#and helene being there for him saying he's doing better that he should be proud of his progress | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

Note

Hiiii! I absolutely love your writing. Could you do an imagine based off of your pregnancy one shot? Since H is incredibly private, would the couple be able to hide her pregnancy from the public and then announce it similar to like Kylie Jenner’s video diary of the whole experience? Thanks!!

A/N: Ok I was OBSESSED with this request, but for some reason I found it very difficult to write, so I’m so sorry if it’s shit. Hope you like it <3

Word Count: 2,698

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Is Forever Enough?

From the moment Harry found out he and Y/N were expecting their first child, he knew he wanted to document everything. He had been in the habit of capturing moments throughout their relationship, mainly of big events, but from this moment on, he wanted to capture it all. Little clips of every doctor’s appointment, every craving his wife had, every heartbeat, and every little kick. He wanted video documentation of the life growing inside his wife’s belly and everything that happened during that time. They had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was finally here, he wanted to make sure they would never forget a single second of it. From telling their closest friends and family members, designing the nursery, their tiny baby shower, attended by the select few that were lucky enough to know their secret.

At first, keeping silent was a way to protect themselves in case Y/N’s pregnancy didn’t stick like their fertility doctor had warned them was a possibility. It took them nearly two years to conceive, and the thought of going through a miscarriage in front of millions of watchful eyes was terrifying. But by the time they became aware that they weren’t going to miscarry, they had gone so long without announcing it that there wasn’t a point to do it. Why ruin something that was so well hidden?

The decision not to announce their pregnancy to the public wasn’t a hard decision to make. Harry was private, anyway, and everyone knew that. He was rarely on social media and didn’t talk about his private life to many people, and those who he did talk to were very loyal and trusting. They just wanted to enjoy being pregnant without the prying eyes of strangers and it was fairly easy keeping it under wraps considering how private they were, to begin with.

The timing of Y/N’s pregnancy helped, too. The early part of her pregnancy was during the summer, so they could enjoy tropical holidays together without worrying about being seen because she simply wasn’t showing yet. But, towards the end, it got harder to conceal, like during award season in the fall when an oversized shirt or puffy dress couldn’t conceal the roundness of her bump and plumpness of her cheeks and lips. It was the first award season she hadn’t accompanied Harry to in years and people began to get suspicious.

That’s when the rumors of her possible pregnancy started. Of course, no one could prove anything. But that, along with the lack of sightings of Y/N was enough proof for some. Luckily, nothing more came of it other than whispers. Harry had stopped doing interviews when he first got wind of the rumors, so no one could catch him off guard in uncomfortable positions or having to lie to protect his wife, and he began to focus his attention back on his music, halting his pursuance of on-screen work for the time being until after their baby boy’s arrival. Instead, he was the man behind the camera.

For the most part.

There were times when certain family members or friends would pick up their camera and film some things for them, capturing little intimate moments of the parents-to-be. They even enlisted the help of Harry’s on-tour photographer, Helene Pambrun, to help film the birth of their baby. Though she focused mainly on photography, her knowledge of videography and style of filming fit exactly with what the couple wanted, and Helene was all too honored to be a part of the day.

And although the birth of their child was, albeit, a bit traumatic, they couldn’t have asked for a sweeter baby boy. Born on a frigid Friday evening on March eighteenth after twenty hours of active labor and an onslaught of chaos, Paxton Robin Styles was born, tiny, healthy, and beautiful, surrounded by family that already loved him so dearly.

The hospital staff was wonderful in keeping their attendance private, no one having a clue that they were even there. No news articles or whispers were heard of their newest addition to which they were grateful to be allowed to enjoy their first week home, getting acclimated to being new parents. They had fallen in love with him.

“Y/N!” Harry exclaimed, bouncing into the nursery on a Monday afternoon as his wife fed their son, his phone in hand, and a bright smile on his face.

Y/N looked up, surprised and slightly offended, “Don’t ever call me by my name again,” she joked, stroking their son’s cheek.

Harry laughed, “Sorry, love. But, look! It’s here!”

He held his phone in front of her face, playing the edited version of their pregnancy and birth journey in video form one of Harry’s editor friends kindly put together for them after the birth of their son. The five minute and fifty-one-second video filled with shortened clips of the last nearly ten months of their lives in becoming first-time parents. They watched it together, occasionally glancing down at their baby that had fallen asleep while eating in Y/N’s arms, in awe that this was their life.

Tears were streaming down both of their faces, and Y/N giggled, wiping her husband’s cheek with her free hand. He was an emotional being, she knew that, but she had no idea what the effect of fatherhood would be on her Harry. She couldn’t have picked a better partner to raise a child with.

“I think we should post it,” Harry said, causing Y/N’s eyes to go wide.

“Post it? Like...social media?”

Harry nodded, “Well, we can’t keep him a secret forever. People are already starting to talk. I’d rather announce it on our own terms than on someone else’s. We can still stay as private as possible, I’ve already talked to Jeffrey and my publicist about it. I just...he makes me so proud and I feel like I need to show people that.”

Y/N smiles sweetly at her husband, taking his hand that rested on the arm to the nursing chair and pulling it up to her lips, kissing it gently. “Okay. We can post it.”

Later that evening, the internet was in an uproar and their phones were blowing up like crazy, for on both of their Instagrams they posted a grey-scale picture of a name tag sticker that read “Hello, I’m: P”, captioned ‘link in bio’, where they were directed to a youtube link posted under Harry’s account.

As soon as the video began, Harry’s soft voice was heard, singing his version of ‘Lullaby’ by the Dixie Chicks in the background as unseen footage of their wedding a few years prior had fizzled into view, video of their first dance as husband and wife played while the tail end of a speech made by Harry’s mom, Anne, was heard over everything else.

“We are so incredibly grateful to have Y/N now an official part of our family and I wish you both years of love, health, and happiness….and giving me tons and tons of grandchildren,” earning laughter from the attendees, “I love you both to pieces. Congratulations.”

The video slowly changed to little snippets. Y/N running towards the beach, holding her hat tight on her head with one hand while the other was holding onto Harry’s hand that was at the bottom of the screen as the breeze whipped at Y/N’s hair and sarong, cut to a clip of the camera propped on the beach overlooking the two of them sitting in the sand, looking out into the ocean, Y/N’s head falling on Harry’s shoulder and him kissing the top of her head as the sun set.

Next was a scene during one of Harry’s tour where someone filmed Y/N at the front of the stage in a VIP area beside a few of their friends, dancing and singing along with Harry who stood in front of her, smiling and singing at her.

The next images were upsetting. When they first started trying, they recorded videos of themselves awaiting the results of their tests, hoping to capture the moment they found out on film. One after another, the video showed negative test upon negative test, wanting to document the struggle they faced in fertility, one of the main reasons they decided to post this video. If it helped just one person who struggled with infertility and gave them a bit of hope, they needed to show it.

They showed clips of Harry holding an emotional Y/N in his arms, her eyes filled with tears and a quivering lip as he kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Until the next clip showed. A shaky still of a screen that read ‘Pregnant’ that panned up to show a reflection of Harry and his wife in the mirror, Y/N pulling the test up to her face with a smile while Harry looked down at his wife in pride, softly touching her flat belly.

Clips of an ultrasound showed, Y/N stomach looking more bloated than anything as the doctor slid the wand around on her belly, Harry filming while squeezing his wife’s hand. His voice could barely be heard over the music of the video as he cooed, “Is that it, right there? So little…”

They included a few announcements they made to family members. How they told Anne while on an end of summer family vacation with a little jewelry box that opened up to two little birds and an egg in a birds nest with a note that said ‘A little birdy told me you are going to be a Nana.’ making Anne burst into tears, hugging them. And when they told Y/N’s best friend by giving her an orange and saying, “That’s how big our baby is right now,” which caused confusion before the screaming.

Y/N had filmed mirror clips of her growing belly in the floor-length mirror that stood in the corner of their room and had gotten clips of Harry laying beside her bump, his hands rubbing her stomach, clasped on either side as he sang, or talked, or read stories.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he could be heard saying before kissing the top of her bump, looking up and past the camera to his wife, smiling lovingly.

There were images of Christmas, Gemma having caught an intimate moment between the two of them, Y/N sat in between Harry’s legs on the floor, mugs of hot chocolate in her hands and still in their Christmas Pajamas, Harry’s cheek pressed against hers as he held up a blue Gucci baby suit in front of them, smiling and gushing about how small it was.

The couple’s silhouette could be seen in the dark light sky as they stood in the middle of the field, illuminated by the New Years’ fireworks that went off in the distance, Y/N’s belly pressed against Harry’s stomach as they kissed intimately amongst their friends.

A small baby shower inside one of their London country homes was next, littered with a few familiar faces along with some that were likely family members. Harry still sang in the background as the two of them opened gifts, smiling and laughing with each other, genuine happiness and love could be seen on everyone’s faces and a few people popped onto the screen to say a few words for the unborn baby.

“You have wonderful parents,” Y/N’s parents grinned, her mom getting teary-eyed. “I can’t wait to see the person you become.”

Anne’s bright, shining smile was next, “You’re going to do amazing things. You are so loved.”

“Hi, my sweet nephew! It’s Auntie Gemma,” she grinned, waving at the camera, “I can’t wait to meet you and snuggle you! I hope you grow up to be just as kind and loving as your parents. We are so lucky to have you in our lives.”

Harry and Y/N were seen in the background, Y/N eating a slice of cake while Harry casually kissed her cheek before stealing a bite of her food, earning a smile from his pregnant wife

Video panned over their newly renovated nursery, mostly designed to be gender-neutral with little hints of outer space; moon lights, a solar system mobile hanging above the cot, with a star blanket draped over the nursing chair. Harry moved the camera to Y/N who was hanging some onesies in the nursery closet, smiling and waving at the camera.

Next, they were laying in bed. It was dark and, but a glow from a nightstand shone and Y/N’s belly was visible, round and very pregnant, a few freckles near her navel, and the faintest linea nigra could be seen running from her belly button down towards the bottom of her belly. Their voices were barely audible over the music still sung by Harry. A little ripple on her belly cast from left to right and then her belly distorted a little as their baby boy kicked and pressed against the center of her bump, making the couple laugh and Harry’s hand appeared, softly rubbing where his son’s foot would be.

It changed. They were in a hospital now, Y/N in a grey and white spotted hospital gown. The camera was propped on a table filming Y/N who sat on the edge of her bed, moving her hips from side to side as she breathed heavily, moaning, while Harry kneeled on the floor in front of her, his hands on her hips and squeezing to relieve some pressure. They were talking to each other, concern, and empathy clear on Harry’s face.

In the next clip, Y/N was laying back in her hospital bed, sucking on gas and air. Harry was filming this time, and his Anne could be seen this time, sitting on Y/N’s other side holding her daughter-in-law’s free hand. Y/N put the gas and air down, gave a thumbs-up, and smiled, “We’re having a baby today!” as her mother-in-law smiled brightly.

The footage faded to black before it flashed to Y/N looking at someone just out of view as the disembodied voice said, “Whenever you feel the urge to push, let us know. You’ll be meeting your son soon.”

It faded to black again, Harry’s singing more evident in these moments, louder, as the footage flashed back into focus. The camera was, once again, being propped up on a table. At Y/N’s head on either side stood Anne who was still holding her daughter-in-law’s hand, while Harry stood, back to the camera, mostly blocking the view of his wife as one hand stroked her hair and the other held her hand. The doctors could be heard saying, “Deep breath” before Y/N took a deep breath in, bringing her legs to her chest with the help of a few nurses that could hardly be seen, bearing down and pushing as the nurses counted and Harry said, “Great job, love. Keep going. You’re so strong.”

The screen went black. A doctor’s voice was heard saying, “One more big push.” Y/N could be heard taking a deep breath, and a little exasperated yelp before gasping from both Harry and Anne followed by the beautiful, gurgling cry of their baby. Harry’s sweet singing voice in the background of the video got louder and finally, the video came back into view of a little name card on the bassinet that read:

Name: P, Styles.

DOB: March 18th

Weight: 6 lbs 12 oz

Height: 20 inches

Time: 8:39 PM

The camera panned down to the top of a blue baby cap with a white embroidered ‘P’ in the center, moving as their son wiggled in his bassinet, the hushed reassuring whispers of his parents heard just behind the camera as little lip-smacking and coos could be heard from the baby.

The screen went blank as the song started to end and white words appeared on the screen.

“Welcome to the world, Baby P. We love you to the ends of the earth.

Love,

Mummy and Daddy”

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Taglist:

@odetostep , @thurhomish

#Harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blurb #harry styles dad #dad!harry #pregnant #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles smut #harry #one direction #1d

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pbandjesse · 2 years ago

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I feel a little out of sorts. A little frustrated. I am trying not to fall into anger but it's hard. It's mostly about tomorrow. But at least most of today was really nice.

I woke up after an alright sleep. James came and laid with me for a few minutes before we had to get up. They made the bed and I got dressed.

I was excited to wear my valentine's Halloween sweater. But really I should have put another shirt on under it because I was cold!! It was so chilly today!! I ended up wearing socks and leggings and boots. And was still a little chilly. I would be fine but man. It was surprising.

We left here and got me breakfast before heading to the museum. It was drizzling. And would be on and off rain all morning. The wind was pretty strong as well. James and Stanley would come out and put the sides down and that helped a lot. Made the day a lot more pleasant and a lot less blustery.

I was pretty focused on my knitting today. But I would spend a good amount of time talking to Ginny. She apparently loves to travel and we were just talking about that and wedding stuff and she is so nice. I got a pumpkin roll and an apple cider donut. I would jokingly run away and tell her James would come out and pay later. And of course they did come out to get their pastries and we laughed about me running away. And later one Ginny would be one of my 3 sales. She bought my beaded "have a nice day!" totebag. Made me feel good and I gave her a little discount.

I had some nice conversations and got to see cute babies. I did my knitting and had lots of people watch me and compliment me and it is very easy to make me feel all proud of myself and my work when that happens. It's nice to share this type of knitting too.

I would space it out well and would finish my last row right around 12. I had had a nice chat with Helen about possible alternatives to flowers because she is going to be cleared out because of another wedding she's doing. And I talked to Stanley for a bit about my fiber works. And I chatted with Bob the blacksmith for a long time. Got to tell him about my bronze casting background and I think I impressed him with my patina knowledge.

Around 11 Anne decided, based on vender feedback, that we should close early. Didn't have to tell me twice. So at noon we all packed up. My stuff takes like 2 minutes to put away so I waited until I saw someone else putting things away. And then I was off.

I got all my stuff in my box and loaded up the wagon and over to the car. I went in to say goodbye to James and remind them to print our stickers. And then I headed home.

When I got back here I brought my knitting up. Grabbed the mail. And pet Sweetp for a bit. I have a heating pad in the couch for him because I'm worried he will be cold.

And then I changed and got in bed.

I spent a while brushing out my bear. The little windbreaker I got him came and so I wanted him to not look as scrungly. It's not perfect. But using a file card and a cat brush got most of the mats out. And the little windbreaker looks so cute. I did end up ordering a black hoodie off of Etsy since I couldn't find one anywhere else. I will later the two so he can have a hood again. Which I think looks better.

I still stand by the colts being funny because that used to be the football team in Baltimore before they were stolen in the night. James looked at the shirt and said that it was a funny way to spell Baltimore. Which is fair enough.

I worked on some knitting stuff. Experimenting with the yarns I have. A lot of mine are either to thick or to loose. I was able to make a few more tubes I will attempt to make into plushies. It's fun to try stuff.

I would start trying to sleep. I ended up looking at advent calendars and I am excited that this year I actually was able to order the jam Advent calendar!! It is usually sold out by the time I remember it but I used the Amazon gift card the dentist gave me and the Cashback I had on my credit card so it's basically free. I'm really excited.

And then I slept. I slept to long honestly. James was home from work when I woke up and we laid in bed together. Which was very nice. They felt very cold so I hope I warmed them up a little.

Then we had dinner in bed. And watched videos. Eventually I went to work on cutting out the stickers they printed but the ink didn't stick to the paper and just flaked off and I was so upset. At first I thought they just didn't dry and had rub off because of that but if I ran my finger on them it just came right off. Super disappointed. So I ordered a different brand of paper to try out. We'll see what happens I guess.

I was really uspset then. And then got more upset when the street fair tomorrow still hadn't emailed me. The last one I did have me a 72 hour out email and a 24 hour out, and then a day off. This fair started on Friday and they never even confirmed they got my application!! The only reason I know they did is because my name is on the website. But I don't know anything. I had emailed them twice this week but no answer. So I finally set them a Facebook message since they had been posting photos. And whoever runs it did message me back but just said the vender coordinator would take care of it in the morning. What does that mean?? I don't even have an address. Or a spot number. Or anything!! I don't even feel comfortable with going with how the rain is going to be. And I'm going to be alone.

I have basically decided that I will wake up at 8 tomorrow. And if they don't send an email by 9 when load in is supposed to start I won't go. I really don't want to go anyway but I feel bad wasting $60 on the table fee. It basically wipes out my profit from today. But like also. It's a really long market, 9 am load in, goes until 6pm. And it is going to rain literally all day.

So I am just not feeling my best. I feel just this side of angry. It isn't a nice feeling.

I did get to test more yarn tonight. And hang out with James. And I got a shower. But I have a lot of tension in my jaw. And I don't know how to make it stop.

I hope you all feel okay and are taking care of yourself. Stay safe. And be careful. Goodnight everyone.

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thebookreader12345 · 4 years ago

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Friendly Parenting

Pairing: Natalie Manning x Best Friend! reader

Summary: Y/n moves in with Nat to help her through her pregnancy and promises to be by her side through everything life throws at them

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: light swearing and mentions of pregnancy/birth

Word Count: 1,232 Words

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

“And this is the last one,” I state and bring in a suitcase from my car.

“Thanks again for doing this, Y/n,” Natalie told me.

“Nat, I’m your best friend. I will do anything you ask. Besides, I don’t think anyone is more excited than me for you to have this baby. Except for Helen,” I point out.

Natalie laughed. “Okay, so, what do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever the baby wants is fine with me,” I answer and drag my suitcases farther into the house.

“Pizza it is. I’ll be up to help you unpack as soon as I call the food in,” Natalie spoke.

“Gotcha,” I respond and bring my bags up the stairs and into the guest room Natalie had set up for me. I set my bags on my bed and opened them before starting to put my clothes in the dresser. It was weird seeing all of my clothes laid out in front of me because I wore scrubs on most days. I loved my job as a doctor in the ED, and don’t get me wrong, it did take up a lot of time, but it was worth it. Getting to help people was something I had always wanted to do, and being able to actually do it was a dream come true. Natalie joined me a few minutes later, and together we unpacked the rest of my clothes. Clothes were pretty much the only thing I needed to bring. My parents had put the rest of my things in storage so that when it was okay for Natalie to be alone, all my stuff would be waiting for me to move back into an apartment. “And of course, the room would not be complete without this,” I say and place a picture frame on the nightstand. The picture was of Nat, Will and I standing in front of the new ED after it had to be rebuilt. Will was another close friend of mine, and he had the hugest crush on Natalie, which everyone knew about except her. Once we were done unpacking and the pizza had arrived, we sat in the living room and ate.

“Y/N, that patient you had last week was totally into you. You should text him.” Natalie told me.

I shook my head. “No. No way. That’d be so weird. What would I even say? ‘Hey. This is Dr. L/N. I was just wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me.’”

“That’s exactly what you should say,” Natalie said.

“Your hormones are making you crazy. I’m not doing that. Besides, I’m perfectly happy being single,” I state.

“And I know that, but I think there’s a guy out there who could make you very happy. Oh! What about Connor?” Natalie asked. I almost spit out my water, and ended up choking on some of it as it slid down my throat.

“Connor?” I cough out.

“Come on. I see the way you guys look at each other. There’s something there,” Natalie accused.

“Nat, Connor just started at the hospital. I barely know him,” I point out.

“Liar! You probably know everything about him,” Natalie spoke.

I waved her thought aside. “Enough of this. You should not be worrying about these stupid things. It’s not good for the baby.”

“He’s been kicking like crazy today,” Nat admitted and rubbed a hand over her swollen stomach.

“Maybe it’s because he’s excited that I’m here,” I suggest jokingly and take another bite of pizza.

“I actually think you might be right. He seems to like the sound of your voice,” Natalie confessed.

“Because I’m going to be the one to spoil him when he gets older,” I respond. “Now, lets see whatever stupid cheesy romance movie is on TV.”

1 Month Later...

“Look at that. My two favorite women,” Maggie said as Natalie and I walked into the ED together.

“Hey Mags. Hey Will,” I greet my two colleagues. “Any incoming traumas?”

“You missed one. A big trauma came in earlier,” Will informed me.

“Damn. Nat, if you make us late one more time,” I joke.

“Hey. It’s not my fault that this baby slows me down,” Nat retorted.

“Mmhmm. I will talk to you guys later. Right now, I’ve got to help Nat get to the lounge,” I tell Maggie and Will.

“Have fun,” Maggie called out as we walked away. A few hours later, while I was doing some charting, I was informed that Natalie’s water had broke, and she was in a room upstairs. So, when I went up there, I made her walk a little bit around the floor.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Natalie asked me.

“Ten more laps,” I reply.

“You know, I am seriously regretting this whole thing,” Natalie exclaimed and gestured between us.

“Good. I guess that means I’m doing my job correctly,” I state as we continued walking. At that moment, we passed Natalie’s room, and standing by the doorway was Will. “Hey, Will.”

“Hey. Sorry I took so long to come up. I had to bribe Fromson to cover my shift. What do you need me to do?” Will questioned.

"I need you to walk with her for now, and I will be back as soon as I can,” I answer.

“Wait, you're leaving?” Natalie asked me.

“I’ve got a few cases to close up. You’ll be in good hands with Will. I promise,” I assure her. After leaving Will and Natalie, I headed back down to the ED to finish up discharging my patients. As I was finishing my last chart, Maggie called out for me.

“Y/N! Incoming!” Maggie shouted.

“Mags, I’ve got to get back to Nat,” I tell her.

“You’re the only doc in here right now. I need you,” Maggie spoke.

I sighed and set down my tablet. “Fine. But this better be quick.” It was anything other than quick. By the time I had finished with that patient, hours had gone by. As soon as I finished the paperwork, I rushed up to Nat’s room. When I entered, I found Natalie holding a baby. Her baby. “Natalie, I’m so sorry. I wanted to come right back, but I got stuck with a case and-”

Natalie cut me off. “It’s okay. Maggie told me everything, and she was here for me. Now, would you like to hold Owen?”

“Wait, Owen? You took my suggestion?” I ask.

Natalie nodded. “Yeah. Here,” she said and passed me the baby. I smiled down at the baby in my arms and took a seat in the chair next to Natalie’s bed. Owen cooed at me as I held his tiny hand with my fingers. He was amazing.

“He’s beautiful, Nat,” I announce to my best friend. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for being with me through everything, Y/N. I really appreciate it,” Natalie declared.

“You’re going to appreciate me even more when I help you take care of this little rascal. If you thought being pregnant was rough, wait until we have to sleep in a house with Owen waking up every hour of the night,” I explain.

Natalie laughed. “Well, I’m glad I’ll be doing it with my best friend.”

“I’m glad I’m doing this with you. Now, enough of all this talking. I just want to squeeze Owen’s chubby cheeks,” I exclaim.

___________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett

#one chicago #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #natalie manning #best friends #baby #pregnancy

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞

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Rowan glanced at his pocket watch and attempted to swallow his irritation.

How was it only nine-o-clock still? He had already suffered through enough social niceties to last a lifetime.

Now, he listened with but half a mind to his cousin drone on about the night's guests. His head was filled with all the tasks he needed to see to, including searching for a new governess for his sons. His boys kept chasing away every woman he employed and he was hesitant to hire a tutor, because he believed they needed a woman's influence too, now that his own wife was too ill. The physician had done all he could but there was not much hope she would wake, loathe as he was to admit it. Perhaps he should have accepted his mother-in-law's offer and send the boys to their her after all?

"--and Arobynn's here too—"

That caught his attention. "He is?"

"Mhmm. Look, over there, no, no, to the left—besides the pretty redhead, yes, just so."

A man stood by the entrance with a red-haired woman on his arm, tall and muscular, with a fine-boned face. His auburn hair were pulled back into a bun, offsetting his pale skin and the fine cut of his suit was a stark reminder of his prominent position in society, despite the whole stigma around tradesmen.

"I knew he was fond of flaunting convention but escorting his mistress to a ball?"

"You haven't heard?" James approached them with a drink in his hand. "She is not his mistress but an adoptive daughter of sorts and his apparent heir."

Fenrys choked on his drink.

"He named a girl heir to his trade empire—and not even his own blood—stupid!"

"Spoken like a man," said the gentleman and shook his head. "He raised her himself, is introducing her to all his associates and she doesn't look dumb either."

James nodded towards the redhead he had seen earlier, dressed in the finest black silk with a neckline low enough, it bordered on scandalous. Her copperish-red hair were pinned into an elegant coiffure with pretty, gold hair combs and a simple, pearl necklace completed the striking picture she made. Her sharp, defined features were barely beautiful until she laughed—a musical sound in itself—and he wondered whether he had seen anyone prettier.

"If hers was the last face I ever saw, I'd die a happy man." Fenrys sighed and walked off.

James rolled his eyes. "He's about to seek an introduction to her, isn't he?"

Rowan's lips twitched up.

He had always liked James. The man was completely without artifice and his enthusiasm for everything was so infectious, no one could remain angry with him. He had spent a few summers with the Galathynius children, until their youngest daughter was abducted and the visits stopped.

"I say you must frown a little less, sir, unless you wish to give offense."

Rowan looked up, startled at being addressed by the object of his thoughts. She looks even lovelier up close, thought he.

"I detest these events."

"So do half the people in this room and yet, appearances must be maintained."

"Deceit is not in my nature."

The lady frowned. "It is not deceitful to pretend you are interested in an event in order to spare your host's feelings."

"Your motive may be charitable but it is no excuse for dishonesty."

The lady looked amused but did not pursue the topic further. "I hope you will forgive me for speaking without a proper introduction, sir. I am not a fan of convention."

Rowan smiled.

An unmarried woman, not even of age, and already a heiress to a trade empire—by all accounts, she did not seem like one.

"I will, if you allow me to remedy the situation now." He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am Mr. Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, in Doranelle."

Her cheek dimpled. "Miss Celaena Sardothein—my father—"

"Mr. Hamel, yes, I know." He almost cringed at how rude he sounded. "He and I, we are—"

"—business associates, yes, I know," she teased with an impish grin, replying in a poor imitation of his own deep voice.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, filled with laughter and mirth—turquoise orbs, ringed with brilliant gold.

All of his resolve flew out of the window. "Miss Sardothein, will you allow me the pleasure of leading you into the first set? The dancing is about to commence."

"The pleasure will be all mine."

In hopes of starting a conversation, he said, "You are a fine dancer."

"I would have believed you to be a liar if we hadn't already established that deceit of any sort is your abhorrence."

He smiled. "And if I were being insincere?"

"I would take it as a compliment to myself, for it will mean that you are acting on my advice from earlier about lying for the sake of appearances."

They fell silent again.

"We must talk some, you know," said Rowan. "For someone who claims to be concerned with appearances, do you not think it would look odd for us to spend a half hour together but in silence."

She startled at the sudden statement. "Introduce a topic then and I will do my poor best to maintain the conversation."

Rowan complied and was pleasantly surprised to find her lively and good-humored and well-informed on most subject from current fashion disasters to books to political bills and movements. Her arguements were passionate and far from taking offense at his dry humor, she matched it with witty quips of her own; and to top it alll off, she was as skilled a dancer as a conversationalist.

Rowan was almost annoyed when the song came to an end. He could not recall the last time he had been half as well entertained.

"You will be the death of me, you foolish, foolish chit!" screeched the old matron.

Fenrys had allowed himself to be dragged into a bookstore, which happened to be one of his least favourite places, by his cousin, James—the second son to his uncle, Lord Rhoe, the Earl of Narrowcreek—and was now eager for any sort of amusement. He turned towards the high-pitched shriek with interest.

A young lady stood near the shelves, tall and proud, even in the face of her mother's ill-bred manners.

Her blonde hair fell down in waves, half pinned by dragonfly-shaped hair combs. The fabric of her dress was fine enough for her to belong to the first circles and yet, he could not recall seeing her—or her mother—anywhere.

"Ungrateful child! Wait until I tell your father what you did; he will be most displeased."

She bit her lip to contain her mirth, though her cheeks flushed with embarassment. Her eyes flitted to the door and back, as if she was looking for some escape.

"Poor girl," the bookshop owner murmured.

The following words had the unfortunate attention of drawing the mother's attention towards the owner.

Lord Fenrys almost laughed at the alarmed look on the owner's face when she began lamenting to him instead and then looked over at the lady who was staring at the door with a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether or not to attempt an escape.

She must have decided in it's favour because she gathered her skirts and made a mad dash towards the door.

Fenrys realised he was standing in her way and hastened to move but it was too late—

"Darn!" cried she.

The commotion drew her mother's attention and upon spotting her wayward daughter lying on the floor with a grimace, she rushed over with a whole new litany of complaints.

Fenrys could have sworn the lady cursed under her breath.

"Stubborn, stubborn child! I told you not to run off without me but oh, how you love vexing me," shouted her mother in her high-pitched voice. "And what are you doing, bothering this fine gentleman over here? You had better not to talk to anyone if you are determined to refuse them all. You broke that poor man's heart—"

Fenrys quirked an eyebrow in interest, looking thoroughly entertained.

Her cheeks flushed further.

He frowned.

Up close, her face looked awfully familiar. He searched his brain for an answer.

A memory flashed in front of his mind. A highly unconventional black dress, a tinkling laugh and a ballroom.

Realisation dawned.

"Miss Sardothein! Fancy seeing you here," said he. "I almost didn't recognise you because of the hair."

"The hair? Oh, yes, I am very fond of dyes, but you have caught me in my natural state."

"I find you lovelier than ever. If you will forgive me for prying, I could not help but observe you haven't bought a thing yet, even though I know you to be a great reader! Is the reading material not to your taste, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena answered wryly, "As a matter of fact, the books here suit my tastes very well—It is only that I am not allowed to buy books for a month—as punishment."

"No books! And what awful crime did you commit to merit that?"

"I rejected a marriage offer."

"A capital offense!"

Celaena smiled, "Indeed."

"I hope you are appropriately ashamed of yourself!"

"Horrified at my own audacity, really."

The lady looked up at him and grinned; Fenrys' own face turned pale and his mouth fell open in surprise. Ashryver eyes! She had ashryver eyes—like James, Aedion, and their mothers Helen and Evalin and—gods. The little poem his cousins had made up in childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

"The fairest eyes, from legends old,

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold."

But how...?

He looked at the woman again: her eyes bright and mirthful and thick eyelashes resting on her cheek, the face tugged at his memory; and she smiled so impishly, he had seen that smile before—

"Aelin," he blurted out.

He was startled when her smile dropped and recognition flickered in her eyes.

Fenrys shot an alarmed look towards the shelf behind which James had disappeared. Aelin was here! But how could this be? His heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

"Aelin?" She inclined her head in question.

He smiled uncertainly.

Was she really his little cousin? Aelin had been five year old when he last saw her.

But if he was wrong about this, could this come to bite him in the ass? She was certainly as old as his cousin would have been, had she been alive and she had the same unruly blonde curls and those ashryver eyes, teeming with life.

It couldn't be...

Arobynn's adoptive daughter.

"Yes, Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her."

"If she is your favourite, then I am inclined to take that as a compliment." Celaena—Aelin?—smiled again, though her eyebrows remained drawn still. "The name does sound familiar. Perhaps I would have heard of her in the newspaper? The society column is a great source of amusement to my father. He reads it aloud to us from time to time."

Father? He wondered if she was talking of Arobynn or Mrs. Rhunn's husband.

Fenrys smiled sadly. "That is not possible for you see, my cousin died when she was five."

At least I thought she died.

"I am sorry for your loss." Then, with an arch look on her face, she asked, "If she was like me as you say, she must have been delightful."

He chuckled. "An absolute troublemaker."

"Definitely like me then," said she, sparing a look towards her mother. "I should leave now, before my mother lists you off as yet another suitor!"

And before he could think to stop her, she curtsied and scurried off.

Fenrys stared at the door, somewhat dumbfounded. Aelin is alive. He marvelled at the thought and then wondered how on earth he would inform her family—James would be ecstatic and his father would have to be informed, and Edward would have to be called to London, gods. Edward!

Aelin had been missed by all but no one grieved her as the poor man had.

Edward would be ecstatic; everyone would.

Fenrys ran towards his cousin out of breath, who was still examining titles in one corner.

"Fenrys, god, slow down, man! Whatever happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

He blinked.

Then, without any attempt at tact or discretion, he blurted out: "Aelin is alive."

"Aelin, Aelin, stop that—no, look at your frock, mother will be so angry, no, Aelin! You will hurt yourself like that."

The man watched, concealed behind the ridge as a little girl skipped from one mud puddle to another, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved. Her elder brother followed at a more sedate place, calling out admonishments and threats, not that they had an effect on her.

Aelin grinned over her shoulder and ran, leading her brother on a merry chase.

The man was still debating how to go about abducting the girl when fortune smiled upon him; she twisted her leg and fell down, prompting the boy to run towards her.

"It hurts," she whimpered, refusing to stand.

The man smiled maliciously and waited as the boy looked around. "Very well," he said finally. "If you promise not to go anywhere, I will fetch papa. Do not move, Aelin."

The boy rushed towards the manor house, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach and burst into his father's private study. In his panicked state of mind, it took a few attempts for Rhoe to make sense of his garbled words.

A foreboding feeling rose in his stomach.

She will be fine, he tried to reassure himself. Aelin, troublemaker that she was, had had a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

But his alarm grew the nearer they came to where she was supposed to be and his heart pounded inside his chest. All colour drained from his face when they didn't find Aelin where she was supposed to be.

"Are you certain this is where you left her?"

Edward nodded.

Rhoe suddenly felt dizzy, his knees buckled and bile rose up in his throat.

He reined himself in and with admirable composure, organised search parties to search around the estate and the neighbourhood.

The search carried on until late that night, when an express rider from the nearby magistrate arrived with a letter: a nearby warehouse had burned down earlier that day and two bodies were found: a man in his forties, who could not be identified and a seven year old girl who had on a silver anklet bearing the word fireheart and requested Mr. Galathynius' presence tomorrow at the warehouse to confirm the girl's identity.

Rhoe folded the letter, excused himself from company and sent his sons to their beds.

Then he entered his study: the study no one was allowed to enter without permission—except his Aelin—slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and wept.

note: ...and it's here. I have so many drafts of this chapter lying around, I'm surprised I actually finally posted it lmao.

@thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan-writes // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @hizqueen4life // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 //@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @curlyredqueen06 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein //@jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @sanakapoor // @abookishfreak // @maddymelv // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @morganofthewildfire // @bellamyblakru // @theilliumbluebell10 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @woollycat22 // @chieflemming

if you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #sarah j maas #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin regency fic #valiant #aelin-queen-of-terrasen

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decayandfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd.

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away. It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

__________________________________________

Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha 306 #bnha fanfiction #the great book of sayings

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littlesparklight · 4 years ago

Text

Cruelties of the Heart

It wasn't the glittering pressure of Iris that woke Menelaos up. Rather it was Knossia stirring from under his arm, slipping out of the bed with a whispered 'wake up, my lord', sliding out of the room with a bow to Iris while she dressed and Menelaos had barely sat up. He looked from the nymph, escaping out and certainly about to disappear into her fountain again, then to the goddess, near touching the roof where she stood in the middle of the room, her golden wings shedding a light all of their own and enhancing the morning's rose-gold light that fell in through the windows.

Menelaos shook his head, not awake enough, not quite quick enough, to even begin to guess why a goddess should come here to Crete to see him. Unless this was about Helen, for Helen was the daughter of Zeus, and the king of gods and men would surely be concerned about his mortal daughter's welfare if something should've happened.

"Has something happened to Helen?" Menelaos spoke through the too-thick beat of his heart that had taken up space in his mouth, hand frozen partway through his distracted comb-through of his hair with a hand. His hair was not important, if Helen was in danger.

"Son of Atreus, honoured husband to Helen, daughter of the dark-misted son of Kronos; up and back to your ships. Light-footed, radiant Aphrodite has stolen through your house, uniting Paris and Helen. Your guest took your wife with him as he left in the night, and Helen went with him, the sanctity of your marriage bed despoiled."

Silence rung beyond the echo of Iris' words, hanging there with damning weight even as the goddess herself disappeared out the window with a rainbow shimmer. There was a weight on Menelaos' heart, an ache in his gut, and hot, liquid weight flooded him as soon as the silence settled, the goddess' presence no longer pushing all air away from her.

Helen wouldn't.

Helen - had looked at Alexander of Troy with stolen, wide-eyed glances, lips pressed thin even before she knew he'd spied her looking. Helen had taken the gifts Alexander had offered her with a comely little blush to her cheeks, yes, but with all due decorum. Helen had wondered aloud, in the privacy of their rooms, as to the beauty of their foreign guest. Had teased him - he'd thought - if the effect of Alexander passing through the corridors of the palace, leaving sighs in his wake, was any similar to the effect she left in her passing, however small such a similarity could be.

Perhaps it hadn't been teasing. Perhaps it had been Helen confessing to more than understanding of the effect she could have by watching someone else. Perhaps it had been Helen confessing she was as affected by such beauty as the rest of the world was to hers, but carrying it she could hardly fall in love with herself.

Menelaos stared down at his trembling hands, slowly tightened them into fists, and ignored how his vision blurred.

Helen wouldn't.

Except he'd left her alone, because he'd trusted her, and who trusted the beauty of one's wife to other men? Who trusted the beauty of a man such as Alexander?

Collapsing back, Menelaos didn't even flinch as his head met the wall, and clutched his face, biting down on any embarrassing noise. Anger might come later; at the moment he was too heavy for anger, too weighted by tears for the insult to spur him to any action at all. He couldn't move, sorrow and dull, echoing pain carving chains straight out of his heart and keeping him on the bed. He should get up, but the enormity of both his own emotions and the situation kept him there, unable to decide what to do.

It wasn't until the door opened and Agamemnon stepped in that Menelaos realized he'd sat there for hours - the sun had long since passed from shy morning light that lit up his borrowed room into afternoon heaviness that threw the room in shadows.

"Menelaos---" His brother paused, staring at him. The shadows made him huge, taller and broader than he was, more similar to the towering, unpleasant ghost of their father, especially with that scowl on his face. It immediately eased up into a soft-mouthed breath drawn as Menelaos found the strength to drop his hands and meet Agamemnon's dark-eyed gaze. His brother crossed the floor in three steps, hovering now, as a thick-maned lion hovers over his young cubs daring a trip out of the lair their mother has kept them in, to drink from a sweet, cold pool and for the first time exposed to the dangers of the open sky and shielding grass, which could yet hide dangers. "What's paining you? Sitting here in the darkness - what news could you even have received when no herald or messenger has come past Idomeneus' hall?"

"Gods need not use stairs and doors, Agamemnon," Menelaos said, finding some thread of wryness, his mouth following a stumbling step behind but not quite managing a smile to match his tone. "Storm-footed Iris, messenger of Zeus, came to me."

He closed his eyes, gritting his jaw until he could speak, for where there'd been tears there was now a flare of white-hot rage.

"Alexander of Troy left with my wife in the night, stealing my marriage bed of its precious contents and robbing my house of its greatest jewel." Reaching out blindly, he didn't need to fumble for Agamemnon's hand to close about his. "Agamemnon--- what do I do?"

He knew what he wanted to do, but the idea was vast, and though the threat itself might - should, surely - be enough to threaten Troy to give up its stolen loot, if it didn't, the price could be high. It seemed a terrible thing to ask of the sons and lords of Achaea by his own authority.

"There was an oath sworn," Agamemnon growled, his voice as if that of the Thunderer himself, "we call on it. I won't have you disrespected this way, dear Menelaos."

They were finally to do this.

Finally, after the wrong city, after being scattered and remustering over five years, and quietly, full of useless, gentle hope, Menelaos hoped that these five years were part of the ten Kalkhas had interpreted that the war would last for. It could be, couldn't it? Why shouldn't it? They might not have been engaged in armed combat for more than that assault on Mysia, limping back to try and find their way and then scattered by the storm, but it was one link in the chain, a part of the war, as disappointing and empty as it'd been.

This time there would be no further disappointments, no further derailments. Odysseus had gotten Achilles off from where he'd ended up on Skyros, and Telephus would be showing the way; they were all gathered, it was only a question of setting off in the morning.

So, for today, there was celebratory hunting, and Menelaos found himself smiling as he had little energy to do lately when Agamemnon's spear was the one to take down the deer they'd been chasing.

"Better than the virgin huntress herself, wouldn't you say?" Agamemnon proclaimed, his voice ringing with giddy pleasure of success and rustling the leaves of the trees around them, proud as any young boy being given the chance to take down his first quarry, the older hunters stepping back to allow him his first taste of glory and experience.

Menelaos choked on his breath, hidden underneath the laughter around them. Cold punched his chest, seized his tongue and froze it still, even as lava bubbled up, scalding his stilled tongue with the need to speak, to shout at his brother. He glanced around, but all the men present - Nestor still in his tent in the Pylosian contingent's camp, too old to comfortably keep up with the rest of them and not deprive them of all but the most unworthy, old or diseased quarry - were laughing, thoughtless with success, with the coming riches and renown to be gained.

All but Odysseus, standing at the fringe, rubbing his chin and jaw.

Briefly, their eyes met, and Menelaos wondered, considering Odysseus' reluctance during the first muster, if he wasn't pleased. If so, it wasn't visible on his face, and Menelaos could only marvel at the man's ability to keep himself contained. They broke their gaze to look up as a disturbing wind made the branches dance, scraping against each other like a harpist only the Receiver of Many would employ at his grim court.

In the distance, clouds towered up and the winds were soon tearing at both clothes and hair, driving the grass flat and threatening to pitch them all to the ground.

III

The tent was silent save for Menelaos pacing with a particularly pinched expression on his face Agamemnon well-recognized and wasn't much in the mood for.

His little brother's temper was rarely roused, but when it did so it could be fierce and take little heed of others - and most often it rose against Agamemnon himself, despite how quiescent Menelaos was at the best of times, despite how hard he worked to keep his younger brother satisfied and safe and unharmed. Sometimes, Menelaos could be the worst sort of dog.

"I'm not sacrificing my own daughter," Agamemnon snapped, staring at his hands. Hands a goddess would have him murder his own beloved, oldest daughter for. That he hand this task, this foul thing, over to someone else was as unthinkable as doing it at all. If it should happen, he would do it himself, but it wasn't going to happen. But if it didn't happen, then their name would be left besmirched, his brother's home and person insulted and left to be laughed at, and the glory and gain to be won, surely beyond counting, lost.

To be sure, leaving your wife with an unknown guest in your halls was reckless and foolish, too trusting of both strange man and beloved wife, but Alexander of Troy had been a guest - it was unconscionable that he should then repay his host the way he had. More than that, the host had been Menelaos, his little brother. The memory of coming into the room Idomeneus had given Menelaos and seeing him on the bed as if all life and vitality had left him still hurt.

"I didn't say you should," Menelaos growled, whirling around but pausing in his pacing to stare at Agamemnon from across the tent, brown eyes ablaze and the light from the lamps catching bloody in his pale, red-blond hair. "Blessed gods, brother, what do you take me for? There has been enough death in this house, I wouldn't ask any more of you!"

Slowly, Agamemnon tightened his hands into fists, though that didn't so much hide the tremble in them as subsume it, setting his very blood to vibrating, his veins pulsing in answer until his skin was buzzing from fingertips to armpit. Menelaos wasn't lying, of course. He didn't want Agamemnon hurt, or to hurt him, both for perfectly normal, brotherly reasons as well as to hold the darkness that always lurked at bay, fangs bloody in the dark, waiting. But there was, still, an edge to his words, in his voice, like a knife hidden under the well-appointed, beautiful dress of a woman plotting as only women could, resorting to subterfuge for that was both their nature and their need.

"And yet you have more. Out with it."

They stared at each other for a beat, a pulse jumping in Agamemnon's jaw to match the one at Menelaos' temple, and then his little brother grit his teeth, usually so very warm eyes narrowing. There was a time those eyes had looked at him with nothing but beseeching need, searching him out for every little bruise that tender heart had suffered, knowing not the worser pains Agamemnon had gone to lengths to shield him from. Maybe if he had refused to help his brother in winning Helen and redirected him towards another potential wife, they wouldn't be here. On the other hand, what was the chances no one at all wouldn't have tried what Alexander of Troy had, even if Helen would have been married to Achilles?

"I will not ask you, and I won't demand it, but I wouldn't even have to if you hadn't opened your mouth! What were you thinking! A deer in her own sanctuary, and even if not, you claimed yourself better than one of the Deathless Ones instead of thanking her for the kill, and now I should be left with nothing but ruin and laughter, completely aside from not knowing what I'm leaving Helen to?"

"From what you told me of him, that boy could not force her if he so went to her bed when she would be sleeping and could put up no resistance." This was not acknowledging the real source of Menelaos' anger, but Agamemnon felt little desire to admit to it. Of course, he could not sit there and watch his little brother flinch as if he'd slapped him, looking away and seeming to collapse in on himself.

"Helen wouldn't have gone willingly," Menelaos whispered, hands tremblingly tight in fists at his sides, and Agamemnon bit down on the next few words, knowing Menelaos knew she must have, for he'd accused her of that to Agamemnon himself on the way to Sparta from Crete, furious and hurt for a blazingly glorious moment. The problem was Menelaos' anger could never quite be sustained for long whenever it was roused, and now he had retreated into soft-hearted pain and the security of insisting the ridiculous, woman-mad pretty boy had forced Helen from Sparta and to the ships.

Grunting, Agamemnon drew breath to - redirect the conversation, if not apologize, but Menelaos got there before him, and he should probably have expected the shape of the retaliation.

"What do you care for, in the end? For me, at all, when you insult a goddess just as we are about to set off, my grief finally to be assuaged, and you're unwilling to repay her the respect you lost her, even as cruel as her demand is? Or only for wealth and glory, which can be easily discarded at the slightest opposition, considering the wealth of Mycenae? If this was about wealth and renown, you know I wouldn't be here, and I would be urging you against the whole of the gathered sons of Argos and the Danaans if they were the ones howling for your daughter's blood for favourable winds to win them their promised glo---!"

"So you would have me sacrifice my daughter for you? One half of my heart for the other?" Agamemnon bellowed, surging to his feet, and knowing not what hurt more - that he might be considering it exactly for that, or that Menelaos was leveraging himself this way.

"No!"

It wasn't much of a consolation that Menelaos seemed horrified, even when that had been exactly what he'd implied in his anger. Choking on something hot and wet, Agamemnon halted in his advance, but Menelaos came to meet him, clutching his arms and now meeting his eyes unflinchingly. If Agamemnon only could do the same, but he was staring over the top of Menelaos' head, the lush, soft tumble of half-wavy hair still in disarray from their walk here through the rising storm winds. He hadn't noticed he was shaking, and not just his hands.

"I would rather we not be here at all, Agamemnon. I would rather not be responsible for the lives of all these men, young and seasoned both, rather not be the reason they're here, and the deaths that will come of this already pains me." Menelaos grimaced, jaw, lips, tight, which hid the briefest of trembles to his usually soft mouth. Agamemnon couldn't remember when he last saw his little brother smile, and something hurt within. It was far too reminiscent of when they were younger, when Menelaos had been slender as a whip and creeping quietly around, tense as a fawn walking out into the open for the first time, following its mother but fearing any nearby hidden wolves and its sharp, slavering jaws, thirsty for tender flesh and young blood, so as to not arouse their father's anger. "And I don't want to see Iphigenia's blood on the altar, for the pleasure of cruel gods who care more for their Trojan sacrifices than the golden laws of hospitality the son of Kronos himself guards. But I can't just turn back, either. What sort of man would I be, then, to neither defend my wife or punish the crime, to let a far lesser man take something so precious from me, away from Achaea and Sparta itself, where Helen belongs?"

Menelaos closed his eyes, shaking his head. "And I know the chance she left unwillingly is slim, but if there was even the barest of risks of that, how could I leave her to suffer continually at the hands of the man who stole her?"

When he opened his eyes again, Menelaos was stiff as he squeezed Agamemnon's arms and said nothing more, merely watched him with a tense, dark look that had become far too familiar in the last five years. Even the slave woman he'd gone to pains to find for his brother had not ever stirred even the smallest edge of Menelaos' usual smile, though she did delight him, he knew. And if they - he - did nothing, how long could he expect Menelaos to be respected on Sparta's throne? How long until he would have to field disrespect against both of their thrones, against his brother personally? He did not want to see him in more pain, but Iphigenia...

Agamemnon's heart quavered, and he lurched forward, clutching Menelaos to himself, and if there was a wounded noise that escaped him, at least it was hidden in his brother's hair.

"My daughter. How can she ask for my daughter, even if she kills women, young and old, at whim?" Agamemnon groaned, but could not deny Artemis had a right to her recompense, as little as he was going to admit it. The words had been said, and he had been the one to say them, and he couldn't imagine disbanding the army, as close to it as he'd been before Menelaos had shouted at him over the wind that they needed to talk things over. But talking things over had merely put his brother right in front of him, his brother who'd been grievously insulted and maltreated, his brother who Agamemnon was still furious to see losing both spark and smile since Helen had left.

"I don't know," Menelaos murmured, wrapping his arms around him. "I don't know."

His brother, and his daughter.

Agamemnon closed his eyes, but could not escape the memory of Iphigenia's glowing smile as she sang at dinner the evening before they set off for Aulis a second time, proud for her father, for the glory they were to win, respect rewon. His darling, sweet-faced Iphigenia, with her dark, curly hair and bright eyes, who'd liked to 'provoke' him into chasing her when she was younger, growling like the most ferocious of wolves and herself shrieking in horrified delight.

Agamemnon shook until he was still, digging bruises into Menelaos' shoulders, wetting his hair, and then he took a breath.

"We could put it to a vote," Menelaos offered, then, and eyes still closed, Agamemnon pulled back to shake his brother a little.

"I am not putting my daughter's life to a vote among the council. If I am doing this, I am doing it by my own decision, by my own hand, as it was my own words that landed us here. Nothing more, nothing less!"

His daughter, and his brother.

In the end, the decision, as heavy as it was, as cold as it made him, was, perhaps, foregone.

* An attempt at using both the hints of variant traditional material where Agamemnon and Menelaos’ relationship isn’t as simple as the older brother eclipsing the younger and Menelaos giving way to Agamemnon in all things, but without turning Menelaos (or Agamemnon, for that matter) into some terrible villainised version of himself as seemed to have been popular to make of him in a number of plays. Also to deal with Agamemnon coming to the decision to sacrifice Iphigenia.

#the iliad #trojan war #menelaus #agamemnon #lightart

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edendaphne · 5 years ago

Text

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 16

New chapter of "Discordant Sonata"! (Feat. adorable art by @corgi-likes-chat!) Here’s a cropped preview:

>>Read it here on Ao3<< >>Read it here on Wattpad<<

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

CHAPTER 16: LEGATO

Legato: “tied together”; indicates that musical notes are to be connected, so they are played (or sung) smoothly

(Mood Music: Mamma Mia (Swing version) - Opa Tsupa)

[One month later]

“Alright, I’m gonna take the side door and rush upstairs to steal the elven artifact. You got these guys?”

Chat rubbed his hands together, then picked up his controller, adjusting his grip. “Oh baby, I'm itching to try out this new greatsword.”

Marinette nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t aggro too many mobs. Space ‘em out.”

“Did you forget I can stun?" he poked her back.

"No, but you often do,” she quipped. “One sec, buff refresh."

"Ouch, my masculinity! Too bad your regen got nerfed with the last patch.”

"I’ll manage; I bought some extra potions.” She shrugged. “Remember not to blow your rage too early this time. We don't want to pull out prematurely!"

Chat gave her an incredulous look, as if she’d grown a second head.

Marinette winked at him. "I've just seen how you handle that greatsword of yours."

Chat howled with laughter. “Double dagger spec? More like double entendre spec!” He squeezed her shoulder. "You've come so far.”

“Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” she replied.

He sniffled and dramatically wiped away a fake tear. “I'm so proud of you."

Marinette giggled and settled herself into a comfortable position, crossing her legs on the floor. Her fingers gripped her controller tightly in anticipation. “Alright, Minou. It’s go time.”

---

Several tense minutes of yelling and frantic button-mashing later, Chat wailed in agony as he plopped backwards, “NOOOO!!! We were so close!!”

Marinette turned around, frowning. “Dude! Why’d you have to go off on your own into that side corridor?! You should’ve known it would be full of stealth enemies!”

Chat’s arms flapped around as he sputtered incredulously. “Y’know what?? We shouldn’t even be here! You’re the one who wanted to two-man a four-person dungeon!”

“We would’ve succeeded if only you’d stuck to the plan, Mr. Curious Cat!”

Chat paused to shoot her a petulant glare. “Well, I guess that means you won’t be needing this epic leather armor you’ve totally been looking for all week, that I just happened to loot from said forbidden corridor! I bet it’ll fetch a high price at the auction house!”

Marinette let out an offended gasp. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Give it!!” she yelped as she reached across for his controller.

“Nuh-uh! Nope, too late! You should’ve been nicer to me when you had the chance!” He clambered away, but she chased after him.

“Get back here!” she cried, catching him by the waist.

Chat continued to taunt her, holding the controller up high. “Gee, I wonder what kind of trinket I could buy with all the gold I get for this,” he remarked, tapping his finger against his chin.

Marinette grabbed one of the throw pillows from the chaise and thwacked it against him.

“I’m gonna tell Ladybug about your evil deeds!” she threatened.

Chat grabbed another pillow with his free arm and swatted her back with a laugh. “She won’t believe you! I’m her beloved partner, after all!”

“Wanna bet?”

Before he could reply, Marinette tackled him to the ground, grabbing at his belt to hold him in place. She reached for the controller, but his arm was still too long. She adjusted her grip at his side to reposition herself.

Chat squirmed at her touch and yelped, “ACK!! That tickles!”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she looked up at him, a devilish smirk slowly slithering across her face. She crawled on top of him, securing her legs on either side of his hips. And with that, her fingers went to work, mercilessly tickling his ribs and obliques.

Chat screeched and wiggled, desperately trying to scoot away from but failing every time.

“Surrender!” she commanded, continuing her onslaught.

He answered rebelliously between cackles, “Never! But I may scream.”

He thrashed and tried to squirm away, but she had him right where she wanted him. Chat laughed so hard that his eyes began to water, and he begged for mercy in between belly laughs.

Finally sensing her opening, Marinette got ahold of the controller, yanking it away from his lowered arm.

“AHA!” she cried, lifting her arm triumphantly.

Chat’s eyes grew wide and his mouth twisted into an indignant pout, then he used his enhanced strength to lift his hips off the ground, reversing their position so she was the one being pinned.

Marinette gasped in horror and outrage. “CHEATER!! You’re using your super strength!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m always this strong,” he quipped back, flexing his arm dramatically. He adjusted his position on top and tried plucking the controller away from her.

Despite being a bit disoriented now that she was on the bottom, Marinette maintained a death grip on the controller.

Chat grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head and she grunted as she struggled. “Oh, how the tables have turned,” he purred as he trapped them both under a single hand. His other hand trailed down to her waist, poking experimentally, then extending his claws from his fingertips to amplify the sensation.

Marinette writhed and wriggled under his touch, shrieking and giggling uncontrollably.

“Do you yield?” he demanded impishly as he stared down at her flushed face a mere few inches away.

“NEVER!!” she replied tenaciously, defiantly puffing out her chest, as if straightening out her posture would somehow intimidate him, or grant her extra resilience.

“You are soooooo stubborn, Ma Minette,” he chided playfully, squeezing her sides hard and making her squeal some more. Marinette twisted and kicked vigorously, trying to escape, but to no avail.

Their antics were interrupted by a descending musical chime and agonized screams erupting from the laptop screen, which was propped on top of Marinette’s antique chest for easier viewing. The pair stopped, their heads whipping towards the source of the sound.

Their respawned characters had died while they were occupied with their tickle fight.

The pair looked back at each other, then busted into hysterical guffaws.

As they laughed and panted, Chat couldn’t help but notice the way Marinette looked with her long dark hair fanned out on the ground, her tiny freckles more prominent against her reddened cheeks. She really had become quite a stunning young woman after all these years. Despite spending their teenage years together, his attention had always been elsewhere, and he’d never really paid attention to how different she looked now, versus when they first met.

She seemed to notice him staring and smiled, and the rosiness of her cheeks seemed to intensify. Probably from the exertion, he figured. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel his own face beginning to feel hot under her gaze.

She looked like she was about to say something, but as she opened her mouth, a new sound blasted across the room; it was Marinette’s mobile phone.

He felt her twitch underneath him, and for the first time, they both realized the position they’d put themselves in. Anyone who walked in on them at this moment would surely have... questions.

Face feeling red hot at this point, Chat released Marinette’s wrists and got off of her so she could get up and check her phone. Giving him one last cheeky smirk, she stood up to see what the commotion was all about.

She gasped as she checked the screen. “Oh my goodness! I’d totally forgotten, I have a study group in fifteen minutes! I have to get ready!” She turned off the alarm and pocketed her phone, then scrambled to her desk to get her school materials prepped.

Chat’s ears twitched in response. “Oh! It totally slipped my mind as well. Good thing you set a calendar alarm. Otherwise, your classmates would’ve walked in to Chat Noir just casually playing video games at your house.”

Marinette darted to her full-length mirror to look herself over, then dashed over to her vanity to grab her hairbrush.

“Do I look alright?” she asked as she fixed her hair.

“My darling, you look positively radiant,” Chat replied theatrically, taking a seat on the chaise.

“Is my outfit okay?” she continued harriedly. “Should I change? Is my shirt wrinkled? Do these shorts make me look short? Is my hair sticking up in the back?”

Chat grinned at how flustered she was. “Helen of Troy would pale next to your indescribable magnificence, Mademoiselle.”

“Chat,” she jokingly reprimanded, but failed at containing an upwards twitch of her lips.

He shrugged feebly. “You look totally fine. But why? It’s just your classmates.”

Marinette hesitated. “Well… Just… no reason!”

She received a skeptical eyebrow in reply. He knew her better than that (not that she was very good at hiding her feelings in the first place). Giving up any further pretense, her posture drooped in response.

“Alright, alright, the truth,” she conceded with a resigned sigh.

Chat leaned forward imperceptibly, raising his eyebrows in silent query.

“My old crush is gonna be there–”

Chat gasped loudly despite himself.

“–And I wanna look nice!” she continued. “But not like, sizzling ‘I’m tryin’ to steal you from your girlfriend’ kinda hot, ya know? I’m just trying to get past him. I wanna move on. I wanna prove to myself that I’m doing okay. He's still one of my best friends. I need to show that I'm happy for him.” Then she added with a weak smile, “Plus, Alya knows what my wrestle-hair looks like, so I'd have to answer some awkward questions if I don’t look at least somewhat put together.”

Chat closed his mouth, which he hadn’t realized was in “fish gape” mode until just then. He looked down towards the floor, now understanding why she would feel so apprehensive.

Marinette was doing her best. He felt his heart swell with affection and sympathy. He had to help somehow; he always tried to be a source of extra confidence whenever she needed to face challenges. It was the least he could do for her.

Chat stood up, cleared his throat and approached her desk, swishing his tail back and forth as he pondered her words.

“I know exactly what you need,” he offered with an air of authority.

Marinette quirked an eyebrow. “You do?”

He retrieved something from her vanity and, with a flourish, he presented a tube of shiny pink lip gloss. “Ta-da! For the ‘I still look cuter than everyone in the room without even trying’ look.”

Marinette accepted the tube of lip gloss, and she couldn’t help but giggle at his sweetness and sincerity. “Sounds good to me! Thanks!” As she looked into the mirror and applied the lip gloss, she continued, “Sorry to kick you out of the house. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Chat waved it off. “Of course, don’t worry! I have somewhere I need to be this afternoon anyway, so take your time.”

“Alright. I’ll text you when we’re done, but it shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours.”

“Okey dokey!” He stood behind her and gave her a quick parting squeeze, then walked over to the floor hatch to exit her room, giving her one last wave. “Later, Maribug!”

Marinette smiled after him as he descended the stairs, amused as always at his unintentionally accurate nickname. If only she could tell him.

Someday, she told herself. Someday there will be no more secrets.

She dearly hoped that that day could come soon.

-----

(Mood Music: You Don't See Me - Safetysuit)

A short while later, Nino and Alya arrived together at the Dupain-Cheng residence. At the door, Marinette greeted them with a smile and invited them inside.

From across the street, a certain tall, blonde, bespectacled figure peeked from behind a tree, deciding to wait a few minutes before making his own entrance.

“It looks like your girlfriend was able to tame her Wrestlemania hair after all,” Plagg whispered from inside Adrien’s pocket.

Adrien poked him gently with his finger. “Hush, she’s not my girlfriend,” he admonished.

“Oh that’s right, I forgot,” Plagg replied. “You already have a secret girlfriend, according to everyone’s favorite international celebrity, Lila Rossi.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ladybug’s not my girlfriend either,” he corrected him again.

Plagg poked him back. “And how did you know I meant Ladybug?”

“W-well, I-I just…” Adrien stammered, his body growing hot in spite of the crisp autumn weather. “It was implied. Anyway, we’re not in a relationship.”

“Not yet, you mean?” Plagg inquired with a quirked brow.

“Plagg! That’s not– I mean… not that I’d mind –AUGH, wait! That’s not what I meant to say!!” he whisper-shrieked as an even more intense wave of heat traveled down his torso. “Let’s just go. I can’t spend a bunch of time trying to figure out what kind of relationship we have, or we’ll be late.”

“You could always ask her tonight during patrol,” Plagg suggested with an eyebrow waggle. “Unless your mouths find something more ‘fun’ to do instead.”

Adrien let out a choked whine, covering his face with his hands. Instead of answering, he scurried down the sidewalk, trying his hardest to ignore the muffled cackles emerging from his clothes.

He rang the doorbell and waited. A few moments passed and the door opened to reveal Alya, who greeted him with a smile.

“Hey, buddy! Glad you could make it! Come on in!”

She led him upstairs to the family room, where everyone’s study materials and textbooks were already spread out onto the dining table.

“Hi, Adrien!” Marinette called from the kitchen area as they walked past. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m just getting us some refreshments.”

Adrien greeted her back, making sure to compliment how pretty she looked today (to which she replied with a small “EEP!!” and a flustered, stuttered, “Thank you”) then he walked over to join Nino.

“Dude! Long time no see!” he said excitedly, standing up to welcome him and give him a tight hug.

Adrien chuckled as he squeezed back. “I know, right? It’s been almost twenty-four hours! I was starting to go through best bro withdrawals!” He set his backpack down and began laying out his own notes and textbooks.

A few minutes passed as they chatted and got situated, but Adrien couldn’t quite focus on the conversation. He was too busy casting (apparently not so furtive) glances towards the door, curiously awaiting whoever else would be attending their study group.

Sensing his restlessness, Nino asked, “Hey bro, you looking for something?”

Adrien shrugged. “Oh, I was just wondering–”

A loud clatter of pots and pans interrupted their conversation, punctuated by a loud “EEEEEK!!”, and the group’s heads whipped towards the kitchen in alarm.

“Marinette?” Alya asked, a worried crinkle appearing between her eyebrows.

“I’m okay!!” Marinette cried from within. “Just bumped into something and uhhh, knocked over some other stuff, no biggie!” she explained sheepishly.

Adrien turned back towards Nino and Alya. “I’ll go help,” he reassured them with a smile.

He walked towards the kitchen, watching Marinette as she put away the kitchenware she’d accidentally knocked out of a cabinet.

He rounded the corner of the bar countertop and called out cheerfully, “Heya!”

Marinette whirled around in surprise with a sharp yelp, accidentally stepping backwards onto a stray metal platter. Adrien watched as if in slow motion as Marinette fell backwards towards the hard tile floor.

“Mari!!”

Adrien reflexively darted forward and managed to catch her just in the nick of time, her body nearly parallel to the floor. He pulled her up gingerly, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist and back, their chests barely touching. They stared at each other as they panted, their breaths mingling together.

Marinette blinked, her cheeks a deep crimson, and she let out a small, nervous laugh. “Nice catch,” she said, almost as a whisper.

Adrien let out a deep, relieved sigh. “I got lucky. Sorry I startled you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said as he pulled her closer and helped her stand up. “I really should pay better attention to my surroundings,” she continued, rubbing her arm with a rueful expression on her face.

“You’re just trying to do too much all at once, that’s all. Let me help,” he replied. “I can reach all the high shelves!” he offered, flexing his arms theatrically, trying to add some silliness into the awkwardness.

She blinked, then let out a small giggle, cheeks still red. “A-alright,” she replied. “Uh… Why don’t you pour some water into these glasses while I finish cleaning this up?”

“Sure!” he chirped happily.

Marinette smiled and resumed her task of cleaning up the fallen pots and pans. Adrien opened the refrigerator to fetch the water pitcher, then began to fill the glasses.

As he did so, he noticed there were only four glasses on the countertop. Odd. They’d need an extra one for Marinette’s (former) love, wouldn’t they? Were they coming alone or would there be extra people? His chest tingled with curiosity as he wondered who it could be.

Turning back towards him, Marinette said, “By the way, the water pitcher’s inside the refri— oh nevermind, you already found it.”

Adrien chuckled nervously, continuing to pour. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So how many glasses do we need?”

Marinette looked back at him with a perplexed look. “It’s just the four of us today, as usual. Unless you invited someone else?”

“Uhh, no, I didn’t. I just thought…”

He trailed off and froze.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Marinette had said–

...but if no one else was coming, then that meant...

No.

No way.

Was Marinette in love with Nino?? He’d had a small crush on her ages ago, but he and Alya had been together for years now. Marinette would never try to wedge herself between them, not in a million years!

Her crush couldn't be Alya either, right? Marinette had mentioned that her crush was male.

But… But that meant–

“Adrien, the water!” Marinette cried, her voice jolting him back from his thoughts.

Horrified, he realized he was still pouring water into the already-filled glass, spilling it all over the countertop.

He gasped as he realized his mistake, and set the pitcher down. “Shoot! I’m sorry, Marinette! I'll clean it up!”

He turned around to open a drawer across the way, bringing out a couple of kitchen towels to soak up the liquid.

“I kinda zoned out,” he continued, wiping up the mess. “I’m really sorry, it looks like I’m only doing more harm than good in here.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. But, um...” Her face scrunched up in confusion, “How did you know that’s where we kept the towels?”

Adrien’s eyes grew large. Oops. Why was he so full of blunders today??

“Uhh, I’ve just… I’ve seen you open that drawer before. O-on a different day,” he deflected with a shrug, obviously unable to divulge the true reason he knew his way around the Dupin-Cheng kitchen.

Marinette let out a short hmm . “Yeah, that makes sense. You must have a great memory!” She smiled with a blush and added, “Although that shouldn’t surprise me; I’ve always known you're really smart.”

Adrien forced himself to smile at the compliment, yet a cold chill ran down his spine.

“Not as smart as I should’ve been,” he muttered, speaking about more than just spilled water.

He should have noticed. He should have known. He should have realized sooner that the sadness in her eyes was because of him.

Marinette patted his arm, which tingled under her touch. “No worries, it’s just water. No harm done!” she said sweetly, her kind smile growing even wider.

But I hurt you , he thought to himself. Their conversation from that day rushed back to the forefront of his mind. An indirect and cruel rejection before she ever even got the chance to confess.

He thought back to all the times they’d hung out together as civilians since that fateful day when she came home in tears after school. She’d never treated Adrien any differently after he unknowingly broke her heart. Was she that amazing an actress, or was she just that strong?

Marinette finished putting the drinks and snacks onto a serving tray and bid him to follow her to the living area, where Nino and Alya were eagerly waiting. But how would he be able to concentrate on studying after knowing he’d been the focus of Marinette’s unrequited affections?

No, not affections. She’d used the word “love”. She was actively trying to fall out of love with him.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Nevertheless, that nagging feeling stayed with him for the remainder of the study session. -------

(Mood Music: Que reste-t-il de nos amours? - Avalon Jazz Band)

[Later that day]

Marinette squinted suspiciously.

Chat had been acting weird. Or rather, weird for him, which was saying something. He’d been in a somber mood ever since he came back that afternoon after her study session. What had happened during that brief time while they’d been separated?

Speaking of which, she recalled that poor Adrien had been acting out of sorts as well. She’d asked him if everything was alright, but his face went red and he waved it off, saying it was nothing, claiming that he was just a little tired. She hasn’t pressed the issue, especially knowing that he had a difficult home life and busy schedule. She dearly hoped he’d come to her if he ever needed someone to talk to.

In any case, she’d been surprised to find Chat just as morose and out of sorts. She’d asked him what was wrong and he instantly dismissed it. Then he promptly excused himself to his bedroom, which was unusual. Normally he was chatty as can be during dinnertime, then he would hang out with the rest of the family during the evenings, playing videogames or board games, or engaging in conversation over some tea.

But tonight, he’d hardly spoken a word. He had only answered briefly when spoken to, and it was like he could barely look her in the eye. And whenever he did, she could’ve sworn she saw something like… guilt?

She wasn’t sure. But she knew she didn’t like it.

Something was wrong. She was sure of it. Perhaps he wasn’t able to share what it was exactly due to his secret identity, but she was determined to help him fix it. She wanted to know the truth.

Tikki had lightly chastised her, saying that maybe Chat Noir had a good reason why he couldn’t share his problems, and that she shouldn’t pry or be too nosy. But this wasn’t nosiness! They were friends! And not only that; it was her duty as Ladybug to look out for his well-being, right??

Speaking of Ladybug...

They had patrol scheduled for later that night. Should she ask him again, as Ladybug? She pondered it... but no; he’d probably act tough and pretend it was nothing again. They were still working on being more open with each other, but progress was slow. Though not for lack of trying. Chat just… didn’t always know how to relax around Ladybug. He didn’t verbalize it, but it was as if deep down, he was always bracing for imminent rejection. Almost like he expected everything to be a dream, and any day now he’d wake up back at his father’s house, all alone.

Despite being allies, there were still many obstacles that stood in their way, as they both navigated through their partnership trying to find their unique dynamic, still somewhat guarded in their words and actions, to avoid hurting the other. There were invisible walls between them, and every time they’d succeeded in tearing one down, it was only to find that there was another wall behind it.

He’d mentioned before that he would never want to do anything to jeopardize their partnership. So he had a tendency to keep quiet about a lot of things, and not rock the boat, so to speak. He’d mentioned before that he trusted her implicitly. But it was like he didn’t trust himself. Or trust his luck.

He tended to be more open with Marinette, most likely because he didn’t feel that he had to watch what he said as closely for fear of rejection. Thankfully, he’d always been able to confide in her.

That is... until today.

She sighed.

Maybe he just needed an evening where he could be himself and be a normal person, as the guy behind the costume. But how to do that without revealing his identity?

Her eyebrows scrunched deeply as a tiny idea planted itself in her brain, slowly blooming into a full-blown scheme.

“I know that look,” Tikki remarked warily. “You’re up to something, aren’t you, Marinette?”

“Maybe,” Marinette replied with a sly grin. “I think Chat needs to get out of the house and spend a night on the town.” With that, she hopped off her desk chair and walked to the large, antique storage chest in the corner of her room where she kept all her current sewing projects. She rummaged around, searching for something.

“How are you going to do that?” Tikki asked with a concerned furrow of her brow.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” she replied as she found the item she was looking for, then set it down on her chaise.

She then opened her phone’s contacts and dialed Mylene’s father's number.

Tikki peeked over her shoulder. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I hope it helps Chat Noir cheer up,” she remarked.

A few seconds later, there was an answer on the other side of the phone.

“Monsieur Haprèle? It’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have a quick favor to ask, if that’s alright.”

A few moments later, the phone call ended, successfully putting the next part of her plan into motion. Monsieur Haprèle had graciously offered to stop by and drop off the items Marinette had asked for, since he needed to be in that part of town anyway for an errand.

“I think we have everything we need.” She winked at her kwami. “And now, Ladybug needs to make a phone call. Tikki, spots on!”

----

Chat closed his communicator and plopped onto his bed with a groan. Ladybug had cancelled patrol at the last minute, postponing it to the next day. He ran his hands down his face dejectedly. He supposed that was just as well. As excited as he’d been to meet with her tonight, he probably wouldn’t be very good company, since he’d been in such a crummy mood all evening.

Still… he’d really wanted to see her. Her presence always managed to do wonders for his morale.

He settled for pulling up a candid photo he’d taken of her with his staff’s camera on a different day. She was breathtaking; smiling softly while looking into the distance, the sunset a golden halo behind her, making her look like the angel she was. He smiled at the memory, and he felt his stomach fill with butterflies as they always did when he truly looked at her.

He swiped to the photo he’d taken right afterwards, when she realized he was taking a picture, her eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Then the photo after that, where she’d let out a bashful giggle, bringing her hand to her mouth, looking adorably shy. And the last photo from those few precious moments: Ladybug striking a dramatic pose, with an exaggerated pout that would put any supermodel to shame; a reminder of her sense of humor and willingness to be vulnerable and silly around him.

His smile broadened, his heart now thumping loudly in his chest. She really was so extraordinary.

A sudden rap on his bedroom door jolted him out of his daydreaming. He sat up and put his staff away as he answered, “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing a sharply dressed Marinette. He almost didn’t recognize her at first, since she’d changed out of her clothes from earlier and her hair was up in high twin buns.

“Hey Minou! You busy tonight?”

“Uhh, actually, no. Patrol got moved to tomorrow.”

“Then I have a proposition for you,” she said, her voice high and chipper. Without waiting for a reply, she took his hand and practically dragged him up to her bedroom. “But first, I need to give you something.”

They arrived at her room and she let go of his hand, then knelt by a large cardboard box he’d never seen before that was labeled “Backstage”. She unfolded the top, then started bringing out a myriad of fabrics and materials so hastily, that her movements were practically blurred. She took out a large pair of sunglasses that resembled vintage aviator-style goggles, an almost ninja-esque facemask, and set them aside.

She stood, holding something else behind her back, and walked up to him with a shy grin, her legs doing her trademark nervous shuffle.

“First of all, I- uh… I made you something. I started it a little while back and finally finished it today.” She tucked some hair behind her ear as she averted her eyes timidly, her cheeks dusted with a lovely shade of pink. “I hope you like it.”

She revealed the item behind her back, holding it up with both hands. It was a black zip-up hoodie, with muted, subtle detailing as an homage to his Chat Noir suit, but the main feature was the cat ears sewn onto the hood itself.

Chat’s jaw dropped, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head. This was the cutest, most considerate thing he’d ever been gifted.

He was at a loss for words, but thankfully Marinette interrupted, “I made it for you so you could hang out at home without having to be transformed all the time. ‘Cause I know that can be exhausting for Plagg, and it’d probably be more comfortable for you to be dressed in casual, loose-fitting clothes. Also–” she gestured towards the box behind her, “–my friend’s dad, he’s an actor, and he gave me a box full of masks and other costumes. You can mix and match, so you can have fun with it while still protecting your identity.” She extended the hoodie towards him hesitantly. “Uhh… anyway, obviously I didn’t take your measurements because it would’ve ruined the surprise, but it should fit you just fine. Cotton-polyester blend fleece is pretty forgiving like that.”

Chat gingerly accepted the garment, slowly and carefully running his fingers across the soft fabric as he admired the attention to detail his friend had lovingly crafted into a piece of clothing that would hardly ever be seen by anyone else.

He gaped at her, throat feeling quite dry. “Marinette… I don’t know what to say. Just… Thank you. This is such a thoughtful gift. I… wow.” He brought his hand up to his face, still in total disbelief. “I wish there was something I could do to show you how much I appreciate that you’re always looking out for me. There’s gotta be a way for me to thank you. Y-you’re always so… you’re just… I’m...”

Marinette stepped closer to him, their toes almost touching. The sudden proximity got his attention instantly, and she booped his nose with her index finger. “Well then, this is your lucky day. I know just the thing you can do for me.”

“Uhh, sure! A-anything you need, just ask,” he stammered, slightly confused.

She began, “Sooo, here’s what I was thinking…”

She continued to speak as she paced around the room, sort of beating around the bush, the speed of her words steadily increasing until she was talking a million miles a minute, so rapidly that he could barely understand what in the world she was talking about. Although he distinctly heard the words “movie theater”, “chaperone”, and a pleading, “You wouldn’t want me to go all by myself, would you?”

“Uhhh–” he tried to interject, still deep in his confusion.

“And before you turn me down and say, ‘But I, the dark and mysterious Chat Noir, cannot be seen in public with a civilian!’ don’t worry: I got you,” she interrupted.

She handed him the sunglasses and face mask, and said, “Detransform and put these on, along with your hoodie. You can wear these to the movies and be totally incognito!”

Chat let out a high-pitched “WHAT?!” his voice cracking once it couldn’t go any higher.

“No one will recognize you with the costume! It’s really not that conspicuous! Lots of people wear special blue-light blocking glasses when they watch movies or use their computers. And face masks have become a pretty common way to keep germs from spreading, so nobody will spare you a second glance. You’ll totally blend in with the crowd. And it’ll be my treat! Please??”

Chat rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around nervously. This was all so sudden and he was unsure how to respond. He’d never done anything like this before.

“I-I dunno…”

Marinette continued, wringing her hands anxiously as she spoke, “I know this is totally out of the blue, but there’s this one movie I really wanna watch that’s only gonna be in theaters for this one weekend. I’d ask Alya and Nino, but it’s pretty last minute. And even if they’re available, they’d probably just make out during the entire movie anyway, and God knows being the awkward third wheel gets tiresome after a while,” she added with an eyeroll. “Adrien always has to be booked months in advance, all my other girlfriends are busy, and I really don’t wanna go alone; it’s not safe to walk around a big city all by yourself at night, y’know. So, what do you say??”

Chat looked back at her, her big blue eyes silently begging him to come along.

He suppressed a sigh, biting his lip instead. She wouldn’t want to hang out with him if she knew who he really was and what he’d done to her. She’d always been absolutely wonderful to him– to both sides of him– and he’d repaid her by being a crappy friend who’d been totally oblivious to her feelings. He truly didn’t deserve her.

He was about to decline and try to make up some excuse, but just then, her words from earlier in the day popped back into his head: “I’m just trying to get past him. I wanna move on.”

He paused. All day, he’d only been thinking about his own feelings and feeling sorry about himself, wallowing in guilt. But right now, this was about Marinette, and her needs. And at this moment, it sounded like what she needed was someone to just be with her. He could set aside his own apprehensiveness and insecurities to help her out, instead of pushing her away. After all, she always went out of her way for her friends constantly, at the cost of herself. She’d always been so selfless… to the point where she tended to neglect her own needs. He couldn’t let her keep doing that.

Determined to make things right and treat her the way she deserved for once, he nodded and smiled. “Alright, Mari. I’d love to go with you.”

Marinette let out a delighted squeal and resumed doing her excited wiggle-dance, but Chat interrupted, “On one condition! It’ll be my treat instead. After all, what good is a paycheck from the best bakery in Paris if I can’t use it to spoil my absolute favorite roommate?” He squeezed her shoulder with a wink.

Her mouth popped open in shock, then twisted into a pout. It looked like she was about to argue, but in the end, decided not to press her luck and accept his terms.

“Deal.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Discordant Sonata #fanfiction #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #enemies AU #ML AU #aged up #Ladynoir #Marichat #Adrienette #Eden Writes #corgi-likes-chat #art by others #fanfic art #jhsldkfjhlasjkdf sorry about all the innuendo lmaooooo #I headcanon Marinette's inner sassypants comes out more while she's gaming XD

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aidanchaser · 4 years ago

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Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson

Chapter Fifteen The Heist

Luna Lovegood hated Hogwarts. Yes, she was in Ravenclaw, and yes, she loved learning, but school? School was where curiosity went to die in a long, slow, stretched out sentence.

For Luna, the transition from her family home, where her father had encouraged her explorations and experiments, to a place of high stone walls and demanding bells had been terrible for her, and she’d nearly quit after her first year.

Now she was glad that she had persisted, because school had one thing worthwhile: Ginny Weasley.

When Ginny had hexed those boys for calling her Loony, the stars in the dark night had burst into existence, and school had become not just bearable, but pleasant. Luna had skipped everywhere for the rest of the that week.

This year, however, there was no skipping. Even Herbology, one of Luna’s favourite subjects, was overcast by the horrid cloud that Snape and the Carrows left on the school.

At least Ginny and Neville were in Herbology with her. N.E.W.T.-level courses often combined sixth and seventh years, and Luna was glad to have her closest friends with her at least once a week.

They were currently repotting Venomous Tentacula, which involved lots of soothing whispers and gentle strokes to the stem and vines. Neville worked easily, and Luna did too, even humming a lullaby to her knot of vines as she transferred the plant into a larger pot and carefully aerated the soil.

“Ow!” Ginny hissed, drawing her hand away from her plant.

Luna patted one of her vines and paused her melody. “Did it bite you, Ginny?”

Ginny pressed her wounded hand to her mouth. “Just got me with its leaves. Bloody bastard hates me.”

“You have to be gentle,” she sang, and reached for a watering can.

“I am gentle!”

Luna giggled. Ginny could be gentle, but it was not her natural state by any stretch.

Once Luna had finished repotting her Tentacula, she moved to Ginny’s station to help her work.

“You have to be kind and patient.” Luna ran her fingers along one of the vines. “It’s a sensitive plant.”

Beneath Luna’s hands, the vines no longer lashed out with sharp, sudden outbursts of movement, but instead swayed in time to her humming.

“See?” Luna paused her song. “Now put your fertilizer in that pot.”

Professor Sprout praised them all for their hard work, and congratulated them for finishing the lesson without any bite accidents. “There’s usually at least one of you turned bright purple and on your way up to the hospital wing, but you all did excellent work today,” she beamed at them.

“Hospital wing’s full up anyway,” Hannah Abbott mumbled, just out of Sprout’s earshot, as she cleaned up her work station.

Hannah looked unusually wild today. Her thick plaits were uncharacteristically loose, and dirt streaked her cheeks. She wrestled her book into her bag with the sort of determination one might use when salvaging Snargaluff pods.

Neville reached across his station to hers and picked up her shovel and trowel. “Ernie will be fine,” he murmured, and returned her tools to the greenhouse shed.

Hannah tried and failed to regain control of her trembling lip, then hurried out of the greenhouse before Neville could come back.

It wasn’t just Ernie, who was recovering from a detention after he had called the Daily Prophet “rubbish” and added that he hoped Harry would show up at Hogwarts so he could “put Snape in his place.”

It was Parvati and Padma Patil, who had refused to attend Muggle Studies. Each night that they refused earned them a night of detention, until after three weeks both girls had become too ill to attend any of their classes.

It was Hugh Ward, who had defiantly announced to the boys in his Slytherin dormitory that he was a half-blood.

Luna didn’t know what curses the boys had used to try to punish Hugh for being so proud of his Muggle lineage, but he had been in the hospital wing all week. Luna had visited him, and the Patil twins. She made a point to visit anyone who had been in Dumbledore’s Army, because they were her friends.

On these visits, it was not uncommon for her to find Hannah, helping Madam Pomfrey change linens and administer medicine to those who needed it. Though Hannah never did any of the Charm work in the hospital wing, she watched closely each time Madam Pomfrey cast a spell.

Luna knew that Hannah wanted to become a Healer. Each time Luna visited the hospital wing, she thought about becoming a Healer, too. She liked caring for people, and she was taking enough N.E.W.T.s for it. But so much of Healing was urgent, and Luna had never done well with urgent.

“Must you always move so slowly?” Ginny snapped.

Luna frowned at her gloves as she packed them away. She much preferred the greenhouse to the castle and couldn’t understand why Ginny was so eager to get back. She’d much rather be down here with the fresh air than back with the Carrows.

“Come on,” Ginny whined, “I’m starved.”

Luna squeezed her Herbology textbook between her personal field guide and the thick tome for Transfiguration. With those three texts and her scaly Care of Magical Creatures book, her bag was nearly bursting at the seams.

“Why didn’t you eat breakfast?” Luna shouldered her heavy bag and hurried to the door where Ginny and Neville were waiting.

“I wasn’t hungry at breakfast.”

“Helen said she was sulking in the Owlery after a row with Harry,” Neville whispered, but not as quietly as he should have.

“We didn’t have a row! And anyway, don’t use his name. Someone might hear you.”

“Should we just call him You-Know-Who?” Neville asked with a grin.

Ginny shoved him, none too gently, and picked up her pace, leaving Neville and Luna trailing behind her.

Luna pursed her lips and looked up at Neville. There was something different about him this year, but Luna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Did you grow taller over the summer?” she asked, and tried to gauge if she was looking up more than she had looked up last year.

“What? Oh — yeah, I did. Gran sent out for a whole new wardrobe.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was only like, an inch I think, but she insisted. I think it was her way of apologising that Mum and Dad were gone most of the summer.”

Luna tilted her head. “I suppose they work quite a lot.”

Neville laughed. “I haven’t seen much of them since… well, I guess since Voldemort came back. I mean, a meal here and there, but usually only one at a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not bad.” He adjusted his bag. “Their work’s important. And I’ve always had Gran around.”

Luna looked down at her hands. There was dirt under her nails, and she supposed she ought to clean up before lunch, but she liked when her hands were dirty. It reminded her of her mother, who had always smelled like earth and soot. It also reminded her of her father, whose fingers were often stained with ink.

“But you miss them.”

It wasn’t a question. Luna didn’t ask questions she already knew the answers to. There were plenty of other questions to be concerned with.

“What do you think we should call Harry?” she asked. “And I suppose we’ll need names for Ron and Hermione as well. Should we all have secret names? Like cats, perhaps? I should like to be Turnip.”

When she and Neville reached the castle, Ginny was waiting impatiently at the door.

“You both walk slow,” she complained, and stormed inside.

“My,” Luna said, “it must have been quite a bad fight with Parsnip.”

Neville frowned. “No, I don’t like that one.”

“Butterscotch?”

“Hmm…”

“Pickled Herring?”

“Must it be food?”

“I like Pickled Herring, because it sounds like him, but backwards.”

“I suppose.”

Luna waved goodbye to Neville and joined the Ravenclaw table. She sat next to a girl named Kim Sheringham, who Luna did not consider a friend, exactly, but they had lived together for the better part of six years, which might count for something to other people. It just didn’t count very much to Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” said Kim.

“Hello,” Luna said, but remained focused on her lunch

“How was Herbology?”

Luna hummed. “Warm. Pleasant.” She reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of water.

“Sounds nice. Listen, do you think you could do me a favour?”

Luna stared at Kim and took a sip from her cup. She waited for Kim to ask for what she really wanted.

Kim faltered, but she’d always been more keen on small talk than Luna. Finally, she said, “Could you tell Flitwick I’m not well? I need to review for the Muggle Studies exam tonight. Please, I just can’t keep all the Sacred Twenty-Eight straight. Just tell Flitwick I fell ill after lunch or something. Any excuse will do.”

Ravenclaws, as a rule, did not skip lessons — unless they had an exam to prepare for.

“I could review with you,” Luna offered, and pretended not to notice the way Kim’s brow furrowed.

“That’s alright, thanks. Just tell him I’m not well. He’ll believe whatever you say, you know.”

Now it was Luna’s turn to frown. She didn’t understand what Kim meant, but she didn’t get to ask because Kim was already leaving.

Luna finished her meal alone, still puzzling over Kim’s comment, and wandered to Charms by herself. She apologised to Flitwick for Kim’s absence, and promised to take notes for two. Flitwick readily accepted her vague excuse, and this only puzzled Luna more. How had Kim known that Flitwick would not press her?

She was distracted throughout class, but her notes were no less for it. She was not sure that they would help Kim — no one ever asked to borrow Luna’s colourful, pictographic notes — but Luna would not mind explaining them.

After Charms, Luna had a free period, while the Gryffindors took their Charms lesson. She passed Ginny and Neville outside Flitwick’s classroom door and smiled. Ginny grinned back, which worried Luna. It was not the sort of grin that suggested Ginny was truly in a better mood; it was Ginny’s mischievous grin.

Luna waited until she was in the library to check the Galleon in her pocket. She had not noticed it grow warm during her Charms lesson, but it must have, for there was a new date and time inscribed where the identification number would be. Tonight, an hour before Muggle Studies.

Whatever Ginny had planned would get them all into trouble, certainly, but Luna at least knew that it would be fun, and fun was in such short supply these days.

There was plenty of time between now and then, so Luna set about working on their personalised field guides for Herbology. She had started adding to it, not just for Herbology, but also for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was sweet, but Luna did not find him an adept professor. She could appreciate the practicality of his lessons, at least, but had started recording what she learned from their field experiments into her Herbology project. She enjoyed this sort of work, collecting information and organising it. And decorating it.

Professor Flitwick had suggested a career studying magical plants and animals, doing field work, exploring, traveling and notetaking, making discoveries. Luna liked the idea of it, but the way he had presented it sounded tedious. He had mentioned the Ministry and paperwork, almost as if he had been trying to put her off from the job. He had even suggested that she spend her summer reaching out to people at the Ministry to try some job-shadowing, but Luna had a hard time finding people in the Ministry that were not involved with either the Death Eaters, the Rotfang Conspiracy, or the Heliopath Army.

Was it not enough to simply wander?

Luna had never been good at purpose. It was one of the many things she had always admired about Ginny. Ginny had always known who she was and what she wanted. Luna, for all her appearances of self-assurance, wondered and doubted far more than anyone knew.

Luna finished her note about Fire Crabs in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson and waited for the ink to dry. She swung her legs back and forth and stared out of the large window. Neither of her parents had ever made a living on the things they were passionate about. They did things that were uninteresting to fund their curiosities. She wondered if she would end up doing the same.

With a sigh, Luna closed her field guide and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Again, she ate alone, but she watched Ginny talk with one of the girls from her dorm. Ginny’s smile was wide but empty, and she tapped her fork anxiously against her plate.

Neville sat alone, picking at his food, and Seamus and Lavender sat together, but they had more interest in the professors’ table than in each other.

Luna shook her head. Gryffindors were always so obvious. If the Carrows were even a little bit smarter, they might have known to be suspicious.

Neville left dinner first, and after an exact count of thirty, Ginny followed. The rest of the D.A. made their way out of the Great Hall in staggered exits. Some relied on a count of their own choosing. Some relied on waiting until a certain number of people had exited before they made their way to the seventh floor.

If Umbridge had taught them anything, it was how to avoid getting caught.

Luna waited until Michael Corner loudly announced that he was going to check on Padma, and trailed after him at her usual aimless pace. When he headed for the hospital wing, Luna went all the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, but instead of climbing the stairs, she slipped down another corridor to the Room of Requirement.

The Room no longer looked as it had for D.A. meetings. In fact, Luna thought it looked rather like a proper classroom. There were even stacks of reference books on some of the desks.

“I thought if anyone did walk in on us, it would look like we were studying,” Neville said, when he saw Luna’s curious glance.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You should ask it not to let anyone walk in on us.”

Neville looked surprised, then frowned and sank into one of the desks. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully.

Luna always appreciated the way Neville took her ideas seriously, rather than laughed at them, or dismissed them instantly, the way so many of her peers and professors did.

Padma and Parvati returned from the hospital wing with Michael, and a small crowd surrounded them, asking if they were alright. Hannah and Susan were notable outliers, clustered by themselves and whispering quietly. Ginny, too, stood alone, trying to count heads, and another girl in a green headscarf, someone Luna had not spoken to since those early days of the D.A., sat by herself.

Luna slipped into the desk beside Atalanta Shafiq. She smiled pleasantly.

“Hello. It’s Atalanta, isn’t it?”

The girl stared at her with large brown eyes. Luna thought she was in fourth year, the same Dennis Creevey would have been in.

“You’re Luna.”

Luna’s smile widened. “How did you know?”

“Everyone knows you. You’re one of the people who went to the Ministry with Potter two summers ago.”

“Oh, you mean Pickled Herring.”

Atalanta stared at Luna as if she had lost her mind, a look Luna was used to, though she hadn’t seen it in a while. She hadn’t spent much time with new people recently.

“You’re friends with Hugh, aren’t you?” Luna asked her.

Atalanta nodded. “I know you visit him. How is he?”

“Oh — he’s well. Don’t you see him yourself?”

The girl turned to stare straight ahead. Her face was hard and her voice tight. “He asked me to stop coming. As if everyone doesn’t already know we’re friends — as if he has anyone else to bring him notes —” She broke off abruptly and her nostrils flared. “Everyone knows we were friends with the Creeveys anyway. My lineage doesn’t protect me as much as he thinks it does.”

“It sounds like he cares about you.” Luna hummed. “But you seem like someone who can take care of yourself. It’s okay for both of those things to be true, you know.”

Atalanta did not say anything. Luna appreciated the way the girl considered her words. It was like watching someone put together a puzzle, and Luna loved puzzles.

The door opened and closed one last time for Pearl Lais and Ginny announced, “I think that’s everyone. Let’s get started.”

All conversations ceased as she spoke. Ginny commanded a room with more ease than Harry had. Luna could not help but smile dreamily.

“So as you all know, tonight we have an exam for Muggle Studies.”

“I won’t take it,” Zacharias Smith announced loudly.

“And we fully plan to resume our protest,” Parvati added, voice defiant. Padma looked less confident, but she nodded when Parvati looked at her.

“Standing outside the Muggle Studies classroom is great,” Neville said, “but if we could do something more coordinated and subversive, we might be able to get more students on our side, and you wouldn’t have to go to detention.”

Padma raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned that won’t get us in trouble?”

“As long as we don’t get caught,” Ginny grinned. “I heard Snape threatened to take your Prefect badge. Your protest has been great, but it’s not worth that. We need people like you in charge as much as possible. Let me show you what we have in mind. It’s so easy, even Neville could do it.”

Neville did not look upset by the remark in the least, and pulled a stack of loose parchment from the desk at the front of the classroom. He began passing it out.

“It’s partly a Muggle-trick,” he said, “so it’s perfect for Muggle Studies.”

“There’s a bit of Charm, of course,” Ginny said, “to make it more interesting.”

Ginny and Neville explained the procedure of the prank to the members of Dumbledore’s Army. Everyone had several sheets to practice with, but Luna took to it right away. She found it a rather endearing bit of spellwork, but she knew that Alecto Carrow would hate it. Still, it was a harmless and funny prank. Even if they did get caught, the punishment couldn’t be too severe.

As Luna finished folding her third sheet of parchment, just for something to do with her hands, Ginny slid into the desk next to her.

“Hey,” she said, “I have a special job for you.”

Luna looked up from her parchment as Ginny pressed a small bottle into her hands.

“Neville got that from Herbology today. Can you smear it into Carrow’s book before the exam?”

Luna held up the colourless vial. “Should I wear dragonhide gloves?”

“No, it has to be ingested. Just the corners of the pages will do.”

“How will I get the book?”

“Just ask her for it. Say you need to check your notes or something. She’ll believe whatever you tell her.”

Luna stared into Ginny’s deep brown eyes. “Why?”

“You have an honest face. If I ask, she’ll know something’s up.”

Luna wasn’t sure what it meant that she had an, “honest face,” but it was the nicest compliment Ginny had given her all year, so she took it and pressed it into her memory like she pressed flowers into her field guide.

“I should go now, then,” she said. “So I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about getting caught,” Ginny said. “I’ve got something else planned and she’ll probably single me out for the whole thing.”

Luna didn’t mean to smile, but she did. “I would be honoured to have detention with you,” and she punctuated her statement with a curtsy. Ginny laughed, and it made whatever punishments Luna might receive for smearing poison into Alecto Carrow’s book worth it.

As Ginny had predicted, Professor Carrow did not suspect anything was amiss when Luna arrived at her office early and asked to check her notes against the enormous tome that she read out of during their lessons. She muttered something about Ravenclaws and perfectionism, then left Luna at a desk with her notes and the book.

Carefully, Luna dabbed some of the poison onto her finger and smeared it onto the upper right corners of each page. She pretended to skim some of the pages, and even made a few marks into her own notes to sell the lie, but she wondered if she even needed to. Professor Carrow hardly paid her any mind.

When she had finished, she thanked Professor Carrow, and waited until she was alone in the hallway to wipe her hands clean.

All students were required to take Muggle Studies, and the curriculum was entirely new, so everyone, from first year to seventh, took it together in the Great Hall three evenings a week. Luna found it slightly more entertaining than History of Magic, because while Professor Carrow could drone on much like Professor Binns, Carrow at least took questions, and Luna loved when her friends asked questions.

In their very first class, Neville had challenged every line of Professor Carrow’s reading. She had snappishly asked for his lineage not twenty minutes into class. With a wide grin, Neville had said, “Longbottom and Fawley.”

The other day, Ginny had asked Professor Carrow why they weren’t going to evaluate the Carrow family tree the way they had the Bones family. Professor Carrow had turned red and Luna had expected her to hex Ginny then and there.

Luna had not asked any questions yet, though she had, at one point, raised her hand to point out that it was unfair to accuse Muggles of being liars and cheats when Thicknesse was a continuation of Scrimgeour’s evil plot to bring down the Ministry through the horrors of gum disease. The other students had laughed, and Professor Carrow had given her a condescending smile.

“How could the Ministry allow such plots to happen right under their nose?” Professor Carrow had asked with a sickly smile.

“Same way they allowed Death Eaters to infiltrate and Voldemort to take over,” Neville had said loudly, and he’d gotten a week of detention.

The dining tables were removed from the Great Hall each night of Muggle Studies and were replaced with rows of desks. Students sat by year and by house, so Luna took a seat near the back of one of the Ravenclaw aisles. She thought it was a good thing that the D.A. was largely composed of upper-years. Professor Carrow would be less likely to notice them folding up their exams.

The Great Hall was quiet as students worked on their exams. Quills scratched against parchment and occasionally Luna heard the sound of a page turning as Professor Carrow licked her finger and turned the page of her heavy tome.

As she folded up her exam just like they had practiced in the Room of Requirement, Luna watched Professor Carrow closely. The woman coughed after five pages and reached for her tea. After ten pages, she rubbed her throat and finished her drink. By the fifteenth page, her cheeks were already flushed purple and she looked uncomfortable.

“Professor!” Ginny shouted. She didn’t need to shout, since the hall was as silent as O.W.L.s had been, but as her voice echoed, every head turned to her.

She had her hand stretched as high as she could and she bounced anxiously. “Professor!”

Professor Carrow stood from her desk and frowned down at Ginny. “This is an exam, girl. Be quiet.”

“It’s an emergency, Professor. Can I go? I’ll only be a minute.”

Professor Carrow’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “No.”

“Please, Professor? I mean, I’ll use my exam if I have to, but —”

Laughter rippled across the hall and Ginny grinned.

“Make it quick!” Carrow snapped at her, and Ginny sprinted from the hall.

She really was gone only a minute — both Luna and Professor Carrow counted — and Luna wondered what she possibly could have accomplished during that time.

Ginny maintained an appearance of studiousness as she returned to her exam, and Professor Carrow returned to her book. She rubbed her throat again and looked at her empty tea cup. She snapped her fingers impatiently. A house-elf appeared with a pop and poured her a fresh cup, then vanished just as quickly.

Luna forgot all about the clusters of parchment that decorated her desk. Her focus was wholly on Professor Carrow as the woman inspected the cup of tea. She sniffed it, tapped her wand against it, took a small sip, and seemed satisfied. She finished the cup and went back to her book.

Luna kept watching, and it was another seven pages before Professor Carrow licked her finger and paused. She looked at her hand, at the book, and then directly at Luna. Luna tried to shrink into her seat.

Carrow got to her feet and started down the aisle of Ravenclaw desks with a look of fury that might have cowed a dragon. Luna, however, was spared immediate consequences by a squeak that began on the Gryffindor side of the room, followed closely by a squeak from the Hufflepuff aisle.

Hastily, Luna Animated the collection of parchment mice that she had so carefully constructed during the exam. They joined the chorus of mice that now filled the hall, leaping off of desks and scampering towards Professor Carrow.

Luna didn’t think Professor Carrow was a woman who feared mice, but it at least startled her, and it certainly upset several of the other students, who screamed as the parchment creations scurried over their feet and onto their desks. Students leapt up onto chairs and desks, and the entire hall descended into chaos.

It was impossible to tell, as Ginny and Neville had probably planned, where the mice had come from. Carrow pointed her wand at the ones nearest to her, and they went up in flames, but they were quickly replaced with more. Some tried to climb her skirt while others scampered across the room, nibbling on exams and tearing every piece of parchment to shreds.

“Everyone out!” Carrow snapped, crushing one of the mice under her heel. “Orderly!” she added as a few of the more skittish students bolted for the door.

But even those that ran reached a wall of students who had, for some reason, stalled in the doorway of the Great Hall.

“What now?” Carrow elbowed her way to the front, and Luna stood on her tiptoes to peer over Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. She saw a message painted on the floor of the entrance hall in bright red, impossible to miss.

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY: NOW RECRUITING

Professor Carrow tried to vanish the mess, but it sparked with fireworks and she leapt backwards. A pair of first years stared in awe. A few upper years laughed.

“Weasley!” Carrow snapped, and a few of the older students waited for the inevitable joke of, “Which one?” before realising that Ginny was the only Weasley left at Hogwarts.

Ginny leaned against the pillar that framed the door into the Great Hall. She smiled at Carrow. “Yes, Professor?”

Professor Carrow lifted her wand. “You’ll get more than detention, brat —”

“Say, Professor,” Ginny said, “you’ve got a little something on your —” Ginny gestured to her face, then paused and gestured to Carrow’s hands, “well — everywhere.”

Professor Carrow looked down at her hands, now bright purple.

“That looks like Venomous Tentacula poison,” said Neville. “You ought to be careful around the greenhouses, Professor.”

Carrow whipped around and aimed her wand at Neville, then searched the crowd for Luna. “You,” she snapped.

Luna raised her eyebrows.

“What’s your name?”

“Lovegood,” Luna said, before it had even occurred to her to lie.

Carrow ran her tongue across her teeth. “Lovegood? Your father runs The Quibbler?”

“Er — yes, Professor.”

“You and Weasley, to the Headmaster Snape’s office immediately.”

Luna started for the stairs, but Ginny folded her arms over her chest and refused to move.

“Weasley!”

“Snape isn’t Headmaster.”

“I’ve had just about enough of you. Pureblooded or not —”

“Last week you called me a blood traitor, but this week you’re suddenly all concerned with —”

“Imperio.”

Luna watched, horrified, as Ginny’s posture relaxed and her dark eyes widened.

“Stop!” Luna cried, which, futile as it was, at least provided cover as Neville drew his wand.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted, and Professor Carrow fell backwards, sprawled over Ginny’s message on the floor.

A few of the students cheered and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Amycus Carrow and Argus Filch shoved their way through the crowd of students. They took in the mess of paint on the floor, the unconscious and purple professor, and Neville with his wand drawn.

“What did you do, you filthy brat!” Amycus snarled.

“She was only Stunned,” Seamus Finnigan shouted. “Seemed fair since she was using a bloody Unforgivable!”

“Another week of detention then?” Neville asked, with more bravery than Luna thought anyone should have, considering how many detentions had landed students in the infirmary.

“No, I think your punishment should be a bit more public and swift —”

“Professor?” Malfoy interrupted. He grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her forward. His Head Boy badge glinted in the candlelight. “Professor Carrow was just about to take Lovegood and Weasley up to the Headmaster’s office. Shall I help you escort them?”

Amycus Carrow did not do well with being interrupted. It was a challenge for him to hold so many thoughts in his head at once.

“Lovegood and Weasley?”

“Yes, sir. They’re responsible for this mess, too. Pansy can help Professor Carrow, here, and I’ll help you get this lot to Professor Snape.”

Luna did not fight Malfoy’s tight grip on her arm as he took her to Snape’s office, not the way Ginny pushed and pulled on Amycus as he dragged her up the stairs. Neville, too, was more docile in Filch’s grip, and he eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

Carrow announced the password, “Asphodel,” and the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster’s office parted with ease.

Luna was so rarely angry. Anger was a concept, something she witnessed in others, and maybe glimpsed in herself the way she could glimpse the edge of the Black Lake on a clear day. She did not feel true anger very often, but as she was pulled up to the Headmaster’s office, it rose in her chest with each step.

It was horribly unfair of Hogwarts, who had denied Umbridge access to the Headmaster’s office, to allow Snape control over it, when Snape was the very one who had killed Dumbledore.

Luna tried to swallow down her anger, but it refused to budge. She hated Hogwarts.

Carrow pounded his fist on the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open.

The Headmaster’s office was different from what Luna remembered. She’d only seen it once before, but she had adored it. There had been so many trinkets bobbing and whizzing about; it had been full of noise and life. It had reminded her of her mother’s office.

Now, however, it was cold and empty, with nothing but a Pensieve in a corner and a desk stacked with parchment. Fawkes’ perch remained, but was empty, and behind the Headmaster’s desk were the frames of all the previous Headmasters, including Dumbledore, fast asleep. She looked away, and settled on Snape’s face. As much as she disliked Snape, looking at him hurt less than looking at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Snape, seated at the Headmaster’s desk, kept his eyes on what looked to Luna like a letter.

“No, please, come right in,” he drawled. “I’m not busy or anything.”

“These students cursed Alecto,” Amycus said. “Stunned her right in the entrance hall.”

“They had nothing to do with it!” Neville snapped. “I Stunned her because she used an Unforgivable on Ginny! It was just me!”

With an eerie amount of care, Snape set the letter aside and finally looked at the group that had invaded his office. His face had no more displeasure than it usually did as he looked at each of them.

“Then give Longbottom a detention,” he finally said to Carrow. “Five feet of lines reading, ‘I will not hex my professors’ ought to do it.”

Luna could not tell if Snape was serious. Amycus appeared to be having the same problem. His jaw worked fruitlessly before he finally sputtered, “That’s it?”

Snape stood. “What would you like me to do? Expel him and send him back to his Dumbledore-fanatic parents? You’re in charge of discipline, Carrow. So discipline them. Can’t you control a few children?” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a cloak. “I have business off of the grounds tonight. I expect that this will be dealt with by the time I return.”

Snape held the door open for them, and Carrow reluctantly led them back down to the corridor. Snape swept past them, dark cloak billowing the way it had as he had paced the aisles during his Potions lessons, and disappeared down the stairs.

Carrow watched him go, a hard look on his face. “Are the dungeons ready, Filch?”

“Oiled the hinges this morning, sir,” Filch said. “Haven’t put the chains back in yet —”

“It’ll do for now.”

Ginny’s thrashing did not hinder Carrow in the slightest as he, Filch, and Malfoy took the three of them downstairs into the dungeons. Their wands were set on a nearby shelf, tauntingly visible but well out of reach, and then the three were left alone until Carrow could come up with something more creative.

“Did you see it?” Neville’s voice was steady, and he leaned almost comfortably against the stone wall.

The iron-wrought bars rattled as Ginny kicked them, but they did not budge. “Of course I saw it. We ought to go for it now, while Snape’s gone.”

Luna eyed a trickle of water that slid from the ceiling and into a small puddle on the floor. She wondered if it came from the Black Lake or a leaky pipe. “What did you notice?” she asked.

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Ginny said. “Didn’t you see it hanging under Dumbledore’s portrait?”

“Oh. Is it important?”

“Dumbledore left it to Harry,” Neville said. “He needs it. I don’t know how we could get it to him, though.”

“I can talk to him,” Ginny said. “If we could just get out of here —” She kicked again, but the bars did not budge under her assault.

“We aren’t getting out of here.” Neville retrieved a worn piece of parchment and a golden feather from his pocket. He searched for a dry spot on the floor and unfolded the old parchment. “But we can make a plan. Halloween would be good, when everyone’s at the feast.”

Ginny gave the bars one more kick for good measure, then joined Neville on the floor.

Neville pressed the tip of the feather to the parchment like a quill and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Ginny was forced to scrub the entrance hall clean until there was no trace of her graffiti, and students could see their reflection in the polished floor. It took her the better part of three full weeks and her hands were blistered and cracked when she was finished.

Luna spent every night reading out loud from Alecto Carrow’s horrible book, and if she faltered or hesitated in any way, she earned a welt and had to start over. It went on for two weeks.

Neville was left in the dungeons for a week, and did not appear for lessons nor meals. He said nothing about what happened to him, but he flinched when Seamus clapped him on the shoulder at his first meal back.

It wasn’t even an hour later that Susan approached Neville and asked what the revenge plan was. Neville told her to keep her head down until the Halloween feast.

To an outsider, it might have appeared that the Carrows had won. Muggle Studies lessons passed without incident. There were small protests in Dark Arts, but nothing more dramatic than civil disobedience. It was quiet at Hogwarts, until Halloween.

They started small. Seamus and Parvati slipped some of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Exploding Whizz-Bangs into the eggs at breakfast with a Switching Spell. After the chaos of breakfast, Alecto Carrow promised to hold the entire school for an extra hour of Muggle Studies that evening if no one confessed or gave up the perpetrator.

No one said a word.

Lavender took the leaflets from the Daily Prophet with Harry’s face and the bounty and modified them. Instead of “Undesirable No 1” the leaflet read, “Desirable Chosen 1” which was enough of a change to get their point across. She lamented that Dean could have done better, but the rest of the D.A. praised her work.

The leaflets were blown up to twice their size and pasted into windows all across the castle, with the help of everyone in the D.A. Every common room, from Gryffindor to Slytherin, was plastered with Harry’s face.

By lunch, the Carrows were scorching walls left and right, and Atalanta Shafiq told everyone that the Carrows had accidentally blasted a hole through the Slytherin Common room right into the Black Lake and flooded the dormitories.

Neville’s job was an unfortunate one, but he took it with grace. He waited until lunch was nearly over, then shouted at Crabbe and asked, “I know you said you’re a pureblood, but isn’t there a bit of troll in your tree? Was it on your mother or father’s side?”

Crabbe threw a hex that sent Neville flying five feet backwards and when he got up, he was puking up something slimy. Hannah escorted him to the hospital wing.

Ginny’s role for the day revolved around being as suspicious as possible without getting into real trouble. She ducked through hidden corridors. She paused to fiddle with her bag or her shoes. Luna stayed close with her for most of it, until after Transfiguration, they ducked out of Amycus’ careful watch by slipping into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Demelza was waiting for them. “Ready?” she asked.

Ginny nodded and plucked out a strand of her hair.

Luna left the bathroom with Demelza, but Amycus Carrow saw exactly what he expected to see: Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley heading down to the Halloween feast.

Luna watched Demelza sit next to Helen Donoghue and engage Helen as easily as if she really were Ginny. Amycus stood at the door, eyes intent on Ginny. Luna could not help but smile, despite her trepidation at her own task.

She ate slowly, unsure how full her stomach ought to be. She looked at the professors and bit her tongue when she noticed that Snape was missing. Their plan hinged on Snape being out of his office.

Well, it was too late for them to change course now. Neville was waiting for her in the hospital wing, and Ginny was probably already hiding out by the Headmaster’s office.

Luna took a deep breath, pulled the bright yellow half of a Fainting Fancy from her pocket, and swallowed.

She woke with a headache in a corridor not far from the hospital wing with Neville and Michael Corner leaning over her. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the spiced pepper flavour that seemed stuck to her tongue. She decided that she didn’t care for the second half of those Fainting Fancies.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked her.

Luna sat up and rubbed her throbbing head. “I fell,” she said.

“I tried to catch you. You should have warned me when you were going to do it.”

“It’s alright,” Neville said.

Luna gagged. His breath smelled like Porlock dung.

“You’d better get back to the feast,” Neville told Michael. “The less time you’re with us, the better it’ll look for you.”

“Are you alright?” Luna asked Neville as Michael hurried back to the Great Hall.

Neville grimaced. “I was hoping for boils. Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be tasting acid for a week, but she was at least able to stop the puking, so we can go ahead with the plan. Everything seems to be going well so far.”

“Oh… there is one thing…”

Luna told him that she had not seen Snape at the feast. Neville checked the map while they walked.

“I don’t see him at all,” Neville frowned. He ran his finger across the Marauder’s Map. “Oh — he’s just arrived at the gates. What do you think he left for?”

“Perhaps he’s joined a league of vampires. Halloween is a special holiday for them.”

“Then I guess we’d better hurry up before he finds us and drinks our blood.” Neville squinted at the map. “You catch up with Ginny. I have an idea. Peeves is just around the corner and if he can stall…”

Neville was still talking as he disappeared behind a tapestry of Mordicus Egg cooking over an open fire. Luna paused to watch the heavy tapestry resettle in Neville’s wake. The threads of the flames seemed alive as they rippled back and forth, until finally the tapestry stilled.

She skipped on ahead to the gargoyle at the end of the corridor. She spun around once in a circle, and did not see Ginny. So she spun again, and this time Ginny stepped out from behind a suit of armor.

“How’s Demelza doing?” Ginny asked.

“She’s very good at being you,” Luna said, then said, “Asphodel,” to the statue. It stepped aside easily and Luna hummed. “I really thought he would have changed it.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. Where’s Neville?”

“He said to go on without him.”

Ginny was already halfway up the stairs. “Alohomora,” she said, and the lock on the office door clicked open. She shoved the heavy door with her shoulder.

Ginny ran in for the sword, and Luna listened at the door. While she listened, her eyes roved over the portraits. Their oily eyes were fixed on Ginny as she lifted the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from its display.

“Breaking and entering!” one portrait shouted. “In the Headmaster’s office!”

“Put that sword back, child,” Dilys Derwent said in a kinder voice. “I’m sure you mean well, but —”

“Thievery!” Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked at her. “Unheard of! In my time —”

“Treachery!” one woman with a thick wand shouted.

“You’re the traitors!” Ginny shouted back at them. “Letting Snape in here — helping him — and after what he did to Dumbledore!”

She broke off and stared at Dumbledore’s portrait. It’s gold frame glistened, and the impression of Dumbledore stared back at her, as still and as unmoving as any Muggle portrait.

Luna abandoned her post at the door and came to Ginny’s side. She stared at Dumbledore’s portrait and felt her heart grow heavy, the way it did each time she passed her mother’s office in the basement of their family home.

“Ginny,” she whispered, “we should go. You can’t argue with what’s been done.”

“It isn’t fair.” Ginny turned her fierce glare on all the portraits, then back onto Dumbledore’s still portrait. “You know what the sword is for, what it can do. Tell them.”

The portrait did not so much as blink at her.

“Ginny.” Luna tugged on her arm.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled, and she turned away from Dumbledore’s portrait. Luna pulled her towards the door, but froze on the first step.

Ginny heard it too — footsteps coming up for them.

They backed into the office, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run as Snape and the Carrows burst into the office. Ginny brandished the sword as she might a wand for a duel. Luna did not have time to reach for her wand as Amycus Carrow thrust Neville at her. He fell into her and she staggered under his weight.

“You two,” Alecto Carrow sneered, “are supposed to be in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, but I feel much better,” Luna said. Neville only groaned.

“How’d you find us?” Ginny snapped.

“Hogwarts is a castle filled with portraits, Miss Weasley. I think you can figure out the rest.” Snape waved his wand and Ginny jumped as if the sword had burned her. It clattered to the ground and she clutched her hand to her chest.

“I thought,” Snape drawled, “I asked you two to control these children.”

“We did —” Amycus protested. “We have — she was just in the Hall, I swear.”

“I think a detention in the Forbidden Forest ought to teach them a lesson or two. Every night for the next week. From sundown to midnight.”

Luna tipped her head to one side. “But —”

Ginny squeezed her wrist and she stopped talking.

But that meant they would be with Hagrid instead of at Muggle Studies lessons. She wondered if Snape just didn’t realise when Muggle Studies lessons were. Did he think they were during normal lesson hours?

“And what if they try it again?” the Carrows asked.

Snape removed his cloak and pulled out a smudged piece of parchment from his pocket. “I expect you’ll prevent them from trying again.” He glanced at the sword on the floor. “I’ll have it removed from Hogwarts, then this will no longer be a problem.”

As he tucked the parchment into a book on his desk, Luna was certain that the smudge of ink was actually a small black pawprint. She supposed if Snape was a vampire, he must have a familiar by now.

Snape took a seat at his desk and surveyed the small crowd in his office. “Well? Is there a reason you’re all still here?”

The Carrows shoved Ginny towards the door, and Luna helped Neville limp down the stairs.

“Yes, I know,” she heard Snape say as the door closed. “I can have a duplicate ready in days.”

And as the latch on the door clicked, Luna thought that she heard the familiar rumble of Dumbledore’s voice.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

It was midnight, but no one was keen on heading back to the castle just yet. Ginny sat down in the grass and leaned against one of the trees on the edge of the forest, still in view of Hagrid’s hut, but away from where Neville was helping Hagrid pick Moondew for Madam Rosmerta’s Butterbeer.

Luna crouched down beside her.

“Do you think the Carrows will come and collect us?” Ginny asked. “Or could we stay out here all night?”

Luna ran her hand over the trunk of the tree. She loved the transition from the soft moss to the rough bark and back again.

“It’s just so empty in the common room,” Ginny said. “Is it like that in Ravenclaw?”

Luna crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She thought for a moment. “A bit. Terry Boot never came back. Mandy checks for his name in the paper every day. Anthony Goldstein wasn’t a Muggle-born, but his family left for Canada after Dumbledore’s funeral, and they don’t plan to come back any time soon.” She plucked a small dandelion flower from the grass by her knee. “I expect it’s worst in Hufflepuff.”

Ginny folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars over Hagrid’s hut. “I miss him, Luna. I miss him so much, but when we talk it’s like he isn’t there. And I — I know you probably don’t want to hear it — I’m sorry — but I don’t know that I have anyone else —”

Luna reached for another dandelion and folded the stems into the beginning of a flower chain. “I will never take half of you,” Luna said, “and I don’t believe that you are one to give halves.”

Ginny’s laugh was sad. It made Luna’s chest ache. She leaned against Ginny and continued working on her flower chain.

They sat in silence, until nearly two, when Hagrid insisted they return to their bunks.

“I’ll walk yeh ter the castle,” he said, “but don’ let Filch catch you on your way up.”

Neville waved the map. “We’ll be alright. As long as any portraits don’t get involved.”

Luna tied off the flower chain into a crown and stood. She spun in a circle and dropped the circlet on Ginny’s head. “Up we go,” she said, holding her hand out to Ginny.

Ginny took it. “Thanks, Luna.”

Luna smiled. She pulled Ginny along and hurried to catch up with Neville. She took his hand as well.

Luna hated Hogwarts, and she had no desire to go back behind those high stone walls, but at least she did not have to go alone. At least she could go with friends.

#luna lovegood #hp fic #hp everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #harry potter #hp #dh

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empyreanwritings · 5 years ago

Text

Almost Lost You

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: near-death experience, mentions of blood loss, anxiety, minor angst with a happy ending

A/N: Look at me finally putting out a one-shot that isn’t mob related. Aren’t y’all proud of me? adklfjdsf this is written for @mycupoffanfiction ‘s writing challenge! My prompt will be bolded below - congrats on your milestone bby! you deserve all the followers in the world <3

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated (: x

The kitchen grew silent the moment you stepped into it. Everyone's eyes were on you, and you could tell they were gauging whether or not they could run over and hug you. Bucky was the first one up and pulling you into a hug, not caring if your body was still healing. You heard Natasha scolding him from her spot at the counter, but he didn't loosen his grip until you hugged him back.

One by one, the rest of the team walked over to give you hugs or gentle pats on the back. You pretended not to notice the way Natasha choked up when she came over to you. Almost losing you was hard on everyone, but she didn't want the others to think she was going soft.

"I'm surprised they discharged you already," Steve said as he made you a plate of eggs. "Did they have any say in the matter?"

"They did," you snorted. "Helen said I'm recovering a lot quicker than she expected. I can't go on assignments just yet, but I don't have to be cooped up in the med bay either."

"What's the damage?"

Bucky was the one to ask this question. Steve threw a glare over his shoulder, and the others didn't seem so pleased with it, but you smiled. It didn't bother you to talk about what the bomb did, especially with Bucky. He, of all people, knew what it was like to be scarred for the rest of your life. His metal arm was a constant reminder of who he used to be.

"The right side of my body was burned pretty bad, so there's going to be a lot of scarring once it's fully healed. Helen wanted to put me in the cradle and recreate the tissue, but I told her no, so we're doing it the old-fashioned way."

"Why? Wouldn't anyone want to keep themselves from being permanently damaged?"

You shrugged. "I think it's a good reminder that I'm still human. My powers may make me think I'm invincible, but I'm not."

There was a faraway look in Bucky's eyes when you said this, and you gave his shoulder a small squeeze to pull him out of his thoughts. He gave you a small smile and a nod before diving back into his breakfast.

By the looks on everyone else's faces, they didn't understand why you chose to heal naturally. The whole "I want to remember I'm human" reason didn't seem like a good enough reason to be scarred for the rest of your life, but you weren't going to explain it to them. There was nothing more to explain; you made a bad call in the middle of an assignment because you didn't think anything could ever hurt you, and you got hurt. You were feeling a lot more humble lately because of it.

You looked around the room, trying to spot the one person you've been craving to see since you woke up. Steve noticed your wandering eyes and shook his head - she hadn't joined anyone for breakfast since that day. She stayed locked in her room most of the time.

You stuffed the rest of your eggs into your mouth and quickly excused yourself to find Wanda. You felt a small twinge of anger at her for shutting herself away from everyone else - away from you. She never once visited you when you woke up, and while you appreciated everyone else's love, you really only wanted her company. Every day she didn't visit, you grew just a little more upset.

Wanda's eyes grew wide when she opened her bedroom door and found you standing on the other side. She silently took in your appearance; you noticed the way her eyes lingered on the bandages wrapped tightly around your arm and torso and sighed. It looked like it pained her to see you like this.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one you are avoiding." You pushed your way past her and made your way to her bed. You plopped onto the side you know she normally slept on and pulled one of her pillows on your lap. She didn't move from her spot by the door, and it only made the anger inside of you bubble up more.

You gestured to the corner of her room where her desk lamp lied in pieces on the floor. "What happened over there?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, right, nothing," you hummed in annoyance. "Because that certainly looks like nothing. You don't visit me in the med bay; you shut yourself in this room and avoid the rest of the team; and your desk lamp is broken, but it's nothing! Everything is fine and dandy in Wanda's head."

She shook her head. "Don't start, please."

"Don't start what? I'm just trying to understand why the hell you've been avoiding me!" You sat up and looked Wanda straight in the eye. You wanted to understand what she was feeling, and you wanted her to feel the heartbreak you felt when your best friend didn't come to check on you. But she broke your gaze and looked down at her feet. "I can understand the others because they're, sometimes, lame but me? I needed you, and you weren't there."

She stayed silent. She refused to look up at you and face the anger you clearly felt, and you let out a small, humorless laugh. If she didn't want to talk, you wouldn't force her. But you weren't going to sit around and wait for her, either.

You slid off her bed and made your way back to the door. You stopped in front of her, gave her a moment to see if she would say anything, but when she didn't, you scoffed and left without another word.

"Y/n, wait-" She tried to reach out for you, but she stopped in fear of grabbing the wrong arm. She didn't want to hurt you or make anything worse.

"No, forget it. I have nothing else to say to you. If you want to keep avoiding me and the rest of the team, that's fine."

"Please just listen to me for one second."

"Just tell me why you're being so fucking weird recently!"

She bit her lip. Tears started to well up in her eyes, and you felt your anger instantly dissipate. Seeing her so torn up made you forget why you were mad in the first place. You hated yourself for raising your voice at her, but she didn't give you time to take back your words because she was pulling you into a hug before she could.

"I'm in love with you," she sobbed as she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck. "I'm in love with you, and I almost lost you. Do you understand how that felt for me? To hold you in my arms and watch the light literally leave your eyes?"

You weren't sure what to say. You had no idea what that must have been like for her - it was something you never had to experience, thankfully. While you were recovering from the blast, Wanda lived with the memories of watching you fade away from her. No matter how much she begged you to stay awake, no matter how much she wished it was her instead of you, you almost died. And she couldn't help but blame herself for not getting to your dumb ass sooner. Maybe she could have convinced you to be a little more cautious.

Maybe she could have saved you before the bomb went off.

"I took so many showers that night," she confessed quietly, "But I still couldn't get the feeling of your blood off my arms. I tried to come see you - I really did - but every time I stood outside your room, I just remembered the look on your face when you-"

You shushed her, not wanting to work herself up with the memories of what happened. She melted in your embrace when you started to run your fingers through her hair.

She thought she lost your touch forever. She thought she was going to have to live with the fact she loved you and never got to tell you. You could no longer be angry with her for not visiting you because you couldn't imagine that kind of torture.

If you lost Wanda…you weren’t sure you'd be able to keep it together.

You weren't sure how long she stood in your arms, but you had no intention of making her move until she was ready. She needed the chance to enjoy having you back, and you weren't going to take that away from her. Even if your legs were starting to fall asleep from standing so straight.

At one point, Bucky and Steve were making their way towards the hallway, but you quickly shook your head and made them turn in the other direction. Wanda would be horrified if she knew the others saw her breaking down like this. They could handle not going back to their room for another hour or so.

Wanda pulled away slowly and wiped at her eyes to control some of the mascara that was running down her cheeks.

"I look like a mess, don't I?"

You shook your head. "You look beautiful as always."

"I didn't mean for all that to come out," she murmured. "You don't have to say anything back. I understand that I unloaded a lot on you."

There was a lot you wanted to say. If you could take back the stupid decisions you made, you would. You didn't think about how your actions would affect those around you, and you should have. You were aware of that now. You could spend the rest of your life making up for what you did, but no one would ever ask you to do that.

You saved a lot of citizens that day. As much as your team hated what you did, they knew what would have happened if you didn't take the risk.

Wanda waited for you to say something. You could tell by the way she rocked back and forth on her feet that she felt awkward, but she wasn't going to admit that out loud. She had done enough confessing to last a lifetime.

"Ya know, I think I've loved you since the day we met," you replied after another beat of silence.

"You did not!" She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. "You're such a liar. You're only saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm not, I really think I did!"

"Stop, you're literally such a liar. We hated each other when we first met."

You gasped. "Did not! I didn't particularly like you because you knocked me on my ass and looked hot as hell while doing it, but I could never hate you."

She looked back down at her feet, trying to conceal the smile on her face with her hair, but it was useless. You already saw it before she even had a chance to hide, and it made a smile grow on your face as well. You thought about making a cheesy comment about how she had the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen, but she wouldn't believe you. Yet.

"There's the smile I love seeing," you teased and gave her side a gentle nudge. "Do you want to get some breakfast?"

"I'm okay. I actually haven't slept yet, and I think my energy is officially sapped from my body." You nodded, taking a step back so she can have some air. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to."

Your eyebrows raised, and your smile grew wider at her word. "Oh?"

"I mean, I just-" She huffed. "I'm just saying, I know you probably didn't sleep well in the med bay, so if you wanted to catch up on sleep, you can do it in my room."

"You don't have to ask me twice, darling."

Wanda stepped aside and let you back into the room. You took a few steps forward but stopped before you went too far. She began to question your actions, but you whirled around and pulled her back into an embrace, this time taking the chance to finally kiss her.

Your hands were on her cheeks. You felt her hesitate for the slightest moment, but she eased into it before you could step back and wonder if this was okay. The second her hands found your hips and pulled you closer, you knew she was more than okay with this moment.

It wasn't a passionate kiss; it was slow and tender. It was your way of reminding her that you were okay, and you weren't going to leave her any time soon. Comfort. Love. Need. The kiss was everything you wanted to say but couldn't find the words to truly convey how you felt, and it was more than enough for Wanda. For the first time since the accident, she felt like she could finally breathe.

"Believe me now?" You mumbled against her lips.

She hummed in amusement. "Not for a second."

"I guess I'll have to keep trying."

"I guess you'll have to."

#ellies1500 #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff one shot #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch one shot #scarlet witch fanfiction

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spookymultimedia · 4 years ago

Text

A Summer to Remember Ch4

CW: internalized homophobia

the f slur and queer used as a slur

[Ned Pov]

My eyes fluttered open to the sound of birds early in the morning. It was still dark outside. I looked down at Maude who was spooned into my arms. I recalled the conversation we had last night. As much as I wanted to hide from it, it was clear that I was homosexual. . .a queer. The word queer made me wince for some reason. I was gay, I was a gay man. It made too much sense. I bit my lip suddenly remembering something that happened in my youth. I remembered being in a group of. . . secular non-Christian people. It was the early 70s and no one knew where I was. They didn't have to know. It was simple teen curiosity; there was a desire to explore the world that was kept away from me. Again, I always had an innate curiosity to understand. It's impossible for a person to be perfectly free from sin. It was only human nature to have sinful tendencies. What I'm trying to say is I tried marijuana. It wasn't that bad. I actually felt less stressed than I usually was but let's not focus on that. There was this boy. This boy who was good with the guitar. He had long hair and wore blush from time to time. He called himself bisexual. I remembered how comfortable I had gotten with him one afternoon where we all were hanging out by a river. I remember the smoke and the lesbians who had made love in the shallow water. There were s'mores and homemade tea. By all logic I should have felt scared I was there; I wasn't.

I got up close to him by my own will, I remember. He asked me if I had ever kissed a boy before. I hadn't. He asked if I wanted to. Despite the quiet guilt in my soul I nodded. We kissed and kissed again and again until I got a hang of the rhythm. I liked it. The more I reflected on the memory, I remembered how much I enjoyed it. I stared at the window thinking while watching the warm glow of sunrise touch the curtains. I really am gay aren't I?

I looked down when I felt Maude move and wake up. She stretched her arms and legs and blinked awake. She smiled at me, "Good morning."

"Mornin."

She pressed a small kiss on my cheek and sat up.

"You don't have to do that kind of stuff to me if you're not comfortable."

"Hm? Oh. .I'm sorry it just felt natural I don't know. Are you uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all. . .shouldn't I be uncomfortable?"She shrugged. "It doesn't mean anything inherently romantic to me. . .does that sound silly?"

I shook my head, "I don't think so. .but I get what you mean."

She rubbed her eyes and played with her hair.

"So. . when you said you where gay last night do you mean. .?"

"That I'm a. . . lesbian? Yeah, yeah I think I'm a lesbian. Sounds right."

"That's just lovely Maude."

She frowned, "Is it? I. .thought it wasn't right to be. .-"

I laid there thinking for a minute, "Is it really wrong?"

"I'm not sure. . "

"It's just love. I can't see what's so wrong about it. . . Maude I. .I kissed a boy when I was younger." Why did I suddenly feel ashamed? It was just a kiss. Imagine what my uncle would say. He'd probably call me a f*gg*t or something. What would Reverend Lovejoy say? I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.

"Oh? Hm. . . was it nice?"

"Yeah. ." I stared at the wall again.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"Me?"

She nodded.

"I'm not sure. You?"

"I'm too scared."

"I understand." I pet her upper back to comfort her.

[Maude pov]

After breakfast we followed Tim and Helen led us to the Rock climbing area. There was this gigantic wall in front of us. It had multicolored rubber rocks that I adored. It wasn't my first rodeo with rock climbing. I had climbed with Ned plenty of times. I smiled up at them with anticipation. I had on some white tee from a church event and

jean shorts that reached my knees.

"Now this exercise is supposed to encourage teamwork and support in each other. When this world brings you down you need to have someone to encourage you." Helen explained as Timothy put on a harness. Helen looked at me puzzled as I put on one myself.

"What? It's not on backwards is it?"

"Oh, no it's just that. . ." She trailed off looking at my harness. She bit her lip lightly for a second before her concentration quickly returned. "Well I was going to have Ned climbing the wall but that's fine that works. . .Maude, are you sure you can?"

"I've done this many times." I smiled and laughed.

"Oh. Okay." She said a bit surprised.

Was it just me or did she blush? Was she checking me out. . .? No, no it had to be my imagination. I dismissed any other possibility of why she looked at me like that.

Once me and Tim were set up we started our climb. I made a speedy start grabbing onto each rock I saw available. It was fairly easy. I made a mental note of the colors. I loved them. Red pink yellow pink orange red blue green red turquoise. I focused on the rocks and moving.

"You got this Maude!" Ned cheered. I smiled and kept on climbing. I glanced over at Timothy who was only a couple feet from the ground. It seemed I had more upper arm strength than him. I wouldn't have guessed.

"I believe in you Timothy! You're doing great. One at a time." Helen cheered, encouraging him. God bless her, she's so sweet. He nodded and slowly found himself a bit higher. At some point I got stuck.

"Go left, use your legs!" Ned coached. I nodded and did as he advised. Tim had caught up with me before I made my way ahead of him again. Before I knew it I was at the very top.

I sat on the wall and smiled as Ned clapped for me. Helen was clapping too. So cute of her. I stared out at the trees and the shimmering lake as Tim was making the rest of his way up. Do I like Helen? I asked myself. Of course I did, she's been my best friend for years. But, Ned was also mine for longer. Yet, something in her sparkled that hadn't in Ned. Every time I had saw her, things we're better. I felt . .giddy. Oh. . .oh. I do love her. I love her more than anything. My chest had ached. Oh God, I love her.

"I'm so proud of you!" I looked down at Helen who was cheering at her husband who loved her too. She loved him. She loves him, not me. She's straight, I think. It didn't matter anyways. I sighed. Still I couldn't help but smile. I was in love and couldn't do anything about it. I wonder how Ned was coping with this yearning. I then faced the wall and quickly leaped my way down. With gravity and my emotions taking over me I couldn't help but laugh. I landed on the ground giggling. "That was fun." I snorted and covered my mouth blushing. But then she laughed too. "Oh Maude, that's adorable." She put an arm around my shoulder. Oh God I could kiss her right now. She's so close yet so far from reach. So I just stood there blushing and smiling. Tim slowly but surely came down with a bit of a dizzy stumble. Ned was close and caught him. For a moment the two men were arm in arm. Tim smiled bashfully and a tad embarrassed.

"Thanks."

Ned stared at him a moment before helping him stand-up straight. "You did great, Reverend." Neddy said smiling. The poor thing. He must feel the same ache in his soul. He has to.

[Ned pov]

Later that day I found Timothy by the river. He was just sitting there watching it flow. I had to ask. I needed to know what he thought on the matter. Despite everything, I felt in my soul it was right and only natural. But I just needed to know. You always need to know, it'll be death of you, Ned. I sighed and walked up to him before sitting by him on the grass by the sore. "Hi Reverend."

"Ned, we're friends, you can just call me Timothy. Really I insist."

"Of course. Timothy," his name was so intense. Calling him by his name was so tender and intimate it almost felt wrong. "I wanted to talk to you about something. Well, I at least wanted to hear your thoughts on the matter."

"What is it?" He looked at me slightly exhausted. I felt a pang of guilt. He probably wanted a break from being asked things everyday. It had to be exhausting. But I needed to know. I knew it was important.

"What do you think about homosexuality?"

"Hmm. . ." He hummed and looked out on the lake. "Sexual deviance isn't a good thing."

"Deviance?" I felt a bit hurt. Was it really cheating if my wife knew how I felt. I mean, it would be if I kissed a married man. I wanted to kiss a married man. Am I lusting? Is this sin? The homosexuality couldn't be though. "Is it really deviance??"

Tim paused to think again. "Well. Hm. There are some verses-"

"I know, I've heard about them. But I don't think they're talking about homosexuality. It could be just an error. It could be referring to a completely different sin. But if you don't mind my boldness Reverend, I really don't think it's a sin at all."

He nodded slowly, pensive.

"There are verses that have forbidden the consumption of some meats that were unsafe at the time. . .hmm. That's not a sin at all anymore. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding. Prophets are still human after all." He stared at the water. "I suppose homosexuality isn't so bad. Why, it's not bad at all. I mean everyone feels sexuality . . .right?" He looked a bit confused. I wasn't sure why. Was he gay? No. . . was he?

"I believe so."

He stared at the water thinking, I assume. I looked at those hands that tempted me. Guilt was burning me alive.

"Timothy I've been sinning!"

He looked at me startled at my outburst.

"Ned. . Ned, why are you asking me about this? Is. .this why you and Maude are having issues? Are you gay?"

I froze.

"Ned you said it yourself and I agree, I don't think homosexuality is a legit sin."

"No. I mean, no that's not the issue." I felt my eyes water.

"Ned. ."

"I've been lusting after a married man! That's a sin!"

"Ned. . .are you talking about me? Do you like me that way?" His eyes were wide.

"I do." I started to cry.

"Why are you crying?"

I looked at him like he was absurd.

"It's lusting!"

"Eh, well. You're not acting on it. I'm sure the Lord understands your intentions and will forgive them."

I shrugged, "I understand if you're uncomfortable. ."

"Not really. Don't worry about it."

"I just don't want to ruin anything."

"I understand."

"How long have you felt like this?"

"I . .I don't know. Maybe I was born like this."

"Born??" He looked confused.

"Well not literally. I mean. I've just always liked men." I rubbed my arm anxiously. I was still trying to make peace with myself.

Timothy stared at the ground, his eyes furrowed.

"Like them?"

"Yeah. Like I've just always wanted to. . .kiss them and stuff. You know?"

He slowly shook his head looking a bit lost.

"I don't understand."

I suddenly felt sick. Did he think my attraction was that weird?

"It's just the same feeling that you get with women."

He fiddled with his hands. He looked really uncomfortable.

"What's wrong? Is it me?"

"No it's not you. You're fine Ned I promise. I'm glad you decided to come to me about this." He closed his eyes and bit at his finger gingerly. I had seen him do this a couple times. It was usually when he got stressed or something. "Does Maude know?"

"Yeah. She took it well."

"Good." He stood up and walked off.

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