyance from you.

I love you. Take care of yourself. Rest, please. You can do this, but not if you over exert yourself. I love you.

Your eyes tell him, I’ll try. I love you. And that’s all he can ask for.

But when he leaves, shuffles past his bookshelf, his eyes catch sight of an old file that reminds him of when he was preparing for his own exams.

He gets an idea.

+++

It takes another two days, full of late nights involving work that isn’t staying up and distracting himself with books to avoid worrying over you and how late you go to sleep, and reading that leaves Spencer in awe of you and everyone in your field.

A part of him is amazed by how he wheelbarrowed the resources behind you without you noticing, another is worried about that fact, and the rest of him is excited that he can finally do something that will actually help. At least, he hopes.

(When everything is said and done, despite being endlessly grateful, you also inform Spencer that simply being there and being him and getting you coffee every time you ask is more than enough, really)

With pride, he leans back on the couch, observing his creations on the coffee table. There’s plenty of different colours, all representing a different topic, and he presses the thumbs up to like the Youtube video he was using to ensure his handwriting is easy to read.

Flashcards. Hundreds, if Spencer counted correctly. The textbooks he stole – borrowed – from under your nose lie next to his feet, the weight of them combined more of a workout than he’s (voluntarily) done in eons.

He only hopes you don’t think it’s too late, think he’s overstepping or-or that he’s doing those things that he’s been accused of before – thinking he knows best (he does, but whatever), overbearing arrogance, an unwillingness to hear and accept other people’s way of doing things.

He just wants to help. He wants you to know he’s here for you, no matter what you need. This is the thing that lets him believe he’s doing something, something good and useful. Spencer just wants to be useful.

He’s convinced you to eat a proper breakfast – fruit, oats, bread, meat, a whole buffet – and you sense something is amiss when you hear slow, tentative footsteps creeping from your bedroom.

Spencer, still in his pyjamas, glasses perched on his nose, approaches with a shallow box in his grasp. You swallow your bite, turn to face him. “What’ve you got there?”

The box is slid onto the counter next to your plate hesitantly, as if he regrets his actions as he’s doing them. Peering in, you see a blur of colour, stacks on stacks of rectangular paper filled with writing and questions and even a tips! section.

You pick up the first batch, all light blue, and flick through them, heart getting bigger and bigger with every word you read. And when you realise what they are, what Spencer’s done ­– for you – your heartrate has skyrocketed and the watch on your wrist is asking you if you’re okay.

“You made me flashcards?” You ask, in awe, again looking at the love of your life to find he’s already staring at you.

“I did,” He tells you, apprehensive and scared, already backtracking, “But, if you don’t think they’re useful, or-or you think I’m overstepping – I’m not trying to, I promise, I just thought…” He starts nervously shuffling and reshuffling some of his creation. “Flashcards are known to engage active recall and metacognition. Research consistently finds that applying metacognitive strategies tends to ingrain memories deeper into your knowledge, and that this kind of active recall retrieval practice leads to one-hundred and fifty percent better retention than passive studying, so…”

Your hands have a mind of their own, pulling what feels like an endless amount of cards out and turning them in your hands, from the questions on the front to the answers on the back, the ones with hints and advice and there’s several with doodles that are so Spencer you hold them to your chest. You’re so enamoured by this man that is still rambling and bumbling because he takes your silence as distaste.

“I just- I hate seeing you so stressed, so I made these. You don’t have to use them, of course. They’re not even that great. It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, you’re beyond capable, or that your methods don’t work- Just, personally, I love flashcards. I used them all the time when studying, even though I didn’t really need them, so perhaps a change of medium would do you good-“

A warm hand on his own that keep fidgeting stops him mid-stream of consciousness.

“Thank you,” You say, earnestly, “Really. These are lovely.” You leap from your seat, wrapping Spencer in warmth and love and care, and he shivers when he feels your hot breath on his ear when you repeat your thanks again and again.

When he pulls you even closer, so your torso curves into his own, you feel the lightest you have in weeks. You’re in the arms of the man you love, who knows you love him too and you know loves you so much – enough to spend several nights reading your cursed textbooks so he could create something that might help – and now you’re confident that you can do it. With the help of Spencer and his lovingly hand-made flashcards, you can do it.

And if, somehow, it goes awry, that’s okay too. Because you’ll still have Spencer, your number one fan, who will be there to comfort you and advise you in any way he can. He’ll never let you doubt yourself, never allow a self-deprecating joke if he can help it, because if he has to, he’ll love and support you enough for the both of you until you can do it yourself.

The world feels a little brighter, your breaths feel a little lighter, all because of Spencer. So you kiss him, murmur love against his lips, and get ready to take on whatever dares to come your way.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @ogmilkis @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @wheeledup @shadyladyperfection @joodeduarte @calm-and-doctor @

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

p.2: tasteless neighbor

-> 4-fking-am masterlist <-

b:katsuki / f.reader

genre: neighbor au, pro-hero bakugou

warning(s)!!: bakugou's potty mouth (ofc)

status: on-going!

synopsis: you had just moved into your new apartment and like every other college student under the sun, you had the worst sleep scheudle known to man.  due to this, you find yourself playing music through your speakers at 4 am. your neighbor slides you a note under your door about your ‘shitty’ taste in music, thus the note swaps begin.

a/n: i'm still trying ot find a balance between this series and Written in Ink, so pls bear with me! (also we're understaffed at the hotel i work at so i've been pulling 7-day work weeks and overtime rip me)

-x-x-x-

w.count: 1.1k

-x-x-x-

Later on in the afternoon, you were sitting at your dining table, your laptop open and bored out of your mind watching a required video for a class. Something about having to watch the video and analyze it for a class paper- you felt like it was high school all over again. Watch the video, write a paper about it and hope it was good enough.

Somewhere among the boring dull noise of words you heard- but didn’t really listen to, you heard something like flutter paper from somewhere. Lifting your head from your palm, you furrowed your brows and looked around. Nothing had fallen off your fridge and none of your notes that had been scattered around you had fluttered to the floor by your feet.

Looking under the table you wondered if maybe you pushed something from behind the laptop off the table, but nothing. Just your kitchen floor. Coming back to sitting, you got up after pausing your video and walked out of the kitchen doorway to look around. From around the corner, you saw it.

A piece of paper just in front of your front door.

“Oh shit!” You smiled- weirdly excited that you had a reply from your neighbor who you had scribbled an apology to when you woke up. Trotting over to it, you picked it up and noticed the handwriting was neater than before. Still in all caps and giantly written in what you guessed was a thick sharpie.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

‘I really don’t care if you play it. Just listen to better music, dumbass.’

Maybe you should’ve been offended at the insulting name, but you weren’t. You felt like this person had a dry sense of humor or maybe was just passive aggressive, but not in a way that insults you. You found it entertaining.

Immediately, you ran to your room, grabbed your notebook and turned to a blank page. Plucking a marker from your desk drawer, you once again began to write your own note back. You smiled as you scribbled each letter. You groaned each time you misspelled in a rush to write back, only to pull out another piece of paper and start again. Tearing out at least 3 pages before you finally got it right, you looked it over to make sure you had no spelling errors this final time.

Pushing yourself back through your apartment and out the door, you looked back and forth down the hall and once again like before, saw no one. Maybe they’d be in their apartment? Should you knock and then run after you slid the note under it?

Keeping your front door cracked, you felt just as silly as the first time tiptoeing all the way to the door to the left of yours and finally looked at the name plate under the room number. You hadn’t looked earlier, in too much a rush- now you were experienced.

‘Bakugou’

What a cool name. Kneeling, you pushed the paper under, rapped your knuckles on the door and you twisted on your heels, darting back to your apartment at what you swore was record speed. Slamming your door shut, you stared at the bolt lock to ensure you did the deed before you spun around and sat on the floor in front of your door, your feet flat against the door (as if something could bust in and your feet would act like a barricade to keep the on coming collision out).

You didn’t know many people in this area since you had just moved and had been so busy with college, so the small exchanges you had with your neighbor- even if you’ve only pasted notes like twice- made you feel giddy.

You swore, you could sit in front of the door waiting for a return note all night like a dog in excitement.

Of course, there was no sure fire way to believe you’d get another reply back. Still, you let yourself get caught up in your hopes. After sitting on the floor for a handful of minutes longer, you got up and felt like actually finishing up your school work. As to not get distracted again, you put in headphones to actually watch the video this time.

That night, you felt almost too excited to sleep, so once again, when the clock hit a quarter ‘till four in the morning, you picked a new CD to play. Since they heard it before around this time, they had to be awake and home, right? It was an odd time to be awake, for sure, but here you were and maybe your neighbor always has the nightshift or just as bad of a sleep schedule. regardless of the reason, you pressed play.

“Let’s see what you think about this, you tasteless neighbor.”

You sat against your headboard, just vibing to the music you turned on. This particular one was a CD you had actually burned yourself from different songs from your computer. They were all the same band, just songs from different albums you wanted on one CD.

You had adjusted the volume just a bit so that you were sure that it could be heard through the wall. You may or may not have also pushed your radio as close to the bedroom wall as possible.

You felt yourself falling asleep just like the night before. You fought it the best you could considering you weren’t properly ready for bed just yet. Lights were still on, you weren’t in your PJs, and your phone wasn’t on the charger; among a list of other small things you needed to take care of before you totally drifted off.

You were yanked out of your half-asleep stupor when there were two loud knocks from the wall. Rather, they were more harsh bangs of what you assumed was the side of someone’s fist against the wall, than knocks. You scrambled to your knees, reaching off the bed and twisting the volume dial to mute- silencing all noises you had created. You even held your breath.

Then, nothing happened next. You wondered if your neighbor lived alone or had a roommate? Were they actually sleeping this time? Did you wake them up? What in the world were you thinking- playing music at four in the morning like it’s a normal time for people to actually be awake enough to process some college student's music. At four am, the music was just annoying noise to anyone who wasn't you.

You immediately went and started to take care of the small things you had to do before you finally tucked yourself into bed with your heart still racing a mile a minute. Your apartment is silent as if you weren’t even home.

The last time you glanced at your alarm clock you saw it was nearly five am and just as you fell asleep, another note was slid under your front door for you to find when you woke up.

-x-x-x-

t.list : @nanamisbento (if you'd like to added lmk 🥺)

[abluescarfonwaston]

The wolves all go out of there way to bring home a few books every winter. Just whatever they can find and fit in their bags. They won't ever be able to replace the library they lost during the sacking but the slowly growing collection does give then something else to do during the long winter nights.

It also becomes a bit of a competition- as it always does between them - to bring the best book, the book with the most interesting story of how they acquired it, and the most Valuable book (the definition of which changes every year).

Lambert makes it his goal every year to bring the most indecent romance novels he can. I'm talking novels labeled Erotic. I'm talking Porn with just enough plot to get published. Sometimes the others will try to one up him by bringing something even steamier. No one has ever beaten Lambert though.

Much to Vesemir horror the new library is a majority erotic novels (which they do try to hide from Ciri when she arrives).

One year Lambert brings home a story about a wandering knight and his faithful squire. He likes to read excepts to the wolves to get back at them for insulting his cooking, ripping the fancy blanket he won last year, beating him at qwent. Any opportunity really.

And the first few chapters are them going to brothels and wooing ladies. the standard stuff.

But then. Then they start sharing beds and brothels and the other partners just. fall away and they're Only with each other.

Lambert LOVES reading this to Geralt especially cause it can Actually make Geralt blush and run from the room. He's NEVER managed that with Geralt. Fuck YEAH.

And Geralts Dying. Because he recognized the prose during the First Chapter. and the pen name the writer used.

Dandelion.

Jaskier had written a gay romance novel about the two of them. Chocked full of the squires effusive praise for the ‘knight’.

And then one day Lambert stops reading it. Seems even shorter than normal with everyone.

"Lambert you wanna stop being a prick and read your dumb gay romance novel to us? Promise to only throw food at you this time." Eskel said.

"No. that was a shitty Fucking book and I hate it."

"Oh did the gays die again? Lambert you know they won't get published if they have a happy ending. Just rip the last pages out like always."

"No! The knight went and rode off into he Fucking sunset with that damn princess! Left the squire behind without a Fucking word!!!! I hate that Fucking knight and wanna rip his Fucking dick off!"

"Oh. Huh. Well they didn't die for once. happy ending."

"It's not a happy ending Eskel how -

"The knight and the princess were Fated to be together Lambert! all the foreshadowing was there!"

"The princess treated him like a moron! The squire Actually knew him and cared about him!"

"The squire caused him nothing but problems Lambert! Of Course he went with the princess who loved him and could give him the peaceful life he craved! Not every damn bi man has to end up with the guy Lambert!"

Eskel and Lambert continued their Screaming match. Vesemir appear to be regretting his every life decision. Ciri popped in the earplugs and continued reading her book. Geralt stared into his ale, frozen.

"What happens to the squire Lambert?" Geralt asked his drink quietly.

"THATS THE WORST PART. HE SMILES AND SENDS THEM OFF. LIKE HE ALWAYS KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN AND WAS HAPPY FOR THEM. AND YOU CAN JUST TELL HOW HEARTBROKEN THE MOTHERFUCKER IS AND WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY WITH THAT."

"This is why we told you not to bring gay novels Lambert. You always get upset with how they end."

"It's not Fucking fair."

Geralt’s chair screeches against the stone as he stands up - an oddity since they all Hate that noise and actively avoid making it.

"Where are you going?" Eskel questioned as he stroad to the door.

"I need to talk to Jaskier."   

"And how do you intend to do that? Gonna ride down the mountain in a Fucking blizzard Geralt?"

"I." The door slammed closed behind him.

"Should." Ciri started. "One of us check on him?"

"No." They all said in unison.

(They did all at some point check on him)

Ciri was first. with a timid and then assertive knock on his door before she entered. Crawling into his arms and burrowing into his chest.

"We can go find him as soon as the snow melts. Okay?"

"I don't think he'd be very excited to see me." He mourned tucking her closer and burying his nose in her hair.

"It's Jaskier." She said simply about a man she only knew from their stories. "He's always excited to see you."

"You going to Brood all winter or do you actually want to figure out how to apologize wolf?" Eskel asked dragging him to the courtyard for a spar.

"There's nothing I can do. He'll never forgive me."

"Oh like he'd Never forgive you for the Djinn? Or for ripping his favorite doublet? Or telling him his singing sucked?" Eskel landed a hard jab. "And what happened every one of those times he'd Never forgive you?"

"That's different." He said returning the blow.

"Uh huh. Guess we'd better make sure you've got a damn good apology ready then?" Eskel smiled easily like he knew the punchline to a very funny joke. "Tell me what happened."

So he did.

Vesemir eased into the spring water across from him with a groan. He wondered how long he had before Vesemir started making fun of how long he spent in the bath again. Longer than if it was Eskel or Lambert at least.

They sat there and a question curdled in his belly until it forced its way out.

"How are we supposed to not get attached?"

"I think we're well past that point lad."

"But How? I can't. All these years and I still can't." He buried his head in his hands so he couldn't see how he'd failed Vesemir yet again.

"If I knew I'd tell you Geralt." Vesemir said, exhausted.

He glanced up and was Viscerally reminded how much Vesemir had lost over the long centuries of his life.

How he'd seen the school founded and fall. How he'd known every child who'd walked these halls and died in them.

How he knew exactly how many had died in the raid.

He remembered how Vesemir had fallen to pieces when the last Witcher he'd ever teach, Leo, had died.

And he remembered how Vesemir put himself back together for them.

"I can't. I can't Vesemir." If Ciri or Eksel or Lambert or Vesemir or Jaskier died. "I'm not as strong as you. I Can't."

"You will. You are." Vesemir squeezed his shoulder as he stood. "Make it worth the loss Geralt."

He sunk into the hot water and wondered how it could be.

He was half asleep when the door Slammed open and only had half a second before Lambert was cannon-balling into his chest.

"FIXED IT!"

He breathed through the pain. "Fix my ribs ass."

"You're fine whiny old man." Lambert shoved a book under his nose. the scent of barely dried ink filling his nostrils. "Read it!"

"Just tell me what happened. I'm not reading your handwriting in the dark." He said shoving it back.

"It's better than yours!" It wasn't. "The knight gets his head out of his ass and tells the squire he loves him and they go on countless more adventures." he puffed up proudly.

"And the princess? what happens to her?"

Lambert scowled at him. "Who gives a fuck about the princess?"

‘I do.’ He thought. "The knight does." He said.

"Ugh. uh. she meets another princess and they go ride off into there own sunset. okay? Happy you ungrateful prick?"

He smiled in a way that made Lambert gag. "I think that's a much better ending Lambert."

"Of course it is!" He preened from atop Geralt. Toes digging into his abdomen painfully.

"Now get out of my room or I'll throw you into the snow bank Lambert."

Lambert tried to call him on the threat so he made to make good on it. Lambert dashed from the room with a crass gesture.

That did sound like a better ending. He gripped his medallion and hoped that in the spring they'd get that ending.

An ending that lead into a very very happy beginning of something new.

[detectivehannibal]

Two Timed

__

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst.

Requested by: @vampirevatican​

A/N (edit): I hear you guys’ plea for a part 2. I have another request to write, but it is on my radar!

Word Count: 2,598

“Don’t give him the satisfaction of a second chance.”

__

You had been suspicious for awhile. It was surely hard to ignore the tug in your chest that was telling you something was off. In the seven years you had been married to Hannibal Lecter, you had learned how to be a keen observer. You had learned to be a careful listener and a focused watcher. In a general sense, he had taught you to be extremely in touch with all of your senses. This was turning out to be your worst nightmare. 

For starters, he was later coming home from work. You initially shrugged this off as perhaps he was off doing his unspeakable errands. However, the situation became very clear when he came home with just the slightest bit of lipstick on his shirt collar. Something that a non-observant person would blatantly miss. After that, all the signs were like a stop sign in your face. The unfamiliar scent of perfume that lingered around him when he walked past you. The simple yet vague answers he would give when you asked him about his day. It all came together quickly and life as you knew it was crashing down.

You didn’t want to believe that he was cheating on you. Hannibal Lecter, the most refined and morally just man you had ever known, being unfaithful to his wife. It was shocking and quite ironic. You didn’t want to have to go snooping for answers. You had always respected Hannibal’s space and personal belongings and never touched anything without asking first. However, you were too upset one fateful evening to care at this point. You searched every part of his study searching for even the smallest hint as of to who this mystery woman was. 

That’s when you found the letter. 

It wasn’t easy to spot. It wasn’t exactly sitting in plain view. You had to rummage through stacks of papers and folders before you saw it. The letter had been written on archival paper, something a little more formal and had some weight to it as it rested in your hands. The seamless piece of paper was addressed to “My dearest Alana” in Hannibal’s unmistakable handwriting. 

Oh. 

Your heart sank into your shoes when you read the header. This had to be a mistake. Surely this wasn’t the Dr. Alana Bloom who had been over for dinner on multiple occasions. The woman who had been mentored by your husband when she was in school to be a psychiatrist. It made your stomach curl in the worst way. The very woman who was acting as your husband’s mistress had been under your nose the entire time. You had almost wished she had been a stranger to you. 

The fact that you were finding out due to a letter was a double smack in the face. When you were dating Hannibal, he often would write you letters of the same magnitude. They expressed his deepest care and feelings for you. It was his way of pouring his soul and heart out to you. Now it seemed that had meant absolutely nothing.

Hot tears wasted no time filling your eyes and streaming your cheeks. This was the most betrayal you had ever felt. You were overwhelmed with anger, sadness, disappointment, and hurt all at the same time. How could he do this to you? You never in a million years would you have seen this coming. He was so adamant about people who were disrespectful and had no regard for others. This was very out of character. 

You shoved the letter back where you found it and raced to your car. There was no way you could stay here. You needed to get away to think. You needed to find someone who would care enough to listen before you did something stupid. Will Graham was your first immediate thought. You had been friends with him before ever knowing Hannibal. As a matter of fact, you met Hannibal through Will. You knew Will would listen. He was always there for you no matter what...whether he cared to be or not. His home was about an hour away from you and Hannibal’s shared home. It was a bit of a drive, but you were desperate. You pondered how to handle the situation while you were in commute. 

Your immediate solution was to turn Hannibal in to the police. You knew he was the killer they had been looking for. It would be the ultimate revenge and the most badass way to leave your lasting mark. You could have Hannibal Lecter at your mercy. You had the power to end his reign of cannibalistic terror. Unfortunately this plan had its leaks and you realized something infuriating. Hannibal would always be one step ahead. More than likely, he’d find out that you knew of the affair just as you were reporting him to Jack Crawford. He would obviously know that giving him up would be your first response and he’d have ample amount of time to get away without a trace.

And then you’d end up dead at his hands.

Damn him. At the time being, you were unsure of what to do. You could never attempt to live life as it was before while also knowing of his secret affair. That would be too cruel to yourself. You were worth way more than that. You deserved better. 

After what felt like an eternity, you pulled into Will’s yard. You hoped he wouldn’t mind an unexpected visit. It wasn’t too terribly late into the night, only about 9:15 or so. You knocked on his front door gently, this was followed by a sound from the inside of multiple sets of fuzzy paws rushing towards the door, alerting their human that he had a visitor. You peeked through the window to see a group of wagging tails and bright canine eyes. Oh, to be one of Will’s stray pups. You would always be well fed, treated with care, and have a cozy place to live. What a life. 

Will approached the door finally, his brows slightly dipping upon seeing your reddened eyes and flushed skin. You managed to hold it together long enough to muster a shaky greeting once he opened the door;

“Hi, Will.” 

He was holding the doorknob with one hand, his other resting on the door frame; 

“Hello,” He said suspiciously; “Have you been crying?”

Your lip quivered at his questions and a fresh round of tears welled up;

“Can I come in?” You asked choking down a sob. 

A brief flash of panic crossed the unofficial FBI agent’s face. He didn’t do well with a crying woman. He stepped aside to allow you to enter his home. You were happily welcomed by his dogs, Winston even sitting by your feet to request an ear rub. You squatted in front of him and stroked his soft, honey colored fur. He licked your salty tears from your cheeks, a sad laugh coming from your chest. 

Will closed the door behind him and frantically tried to see if he could figure out what was wrong without having to ask and further upset you. He noted that you weren’t wearing your wedding ring. You never left the house without it, so he knew it had something to do with Hannibal. Once you rose back from the floor and turned to him, he spoke;

“Did Hannibal do something?” He asked as gently as possible. 

He hated seeing you upset. He didn’t want to make it worse. You nodded in response, the flood of emotions washing over you again. The reality of the situation was really beginning to set in. 

“Yeah. He...He’s cheating on me,” You said with a cracking voice. You went on at the sight of Will’s face going white; “I found a love letter in his study.”

His eyes widened as he took a moment to process what you were saying. Who would ever want to be unfaithful to you? You were perfect in every way. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t for you? Perhaps he hadn’t addressed it yet?” He offered a simple solution. 

If only that simplicity was the truth. You fell onto his sofa and shook your head;

“It was addressed to Alana.” You stated.

Now that made his blood turn cold. This couldn’t be happening.

“Alana Bloom? What makes you so sure it’s her?” He asked in disbelief, sitting next to you

“Because she’s the only Alana that Hannibal and I both know, Will. She’s the only logical person. They go way back.” You said feeling defeated. 

Will stressfully ran a hand through his hair. As a third party this was a lot to take in. He could only imagine how you were feeling. Just like you, he never would’ve expected this from either of them. 

“[Y/N], I’m sorry.” He apologized.

He couldn’t help but feel a little responsible. He was the one who had introduced you two after all. He felt that this could’ve been avoided.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” You said honestly; “I’m sorry for coming over here and making this your problem too. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“Your problems can always be mine. I guarantee that. You can always come here.” He comforted.

You gave the best smile you could. Will had really always been there for you. If he was being honest, he wanted to kiss you in that moment. He just wanted you to understand how much he cared about you. He never wanted you to doubt it. But he didn’t kiss you. He would never take advantage of your emotions like that. After all, you were still a married woman. He didn’t want to force you to stoop to Hannibal’s level. Instead, he just put a hand over yours and rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand. 

On the subject of Hannibal, your phone had buzzed in your bag several times over the last several minutes. You knew it was Hannibal wondering where you were. You also knew he would quickly figure out that you were at Will’s home considering that he’s the only person you’d ever go see this late at night. It wouldn’t be long before Hannibal would be at his front door looking for you.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t live with him knowing he’s got someone on the side.” You admitted.

“You especially shouldn’t live with him now. You can’t stay married.” He advised.

You knew this. You had a strict rule that always applied to your previous relationships. There was no excuse for cheating. That would be a dealbreaker every time. Divorce was common, but you never thought you’d end up a divorced woman. 

“I know. I mean what do I say to him?” You asked.

Will tucked his head to the side. It was a loaded question for sure. He wasn’t the relationship expert. He hadn’t had many serious relationships in his life. 

“Tell him how you feel. Make sure he understands how much he’s hurt you. Don’t hold back just because you love him,” He replied; “Don’t give him the satisfaction of a second chance.”

You were listening against your better judgement. You wanted so badly for this to just be a horrible dream. You wanted to wake up and this not be real. Silence fell over the both of you. You were out of things to say. You started sobbing again, collapsing into Will’s arms. He held you as you cries filled his home and caused his dogs to whine in sympathy. Your pity party was interrupted by a knock on the door a few minutes later. 

The man of the hour had arrived. 

Part of you wanted to run away and never see him again, but then you’d never get to tell him how you felt. And also he’d find you in record time. Will shot you a look before getting up to answer the door. Hannibal was standing there, still in his work suit and his demeanor was as cool as ever. 

“Hello, Will. Is [Y/N] here? She doesn’t seem to be at home,” He stated. 

“Yeah,” Will responded flatly; “She’s here. You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Dr. Lecter.”

Will was upset. His trusted psychiatrist had hurt his best friend by using his other friend. He had a right to be angry. Hannibal looked over Will’s shoulder to find you on the couch. He pushed past Will and into the room;

“Darling, I really wish you had informed me that you were going to be here.” He said disregarding Will’s previous sentence. 

You stood from the couch. You were furious, yet calm. You stood in front of your husband, looking into his dark eyes with a numb expression. This was your chance. 

“I know, Hannibal. I know about you and Alana.” You confessed.

While his face didn’t show any signs of shock, his heart skipped a beat. He obviously had never planned on you finding out, so this wasn’t what he expected. Will was watching, arms crossed as he observed. 

“How did you find out?” Hannibal asked nonchalantly.

If he had to guess, he would’ve suspected that maybe Alana came clean to Will who conveyed the truth. That was the first time Hannibal would’ve been wrong about anything. 

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know about it. And I want you to know how much you’ve hurt me because of it.” You said. 

You weren’t crying anymore. You were past that point. 

“When I said ‘I do’ on our wedding day, I meant it. Every word of my vows was the truth. I was ecstatic to spend my life with you. I was beyond thrilled to have forever to spend with someone I loved. I just wish I had known it didn’t go both ways,” You spoke softly; “If our marriage wasn’t what you signed up for, then I suppose I owe you an apology. But if it was everything you expected and it still wasn’t enough...then I don’t know what to tell you. I gave you...I gave us everything I had. My whole heart and soul. I wanted to be sure we were each other’s forever. But I see I didn’t do as well as I could have.”

Hannibal was speechless. There wasn’t anything he could say. He was ashamed. Ashamed of getting caught and ashamed for hurting an innocent person. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your wedding ring. You silently took his hand and placed it in his palm. It was cliche, but it was powerful. You were done. 

“I’ll be moved out by tomorrow. Don’t try calling me. Don’t come looking for me. I’m leaving. I hope you can live with what you’ve done,” You said brushing past him. 

You looked at Will as you went to exit his home. He knew you’d call him in a few days after you had time to yourself. You would never leave him behind. You stopped at the door, leaving Hannibal with one final sentence;

“Goodbye, Hannibal.” 

You walked down the front porch steps and into your car. You didn’t know where you were going to go, but you had to get away somewhere. You drove away in silence, letting the road take you wherever it wanted. You couldn’t help but reflect on the good times you had with Hannibal. It would be inhuman not to. At the end of the day, even if it didn’t work out, Hannibal was your love story. You would never be able to change that.

No matter how hard you tried.

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine being Sirius’s daughter {Part Two}

Part one

-Remus took you to James and Lily’s funeral, knowing that you had no idea what was happening, but he had to go..... he had to know it was real.

-He also took you to Peter’s funeral.

-On full moon nights Dumbledore would come get you from the cabin and take you to Hogwarts. He had a spare bed set up for you in the office, and you would sleep there under the window, Fawkes perched at the foot of your bed standing guard. 

-When you were older some nights you would stay with Hagrid in the Hut. He loved having you around, and would teach you all about the garden, the grounds, and the magical creatures.

-You often asked Remus when your father was coming home. He didn’t tell you until you were three that Sirius wasn’t coming home for a very long time.

-The first year you lived with him, he would find himself going to bed heartbroken, exhausted from trying to be strong for your sake all day. His tears freely falling as his mind flashed back to a happier time.

-After that first year it happened far less frequently.

-Remus built you a spare room, and filled it full of the books Lily bought you from the flat, along with photographs of the past events.

-He also got your stuffed animals that represented the Marauders, and added to it a stuffed Lily. They sat on your bookshelf.

-One of the photos was of Harry and you, and when you first saw it you asked, “What happened to Harry?”

“Well, he went to live with Lily’s sister.”

“Can we go see him?”

“Unfortunately not, see Lily’s sister is a muggle, and Auntie Lily always said that her sister was not a fan of wizards. So I doubt she would find our presence welcoming.”

-One night you were sitting at the table when you asked, “Uncle Mooney, did Daddy kill Uncle Prong and Auntie Lily?”

“No my love, he didn’t. They were killed by a very bad wizard, who wanted to hurt Harry.”

“But why? Harry is just a harmless baby, right?”

“You are far smarter than your father.” Remus smiled, “You are right my love, but this wizard was scaried of Harry, and that why he attacked Uncle Prong, and Auntie Lily.” Remus sighed, before standing, “I am going to my room very quick, is your bag packed for Hogwarts?”

“Yes Mooney.” You replied with a smile, as he retreated towards the master room, and towards his bed. Crouching down he withdrew a old shoe box and pulled back the lid to reveal a stack of envelopes, each filled with parchment addressed to both you and him, your father’s handwriting filled the pages. However it was the envelope at the bottom of the stack that Remus needed to reread.

Mooney,

I have to apologize, for these last few months I have been withholding a secret from you, I thought you had turned on us. I was convinced that you had switched sides, and convinced our own friends, our brothers that you couldn’t be trusted. This assumption also lead me to make the worst decision of my life.

I convinced James and Lily to name Wormtail as their secret keeper, in fear that you had told Voldemort I was the Potter’s secret keeper, since I was their closest friend, and The Godfather of their child. James was insistent that he didn’t trust anyone more, but my desire to protect my family led me to lead them to their ultimate demise. That is why I went after Wormtail, and unfortunately he escaped. My guess is he is in some sewer somewhere as the rat that he is, cowarding away from the truth of his crimes.

I am sorry I ever doubted you, and I am sorry my decisions have now no doubt forced you into the role of fatherhood, a role I know that you have always longed for, but never felt you desired. I know Dumbledore has probably brought you my sweet [Y/N], and asked you to take her in. I know you love her as much as James, Lily, and I did, but that you are scared she will judge you once she learns of your condition. I promise you she won’t. I only ask one thing of you Remus..... don’t let her grow up thinking her father betrayed his friends, tell her the truth, tell her I love her.

My dearest brother, I love you, and I ask that you forgive me for what I have done. I will make this up to you, and when I get out, I will not only hug my daughter, but also you.

Padfoot

-Remus never told you about the letters

-The day after you returned from that trip you looked at Remus, “Uncle Mooney, can we plant lilies?”

“Of course Love.” He smiled, as you both went out to the car he had stored away in the garage, and drove to town. That afternoon you both planted Lilies in the entire flower box infront of the cabin windows, a smile on both your faces as you chattered.

-Hargid loved when you visited, you were obsessed with learning about the different creatures on the grounds.

-Remus loved having you in the cabin with him, he tried as hard as he could to raise you the way he imagined Sirius would want you to be raised.

-Remus hated your traumatic threes, he remembered Lily once joking with Sirius about how you will be a rebellious two year old once you hit the terrible twos, but he was not prepared for it to hit when you were three.

-However there was no doubt in his mind you were Sirius’s child, even at a young age you and your father shared a similar sense of humor.

-When you weren’t being a rambunctious toddler, Remus enjoyed taking you for strolls in the forest, he would watch as you touched every tree, and tried to smell all the flowers. He would carry a book with him as well filled with all the different plant varieties, and whenever you found a new one, you and him would sit on the forest floor and rummage through the book until you identified the plant.

-The night after the full moons were always the hardest on Remus, he was still wide awake from sleeping all day, but Dumbledore always brought you back after the great feasts. Remus would sit with you on the couch as you raved about all the professors he had loved while in school, and then at 9:30 he would put you to bed. As soon as you would drift off though he would sit there and watch you sleep, his mind racing with all the possibilities life had to offer you. It also though was flooded with the occasional dread, for you were the daughter of Sirius Black, a man who was now marked as a traitor and a murderer, he feared this would make you the victim of relentless teasing, and isolation among your peers. But he couldn’t let that consume his thoughts as he watched your chest rise and fall.

-Remus always made you pancakes for breakfast, a lesson he learned from Lily when he went to visit her one summer before their fifth year. Her handwriting still graced the page of his journal, which he had open on the counter every time he made them, even though he had already memorized the recipe.

-Snack time always consisted of chocolate.

-He began homeschooling you when you turned 4, your favorite lessons were writing, and defense against the dark arts.

-You once asked why your father never wrote you, Remus lied and said he had no idea, even though Sirius wrote you and him letters constantly. He stored them all in the box.

-When you would go to Hogwarts McGonagall would always bring you into her classroom after lessons were over, and tell you about her days as a quidditch player, and about how your Uncle James was the best chaser she had ever seen.

-You figured out Remus was a werewolf, you were five, and while he tucked you in you let it slip that you knew. He just looked at you in disbelief, but you just smiled, “I mean it makes sense, Uncle Mooney, I mean why else would they call you that?”

“How long have you known about my.... condition?” He finally asked, disbelief still in his voice as you shrugged, “Since about a month before my fourth birthday.”

-One day you offered to stay with Remus during a full moon, however he looked at you and smiled, “No my love, I will be fine, besides I know then that you are safe, and I promised your father I would keep you safe.”

-When you were in the castle, Snape avoided you.

-Dumbledore had already guaranteed that you would be attending Hogwarts, much to Remus’s joy.

-Normally he would read to you from the thousands of books he has filled your room with, however occasionally you would look at him and ask for a story about him and the rest of your family, and with a pained smile he would reminisce about the 10 years of friendship he had.

-When you were 5 he explained to you what Azkaban was, and how that’s where your father was.

-When you turned 6 he took you to Diagon Alley for the first time, you absolutely loved it.

-You were 7 when you asked Remus, “Uncle Mooney, how did Voldemort find Uncle Prongs, and Auntie Lily?”

“What do you mean darling?”

“Well they were in hiding, he shouldn’t have been able to find them, I mean they were apart of one of the most intelligent wizarding organizations in London, and I am sure the Order would have the necessary tools to hide them. So how did he find them?”

“Only one person knew where the Potters were hidden, they were the secret keeper...”

“You mean my father?” You cut him off, as his eyes met yours, “Are you trying to tell me Daddy turned them over to...”

- Your eyes were watering, and Remus watched as your mind processed the new information. After several moments of silence you bolted from the kitchen and slammed your bedroom door.

-After a few hours Remus softly knocked on your door, “Love, can I come in?”

Your room was silent, but the door slowly opened several seconds later, and the imagine broke Remus’s heart. Your eyes were rimmed red, and bloodshot, your face flushed, and the shine of your tears reflected the cabin lights. Your fingers did a quick pass against your cheeks as you whispered, “My father would never turn on the Potters.”

“I know Love.” He lied, because even though he got letters daily from Sirius, pleading to his best friend to believe he was innocent and to give him any news of his little girl, Remus wasn’t sure if he even believed Sirius.

-That night Remus told you the story about how he first met you, and how shocked he was when James called him after speaking to his mother, who had spent the whole day helping Sirius prepare to be a father. You smiled the whole story, as you cling to the black dog plushie Lily had bought you.

-After that you both never brought the subject up again, however you always knew your father was innocent.

-When you turned 8, you had basically mastered basic potions, and whenever you visited Hogwarts, insisted on showing Snape.... however he would tell Dumbledore to watch, and leave the dungeon.

-The day before you turned 9, it was a full moon, meaning you spent your ninth birthday in the castle. You desperately wished that Remus could have been there, but before you left he gave you a big hug, “I promise Love, when you get back I will have the grandest cake for you.”

“You say that every year Uncle Mooney.” You smiled before looking to Dumbledore, “You know if you two would just let me go to Olivandars you wouldn’t need to come collect me all the time.”

“Yes, and we would all get in trouble for you having a wand before you come of age, and for using magic outside of Hogwarts.” Dumbledore reminded you as you rolled your eyes at him, both smiling as the Black sas came out.

“Yes, but Dumbledore if I remember correctly you have connections within the ministry, prehaps...”

“I fear not even I would be able to save you from the punishment of those crimes, however don’t worry my dear, two more years, and you will have the wand of your dreams, and be able to practice magic at Hogwarts, just like everyone else.”

“You two are no fun.” You retorted as the two men just looked at each other and chuckled.

-That night you went to Hagrid’s hut, the lights shining on the freshly cut grass as you climbed the stairs alone. Your tiny fist pounding against the wood as you waited for the warm glow from inside to wash over you. When Hagrid opened the door however you saw he was wearing a party hat, “[Y/N]! Just the angel I wanted to see.”

“Hello Hagrid, seen any exciting creatures today?” You leaned forward and hugged the tall man, his lips curling up as he replied, “It just so happens I did, tell me [Y/N], have you ever heard of a Billywig?”

“Don’t joke like that Hagrid, Billywigs are only in Australia, and besides they are extinct.”

“I saw it in a book, see Professor Kettleburn was here showing me one of his new textbooks, and they have a whole section on those nasty little buggers.”

“Oh, I do love when he gets new textbooks.” You smiled as you noticed the small cake on the table, “Hagrid, why is there a cake on the table?”

“Well it isn’t every day that your favorite little girl turns nine.” He replied, “Baked it myself, figured you would rather a homemade chocolate cake instead of one made by the elves in the kitchen.”

-It was a small, round, pink cake, with your name written in green frosting (it looked very similar to the one he made Harry on his birthday), a huge smile on your face as you looked over to him, “I love it.”

-That night you slept on Hagrid’s couch, which had happened many times before. Fang laid on the floor in the front of the couch, your hand gently touching his fur with your finger tips, as Hagrid laid a quilted blanket over you.

-That day you sat in Dumbledore’s office, your nose in a book from the Library, your legs curled up under you as you flipped through the pages. Fawkes sitting with his eyes on you as you sat in silence, which was interrupted by a chuckle from Dumbledore.

“[Y/N], have I ever told you about the time your father played muggle music on his Walkman at top volume, and danced around the great hall when he returned from Christmas break?”

“Never.” You replied, closing the book, and looking towards the elder, for he had never really told you anything about when your father attended school, or was in the order.

“I believe the song was called Cry For Me Argentina, somehow James and him had planned out an entire choreographed dance, in which James was throwing rose petals behind your father, who was dramatically twirling down the center aisle of the Great Hall. Poor Remus and Peter trailing behind them, trying their hardest to make it look like they knew what was even going on.” Dumbledore reminisced, as you smiled.

-That’s how the rest of the night went, and at some point McGonnagall joined in, adding her own stories. “Your father is the reason I stopped using the word serious, ever time I did in class, or in the common room he would reply, They’re not serious, I am.”

-When you returned that evening to the cabin, Remus had decorated the entire cabin, streamers hung from the ceiling, as the floor was littered with balloons. The table was set, and platters were stacked high with all your favorite desserts. A bowl filled with chocolate sat on the coffee table, and in the middle of the counter space sat a chocolate cake, covered in your favorite fruit, and homemade frosting.

-He let you stay up extra late that night, both of you sat on the couch with your noses in books. Once midnight came around, you looked to Remus, and excused yourself. After hugging him and shutting your door he let out a sigh and opened the drawer to the side table, his hand pulling out a perfectly new envelope, addressed to you, and opened. His fingers slipping into the tear and extracting a piece of parchment,

My Sweet [Y/N],

Today you are nine, oh how I wish I could see you. I am sure you are just a beautiful as I was at your age, and probably just as troublesome to your Uncle Remus. Someday I hope to see you again, or hear from you, so that I can tell you just how much my heart longs for you. I can never make up for the years we have lost, I have tried to think of a way a thousand times but every solution is never enough, nothing I can ever say or do will ever make up for the fact that I am the reason they are dead, and that the real traitor is still free, probably hiding in some dumpster somewhere, as the guilt of his actions naw away at his soul, or for the fact that my best friend is now the one tucking you in at night, and reading you stories, and feeding you chocolate after 10pm, just like he did to me countless nights. You are in good, safe hands my darling [Y/N], but alas they are not the hands you belong in. I would kill for just one chance to see you again on your birthday, I can still picture in my head how you looked on your first birthday, when your Aunt Lily decorated her entire flat, and slaved away for hours on your cake. Poor Prongs had to come hid out at our place just to avoid stressing her more. I doubt you remember that, but sometimes I like to think you do still remember them, and how much they loved you. You were the star we all needed in our blanketed midnight sky, and I can only hope you are that same joyous light for Uncle Mooney, who sometimes forget there is joy in life, and that our alements don’t define us. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you, or the little family we had.

Happy Birthday my Love,

Dad

-Remus’s eyes watered as he read the letter over and over before walking into his room and adding it to the box, his mind wandering far from the current moment in time, and back to that small flat 8 years ago, when they were all smiling with happiness on your first birthday.

-That night he chose to stay in his own room, and look through his own memory keepsakes from his time at Hogwarts, tears freely running down his face as silent sobs scratched at his throat.

-When you awoke the next morning, he had already dried his tears, and wore a smile for you, as though nothing had happened.

-When you turned 11, Remus took you to Diagon Alley, and bought you everything he remembered needing his first year of Hogwarts.

-You were so excited to go to Ollivander’s, your grin was ear to ear as he stated, “No doubt you are a Black child, you have the same wildness behind your eyes as your father and uncle, let us hope however you are not as twisted as...”

“That is quite enough.” Remus interrupted, “We would like to see your finest wands please?”

-That was the first time you had ever experienced someone directly saying something negative to you because of who your father was, your heart torn as you took the first wand into your hands, “Unicorn hair core, black walnut wood, 10.5 inches.”

“Well give it a flick dear.” Remus encouraged, however at the flick of your wrist, all the wands rocketed off of the shelves.

“I’m sorry Mr. Ollivander, but I think we might need to try another.” You smiled shyly, as you placed the wand down immediately.

“I would say so, let me see if we have something more appropriate.” He forced a smile as he retreated towards the back, “Prehaps this will be more family appropriate, your grandmother had a similar one, Dragon heartstring core, black walnut, 8 inches.”

-When you gave it a flick, a small beam shot out of it, and landed on the papers, causing a small fire to overtake the top of the stack. Withdrawing his wand Remus quickly extinguished the flame, however Ollivander’s attention was on something else, and quickly he turned on his heels and made his way towards the wands scattered on the floor, mumbling to himselfbefore loudly exclaiming, “This is the one, I can feel it my dear, almost exactly as another wand I sold back in the day, it is just a 1/4 inch shorter, measuring at 10 inches, it’s made of cypress wood, and the core is unicorn hair.”

-Remus’s eyebrow raised as Ollivander named off the characteristics of his own wand, but before he could say anything you had the wand in hand, and without even a flick, it immediately started to shine, a slight breeze overtook the room as Ollivander smiled, “The wand chooses the witch Miss Black, and it seems you have far more in common with Mr. Lupin than you thought.”

-When you returned home you looked at Remus, “Thank you for today, I had a lot of fun.” You smiled

“No problem Love, however I am exhausted, so how’s about we turn in early for the night.”

“Of course Uncle Mooney.” You replied as you turned into your own room, and shut the door, leaving him to stand in the living room and wonder about the future.

-He addressed his issues to Dumbledore the next time he saw him, “You don’t think the others will bully her for her father’s crimes, do you?”

“I highly doubt any of her peers will even know the story of her father’s crimes, she will be fine Remus.”

“And what shall we do about Sirius, I mean I wouldn’t put it past him to send her a letter while she is at school. I don’t want her head filled with his lies.” Remus inquired, as he looked out the window to see you tending to the lillies.

“Sirius is no threat to her at Hogwarts, she will be safe Remus, I promise.” He reassured him as he let out a shaky breath, “I would hope so.”

“Besides she has Black blood in her, and was raised by 1 of the best tricksters in Hogwarts history, and was brought up with James Potter, she can no doubt handle herself if trouble arises.”

-You were insistent on taking the train your first year, even though Dumbledore offered to take you straight to Hogwarts, “I want to be treated as a normal student Dumbledore.”

“And so you shall.” He smiled

-Remus was secretly falling apart on the inside when he was walking you to platform 9&10, his mind filled with thoughts of all the trouble you could get into, the things you could be bullied for, but also at the sense of loss he was going to feel, the longest he had ever been away from you in the past nine years was 24 hours, and now he wasn’t going to see you again until Christmas. However all of that melted away when he saw your smile, and for a second it was like he was seeing the smile of an 11 year old Sirius Black.

-You got to 9 3/4 beautifully, Remus right behind you as you pushed your cart towards the enormous train, the platform was filled with adults and students, all trying to sort through the chaos.

-Before boarding you wrapped Remus in the tightest hug you could muster, “I’ll write you every day, and I promise I will be on my best behavior.”

“I know Love.” He whispered, as you looked up at him, a excited smile on your face, “I love you.”

“I love you too Uncle Mooney.”

-Those were the last words you said to him before boarding the train, his feet planted firmly on the platform until the train pulled away, his eyes watching as the train got smaller the further it went towards the horizon, until it was completely out of sight. A shaker breath released from his lungs, unaware he was even holding it in, as the reality of the situation set in, for the first time in a long time..... he was completely alone.

-Upon arriving home, the cabin was pitch black, and silent as the grave. His hands reached out towards the light switch, which flooded the room with a harsh yellow glow. His feet carried him straight into his room, to where his bookshelf stood. His fingers running across the spines of each book until he found the one dated for 1979, withdrawing it he looked at the cover of the photo album and retreated to your room. Once inside, he took a deep breath and was overwhelmed with the scent of you, a ping of sadness overtaking him as he sank onto your mattress, and opened the book to see the animated faces of his friends. Each page holding a memory, both before and after you entered their lives, as he relived the moments in his head. He stayed up all night looking at all the albums he had created those past 11 years.

-When you boarded the train, you were looking for anywhere there was available seating, and you knocked on the glass of the first one you saw, “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.” One of the two identical ginger boys exclaimed, his face was slightly rounder than the other boys, and his smile was large as you sat down across from him, “Are you a first year too?” the other asked.

“Yeah, I’m [Y/N], and you are?”

“I’m Fred, He’s George.” The rounder faced one replied

“I’m George, he’s Fred.” The other replied right after

-You spent the whole train ride joking with the twins, and found that you all had a similar sense of humor. However soon the conversation shifted, “So which house do you think you’ll be sorted into?” George asked

“Probably Hufflepuff, honestly I have a sweet tooth, and the closer to the kitchen the better.” You joked as the boys chuckled.

“Well as Weasley’s there is only one house we’lol get sorted into.” Fred replied cocky, “Our whole family has been Gryffindors.”

“Ah so you are lions.” You joked as Fred and George let out fake roars, just as the train stopped at a platform. With smiles you three rose and made your way towards the exit, and once on the platform you heard a familiar voice, “All first years come with me, everyone else make your way to the carriages.”

-“Hagrid!” You exclaimed, separating from the boys as you ran towards the half giant, who extended his arms open and caught you.

“[Y/N]!” He exclaimed, “mighty fine seeing you here, how was the ride?”

“Splendid, just like I imagined, tell me, did the elves make Yorkshire pudding tonight?”

“Course they did, it wouldn’t be the first day feast without it.” He smiled, “However your friends seem to be looking a wee bit confused.”

-When you turned around Fred and George were just looking at you, and with a smile you joked, “What, have my lions never seen a half giant before?”

“No, we are just wondering how you know each other?” Fred questioned

“Now that boys is a secret I shall never tell.” You smiled, before taking both their hands, “Now come on, we don’t want to miss the boats.”

-It was in the boat that you met Lee Jordan, and soon realized he would be joining your friend group.

-Once outside the great hall you turned towards the boys, “Now we make a promise here, no matter what house we get, we will still all be friends, no matter what.”

“Unless one of us gets Slytherin, no one in Slytherin ever turns out being a good guy.” George replied

“Even if one of us gets Slytherin.” You replied, to which the three sighed, but ultimately agreed.

-When McGonagall started calling names you smiled at the members of staff, and watched as each of your friends got sorted into Gryffindor. Finally you heard McGonagall’s voice say your name, “[Y/N] Black.”

-A hush feel over the great hall as you approached the hat, McGonagall smiled at you as you slowly took your place upon the stool, and felt the fabric of the talking hat touch your hair, before it’s voice filled your head, “Ahhhhhhh another member of the Black Family, this should be easy to sort out, I mean you’re a descendant from a long line of Slytherins. I think your father was the only oddball of the family, what you might call a black sheep.”

“Please, don’t put me in Slytherin.” You thought, your eyes closed as you thought it louder

“Oh why not, someone with your talent could excel in Slytherin, besides who doesn’t love a cunning woman with a bit of poisoned blood in her veins. I mean your father was a traitor, whose to say you won’t be the same.”

“My father was not a traitor, he was a loyal friend, and a fighter. He would never turn his back on his family, because you might say I am a descendent of Slytherin but everyone in my family were...” 

“Gryffindor!” The hat screamed, as the table cheered loudly, your eyes opening as your face cracked a smile. Your feet excitingly carried you to the place beside George, as you looked toward Dumbledore, who wore a proud smile on his face as well.

-Your first week of classes was a breeze, Fred and George were baffled by the fact that you knew all of them, and were glad that you were their friend, since you were clearly the brightest witch of your year.

-You went to Dumbledore’s office once while you were free and looked at the hat sitting atop the shelf, “Are you sure you put me in the proper house?” You asked

“Of course I am, you showed true bravery standing up for your father, and loyalty. Both are vital traits of a true gryffindor.”

-You and the twins were inseparable, and within the first two weeks of school were already plotting on who to prank, and how.

-You sent a letter to Remus everyday as promised, and everyday he would send you a reply. However a month into school, you one day received two letters. The first was from Remus, but the second bore no return address.

-You waited until you were in your dorm room to open it, safely seated on your bed, you closed the curtains and tore the envelope open, withdrawing the parchment, you read the scribbles on the page,

Dear [Y/N] Euphemia Black,

Hello, it is odd to think that these are the first words you will ever be reading from me, even though I have written you a hundred times before. However knowing how stubborn your Uncle Mooney is, I doubt he has even told you that I have been writing you since they locked me away.

Where to begin, words can’t even describe how I have been feeling since they ripped me away from you, nor can anything make up for the lost years of communication we have had. Not a single day goes by where I don’t envision your beautiful [Y/E/C] eyes, or how your face looked, or remember how you used to dart around the house like a child overdosing on sugar. Truly your impact on my life has been the only thing keeping me sane in this insane asylum prison all these years. I am sorry I can’t have a similar impact on your life.

You are 11 now, meaning g you have just started the best adventure of your life, it was at Hogwarts that I met your Uncle Prongs, and Mooney, and unfortunately met Uncle Wormtail as well. I wish some days I never met that traitor, or that I wasn’t so self absorbed in my own beliefs. I was wrong to doubt your Uncle Mooney, when the real traitor was right under my nose the whole time, and I gave him the loaded gun to destroy our entire friend group, and your childhood. No child should ever have to endure what you and Harry did. How I wish I knew where he was, since I doubt that they would give Mooney both of you, and I have no idea where Auntie Lily’s family is. I just know where you are, and that you were safe in Uncle Mooney’s cabin all these years.

I would love to hear from you, written on the back is how to reach me. I have so many years to catch up on, and so little time to do so.

I love you my darling, never forget that.

Dad

-By the time you reached the end of the letter you were crying, and every time you reread his words more tears started to flow down your face. Soon your vision was blurred and the words manifested into blobs on the page, but by that point you had already memorized most of it.

-You stayed in bed the rest of the day, and once night had fallen over the castle you made your way to the common room where a very concerned set of ginger twins sat on the stair to the first year girls dormitories with Lee., who was leaning opposite them in the doorway.

When he saw you Lee looked at you with concern, causing the boys to turn and look as well. Wasting no time they jumped up and wrapped you in a tight embrace. When they pulled away Lee wrapped you in a embrace, and then they led you to one of the secluded couches. They kept asking you what was wrong and finally you broke, and told them that you just found out your pet hamster had passed away. Not wanting them to know your family secret.

-The next day you responded to your father’s letter, and started what would soon become a weekly interaction with your estranged father.

-You never told Remus or any of the professors you were in contact with your father.

-your father was so happy when he received your first letter, and cried as he read the seven pages of parchment that you sent him.

-You helped the tricksters with their assignments, and the pranks.

-McGonagall couldn’t help chuckling to Dumbledore one day, and stated, “Isn’t it funny how she has found herself her own group of tricksters?”

“It is, especially since she has become just like Remus.” Dumbledore compared to her as she groaned, “Does that make the Weasleys James and Sirius?”

“I fear it does.” Dumbledore replied

-You were at the top of the class when Christmas break came.

-Before leaving you and the boys decided to do secret Santa when you all returned from christmas break. Each of you wrote your names on a piece of parchment and put it in a hat, drawing one by one. You were the last to draw, and you had gotten Fred.

-When she went home that Christmas Remus was waiting for her anxiously on the platform, however before you were reunited with your uncle, Fred and George followed their brothers towards their family, each of your hands in one of theirs as they led you towards the other Weasleys to introduce you.

-When they heard your last name they immediately knew who your father was, and why he was in Azkaban, but later that night after Arthur expressed his concerns Molly defended you, “We can’t judge her because of her father, and besides, did you see how smitten the boys were to introduce us to their best friend.

-When you saw Remus, you broke away from the twins and ran towards him, your arms snaking around his neck as he picked you up.

-You immediately introduced him to the twins. He looked at both of them and smiled, “So you are the boys my niece has told me so much about?”

-When you got home, you immediately started tell Remus about all the non secretive stuff you left out of your letters. Once you got inside though you looked at him, “Uncle Mooney, have you ever heard of the Marauders Map?”

“Why?”

“Fred and George knicked it from Flich during one of their detentions, and on the front of the parchment it states master Mooney, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prong. I only know four men whom go by those names.”

-He told you everything about the map, and you immediately wrote to the twins to tell them how to open the map. When you were done, and sent the letter off to them, you turned slightly and looked at Remus, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes Love?”

“Why have you been hiding my father’s letters from me?”

-He was silent, his face paling, as his hand slightly started to shake. He felt hot suddenly and lost the ability to talk, as you continued, “I want to see them please Uncle Mooney.”

-All he whispered was, “How?”

“He told me, please Remus.” His real name sounded so foreign slipping off your tongue, “I deserve to know.”

-He got the box, and sat at the dining room table, as you slid into the chair across from him. Your fingers casually slid along the lock as you opened the lid and revealed 9 years worth of unread letters. Remus’s eyes focused on the table, never lifting as you read each letter in silence, and finally you reached the first letter, where he had pleaded to his friend his innocence.

“You had all of these for years.” You whispered, “And yet you still doubt him?”

“[Y/N]...” his voice was barely audible, but the heartbreak in his tone and body language was loud, your watering eyes meeting as he took a shaky breath, “I love you.”

“Yet you knew my father was reaching out, that he is rotting away in a cell alone, and you..” your voice cracked, “you let him rot in there alone.”

-You left the table immediately, and went into your room, where you stayed for two days, until you came out to Remus asleep on the couch, the house a mess. You immediately started cleaning as you walked around, along with covered Remus with a blanket. When he awoke, you were seated on the floor facing him, his eyes bloodshot as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

[gummy-dummy]

Warnings: sentimental, Bakugo being Bakugo, a lot of swearing, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, self monologue, mentions of bullying, Todoroki x Midoriya. (If you think something needs to be added please tell me)

Inspired by a Taylor Swift song (Wildest Dreams/TaylorSwift)

Thanks to my Cydy @cydxcyanide for helping me with grammatical errors and for always reading everything I write, thank you, love.

Bakugo's unrequired love for Midoriya Izuku

WILDEST DREAMS

Say you'll remember me...

It was really funny, to be honest, to think that I became the cliche of the bully who is in love with his victim. A fucking comedic moment if you ask me.

I noticed I had feelings for Deku as a child, but obviously, my little brain didn't recognize it that way. My belly felt full of something inexplicable. I thought it was bad. I wish I never had believed that. It's truly stupid that I realized in my second year at UA that I was in love with my childhood best friend/victim. I had hoped that the feelings would never come back, but they did. It happened at the worst moment; the moment I noticed that Deku was falling for Icyhot. It hurt, but what more can I say? I wasn't in any position to ask for anything. Then, the stupid Todoroki started to look interested. With those sparkling eyes that look at Izuku like he was the most handsome man in the world, and he was, the most adorable-faced guy he ever has seen. I'm sure that he also noted how Deku has 4 symmetrical freckles on each cheek, how his eyes seem to be always sparkling for something exciting. He probably noticed how he rambled about heroes to analyze every move he could use to be the best hero in history. How his hands moved so quick that you almost didn't think he was writing. It looked like he was scribbling really hard, but if you were to take a peek at his notes the letters were perfect, with beautiful writing. He always had pretty handwriting and I never said that to him.

It's not like I didn't have the courage to say something, I was prepared to say it, I was on my way to tell him I loved him, that I adored him, but that I knew I didn't deserve him at all. I just wanted to lift this hard pain that settled on my heart at our second year. As I walk around the corner to his room I see them, fucking Icyhot with his hands on Izuku's cheeks, mumbling something that made Deku blush and smile. The green-haired guy just nodded and gave in to a slow kiss, I felt everything fall around me. It felt like it was the end of the world, with electricity trying to get out of my arms. This is what Kaminari's quirk must feel like.

Even when I didn't want to watch anymore, I couldn't keep my eyes off of them. I wish that it was me. The one to hug his waist closer, to deepen the kiss even more, the one who felt his two strong arms wrap on his neck. I wanted it so much that I couldn't escape what karma wanted me to see. I deserve every moment of this. I have to suffer everything I did to him. I've apologized to him a lot of times before, always with the want of just close the space between us and kiss, but no. The universe didn't want us together cause I don't deserve him at all.

The only thing that made me stop watching was when the two of them separated with a quick peck and noticed my presence, what was I supposed to say?

"Could you two get into a fucking room? I don't want to watch nasty stuff here in the open, tch." Wow, even when I'm about to cry I can be cruel as fuck. I just start to walk away from them, toward to the kitchen. It was a bad idea to head to the kitchen. Karma wanted to punch me in the face again. Only Mina was there, alone eating a snack. The only person who knew I was in love with Izuku. Fuck it's Izuku now, not Midoriya, not Deku, just Izuku roaming through my heart even when I don't want it. Mina just gave me a sad look. I suppose the two love birds are on their way to the living room. I look, and yes, they're walking to the sofa with their hands in a tight grip, and sparkles in their eyes. I went to get water and just started crying, not loud, trying to be the least noticeable possible. I just felt Mina's arms wrapping around me in a comforting embrace.

In our third year the two were a couple in the eyes of everyone. It wasn't rare to see them out and about with their hands joined and every time the season changed Icyhot would change his side, to get to the most comfortable temperature for his boyfriend. We are all actually pretty good friends. I mastered the art of looking like I don't give a fuck about them kissing or cooing sweet nothings to each other. All that while my heart was breaking. Well, by this time, the pieces were breaking, my heart just being almost dust.

Soon enough it was our first year out of UA. I was working at the same agency as the love birds, well, the fiance's now. They're about to get married and apparently they want me to be one of the best men. I just couldn't accept. I used the same excuse for not making it to the wedding. I had to go to America for a job. It wasn't a lie, the agency we three started with Kirishima and Uraraka was at the top. We wanted to open more offices around the world, so I took the job of traveling to America and doing everything. It would take me a couple of years to get everything done which was my opportunity to stop being a masochist little shit and let them be happy in their obliviousness of my feelings.

Everything was fine, until I apparently talked a lot with Todoroki when we had a "couple" of beers. It was like 3 months before the wedding. My flight was booked the same day, an hour before the start of the wedding, because I told Todoroki that I've always been in love with Izuku, that I didn't deserve him, so I did nothing about it. Just accepted my self-imposed exile to America, so they could be happy and I could stop hurting. He didn't look mad, not even a little angry. He just said, "I know, I noticed at the end of the second year".

So maybe I wasn't that good at hiding it, or maybe Icyhot noticed because I acted exactly the same as him before confessing to Izuku. He said he didn't hate me at all. That he still wanted me as his best man, for him and Izuku but I can't handle this anymore.

"Actually, you should tell him"

"What? are you crazy? you're about to get married to him and you want me to confess my love for him?"

"Yeah, you deserve to get rid of that pain on your shoulders. I know you well enough to know you will never let go if you don't. Also, Izuku would want to know you were his childhood crush you know?"

"Why are you so open to this?"

"Because I love you both, in different forms but I do. You deserve your redemption and Izu deserves to know"

And that's how at the last second I ended up meeting with Izuku. Todoroki just nodded and went out the door. I knew this was the last time I would be seeing one of my best friends and the man I've loved so many years.

"Shoto told me that you wanted to talk? its anything serious? If is something about the agency I'm gonna take care of everything. If you need help there you just need to let us kn-"

"Izuku" I stopped his rambling with his given name and a smile, the first time I have smiled at him in years, hell, even since we were 5 o 6 maybe. He looked surprised.

"Yeah sorry"

"This may be shocking to you, but I never hated you"

I took a deep breath like it was the last of my life and said "I've been in love with you since our second year at UA, maybe even earlier. I need to apologize again for everything. I will never forget how you left all the pain I caused you behind and let us be friends again. I needed to say it. Icyhot says I would never get over it if I don't and I'm so sorry-"

"Katsuki" I just stop rambling and look at him, his eyes showing affection, but not even close to what they look like for Toforoki.

"It's okay, you don't need to apologize. I can't say that I noticed because I didn't. I'm sorry you had to suffer all of these years. If I had known things would have been different. I would've been more careful"

"Nah it's okay. You both love each other and I'm actually happy for you two. My only regret is that as kids we never got to practice 'husband kisses'," I say with a laugh, and Izuku smiles at me.

I don't know what the fuck he is doing getting closer to me. With one hand he took my face and gave me a gentle peck on my lips. I felt my heart drop to the fucking floor and then he smiled.

"I couldn't let you go with regrets Kacchan" We hear a low chuckle and turn around to see Todoroki leaning on the wall behind him smiling.

"Wha- I'm so sorry, I can't I couldn't I'm so-" Izuku just started giggling while Todoroki came closer to us and gave me an awkward hug.

"It's okay. He was your childhood crush, I couldn't let you go without the opportunity of getting a kiss from him. I don't want you to go away with regrets"

But the time is running out and I need to get on a plane. I made a promise to come back to our friends, and a promise I made with myself that I would come back when I'm ready. Ready to be a true friend and an honorary best man.

Say you'll see me again, Even if it's just in your wildest dreams.

[marlsbuck]

— && guests may mistake me as ( haley lu richardson ), but really i am ( marley buckley + cisfemale + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 6/13/1994 ). i am applying for the ( vet tech ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 211 ). i should be hired because i am ( witty & empathetic ), but i can also be ( indecisive & absent-minded ) at times. personally, i like to ( dance, knit & volunteer at the zoo ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

hi pals! we’re back with a marley mae revamp! our favorite lil cowgirl is getting the makeover she deserves, so let’s get started, shall we?

before we get too into it, though, we have a stats page and a pinterest (which is also getting a revamp before too long bUT...i digress).

lil tw moment: abuse, alcohol, drug, death mention tws. per usual, i went a little heavy on the tws just to be safe! 

- marley mae buckley was born june 13th, 1994 to finnegan and shailene buckley.

- her father is a chief exec at an oil company and her mother was a stay at home mom and socialite, the latter of which she preferred.

- the family moved to billings, montana shortly after marley was born so her father could be more involved with work. this meant her mother had more time on her hands and more time to attempt to mold marley into the perfect daughter.

- except marley liked dirt, climbing tress, and pretending to ride the family dog like a rodeo bull.

- needless to say that did not go well????

- substance abuse tw early in marley’s life, her mother mixed prescription pills and pinot, which only made the tension between the two more intense. 

- abuse tw baby marls never understood why her mother would want to self medicate, essentially checking out and missing a majority of her only child’s life, until one night after her father came home after a day of ‘meetings’. smelling like expensive scotch and cigar smoke, marley saw her father hit her mother for the first time.

-  abuse tw she didn’t witness the actual abuse often, but marley started noticing the signs more and more often. bruises around wrists, large sunglasses when it wasn’t sunny out, concealer caked around her eyes and jaw. for a while, she begged her mother to take her and leave, but marley’s mother refused - firm in her belief that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own.

- so they endured. more often than not, marley’s mother took her pain and frustration out on her daughter. it didn’t take long for marley’s parents toxicity to turn her into an angry, resentful person. marley was around 8 when she started acting out - “accidentally” breaking things around the house, saying out of pocket things at her father’s work events or fancy dinner parties. marley was 10 the first time she left home and didn’t come back for hours on end, only to come back and realize no one had really noticed she was gone.

- when she was about 13, marley really started acting out and rebelling. she started hanging out with a rougher group of kids who were significantly older than her. even though she never took part in the more intense stuff, marley did manage to get herself into some trouble that finally managed to catch her parents’ attention.

-  one night, while out with that older, rougher group of friends, marley was arrested for a destruction of property charge. since she was a minor, her parents were called immediately and, after making a sizable donation to billings pd, made the whole thing go away.

- officially done dealing with marley and the whole “mothering” of it all (if you can call it that), her parents shipped her back to their hometown of big timber to live with her paternal grandparents.

- she tried to run away a few times (even going so far as to steal her grandfather’s work truck - even tho she didn’t get far because she didn’t know how to drive stick yet) because rebellious, but after paw made her stay and help one of their cattle give birth, marley fell in love.

- marley fell in love with every animal on the ranch - all their quirks and distinct personalities. it quickly became the home marley’d never had. it was warm and loving and full of joy and life. her grandparents became the only parents she’d ever really known.

- they were the only reason marley agreed to go back to her parents. they’d made a deal that if she behaved at “home”, she’d be able to spend the rest of her summers at the ranch.

- so marley went back to her parents and did the dance classes, and dinner parties, and even did the whole debutante thing and “came out” to society.

- at 16 she petitioned to be emancipated and a judge granted said petition. she promptly moved into the renovated barn at the ranch that her grandparents had rented out while she finished school.

- marley ended up graduating early and began attending classes at the local community college, eventually getting her associates in science all while still working on the ranch when she could.

- at 19, marley began classes at montana state, majoring in microbiology as a pre-vet track.

- death tw shortly after she finished her first year at msu, marley found out her mother passed unexpectedly. when she went to attend the services, her father effectively disowned her (even though they hadn’t spoken in years) and blamed her for her mother’s issues and death.

- marley came back to the ranch more depressed than she’d ever been and instead of dealing with the hurricane of emotions she felt, marley dropped out of school and ran

- marley drove all along the west coast, eventually settling on a cattle farm in texas.

- there, marley met literally the worst thing to ever happen to her. only a month or two after settling in texas, marley started dating wade because mess attracts mess. duh. his parents owned the farm she was working on and he gave her attention. that’s it. that’s all it took.

- abuse tw it didn’t take long for the gas lighting, lying, and cheating to start. a short six months into their relationship was when the physical abuse started. growing up, she’d always told herself that she’d never allow a man to treat her the way she’d watched her father treat her mother - that she’d be stronger than her mother and leave after the first time. finally, though, marley realized the battle her mother had fought to endure all those years of abuse and just how hard it was to muster the courage to leave. 

- to this day, marley carries around the guilt of spending years blaming her mother for being weak and missing the opportunity to apologize while she was still alive.

- eventually paw caught on and WASN’T having any of it. so he snuck down with maw in the middle of the night while wade was out on a bender and packed marley’s shit and took her back home to the ranch like the knight in shining armor that man is.

- two years of animal therapy and literal therapy, marley applied to finish her bachelors in chicago after maw suggested it. she was accepted and once again left her home behind, but this time it was to chase her dream and we’re all v proud.

- she’s been at the mlanati now for two years and has finished her bachelors and is a certified vet tech. she’s currently in her last year of undergrad and is getting ready to start applying to vet schools officially.

hcs!

- marley is a jeeple. she owns a 2008 black jeep wrangler x. 100% named it ringo. definitely has a black jeep of the family bumper sticker and let me tell you, this girl is SO proud.

- y��all will never catch this girl in shoes. she will start the day in shoes and by the time lunch rolls around she’s barefoot. the only pair of shoes she enjoys wearing are her justin boots or her vvv worn out vans. 

- she knits when she’s anxious, which is more often than not now that she’s in a new place. but it also means she’s giving out cute lil beanies and scarves to her new frens.

- loves and i mean LOVES westerns. tombstone and gunsmoke were staples growing up.

- also probably the worlds biggest dolly parton fan. if it involves dolly, marley is in.

- ALIENS, MAN. your girl loves aliens and most space things. roswell (the og and new shows) are her jam bc...y’know....cowliens.

- she has three tattoos: some wildflowers on her upper left ribs, “worthy” in her grandpa’s handwriting on her upper right forearm, and the silhouette of big timber peak at the nape of her neck.

- marley is also one of those people that doesn’t need a ton of sleep? 4-5 hours max and she’s golden.

- cold brew coffee also runs through her veins. her coffee order is a trenta cold brew with hazelnut and almond milk, thanks. it’s also probably one of the reasons she never stops moving....ever.

- big time questioning her sexuality. marley’s only ever been with men, but uuuuuhhhhh WOMEN y’know? also nb folx are v nice. we do not discriminate in this house.

- 2 cats! doc (7 y/o himalayan long hair) and ike (2 y/o munchkin). both rescues she met while volunteering at a shelter.

- snake tw would also v much like a colombian rainbow boa pls and thank

- will always make time to take a dance class or book space to just dance all her feelings out. it’s one of the few joys she has that comes without feelings of pressure or stress. 

- holds most  people at arms length. she’s more than happy to listen and support everyone around her, but is a literal steel trap when it comes to talking about herself and her past.

- alcohol/drugs tw not a drinker. buckley’s don’t have a great track record of being able to handle their liquor (never let her do shots pls), so marley sticks to the occasional blunt. esp when she’s feeling extra anxious, it calms her down and evens her out.

- she do be jumpy af! loud noises (that don’t obviously come from animals) make her anxious and shaky. it’s the *pTsD*.

- marley’s triggers include but are not limited to: grabbing her face/chin, breaking glass, loud noises - specifically yelling, general violence, the smell of vodka or scotch and cigar smoke, being grabbed from behind/picked up without warning.

wanted connections!

- travel pals! : people marley met on her trip from montana to texas! she wouldn’t have stuck around long, but she was a hot ass mess and these would have been people who met her at p close to her lowest? so seeing her at the malnati would be like meeting a whole new person. she’ll probs be hella flustered and embarrassed so, like, we love that.

- hype squaaaaaad! : marley’s self esteem is still.........nonexistent, almost. she’s all about giving the love, but is the worst at accepting it, so obviously we need someone to shove all the love and positive affirmations her way! help ya girl see her worth!

- post hook ups! : likely only one or two! marley isn’t one to hook up unless she’s feeling pretty awful about her self and needs some instant validation. can be awkward or cordial! i’m down to plot specifics!

- crushes! : unrequited or nah (lbr i’d live for unrequited pls) male, female, nb - gimmie it all! babie is ready to give all the love....kinda. from afar. bc trauma. bUT!!! leggo. lololol.

- confidant! : literally probably the only connection that’s limited to one person. they know eeeeverything. every horrid, gruesome detail about marley’s past and all her insecurities. they could be someone that met her when she was on her way to texas/she met in texas or someone she met after and got to witness one of her panic attacks post texas. aka the one person she trusts most.

- scurry folx! : pls gimmie plots where marley is at odds with someone, whether or not it’s because they scare her a lil (aka angry, aggressively loud, bully-ish type someones) or just people who can’t handle her goofy, oddball, pollyanna type personality! i. need. ANGST!! pls. ty.

- chemistry, ofc!

[sidneycarter]

ink and coffee stains

a short fic loosely inspired by chatting with @bisidneycarter about secret love letters!

Sid x Sullivan (with mentioned Felicia x Flambeau!)

Pretty PG

Felicia reads a love letter that wasn’t intended for her, but it warms her soul anyway.

There’s been a body found on the edges of the Montague estate. Dastardly business, Felicia thinks to herself as Sid drives her to the police station at Kembleford.

She’s taking the maps of the grounds to the Inspector, and has volunteered to answer a few questions about the estate management to see if they might help find leads for the case.

Father Brown, of course, has also given her a second task of digging for any information she can find to help relating to the case. The Father is convinced it’s a murder connected to another in a neighbouring village, and needs all the information he can get.

Sid pulls up outside the station and helps her out.

Felicia heads for the door but stops up short when Sid doesn’t follow her. Normally he likes nothing more than to sit in the police waiting room, tormenting whichever Sergeant is watching the desk that day. The exception to this is when it’s Sergeant Goodfellow, of course, of whom Sid is rather fond, in which case they talk about village gossip and the biscuits Sid would like for the next time he’s in the cells.

But this time he seems hesitant, and pulls a cigarette from his pocket before leaning back against the Rolls. “If you don’t mind I think I’ll stay out here, have a cigarette.”

He seems distant and Felicia frowns in concern. He’s been not quite himself for a few days now, choosing to sleep at his quarters in the Main House rather than in his caravan. He’s been quiet too, lacking in his usual gregarious charm. Felicia even offered to make him a hot cocoa the other night, and he turned it down. He’s known for refusing any drinks Hercule makes (some nonsense about expecting poison), but he never turns down Felicia’s. Something is obviously afoot.

Felicia has her suspicions. While many believe her to be a ditzy, air-headed Lady of the Manor, she is in fact an astute observer and a shrewd judge of character. Working alongside Father Brown, and carrying on with an internationally wanted Art Thief has honed her skills even further.

Felicia senses that something has been going on between Sid and the Inspector. At first she thought they were just friends, but they spend an inordinate amount of their free time together and then fall out and act like strangers in public. If they were just friends surely there wouldn’t be the need for the distance and the secrecy. It’s all rather odd.

Felicia leaves Sid to it, sweeping in to the constabulary and throwing a winning smile at Sergeant Goodfellow. “Good Morning, Sergeant. It’s wonderful to see you. Apparently I’m required by the Inspector?”

Sergeant Goodfellow beams. “Morning your Ladyship. The Inspector said to bring you straight through.”

Goodfellow knocks on the Inspector’s office door and waits for a moment before entering.

“It’s Lady Felicia, sir. She’s here about the body.”

Sullivan looks surprised and a little startled at their intrusion, as if he’d been concentrating hard on something. He’d been writing, and writing a lot by the looks of it. There is some paper in front of him on the desk, filled with scribbles, and his fingers are ink stained. “Right, yes, of course. Lady Felicia, please, um, sit down. Thank you, Sergeant.”

He looks tired, Felicia thinks as she takes her seat. There are bags under his eyes, and his entire posture seems stooped, like it’s taking him real energy to hold himself up. He looks slightly scruffier than normal, too. Not so much that it would be noticeable ordinarily, but knowing the Inspector’s usually exacting style it looks a little out of place.

He’s frowning deeply, and hurriedly chivvies the paper he was writing on underneath some folders. He takes out his notepad and sighs. “Right. Lady Felicia if you could just --”

The door swings open again, and the Sergeant peeps his head round the door sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Head Office are on the phone and they want a word. They say it’s urgent.”

Sullivan looks like he’d hate nothing more than having to speak to Head Office right now. He sighs once more and stands up, running a hand over his face. “Apologies, Lady Felicia. I hope you don’t mind waiting, this will take just a few minutes.” 

It’s no bother to Felicia at all. It’s the perfect opportunity for her to do a little snooping for Father Brown.

She stands and strolls around the desk, scanning the various folders and binders for anything that looks like it might be of use. There’s nothing really, disappointingly, and she’s about to give up and sit back down again before remembering the papers that Sullivan had shuffled away quickly.

She digs them out from under the folder, and holds them delicately, balancing them on her fingertips. Sullivan’s handwriting is so neat it’s almost difficult to read, very swirly and intricate. Someone has taught him penmanship since a young age, clearly.

Felicia isn’t exactly sure what she’s expecting to be on the pages. But what she reads causes her to gasp softly.

Mr. Carter,

I rather dislike you. Sometimes I am sure that I dislike no one more than you. You continually think it’s acceptable to break the law, to spend nights in the cells, and to make yourself a general nuisance to myself and my officers. I fear that I should hate you, even.

And yet somehow I can’t. I’m sorry that I shouted the other night. I’m sorry for losing my temper and saying what I said. My problem is that I care for you, far too much than is allowed. It is my worst nightmare to see you walked into court and carted off to the cells for months, maybe years, maybe more. I know Father Brown has good intentions but you cannot deny that the man is occasionally reckless. And I know you think it’s fun to go along with him. My problem, Carter, is that while sometimes I really do not like you, I am afraid that I’m falling irrevocably in love with you instead.

You make me feel things that I have never felt in my life. Just the sight of you makes my heart beat faster and steals some of my breath away. I feel safe with you, like I could trust you with a thousand secrets and you’d never breathe a word. I feel important, and special, and good enough. I don’t think I’ve ever felt good enough for any one. I find myself wanting to talk to you for hours, and to listen to your views on everything and nothing at all. I think I could sit in silence and watch you and I would still be enthralled.

I have never felt fire like when you kiss me. How am I supposed to go about my day, sitting at this tiresome desk, when all I can think of are your arms around my waist and your lips at my neck? How can I listen to those hopeless love songs they play on the wireless and not want to be held close by you? How has my life been so discontented by something so small?

Perhaps you will think this is silly, and that this is all just a game to you. Well I’m afraid if that is the case then I can’t play it any longer. This cannot be something meaningless or fun to me anymore. My heart won’t settle until it knows you are mine. I am sorry, Sid, for the way I have been recently. But I hope now you understand why, and why truly I cannot help myself. I can only hope my feelings are returned. I am not sure what I will do if they aren’t.

Your Tommy

Felicia drops the letter back on to the desk and swallows thickly. A lump has formed in the centre of her throat, and she feels a little choked up. For someone so cold, stoic, and often emotionless Inspector Sullivan has the burning passion of a classical poet.

She feels rather guilty, then, in that moment. She is occasionally rather dismissive towards the Inspector, irritated by his sometimes contemptuous and ungrateful manner, but now she thinks they have a lot more in common that she had realised. She too knows how it feels to have been so repressed and unloved and neglected for many years. She knows how it feels to have to choke down your feelings, and never let them out. She knows how it feels to hide them behind arrogance, a cold, steel wall that very few get to see behind. A way of protecting one’s self from harm.

And yet she also knows the feeling when someone who just fits appears in your life. Someone who breathes life back into your soul and sets you free on a whirlwind of emotions. It’s a beautiful, if terrifying feeling, falling in love. Especially if it’s with someone who should be deemed entirely inappropriate, and rather criminal. She knows that feeling all too well.

It turns out that Inspector Sullivan is something of a hopeless romantic. She wonders if he’d like to read her novels.

And how wonderful it is that it’s darling Sid. Sid has allowed him to feel like this. Sid has obviously sparked something within him that has made him want to let out all of his emotions rather than keeping them bottled up. Her suspicions about the pair of them were correct. She wasn’t quite sure it had gone as far as it clearly has, but she can’t be anything less than delighted. It’s about time that someone saw Sid for the kind, protective and intensely loving soul that he really is - it was about time someone could return that love with the same ferocity.

Felicia resolves to never tell a soul about this. This is between the two men to sort out. She has no doubts that they will, and by the state of both of them it’ll happen sooner rather than later. She tucks the letter away, back where Inspector Sullivan had hidden it, and returns to her chair.

Sullivan returns moments later, looking a more than a little stressed, and drops himself heavily into his chair.

Thomas, she presumes. Tom to friends, and Tommy to someone who holds his heart in his hands.

Inspector Sullivan takes her statements quickly and tells her she is free to go. Felicia bids the Inspector goodbye far more warmly than usual.

As he escorts her from his office, she notices Sid has wandered in to wait for her. He stands up bolt straight almost immediately, his hands twisting anxiously on his cap. “Your Ladyship.”

Your Ladyship. Felicia tries not to scoff. Such formalities are rare from Sid these days. He also seems to be looking through her, at someone standing behind her. One doesn’t have to be a sleuth of Father Brown’s calibre to work out who exactly.

She also feels the Inspector tense behind her. For a moment they stand in perfect, unmoving silence, gazing at each other.

Sergeant Goodfellow appears to be busying himself with some paperwork on the front desk, but Felicia is sure there is a suppressed smile on his face. She wonders if he knows too.

It is Sergeant Goodfellow who puts them out of their misery. He informs the Inspector that there’s something in the back office that needs attending to, and Sullivan snaps out of his reverie.

“Right, yes. Thank you for your assistance your Ladyship. We’ll be in touch if we need you further.” With one last glance Sid’s way, he disappears into the back of the station.

Sid is staring helplessly at the door the Inspector had ducked in to.

Felicia presses a hand to his cheek. “Sidney,” she calls softly, waiting for Sid’s eyes to tear themselves away from the door and on to her face. “Father Brown is expecting us for elevenses soon, we’d best be going.”

“Right, yes, of course.” Sid bumbles, pulling his hat on quickly and offering her his arm.

Felicia takes it fondly. This is why Sid has been so glum recently. Now she knows it’s his first real lovers’ tiff. She has no doubt that the Inspector’s feelings are returned just as vociferously. What a silly pair.

She’ll make sure Mrs M gives Sid an extra scone to cheer him up.

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Standing right in front of you

This is an apology/continuation? for/of “The blood on your hands” so I’m tagging @murder-schmurder @pistachiolan

Summary: Henrik is dead and now Chase is alone, or is he? 

Based off a ghost au nobody wanted, I made awhile ago. i got lazy toward the end and just copied the ending of that thing.

Waning: Death, Drinking 

Chase always hated funerals. Not just because someone died. It’s the layers of makeup covering the clear hole in a person's head, the peaceful expression, the slight bit of blush they put on the person's cheeks, and all the little things people do to make a dead person seem alive, that make him hate them.

 Another reason Chase hates funerals is everyone's pitying looks and meaningless words. The way everyone slightly turns to look at him when the pastor asks if anyone wants to say anything.

 “Is everything okay?” No everything is not okay, that's why people are crying. “We’ll move on eventually, it’s what he’d want us to do.” He’s dead, he can’t want anything.

 The worst thing about funerals is looking into the coffin and seeing a man you’ve spent your entire life with. The man who stole your heart and will now be buried with it.  

 He asks for a moment alone and everyone leaves without question, because that’s what you do when someone asks to be alone with a dead body.

 “So this is it.” Who is he talking to, it’s not like the body can hear him. “The last time I’ll see you, Henrik.”

 The hair raises on the on the back of his neck and he gets that feeling in the back of his mind that he’s being watched.

 “I thought I asked to be alone,” he said then turned around to find no one there.

 He scratches the back of his neck and looks back down into the coffin. There’s a few things in the coffin, old books, a bottle of liquor, a stethoscope. What’s he gonna do with that? Check a ghosts heart beat?

 “I know you were never a religious person but I hope if there’s an afterlife you end up in the good one not the bad one.” It sounded stupid, but he didn’t have anything else to say.

 That’s a lie and everyone who’s lost anyone knows it. There’s a million questions, and jokes, and stories, he wants to ask and tell, but now they’d just fall on deaf ears.

 Again that feelings of being watched returned and his shoulder felt cold, like the air conditioner suddenly turned on. As far as he knew this church didn’t have an air conditioner and he was still alone.

 As soon as he turned around the cold feeling disappeared. He looked around the room for anything that could’ve caused it, a hole in the ceiling, a partly opened window, but there was nothing.

 Still that feeling persisted and it kept him on edge.

Before he had much time to think, the funeral was ver, Henrik was shoved into the ground and Chase was driving himself home.

 It’s odd, he thought he’d feel more devastated, guess the whole shock and sadness wore off after he first found out about the accident. Now he just felt a numb hole in his heart.

 That numb hole seemed to grow bigger each day, as well as the number of odd occurrences.

 When I say odd occurrences I don’t mean losing your keys or forgetting where you placed something, I mean finding your laundry that you haven’t done in a month, clean and folded on your bed and finding breakfast made for you after you get up.

 Like any normal person, Chase was weirded out and disturbed, but as time went on he just chopped it up to him starting to lose his memories. Maybe he should see a doctor. How common is Alzheimer's at his age?

 The weird occurrences didn’t distract him from the ever growing hole, nor did it stop all the what ifs Chase had floating around his head.

 He’d had feelings for the doctor for a long time, everyone, except for him and the doc, have probably known for a long time. What if he’d realized sooner? Maybe if they’d been together, these what ifs wouldn’t hurt so much.

 Or maybe they’d be worse, with what ifs about a life together flooding his head instead.

 God, he’s what ifing his what ifs.

 The what ifs overpower his rational thoughts and he does something he’s not too proud of. After years of staying sober and not binge drinking, he chugs a bottle of vodka until he passes out.

 But before he passes out he stumbles into the kitchen, his mind in a blur, unable to think about what he’s doing. He has a knife in his hand now. When did he grab it, who knows?

 He aims the knife over his chest and then he feels like he’s been slapped across the face… darkness.

 Is this what dying feels like? Just an endless darkness? Wait that can’t be right.

 He awakens on his kitchen floor, his back feeling like he’d slept on rocks and his head ten times worse. Chase wanted to just lie there on the floor, but his headache wasn’t getting any better so he forced himself up.

 On the counter he found a glass of water and a pill that he didn’t remember setting out, which made sense considering how much he drank, but knowing himself he wouldn’t be smart enough to do that. Still he took it a went to lie down on the couch and wait for his hangover to pass.

Three weeks after Chase binge drank and he still has no idea how, when, and why he stabbed a knife into the wall. Said knife is still stuck in the wall and is jammed against something and Chase doesn’t want to damage his wall or call a professional.

 Along with that, he also forgot multiple times, to book a therapist appointment and yet he still had one booked. Maybe he should look into memory loss.

 He goes over to the fridge to make a morning snack when he finds a sticky note on it.

 It reads: “Remember to make a trip to the store.”

 It’s not all that weird, Chase leaves notes for himself all the time, but that's not what bothers him.

 The handwriting. It’s not his. The sloppy yet professional look. The little loops on the Ls and Is. It’s impossible.

 Yet here the sticky note is, written in Henrik’s hand, a note reminding him to eat. He’s reminded of old times when Henrik would text and call him everyday to make sure he eats, well not really old days but they feel like such a long time ago.

 A thought comes to him. It’s a silly thought, but he doesn’t have any better ideas or anything better to do.

 That night he steals an Ouija board from Marvin. He’s senn what Marvin can do so it’s to too farfeched that he might be able to contact the dead with this thing, is it?

 With everything set up he begins. He carefully sets his hands on the little triangle piece and almost has a heart attack when it moves.

 H-E-L-L-O C-H-A-S-E it spells out.

 It’s impossible. Maybe he’s just going insane.

 He chokes back a sob that forced its way up his throat.

 H-E-N-R-I-K ? it’s a long shot, but…

 The piece moves over the yes.

 He pulls his hands back and whips a tear from his face. For a split second he can see a figure in front of him.

 “Henrik!” he says out loud, reaching for him. He can’t feel him but the air is slightly colder in that area.

 He sobs as he slowly puts his hand back on the triangle piece.

 It moves again.

 I-V-E M-I-S-S-E-D Y-O-U V-E-R-Y M-U-C-H

 Chase uses his free hand to muffle another sob. He shuts his eyes.

 “So have I.”

 A feels something cold press against his cheek.

 He still can’t see the doctor, but he can tell where he is.

 A tear is whipped off his face.

 “I’m not leaving you again.” He hears Henrik say out loud.

 “Where have you been?” Chase squeaks.

  “I’ve been standing right in front of you.” 

[alltheloveflowerh]

Fool’s Gold

gif credits: the Styles Gifs

For the past few weeks, all Y/N could see were cardboard boxes; they were everywhere - in each room of her new flat, in the hallways of the building she was going to live for the next few years. 

As a child, Y/N always thought moving was so fun, you got to pack your books into small boxes, your favourite toys in another box - as a child everything was a lot easier. Now, as an adult moving was the worst; the constant circle of packing and unpacking was taking a toll on her.

Y/N managed to unpack half of her boxes, the ones that were inside the flat, but the other half that was staying outside was yet to be unpacked. She was currently folding the used boxes and leaving them outside to later take for recycling, but after that she continued to unbox the important bits. 

The sound of someone’s light steps against the stairs drew her attention away from snooping through her boxes looking for the box with kitchen written on it.  As the sound grew louder, Y/N noticed it was a German Shepherd excitedly running up the stairs. The dog still looked like a little puppy.

‘‘Hi there, puppy.’‘ She crouched down, stretching her hand out for it to sniff it. ‘‘You’re a very cute puppy, yes you are.’‘ The puppy was already rolling on its back, as you scratched its little tummy. But soon after, another sound of steps could be heard and this time it was from the heel of boots hitting the stairs. 

‘‘I’m sorry if he was bothering you, he just really loves playing with people.’‘ Someone spoke with a deep voice, but the voice sounded way too familiar to Y/N.

‘‘No, no, he’s alright. He is a good boy.’‘ An awkward cough escaped her lips, as she tried her best to change the tone of her voice. Keeping her head low, she was still petting the puppy in front for her that was jumping and rolling over. ‘‘Well I won’t be taking away more of your time.’‘ She stood up, feeling a little dizzy from the sudden movement. She didn’t want to face the man standing behind her, so she tried her best to keep her face hidden. 

‘‘Oh no, you’re not taking away my time, also he loves attention so it’s all good.’‘

‘‘Wh-what’s the pups name?’‘ She asked, her back was still facing the man, but Y/N didn’t want to be too rude and just run into her flat.

‘‘Oh his name is Herc, it’s short for Hercules. It’s a bit silly, but herz means-’‘

‘‘Heart in German, yeah..’‘ She finished the sentence for him, remembering exactly that conversation, only that it was seven years ago. 

‘‘You were really gonna act like you didn’t know me, weren’t you?’‘ His voice was filled with pain but overshadowed with confusion in it, as the realisation hit him, confirming his thoughts of whether it was really her or was his brain playing tricks on him. 

‘’I’m-, I um-, I wasn’t really sure what you wanted me to do.’‘ Y/N turned around, letting go of the doorknob, to look at the man. Looking into his eyes, reminding her of what she once called home; taking in each feature of his face, everything that’s changed and everything that’s stayed the same. 

‘‘Right,’‘ he sarcastically chuckled shaking his head in disbelief, ‘‘When did you get back?’‘

‘‘Just, just a few days ago, maybe a little over a week..’‘ There was so many thoughts running through her mind, and still so many feelings taking over her body after years. 

‘‘Were you going to tell me? That you’re back.’‘ He asked, anger took over his voice; anger at him, at her.

‘‘What was I supposed to tell you exactly, Harry?’‘ Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, saying his name after so long, ‘‘I don’t even know where you live, well I didn’t until now. And for all I know you could be married or whatever.’‘ Waving her hands in frustration, it was a habit she couldn’t stop. ‘’It’s been years, Harry, and hell, we didn’t even stay in touch, so what exactly did you expect?’’

‘’You’re right, why bother, yeah? I mean, you didn’t seven years ago, why suddenly start?’’ Harry turned away from her, taking his keys out and unlocking the door of a flat right across from here. He whistled at his puppy to follow him inside. ‘’Welcome back to London.’’ He added before shutting his door loudly. 

Her heart stung with pain because it was not true, they knew that. And she wanted to bang on his door and yell at him how he wasn’t right, she wanted to tell him the past seven years were the best but also the worst ones of her life because she lost him. But Y/N didn’t do any of that, she just continued moving the boxes inside the flat and organising everything.

‘‘So listen, I see this note in my locker, right?’’ Taking a bite of her sandwich, Y/N’s best friend said, ‘’But then, I see it says for Y/N, and I’m like confused, man, you know?’’ She faked the hurt expressions, as Y/N simply laughed at her silliness. ‘’But hey, here you go. I think I know from whom it is, but I won’t say anything.’’

Unfolding the note, Y/N saw some scribbles and doodles on it. It said i think you look really pretty today :) with little hearts around the words, but her best friend didn’t have to say who it was because Y/N already knew. She turned around looking for the curly boy, and once she spotted him Y/N couldn’t help but smile at him. The boy, who she knew as Harry, blushed immediately trying to look anywhere but at her. 

That not wasn’t the first note she got; the first time she got a note, Y/N thought someone was messing with her. The writing was neat and it said you’re beautiful so of course Y/N thought it was a joke, because guys in high school weren’t the nicest, especially towards a sixteen-year-old girl. But still from time to time, Y/N’s locker room contained a little note with a different compliment each time. One day, a curly boy sat down next to her in class and Y/N accidentally looked at his textbooks and noticed the similarities between the handwriting. The boy blushed the second he realised that Y/N had caught him. 

‘‘Hi, Harry..’‘ She was waiting for him after school, with all the notes in her hand including the latest one. 

‘‘H-Hiii’‘ He stuttered, not thinking that she would ever talk to him, ‘‘How-how are you?’‘

‘’I’m alright, thank you..’‘ Her cheeks became warm, ‘‘I, um, thank you for the notes..’’ She looked up at him. 

‘‘Oh, I, um, y-yeah, I-I’‘ Y/N chuckled at how flustered he became, while Harry struggled to get a word out. ‘‘I’m not creepy, I-I swear!’‘

‘‘I know that, Harry. I think you look really pretty too.’‘ She fidgeted with her fingers, looking down before looking up at him again. Harry coughed nervously.

‘‘Boys are not pretty, that’s for girls only. We’re very masculine.’‘ He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look tough as if Y/N calling him pretty didn’t cause butterflies in his tummy. 

‘‘Harry?’‘ He hummed in response, ‘‘Do you want to come to this really cool bookshop? I wanted to go there for a while, just never got around.’‘

‘‘Y-Yeah, sure. I don’t have much to do anyway, so I guess I’ll just go with you.’‘ Harry nodded his head, trying not to let a smile break onto his face. ‘‘Shall we?’‘ 

Their relationship picked up from there, as they went on dates and started dating shortly after. 

Remembering how it all started made Y/N’s heart ache, because it all started with an innocent act of admiration and it turned into a beautiful love story that ended way too early. She was sitting in her half-finished flat with a mug of tea in her hands, when she wanted to go down the memory lane but refused to because she knew how much more heartache she was going to feel. So she continued doing her work, trying to push Harry out of her thoughts. 

Over the next few days, they didn’t see much of each other due to the busy work schedules and Y/N still unpacking. But being next door neighbours, of course they were going to bump into each other eventually. This time it was in a lift. 

‘‘Hold the door, please!’‘ Someone yelled out after Y/N, so she put her hand between the closing door, opening them again only to see Harry rushing inside.

‘‘Oh, hi..’‘ Harry said as he saw Y/N leaning against the wall with her head down.

‘‘Hello.’‘ It came out like a whisper, but she didn’t lift her head up to look at him, thinking it was for the best. 

Harry pressed the number eleven for the lift to go up to, as the atmosphere became quiet and awkward. ‘’H-How are you?’’

‘‘You don’t have to make small talk with me Harry. We both know you don’t want to.’‘ Her voice was harsh, unintentionally but still harsh to jab at Harry’s heart. 

‘‘I never said I don’t ever wanna talk to you again.’‘ 

‘‘Right, because the last time we spoke, you surely left an impression as if you adore me.’‘ Y/N replied with sarcasm. She knew that maybe she was being too harsh, but he acted like a dick towards her so she didn’t really feel that bad. 

‘‘Well sorry for fucking trying.’‘ It seemed like the ride was taking ages, as they were only approaching the fifth floor.  ‘’Which is something I can’t exactly say for you.’’

‘’Oh just fucking grow up, okay? I’m sorry I moved away, and I am so fucking sorry that I moved back.’’ She suddenly pressed the button for the lift to stop so she could get out. ‘’If I had known that this was going to be my welcome, maybe I wouldn’t have come back in the first place.’’ Adding harshly, she stepped out of the lift and took the stairs instead, sprinting as if her life depended on it. 

The second Y/N stepped into her flat, all of the emotions started coming out. She wanted to throw things, she wanted to break things but she wanted to break herself too. She slid down the wall in her bedroom, placing her head into her palms before letting the tears run down her face. But several minutes later, there was a soft knock on her door she decided to ignore. 

‘‘Y/N? I know you’re inside, do you think you could open up?’‘ The person behind the door said, when no answer answered after the knock. 

‘‘I just want to apologise.. please open up?’‘ He knocked again, but there still was on answer that he could hear.

‘‘I don’t need your stupid apologies.’‘ Y/N muttered to herself. 

They were on a party when it happened. When Harry gets drunk, he becomes very affectionate, demanding kisses, chasing after Y/N for hugs but that particular night he was more than affectionate. Somehow Harry dragged them both up to a rooftop and sat down on the floor looking up at the stars.

‘‘I have something to tell you..’‘ His voice was awfully quiet but there was a cheeky grin on his face. 

‘‘You’re piss ass drunk, I’m sure it can wait till tomorrow, love.’‘ Y/N ran her hands through his hair, which was something he loved almost as much as her.

‘‘Nope, gotta tell ya. It’s pretty important.’‘ He turned his head to look at her, keeping a straight face. 

‘‘Okay..’‘

‘‘The roof’s pretty windy, isn���t it..’‘ He was scared now, but she didn’t say a word. ‘’It’s just me, you and the moon.’’

‘’Harry... you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’‘

‘‘All I know at the end of the day, is that...’‘ He began, but his hands were shaking so Y/N took them in hers, intertwining their fingers. ‘‘I love you, Y/N.’’ 

‘‘I thought you wanted to break up with me! Jesus Christ, you scared me, H...’‘ A breath of relief left her mouth, ‘‘I love you too, puppy.’‘ She nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck. 

‘‘Can you say that again?’‘ His heart grew ten times as he heard her repeat the words.

‘‘I love you.’’

‘‘Love me, please? Never stop, okay?’‘ 

‘’I will, puppy, I will always love you.’‘

‘’What a fucking lie.’’ Harry said to no one, laying in his bedroom with Herc cuddling him. 

Harry felt awful after what he said to Y/N in the lift, and he wanted to apologise to her for it, but the thing was that she wouldn’t let him. He loved her more than anything in the world and he always said he was going to marry her one day. But that never really happened, as they broke up some time after graduation due to the fact that Y/N was moving away. 

Not that Harry wasn’t happy for her when she got a scholarship offer to study something she loved and then later to work in that field, the problem was that her university was in Germany. While Harry was staying in London to study, she was going to be miles away from him. And considering that both were only eighteen at the time, they though it was bound to break them apart anyway. 

It seemed like the time between Y/N getting a letter and Y/N moving had run out way too quickly. Even though they had months to prepare, they couldn’t, because how do you prepare for a break up? 

They were sat in Y/N’s bedroom, a place that used to hold so many good memories for both of them, and now was going to be a bad one. Harry had his arms wrapped tightly around Y/N, while she was snuggling into his side, never wanting to let go of him. 

‘‘But what if we tried?’‘ Harry argued for the tenth time that day; searching for ways, begging for their relationship. 

‘‘We can’t, H, it won’t work...’‘ Every time they mentioned it, Y/N was on the verge of crying.

‘‘But what if it did? You know those relationship work. It’s not impossible, baby. Please.’‘ His eyes held so much pain, and his voice was filled with sadness.

‘‘Puppy, you’re going to be busy and so will I, and I don’t even know for how long I’m staying. They’re saying I will have a fully funded four-year scholarship. Which is nuts, because I didn’t even know they can do that.’‘ Moving to settle into his lap, only to snuggle into him more, ‘‘I know I’m hurting you right now, but I just know it will hurt you more when we’re apart. Because I know that’s how I’m going to feel.’’

‘‘I don’t wanna let go of you, I just don’t. And I don’t even wanna think of other guys around you, which I know is gonna happen, but I just hate the though of you away from me.’‘

‘‘I love you, I love you so much.’‘ Y/N started crying against his chest, ‘‘I’m so sorry, I-I will cancel, I-I don’t wanna go anymore.’‘ She barely managed to get the words out because of how much she was sobbing. Seeing her like that, it made him feel even worse.

‘‘No, you’re not. You’re gonna go there, and you’re gonna graduate and you will make me proud. Okay, bub?’‘ He placed kisses in her hair, on her cheeks, lips and neck. ‘‘You will be fine. And I will be fine. Alright?’‘

‘‘Okay.’‘ She nodded against his chest, calming down only a little bit. ‘‘I love you Harry.’‘

‘‘I love you too, bub, always will.’‘ 

They were supposed to be high school sweethearts, to love one another for the rest of their lives; to tell stories to their kids how silly their father was when he sent those notes to their mum - but it never happened because they were too young and their timing wasn’t right. 

Still till this day, seven years after the break up, Harry tried to let go of Y/N but it never seemed to work. He tried dating, he tried causal hook ups, hell, he once even tried to settle with one girl but nothing was working, as a few months into the relationship he still longed for Y/N and she wan’t there. 

It wasn’t fair to any of the women he had been with over the last seven years, and it wasn’t fair to him to long after a woman that left. Harry tossed and turned in his bed so much that even Herc decided to sleep on the floor. He couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N and the fact that she really was back, but not his. 

His next encounter with Y/N was one of his most stupid ideas ever. It was almost midnight when Harry realised that he had locked himself out, all while he was shitfaced from alcohol. And of course Y/N heard him knock on his own door loudly, all while groaning in frustration. 

‘‘Are you okay?’‘ Y/N asked carefully, opening the door of her flat, just to see him sitting on the floor. 

‘’Do I look fucking okay to you, princess?’‘ Y/N could detect a tone of disgust in his voice as well as sarcasm.

‘‘Sorry.. Is there anyone I can call to help you?’‘ Her voice was still low and soft, even if he was acting like dick towards her. 

‘‘Well if you have Stacy’s number, do call her I’m sure she’d take me any time.’‘ Harry sung the last bit, only twisting the knife further into Y/N’s heart. 

‘‘I’m sorry but I don’t have her number...’‘ She lowered her head, not wanting to look at him in that state, but also not wanting to leave him alone in it either. ‘‘Do you want to come in?’‘ Hesitation in her voice. 

‘‘Why? Because suddenly you care?’‘ 

‘‘Please stop.’‘ 

‘‘Stop what exactly? Telling the truth, hm?’‘ He stood up, standing tall and closing the distance between them. Y/N was playing with the sleeves of her jumper, feeling intimidated by him. 

‘‘You’re hurting me. With your words.’‘ It was barely a whisper. She raised her shoulders as if protecting herself from Harry.

‘‘Oh no, poor you, princess.’‘ Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, ‘‘Bo-fucking-ho.’‘

‘‘I-I’m sorry, I won’t bother you anymore.. I’ll just be inside.’‘ Twisting the doorknob she went inside her flat, but still having the door open. ‘‘If-if you need something, you can always come in, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.’‘ She gave him a warm smile before closing the door. 

The sadness never left her body, as she was sat down in her living room, snuggled up in a blanket with a hot cup of ginger tea. Y/N hated the distance that was created between them and not the factual one. For some reason, after Y/N left London, it was like the relationship just vanished. Harry didn’t text her as much, nor send her silly pictures like he always did; it was all brought to just hello’s and how are you’s until that too, stopped happening. 

Most of the time, Y/N felt like she was being a bother whenever they texted because there was a lack of enthusiasm in Harry’s texts. So one day it all stopped, and they were left with nothing. 

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening, then steps and a sight of the door of the living room opening and a figure appearing behind it.

‘‘Do you want to sit down?’‘ She asked him as soon as she saw him standing with his shoulders and his head down. Moving from her position to make some room for him while she went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. 

‘‘Here, you should drink some water.’‘ Harry muttered a small thank you, as Y/N put the blankets around tucking him in. He pretty much downed the water and leaned against the sofa.

‘‘I’m sorry.’‘ There was no reply from Y/N, ‘‘Did you hear me?’‘ His voice was raspy and hurt, he turned his head to look at her but she was looking down. 

‘‘I did, yeah.’‘ Y/N nodded her head, biting down on her lip. She looked over at him, not sure what to say. 

‘‘I’m sorry for acting like a dick. You didn’t deserve that.’‘ He wanted to reach his hand and hold her, but he just couldn’t. His words were slurred, but they made sense.

‘‘Maybe I did.’‘ He shook his head in disagreement.

‘‘No, you didn’t. I-I’m just a prick.’‘ 

‘‘If you’re tired, I can make the bed for you to sleep on.’‘ If they continued talking without changing the subject, Y/N would have broke down into tears again. 

‘‘I-I don’t wanna sleep.’‘ Harry replied. 

‘‘Why not?’‘

‘‘Because you’re here,’‘ he played with his rings avoiding eye contact, ‘‘a-and I’m really happy to see you.’‘ But he finally looked up and saw hurt flash before Y/N’s eyes. ‘‘And I, I was really happy to see you the other day as well, b-but I was just mad. I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just that you were back after so long, a-and it-it hurt me a lot...’‘ Ashamed of himself, he looked down and adjusted the blankets over his shoulders. ‘’I hope you can forgive me, because I just,’’ chuckling at himself, he continued, ‘’I still love you as if you never left, if not even more.’’

‘‘I know I hurt you, I really am sorry for that, because that was never my intention.’‘ 

‘‘I know, bub, I know.’‘ It was only Harry who could call her like that and no one else. And even now, it had the same effects on her. 

‘‘If I could go back to that day when I got the letter, I wouldn’t have accepted it.’‘ Tears started to from in her eyes, ‘‘Because no matter how much I enjoyed studying art and just doing it for money, I lost you in the process. I completely lost you and that hurt the most.’‘

‘‘Please do not regret your choice. I’m happy you went, well I was happy for you because I know how much you loved it.’‘ Harry reached his hand over and wiped the tears off of her face. ‘‘I’m sorry for getting drunk.’‘

And as he said that, Harry moved towards Y/N, leaning his head on her lap, the blankets still covering his body. He patted her hand to tell her that he wanted her to play with his hair. 

‘‘You sure you’re not sleepy?’‘ Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, narrowing her eyes. 

‘‘M’not, just missed you lots. Seven years is a long time, puppy.’‘ He said, snuggling deeper into her lap so that his forehead was touching her tummy and his arm around her waist. ‘’But I’m happy you’re back, really happy.’’

Harry was lying when he said he wasn’t sleepy, because Y/N just knew he was going to fall asleep any second. So she managed to convince him to come with her and sleep in the bedroom. He wouldn’t let her leave, so they ended up cuddling, Harry being the little spoon.

‘‘You’re really gonna let me be the little spoon?’‘ He mumbled against her skin, the hot breath causing goosebumps all over her body.

‘‘Yeah, I know love it.’‘ She could hear Harry giggle and say I really do in the cutest voice possible. 

Perhaps the time wasn’t on their side seven years ago, but it certainly was this time. 

[impalaimagining]

I’m Still Here

Below the cut is some stuff about my life. It’s partially my story, partially the reason things have been so not-positive on my blog lately, for which I apologize. It gets pretty graphic so avoid this post if self harm, depression, cutting, PTSD, or suicide are triggers for you. Also this might not even fucking make sense because it’s 3 in the morning and I have no idea what I even wrote at this point. Good luck if you actually read this. It’s blabber.

Some of this, I’ve shared before, and some of it is new to you. This is why I am the person I am. This is why I’m still here.

November 2008. I was 13 years old. Outwardly, I was the girl who laughed at everything, the girl who people liked being around because I made them feel better about themselves. But I wasn’t happy. I had “no reason” to be unhappy, but even on good days, it was like a grey cloud poured down on me. I’d stay up too late and be too tired to function at school. One night, when I swore I would go to bed early, my brain had other ideas. Bad ideas. I walked downstairs from my attic bedroom and tiptoed past my parents room to the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the tub and told myself, “I’ll be okay. I can play it off as a cut from shaving.” And I did it. November 2008, I started hurting myself because I was convinced that physical pain was easier to handle than the gloomy, unemotional state I couldn’t describe to anyone. If I had scars, then maybe they’d realize my pain wasn’t just in my head.

December 2009. I started dating Andrew, a kid I had a crush on for years beforehand. He knew nothing of my past, nothing of my harmful ways or my self-destructive nature. He knew me as a bubbly, giggly girl. I was 14, and definitely not prepared for that relationship to go past a little high school fling. He lived over an hour away, and he had just gotten his driver’s license. I didn’t tell my parents we were dating, because I knew they’d try to convince me to get out of the relationship. My dad hated him. My mom was indifferent, but I was still their only daughter, so they both had that protectiveness about them when it came to anything regarding me. I ended up in love. Head over friggin heels in love with a guy with whom I had quite a history - and not a good one. We pushed past the shit that had kept us apart, and we made it work. I had love, I had someone who actually cared about me, but I still needed to feel the physical pain of self harm.

November 2010. I fought like hell for a friendship I’d lost two years earlier. I had my best friend back, and I was learning how to trust him again. I told him about my scars, told him what I’d been feeling, and he was the only one who knew. He never asked to see them, and he told me if he could, he’d take them away, undo everything he ever did to add to the way my heart was breaking. November 10, I cut myself for the last time. November 11 was the first day in almost two years exactly that I didn’t hold a razor to my thighs, the first day in almost two years that I didn’t bleed by my own hand, the first day my wounds weren’t self-inflicted, the first day I found myself looking for someone to run to. For the first time in a long time, I felt okay. 

I managed to keep my depression under control. I grew closer with a couple of friends, and my boyfriend was there every day, despite the fact that we lived in different states. I had people, I had a support system, whether or not they knew that’s what they were. 

August 13, 2015, just shy of two years ago. I include the day with this on, because it’s a date permanently etched into my mind as the worst day of my life. I’m living with the same guy from ‘09. We’re all but married at this point, just missing the legal documents. Things are good, except Pat, my best friend, the kid I grew up with, the one I looked up to as my older brother, just moved away. I’m sitting in a restaurant in Center City, Philadelphia, eating lunch between my college classes. I had just answered a text message from a friend, asking me if I could nanny for them that afternoon. I said sure, I could skip my class, so I emailed my professor and told him I couldn’t make it. Then my mom calls. I answer, and her voice sounded shaky, but not too far from normal. She asks if I’d been on facebook at all that morning, and I say no, I’ve been in class for the past four hours. She starts crying and trying to tell me something, but I can’t understand it. I finally make out what she;s saying. “Pat died.” My heart starts pounding in my chest, and I feel my stomach churning. I don’t remember what I did with my entire plate of food, but somehow I carried myself outside and walked half a block to my boyfriend’s office building. I hung up the phone with my mom and called my boyfriend. My voice is breaking and he can’t understand me, but he hears, “Can you come downstairs?” So he does. I tell him what happened, that Pat is dead. At this point, I have no specifics, just a post from his mom on facebook that says, “please remember him fondly.” I hop on a city bus and get to my apartment, in a blur. I missed my stop to get off, but luckily the next stop was only a block farther. I walk home, lay in bed, and don’t move until I pick up my phone and email every professor I have, telling them I won’t be in class for the rest of the week. I shut down. I didn’t talk to anyone about anything other than surface level bullshit. I couldn’t let anyone in because I couldn’t let them know how badly I was hurting, and fuck was I hurting.

August 21, 2015. I’m back at my parents’ house instead of my apartment. I booked an event about a month prior, so I’m baking 65 cupcakes in my mom’s kitchen. The next day was Pat’s funeral, so my mind is anywhere but these cupcakes. I finish them, I box them, and I deliver them. That’s it. I drive back to the house I grew up in, the house across the street from Pat’s, and I collapse. My body has had enough, and in reality, I probably had only slept for roughly eight broken hours over the course of the week. I pull out the letters Pat wrote me while he was deployed in Iraq with the United States Marine Corps. I read them. I laugh at his bad spelling and even worse handwriting. And then I cry because all I’ve got left of the man I adored for so long is sitting in my hands. I notice the way he signed the letters. “see/talk to you late” And then I decide. I take the letter to my tattoo artist and I have him put the words on my skin, Pat’s signature underneath them. We walked to Pat’s parents’ house that night to see if they needed help setting anything up for the service. It was taking place in their back yard under a tent. His mom caught a glimpse of my tattoo and made me show everyone. His dad wrapped me in the tightest hug and just kept me by his side for the rest of the night. I barely knew them, but I stayed. I stayed because their pain was my pain, infinite times over. I stayed because they needed every bit of love and support they could get. I stayed because we were all grieving. While I was there, I found out Pat had killed himself. It was the first I’d gotten details about his death, and fuck if it didn’t hurt worse hearing how it happened. Pat, my smiley, goofy, bear-hugging best friend had taken his own life. He struggled with depression, then he joined the Marines and went to Iraq in the middle of the worst of the war. He returned, and outwardly he was... fine. He was Pat, just with a harder exterior. He was the same lovable guy I’d known since I was seven. But apparently, he wasn’t. He fought depression, and after he returned from Iraq, PTSD played a huge part in his daily life. He lost his battle, and the world lost him.

August 22, 2015. I’ve never met Pat’s brother or sister. That changed at his funeral. It was strange meeting all the people I’d only ever heard stories about, and having them tell me they’d heard a lot about me too.

September 2015. Grieving sucks. It sucks even worse when the person you love and live with is grieving for a separate death. Andrew’s grandmother died three weeks after Pat. The atmosphere in our apartment was... unbearable. We were both just so down. I was grieving over the loss of Pat, and he was grieving the loss of his grandmother. Everyone grieves differently I heard. And yeah, that’s true, and that’s fine, but when the grieving feeling doesn’t go away... that’s when it turns into something I hadn’t dealt with in years. My depression was rearing its ugly head for the first time in close to five years. I needed an out. Then I remembered one of Pat’s friends asking me if I’d ever heard of Supernatural. Nope, I hadn’t. I looked on Netflix, and there were ten seasons. I binged. I binged hard. Supernatural was my escape from the fucked up reality that my life had become. If I was submerged in the world of Sam and Dean Winchester, I didn’t have to face what was going on around me. So, I drowned myself in Supernatural, and if I never came up for air, that was just fine with me.

I watched all ten seasons, but not in time to watch Season 11 while it aired on television. I missed my boys. Sam and Dean had become... my boys. I fell in love with fictional characters and their stories. After a few episodes, I looked more into the actors. Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. Hell, there went the rest of my life. I read about Jared’s campaign and looked into his battle with mental health. Sam Winchester was a hero, yeah, but Jared Padalecki was a living example that I could fight through everything. I could conquer this shit. 

August 2016. I went swimming at my friend’s house. The same friend who knew about my cutting. He saw my scars for the first time that day. The next day, I went and got my Always Keep Fighting tattoo (in Jared’s handwriting). A week later, I ended up here. I made a blog for Supernatural-related things, and I started dabbling in writing. I posted something, I gained a few followers. It continued to grow as I wrote and posted more. I began sharing my writing with other people who were just like me.

September 2, 2016. Disney World in Orlando, Florida, in front of Cinderella’s castle. My boyfriend is on his knee proposing to me. I say yes. I call my extended family and closest friends, tell them it finally happened after almost 7 years of being together. I post it on facebook, instagram, twitter, everywhere. I’m engaged. I cried myself to sleep that night because I didn’t - I couldn’t - call Pat. I’m in the happiest fucking place on earth crying like a baby because I just miss my best friend. His mom comments on my facebook post, saying something along the lines of, “If Pat were here, he’d be overjoyed for you. I think he put Andrew through enough tests to make sure he was good enough. Congrats.” Congrats. Congrats on being an emotional disaster the second day of your family vacation. 

July 2017. I’m engaged. I’m planning my wedding. I’m marrying the kid I started dating when I was 14 years old. I’ve been writing and posting on tumblr for close to a year. I made some friends, and holy shit. I found my place. I found people who are like me. We like the same things. We can relate to one another because we’ve all been there. We support each another, and we lift each other up. The way this fandom comes together when people need one another never ceases to amaze me. And now? We have a book. We have conventions. We have the actors. We have each other. We have a family. I know the SPN Family existed before I found my way into it. But I also know that I have never felt more connected to a group of people I’ve literally never met.

Depression still looms heavily over my head, and that grey cloud has become darker and darker within the past few weeks. Thoughts of self harm have crept back into my mind, but I’ll be damned if I throw away seven years of fighting every single day to keep that blade from my skin. Depression doesn’t own me, and you know how I know that? Because I’m still here. 

This post is about me, yeah, but it’s also about you. I love every single person who takes the time to read this, who takes the time to check up on me when I post something that... isn’t too cheery, who messages me or sends me an ask to remind me that it’s going to be okay. This post is for my friends who have become family. This post is for those of you who think you can’t fight one more day. I promise you, you can. Take it a second at a time, then a minute, then an hour, and eventually you’ll have gotten through another whole day of living. You can do this. Always Keep Fighting, my loves <3 

A shoutout to those who have especially had my back since I joined this crazy place: @spontaneousam @plaid-lover-bay25 @torn-and-frayed @cyrilconnelly @wayward-girl @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @ofloveandlonging @elliewinchesterr @the-thirteenthhour @atc74 @impala-dreamer (I’m sorry if I missed you and you feel like you belong on this list. It’s 3am and my brain is overwhelmed and my head hurts). Thank you all for being here. I love y’all <3 

[cooperjones2020]

Nobodies Nobody Knows, chp. 6

Summary: She is the lamp in Hero’s tower, the scissors in Delilah’s hand, the blood in Guinevere’s bed. She is a million and one metaphors and all of them are his undoing. (Some of the scenes from Second City but from Jughead’s perspective. More a character exercise than a story.)

A/N: Guys, it’s real intimidating to update on the same day as @lessoleilscouchants and @sylwrites, but, despite being not all the way happy with this chapter, I’m determined to turn this day around.

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11434950/chapters/25623927

Nobodies Nobody Knows one / two / three / four / five (ao3)

Second City one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine (ao3)

“Any idea why Mary left this on the sink in the bathroom?” He hands Betty a cellophane-wrapped gift basket and an envelope, her name in Mary’s handwriting across the front.

She takes the card out and her face slips into a gentle smile. “A thank you gift for looking after the house.”

The basket is filled with little toiletries, the kind you’d find in a fancy hotel. Betty opens a plastic bottle and squeezes out some lotion. “It smells like a person I used to be.”

He shuffles closer to her so he can smell her hands over the lingering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, melted cheese. “It smells like Friday nights in the cab of FP’s truck, driving you home.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Then, the scent of the lotion hits him with a wave of memory so strong, for a moment he can taste one of Pop’s cheeseburgers. He can taste the menthol in the lip gloss she used to wear. He can taste—

“Maybe you could stay for a while. We could…watch a movie.”

He doesn’t realize he’s leaning toward her until she speaks and his head jerks back in surprise. “I’d like that.”

She gets so excited when she sees Before Sunrise is on TV that she immediately launches into a viva on why it’s amazing and why he needs to see it and why Julie Delpy is her forever girl crush. And so, he capitulates. He gives up on his campaign for Django Unchained, a modern classic that, unbelievably, Betty has never seen.

He has seen Before Sunrise. Has seen the whole trilogy, actually. He went through a Richard Linklater phase a few years ago, after he discovered Boyhood. But he also saw them in college. A girl he hooked up with had made him watch them, saying they were so romantic. His lack of reaction exasperated her. Now, he wants to give Betty exactly the reaction she is looking for. She assumes he hasn’t seen Before Sunrise, and so he doesn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

Nothing about this day has gone how Jughead expected. He’s normally a creature of routine. He likes the regular pattern of his days, the small undulations of activity. Now, as he sits on the opposite end of the couch from Betty Cooper, and as her bare feet sometimes brush his thigh, he’s thankful for unmet expectations. It’s the cherry on top of what has turned into a surprisingly happy day. He scoots down so he can rest his head against the back of the couch and stretches his legs so one is braced on the coffee table in front of them and the other is extended out toward Betty. If that brings her feet closer to his leg, so be it. It’s a comfortable position, damnit.

His familiarity with Linklater’s canon means his mind wanders in and out over the course of the movie.

When Jesse tells Celine, “You know what's the worst thing about somebody breaking up with you? It's when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that is how little they're thinking of you,” he remembers Betty, so nervous and so brave, interrupting him in the basement this afternoon. He’d chosen Leonard Cohen to accompany his work, the low tones just enough to cover the sound of her feet pattering overhead. It did such a good job that he hadn’t noticed her until she was close enough to pitch his heart into a staccato rhythm that momentarily alarmed him.

“Hi, um, are you busy? I wanted to talk to you.” He didn’t think she noticed, but her hands fluttered in perpetual motion—around each other, against the thighs of her jeans, into the hem of her shirt.

“No, not really. What’s up?” He removed his safety glasses and tossed them behind him, leaning against the table and running a hand through his hair.

“I just wanted to apologize to you. About before. You don’t owe me an explanation. You had every right to break up with me. We were in high school. That’s what people in high school do.” Her apology startled him into speechlessness, a rare occurrence in his life. But he knew she was expecting him to respond.

“Thanks, I guess, though you don’t have to apologize. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I may have had a right to, but I definitely didn’t go about it in a very good way.” It’s not at all what he meant to say. But somehow, it’s what came out.

“Friends, then? I’d really like us to be friends.” Betty extended her hand. This time, he managed to shake it like a sane person.

“Friends. Definitely friends.”

“So…what are you doing?” Mercifully, she landed on a topic he could go on about for days. He showed her his progress and glowed like a lightning bug at her praise and her desire to help. Betty and power tools was not a combination his imagination needed. It was up there with Betty and mechanic tools, a fantasy he only let himself revisit at the lowest of times.

Now, the glory of the moment has passed and all he can do is berate himself for being a yellow-bellied coward. Some people may break up because ‘that’s what people in high school do,’ but they weren’t some people. And Betty knows it as well as he does. But the currency of any relationship is secrets, closely guarded, bartered, traded away.

Later, when Celine says, “If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt,” he remembers Betty calling him out for playing with his hair and asking about the whereabouts of his old beanie. He hadn’t been able to help himself from spilling his guts then.

“It’s at home. I don’t wear it most of the time anymore. It’s basically my security blanket. For when I’m feeling off-kilter. I actually didn’t even have it in Chicago with me until recently. I saw it in my room in Riverdale and grabbed it more out of nostalgia than anything.” That wasn’t a thing he needed her to know. Oh well.

Sometimes, being around her is like peering through the looking-glass. She’s simultaneously a sixteen year old girl and the grown-up woman before him. It trips his tongue up. He knows her and he doesn’t. Once, he knew every freckle on her skin, every turn of expression. Every shade in her eyes. When she looks at him, he doesn’t know if he’s falling or floating. But he never wants to stop.

He knew he needed a reality check, so he said, “Can I ask about Hunter?”

“Oh, sure. There’s no big story. It just…wasn’t meant to be.”

His mouth was full of lasagna so he tried to gesture at her so she’d keep talking.

Betty leaned back in her chair and wrinkled her nose, drawing up one side of her upper lip.. “We met in college. For some reason, the editor of the paper wanted me to try my hand at the sports section. So I covered a lacrosse game where he got hit in the face.”

He’d known she was engaged, but had managed to avoid any information about the man in question. He sounded like Archie but with a trust fund. Jughead attempted to cover his reaction with humor.

“Stop it. Honestly, when I look back on it now — he definitely seems more like the kind of guy Veronica would go for, not me. Or Kevin. Kevin definitely had a crush on him for a while when we first started dating. But yeah. I loved him, I think. I just realized I didn’t love him enough to marry him.” It was a story he could have written for himself. No one was enough to fill the Betty-shaped hole in his amygdala.

“Any girls in your life?”

“No one worth mentioning. Not now, anyway.”

He glances over at Betty on the couch beside him. Her legs are curled up like a doodle bug’s. She’s somehow managed to wrap herself up in the throw blanket like a burrito and her head rests on her clasped hands, the pillow discarded near her waist. He remembers the words he’d used to describe her. She is the lamp in Hero’s tower, the scissors in Delilah’s hand, the blood in Guinevere’s bed. She is a million and one metaphors and all of them are his undoing.

Once, she was the cushion that let him be the most broken of his selves.

At some point in the past decade or so of his life, between JB moving home and starting high school, between finishing college and publishing his book, between losing Betty and regaining Archie, he made the decision to just take what he’d been given. Jughead had given up being a misanthrope for Betty Cooper once, he tells himself he isn’t willing to risk giving in to hope again.

When the movie ends, he turns off the TV. Betty rolls herself up to a sitting position, her hair disheveled and her eyes lidded.

“So what did you think? Did you like it? Do you think they come back in six months?” The wine has made her sleepy. Her lips slide off one another and Jughead can’t help himself from wondering, again, what they’d taste like – the oak of the wine or the tang he remembers as Betty. A tang he is no longer sure he hasn’t just made up. He shakes himself out of those thoughts.

“It was cute. My vote is he does, she doesn’t.”

“Interesting. Even though Celine is the more romantic of the two?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to watch the sequel to find out.”

“Guess so. I like that it ends on the ambiguity, that the audience gets to decide. They simultaneously do and don’t. Like Schrödinger’s date.” He pauses and turns to face her, pulling one leg up onto the couch. “But also, doesn’t the fact that there is a sequel indicate that they do come back?”

“No spoilers.”

“Have it your way.” He reaches forward and swipes his phone off the coffee table. “I’ll just look it up on IMDB.”

“Forsythe Jones!”

“Elizabeth Cooper!” Betty leans toward him, so he lifts the phone above her head. It’s childish, but she’s close enough that he can again smell the lotion. Then she gets him right in the ribs, right in the spot he’s most ticklish. He’s surprised for a moment when she plays dirty, but he shouldn’t be.

He repeats himself, “Have it your way then, spoilsport.”

“I am not the one being a spoilsport here. You were literally going to look up spoilers.” She’s so emphatic he can almost hear the italics, so he just laughs in response.

He’ll take what he’s been given. Today, he’s been given friendship. So he makes some noises about having to get home because it’s late. He gathers up his helmet and other accoutrements. Betty follows him to the back door, still wrapped in the throw blanket from the couch. Just before he slips out the door, he pulls her into a hug, cupping the back of her head and pressing his face into her hair.

Scratch that, this is the cherry on top of this weird but wonderful day.

[regrettablewritings]

Valentine’s Day Love Languages: Words of Affirmation

Credence Barebone was a young man starved of the most basic human needs of affection and affirmation. In her efforts to practice “tough love” upon her adoptive children, Mary-Lou Barebone’s methods had, instead bred socially negative results. Credence, being the biggest receptor and made a forced glutton of these “affections”, faired the worst of them all. Granted, this was assisted by the fact that he had became the unwilling host to a destructive manifestation of wrath and hatred. But even post-havoc and post-Obscurus separation, the deeds done onto him had been done: Credence was damaged.

By the time he’d reached his early 20s, he was a shy, withdrawn, extremely unimposing man, both physically and affectionately malnourished. He spoke quietly even when he didn’t want to, and found difficulty maintaining eye contact even more so than the average person. As much as he craved praise and approval, he rarely accepted that any such offers were genuine, let alone readily accepted them when they were.

You had known this even as you two initiated a relationship. You also knew that, upon being the first person whom Credence had ever dated or loved in a romantic sense, it would be unrealistic to expect him to suddenly change these things about himself.

As powerful as love was, it wasn’t some cure-all that suddenly scrubbed away the pain no matter how deep the love went. You’d known this before meeting Credence. But after meeting him, you’d learned yet another thing, something rather specific to people who’d undergone similar trials: The best you could expect your love for another, damaged person was that it could be used as a means to keep them going. To support them even during their lowest moments, to assure them some form of stability even when everything else to them was structured out of melting ice, to hold them when they wanted or needed it when the cold bite of loneliness returned or to provide them space whenever the world, small as it truly was, felt as though it was closing in on them to yell at them for their actions and failures.

That was the best thing you could hope to use your love for.

Of course, this didn’t mean that you refrained from doing anything else. Credence surely didn’t, as evidenced by the bouquet of your favorite flowers placed in a glass vase on the kitchen table. You’d woken up early that day and found yourself staring, a little surprised and very confused by the flowers’ presence. Credence had gone to bed with you at around 10:30 PM, right? Any florist would’ve been long closed by then. And where could he have possibly hidden them if he’d bought them any earlier than that? You pondered all the possibilities, trying to rethink the both of your schedules to place when he could have possibly gotten these flowers then you realized that one of the blossoms in the bunch wasn’t even in season.

Your heart flipped when you realized when Credence got these: He’d created them using magic. His own magic. A syrupy smile began to spread across your features, placing a hand over your heart out of reflex. Credence had only been practicing magic for the last couple of months with the Goldstein sisters and Mr. Scamander (whenever he was in the country). In spite of his obvious potential in terms of power, there was admittedly only so much he would be able to do at this point, so it was decidedly important that he be taught the most basic and practical of spells. There was a very likely chance that this floral-summoning wasn’t a standard spell for him to have learned at this point in the course timeline. Yet, he learned it just so he could do this.

As you observed the perfect and realistic replication of your favorite buds, you noticed a small note placed at the base of the vase and plucked it up to read what had been inscribed. There, scrolled in Credence’s small but elegant handwriting, was the message,

Just because. And I wanted these flowers to see a true example of beauty

Love, Credence

Correction: He learned it “just because” and because he felt that flowers should apparently take notes from you.

You had to take a seat. You were only up at this forsaken hour to get a glass of water, yet here you were, being charmed by your beloved boyfriend, proving he could literally make your heart race in his sleep. Your mind fluttered happily as you reread the note and reread some more, getting a rush of flattery with every glance until –

The previously silent kitchen was briefly filled with a saddened hum of realization: If you had done something similar to Credence, would he have reacted with the same glee as you had? Maybe. But also, there was a chance that he wouldn’t. While Credence had definitely been getting better and better at receiving gifts, compliments, etc., it was still a slow process. A very slow process. Not that you wanted to rush it (after all, what could your nine months of dating do to devalue decades’ worth of mental, physical, and emotional abuse?), but the point still stood: Credence made such an effort to make you feel good about yourself. Were you doing enough to say the same for him?

It had been three days since then that Credence awoke, blinking slowly at the note he’d found in your spot on the bed. It was around 10 o’clock in the morning, and usually you’d still be there. He was the early bird between the two of you, having been roused from his sleep at the crack of dawn for years during his time with the New Salemers. So he was quite surprised to find that not only were you gone, but your place on the bed was cool, suggesting that you had been gone for a long while. As he readjusted himself and rubbed the sleep from one of his eyes, he attempted to read the note:

You look so cute when you sleep. Younger and more innocent. I know this sounds a little weird, but I just thought you ought to know that I love it. I love how you hold me in your sleep, too …

Love, (Y/N)

His brows creased with confusion. Maybe he was just too tired to comprehend it? But the more awake he got, the more he could confirm that the letter said exactly what it’d initially read it to be. Strange. You never left notes like this …

He decided to pay little mind to it, though he did tuck away the fact that you called him cute and that you apparently did appreciate the physical contact he often initiated while unconscious – something he had apologized for multiple times in the past and secretly thought you had only given him a pass on out of pity. His lanky form forced itself from the bed, piloting itself into the bathroom to wash up. It was there, as he brushed his teeth, that Credence found yet another letter, one that was taped to the mirror:

I know you may not think it, but you should look into the mirror more often – you’re so darned handsome! (And no, it’s not vanity. It shouldn’t be vanity to recognize when you’re one good-looking creation.)

Love, (Y/N)

This note caused Credence to blush and still his brushing. This wasn’t the first time you’d called him handsome, far from it. However, this also wasn’t the first time he’d blushed to you saying such a thing. What was a first, however, was the term “one good-looking creation.” It was only as he began to try and calm down and resume his dental hygiene that he noticed a small P.S. written in the corner of the paper.

P.S. – I must admit, Credence, water has never looked so good cascading down a showering body.

Immediately, the tooth-brushing session ended, as signified by Credence spitting out the toothpaste in shock.

Seriously, what’s going on? Credence wondered as he made his way toward the closet for some clothes. He was a bit surprised and told himself a bit pleased that he found no letter in there amongst the suit jackets. But his self-conviction didn’t last long; he honestly felt a little disappointed, wanting to see just how far your comments would go. Usually you weren’t so brazen with your descriptions or praises.

But then, as though the letters were summoned by mere want, Credence found a slip of paper in the drawer amongst his dress shirts.

I like how you dress. It’s so becoming of the proper gentleman you are!

Love, (Y/N)

Credence bit his lip. This one wasn’t borderline vulgar whatsoever. He was thankful for this. However, he wasn’t entirely sure what made them think his style of dress was so dashing: After spending so long wearing the practically mandatory black of the New Salem Philanthropic Society, he felt too attached to venture too far beyond colder colors too often. As such, he mostly just wore more blacks, some greys, and dark blues if he was feeling especially daring for that day. Certainly, he would wear some brighter colors upon your request (read: You simply mentioning you liked this color or asking him if he would ever wear that color). But for the most part, he failed to see what set him apart from all the other tired-faced men who walked the streets of New York City in their drab, earthy attire.

“Because none of them are a gentleman like you, Credence!” he could hear your voice saying in his mind. That was the exact sort of thing you would say, too. It felt better having your voice confirm these worries, and yet, as he ran his thumb over the paper slip, he couldn’t deny the warmth that was beginning to swell inside of him with every rereading of the word “gentleman.” He allowed a small smile to slip, humoring for one instant that to someone – especially someone like you – he was the image of someone calm, caring, and dutiful.

The next note was found on the wall leading into the hallway:

Have you ever looked at our pictures? Really looked at them?

Credence became puzzled upon finishing the inscription. The message felt incomplete. He became even more so perplexed when he realized that there was no “Love, (Y/N)” to finalize the letter.

“(Y/N)?” he called. It wasn’t loud (very few things involving Credence were ever actually loud), but you would have likely heard him anyway. If you had, however, you made no response. More perplexity and hints of concern filled Credence’s features. “(Y/N)??” he repeated, a sense of purpose filled his words as if beckoning a reply from you immediately. Nothing. He tried not to dwell on it, not your silence, nor the note, and decided to continue his intended walk. As he covered more ground in the corridor, however, the seemingly meaningless words of the newest note echoed in his head. It tempted him. He looked up at the pictures lining the wall.

It was a pleasant enough mix of photos, in that some were still and from No-Maj cameras and others were moving and captured by cameras from the wizarding world. You’d managed to get No-Maj-style photos during events like picnics and fairs, both of which you and Credence weren’t necessarily supposed to partake in due to the high presence of No-Majs. However, you had never been one to take restrictions too easily, particularly ones that made the least amount of sense. You were practically Credence’s door to adventure, taking him along on your hijinks. As worried as they made his already skittish nature, he honestly had yet to experience anything with you that he didn’t enjoy to some extent. Probably because they were all with you.

The still image of the two of you holding hands in the park stared back at him, your blissful smile complimenting his own nervous one. As he passed an enchanted photo, the real Credence couldn’t help but watch the photographed versions of you two reenacting the actions that had occurred up until the photograph had officially been captured: You were trying to get Credence to create a genuine, calm smile. You tried quick jokes, you tried gently tickling his side. Eventually, you settled on kissing his cheek. That did it. By the time the real Credence had past that particular image, the Credence in the photograph was smiling goofily and blushing while the photographed version of you nuzzled his arm affectionately.

It wasn’t until Credence had reach the end of the hallway that he’d found the ending to the last note. It was located below the portrait you’d convinced him to have taken. He looked elegant and stern in the photo, like the capable men he would see in celebrity pictures. Men he aspired to be. As he plucked the note’s ending from the wall, he couldn’t stop himself from sighing through his nose and smiling warmly at the completed message:

Have you ever looked at our pictures? Really looked at them?

Because I have – and I’ll never take advantage of them again. Not only because I love it when you smile, but because the pictures that capture both your smiles and just you in general are special: You make them special. I love that you do these things with and for me even though you aren’t always sure of them. You’re so good to me, Credence.

Love, (Y/N)

A box sat on the table in the kitchen: Kowalski Quality Baked Goods. While Credence loved all of Mr. Kowalski’s confections, there were a select few that he especially enjoyed. He was, to be frank, thrilled like a child on Christmas to find all of his favorites placed delicately in the box. But perhaps what contributed to the feeling was the note attached to the inside of the lid:

You’re so incredibly sweet, I wonder if these baked goods are even a match for you. They probably aren’t, but they’re still delicious! Enjoy them, my sweet ♥

Love, (Y/N)

Credence found himself mulling over the latest addition to the growing stack of paper slips, particularly the addition of the heart. However, it was hard to think on an empty stomach, and you did insist that he help himself … As he went into the dish cabinet, he was greeted with a fluttering slip taped to the inside of the door:

You’re always so helpful. Even when you think it’s something little like reaching a plate for me, I appreciate everything you do. I honestly don’t know how I would fair without you, Credence.

Love, (Y/N)

When he went into the Frigidaire to retrieve some milk:

You’re refreshing to me, a rare being that I was lucky enough to encounter in the dense jungle that is New York City.

Love, (Y/N)

It eventually became apparent to Credence that the notes were everywhere. Not just in the kitchen, but in the sitting room as well.

Do you remember that night when I tried to teach you how to dance to the music on my gramophone? You got so nervous that you’d hurt me or that you’d look silly. But you persisted; I love that you keep trying, even when you claim that you would’ve have if it were years ago. Because if you’re trying this one thing, it means you’re trying to change.

Love, (Y/N)

Sometimes I just like sitting here in silence with you. It gives me time to think about how lucky I am to have you and how anybody else should be jealous. (In addition, you feel and smell divine!)

Love, (Y/N)

I’m so glad I found you. It’s like I’ve found an oasis for my heart, but it’s all Credence-shaped! And I would never have it any other way …

Love, (Y/N)

 I’m glad that you chose me. I’m glad that I get to share my life with you. I’m glad that in spite of everything, you’re still here and I’m allowed to love you and cherish you just as you ought to be loved and cherished, even if you don’t think so. I’m so glad you’ve allowed me to begin to build this life with you and even though it won’t be perfect (nothing is ever perfect, dear Credence), I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure that you’re repaid every little thing that convinced you that you wouldn’t get this. You are my support, my muse, my own personal miracle, and I’m so, so, so proud of who you are and who you have yet to become. And, if you’ll let me, I’ll always be there by your side to assure that even when you fall, you always rise back up and into the light where you’ve always been destined to be.

With Every Ounce of Love I Can Express, (Y/N)

You didn’t come back until nearly noon. The trip to the grocers had taken much longer than expected and at this point, you had become a little tired. It didn’t help that you’d gotten up earlier than usual to prepare for Credence your attempt at a gift.

But, you told yourself as you marched up the steps to your door, it’ll all be worth it … Right? You could only hope that Credence even so much as considered one of the letters. Even just the one consideration would be worth it in your eyes. It was therefore a surprise to you when you entered your apartment at long last to find Credence sitting at the table, smiling warmly at you as though you were made of the world’s sweetest pastries but he was too shy to even so much as sneak a taste. In his hands were all of the letters you’d left for him.

You returned the smile, albeit slightly more clumsily due to how unexpected his own was.

“Hello, Credence,” you greeted, placing your bags on the counter. “Did you sleep well?” You almost wanted to slap your forehead at how cheesy and forced you sounded, but you were quite honestly unsure of how to approach the obvious; you actually hadn’t considered that maybe Credence would be this outwardly effected by your gift, considering his past with compliments and gifts.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he greeted back. However, he didn’t answer your inquiry about his sleep pattern. Instead, he raised one of his hands, bringing the letters into view, and blushed ever so lightly. “May I ask what these were all about?”

“Hm?” You pretended as though they were nothing, growing a little flustered by them. You’d honestly felt a little embarrassed by just how vulnerable and mushy you had allowed yourself to be on them. Proud, but embarrassed nonetheless. “Oh, those! They were just,” you shrugged, “a little something I thought that you’d enjoy.” You turned back to your groceries and began to un-bag them, hoping that Credence couldn’t see the blush that had begun to envelope your face.

A small, huffy laugh emitted from your boyfriend. You heard the chair beneath him screech as he pushed it out, followed by his footsteps nearing you.

“I mean why did you do them? You’ve never done anything like this before …” He took a stop by your side, bashfully looking at the counter as his fingers fidgeted with the papers they held. “What’s going on?”

You sighed through your nose, trying (and failing) to keep a timid smile off your face. It sounded so goofy now, as you thought about what words to say.

“Well …” you bit your lip. “I guess …  I guess that’s exactly why I did this: because I never have before.” In that moment, you plucked up the courage to face the dark-haired man. Your smile became less shy and more confident the more you considered the truth. “I meant every word I said, Credence. But I don’t think I ever really expressed them. And if I had, I probably didn’t express them enough. And some of those things are really hard to say …” You began to fidget with your own fingers, with one hand gently squeezing the tips of the others.

“You’re brilliant, Credence” – a comment which prompted Credence to look up at you, smile gone, but instead replaced with a slightly startled look – “You make me happy – so, so happy! And you’re brave and you’re kind and you’re one of the strongest people I know.” You could see him about to open his mouth to release denial, that dreaded beast that tended to keep the nourishment of praise at bay. Throwing your hands to your side in a determined stance, you quickly intervened before he could slip even the first letter of the first words out. “And strength means the courage and ability to persist even after enduring so much that others in the same situation would have given up; it doesn’t mean you can’t be scared or hesitant. It just means that you were nervous, but eventually chose to move on anyway. Credence …”

You found one of your hands cupping his cheek and the other gently placing itself over his own.

“I just wanted you to know how absolutely, positively amazing I think you really are,” you murmured. If you said it any louder, your voice would threaten to crack and then you’d start crying. And if you cried, then Credence would freak out and cry and then you two would go nowhere. It was therefore a bit startling to see his eyes well up anyway. You tried to keep your smile intact, however, using the thumb that was against his cheek to wipe away an escaping tear.

Credence leaned into your touch, something that he had once done to just about anyone in the past. But now, he only ever reserved such an action for you. It symbolized trust, comfort, and so much love, all in one seemingly simple nuzzle.

You wanted to stay quiet. Enjoy the moment and let that simple gesture speak for itself. And, for a moment that seemed to go on, it had. It was unexpectedly Credence who broke it however.

“(Y/N)?” he said. You made no verbal reply, instead nodding slightly. You watched with the smallest bit of curiosity as Credence removed his cheek from your hand and placed the letters on the counter. What followed was him gingerly encircling your shorter form with his arms, gently pushing you towards him into an embrace that only got tighter and warmer with each passing second. It was quiet like this, in this moment where you melted into the hug. It was as though every droplet of love Credence had ever had was being passed on to you, blanketing you with a sense of absolute desire and dedication.

It was in this warmth, this overwhelming experience where you forgot what loneliness ever felt like, that you pressed your had to Credence’s chest and that Credence buried his face into your hair. What followed was quiet. And yet, it was the most blissful thing you had heard in a very long time:

“You’re pretty amazing, too.”

[writermuses]

Those Three Words, They’re Not Enough || Micah, Alessandra, Aubrianna, Amira, and their Families || February 17, 2017

This road had been long, but not exhausting. With every passing day Micah still felt more and more certain of his feelings for Alessandra and their future together as a family. The pair had talked at length about what they wanted in life, love, and their definitions of happiness. Periodically their Monday morning coffee ritual even included a playful discussion of their dream wedding or the names of their future children. Their hearts both seemed set on a Catholic wedding and everyone seeing their new home in Italy. Alessandra’s favorite church, San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, was one he also adored. So, for months he got the wheels turning because he was a romantic, a man in love, and a bit of a perfectionist.

The rings were the easy part, the rest a bit of a challenge. His parents had happily turned over family stones with a beautiful story and Micah met with a jeweler to have them set in a design of his own choosing. The flowers for the evening were his and Brianna’s choices. Naturally, Micah had set out on white. Aubrianna, the true princess she was, demanded her Mammina have peaches and pinks for the special night. It would be the church that was the hardest to convince, but with letters, phone calls, and even two face-to-face meetings he’d managed it. Micah was an optimist and had even attached their purchased plane tickets and written their wedding date on the back of Alessandra’s Christmas gift.

It was easy to hope for the best, but he couldn’t bring himself to prepare for the worst. Micah knew it was a big ask, to say yes when it would be the first time she heard him say those three most important words. They were, to him, the most important words. His parents knew why he was saving them, his heart had been broken more times than he cared to recount, and so they encouraged him to the final moment. The buildup had become fun. There was a look on Aless’ face when he had to apologize that her Valentine’s Day gift was late, not of disappointment but of kindness and understanding. She was so thankful that Max had made it over “to celebrate Brianna’s birthday” that she thought she’d been treated enough. It was who she was, unyieldingly kind.

Dinner on the seventeenth of February was to be something of a goodbye affair. James had to head back to work and Caleb had bumped his flight to Saturday evening so that he could rest before heading back to work himself. Micah couldn’t complain. He was thankful to have Caleb running CC East and the bump up made the evening plans all the more convincing. Aless came over straight from work and she was greeted by Aubrianna, Max, and Micah’s Mother, Elizabeth, giving her cheerful hellos. Micah was in the kitchen cooking but the others were out by the lake, setting up the portable table and chairs.

The sitting room had no sight of it, but many a project was taking place out there by the fledgling micro-vineyard. The chosen flowers covered the center of the long table and white candles of all shapes and sizes were being lit to illuminate the entirety of it. The soft light twinkled against the crystal glasses and polished silverware and the porcelain plates. When Aless glided into the kitchen he set lids on the pots and moved over to her quickly, blocking her view out of the large windows with his broad chest. “Trying to sneak a peak, mio angelo?” Micah bent down and gave her a soft kiss. “You should be relaxing with Max and mum while I finish up. I’m sorry they called you in. Was it anything too serious?”

Micah could hardly hide his smile, Aless had only had to go in because he’d asked his coworkers to make a fake emergency so that deliveries could be made to his house and so he could slip into her apartment and take back the Christmas gift that hung there. It wasn’t easy, but it worked out, and as everyone sat down at the table, Micah made sure that Aless’ back was to the house. Everyone enjoyed talking and Micah excused himself to bring out dessert demanding everyone stay put. His parents and Max kept the conversation flowing as Micah came back out.

Abbot, Costello, and a new furry friend, nipped at his heels as he carried the re-wrapped picture in one arm and a covered tray of cannoli. Thoughtlessly, Aless reached down to pet the head of the dog that flopped down at her feet. Her eyes were on Micah as he sat next to her and uncovered the tray of desserts which was quickly passed around. “Before you get your fingers sticky, you should open your belated Valentine’s Day gift.” He passed the heavy gift to her so that it strategically blocked her view of the furry gift at her feet. With delight he watched her confusion as she reopened the same gift from Christmas. “You’re not done unwrapping it, but perhaps first...”

With a pivot of the picture frame the Dalmatian came into her view. Aless practically fell out of her chair and Brianna was climbing out of her own chair to play with the puppy she’d met a few times over the last couple of months. “Papà ha scelto il suo nome. Ho scelto il suo nome etichetta.” Aubrianna jingled the name tag to encourage Alessandra to look at it. “Papà dice Amira significa principessa.”

Aubrianna giggled with delight but as Aless’ fingers ran across the pink collar to the tiara shaped name tag where it read ‘Amira’ she found two rings. When she looked up Micah was on one knee next to her chair. Though he’d practiced the words, saying them in Italian because almost everyone at the table would understand and it was the language of Alessandra’s heart, he found himself too excited to get through it properly. He took the rings off of Amira’s collar and the words melted away. He’d done this twice before with a big speech and now he only had three words and a question. Micah bit his lip, took a breath, and spoke her language, “My angel, when my soul saw your soul over a year ago it said, ‘There you are. I’d been looking for you.’ and though it took me quite a while to believe realize it, I have known for quite some time with absolute certainty that I love you. I love you, Alessandra, and I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.” He pulled Aubrianna too him, partially to comfort himself but also because of how important the next question would be to the rest of their lives.

“Will you make us the happiest family and do us the honor of being my wife and Aubrianna’s mother.” Micah slid the ring over her finger after he got the answer, kissing her knuckles as his mother calmed everyone down and told them the story of those stones before everyone wished them luck, love, and happiness. When things calmed down and everyone passed around champagne, Micah picked the framed picture back up, turning it around. “It’s really not done being unwrapped.” He tore a corner of the brown backing to show there was another layer underneath. Aless opened it and exposed the plane tickets and the date written there in his handwriting, April 22nd, 2017. “That is the day I have reserved for us at San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. I don’t want to wait, Aless. We’ve talked about it enough that it’s just about spending the money on all the details we talked about. I hope you’re not mad...”