#and its entirely one way and keeps me untouchable just perfect exactly how everything should be yippee

[phagodyke]

god I really am at the end of my tether atm

[patchworkpuzzle]

MINORS DNI 18+

word count: ~2.5k

paring: Sero x f!Reader

warning: rough handling, edging, overstimulation, squirting, clit slapping (so I guess impact play?)

authors note: so.... uh.... I wrote this for me. Been giving gifts that past few days and I wanted one so.... I hope you guys like it!  And please don’t perceive me, okay? (Also, so sorry if there are grammar mistakes. No beta reader, we die like men)

You had a bit of an attitude.

Not all the time, in fact most of the time you were very sweet. But sometimes, like today, it was made very clear that you were very much a brat. You had a craving since the moment you woke up to be ravished by your super handsome and wonderful boyfriend.

But alas, his hero work came in between your plans. And there was nothing you could do to stop the hero Cellophane from saving the day. So, you had to begrudgingly say goodbye, and good luck, to him as you watched him dash out the door.

On a normal day you would just let it slide. It wasn’t like Sero wanted to go in on his day off, he was dragged into it all. So, because of that, it means it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t tend to your needs. You know he would have, and he never left you unsatisfied. If you just waited like the good girl you were known to be, you would be rewarded.

But for some reason, you just couldn’t.

For some reason you were just in a mood. And that mood meant, instead of sulking all day trying to get your mind off things, you were going to make your horniness his problem too. If he was going to leave you needy, well then you were going to make him want to come home as soon as possible.

The back of your mind was nagging you the entire time. Telling you it wasn’t smart to get into your favourite lingerie set, nor was it wise to take that many selfies of yourself in said set, and that it was especially a bad idea to send those selfies to your boyfriend with the provocative messages attached.

And an even worse idea that when he responded, his usual dominance showing through telling you to ‘not to play this game with him right now’, to send him a video of you slowly touching yourself and loudly moaning his name.

He was silent after you sent that video. It was clear that he saw it, the icon proving as much, but as the hours passed without so much as a single word made you worried. That nagging voice now speaking even louder as the hours passed, telling you how much of a terrible idea it was.

But how bad could it be, really? Usually when Sero got this way it meant that you were going to be punished. And, oh, how your nerves shook with pleasure that went straight to your core at the thought. A night where Sero was mad at you, punishing you for being bad, meant a nonstop assault on your body. Being tossed, toyed, played with, fucked, within an inch of your life. Your body being abused in the most sinful, and pleasurable, of ways.

You bit your lip at the thought. When Sero got dominant over you it made you go feral; even more so than what you were now. As your mind was buzzing at all the possible outcomes he may have in store for you when he walked through the door.

What you were expecting, you didn’t know; but you weren’t about to complain in the slightest.

At least not much, that is. As your instincts screamed at you to walk out of your shared room to greet him when you heard the door slam open, and the sound of his boots harshly thumping against the ground as he took them off, but you held firm and stayed spread out on your bed. The only thing you did to show you knew he was home, was sit up. Your brattish attitude wiggled its way into your chest as you waited for him.

You heard him call your name, asking where you were. His voice was deceptive, he sounded friendly and normal, but the tone that was almost hidden underneath was dark; proving he was furious at you. It made your legs clamp and rub together, trying to alleviate the growing pleasure you felt as you held your tongue. You wanted him to find you.

And he did. It wasn’t like there were that many places to look after all. And when the door swung open to reveal his lean form, you gulped. Seeing him in his hero outfit always did something to you, the way it shaped his perfect body to show off every piece of strong muscle was almost sinful; certainly not fair to you every time you saw him in it. And the way it mixed with his dishevelled hair, clearly due to his helmet, and the dark threatening look held in his eyes as he scanned your form made a shiver run down your spine.

“I called out, why didn’t you respond Cariño?” Sero asked, his tone chillingly calm as he stalked his way to your side of the bed.

He didn’t sit down, like you expected him to. Sero just stood there, staring down at you, eyes scanning over your form once again as he took in just how lovely it all looked on you. Your heartbeat raced in your chest as you licked your lips, wanting to respond but instead you didn’t. You looked away from him.

A yelp, turning itself into a breathless whimper, let your lips as his hand grabbed your hair harshly causing you to sit up on your knees. His face came dangerously close to yours, to ensure you were looking directly at him. His warm breath fanned across your cheeks as you watched with hooded eyes as his tongue peeked past his lips to wet them.

“I asked you a question.” He growled out, his other hand coming up to wrap around your throat in warning “And I expect an answer.”

Sero could feel you swallow as you nodded your head, enjoying the way you were squirming in his hold. He waited a breath before throwing you face first back onto the mattress, chuckling darkly as he watched you lift your hips, so your ass was in the air; wiggling it to tempt him to spank it.

He ignored it, walking his way to the other side of the bed as he began to move some things around; mainly the full body mirror you kept in the corner of the room to sit facing the end of the bed.

“Papi!” You whined, turning your face to watch him but never moving out of your lewd position “I want you to play with me!”

“I know you do, Princesa.” His back was still to you, ignoring you completely as he finished setting everything up “But should I? You haven’t exactly been good, have you?”

The whine that left your lips could only be described as pathetic, as you continued to squirm on the bed; never once touching your aching core to avoid anymore neglect from the man before you. Small please and begs leaving your lips, telling him that you were being good.

“Please, want you to touch me Papi. Want you to fill me up, please Papi! I need it!” You whimpered, eyes starting to water with tears as your discomfort grew the longer you stayed untouched.

You heard Sero sigh as he finally turned to face you, a dark smile slowly starting to grace his features as he looked upon your glassy eyes. “You’re such a needy baby, aren’t you?” He cooed down at you.

You nodded your head as you carefully watched him walk up to you, gasping when he forcefully pushed your backside down on the bed. Grabbing hold of your arms he pulled you over to the end of the bed, picking you up before you had the chance to fall to the floor.

Without a word he maneuvered you to the floor, making you sit like a pretty doll as he sat himself down at the foot of the bed. Once comfortable, he patted his lap, allowing you to crawl up and sit on his lap. Though, before you could do anything else – like reach up to kiss his lips, he turned you around.

And then it all made sense.

Looking ahead, all you could see was your reflection staring back at you. It made heat flood to your face, as you watched the wicked grin return to Sero’s face as he forced your legs apart; spreading them wide and forcing them to stay in place with the use of his knees.

“Because my pretty girl wanted me to know how nice she looked today, she can sit here just like this while I play with her.” Sero chuckled as he heard the small whines leave your lips as he slowly petted up and down your inner thighs “And get to see how lovely she looks when she cums.”

You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulders, hooded eyes gazing at your own form. Mainly at the large hands that kept slowly rubbing up and down the expanse of your body. Slowly kneading the flesh of your breasts through the lacy fabric, before on hand dipped down to rub slowly at your clothed clit.

“Naughty girl, you’re soaked already!” Sero groaned, pushing aside the thin fabric to touch your fold directly “Were you waiting for me to play with this pussy all day?”

His teasing made you keen in embarrassment as you closed your eyes and bucked your hips in his hand, wanting to feel more than just the feather light touches he was currently giving you. Though Sero was not having any more of your misbehaving, as his hand came down to smack harshly at your bundle of nerves; the stinging red-hot pain causing you to cry out.

 “I said look at yourself!” Sero growled once more, his hand moving from your breast to lock on your jaw to force you to look in the mirror “And answer me when I ask you a question. This is your last warning, Princesa.”

“S-sorry Papi! You stuttered, trying to keep your eyes focused on what he was doing to you in the mirror and keeping your hips from moving too much “Please don’t stop. Please play with my sloppy pussy!”

“Yeah, want me to play with you? Want me to stuff you with my fingers?” Sero asked, enjoying the dazed expression you were giving him in the mirror as he slowly started petting your core again.

“Yes, please!” You whine drew out your words, but you couldn’t help it.

Not when he slowly started to pump two fingers into you, starting shallow before going deeper and deeper until he was touching that spongy spot inside you that made you see stars. His steady rhythm was causing your head to toss and turn from side to side, though making sure you still kept looking at your reflection, as it drove you crazy. Especially when he would scissor his fingers, slowly forcing your clenching hole to stretch to his desires.

You felt your orgasm approaching, the burning sensation made your legs shake as your moans grew louder and needier as you called out to Sero. Out of instinct you brought a hand down to grab hold of his wrist, to keep in place as your back arched. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, Sero ripped his hand from your core. The denial caused you to sob out as you bucked your hips widely to get the friction back.

“Brats don’t get to touch!” Sero growled, taking your hand and placing it back at your side “And they don’t get to cum without permission. Isn’t that right, Princesa?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry Papi!” You wailed, fat tears threatening to fall from your eyes as you looked at his reflection, silently leading him for forgiveness “It won’t happen again, promise!”

“Shhhh” He cooed, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh to calm you down as his other hand moved to swipe the falling few falling tears “Be good and you’ll get to cum, okay?”

All you could do was nod your head, allowing yourself to calm down and for your breathing to go back to normal. When you felt his finger prod at your entrance once more, you had to force yourself to not buck into his hand. Or to whine in protest when his started to fuck you hard and fast with his fingers once more.

Though every time you seemed to get closer to your orgasm, Sero would pull away and try to calm you down. Reminding you to be good, or else his punishment would last even longer. It was frustrating, to say the least, you just wanted to cum after all. But you trusted Sero and knew that he was going to take care of you like he promised.

When you felt your core clench and tighten for the nth time that evening, Sero didn’t stop you from cumming. His hand that forced you to keep looking at the mirror tightened as he made sure you kept your eyes open to watch yourself, despite your mewls of discomfort over it. He didn’t let up either, he always thought you looked so pretty with your mouth agape as your face pinched in a mixture of ecstasy discomfort as he quickly pushed you over another orgasm.

“Keep looking, yeah that's it. You're gonna gush, aren't you pretty baby?” Sero asked, his fingers relentlessly hitting that special spot inside you that made you see stars.

“S’too much! Gonna cum again!” You slurred, trying to keep your eyes focused on your form in front of you but it was getting harder every second.

“Do it baby, wanna see yourself make a mess.” Sero groaned, the way your gummy walls clenched so tightly around his fingers made his cock twitch in his pants; he was going to make sure to fuck you dumb when he was done playing with you like this.

You let out a wail, your eyes crossing as your tongue involuntarily stuck itself out as you felt you cum gush out, forcing Sero’s fingers out along with it. Not that he minded, if his loud groan that accompanied your mewls was anything to go by.

“Yes, yes, yes! Good girl!” He praised, his hand coming to vigorously rub at your clit to make more of your release gush out of you and onto your thighs; soaking your comforter “That’s a good girl, yeah keep going!”

You whimpered when you felt his fingers enter you again, hand coming down to try and push him away only to have harshly slap at your clit once more and resume his attack on your core once more. The sounds of your slick echoed in the room, making you squirm in discomfort.

“P-papi, n-no more!” You sniffled, throwing your head back and crying out once more as you felt him hit your special spot again and again.

“Not a chance, Princesa.” Sero hummed, thumb coming up to rub at your sore clit “You didn’t look at yourself when you came just now, so now we got to start all over again.”

[fullfiresiren]

beauty of the dawn

jujutsu kaisen

fushiguro toji x reader

The notion of a loving family was something foreign to Fushiguro Toji. Family, to him, was a bitter word -- full of hate and abhorrence. Abandonment and fear were a commonality in his own childhood. But in you, he finds a warmth he didn’t think he deserved – a home he craved, a love that makes him feel safe; full of gentle touches and soft kisses. But he’s scared. He's broken, and angry, and he knows the threat of his family is always lurking close, snapping at his heels, ready to devour. You bring the notion of family to his doorstep, and he spooks. He panics. He can’t let them find you, he can’t and he has to give up the only feeling of warmth he has ever known to do so.

It haunts him forever – leaving behind the only woman he ever loved, and a child he will never know.

word count: 3.8k.

notes: *inhales* ANGST— lmao but really, I live for it. Toji may be a bad person, but I suck dick, not morals, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ bro I fr don’t even know what came over me. This has been like the smallest headcannon for me and somehow it turned into this horribly sad piece, and although Toji is a dick, I also think he is an incredibly complex character that, at the end of it all, was just a desperate father trying to look out for his child. I think he deserves much more than he got, and he kinda gets shat on in this fic lmao I'm so fuCKING SORRY FOR THAT--

warnings: nsfw/18+, angst, hurt no comfort, abandonment, unplanned pregnancy, pregnant reader

“Take me,” he prays, panting secrets that fall from his lips onto your soft skin; promises of pleasure as he breeds you deep. “Take all of me.”

And you do – over, and over, and over again.

Hilting him to the deepest part of yourself, and holding him close, so close, his breath a hot ghost across your face as he leans his forehead against yours. You keep him there until he is finished, taking his seed like it was sacrament. He gives you everything he has to offer, and only when you have slipped into a light slumber does he pull away.

He never strays far, though, and he cannot stay away for long. You are like sweet honey and warm sunsets; the breathing embodiment of a life he was never before privy to – the promise of something better; a miracle. Far from the cold depravity and sharp pain of his own family, in you, he found only warm touches, and words of tender affection. Toji feels so overwhelmed by the amount of love he has for you, that sometimes it’s unbearable. He feels so happy he could die.

He is not an honest man, by any means. He kills for a vocation -- and enjoys it, too. It’s something he’s good at. It’s an easy way to make money, and it helps him pay for his half of the rent on the meagre apartment you share. It also lets him keep the fridge full, make sure you’re always warm, and that you’re never without. He doesn’t really care about himself or what he has to do – so long as you’re happy.

The weight of his body is always heavy between your thighs, his chest solid, thrusts slow and deep, stretching you, making a perfect fit for himself inside you. He likes drawing it out – each time he takes you. He enjoys seeing you beg for release, relishes the way your tears slide down your flushed cheeks, because he likes being the one to kiss them away, knowing he is the only one who ever makes you feel this good. His name sounds so perfect when it falls from your lips at your height of ecstasy, and the way you take him in has him swearing he can see heaven.

You see a side of him that no one else does, but he’s dark, he’s toxic. The amount of sadness in his soul is challenged only by the sheer force of his anger. He's sure that he wasn’t always like this, but... he can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t. Everyone and everything was his enemy. He’s never really told you much about his family, or his past. His childhood had been dark, you assumed, based on the way he flinched around children, and steered clear of any conversational topics that included them or parental figures.

Toji Fushiguro was untouchable to everyone, and only just tangible to you.

He wants to be able to give you everything. He wants to lay his head on your chest in the depths of the night when he’s feeling lost, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to come home every night, no matter what happens to him throughout the day, and be able to feel the brush of your soft lips; to taste your tongue with his – god – he wants to. But he’s afraid. He’s scared. If he gives you everything... if he shows you who he really is... what happens if you see something you don’t like? Will you pull away from him? Will you cast him out and abandon him – just like his family did? Toji isn’t feeble by any sense of the word, but he thinks that would be the one thing that would break him.

That’s why he’s only let you see glimpses... and only every now and then.

He’s just so miserable when he’s alone. He’s angry at the world, and you’re the only thing that soothes him. The only thing he has ever loved.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror when he comes home, locked away in the too-small bathroom. You hear the keys turning in the lock; a signal of his arrival, and the door to your apartment opens, bringing with it sounds of paper bags crinkling, keys being tossed into their bowl, and huffing exhales as he struggles to kick his heavy boots off.

“Toji?”

“I’m home!” he calls, his voice a deep timbre in his chest, smooth like rich oak.

You follow it, leaving the safe space of your bathroom to find him, and when you pass the threshold into your small kitchen, he’s lifting bags of fresh groceries onto what little counter space you have. The movement carries with it droplets from an October rain that had caught him by surprise on his walk home, ones that hang from the edges of his black hair and drip down onto his damp black shirt.

“Toji,” you repeat, beaming as you bound into your small kitchen. “I have wonderful news!”

He spares you a glance between unpacking vegetables, dark eyes tracing the curve of your face, hands grasping at packets of food that need to be tossed in the fridge, and cans to be stacked in the shelves.

“Hmm?”

He offers you his face, leaning in close, pausing in his task to receive a small blessing of affection from you — a soft kiss against the scar on his lip that has his eyelashes fluttering closed, and then one more fully against yours – always greedy for any love you bestow, always chasing just one more, just once more, just another, my love, just one more...

He continues with his chore, but only when you giggle at the fluttering of kisses he peppers across your face, your jaw, suckling at your neck, your hands against his chest pushing him gently, urging him to finish his task – but not before you give him another deep kiss, all giddiness and mirth swimming in your gaze. He can’t help the deep chuckle that spills from his lips at seeing you so happy.

“Toji,” you begin, and he’s rummaging in the paper bags, brows furrowed because he could have sworn that he bought three carrots, and not two -- “I’m pregnant!”

He stills.

He can sense your beaming smile, almost feels the warmth of it on his cold skin, and it only makes him shiver.

The seconds tick by without any form of reaction, and the atmosphere grows horribly tense. Toji doesn’t look at you, but he can see from his peripheral vision that your smile slips at the same time that your shoulders round and you make yourself smaller, unconsciously closing off. You’re twisting something in your hands, suddenly nervous, and he has a nauseating feeling that settles in his gut, because he knows exactly what it is that you’re holding.

It’s proof.

“Are you... happy?” you ask, and you hate that you have to. It’s like a punch in the gut, and you’re afraid. This was not the reaction you were expecting at all.

“Are you sure?” he doesn’t know why he asks that.

He isn’t looking at you, and he isn’t moving – he’s not even blinking. You feel your hands becoming sweaty as you clutch the positive pregnancy test, mouth dry. A quickly increasing panic creeps over your skin, gripping you by the throat, and you honestly have no idea how to traverse this kind of response to your news. In the bathroom you only practiced scenarios in relation to a beaming, positive reaction.

Which room should we make into the baby’s room? Our baby can always sleep with us, though, and I know they’re definitely going to prefer you – I'm hopeless with kids... but I hope they look like you, Toji – a perfect combination of everything I love about you!

Do you want to pick names out? I hope it’s a girl... but a boy would be wonderful, too! I know the baby will adore you, no matter what! Do you have any names you like? We can name them after someone you love? If it’s a boy, I want to make his middle name yours...

Why didn’t you think he was going to show apprehension or reluctance? Why were you so idiotic to assume this is something he desired when he’s never given you any signs of wanting to start a family? He’s probably feeling entirely overwhelmed – and no wonder – you have no tact about this. Fuck, you’re stupid. You fucking idiot. Pathetic, dumb, worthless--

“Y-yes,” you reply, and your voice is a shadow of its former self. “I took three tests. I have one here--”

“How.”

You flinch a little under the curtness of his words.

“W-what—?”

“How did this happen?”

“Uhm...” your voice sounds so frail when you speak, and you can't help it. He’s making you feel like you’ve committed a horrendous sin. You’ve managed to combine the epitome of affection between the two of you into the creation of what will become a child – a perfect mix of the two of you, and yet, you’re beginning to hate yourself for doing so. You didn’t mean to... it was an accident... “We don’t... you know... use protection... and we... have sex... a lot...”

“I thought you were taking the pill.”

You feel like you want to throw up.

His entire body is unnaturally still, and he’s not looked at you once since you’ve told him. You are pretty sure that the can in his right hand is warping under the violent pressure of his grasp, and you wring your hands around the test nervously, the weight of it somehow heavy against your palms.

“I... don’t take the pill...” you remind, and then as an afterthought, you add, “I’m sorry.”

Words you never thought you would say in relation to this. You never though you would have to apologize in this kind of situation. You exhale a shaky breath, and it seems to bring him back to reality. He sets the can down on the countertop with more force than needed, and you try your best to blink back tears as you ask, “You’re... not happy... are you...?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and it hurts to say – god, it hurts. The words sting when they leave your mouth, like a hard slap against your face, but the ache is not nearly as bad as the way his silence is wounding you. You feel like you’re about to collapse from the amount of pain you have in your heart.

“I need to go somewhere,” is the most he offers you, before he’s turning on his heels and striding past you, leaving the apartment you share.

The noise of the front door slamming shut echoes in your mind long after the sound itself has gone.

He never did come back.

  — — — 5 years later — — —

 In the end, you were blessed with a baby girl, all chubby with round, rosy cheeks. Dark hair and eyes like her father, but soft and gentle like her mother. She was an almost perfect child. She never cried, and she never fussed, content in just being close to her mother. She listened when you spoke, and learned fast, growing just as quick, and you would die for her. She was your blessing; Akemi – the beauty of a new dawn.

You’re sure that he would have loved her more than life itself, but you try not to spare any thoughts his way anymore.

Toji gambles his life away, blowing through anything he earns as quickly as he makes it, drowning himself night after night in heavy alcohol to dampen his senses until they are nothing more than a faint hum in the back of his brain.

With any luck, those things will kill him long before the guilt does.

He fucks faceless women, drunk beyond sense, and when he finishes, he leaves before they sleep.

“Hate me, (y/n),” he sneers, turning sharply to vomit up onto the wet asphalt, breath a shaky exhale as he stumbles into the cold night, thoughts only on you – only ever on you – unaware that he’s crying. “Hate me. I fucking deserve it.”

His face is smeared with bile and tears, and he is so fucking angry -- so desperately sad, and he cries, and cries. He wants to go home. He just wants to go home. He wants to meet her – his darling daughter – he wants to hold her, and kiss her forehead, and tuck her into bed. Fuck everything that he thought – he would have been a great father, he knows it – and you knew it, too. He’s so lost without you, and he wants to lay his head on your chest in the safety of your bedroom, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat to guide him home. He wants to feel the brush of your soft lips again; to taste your tongue with his, moan your name into your parted sigh, make you feel him again.

He screams, but it catches in his throat before he can, and he splits his knuckles open when he sends a furious punch against a brick wall.

He can protect you from a lot of things – but not the power of his family. Not that. He’s just one man, and they’re so many. He has a heavenly restriction, and they are all blessed with both innate and inherited techniques, passed down through eons. He knows what they’ll do if they ever found out about you – about the child, and Toji swears on everything he has, that he won’t let them touch you – or her. Even if he won’t be able to. Even if he’ll never be able to hold his daughter, to thank her for being born, to cradle her against his chest and feel her wrap her small fingers against his – he won’t let the Zen’in have her. He won’t.

But that doesn’t mean that he deprives himself from watching over her – or you. Eyes follow the two of you home from her pre-school, singing nursery rhymes to your hearts content, watching as she orders “up, up, mommy!”, squealing happily when you lift her onto your shoulders. He imagines himself in your place; lifting her to higher heights, hearing her giggle a chorus of happy songs as your hand finds his, lips on his scar as you tell him how much you love him.

But he always keeps his distance, dark baseball cap shielding his features, and leaves before you feel someone following you.

It becomes increasingly hard to keep it at that. He starts pushing the boundaries, testing how close he can get. He knows he shouldn’t -- he has no right to – but when she dropped her stuffed toy one time in the supermarket, and you were oblivious to it, he finds himself bending down to grasp the too-soft toy in his calloused hands, dropping it in your basket when your back is turned, and your brows are furrowed as you regard the price difference between her favorite flavor of juice compared to the off-brand ones.

The thrill of being so close, of doing something, anything fatherly, was like a fix – a short relief from the aching despair and loneliness constantly plaguing him, and he finds himself doing it more and more – always pushing, always testing the waters. He even smiled at her once when she caught him staring, and she sent her own toothy grin back at him. His heart soared.

His daughter’s name was Akemi, and he first heard it when it fell from your lips one warm afternoon. He wants to write her name on his heart – right beside yours.

He wants to give her something – a pretty gift, but he doesn’t know what. He was never good at buying presents, and would only ever bring you flowers, since it seemed like something that could never go wrong, and would always bring a bright smile to your face. Flowers would be strange for a child, though. He twists the dainty silver bracelet between his large fingers, thinking bitterly that this was the same way you held the pregnancy test all those years ago. He didn’t really care how much it cost him. He’s sure that the salesman added unnecessary tax and extras to the price just to give himself more commission, but Toji doesn’t care – he just wanted something pretty to give to his daughter.

When he finally sees her enter the park, small hand tugging yours happily, his mind goes empty, and he can’t stop staring. You are as beautiful as ever, and it’s no wonder his daughter is so ethereal when she has you for a mother.

She is perfect, he thinks -- too good for this life -- and even though it’s the worst thing he has ever done, he is reminded that pulling away from you was the only way to save her from his family. It looks like she escaped the curse of inheriting any of his bloodline's techniques, and what’s more so – it seems like she, too, is oblivious to curses; skipping past them as she chases leaves that skit about the dirt path of the park, her teddy in her arms. Toji dips his head down when she draws near the bench he’s sitting on, the brim of his baseball cap keeps his face hidden, and his sadness known only to himself.

“Excuse me?”

He bristles when her voice floats past his ears, so gentle and sweet.

“Hey, mister,” she pokes his knee with her slim finger, so tiny compared to the size of his body, and he jerks at the contact. “Is this yours?”

She’s holding the bracelet in her small hand, the silver glinting in the morning sun, offering it up to him with large eyes, so close to him. At this distance, he can see the true color of her eyes – exactly like his own – and the small freckles that dot her skin. The longer he stares, the more his chest constricts painfully, tightly – he’s finding it hard to breathe, and he exhales suddenly, sharply snatching it away from her.

The force of the movement causes her to stumble a little, tripping over her feet, and before she knows it, the man who was once sitting before her has entirely caught her in his large arms, scooping her up before the ground has a chance to harm her.

She blinks once... twice... swaddled in his arms, sitting against his broad chest, and Toji frantically looks for you, finding you caught up in talking to another mother, too busy to notice. He knows he would scold you for it if he was still in your life, but when his daughter laughs, he snaps his head back to look at her, forgetting what thoughts he had in his mind at the glinting sound of her happiness.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, “You’re fast! Thanks for catching me!”

He doesn’t know what to say – if he should say anything at all. His plan was to give her the bracelet, telling her that it was a late birthday gift from someone that loves her very much, and walking off before she (or you) has the chance to catch on or respond. But now that he’s inches away from her, holding her close as she peers up at him, he’s lost again. He’s lost, and he can’t breathe. He needs you to steady him, but you aren’t here, and he doesn’t know what to do, what should he do, what should he--?

“Where did you get that scar from?” she asks innocently, her large eyes suddenly trained on the mark beside his lips.

“F-from an accident,” he mumbles, “a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she hums, hands splayed against his broad chest, looking around her, swaying her legs absentmindedly. “Wow, you’re really tall! I can see everything from up here!” she exclaims happily, “My mommy’s not as tall as this, so when I sit on her shoulders, I can’t see nearly as much as I can now!”

“Oh,” he mutters, not really knowing what to say, “is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “Mommy’s not as big as you are either.”

At this, he gives a genuine laugh – a sound he hasn’t heard fall from his lips in a long, long time, looking at her with quiet adoration.

“She’s not as fast as you either,” she continues, “you were super-fast!”

“She’s strong in her own ways, though,” he mutters, offering her a soft smile.

“Do you know my mommy?”

He bristles, actively avoiding her gaze. His heart is racing from this much interaction with his daughter, and he’s sure she can feel it under her small palm. It beats for her – if only she knew, and Toji contemplates, for the briefest of seconds, just telling her. The thought leaves his mind as soon as it enters. He doesn’t have that choice, and he doesn’t deserve it.

“Not really,” he mutters, dipping down slowly to set her footing on solid ground once more.

“She’s really pretty,” the little girl continues, playing with the soft fabric of his t-shirt in a small moment of fondness and familiarity, “and nice – and she makes great food!”

Toji realises only after the fact that his hand had settled on top of her head, and he’s stroking her hair softly, thumb caressing her cheek when he moves to cup her face. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, and Toji is overwhelmed with a plethora of emotions. Pride in you for doing all this by yourself and raising such a wonderful child, shame for abandoning you and his daughter, mirth, anger, warmth, sadness, love--

“Akemi!” you call, seeing her lift her head at the sound of your voice. “This way, honey!”

“Oh, I have to go now! My mommy is calling me!” she perks up, gripping her teddy a little tighter and offering the man a smile. “Bye-bye!”

“W-wait!” he calls, thrusting the gift into her small hands. “This is for you, uh... f-from me...”

She looks down at it, before her whole face lights up, and Toji is suddenly breathless – she looks so much like you when she’s surprised, happiness blossoming over her face the same way it would on yours.

Toji feels a deep-rooted emptiness inside his body when he watches his daughter retreat away from him; a living embodiment of all his failures to you, and yet, as he sees her long, black hair whip out behind her, he realizes something else — she was your promise delivered; a combination of everything good between the two of you, in itself a miracle. He might not be in her life, but he was also partly responsible for creating something so beautiful, so ethereal.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if he was ever fortunate enough to be granted a second, it would be a miracle; a holy gift.

A blessing that would accompany the beauty of dawn.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Ivory Kisses

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: A moment together leads to close encounters.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: mild angst, anxiety, fluff, kissing

The piano.

It was a gorgeously sleek and utterly elegant instrument, producing an equally beautiful melody each and every time it’s played. It is an instrument that Draco has come to know very well over the span of his life, one he’s come to seek solace in. He can play a myriad of songs, whether they’re classics on paper or ones he had thought of himself; he could play them with a well practiced ease after years of perfecting the very talent ever since he had been a small boy.

His mother had made him begin to take lessons at the age of six years old; it was customary that he was musically talented amongst many other assets and strengths most of which he hadn’t really enjoyed. But, as of late, it became more than just a hobby that he’d once pushed to the very back of his mind. Much to many’s surprise it’d quickly become a habit he’d made when his mind would wander to more undesirable places when others would be sleeping peacefully. He found that to be the case more often than not anymore, though most of his sleepless nights are routinely spoken for each and every time you’re there.

The piano is what you’d heard softly as you navigated the familiar darkened corridor, illuminated only by the soft yet broken beams of moonlight streaming through the old latticed windows. You really ought not be there, and you remind yourself of that very fact every time you’d apparate to the manor. You weren’t exactly cared for by Lucius Malfoy, actually, you knew you weren’t. It was abundantly clear that you had been quite the opposite of him and that simply wasn’t acceptable in his perception of who is right and wrong for his son. He considered you a threat to the proper continuation of the Malfoy name and he was determined to make that known with each passing day should he sense Draco still thinks about you. It did not matter that you loved his son, it would never matter. But you didn’t let that pull you apart.

Each press of the keys had become less faint and more distinct than the last the closer you had gotten to the room you knew quite well in that grand estate, and it was only a matter of moments before you found yourself standing outside of the library. You stood there only briefly as you looked over your shoulder once more, the long hallway remaining as empty as you’d hoped it to be, as empty as you could possibly see in the night. Your lingering glance then shifted ahead of you as you twisted the metal doorknob and slipped into the grand room through one of the mahogany double doors. It closed with a creak not quite loud enough to be concerned about.

The library at Malfoy Manor was almost one to rival the one at Hogwarts; matching mahogany shelves took up residence in the large space, housed with dusty books of varying sizes on all things magic though they had remained untouched for the most part. You will admit, you had seen a collection of romance novels that Draco had mentioned were his mother’s. A small stone statue sat at the end of every other shelf, the moon bringing forth their every contour and curve—every crack and chip as they age with everything else. The smell of the aged books and the distant scent of the old and unlit cinnamon candle was constant in the room. Draco had bought it at Hogsmeade in fifth year for no other reason than to enjoy it for himself, he was the only person who frequented this part of the manor after all.

Even amongst all of the grand and alluring scenery the most noticeable thing was the grand piano seated in the far corner of the space and the mess of icy blonde hair belonging to the boy that sat before it. The song he’d been playing was rather familiar to you, and had slowed and quieted as he sat up a bit straighter. He knew it was you, he always knew.

To him, it seems as though everything shifts when you enter a room whether you realize that very fact or not. It’s as if everything becomes lighter, becomes far better than when you are gone. He’s always drawn to you and perhaps that’s why.

“It’s like you’re looking for trouble,” he says, turning his head.

You’re quiet for a moment, a grin tugging at your lips as you roll your eyes and he begins to wonder if you’re really there. “Do you know me to be any different?”

The nerves in his stomach settle just as quickly as they arise at the sound of your voice and you walk over to him. The blazer of his suit is in a crumpled heap on the window sill, his tie loosened considerably and the top two buttons of his matching black dress shirt have been undone. He looks at you then, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards immediately in the softest of smiles reserved only for you.

“As much as I’d wish to say otherwise, no I don’t, love,” he says with a quiet laugh.

It was true though, he really wished sometimes that you hadn’t been quite as bold as you were. He supposes he desires to have the kind of confidence that you hold, he knows he does but he knows it just isn’t so. It is something he loves about you and hates all the same, for such a trait gives with it the opportunity to run into a trouble he longs for you to stay away from. His father.

He takes your hand and tugs you to sit on the black velvet bench with him, a kiss press tenderly to your cheek first. He brings his other to settle just above your jaw, his fingers splaying across your rapidly flushing skin as his lips press on yours. Each and every kiss had sent a swirl of butterflies to flutter around in your stomach as if it were the very first time, and you were beginning to think that would be the case every time after that. Draco just had that effect, not that you’d ever make him aware of it.

“Hi,” he whispers against your lips, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “I missed you.”

You were still partially in a daze from his kiss, from the warmth of his breath against your lips and the brush of his hair against your forehead. Or even the cold of his ring against your cheek that sent a shiver through you. You were distracted, almost too much to hear his words.

But you had, and the way the corner of your mouth tugs up is indicative of the quip sitting on the very tip of your tongue. “You always miss me, Draco.”

He rolls his eyes then, his hand falling to his lap as he pulls away from you and tries valiantly to hide his smile with a frown. It was an effort that proved to be futile the moment he looked at you again, and he couldn’t refrain from kissing you lightly once more.

“Must you always tease me when I’m being sincere?” He asks, his grin in his words.

“Yes, I must,” you say, reaching up to brush the hair out his eyes. It was clear he’d run his hands through it more than a few times, very telling of the fact that his mind was busy with something. Something you didn’t know.

You were right in your assumptions even if you weren’t fully aware of it; his mind was indeed full with thoughts of the same thing over and over. Thoughts of you. He wished that he could say they were entirely pleasant, that they were daydreams of good things and not at all bad, but he knows that they’re not. He knows of his fathers strong disliking of you and he doesn’t know how to handle that as of yet.

As seventh year rapidly works towards its ending, the worry only builds in his mind of what will happen. Of what will be his future with you, if there will be a future. He’s far too aware of the fact that his father will stop at next to nothing to secure his good graces with the Dark Lord, to remain in good standing in the society Draco has come to want to be distant from. He knows that once spring break is over things will be all the more difficult, but he refuses to tell you for your sake. Refuses to give you another reason to be bolder than your own good. He would rather stuff it down and pretend as though he’s just fine if it meant you didn’t worry. He’s used to masking his emotions after all.

“Can you teach me to play?” You ask softly, pulling his attention to you as your smirk returns. “If I recall correctly, you are quite good.”

He shakes his head as he looks away and smiles, fortunate that it’s far too dimly lit for you to see the pale crimson that’s burning in his cheeks. You’re the only person that can draw a blush from him and he’s determined to keep that knowledge from you. But, he only sighs with a lingering grin as he nods.

He scoots closer to you then, flipping the page of the sheet music perched just above the keys to a simpler song you presume. His hands soon settle over yours, his fingers entwining with your own slightly as the hover over the keys. His eyes flicker only briefly to the page in front of him, already well versed in the song that’s printed on the paper as he presses your fingers against the keys.

You look to him fleetingly, at the way his hair dips out of its usual pristine place and over his forehead. At the way his brows furrow slightly, or the way he’s ever so gentle as he teaches you something you aren’t entirely paying attention to at that moment. But as you focus your eyes back in your joined hands his head soon rests against yours, the cold metal of his ring pressing against your knuckles.

“Are you paying attention?” He murmurs after a minute or two, looking at you.

You simply nod, and you’re becoming increasingly aware that he knew you had been far too distracted for your answer to be remotely true. Could tell by the way you stifled your yawn.

“No you’re not, darling,” he chuckles, shaking his head fondly as he smiles, kissing your cheek. “Go in then, try it.”

You look at him then, eyes widened a fraction as you bite the inside of your cheek. He nods towards the piano as he lifts his hands from yours, a more teasing grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your stare lingers on him as you squint, your smile becoming increasingly more evident as was the burn in your cheeks. It was obvious that you’d been far more focused on him than the very song you’d barely even half heard. And you were sure that even if you had given it your full attention, you’d still sound absolutely pitiful compared to what he had just taught you a minute before.

But you had still tried.

You rest your hands over ivory keys, off by two or three or four and he knew it immediately but chose to sit back and watch it happen. Even in your distraction you knew, the moment you pressed them yourself that time you knew it’d been far off tune. You knew it most certainly did not sound how it should have.

But you went with it.

You went with it as you played a song so distant to the original it was comical, though at times you were beginning to think you were totally getting the hang of it. At times you were certain that the string of notes you’d produced had actually sounded something close to that of a melody. It may not have been the one expected, but it still was one, and you counted that as an achievement in and of itself.

He couldn’t help but let his gaze fall upon you as you sat with him, admiring you with a certain love in his heart that scared him as you pressed miscellaneous ivory keys in a melody that doesn’t quite work. The way your brows furrowed in concentration, and the way you smiled softly when you think you finally got it down. You hadn’t.

He takes in the way the moonlight casts softly on your skin, glowing lightly across your cheeks and the curve of your nose. The shadows of your lashes splaying across your skin and sparking in your eyes each and every time you look at him with a look so fond he doesn’t feel he deserves it. You were radiant with no effort, kind without second thought. You were everything he’d hoped to be, but he’d settle for admiring in that very moment.

He reached over and placed his hands over yours, effective in stopping you from playing. Your attention is pulled to him at the action, a curious smile on your face that only widens at the sight of his.

“What is it?” The corner of his mouth quirks up at the question, a soft laugh leaving his lips.

“I suppose I was wrong,” he starts, your brows furrowing as he squeezes your hand. “You’re not good at everything after all.”

Your eyes narrow immediately and your nose scrunches at his words, a scoff soon to follow as you lay a swat on his shoulder lightly. But before you could protest any further at his very true counter his hand enveloped yours once more and pulled you close, your frown still on your lips.

“Must you always tease me?” You ask, repeating his earlier words as his nose bumps against yours.

“Yes, love, I must.”

His lips are on yours in an instant, his smile pressing against your own as his thumb swiped across your cheek in a brief yet tender action. The ever familiar butterflies return to wreak their havoc within you as you bask in the moment. No matter if it was your first kiss or your millionth, the first time he’d held your hand and touched foreheads or the billionth. Each and every single moment seemed to spark within you in a way that would never get old, not even with each passing day or minute or second. It was absolutely heart melting, something both thrilling and terrifying all the same to feel so strongly for someone.

Though you knew all was far too well, knew it as you heard the distinct click distantly behind you.

A distracted kiss was pressed to the corner of your mouth before you stilled to listen closer, the clear tap of his fathers dreaded walking stick having sounded once more. Your eyes widen as Draco swallows thickly, and he’s quick to grasp your hand and tug you with him behind a shelf of dusty leather bound books, gold lettering on their spines. You’d nearly tripped over your own feet as your heart pounded at the sudden thrill, Draco’s finger over his lips and his brows furrowed upon seeing your pitiful attempt at stifling your laughter.

His hand had tightened around your own when the door had creaked open, and through the gaps in the bookshelves he could see the icy stare of his father as he peered into the vast room. A crease sat between his brows and a lip curled up in a look of displeasure that Draco had known all too well. He’d tugged you closer as his gaze was fixed forward as yours rested upon him.

Lucius had given the room a once over from his spot in the doorway, hesitancy in his actions before he had backed out with a huff, the door closing behind him with a click. His eyes lingered on the door for a few fleeting moments afterward, his attention returning to you at the soft sound of the laugh leaving your lips. He bit the inside of his cheek in his own effort to keep from doing so, but he could help the laughter that puffed out through his nose.

“What?” You ask, curious as you tip your head back and look up at him. He shook his head, his smile showing through.

“You,” he said, his forehead soon resting on your own as your noses touch. “It must have been your terrible piano skills.”

A gasp left your lips followed by a scoff, and before you could counter his words with your argument he’d already pressed his lips on yours once more. You rapidly began to forget just why it was that you were so terribly offended in that moment as he did so, his other hand enveloping over yours.

It was then that he pressed a kiss to the very corner of your mouth, moving his tender affections to your cheek twice more. They ghosted over the line of your jaw sweetly and to the very corner before pressing just under your ear. A shiver ran down your spine as his quiet laughter had swept across your skin, pressing permanently against your neck with another gentle kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers, nearly too soft to have heard it but nearly too loud to be heard by others all the same.

His words are accentuated by the kiss that’s placed upon your cheek, his eyes fluttering closed.

“And I love you,” you murmur softly, almost too much in a daze to remember his teasing words spoken not even two minutes prior. Almost, but not completely. “But who’s to say it wasn’t you?”

He pulls back to look at you with a grin, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear before falling back to entwine with yours again. He looks at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed a pale scarlet and his lips kiss swollen pink. Draco finds he can’t stray too far from you, however, leaning mere centimeters from you.

“That,” he starts, eyes falling closed and smile softening. “Is entirely untrue.”

With that, he releases your hands in favor of encircling his arms around your waist and yours settle around his waist. Before he knows it he’s kissing you again, in the light of the moon and the dark of the night. Behind old mahogany shelves filled with dusty, unread books. Your valiant attempt at the ivory keys may have created a close encounter, but now, in that very moment, he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

It’s you.

—

Tags: @gxtitobxby @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @lunalovecroft @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lilypad-55449

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

@guqin-and-flute​ I hope you don’t mind that I jumped in on this one? It happened to hit my inspiration bone just right so I wrote a quick one-shot while procrastinating my college assignments.

(Edit: now on my AO3, titled, “You’ll Have To Trust Me”)

--

In retrospect, Nie Mingjue supposes, he should have known that it would just be their luck - his luck, really - that they would run into something like this.

Leave it to Jin Guangyao to find the perfect excuse for the three of them to get away from the overwhelming crush of their duties for a night only to just so happen to walk right into a fucking trap that has conveniently left himself and Lan Xichen blinded and Jin Guangyao apparently untouched.

Oh not that he’ll ever get Lan Xichen to believe it was a trap, of course. It was an ‘honest mistake’ as far as he’s concerned, which he’s currently reassuring Jin Guangyao of throughout all the other man’s outwardly anxious fretting.

“Er-ge are you really sure you’re alright? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

“A-Yao -” Lan Xichen’s voice is soft and warm and even though the kindness isn’t even directed at him it still feels like a warmed blanket around Nie Mingjue’s shoulders. Lan Xichen is just...like that. “I promise I’m alright, not even a scratch.”

There’s a pause and then a tentative, “Da-ge?” from much closer than he would have expected. He doesn’t flinch though. He won’t give Jin Guangyao the satisfaction.

“What?” he replies, his tone as curt as Lan Xichen’s was affectionate. He can practically feel the disapproval radiating off of Lan Xichen in response but that isn’t anything new with their new..situation. Nie Mingjue has already made his peace with the fact that he is likely going to spend the rest of his life upsetting his oldest friend in some way or another.

“You’re injured.”

“I know that!” 

“Mingjue-xiong? You’re hurt?” Lan Xichen suddenly pipes up and Nie Mingjue knows that the only reason there’s not an accompanying rustle of clothing and a gentle touch on his arm is because Lan Xichen is as sightless as he is at the moment and likely afraid to move too much.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Will you let me look at it?”

Nie Mingjue instinctively pulls his injured leg closer to himself and away from Jin Guangyao, biting his tongue instead of groaning when something grinds under the skin in a spot where he’s pretty sure nothing’s supposed to actually move.

“It’s fine. We just need to figure out how to break this fucking curse before something comes and eats us,” he grunts once he’s sure he can talk without screaming, dull flares of pain dragging up and down his entire left side, from toes to shoulder and back down again.

“Mingjue-xiong just let him look at it,” Lan Xichen sighs. “We’re not going anywhere for awhile anyway until we figure out how to do this safely.”

Nie Mingjue holds out in silence for another two minutes (he counts) before he relents with a nod. For a long moment he’s able to maintain the hope that Jin Guangyao wasn’t watching him to see it, but then there’s a quiet shuffling and small, cool hands are lifting the suspiciously sticky fabric of his trousers to take a look at his leg.

“What’s wrong? How bad is it?” Lan Xichen asks when Jin Guangyao sucks in a gasp and Nie Mingjue glares into the middle distance that he can’t fucking see because this spirit that Jin Guangyao just had to chase tonight blinded them and now he’s broken his fucking leg because of it. And he’s still somehow the only person in the world who doesn’t trust the oh-so-accommodating, oh-so-polite, oh-so-obsequious Jin Fucking Guangyao, so the chances that his accusations of trickery and malicious intent will be listened to are little to none.

He’s pissed, basically.

“That fucking HURTS Meng Yao!” he snaps, his voice too loud and sharp in his frustration at the burst of pain from whatever Jin Guangyao had just done to his leg. His hands go still and this time the quiet gasp comes from Lan Xichen.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he chastises as Jin Guangyao’s hands slowly pull away from his skin.

“It’s alright, er-ge,” he demurs and that tone gets under Nie Mingjue’s skin even more, that kicked puppy tone, that ‘I’m used to the world not respecting me’ tone that he always uses to get his way with Lan Xichen. Whether he does it on purpose or not (Nie Mingjue fucking knows he does) it’s exactly the right way to get Lan Xichen’s sense of propriety involved and suddenly Nie Mingjue is the one in the wrong for using his old name rather than his legitimized one. As if that name isn’t a slap in Jin Guangyao’s face all on its own, but no one but Nie Mingjue even seems to notice that bit. “His leg is broken and it’s gone through the skin. I need to go find something to make a splint with, I’ll do my best to stay within earshot.”

“Alright A-Yao,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “We’ll stay right here.” His smile is audible despite their circumstances and Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in, squeezing his unseeing eyes shut. His anger won’t find a home here - not with these two as his companions practically drooling on each other with all their gooey affection in their own little world - but he doesn’t want to take it out on Lan Xichen anyways. He’s got quite a few things he’d like to take out on Jin Guangyao, but that would only end up hurting Lan Xichen as well, and his childhood friend doesn’t deserve that.

Jin Guangyao’s footsteps retreat through the underbrush, growing fainter and fainter until there’s nothing to hear but the wind through the trees.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen starts, his lecturing voice out in full force.

“Don’t. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Xichen! I know! I got it, it was just a slip of the tongue! Is your precious A-Yao the only one here allowed to make ‘an honest mistake’?!”

“Alright.”

They lapse into silence then, Nie Mingjue still breathing too fast and too hard but unable to stop. He’s angry, he’s in pain, and he’ll never admit it out loud but he’s afraid. Ever since he had woken up in the Scorching Sun Palace to find Lan Xichen defending Meng Yao so fiercely he had known he couldn’t count on Lan Xichen’s protection from the other, which meant that if he was to keep himself safe from Jin Guangyao’s scheming mind and murderous hands he would have to always maintain the upper hand. He can’t do that while injured and blinded and with Lan Xichen similarly incapacitated, the pair of them suddenly entirely reliant on Jin Guangyao.

It would be so easy for Jin Guangyao to arrange for an unfortunate ‘accident’ and get rid of him. He’d watched the man murder with the intention to frame someone else for his deeds. If he was willing to do it once, who’s to say he won’t be willing to do it again?

He’s on his own, and he honestly can’t say he enjoys the feeling.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen calls a few quiet minutes later, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“I’m still here, er-ge,” comes the faint call from some distance away and Nie Mingjue hears a few dry leaves rustle as Lan Xichen shifts his weight, presumably turning in his direction even though he can’t see Jin Guangyao out in the trees. “It’s difficult finding sticks that are both as long as da-ge needs and as strong and also straight enough to be a splint. Are you both still alright?”

“Yes. Take your time,” Lan Xichen replies and then things are quiet again.

“You can’t really think this is a coincidence,” Nie Mingjue finally mutters, low enough not to carry too far beyond their spot. “Xichen, please. Just entertain the idea that this is all on purpose.”

“I can’t, Mingjue-xiong, I’m sorry.” And he really does sound remorseful about that, because of course he does. “I trust A-Yao. Accidents happen on night hunts all the time, and we three are not infallible. I am only relieved that he remains unaffected by this curse so that we have hopes of getting out of here safely.”

“And just why do you think he wasn’t affected?” Nie Mingjue can’t resist asking, beginning to become desperate to understand Lan Xichen’s way of thinking that can keep him from becoming in the least bit suspicious.

“We shielded him from it, of course.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did, Mingjue-xiong. You and I both.”

Nie Mingjue mentally replays the last moments before the world had gone dark. They’d been pursuing the spirit as it fled back towards where it had come from, all three of them running as fast as they could over unfamiliar, heavily wooded terrain. He’d seen the spirit whip back at the last moment, diving towards them rather than back into a stone hut nearly completely crumbled under moss. He remembers shouting for Lan Xichen to watch out and -

Yanking Jin Guangyao behind himself as he skidded to a stop next to Lan Xichen just in time for the spirit to slam into both of their chests and knock them all backwards.

He remembers the moments after that as well, his vision fading quicker than a candle guttering out. He had shoved Jin Guangyao at Lan Xichen just before everything had gone completely dark and his momentum had carried him over the edge of a small ravine. He had been the only one to fall into it, the others had joined him almost immediately after, but under their own power. 

Nie Mingjue growled low in his throat and pounded a fist against the soft earth beneath him once, irritated with himself for the moment of weakness; for his instinct to protect Jin Guangyao being stronger than anything else in him when it came right down to it.

He can’t admit to it.

“He’s smaller than us and he was lagging behind while we ran. We were in his way when the spirit turned and he couldn’t get around us, that’s all there is to it. We weren’t protecting him.”

“Alright,” Lan Xichen agrees far too easily and it’s clear by the tone of his voice that he knows Nie Mingjue is just trying to save face. He both loves and hates that knowing tone, as well as the fact that Lan Xichen doesn’t press him to tell the truth that they both know.

Nie Mingjue is thankfully saved from any further humiliation by footsteps returning through the brush and he sits up a little straighter, breath quickening again as he braces himself for the pain of having his leg shifted and splinted that he knows is imminent.

“I was looking for a crutch but nothing around here is sturdy enough for you, da-ge, you’ll probably have to lean on er-ge to walk,” Jin Guangyao supplies as he comes closer, stopping a few steps away. There’s the clatter of a few sticks being set down on the ground close to his leg and he forces himself not to flinch away from it. The movement would only hurt and it won’t stop what’s about to happen, so he holds himself still with a grim determination.

Jin Guangyao settles down near him again and his hands are back on his skin, his touch still featherlight and cool as he shifts his trousers up over his knee but now there’s a slight trembling in his fingers that Nie Mingjue can feel when the man places a hand flat on his shin just below his knee.

“I’m sorry, da-ge,” he whispers for Nie Mingjue’s ears alone. He doesn’t have a chance to reply before he’s letting loose a primal shout of pain that he has absolutely no control over whatsoever. He bites out a litany of swears next, his head swimming and unseeing eyes brimming with tears as the nearly unbearable flare of pain settles again.

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen shouts and there’s the sound of movement from his direction.

“Over here, er-ge, take my hand. Don’t get too much closer or you’ll hit his leg.”

“A-Yao, give me one of his hands.”

There’s a bit of shuffling, the touch of two shaking fingers under his wrist, and then Jin Guangyao’s hesitant touch is replaced by the anxious surety of both of Lan Xichen’s surprisingly warm hands wrapping around his palm. He curls his fingers tightly around Lan Xichen’s palm in return, both to reassure him as well as to have something to hold onto as Jin Guangyao starts getting his leg splinted, every single touch against his skin like a line of throbbing fire. Somehow it hurts more when he can’t see what’s happening, can’t anticipate the next touch.

The fire starts to ease as he realizes Lan Xichen is passing him some of his own qi, two of his fingertips pressed firmly against the pulse point on his wrist. The thread of it is soothing, silvery blue where it slips along his meridians. It leaves the scent of fresh pine and the peculiar crispness of mountain air in his nose and on the back of his tongue in its wake as it chases away the sharpest pains and soothes the duller ones into a manageable ache.

None of them talk while Jin Guangyao methodically binds his leg and Lan Xichen tends to his pains as best as he can. When it’s finished Nie Mingjue hears Jin Guangyao murmur for Lan Xichen to stop before he exhausts himself too much to travel.

“I need you both to listen to me very carefully,” Jin Guangyao says, his tone perfectly even.

“Yes yes we know, you get to order us around to get us out of here - how lucky for you,” Nie Mingjue snaps, patience worn down to the absolute thinnest it’s been since he had been driven to threaten Jin Guangyao’s life in Qishan.

“No, I meant...well, yes. But..” Jin Guangyao sighs then, a heavy, world-weary thing. It’s been a very very long time since he’s heard Jin Guangyao - normally so silver-tongued - become tongue-tied over anything. He sounds exhausted.

Nie Mingjue is..dismayed but not surprised to realize that he can still be manipulated so easily by the other even when he can’t see him. Not that he’ll ever let on, of course, but that doesn’t mean the twinge of guilt at being part of the cause of that exhaustion isn’t real. “Let’s just get out of here first, I suppose. I have something to tell you when we return to the inn, and you’ll both have to listen to me. You’ll have to trust me.”

“We trust you, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen replies instantly. Both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao’s silences speak volumes about what they think about that, but they both wisely say nothing. If there’s one thing the pair of them can agree on anymore it’s that Lan Xichen should be allowed to keep up his optimistic illusions about the world for as long as they can be maintained. He should always get to believe the best in everybody like he wants to.

Getting Nie Mingjue standing and propped up against Lan Xichen’s side for the return journey leaves him sweating and trembling but upright, and able to walk. Lan Xichen holds his free hand out to hold Jin Guangyao’s belt, Jin Guangyao warns them of any obstacles in their path, and Nie Mingjue does his best not to pass out.

They follow Jin Guangyao in this way back the way they had come, and while Nie Mingjue is constantly braced for something else to go wrong, after a small eternity they finally manage to return to the inn without further injury.

They agree to gather in Lan Xichen’s room, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue sitting on the bed and facing Jin Guangyao’s general direction, and Jin Guangyao begins to talk.

“Just trust me,” he reminds them once again. “There are a few things you should know.”

----

In the morning, a scrap of post is sent from the smallest, cheapest inn of a small town that sits precariously on the edge of the forest on the far border of Lanling. The letter is bound for the heart of the territory under the control of the Jin’s, and Jin money is spared for the extra expense of ensuring it will arrive as quickly as it can. 

The letter will reach Jin Guangshan in the afternoon just in time for his usual break for tea, and Jin Guangshan will sit on his throne in Jinlintai to read Jin Guangyao’s report that the plot Jin Guangshan had devised has worked to perfection, that Qinghe Nie will no longer be a threat to his position. That he is retreating to Gusu to ostensibly grieve with his remaining sworn brother while doing his best to gain whatever secrets he can from their library to further secure their position at the top of the world.

Shortly after the letter begins its hurried journey to Jinlintai, three heavily cloaked figures - two tall, one short; one limping, one supporting, and one guiding - quietly slip away to begin their own journey in the opposite direction, bound for the safety that only the Gusu Lan can provide to shelter them while they plan just what, exactly, the three of them are going to do next.

[heyheydidjaknow]

I finished it, finally! Yee fucking haw! It’s not perfect, but I’m not feeling terrible about it, and the next one is going to be fun. Unless something happens, the next chapter should come up on Sunday as planned. Knowing me, it won’t, but I wanna hope. As always, the table of contents and the previous chapter is at the bottom, and a full list of the shit I’ve published is at the bottom of the table of contents. I’ll do a proper proofread tomorrow. Right now, Grammarly and Kami are carrying the team, so if there’s a mistake, take it up with them.

Chapter 14

“I trust you won’t be creepy.”

“I’m thankful.” Yoshi runs his thumb along the rim of his cup slowly. “You have little faith in me, as I understand it.”

You try not to be disrespectful. “Well, things in your life could’ve gone better, right?”

He seems to consider this for a moment. “I suppose so.” He takes a slow drink. “Mistakes from my youth have led to many hardships. Still, though the road has been a long and strenuous one, I would not want to change my past.”

Your untouched drink is cradled in your hands. “You don’t regret anything?”

“It is a foolish and maddening thing, longing for a life unobtainable to you.” He closes his eyes, your own scanning the walls for the photograph you know is in some nook or cranny. “Besides, if things hadn’t happened the way they did, I wouldn’t have my sons.”

You can understand, intellectually, he does not mean to be—and likely is not— as arrogant as you perceive him. Still, something about the way he sits, the way he speaks, even how he looks at you now makes you feel painfully inferior, as if you reacting the way you are makes you somehow beneath him in more than a literal sense.

You decide against arguing the point, eyes flickering from the shrine back to the man in front of you. “I guess that’s true.” You know you are not going to drink any of what he has offered until you have to. “And you’ve always thought like that?”

He nods. “It was what I was taught.”

Nodding, you look back down at your cup, a deafening stillness settling between you two. ‘He convinces me to come here,’ you grumble silently, ‘and all I get for it is a lecture and an awkward silence.’ You look back up at him, setting the clay vessel on the ground and pulling your knees to your chest. ‘I could be doing something else, like fixing my shirt or something.’

“Speaking of them,” he continues, “Donatello tells me you have been experiencing night terrors.”

‘Snitch. Did he tell me he told him?’ “You don’t?”

His eyebrows rise. “Sorry?”

“We have the same trauma,” you explain simply. “Both our families died in fires we caused. Think that counts.”

He does not even flinch. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” He smiles softly. You want to punch him in the face. “I suppose so, yes.”

“You seem pretty calm about it.”

He chuckles at your expression. “I’ve had fifteen years to come to terms with my loss,” he takes another drink. “And,” he jokes, “I was often simply too exhausted to have nightmares back when the wound was fresh; caring for four young boys is tiring, you understand.”

“Right.” You crisscross your legs in front of you. “Yeah, the makes sense.”

“Having said that,” he continues, voice lowering, “I can’t imagine going through what I did at your age.” He sighs. “If something like that happened to one of my boys at this age, I can’t honestly say how they would cope.”

‘Poorly. I’d guess they’d cope poorly.’

“I understand that you and I have differences in ideals and morals.”

“You could say that.” Your mouth stretches into a wry smile. “I honestly only started hangin’ with and helpin’ y’all as a way to make up for my manslaughter. With this exception, I live by the adage, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

“As I said,” he covers his mouth to hide his amusement, “we differ in that respect. I take it that’s why, when Donatello explained the situation—” you break eye contact—“he was unable to explain in any sort of detail what they were about.”

“Not his circus not his monkeys. ‘Sides,” you shrug, “he was already being really caring and understanding, and I was already sobbing my eyes out, which I’m sure he already told you, so.”

You stare down at your tea. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Not if I don’t have to, no.” Your face heats up.

“Do you want my help?”

‘I hate this,’ you squirm. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be here if Donnie hadn’t asked me to.”

“For someone who believes in leaving people to their own devices,” he notes, “you seem to value the requests of my son a great deal.”

Your knees are back up to your chest. “He’s important to me. He’s been there for me. It’s the least I can do.”

He takes a beat to gather his thoughts. You brace yourself for a lecture.

“You care for him, then.”

You nod once, treading carefully.

“Romantically?”

You still do not look at him directly, staring instead at the gorgeous screen door. “I dunno.” Your fingernails scratch at the surface. “I’m not exactly in my right mind, you understand.”

“I can’t say I do.” A pause as he takes another drink. “Then again, I’ve only felt for one woman all my life.”

“Look at that,” you try to joke. “Another difference between us.”

“Do you mind letting me in, then?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I will since there isn’t really a point to being here if I don’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” You can hear his smile.

You set the cup down again, glancing up at him before fiddling with the laces on your shoe. “People under stress and without anywhere else to turn tend to latch onto the first people they relate to,” you explain, practicing your knot tying with fumbling fingers; there is no harm in practicing your dexterity. “He was the first guy I met after I died, got kidnapped, and almost got killed by a giant vine creature. I like him,” you clarify quickly, “I really do, but it’s hardly fair to pursue that sort of relationship, especially considering everything going on with the Kraang and Shredder.” Your eyes go out of focus. “We get along great,” you mumble. “He’s sweet, kind, generous, and empathetic. He deserves to make sense of his feeling properly without me muddying things up with my possibly trauma-induced attachment.”

“So,” he clarifies, “it is not that you aren’t in love with him, but, instead, you’re worried for his sake?”

Your face goes scarlet as you choke on your saliva. “T-that’s a bit—uh—extreme, isn’t it?” You rub the back of your burning neck. “I’m not even sixteen, Yoshi. You don’t understand love properly at sixteen!”

“I fell for my wife at thirteen,” he smiles. “It’s certainly not impossible.”

“That’s—look,” you protest, “that is entirely besides the point. The point,” you state, “is that is completely irresponsible for me to pursue a relationship with your son. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

“He cares for you. You know that. Who am I to decide who he does and does not pursue, especially when that person makes him happy?” He reaches for a worn kettle sitting between you two on a table, pouring its contents back into his teacup—you remember Leo telling you that it is technically called a yunomi. “I find love typically does no harm so long as it does not consume you. Moderation is key.”

You look up at him. “So, you don’t have any reservations about it?”

He takes another drink. “I wouldn’t say that. He is my son, after all. In truth,” he admits, “I was more concerned that my sons would never experience what I did than anything. Given the circumstances of our existence, I’m sure you can understand my wish to give them a relatively normal, happy life.”

You sigh. “I guess, yeah.” You adjust your blanket again. ‘Seems counterintuitive, teaching them the art of murder, but I guess that’s his normal.’ “That’s just a generally good parenting thing though, right? I’d hope you’d want that even if you weren’t a giant rat and they weren’t anthropomorphic turtles.”  

A parent. He is talking to you like one might speak to their kid.

“I suppose so,” he nods. “It’s been difficult, but we’ve certainly come a long way over the years.”

The screeching of tires pierces the still air, the chattering of his four sons bouncing off the concrete walls.

You strain to hear what they are saying. “I never noticed that there was an echo in here. It’s less noticeable than in the tunnel.”

“That’s by design,” he explains. “I’ve made something of an effort to dampen it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You set the yunomi on the table. You sigh, holding your breath and downing your now gross, cool tea in three quick gulps. “I hate to cut this short,” you lie, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and tottering to your feet, “but I’ve gotta check to make sure everything went smoothly on their mission and adjust my timetable accordingly.”

He nods, deciding not to point your tell out. “I won’t keep you, then. Would you like to borrow my cane?”

This is not the first time he has offered. You, of course, refuse.

“Oh well. I thought I’d offer.” He sets his cup down, staying seated. “It has been pleasant talking with you, Y/N.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hamato.” You nod once in acknowledgment, hopping over to the door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your stomach churns at the stench coming from the lab—you can smell the gasoline. You lean against the wall, making a pointed effort not to eavesdrop and rapping your knuckles against the door. Their voices immediately lower to hisses and someone drags the door open.

“Hey,” Mikey beams. “We were just talking about you. Need somethin’?”

“Just is an over-exaggeration.” There is a considerable amount of protest as Donnie pulls him away from the door with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “P-please, come in.”

A beaten DIY van sits pathetically on the subway track, looking not dissimilar to a burnt, crushed soda can from where you stand. The once hot pink graffiti has most certainly seen better days, and you squirm at the thought of the sound it must have made if you understand the situation properly. Raphael, who you glance at out of the corner of your eye, looks similarly beat up. Of course, you are not going to say anything because you value your life.

You whistle, smiling incredulously. “So,” you try not to laugh, “I take it you took on the cucaracha.”

“Made it my bitch is what I did,” boasts Raphael. “Shot it with a laser.”

“Cool, cool.” You chuckle at his excitement. “You take care of the egg?”

Is there a better sight than watching the light in someone’s soul die? You would hesitantly say no. “The what?”

“Right outside the building,” you elaborate. “On the side of the road. Looks like a horrifying imitation of an orbee?’

He takes a slow, deep breath, holds it, exhales. “I’ll be right back,” he says calmly, and sprints out of the lair.

Michelangelo laughs. “Were you being serious or are you messing with him?”

“Serious.” You readjust the blanket, trying to subtly figure out how to breathe without being assaulted by the mechanical smell. “I won’t joke about that sort of thing. It’s cruel.”

He hesitates. “… speaking of, are you alright? I didn’t get to ask before.”

The other two are quietly watching the interaction with an odd amount of intensity.

You shrug. “I guess. Probably.”

“Alright,” he nods. “Just lemme know if you need to talk, alright? Donnie’s no—ow!”

“Don’t talk bad about people in front of them,” Leonardo criticizes. “It’s rude.”

“You called him special, like, four hours ago!”

“The word of the day is hypocrisy.” Donatello puts his hand down.

“Hypocrisy’s right” You rub Mikey’s shell reassuringly. “To be fair, though, Leo could honestly probably just dodge it anyway.”

He leans into it. “I guess,” he grumbles, shooting a look at Donatello. “Favoritism.”

“It’s strategic favoritism,” the tallest brother corrects. “It’s to encourage parti pris.”

“Cronyism,” you tease, grinning. “You mean cronyism.”

“Hey, I’m plenty qualified!”.  

You stifle a giggle as his face reddens, looking back over at the battered vehicle, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a team effort.”

“Yeah, okay, Hamato.” You blow a strand out of your face. “How long do you think it’ll take to fix?”

“Half a week? Maybe a bit less.” He looks back at it ruefully. “The spy roach completely jacked it.”

“Clearly.” You remove your hand, Mikey seemingly thoroughly comforted. “Then mind if I borrow a needle and thread so I can fix my jacket? I have school tomorrow.”

“Do you have the dexterity for that?” Leo crosses his arms across his chest absentmindedly.

“If I can hold a pencil,” you reason, “I can do basic stitching. ‘Sides, it’s only gotta hold until I get home.”

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking now.”

Donatello pipes up again. “I really don’t mind—”

“Dude,” you reason, “you have to fix a whole ass van. I’ll manage.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s a quarter to twelve. You won’t finish before midnight.”

“Then sucks to be me.” You shrug. “I’ll fix it here and walk home.”

He looks at you with a surprising amount of incredulousness. “It’s New York City.”

“You go out at night all the time,” you protest.

“I can carry you—”

Immediate panic. “Nah, I’m good!” You try to sound confident. “I walk home all the time, remember?”

“Not at midnight.”

“What’s a couple hours difference?” You would rather get attacked or kidnapped than fly over buildings again.

“A hundred-twenty minutes,” he states. “You know that crime is statistically more likely to happen at night, right?”

“That tracks. What’s different?”

“Violent crime peaks at midnight.”

Mikey butts in. “Why can’t she just go in the blanket? It covers enough.”

Donatello rolls his eyes. “Mikey,” he sighs, “she’s a teenage girl walking around with her torso covered by a single conspicuous quilt. Let’s use our heads here.”

It takes him a minute. “So you’re worried about her getting, like, attacked?”

“… were you paying attention to any of the conversation? Or the lesson we just learned?”

“Dude,” he protests, “when do I ever?”

“What, you mean the one where y’all learned to face your fears or the one where talking about people in front of them is rude?”

The bitter edge to your words is not lost on him. “Look,” he reasons with you, “I-I’m not saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself—”

“You are, but that’s not the point.”

“Shut up, Mikey.” You are surprised he did not punch him, though, admittedly, you can hardly argue the point. “What I mean is that if you put yourself in harm’s way, you’re going to get hurt.” He nods at Leo. “He’s a really experienced fighter and even he gets overwhelmed if he goes out of his way to do something reckless and dangerous like Karai.” He spits out her name like it is poisonous.

“Since when have you had a thing against Karai?”

The eldest brother sighs. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Unimportant, and nope. Point is,” he continues, fingers twitching at his sides, “it doesn’t make sense to tempt fate.”

You open your mouth to argue. You close it again. He has an extremely valid point all things considered, especially considering everything that has been happening, and although you are completely certain about your stance on him carrying you home, you would be lying if you said the idea of stumbling home without your walker or shirt sounds very appealing.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

He looks off. “I’m suggesting she stays the night, Leo.”

Mikey blinks. “What, in your room or on the couch?”

“It would be up to her.”

That works for you. “Your home. You pick. Where do you keep your sewing supplies?” You slip out of the circle the four of you have formed.

“On top of the bookshelf,” he points. “Behind the cardboard box.”

You nod, hopping over.

Mikey offers his two cents. “It makes more sense for you two to share a room. It’s kinda cold in the front room, and you guys’ll probably end up going to bed at around the same time anyways. She also has your blanket.”

You stand on your toes, fingertips brushing against a plastic container.

“That’s a fair point.” You catch it before it cracks open on the ground. “Training starts pretty early, so she should have time to grab her things before school.”

“See? Foolproof plan.”

“Would Master Splinter approve?”

“Leo,” you call over your shoulder, “he’s slept over at my house twice already. I really doubt he cares.”

“But we don’t know.”

“Then you can go ask him.” You turn around. “Where’s the jacket?”

“In the cardboard box.” Donnie starts towards the train wreck on the tracks.

You pull it down, taking your shirt and jacket and sitting down, crossing your bad leg under the one you can use, despite the nausea. ‘Exposure therapy.’ “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You glance up at Mikey, who crouches down next to you as Leo waves to his brothers and leaves. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out with you is all,” he shrugs. “You didn’t go after Donnie.”

“I didn’t,” you nod in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because car.” You unlatch the box, carefully digging around inside for some pins. “That, and the smell is bad enough from over here.”

He crosses his legs in front of him. “That’s fair.” He taps his foot absentmindedly. “You think he knows?”

“I thought I made it pretty damn clear,” you shrug, “but it’s Donnie, so I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He grins at that. “Then do you wanna hang out while you work on that out front? He isn’t exactly talkative when he gets in the zone.”

You shake your head. “If I do, I won’t get much done,” you admit. You unwind a long portion of the thread, snapping it apart. “Besides, the only way to get over a fear is to face it head-on.”

“Alright.” He hops to his feet. “Thought I’d ask. Have fun.”

”Bet,” you mumble through a bit tongue, shaky fingers making threading the needle almost impossible. “You too.”

“See ya.” He waves, running out of the lab.

You let out a breath, picking a piece of loose wire off of a table and creating a poor imitation of a threader. While you genuinely enjoy talking with Michelangelo, you have some things to think over.

Clumsy fingers start on a running stitch. If your timetable still holds true—which, surprisingly enough, it has thus far—the episode after next’s plot will take place in about three weeks. Your cast is coming off in two. You do not know where and when The Kraang are coming through their portal, or if there is any way for you guys to know, but seeing as you are skipping the episode where the turtles get stuck in a labyrinth under the assumption that, without Baxter being bullied by the Shredder and his goons, he has no reason to construct it, you would tentatively estimate the next episode will happen in about a week. You are still fairly sure that Stockman will not get involved with the Shredder without his input until Oroku finally opens his eyes to the dangers and powers of the Kraang, which should happen around the same time as the next episode.

Your eyes glaze over as you get into the groove of it. ‘The next episode is also when the guys get on Karai’s shit list because they betray her, and, if that happens, the episode where the Shredder starts getting involved with the Kraang and comes to appreciate their resources." You prick your finger. ‘It wouldn’t be long after that before Saki gets the idea to create a mutant army, and with Baxter already somewhat on the villainous map, our best chance to make sure he doesn’t end up under his employment is to…’

You wipe the sticky liquid on your jeans, careful of the bandages on your back. ‘It’s not a guarantee that he even knows Baxter exists.’ Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you try to keep the stitches separated at equal distances. ‘Hell, it’s not a guarantee he’s even alive. Still, it’s better to air on the side of caution and not think about how you’ll have to do it until the time comes.’

You let out a soft sigh. “I’ll buy a gun, when that happens,” you murmur to yourself. “Just want more time where bodily harm is all I have to deal with is all.”

 --

 You slide your poorly stitched jacket over your shoulders under the blanket, pulling your sleeves into place and zipping it up. After folding the blanket up and draping it over your arm, you pull yourself to your feet, hopping over to Donatello and his death trap as he sat down, looking over his work. “How’re the repairs comin’?”

The two of you have not spoken for the three hours it took you to repair the jacket, and significantly more progress has been made on his end than yours. At the very least, the generally rectangular frame was pounded back into submission.

He looks over at you, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and stifling a yawn. “Fine,” he sighs, looking back at the hulking mass of metal as you lower yourself down next to him. “It won’t blow up or anything if it’s driven, but it still needs another day’s worth of work to get it back to where it was before.” You nod along as he goes into more intimate detail, not understanding half of it, but happy to just listen to him talk resentfully about the whole process that you can tell he genuinely does not mind.

“Sounds like a time.” You rest your head on your good knee. “And you’re not gonna fix the graffiti?”

“It rubs off,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not exactly important to the design.”

Your head bends in a subtle nod, cheek numb from the pressure of your knee. “Are you going to sleep today?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? It wouldn’t be a bad idea.” His legs are almost crisscrossed in front of him, and he leans his weight back on his skinny, muscular arms. “I honestly don’t want to leave it alone, though. It would be weird to just leave it unfinished.

“Hardly, but alright.” You sit up for a moment, handing him back his quilt. “Thanks for giving me something to cover myself up with, and for not ditching me on a roof, and patching me up, and—I owe you, is what I’m getting at.”

He smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry about it, really,” he reassures you, his face flushing and muscles relaxing slightly. “You’ve made it up plenty.”

“I disagree. I’ve never saved your life.” You trace the fading lines on your cast his brother had left.

“I don’t think a ton of people would literally kill someone for me and my family,” he argues. “That’s pretty awesome, right?”

‘Not sure how I feel about framing murder as a positive thing.’ You do not say anything, looking back at his work.

He sighs. “You should go to bed,” he advises practically. “It’s getting late.”

“Never stopped you.” You straighten your legs. “I’ll go if you come with.”

“Tempting,” he teases with a sudden burst of confidence, hoping to his feet and outstretching his arm to help you up, “but what’s in it for me?”

Your face lights up as your face goes red at his borderline roguishness, taking his arm pulling yourself up. “For as much shit as you’re going to get for it,” you promise, pecking where his nose would be with an almost kittenish smile, “I’ll get up extra early, make everyone breakfast, and go topside for coffee.”

His face almost turns the shade of a human blush, forwardness gone in an instant. “C-can’t,” he stutters, clearly flustered. “When I was eleven, I got addicted to it and I’m not allowed to have any anymore.”

“Relatable,” you giggle. You blow the hair out of your face, comfortable as he helps you walk towards the door, the air between you two charged with electricity. “Is that for all caffeine or just coffee?”

He opens it for the two of you, ever the gentleman with the quilt over his shoulder. “Tea’s fine. Don’t bring tea down, though,” he quickly clarifies. “Leo’ll have a very inconspicuous fit.”

You blink curiously, looking up at him as he pulls you along. “Why?”

“It’s the one food thing he’s particular about,” he shrugs, not bothering to hide his gooey smile as you use his upper arm for support. “Couldn’t tell you why.”

“Are you particular about any foodstuff?”

“Not really?” He helps you up a few steps. “I’m not Mikey, but I don’t think I’m that picky about that sort of thing.”

“That’s fair.”

You do not let go of his arm to use the wall. You do not even think to if Donnie is reading your body language correctly. His smile widens as he opens the door for you.

You give a nod as thanks, lowering down onto the foot of his relatively narrow bed. “Alright,” you clap your hands together quietly as he sits next to you. “How do you wanna do this?”

You are sitting on his bed, willing, with no pretense other than sleeping getter. He is currently on cloud nine.

You look back at the frame. ”Too narrow for us to lay side by side,” you note. “You sleep on your front, meaning you will likely take up most of the room." You look between him and the bed, trying to imagine a position that would work. “You could lay on top of me, I guess, but then your legs would hang off the end.”

“I can sleep on my side,” he offers hurriedly. “If that makes things easier, I mean.”

“You sure?” Your fingers fumble with your shoelaces.

He nods eagerly. “S-so long as you still don’t mind being close to me, I mean. The bed’s still kinda narrow.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “We’ve slept together before,” you reason. “If you wanted to pull anything, you would’ve the other two times.”

He glances off, face still red. “Y-yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “That makes sense.”

You gesture to the bed. “Then,” you nod once, “so long as you’re comfortable, you lay down. I’ll work from there.”

He tentatively lays himself down, facing the wall, tensing ever so slightly as you lay behind him, legs curling up under his thighs.

You lay your arm under your head as a pillow, the other pulling the blanket over the two of you. “This work,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Mhm,” he hums, covering his face with his hands. “We closed the door, right?”

You look back over. “Yup.”

“Locked it?”

“Seems so.”

He relaxes a bit. “Alright,” he nods, quietly reveling in the way your fingers, again, traced the indentations in his shell like the first night.

‘When I wake up tomorrow,’ he realizes, ‘she’ll be right there. Right behind me, in my bed. By choice.’ He smiles behind his fingers. ‘When we get older, maybe we could have our own place. Or our own room, more accurately, where she just lives with us. Imagine her moving in. If—no, when,’ he corrects himself, ‘we defeat The Shredder, if I ever get the nerve, I’ll ask her.’ He reaches his leg back, entangling it with yours carefully. ‘Would we have to get married first? No, you move in before you get married, right? I should’ve paid more attention during those movie marathons.’ He closes his eyes as you drift off, focusing on this train of thought. ‘How long do you need to be in a relationship before you get married? How would we get married, even? Legally, that would be impossible, right? I can’t go to a courthouse. And if we had a child—practically speaking, of course—would they live with us or go to a public school? We could give them a good education, I’m sure, but—’

You shift in your sleep, absently laying your arm over his side and pulling him closer.

He exhales, allowing himself to relax back into you. ‘Not tonight.’ He rests his hand on top of yours. ‘It’s too late, too soon.’ His thumb runs along the back of your hand, letting himself drift off in your arms.

‘It’ll be okay. We’ll last long enough to take it slow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

[xcoldcoffeesx]

perfect shot

This was it. Kill or be killed. The story of his life.

The tall silhouette approaches the window slowly and James catches his breath. It’s what he always does when he is about to pull the trigger.

Three.

His eyes are fixed on the point. No movement.

Two.

She just stops in the shot, perfectly still. His hands still aren’t shaking.

One.

It seems she is waiting for him and for the first time in his life, James believes.

a/n: so I needed to write something before the series finale and here we are. I've been rambling in my head alone since last episode so I though I'll do something about it. I have to confess that I wrote this on my phone at 2 a.m so I’m sorry if there are some mistakes x) (also English is not my first language). Stay safe!

Read on AO3

This was it. Kill or be killed. The story of his life.

“It's suicide” he knows she made her decision already and that there is nothing that he can do or say to change her mind but he can’t help it. He tries not to think about all the times they nearly lost each other, all the missing bullets, the hours of torture. He tries not to think about the blood, the pain, the death. “You wouldn't let me do it, so why should I?”

She looks at him and he swears at this very moment a second becomes a lifetime. There is something about the sparkle of fierceness she has in her eyes that always makes the world stop moving around him. The silence is peaceful, yet scary. There are so many things he wants to tell her, so unresolved feelings he wants to clear out but he can’t. Not again. His heart is still bleeding from last time. The bullet hasn't come out. He needs a sign first.

He never believed in destiny. How could he? The world is ugly. He knows that better than better than anyone. Hell, he is part of the reason why.

Her eyes are shining and before he can make a move she is the one closing the gap between them. She always is. He is the one waiting. Somedays, it seems like it is all he’s been doing since the moment they met. Perhaps even before that. Waiting.

He never experienced faith. It’s always been a foreign concept to him and well, the more he started climbing up in the business, the less it made sense. There was no point in believing. Prayers couldn’t save him in Afghanistan, nor in Texas. It wasn’t about faith. It was all him. Kill or be killed. Fighting or dying.

Surviving at all costs.

They kissed before but this one feels different. It’s deeper, heavier. Honestly, it takes him by surprise. He never thought she would kiss him again and he had come to term with it. They were different people now. Two sides of one coin, close and yet never together. Crossing paths without walking the same street.

Until survival caught up with them.

Then again, the timing is bittersweet. They’re on the road toward death. Their own camino de la muerte. She knows it too.

Fighting or dying.

James knows he is good at what he is doing. He wouldn’t trust anyone else. He doesn’t need prayers. Yet, for the first time in his life, he wishes he’d had faith. Faith in the world, faith in himself. Someone, something telling him that he made the right decision. That everything is going to be okay. He wishes he’d had a piece of hope he can hold on to. For the first time he actually wants to believe they can make it; that they are meant to.

He needs it.

Lying down on the rusty floor, ignoring his beating heart as he adjusts the rifle and chooses the perfect angle, it’s all he can think about.

Please let it work.

She looks surprised too when she pulls away. Not by the kiss, he guesses, but by the rush of emotions that came with it. His, hers. He knows she worked very hard to become untouchable. A queen who would never let anyone close, ready to sacrifice a part of herself to make sure nobody would ever have the chance to hurt her. Perhaps she thought she would never feel love again. Perhaps she thought she didn’t deserve it.

Either way now she knows.

It’s a beautiful day. The light is perfect and he can see the red walls and big closet in the room behind the big window. He planned everything, he made sure of it. James knows he’s been waiting for a couple of minutes only but it feels like hours. His breath is short but his hands aren’t shaking. As he looks at his watch James holds back a sigh. It shouldn’t be long now.

He’s never been one to talk a lot and make big speeches and declarations but in that moment, hundreds of words are rushing through his mind. There are so many things he wants to tell her but nothing comes out. Except for one thing.

“I love you” It comes so naturally he doesn’t even realize he says it.

In his mind he already told her tons of times before.

“Be careful”

“Answer me, are you hurt?”

“I need you to come back”

“I haven’t told Camila yet.” “Why didn’t you tell her?” “You just don’t get it do you?”

“We’re in this together”

“No, I can’t leave you”

“I’m gonna do whatever it takes to protect us”

“How are we going to get out of here?” “We’re not. You are”

“Since the first day we met, I’ve been trying to keep you alive. I’m still trying to”

He didn’t even know it at the time.

Perhaps they’re is really a meaning to life. Perhaps it was written from the beginning and he ended up being exactly where he was supposed to.

This is a good plan. If he succeeds, everything will finally be over. He’ll be free. They’ll all be. No more missions, no more Devon, no more just survival.

They’ll start living.

This is the only plan.

He kisses her again before he can start thinking about how he just shifted their entire relationship. Words are out, no more hiding. By now he hopes she believes him. It seems too little for everything they’ve been through together but they’re running out of time. She is meeting death soon, and so is he.

Because the truth is, he was ready to die for her.

He was also willing to kill.

Readjusting himself on the floor, James finally catches a glimpse of a silhouette behind the window. Long dark hair on white robe.

He is not a believer. But she is.

He’s never felt more human than in her arms. It is a feeling he can’t quite place. Love, respect, fear and joy all at once. They move as one and he knows he should feel afraid and angry about what’s coming next but he can’t right now.

He is just fucking happy.

So he kisses her again and again until they’re both back in the room -did he carry her at some point? he can’t even remember- and he runs his fingers on her waist, back, neck until her hair and unties her tight bun. Dark hair falls on her shoulders and bare collarbones and he smiles against her mouth.

“You have no idea how many times I wanted to do that” his breath is hot against her cheek and he doesn’t need to look to know she is blushing.

They stop a second to catch their breath and he caresses her cheek, putting a curl behind her ear at the same time.

“Teresa” it’s just a whisper and he is not even sure why he says her name but she does.

“It’s our only chance” she traces his bottom lip with her thumb and he knows she is not only talking about Kostya.

Camino de la muerte.

So he nods and their lips meet again. She quickly presses him to lose his sweater -his leather jacket is probably lost somewhere between the terrace and the room- and proceeds to kiss his neck and shoulders, right on his tattoos. He shivers.

“I was wrong” she comes back to look at him and she is smiling -a real, bright almost childish smile- “we don’t need another life”

“I love you”this time he is fully aware of what he says the second he says it and Teresa’s smile grows bigger.

By now he knows she believes him.

It’s time. One second, one shot. No more chances,  no space for mistakes. Kill or be killed. Fighting or dying. He must not overthink. After all, he’s done that hundreds of times before and never missed from this distance. His mind is on fire, screaming loudly but his body is ready. No shake, no sweat.

“We could just run away right now” she whispers in his neck, arm wrapped around his side “disappear”

He is playing with her hair, eyes closed.

“I would like that.”

“Start over” she sighs “I always wanted to live around mountains. We could go to Switzerland”

He smiles as his mind wanders. It’s nice to stop for a second and just allow dreams to fill in.

“What will you do in the mountains?” He asks, voice hoarse

“Read. All day” she pops on her elbows to look at him “you?”

“Maybe I’ll give Pote's recipes a try. I’ll probably need 5 to 10 years though” they both chuckle and for the second time in a few hours he finds himself completely happy “also I’d like to have a dog. A big one.”

“I’ve always imagined you with a dog” she kisses him softly, letting her lips hovering other his, both of their breath interlacing.

Their smiles are mirroring but quickly fade away as the silence takes its place.

“But we can’t, can we?” Teresa falls back on the pillows and he rolls on his side to face her.

“No we can’t.”

They both know what is coming. They’ve known for quite a while now.

“Do you think he’ll ask you to do it?”

“Probably”

“Then you should.”

The tall silhouette approaches the window slowly and James catches his breath. It’s what he always does when he is about to pull the trigger.

Three.

His eyes are fixed on the point. No mouvement.

Two.

She just stops in the shot, perfectly still. His hands still aren’t shaking.

One.

It seems she is waiting for him and for the first time in his life, James believes.

“If anything happens I want you covered” he doesn’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong but it’s his job to. Worst, it’s is who he is. “Two shots. Use them wisely”

“I love you” it’s sudden and she is just whispering but he hears it loud and clear

They finally found each other and yet they have to be apart.

Teresa made him a believer.

“Are you willing to put your life on the line?”

“More than ever”

He looks at her throat dry.

“I know what I’m asking” she says softly caressing his cheeks

“No you don’t” and really she can’t possibly imagine how broken and torn he feels but he closes his eyes under her touch. He knows she is right “what if I miss?”

“You won’t” her fingers sliders on his torso “I trust you. I believe in you. I love you.”

Teresa believes in him.

“It’s our only shot to get out of the cave”

So he pulls the trigger.

[hxhrendezvous]

Hunter X Hunter Fanfic - Transfer Student Ch. 5

5. Praise

Alarm sound ringing was blaring throughout the room and I can felt its vibration in my body. The phone was beneath my pillow if I remember it correctly. It sent shiver in my head with each ring. Conscious of my condition, my head commanded, ‘right hand, move!’ and it reached the bottom of my pillow to then turn it off before throwing it across the bed. I could felt my body relaxing again and fell into another deep sleep.

Something push and pull my left arm. It keep shaking my arm but with my eyes closed and without any sound, I could not identify what or who was the suspect. “Miel, wake up.”

I still could not identify who was it, “….who?”

“It’s me Jac. Wake up now or we’ll be late,” his voice was raspy and gentle talking to me.

“Give me five minutes.”

“Okay, only five.”

“Ng.”

Maybe Jac was leaving the room by now cause I didn’t feel anyone shaking my arm again. I could see cloud with little yellow and lots of violet. There was my classmate Erwin he ride a motorbike now even though he only come to school by car. Delivered by his butlers. Now he could ride a motorbike on the clouds. Impressive that the motorbike released cotton candy every time it pass.

“Miel, Miel.”

“Miel.”

“Miel!”

The last scream woke me up. “It’s been twenty now, wake up.”

“Huh? Why?” I muttered a sound with all my might.

“You gotta wake up now, we’re going to our office so Killua can meet our parents and to attend the technical meeting. Do you forget? Even Alluka is up already.”

“Hmm, I’m #teamlayingdown do you forget? I don’t do business cause I’m still young.”

My arms was shaken until my whole body was pulled and rolled down on the floor with half of my duvet still wrapping me.

“AW! So much for a brother!”

“Get up, take a shower, and I’ll be waiting on the table for breakfast.”

He announced while walking away from the room.

When I didn’t see his face anymore I hissed under my breath, “I should’ve not sleep over here last night!”

——————————————————————————————————

Wait, I didn’t have a classmate named Erwin. Erwin is the name of a character from this anime about Titan invading normal people lives. Why do I confuse him with my classmate, is there anyone with similar name?

“Miel, hurry up!”

Ugh, Jac again. It’s just ten minutes since I went into the bathroom he couldn’t wish for me to be finished already. “Miel HURRY UP!”

I still hadn’t answer him. Turning off the faucet I draw the towel from the  hanger. I got changed before getting out of the bathroom and going to the table with the towel still wrapping my hair. What I found after was surprising, “wait, why haven’t you guys have breakfast without me?”

They were all sitting. But, their bowl of rice were still full and the chopsticks were untouched on the side “I insist we’re waiting for you,” Jac said.

Now I understand the situation, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I was late,” I said while hugging Jac by the head. I turned my face on Killua and Alluka’s way still hugging Jac, “Guys I’m sorry let’s have breakfast now.”

“No worries, Miel-san,” Alluka said while gesturing for me to sit down, “Let’s have breakfast.”

Killua muttered nothing and just take his chopstick to begin eating.

——————————————————————————————————

Killua’s pov

“It’ll be thirty minutes for her to be here.” Jac informed us on the table,”I say we have our breakfast first and then” he gestured putting rice on bowl to Alluka,”we put rice on our bowl again. So it seems untouched. She wouldn’t realise a thing. And then we said ‘oh Miel, we wait for you’” he mimicked a facial of someone who’s tired. 

“And then she will hug me to comfort the tired look,” ;okay, that’s probably his whole entire point about this, “How about it Alluka? It’s not like we don’t wait for her honestly.”

“I think it was perfect.” Alluka answered.

“You’re agreeing with this?” I shot her quizzical look.

“It will be fun!” She said.

“Right! Right, Alluka-chan! It will be fun!” 

They looks so into the idea of it shouting ‘yay’ and all, and before I realised, a sigh was slowly leaving my breath.

——————————————————————————————

“Don’t forget your padding jacket, guys.” Miel warned.

In the glimpse of my eye, I saw Alluka was pulling Miel’s dress arm. “Miel-san, give me your earring.”

“What? My earring why?”

“Can I have your earring?”

“Well, okay.” She pulled both her earring simultaneously and handing it to Alluka. “This is it, here you go.”

Alluka was making a wish?! I didn’t know when and where Alluka going to make one. But this time seemed to still be safe enough request from her. “Alluka…” I said.

“Miel-san give me your bracelet.”

“Hm, Killua what happened to her? Why is she requesting such things from me?” Miel asked.

“It’s okay, just grant her request.”

“Hmmm,” Miel hummed while taking out her bracelet to then be given to Alluka, “here you go.”

Alluka received the bracelet before asking again, “gimme your ring.”

“Alluka if you wanted to dress up you should tell me beforehand. We have plenty of time in the house.” She said handing in the ring.

It’s time. Alluka face turn into Nanika. Miel took a good look at her and back at me, mouthing ‘what happened?’. Bead of sweats fell on the corner of my face. This is Alluka’s power. With three request granted, she can grant any wish without effect for the person who was making the wish.

“You can make one wish,” I said to Miel, “make a good one.”

“Wish? Uhhh, I kinda feel perfect today, not feeling like making any wish,” she thought for a moment with closed eyes, “uh, then, Alluka, smile for me.”

Hearing that, Nanika turned back to Alluka and flashing her a perfect white grin. “Miel. Like.”

“You turned back,” Miel turned to me, “what the hell is that?”

“No, nothing big.” I said scowling at Alluka.

—————————————————————————————————

Snowfrid Industries. The company building was beautiful. I couldn’t say or describe exactly what makes it so, but for a technological company their office didn’t look industrially boring. Maybe they have another place for the technical works. The glass wall and color too were futuristic without losing its humanity touch. There are many kind of robots as Miel gave a little tour by some floors. Such a well-thought structure and well-designed interior probably was the reason it looked so beautiful in my eyes. I like the place.

Alluka and I was following Jac and Miel towards 7th floor of the building.  It was where the meeting held. Wonder if I’d met their parents before reaching the designated floor. Miel still holding her brother’s arm, seemed to be the work of refilled rice bowl this morning.

It was 8:50, two adults are approaching us when we were near a two handled door, ”Jac and Miel” one of them, the woman greeted, “ara, you brought Killua too. And… who is beside him?” I assumed that is their mother.

“It’s Alluka-chan, Mother.” Jac replied. “Good morning, Father.”

He chuckled heartily greeting his son back, “Good morning my children.”

“Dear, they brought Killua already.”

“Oh, really?” His eyes widened, “where is he?”

“Here, Father, this is Killua and his sibling Alluka.” Miel introduced us.

“Hello, Killua-kun and Alluka-kun. How was it here? Feeling cold huh?” the Oldman said tightening his jacket, “It’s always minus 10 degree here.” 

“Killua-kun we’ve heard everything about you from your family. You’re the destined heir at such a young age and the most talented in your family. We’re so lucky to have you with us,” the Mother spoke with hand clapped, “how about your Hunter Exam did you pass it?”

“Hm, yes, I got my Hunter Licensed already.” I replied in a small voice.

Both parents were surprised for my achievement. Miel and Jac looked proud as well. They sang praises and admiration for me just over a single card I got in an easy exam. 

When’s the last time I felt both parents to show proudness over me. That was not over killing people.

My mood got better. I was smiling through the small chit-chat I had with the people. It must be 9 o’clock as the Father suggested we continued after meeting. “Killua-kun and Alluka-kun how about joining us in the meeting.”

Jac interrupted, “Is it okay, Father?”

“Hahahahah, of course. We’re family now. He can see for himself what we’re doing here.” 

After agreeing, we went into the room. I pulled Alluka by her elbow, placing her on the chair on my right side. I sat on Miel’s right, as Jac and their parents so on. They started with recapping the latest black boots that were going to be used by Miel.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute and @somebodyswatson special shout out to mcgregor_fi on twitter for help with research for this one

Chapter Three The Uninvited Guest

Harry rolled over and was promptly sick over the edge of his bed. His scar burned, and he was drenched in a cold sweat, as if he had just woken from a fever rather than a nightmare.

He pressed his hands to his head, instinctively hoping that the pressure might relieve some of the throbbing pain. It did not.

Hadn’t Dumbledore told him that Voldemort would not try to enter his mind again? Why was this happening, and why now?

Harry used his wand to Vanish the mess, then stumbled his way down to the kitchen for water. The cool evening breeze helped clear his head.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick from a nightmare like this — probably not since Ron’s dad had nearly died. At least this time, Harry did not think anyone was in need of rescue, not anymore anyway.

As Harry approached the sink in the dark, he realised that the gentle evening breeze was not coming through the window, but rather the open back door. He tightened his grip on his wand and carefully stepped out into the garden.

The half-moon provided some light, but he didn’t see anything out of place nor any movement in the shadows. He wondered if an open back door was worth waking his parents for, or if he should run and get Robards. He didn’t think so, but in conjunction with his nightmare, perhaps…

Then he saw a stag approaching the house, moonlight glinting off of its antlers, and Harry relaxed.

Prongs approached slowly. Harry did not see his father change form often, unlike Sirius. Something about a full-grown stag galloping around the house did not have the same charm that an Irish Wolfhound did. Sirius had once joked that Prongs didn’t do well on the wood floors, and James had thrown a cushion at him.

Here, on the soft earth of the garden, Prongs seemed perfectly steady. Even though Harry stood at the top of the steps leading down into the garden, the stag still towered over him. He stood nearly eight feet high, not counting the heavy antlers that crowned his head. Harry met his father’s eyes, where the white fur grew in a perfect circular pattern, much like James’ glasses. One eye was missing, but the other looked Harry over as Prongs sniffed Harry’s hand. Then he nosed Harry playfully, and Harry tightened his hand in the thick fur around Prongs’ neck and pulled him close. He was warm and soft, like Padfoot, and he smelled like the earth.

And then Harry was hugging his father.

“Hope I didn’t scare you,” James said.

“You didn’t,” Harry said. “Just surprised you’d take the risk with Robards still here.”

James broke the hug and reached for one of the buckets leaning against the house. “What’s he going to do? Throw me in Azkaban?” He pulled his watch and eyepatch from beneath the bucket and began to fasten each into place. “I’m sure Scrimgeour would love that.”

Harry still wasn’t sure that being so cavalier with an illegal Animagus form while the Head of the Auror Department sat just a few rooms away was a wise idea, but the prickling in his scar didn’t give him a lot of energy to focus on an argument.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked.

“I should be asking you that. What are you doing up at,” James checked his wristwatch then fastened it on, “four-thirty in the morning?”

“I came down to get water. What are you doing wandering in the garden at four-thirty in the morning?”

“I walked down to the willow tree and sat for a while, then just wandered, taking it all in.”

Harry glanced back at the kitchen. Though he knew their voices probably wouldn’t carry to the sitting room where Robards kept vigil, he was afraid to address their impending departure out loud.

James took a seat on the back steps. “Are you headed back to bed? Long day tomorrow.”

Harry considered lying in his bed, mulling over his nightmare in the dark against sitting up with his father and watching the sun rise.

“I think I’m pretty awake.”

James waved his wand and Summoned a kettle. He Refilled and Heated it, then Summoned two mugs for each of them.

“Sure you’re alright?” James asked as he poured a cup for Harry.

“Yeah.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Your pale face says otherwise. I could smell the sick on your breath, too, as Prongs. So I know you’re not well. If you don’t want to talk about what’s wrong, you can say so, but I really hope we’re all past lying to each other.”

Harry stared down at the mug his father had just handed him. He did not want to tell his parents he was having nightmares again, not when his father was clearly grieving Mellie and especially not when they could not go to Dumbledore for guidance.

“I had a nightmare,” Harry finally admitted. He remembered the pain more than anything else — not his own pain, though. He remembered Voldemort’s pain, and he remembered the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. This was the other reason he did not want to share his nightmare with his parents: he was fairly certain it centered around Horcruxes. What he didn’t know was whether or not Voldemort had successfully turned the sword into another Horcrux. The pain and the anger from the dream seemed to suggest something had gone wrong. Harry remembered what Sirius and Malfoy had each said about goblin silver — it only took in that which made it stronger. Perhaps a piece of Voldemort’s soul just wasn’t compatible with goblin silver, or maybe the basilisk venom imbued in the blade made it a poor host.

But whether it had worked or not, Harry knew for certain that someone was dead from the attempt.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.” James took off his glasses to clean them on his t-shirt, and Harry wondered if he would always wear glasses, even though he no longer needed both lenses. “I have nightmares every night it seems. Your mum does, too.”

“She told me that once. Didn’t make me feel much better then, either,” Harry said, and James laughed.

“Yeah, alright. Sorry.” James looked down at his hands. His tea sat on the step beside him, untouched. “Does your scar hurt?”

Harry hesitated. “A bit. Dumbledore said it wouldn’t do that anymore…”

“Seems like Dumbledore got a few things wrong.” James sighed. “Has it been happening a lot lately?”

“No, just tonight. I think… I think Voldemort just got really angry. I think something didn’t work out like he thought it should. And I think someone else is dead.”

James twisted the wedding band around his finger. “Anyone we know?”

“I didn’t see who, I just…” Harry squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember and forget all at once. “I think the snake was eating them.”

“I’m sorry — you shouldn’t be seeing that.”

“I can’t help it —”

“I just mean you deserve better. None of this was ever supposed to happen.” James leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Will you tell your mum and I if your scar hurts? I don’t know if we can really help, but…”

“Sure,” he said.

James ran his hand through his hair. “Are you packed?”

“Everything but my dress robes. Do I really have to wear them tomorrow?”

“Andromeda is insisting.”

“Do you know who’s going to be there?” Harry did not mean which of their friends would attend Remus and Tonks’ small wedding. That part had been decided by the Order.

James glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the sitting room. “You would think it’d be common decency to give us our own bodyguard schedule. I just hope it’s no one in the Order. We don’t need tomorrow to be more complicated.”

Harry didn’t know what the plan to slip the Ministry was exactly. It was hard to talk about in the house, with an Auror always around, and the Ministry seemed to know which Aurors were in the Order, because it was never any of the Potters’ friends on duty. But Harry did know that whoever was on duty when the Potters left was going to have a very difficult time explaining to the Ministry how badly they had messed up.

Harry also knew that this wedding hadn’t been Remus and Tonks’ choice — not entirely.

Remus and Tonks had arrived at the house just two days ago, and Remus had asked James to be a witness when he and Tonks eloped that night. Harry had not heard the entire conversation, because James, Lily, and Sirius had taken Tonks and Remus into the study, faces almost murderous. Harry had pulled Savage into a game of chess, but the focus on the game had been minimal on both sides. The more interesting match had been in the closed off study.

Though the discussion had been muffled behind the door, Harry and Savage heard one clear outburst from Sirius: “And you were planning to, what, just tell Ted and Andromeda after the fact?”

Harry did not envy the position Remus and Tonks had been in, but he also was very much on the side of his parents. If Remus and Tonks had decided to get married, Harry wanted to be there, war or not.

When they had emerged from the study, James had announced that they would be hosting the wedding out in the garden in just two days, Lily had kissed Harry’s cheek and whispered that he needed to be packed to leave before the wedding, and Sirius had disappeared for the rest of the day.

Packing to leave had been a difficult task for Harry. It was hard to know what he would need for the coming year, and he couldn’t really talk his plan out with his parents.

Lily had, over lunch a couple of weeks ago, made a biting remark that Harry was being childish by keeping Dumbledore’s request from them, that he was only doing this because they had kept the prophecy a secret. Harry had snapped back that if she thought he was being childish, it was only because she wasn’t ready to accept he was nearly an adult. James had interrupted and asked Harry to help him in the garden.

“She didn’t mean it,” James had said as he had handed Harry a trowel and hefted a bag of Herbert’s Herb Helper over his shoulder. “She’s hurt — we both are — but she didn’t mean it the way she said it. Sirius just riled her up today. You know how they both get when they’re stressed.”

Harry had understood, but he had still been angry. There was no reason for Lily to take her temper out on him, and there was no reason for Sirius to take his temper out on Lily. Harry had grabbed the dragonhide gloves and followed his father out to the small flower garden that Harry had only recently been allowed to work in.

The area was marked by beautiful iron-wrought gates, twisted into the shapes of vines and flowers. There were still tables and chairs, reminiscent of garden parties that had once been held out here, but Harry knew that this space had sat empty for the last decade, ever since his parents had added wolfsbane alongside the wisteria.

“Your mother and I are worried about you, and we want to help you however we can.” James had punctuated this statement with a loud thud as he dropped the bag of fertiliser onto a table.

Harry had cut the bag open with his wand. “It just feels like you both don’t trust me,” he had snapped.

James, unlike Lily, had not risen to meet Harry’s temper. He had stayed quiet as he had pulled on his gloves and knelt down beside the wolfsbane. He had waited until Harry was working beside him to speak again.

“We know you don’t want to finish at Hogwarts this year — and I think we agree, considering… everything. But we can’t understand why Dumbledore would ask you to keep a secret from us. You aren’t alone — you’ve never been alone. We’re here to help.”

Harry had kept his eyes on the flowers for two reasons. The first was that an accidental brush of his skin against the wolfsbane could leave him very ill for the rest of the day, and the second was that he was afraid of the guilt that would fill him if he looked at his father.

Here, on the back porch with his father in the greying dawn, it was tempting to spill all his fears. It would feel good to talk to someone about his plan — or lack of a plan. He wanted advice on Horcruxes, ideas on where to start looking for them, and suggestions for destroying the diadem.

But Harry bit down on his tongue and said nothing. He couldn’t tell them, and it wasn’t just because of Dumbledore; it was because of the prophecy.

Harry understood now just what that weight of being “The Chosen One” meant. Cedric may have pointed out that the prophecy had never said that the fight against Voldemort had to be a lonely one, but Harry knew, deep in his gut, he could not involve his parents in this fight.

James and Lily — and Remus and Sirius — had helped him, over and over again. They had dueled Voldemort more often than he had, and if the opportunity arose, they would choose to die before they let Harry risk his own life. They had already placed themselves between Harry and Voldemort, years ago, when he was just an infant, and he knew that they would do so again.

As long as they were alive, Harry’s family would put themselves between him and Voldemort. And if the prophecy was true, that only Harry could defeat Voldemort, then the only chance Harry’s family had of surviving this war was if Harry finished it on his own.

He imagined that when he did finally tell them he had to finish this without them, he might get a pretty good idea of how Remus and Tonks had felt announcing plans to elope.

“You know,” James’ low voice pulled Harry back into the present, “Remus, Sirius, Peter and I used to sit out here during the summer. Sometimes we stayed up all night, just sitting and talking.” He sat up straighter and stretched. “Don’t remember it hurting my back nearly so badly, though.”

Harry knew it was difficult for his parents to leave home to go into hiding a second time. It was no wonder James was thinking about Peter.

“What was Peter like?” Harry asked.

James rubbed his jaw and kept his gaze on the graying sky. “Guess your mum and I don’t talk about him much, do we?”

“I could probably count on my fingers how many times you’ve said his name.”

James stared at the dark horizon as if he might see Peter Pettigrew standing there. His hands were steady on his mug, none of the lazy drumming Harry was so used to seeing when his father was pensive. Grief, it seemed, stilled James in a way nothing else did.

Finally, James said, “Peter was quiet, like Remus, but loved a good prank as much as Sirius and I. Never took much to Quidditch, but came to all my matches. Quite a few of the practices, too. Never had the reflexes for the sport, but he was a decent duelist. Brilliant chess player, and a creative strategist. Really knew how to think outside the box. Sometimes I think we pressured him to join the Order… He was always the cautious one, more cautious than Remus most of the time. But he was brave when it counted. You, your mum and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

“Voldemort wouldn’t have been there at all if it weren’t for him, though,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t have this scar or anything.”

“Lily and Sirius blame him, but a lot of things went wrong that day. Voldemort’s at fault, surely. But Sirius made the decision to trust Peter and not Remus. We all made the decision not to tell Dumbledore about the switch. Snape told Voldemort the prophecy in the first place. And Peter told Voldemort where we were hiding, but he also chose to protect us even though he knew that it would kill him. I don’t know if it makes him a hero, but I know that I’m grateful for what he did.”

Harry thought of all the guilt he carried over Dumbledore’s death. If he had not gone to the tower, if he had not been convinced that Malfoy had a Horcrux, if he had listened to Cedric and Neville and Dumbledore…

Blaming Snape had helped, for a while. Blaming Draco had been more difficult, especially knowing that Draco had lowered his wand before the Death Eaters had arrived. But didn’t the fault rest with all of them, in some way?

“What did he say to you?” James asked.

“What?”

“When you saw Peter in the graveyard… do you remember what he said?”

Harry swallowed hard. The graveyard was not a place he willingly remembered much of. “He called me by name. He knew who I was. He told me I was brave, like you and mum… Then he told me to run, so I did. But he wasn’t — he wasn’t real, you know. Dumbledore said he was just an echo.”

“Sometimes I think that just might be enough.”

Harry remembered the photograph that Moody had shown him and Neville of the Order during the first war. He wondered just how many friends his parents would like the chance to see again. He thought that he wouldn’t mind talking to an echo of Dumbledore, either. Maybe he might go back to Hogwarts, just long enough to talk to Dumbledore’s portrait. He still had so many questions…

“You don’t think Dumbledore would become one of the Hogwarts ghosts?” Harry asked.

James shook his head. “I don’t think he would choose that, even with You-Know-Who still out there. To pick an eternal existence over a temporary problem… I think the real problem will be waiting to see if You-Know-Who decides to become a ghost.”

Harry did not think that someone whose soul was as divided as Voldemort’s could sustain any existence after death, but he couldn’t explain that to his father. So instead, he asked, “Why do you always call him You-Know-Who?”

James shrugged. “My mum always did. She said it was polite, and she worked very hard to teach me to be polite.”

“Her lessons didn’t take then?” Harry grinned, and it felt good to watch his dad smile, too.

“They took well enough. I’m not Remus by any stretch, but I can be polite when I want to be. You’ve seen me at the Ministry. Besides, I always thought the nickname was kind of funny. Bloke already renames himself something grand like ‘Voldemort’ only to forbid everyone from using it? Always thought it was a bit silly. Don’t know how his followers ever took him seriously.”

Harry laughed, glad to be a part of this family. He wasn’t sure there was anyone else who could joke about Voldemort the way James did, except perhaps Tonks, but she would be family soon enough.

“Harry, I…” The smile on James’ face was gone suddenly. He let out a deep breath. “What you did for Picksie yesterday was incredibly kind. I wish I had thought of it. It’s the sort of thing my mother might have done. I — I’m sorry you didn’t know her, and I want you to know… whatever happens tomorrow and after… Your mum and I love you, and we’ll do everything we can to protect you and help you through this —”

“Dad…” Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. He thought it might be made up of all his fear, sorrow, and secrets. “I don’t want to talk about this today. Can we just have a wedding? And not worry about Voldemort until it’s over?”

“Sure thing, Snitch. But we will talk about it, okay?” He checked his wristwatch and got to his feet. “Speaking of wedding, there’s a lot of work to be done. Tonks and Andromeda should be here in a couple of hours. I’ve got to turn the study into a bridal suite before they get here.”

“Why are they coming so early?”

“Andromeda insisted. She seems to think it will take most of the day to get Tonks ready, and I seem to remember your mother doing the same thing.”

And just like that, James switched from quiet mourner to excited wedding planner. He cheerfully enlisted Robards in helping him drape the study in white linens and place tasteful floral arrangements on flat surfaces. Then he dragged Robards up to one of the guest rooms-turned-storage-room to find a full-length mirror. The two of them also had a time of it moving a vanity set from upstairs and into the study.

Harry started on breakfast, though he didn’t get any further than counting how many eggs they would need before Picksie appeared and insisted on taking over. She said she needed to do something with her hands, and Harry couldn’t deny her that. She gave him a list of things to get from the garden, but told him to get upstairs and put on proper clothes first. It wouldn’t do for him to be in pyjamas when company arrived. He wondered if she knew just how much she sounded like her mother.

Lily was not asleep much longer; no one could sleep through the noise that James raised moving furniture — no one except Sirius, who did not make an appearance until after Andromeda and Tonks had arrived via Floo, and he happily greeted company in his pyjamas.

While Picksie made certain that Tonks and Andromeda were who they said, Sirius dipped a spoon in the mix of fruit and rum Picksie had soaking. Before the spoon quite reached his lips, there was a white spark in his hand and he dropped the spoon.

“There is toast and fresh fruit, Sirius,” Picksie said, and gestured at the kitchen table. “Picksie is quite certain that James is saying that drinking is off limits today.”

Sirius only grinned at her and held his hands up innocently. “I haven’t got anything to do until after lunch, so put me to work or I’m only going to make trouble.”

Picksie sniffed, in a strikingly similar way to her mother. “Sirius could start by getting dressed.”

Once Sirius was dressed, there was plenty to keep him busy. James filled Sirius’ arms with linens, insisting that all of the furniture needed to be draped for photographs. Harry offered to help, too, but Lily handed him a lengthy list of flowers from the garden that needed picking for centrepieces.

When Harry returned from the garden Levitating three full boxes of flowers, Picksie was clearing the kitchen table so James could put a white table cloth over it.

“Excellent timing, Harry,” James said. “Your mum’s just set the vases up in the dining room.”

Harry slipped past his father in the kitchen and into the dining room, where Lily was carefully Transfiguring an old, cracked clay flower pot to match four other glass vases on the table. Harry set the boxes down near her feet and waited for her to be done concentrating.

The terracotta changed shape first, reforming with roses and vines in relief, then slowly, the clay began to disappear. It seemed to burn away until there was nothing but a perfectly shaped glass, identical to the others on the table. Lily smiled and put down her wand.

“I’d like to see your father or Sirius do better,” she said proudly. “Now let’s take a look at those flowers.”

Lily sent Harry to see if Tonks wanted a smaller bouquet or a larger, cascading arrangement, and though Harry thought he already knew the answer, he did as his mother asked.

When he knocked on the door to the study, he was surprised to hear Sirius say, “Come in!”

Tonks sat at the vanity while her mother carefully applied makeup to her eyes. Harry didn’t know anything about the stuff, other than his mother occasionally used it, but he’d never seen so many different cases of it in one place before. He had a feeling that these cases did not belong to Tonks.

Sirius was stretched out across a chair that had been draped in white. He grinned at Harry. “Lots of work, isn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t know it by looking at you,” Harry said.

“I told James and Lily —” Tonks started, but her mother shushed her.

“I said hold still,” Andromeda said. “No talking until I’m finished.”

“Mum, I can literally change my face any way I want. I don’t need —”

“Did you want me to poke your eye out? I said hold still. What did you need, Harry?”

“Er — Mum wanted to know how big a bouquet you wanted, Tonks.”

“Oh, I don’t need — Ow! Mum!” Tonks swatted Andromeda’s hand away and looked at Harry. “Tell her it’s alright. I really don’t need one at all —”

“Not even a small one?” Andromeda asked. “You’ll want something for the photographs —”

“No, Mum, I don’t want something for the photographs. I don’t even want photographs, really. With all the trouble that’s already going into this —”

“What about the rings? You’ll want —”

“We don’t even have rings! This wasn’t supposed to —”

Sirius yelped as he leapt off of the chair. “What do you mean you don’t have rings?”

Tonks frowned at him. “There wasn’t exactly a proposal. I sort of asked him how he felt about getting married and he said we should do it. You and James are the ones who decided to make a fuss about it, and dragging Mum in like this. It’s just a bloody piece of paper, and I don’t see how —”

“Have you any idea how furious Regulus would be to hear you say those things?” Sirius put a hand over his heart in mock horror. “He absolutely adores weddings, and I bet he’s right put out that he can’t be here today.”

“Well when Regulus gets married, he can make a grand gala out of it, but it’s my wedding, and I don’t care about rings or a bouquet.”

“Nymphadora!”

“Mum!”

Harry backed up towards the door. “Right then. I’ll tell Mum just a little one and leave you to it then.”

Tonks plopped her elbow onto the vanity and dropped her head into her hand. “Yes, fine. I suppose if I have to walk down an aisle, I might as well hold something. Just promise me there’s no bright red carpet.”

Harry had not seen one yet, but if Lily was Transfiguring vases, there was no telling what else might appear.

A gentle chime floated through the house, and Sirius glanced at the clock and said, “That ought to be the Weasleys with the tables and chairs.”

“Or Hagrid with the thestrals,” Tonks said.

Andromeda frowned. “Thestrals for a wedding? That’s terribly unlucky —”

“They’re not for the wedding! But I suppose they could be. I could ride down the aisle on a thestral.”

“You will not!” Andromeda said.

Harry did not wait around to see how this played out. Instead, he headed out to the garden, and met Fred and George as they approached the house, Levitating pallets of tables and chairs as they walked.

As Fred waved, the tables he was carrying slipped. Harry waved his wand and caught them before they hit the ground. Together, the three of them worked to turn the garden into a proper wedding venue.

Just as Harry was trying to figure out the maths for the seating arrangement — he did not know how to evenly split fifteen seats across the aisle — Lily came out of the house, carrying one of the centrepieces. She set it on a table and surveyed the boys’ work.

“Do we have tablecloths and chair covers?” she asked the Weasleys.

George scratched his head. “Er — Mum didn’t give us any.”

Fred rubbed his hands together. “I’m sure we could Conjure something.”

“No need,” Lily said. “I’m sure James has something in mind. Harry, go let him know we need linens outside. Fred and George — help me set up the archway.”

Harry headed inside and found James halfway down the stairs, arms burdened with a box labeled “silver cutlery.”

Harry helped him get it into the kitchen and conveyed Lily’s message.

James stuck his head out the kitchen window and looked at the setup in the garden with a frown. “I think there’s one of Grandma Lavinia’s summer table cloths in the attic. I don’t know that I could Duplicate her work, but maybe I could cheat it…” He glanced down at his watch and swore. “Harry, can you find Sirius while I look for it?”

“He’s with Tonks and Andromeda. I don’t want to go back in there. Can’t you do it?”

James sighed. “Fine. I’ll get Sirius, you get up into the attic and find the tablecloth. I don’t know if you remember it. It’s been so long since we had a garden party —”

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I can find something nice and floral.”

Harry headed up to the attic, and though he did not know exactly where all of his great-great-grandmother’s fabric was, it was not hard to find. There was a clear cut path to the linen storage, since James and Sirius had pulled most of it out already to cover the furniture in the house. It was a neat trick, to blame the wedding, so the Aurors were less likely to suspect they were preparing the house for vacancy.

Harry was no expert on seasonal fashion, but he guessed that the darker colours were for autumn, and dug around for something light. He thought of his mother’s centrepieces and the flowers he had picked for them: iceberg roses, jasmine, tuberose, rhododendron — all of them white. The only colour was in those blue gentians she’d asked for…

Harry grabbed one decorated in blue forget-me-nots that danced along lacey edges and carried it downstairs. He was surprised to see his father and Sirius standing in front of the fireplace arguing, and set the cloth down to see what was wrong.

“Why are you complaining to me?” James sighed. “Complain to Remus.”

“I’m not complaining,” Sirius snapped. “I’m asking for help.”

“We’ve got enough else to do.”

“It’s not that complicated — easier than the map.”

“The map took us years.”

“To work out the charms! This won’t be hard. Just look at it.” Sirius shoved a piece of parchment into James’ hand. “Please? It’s important to me.”

James shook his head, but Sirius was so rarely earnest in this way, it was hard for Harry to imagine that James would deny him.

“You’re a right bastard sometimes,” James grunted.

“I wish I was a bastard,” Sirius smiled. “Instead I’m just a son of a bitch.”

“You’re an hour late son of a bitch. Get out of here. With any luck Ted’s already got him half-ready and you’ll just be an escort.”

But as Sirius turned to use the Floo, it lit with green flame, and out stumbled Proudfoot the Auror.

James smiled pleasantly. “Ah, Proudfoot. How are the kneazles?”

“Shifting their spots daily,” Proudfoot said, but he was distracted as he answered the predetermined nonsense question. He eyed the draped furniture uneasily, and Harry’s stomach tightened.

James, however, seemed unconcerned. “Robards was doing a perimeter check, last I saw. We expected you earlier this morning, actually. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“Sorry.” Proudfoot stared at the tablecloth in Harry’s arms. “I — er — it was a last minute change. I didn’t — I mean — Thicknesse thought I was best suited for the job today.”

“Well you’re in for a treat! Lily’s in the garden, finishing up the decorations. Sirius was just on his way out, so if you don’t mind moving…”

Proudfoot apologised and stepped aside, eyes still roving the house as if it were his first time visiting. Harry had met Proudfoot once already this summer, and the Auror had moved through the house easily then. Most of the Aurors were familiar with the Potters’ estate by now, and the Potters were unfortunately familiar with most of the Aurors. He wondered why Proudfoot looked so uncomfortable today.

As Proudfoot headed out into the garden to relieve Robards, Harry whispered, “Do you think he knows?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I should think that Scrimgeour would have arrived himself if the Ministry was worried. But you’re right. Proudfoot is behaving oddly, isn’t he? Keep an eye on him for me. Sirius has given me a bit of extra work, so have your mum finish the linens, and if she needs me, tell her I’m doing a bit of alchemy in the laundry room.”

“Alchemy?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll be Transfiguring lead to gold, but alchemy sounds cooler, doesn’t it?”

Harry could not imagine what James meant, but he couldn’t ask for clarification. The fireplace roared green again, and this time Ron stumbled out, followed closely by Hermione. Both carried enormous trays of food.

“Harry!” Hermione said. Her wide smile and awkward shifting in stance told Harry she very much wanted to hug him, but it was difficult to do with her arms full of food.

Harry wanted to take the tray from her, but he had his own hands full with the tablecloth. So he led her and Ron into the dining room table. They set aside Lily’s centrepieces to make space, but when Arthur Weasley came through the Floo, too, also bearing trays of food, they hastily cleared breakfast from the kitchen.

Picksie took the time to make sure that Ron, Hermione, and Arthur were not disguised Death Eaters, something Harry felt a bit guilty for not doing, but he also thought the Death Eaters would not have arrived with armfuls of food if they were intent on killing him.

Once Hermione’s hands were free, and Picksie had confirmed that she was indeed Hermione, she pulled Harry into a hug and kissed his cheek.

“We’ve missed you!” she said. “How have you been?”

“Alright,” Harry said, and hugged Ron — though Ron did not kiss his cheek. “How’s the Burrow?”

Ron grimaced. “I liked it better when Mum didn’t like Fleur. Now it’s all wedding talk all the time. It’s nice to get away for a minute.”

“Yeah, no wedding talk here,” Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

“No wedding talk about <i>my brother</i>.”

“Put us to work, Harry,” Hermione said. “How about that tablecloth you’re still holding. Does it go somewhere?”

While Arthur went back to the Burrow for more food, Harry took Ron and Hermione into the garden. Lily took one look at the tablecloth he had brought out and directed him to put it on a small, square table with two seats. Then with a wave of her wand, she Summoned what Harry thought were bedsheets from the house, and set Ron and Hermione on Transfiguring them into tablecloths to match the head table.

“Don’t worry about making the flowers move,” Lily said. “It’s an old trick even I don’t know. But make them match in colour, and I think even Andromeda won’t complain.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the garden.

The chairs had been arranged into rows of four, with an aisle cutting through the middle that led from the kitchen door to a small archway decorated in white roses and jasmine, filling the garden with a pleasant aroma. Proudfoot wandered around the corner of the house, keeping watch with a distracted look on his face, nothing like how alert Robards had been. It was a bit early in the day for someone to have Confunded him, and Harry wondered what the Ministry had been thinking, sending Proudfoot to keep an eye on the wedding.

A chime flitted over the garden at pace with the afternoon breeze, and Harry and Lily both turned towards the orchard.

“That’ll be Hagrid,” she said. “Hopefully Moody’s with him. I’ve got to finish the bouquet. Harry, have your father finish the aisle, and the music —” She muttered a curse under her breath. “Sirius was supposed to put out the record player.”

“I got it, Mum. Dad’s er — busy, with something for Sirius. I can do the records and the aisle.”

Lily frowned. “I thought they finished their best men speech last night after supper. How could they possibly have more trouble to get into?”

“Something about alchemy. Dad wouldn’t say.”

Lily frowned but did not press Harry for more information. “Music, then. Arthur can do the aisle, and Fred and George can set the —” Lily looked at Fred and George, who were tying a series of white balloons over the archway with an unusual amount of caution.

“Should I be worried those balloons might explode?” Lily asked.

“Probably.”

Harry let his mother deal with the Weasley twins, and hurried into the parlour to retrieve the record player. He tucked a handful of records under one arm and with the other, Levitated the record table, grateful he did not have to guide it down any stairs. He had not expected, however, the sitting room fireplace to light up bright green and Cedric Diggory to stumble out.

Harry yelped and dropped the record table. It crashed into ground and Cedric jumped, nearly dropping the camera he was holding.

“Sorry,” Cedric apologised quickly. “Sorry — easy fix, though.” And with a wave of his wand and a muttered, “<i>Reparo</i>,” the record table was set right.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and though he was sure that Cedric was Cedric, he asked, “What do a snake, cup, and diadem have in common?”

Cedric’s face turned grim. “I’d like very much to see all three of them destroyed.” He glanced around the sitting room and lowered his voice. “Speaking of, your last letter said you found something before leaving Hogwarts.”

Harry had so much that he wanted to talk with Cedric about, so much that he had been afraid to put into letters, even as protected as their letters were. He wanted to show Cedric the diadem that was hidden in his trunk, and he wanted to tell him about his dream last night, but he knew that now wasn’t the time.

“Later,” he said, and pointed at the door to the study. “Tonks and Andromeda are in there. Fair warning: they can’t seem to agree on anything.”

Cedric wrapped the strap of the camera around his wrist. “I don’t think I’ve used this thing since I was thirteen, but I’ll do my best to capture only the best parts for Andromeda’s sake.”

Harry left Cedric to take pictures of the bride, and he finished getting the record table set up in the garden just as Hagrid finally walked out of the orchard with a wooden crate in his enormous arms. Mad-Eye Moody was a few paces behind him, struggling to keep up with Hagrid’s stride.

Greetings were exchanged and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were given Hagrid’s crate and put in charge of setting drinks out. Hagrid had brought champagne, which, while fitting for a wedding, did not seem particularly fitting for Hagrid. There were three bottles of Firewhiskey, though, which did seem more appropriate.

“You’re the only one underage, Harry,” Ron teased as he and Harry set the bottles out on the table, while Hermione cast a Cooling Charm over the champagne.

“Only for four more days,” Harry shot back. “Besides, my parents wouldn’t care —”

Hermione slapped their hands as they both reached for a bottle of Firewhiskey. “You two are going to want to have all your wits tonight. I wouldn’t dare.”

Ron made a face at Hermione, but did not reach for any more alcohol. They instead helped Fred and George finish setting the tables with glasses and cutlery. Most of these dishes Harry hadn’t seen since his eleventh birthday, which may very well have been the last time his family had hosted a garden party. Each summer since then had somehow seemed busier than the last, and the traditional garden parties had fallen to the wayside.

Though this wedding was not the same by any stretch, had been planned hastily, and had a very different guest list than their usual parties, there was something strangely familiar about hosting a summer event like this. He wondered if, as stressed as his parents were about the day going perfectly, they weren’t also enjoying the chance to throw one last party before they all left the house.

Another chime carried over the garden and into the house, and Harry froze, hand still on a champagne flute he had just set down. He looked around the garden and ran a quick count of the guests.

Arthur was just finishing the aisle. Fred and George were setting cutlery out. Cedric had emerged from the study and was snapping a photo of the table arrangements. Hagrid and Moody stood together at the kitchen door, Ron and Hermione were right beside Harry setting out plates, and he could hear Picksie working in the kitchen.

Harry made eye contact with Lily across the garden, where she was tying the last of the tulle around the chairs. They shared the same thought: If James was working in the house, and Sirius was bringing Remus and Ted by Floo, and Tonks was in the study with Andromeda, then who had just arrived?

“Someone’s here who shouldn’t be,” Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione, as Lily whispered something to her wand, and a silver doe glided into the laundry room. James appeared moments later, wand drawn and a grim look on his face.

The pleasant, busy atmosphere turned cold quickly. Arthur hurried over to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and tried to usher them inside. All three of them drew their wands and refused to leave.

“We’re here to help,” Ron said, “so if there’s trouble —”

“You’re here for a wedding,” Arthur reminded him, and glanced over at Proudfoot, who had at least picked up that something was wrong, “and one of you is still underage. Inside, now. And don’t bother Tonks until we know for sure what’s happening.”

Reluctantly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went into the kitchen, but posted themselves at the window looking out onto the garden.

“Do you think it’s Death Eaters?” Ron asked. None of them had put their wands away. “Do you think they know what we’re up to?”

“It could be the Ministry,” Hermione suggested.

“Picksie, do you think you could find out what’s happening?” Harry asked.

Picksie wiped her hands on an apron smeared with flour and pink streaks from cake fondant. “Oh, yes, Harry, Picksie will be right back.”

She disappeared with a pop. Harry had just turned back to the window when the fireplace roared to life and Sirius, Remus, and Ted Tonks stepped through. Remus adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and brushed soot from his shoulders.

Sirius didn’t bother to clean himself up, but he frowned at the three crowded around the window. “What did we miss?”

“Someone’s here,” Harry said, “someone who wasn’t invited.”

“Wait —” Hermione leveled her wand at the three of them. “What was wrong with the grandfather clock in Grimmauld Place?”

“Kept throwing bolts at our head, didn’t it?” Sirius said as he drew his wand. “Remus and James fixed it. Now can we focus on —”

Picksie reappeared with a pop and announced, “Lyall Lupin has arrived.”

Harry was not sure he had ever seen Remus go so pale. Not even after a rough full moon, and not even when he had seen the form of Tonks’ patronus for the first time. He staggered, and Sirius helped him into a chair.

“Alright, son?” Ted asked, placing a careful hand on Remus’ shoulder.

Remus hardly seemed to notice his soon-to-be father-in-law. He looked between Sirius and Picksie as if they were about to tell him it was all a terrible joke. When they didn’t, he licked his lips and asked, “But… why is he here?” His voice was weak, and Harry hurried to get him a glass of water.

“I imagine it has something to do with his son getting married today,” said Sirius. “We didn’t exactly keep the event as private as you’d wanted.”

Remus gave Harry a grateful smile, but when he turned back to Sirius, his face was sour. “No, instead you’re using me and Tonks —”

Remus stopped himself as the kitchen door opened, but it was only James, face grim. “Did Picksie tell you?”

Remus nodded.

“I told him to clear off,” James said. “He said he had to talk to you first, and to Tonks, but I told him that was out of the question. Groom’s not allowed to see the bride before the wedding and all.”

“What is that?” Sirius asked. “Some rubbish Muggle superstition?”

“It worked out for Lily and I alright,” James said defensively.

“Really? I always assumed she stayed for your enormous —”

“Padfoot!”

“— fortune.”

“Enough,” said Remus, “please. I’ll see what he wants. I don’t expect he’ll stay long.” He finished his water and stood. James and Sirius followed him out to the garden.

Harry watched from the doorway as Remus approached an elderly gentleman in worn dress robes. He had a rather large nose, but his wispy white hair and generally thin form made Harry think he might fall over in a stiff breeze. Harry wondered why he had never met Lyall Lupin if the man really was Remus’ father. He had always understood that Remus and Sirius didn’t really have family outside the Potters. Andromeda was an exception, and not really a Black anyway, and Regulus was only a recent addition to the family. Harry was instantly suspicious of this person who had suddenly appeared and shocked Remus enough to make him nearly faint.

Lily walked alongside the petal-strewn path, and when she reached the kitchen, she pressed a bouquet into Harry’s hands. “Can you take this to Tonks and tell her what’s happened?”

Harry glanced down at the bunch of flowers. “Is Remus alright?”

“I think so. And if he isn’t, he has back up. Just ask Tonks if she approves of the bouquet, and where she thinks Mr Lupin should sit.”

“Remus said his dad wasn’t staying.”

Lily’s smile was gentle. “I think Remus isn’t the only one who’s decided to stop running away today. Now will you go and talk to Tonks, please?”

Harry didn’t see why Lily couldn’t be the one to take the bouquet to Tonks and ask about seating arrangements, but he knew better than to make his mother ask a third time. Harry took the bouquet back to the study and knocked on the door.

Once he got the all clear, he pushed the door open and froze. Tonks had finally put her wedding dress on, and she was stunning in a way that caught Harry off guard. The sleeves were entirely white lace, decorated in rose vines that climbed her arms and neck. The lace was interrupted by a sweetheart neckline and a close-fitting dress. Its plainness only made Tonks’ personality louder. Tonks herself was so vibrant, with her bright pink hair and uncontrollable grin, and the simple dress let her be the standout piece in the ensemble, rather than it. She was positively glowing with joy.

“Not bad for two days of work, eh?” Tonks said, twirling for Harry.

“You mean my two days of work,” Andromeda said. “I still think your hair works better with the veil if it’s to your back.” She picked up a plain band with an enormous length of tulle attached.

“Oh, give it a rest!” Tonks snapped. “This is why I wanted to elope, you know. I knew you’d make my wedding all about you —”

“Forgive me for caring about how my daughter looks on her wedding day —”

“I know you’re upset that you didn’t get a wedding, Mum, but this doesn’t mean I get to be your do over.”

Harry suddenly wished he were anywhere else and considered running back to Lily to make her come ask about seating arrangements and bouquets. But it was Andromeda who left. She dropped the veil onto the vanity and pushed past Harry. Tonks sighed and fell into a linen-draped chair.

“Should I —”

“Let her go,” Tonks said. “She’s been sniping at me for little things all day and I can’t apologise for what I said just yet. Dad’ll smooth it all over when he gets here. Sorry you had to see that, though. Is that the bouquet?”

“Oh — yeah.” Harry handed over the cluster of iceberg roses and jasmine, interspersed with lacy white flowers and forget-me-nots, and a bright blue gentian at the center.

“I’m sure Mum would find something wrong with it, but I think it’s perfect.” She set it down on the table. She put her hand to her face and started to rub her eye, but quickly pulled it away. “Shit — Mum spent two hours on my face.” She checked her reflection and grumbled something about, “What was the point in being able to change my face to whatever I want if my mother was just going to paint over it?” as she tried to clean up the smudged makeup.

“Er — my mum also wanted me to ask you about seating stuff,” said Harry.

“Is there a problem?”

“Sort of. Remus’ dad is here.”

Tonks blinked at Harry in the mirror. “I… don’t think I knew he was alive.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Remus never mentioned him when we were talking about family, he just said James and Sirius were it — and you and Lily, of course — but he never said anything about parents. Merlin, what do I do? I’m not ready to meet his dad.”

“You’re marrying him, though.”

“Yes — but — what if he’s awful? What if that’s why Remus didn’t mention him?”

Harry already didn’t have any fondness for Lyall Lupin, but he remembered his mother’s kind smile when she had said Remus wasn’t the only one who was done running. “I don’t know, but if Remus wants him to stay, he can’t be all bad, right?”

“I suppose, but that means he’ll have to sit up front, and that moves everyone around and — oh, Harry, when it’s your turn I cannot recommend eloping enough. This whole thing’s a mess.”

“I’m sorry — it’s my fault you’re doing this —”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all!” Tonks abandoned her attempt to fix her makeup and took Harry’s hands. “Remus and I are happy to do this for you and your parents. I know you’ve all done so much for Remus, and I’m sure this will be worth it. It’s certainly made my mum happy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“She and Dad didn’t get a wedding, and she’s the sort who always wanted one, but Dad’s Muggle-born, you know, and, well, you’ve at least met my great-aunt in portrait-form. I hear she wasn’t any better in the flesh.”

Harry had met Walburga Black in both portrait-form and boggart-form. He’d also seen the scorch marks on the Black family tapestry and the inkblots on the Black family tree that should have been Sirius and Andromda’s names. It was no surprise that Andromeda had run away from her family to marry Ted Tonks.

“But,” said Tonks, “if this is what it takes to smuggle you out from under the Ministry’s nose, then we’re happy to do it. Which Auror is here anyway? Which of my coworkers do I have to avoid eye contact with for the next six months out of fear of laughing in their face?”

“Some bloke called Proudfoot.”

Tonks scowled. “What the bloody hell is Proudfoot doing here?”

“Er — is he that bad?”

“He doesn’t get a seat,” she said. “I don’t care how tired or hungry he is, he doesn’t have a seat at my wedding.”

“Oh — are you —”

There was a knock on the door and Ted Tonks’ muffled voice said, “Dora? Can I come in?”

When Tonks gave him her permission, he pushed the door open and froze, much like Harry had.

“Jesus, Merlin, and Joseph,” he breathed.

Tonks’ anger disappeared and she laughed. “I don’t think that’s how that goes, Dad.���

“Well — you’re quite lovely,” Ted smiled. “Can I hug you or will I wrinkle it?”

“Mum put an Anti-Wrinkle in the dress, but I might smear my face all over your robes.”

“I’ll wait until Diggory’s got all the pictures your Mum needs then.” Ted turned to Harry and said, “Mind if we have a minute alone?”

Harry was happy to give them that.

In the sitting room, Harry passed by Andromeda weeping into Sirius’ shoulder, but Sirius gave Harry a wry smile that indicated it was alright, so Harry went looking for his parents. He found them in the garden, debating where to add a chair for Remus’ dad, and Harry was happy to inform them that Mr Lupin could have the chair that had been set aside for the Auror on duty; Proudfoot did not need a seat.

“I always thought he was alright,” James said, “as far as the Ministry’s lackeys go, anyway.”

“I’m sure Tonks has her reasons,” Lily said. “I’ll put a drink in his hand to smooth the whole thing over.”

As Lily swung by the untouched drinks table, James sighed and slipped something into his waistcoat pocket.

“I suppose Sirius’ project is a bit of a waste then.”

“A waste?”

James opened his other hand to reveal a silver wedding band with a single diamond set into it.It wasn’t especially large, but it was lovely in its simplicity, much like Tonks. “Remus’ dad came to give him his mum’s ring, so they didn’t need rings after all.”

“You made them rings?”

“Sirius’ design. It was a nice gesture of him. I suppose we’ll save them for another time.”

“You could at least give Remus his?”

“They’re more of a set…” James pulled his own wedding band off of his finger and handed it and the diamond ring to Harry. “We’ll sort a band out for Remus another day, when we have time. Can you give them that during the ceremony?”

“What? Why am I doing rings?”

“Who else is going to be the ring-bearer?”

“I don’t know — Ron?”

James shook his head with a small smile. “You don’t have to walk down the aisle or anything. Just hand them to Moody when the ceremony calls for it.”

Harry looked down at the two rings in his hand, then put them in his pocket. “So Mr Lupin is definitely staying?”

James glanced across the garden to where Remus and his father were still talking quietly. “It’s a bit uncomfortable, but Remus seems to be glad he’s here. And Lupin wasn’t scared off by Sirius’ glare, either, so that’s something.”

“Why have I never met him?”

James ran a hand through his hair. “The short of it is that Remus’ dad always blamed himself for what happened to Remus, and seemed to find it easier to avoid his son than deal with his guilt. Sound like anyone we know?”

The kitchen door flew open and Sirius shouted across the garden, “Bride’s ready!”

There was not exactly a bride’s side and a groom’s side of the aisle, since, apart from parents, the wedding guests weren’t especially partial to one over the other. There also wasn’t much of a procession to be had. Moody took his place in front of the small gathering, and Harry thought he looked rather unhappy for what should be a celebratory occasion. He had also been surprised when, during the hasty wedding planning two nights ago, James had suggested that Moody perform the ceremony. Harry did not think Moody made for a believable officiate of anything.

But if Proudfoot was suspicious of Moody or the strange ensemble of guests — half the Weasley family, a few of Harry’s friends, a half-giant, and a house-elf — he did not show it.

Remus helped his father into a chair in the front row then watched anxiously as Sirius walked Andromeda to her seat. Andromeda was still weeping, but Harry thought that no longer had anything to do with her fight with Tonks, or Sirius would not have let the wedding begin.

Harry moved to sit in the second row, but Sirius caught his arm.

“You’ve got the rings, right? You’re in front.”

Harry didn’t know much about wedding etiquette, but he thought it a bit unfair to both him and Sirius that he got stuck sitting next to Lyall Lupin in the front row, and Sirius got moved to the second row, but there was no time to argue. Tonks stood at the kitchen door, holding onto her father’s arm, and everyone got to their feet.

The veil was nearly as long as the dress, but it did not completely hide her face. Her hair was still short and pink. Despite Tonks’ complaints about having a wedding at all, she was grinning as her father walked her down the aisle.

When Harry looked at Remus, he saw that Remus was stunned, the way both Harry and Ted had been when they had first seen Tonks, and then, very slowly, his face split into a grin matching Tonks’. He looked years younger in a single moment, and Harry could not remember ever seeing Remus look so unabashedly happy.

Harry risked a glance at Sirius. Unsurprisingly, Sirius’ eyes were trained on Remus. Harry was glad that everyone else was looking at Tonks and there was no one to see Sirius’ smile falter as Tonks reached Remus.

But Lily, though her eyes were still on Tonks, reached her hand over to Sirius’ and squeezed. It was a tender gesture that she usually reserved for James or Harry. In fact, Harry could not recall anything like tender affection between Lily and Sirius — especially not lately — but Sirius held onto her hand like he was holding on for dear life.

At the end of the aisle, Ted Tonks lifted the veil and kissed his daughter’s cheek. She was still grinning as she took Remus’ hands. Instinctively, Tonks leaned forward to kiss Remus, too, but James shouted at her to stop, and laughter rippled through the few gathered. Even Sirius smiled and shook his head.

The setting sun cast a golden haze over the garden. Despite the summer heat, a cool, steady breeze blew, gentle enough to flutter Tonks’ veil but not enough to disrupt the ceremony. Andromeda cried through it all, and Lyall Lupin seemed unable to sit still. He fidgeted beside Harry while Moody read the ceremony, and when Tonks and Remus exchanged their vows, he wiped a tear from his cheek.

Moody reached the part about the rings and Harry half-jumped out of his chair. He fumbled as he dug the rings out of his pocket, and he couldn’t help but worry that his delay had ruined the entire thing. No one else, however, seemed concerned. Picksie was seated beside James, sniffling into a handkerchief. In fact, just about everyone had gotten out a handkerchief to catch tears with a few notable exceptions.

Ron was not crying; he was fidgeting almost as much as Mr Lupin, but Harry thought that had more to do with what was coming after the wedding than the wedding itself. Fred was not crying either, but he had gotten out a handkerchief and passed it to George. Proudfoot, too, had dry eyes as he stood in the back, wand drawn, taking a sip from a glass Lily had given him at the start of the wedding. Harry wondered if Proudfoot should be drinking while he was working, but then he thought if Proudfoot wanted to drink, that would make their escape tonight that much easier.

When Moody concluded the ceremony, the Weasley twins’ balloons popped, releasing a shower of gold sparkles and a burst of doves. Someone cheered, and Remus and Tonks exchanged their first kiss as a married couple.

At least, Harry was fairly certain they were officially married. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that Moody was a true officiate, but no one else seemed to have any reservations, least of all Proudfoot, who let Lily fill his glass again while everyone moved chairs across the garden to the tables set up by the food.

Harry was grateful to finally get a plate of Molly Weasley’s cooking after smelling it for hours. He was not sure he’d had anything to eat since breakfast, and even that had only been a few bites hastily grabbed between running around preparing for the wedding.

He, Ron, and Hermione took a seat at one of the tables, and they were joined not long after by Fred, George, and Cedric.

“Blimey, that Proudfoot bloke looks unhappy,” George said, eyeing the Auror.

“I wonder if Tonks forgot a sixpence,” Hermione said absently.

The boys all stared at her.

“What? Oh, don’t tell me wizards don’t do ‘something old, something new.’”

“You could start with what’s a sixpence,” said Ron.

“It’s from an old poem. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe.’ It’s sort of like a knut, and it’s meant to ward away frustrated suitors.”

Harry frowned at Hermione. “Ridiculous Muggle superstitions aside, you really think Proudfoot is jealous?”

“Look at him. It’s obvious. He can’t take his eyes off of Tonks — do we still call her Tonks?”

“If that’s what she wants,” Cedric said. “To be fair to Proudfoot, Tonks is exceptionally beautiful and the centre of the event.”

“The only thing he’s frowned at harder than their kiss is his empty goblet,” Fred said. “He looks like George did when I took Angelina to the Yule Ball.”

George threw a spoon at Fred, catching him on the shoulder. “He looks the way you’re going to look next week when every time you talk to one of our new French veela cousins your breath smells like dragon dung.”

“Would you really sabotage me that way? Your own brother?” Fred batted his eyelashes and the table laughed.

As the sun set, music and laughter filled the garden in equal measure. Even Sirius, Harry was glad to see, was laughing and joking with Hagrid and Picksie. When Andromeda announced it was time to cut the cake, Cedric got to his feet.

“That’s my cue.” He picked up his camera and followed Tonks and Remus to the cake.

“Glad I didn’t get that job,” said Ron.

“I think we’re lucky Cedric remembered he had a camera,” said Hermione. “Mr Weasley was convinced that Mrs Tonks was going to hire a photographer if she couldn’t find someone in the Order.”

“Dad offered to use a Muggle camera,” George said, “but she wasn’t too happy with that idea either.”

“Moody was furious enough that she wanted a photographer at all,” said Fred. “Said we didn’t need something the Ministry could get a hold of.” He glanced at Proudfoot, who was helping himself to his third or possibly fourth drink. “Surprised they were content to let us get off with just one Auror, to be honest.”

“Cedric and Tonks are here,” Hermione pointed out. “They technically work for the Auror Department. Maybe Scrimgeour trusts them not to risk their jobs.”

“Tonks is risking a lot more than her job by marrying Lupin,” Ron said with a snort. When Harry and Hermione frowned at him, he quickly added, “I’m not saying they shouldn’t have or there’s anything wrong with it — just that it might not be a legal wedding.”

Before Harry could craft a snide remark about the Ministry, Tonks took the bite of cake she was meant to lovingly feed her new husband and instead smashed it into his nose. Everyone laughed — except Andromeda and Proudfoot. Sirius laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair and onto the grass. Judging by Cedric’s grin, the moment was forever immortalised on film, and Harry was glad that even if Moody thought the camera was unwise, they would have a record of a day filled with so much laughter. He had a feeling they were all going to need it in the coming months.

The toasts were next. As she poured the champagne, Lily insisted that Harry have no more than one glass, and advised everyone else at the table the same.

Ted Tonks spoke briefly; he thanked the Potters for hosting them on such short notice and thanked Tonks for putting up with her mother so spectacularly, which got a few more laughs from the crowd, then said, “And Remus,” he tipped his glass, “Andromeda and I are proud to call you family. I had something written up about you becoming a Tonks, but I was informed that the Potters had laid first claim.”

There was a ripple of laughter among the guests. Sirius and James both hollered, and Lyall Lupin shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside Andromeda.

“Dora, Remus,” Ted continued once Sirius and James had quieted, “I know this isn’t the day you wanted, but I could not think of a better group to celebrate with. Each of us knows you in a different way, and each of us knows what it means to be an outcast. It would be a disservice to the both of you to pretend today was an easy decision, but it should have been easy. Dora, I haven’t seen you smile this way in years, and your mother and I are both very happy for you. To your continued health and happiness.”

The small crowd repeated the toast and drank. Harry considered what Ted had said about being outcasts. He thought about how two of the people present had been forced to leave their families to find their happiness. He thought about how three of the guests were Muggle-born, and what it must be like for Ted and Andromeda to watch their daughter choose to marry someone with Remus’ condition.

Remus stood, but looked unsure and anxious once more. The scrap of parchment in his hand trembled like a leaf. Tonks stood, and closed her hands around his. She, too, looked like it was hard for her to follow her father’s speech, but she said, “Well,” she cleared her throat and dabbed at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, “Dad, I thought you said your toast would be funny, so Remus and I put together a real sappy tear-jerker, but you’ve gone and ruined it.” She grinned, and the company laughed. “You’re right, this wasn’t the wedding we wanted, but —” She took in a deep breath and took the speech from Remus’ hands. Instead of reading it, she crumpled it up in her fist. “James, Lily, and Sirius — I don’t know how to thank you, because you did everything you could to give us the wedding we deserved. You made sure we had friends and family with us. You opened your home and by Merlin, the flowers — everything was beautiful. And Fred and George, we have you to thank for that, too. The doves were a nice touch. Arthur, you’ll have to pass our gratitude along to Molly for the food, and Hagrid, you always have the best drinks for a party, because that’s what today always should have been for us — a party. And we have all of our friends to thank for that. Thank you for reminding us that today is meant to be a celebration. To more days like today,” she said, and smiled, but Harry could see tears running down her cheeks as they repeated the toast.

“I think Dora said it best,” Remus said. He looked down and twisted the ring on his finger. Then he paused and looked at James. “We have incredible friends, who give freely.” And he looked at Sirius. “And friends who do not hesitate to remind us of what we deserve. To our friends, all of you.”

The couple drank, along with the guests, and sat down. Next, Sirius and James both stood, and made a show of pretending like they were ceding the floor to the other, a terrible back and forth, which had Andromeda rolling her eyes and Hagrid roaring with laughter. But while James and Sirius had their joke, Lyall Lupin had already gotten to his feet.

“If I remember anything about you two,” Lyall Lupin said to James and Sirius, and coughed into a handkerchief, “you’re a terrible act to follow, so I’d just like a moment, if you don’t mind.”

James and Sirius both looked to Remus for approval. When Remus nodded, they reluctantly took their seats. Sirius folded his arms over his chest and sulked like a hippogriff who’d lost a crest feather.

Lupin cleared his throat and said, “When I met Hope — my wife —  I didn’t care much that she wasn’t a witch. Several well-meaning friends warned me that my children might not be magical, and I didn’t care much about that either. I loved Hope, and I knew I would love the family we had together, whatever it might be.” The glass in his hand trembled, so he set it down and steadied himself against the table. “And that was always true. It is still true. I came here today expecting a cold welcome, and to hand off what was left of the best part of our family, but instead I have found that the best part of our family was never gone.” He paused, eyes on Remus and Tonks, and then James and Sirius. “Thank you,” he said abruptly, and sat down.

“To family,” James said, and got to his feet.

The toast was echoed, and Sirius stood, too.

“Anyone else want to interrupt us?” Sirius asked with a dangerous grin. “Because he’s right, we’re a tough act to follow, so speak now or forever hold your peace and all that.”

James waited for the laughter to die down before turning to Remus and Tonks. “Now, I believe we gave you two several jokes today that are on that parchment you so lovingly crumpled, but since everyone went and gave earnest speeches, Sirius and I are about to look like asses.”

“You were always going to look like asses!” Lily said.

Sirius cocked his head like a dog who had just heard a quail in the underbrush. “What’s that? A heckler?”

“No — don’t —” Lily protested with a laugh, but James pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you, darling, for volunteering,” he said. “I know today is about Remus and Tonks, but a toast to my wife, for all the lovely floral arrangements, which is impressive considering she barely scraped an ‘A’ in her Herbology N.E.W.T.”

Lily pushed James and sat back down as their friends laughed.

“Alright,” James said, “a toast to myself because I also did a lot of the decor.”

Harry shook his head, torn between amusement and embarrassment. He almost wished James had the excuse of being drunk, but no one had consumed more than a single drink except for Proudfoot, whom Lily and Arthur kept plying with refills of Firewhiskey.

“Now, Prongs,” Sirius said, and threw his arm over James’ shoulders, “you can’t go about making everything about you. Today’s about our dear friend Moony and my baby cousin Nymphadora.”

Tonks booed and tossed her napkin at him. Sirius flashed her a grin.

“Ah, you’re absolutely right,” James said, and adjusted his glasses. “A toast to Moony, who will forever be remembered in our hearts as the scrawny eleven-year-old we thought was too good for us, until one quiet Sunday morning when he suggested we slip firecrackers under the Slytherin table.”

“I thought,” said Sirius, “you were always going to remember him as the Prefect who took a couple of hundred points off of you and dared you to win them back in the next Quidditch match.”

“I am still bitter about that,” James said, “and the bleach in my shampoo. But should we move on before Dora starts to think this is all about him?”

“To Dora,” Sirius raised his glass, “who will always be the second person to throw up on my favourite leather jacket, because Moony was the first, after drinking too much at a Quidditch victory celebration.”

Remus buried his face in his hands, and looked like he was regretting every nice thing anyone had said about his friends today.

“But most of all,” James said, “a toast to love. Because it’s the only reason any of us are here. We’re here because we love Remus and Tonks, even though each of them are a handful all on their own.”

“Hear, hear,” Ted and Mad-Eye said at the same time, to another round of laughter.

“And we’re here because they love each other,” Sirius said. “And that love is why they deserve each other. So a toast to love.”

The guests clinked their glasses against one another and tossed the drinks back. Harry finished his and thought he would be fine if he had another, but also knew tonight was not the night to find out his limits.

Sirius turned up the music, and he and James both dragged Lily onto the dance floor. Andromeda, however, forced them back into their seats, reminding everyone that Remus and Tonks got a dance first, and she looked pointedly at Cedric, who hastily set down his champagne glass and picked up his camera.

Remus resisted being pulled out of his chair as much as Lily had, but Harry thought that Remus had never truly been able to resist pressure from James and Sirius, who pushed him out of his seat and into Tonks’ waiting arms. She whispered something to him that turned his ears bright red, and he put his hand on her waist.

“Kiss her!” Fred shouted.

The blush spread across Remus’ face, but he did kiss her, and when they pulled away they were both smiling at each other. Harry suddenly wished Ginny were here with him, but at the same time, he was glad that she wasn’t. It was bad enough that Ron and Hermione were coming with them tonight.

When Remus and Tonks had finished their first dance, James and Sirius once again dragged Lily out of her chair. It wasn’t much of a dance floor, just a stretch of the garden around the record player. Hermione, apparently thrilled that she recognised the song, pulled Ron up to dance with her. Cedric tried to take a seat, but Fred and George each took an arm and propelled him away from the table, reminding Harry very strongly of the way James and Sirius treated Remus and Lily.

Suddenly, Harry found himself alone, and though he wasn’t fond of sitting alone, the options for dance partners were slim at this party. He considered getting Picksie to dance with him, but she looked very happy sitting with Hagrid. He wondered what they were talking about, what Hagrid and Picksie could possibly have in common, but Hagrid seemed to have a way of making friends with anyone.

Harry watched Mr Weasley fill Proudfoot’s drink even as Proudfoot insisted he didn’t need more. Ted and Andromeda joined the small dance party, and Harry was surprised to see Lyall Lupin get to his feet as well. But Mr Lupin did not join in on the dancing. Instead, he headed straight for Harry. It was too late for Harry to pretend he hadn’t noticed and make a quick escape, and it wasn’t like at Dumbledore’s funeral, where he could slip into a large crowd of people and disappear from an unwanted conversation. He had nowhere to go as Lyall Lupin sat down in the chair Hermione had occupied just minutes ago.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet,” he said.

“Er — no.” Harry looked for his parents to rescue him, but James and Lily did not seem aware of anyone nor anything else as they danced. Sirius had stolen Tonks from Remus, and Harry did not see Remus at all.

“I suppose introductions are unnecessary.”

“I suppose so.”

Mr Lupin looked at the glass he had brought with him and refilled it with a tap of his wand. He took a drink and fidgeted with the stem of his glass. It was strange, Harry thought, to see so much of Remus in this man who was so unfamiliar to Harry. It almost made Harry like him, but Harry felt determined not to give into that.

“You look a good deal like James did at your age,” Mr Lupin said, and Harry was annoyed that they were thinking of each other in nearly the same way. “But you seem much more sensible than he was. It seems like he and his friends haven’t changed much at all.”

Harry thought of the memory of Sirius and James bullying Snape while Remus tried to make himself small and unnoticed. He watched Sirius pass Tonks off to her father and pull Andromeda into a dance, while Lily grabbed Remus for a dance and James collapsed into a nearby chair to watch, grin plastered on his face. He thought of the grief he had seen in his father and Sirius just yesterday.

“I don’t know, they seem a bit different to me.”

If Mr Lupin thought it curious that Harry knew enough about who James and Sirius were at sixteen to make that sort of statement, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said, “When Remus told me that his friends had worked out his… condition… I very nearly withdrew him from Hogwarts. I was terrified of his secret being exposed, of the danger he would face from others if they knew what he was. I was surprised, to say the least, when Remus insisted these friends didn’t mind what he was. I could not imagine what those boys might be like, and was sure they were lying or using Remus. But here we are, almost thirty years later. Even with his secret becoming public, they’ve stayed by him. I never would have imagined, in a hundred years, people like that existed. I never would have thought…” He watched Tonks as she pulled herself away from Sirius and stumbled, but Remus caught her and the two laughed.

“I wasn’t sure I would ever see that smile again after Hope died.” Mr Lupin took another sip of his champagne. “I only came because I thought if he truly was getting married, he should have a piece of her with him, and I wanted to meet the person who had decided to spend her life with him. I thought she must be quite incredible.”

“She is incredible,” Harry said, “but she’s not the only person here who’d spend their entire life with Remus.” Harry saw Sirius take a seat beside James, exhaustion plain on his face, and James threw his arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “Sirius and my dad and my mum all made that commitment, too, just not with an official ceremony or anything.”

Now Mr Lupin stared curiously at Harry. “You’re an interesting young man, Harry. Not at all like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“The <i>Daily Prophet</i> has not exactly been kind in the way you’ve been depicted these last few years, and I have had no way to know for myself what you were like.”

“I dunno, you could have visited. You obviously knew where we lived.” It was perhaps not a polite response, not the sort of thing his grandmother would approve of, but Harry did not think it was untrue nor unfair. Harry thought of the careful and cold way that Lyall Lupin spoke about Remus’ “condition” and thought it sounded a lot like the way Remus talked about himself. Remus had learned quite a lot from his father, and none of it, at least that Harry had seen, was particularly good. So perhaps it was for the best that Ted and Andromeda approached their table just then, for both Harry and Lyall Lupin’s sake.

Andromeda kissed Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for all your hard work. You put up with Tonks and I spectacularly.”

Harry did his best to smile at her. “Did Cedric get good pictures?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Ted said, holding up a small round tin of film. “But we thought we’d best leave the rest of the party to you young folk.”

“I suppose I should take that as my cue as well,” Lupin said, and pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “Though I think Alastor must be twice as old as I am.”

Andromeda laughed. “Mad-Eye’s said he’ll stay until Proudfoot’s sober. Poor thing doesn’t seem to know his limit.”

Harry watched Proudfoot sway on his feet, then lean against the table to keep from falling over. He still didn’t know what Proudfoot had done to upset Tonks so much, but he hoped that Proudfoot deserved it.

Ted, Andromeda, and Lyall said their good-byes, and Lily and James walked them into the house to Floo home. Harry drummed his fingers on the table nervously. Everyone who remained, except for Proudfoot, was in the Order. Everyone left was part of the plan to get his family out from under the Ministry’s watch. He wondered how much longer the celebrations would go on for.

Not long, apparently. As James and Lily returned from escorting their guests out, Proudfoot promptly collapsed into the grass.

“Well,” James announced to the party, “I think that means it’s time for all of us to go.”

[aweebwrites]

Snowflake

Warning: Blood and gore! Though more blood than gore buT STILL

___________________________

It drifted slowly down from the air, the pale light of a cloudy day, its glow having its pale surface to shimmer like a jewel. It was as beautiful as one, daintily drifting down as it was. But it was untouchable. For the second he would reach out to touch it… It would be destroyed...

“Cole?” Green eyes looked away from the gray skies to focus on the vivid blues watching him with a hint of concern. “Are you alright?” The pale male asked him, his breath coming out in puffs of swirling mist.

Unlike Cole himself, he wore a light jacket and gloves, the cold of winter not bothering him much at all. His bright blue eyes reminded him of the summer skies but his pale skin and platinum blond hair made him look like the perfect effigy of winter. Cole chuckled, watching him blink away a snowflake that fell on his long, almost white lashes.

“I’m fine. It’s just, it’s not everyday we get to enjoy snowfall this light.” Cole told him with a smile, watching him rub his eye.

“I guess so…” Zane murmured then looked up too. “... I kinda hate winter…” He whispered and Cole frowned a bit, hearing him perfectly well.

He didn’t know that…

Zane turned to him then and smiled, nudging his shoulder from the park bench they sat on, pulling a smile from him too.

“That’s better. We should enjoy the time we have left with smiles.” Zane told him lightly, his pale cheeks pinking up from the steady drop in temperature.

Cole smiled ruefully, both of his hands tucked into his thick jacket lined with dark fur. He had a point. Winter break won’t last forever. He blinked, noticing that the snowfall was increasing before pulling his phone out and checking the time.

December 19th, 12:32pm.

They still had time to go somewhere inside.

“Let’s go warm up with some hot cocoa. There’s a shop not too far away that makes them really tasty.” Cole suggested as he got up and Zane smiled as he did the same.

“And I suppose this shop also sells cake, hm?” Zane teased as they walked side by side, their shoulders brushing as they did.

Cole laughed then, knowing he’s been found out.

“You know me so well.” He mused, looking down at the pale beauty as he chuckled.

“I know you too well.” Zane corrected as they came to a crosswalk to get to the other side of the street where the shops were.

“No shame in that.” Cole grinned and Zane huffed.

They both walked up to the crosswalk- but then Zane slipped on thin ice that was almost invisible on the sidewalk and right into the road. Cole stepped out, reaching for him with a cry of his name- but it was too late. Zane sat up- and a speeding truck slammed into his body, splashing his blood everywhere. Over the signs, over the ground over… Him. Cole stared down at his body with wide eyes, his body shaving violently as the smell of his blood filled his nose, dripped down the side of his face and pooled around his mangled corpse in the road. His stomach lurched, his head was spinning. He could hear people screaming, could hear the commotion as he stood there, staring, feeling his limbs, his entire body going numb.

“This can’t be real…” His voice sounded far away, just like his body did.

It felt as if he was somewhere else watching this. It can’t be real. Just seconds ago, everything was ok… Just seconds ago… Just… His vision went dark but just before it did, he saw an ominous green figure.

________

Cole jolted awake, blinking up at the ceiling as his heart thudded against his chest. What… What was that? It was… A dream? He sat up slowly, his head throbbing as the sheets pooled into his lap. Flashes of blood and a corpse had him squeezing his eyes shut tightly, pressing his face into his hands. It was just a dream. Just a dream. He took a slow breath then blinked once he heard his phone chime from next to him. He picked it up, seeing a message from Zane.

‘Meet me at the park today?’

His eyes caught the time and date.

December 19th, 11:39 am.

He hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the new message before he gave in and tapped on it with his thumb.

‘Sure. Be there by 12.’

______

It was strange. A sort of dejavoo sitting next to Zane as he was, holding the same conversations as they did in his dream. It… Unnerved him.

“Cole?” He looked across at Zane who was looking at him in concern. “Are you alright?” Zane asked him and Cole gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m alright.” He told him, bumping their shoulders together, smiling softly as Zane chuckled.

Cole looked up once the snow began to come down heavier and he knew they couldn’t stay here. He frowned. This was…

He blinked then smiled wanly once Zane nudged him.

“That’s better. better. We should enjoy the time we have left with smiles.” Zane told him lightly, his pale cheeks pinking from the stead drop in temperature. “I know. There’s a store nearby that makes good hot cocoa. They serve your favorite kind of cake too. That'll lift your spirits.” He says as he stood, pulling Cole up to his feet.

Cole wasn’t looking forward to going there but if it made Zane happy… He followed along, pulling out his phone to check the time and date again.

December 19th, 12:32.

The numbers sent a chill down Cole’s spine. He looked up, seeing them approaching that side walk again. Flashes of the slide, the truck, the blood, his body-

“Cole? Are you ok? You started breathing heavily all of a sudden…” Zane says with worry and Cole shook his head.

“Let’s go home instead. My place.” Cole says and Zane blinked but nodded.

“Sure, yeah.” He agrees, letting Cole tug him away from the crosswalk.

Cole didn’t miss the truck as it drove past them while they walked and he relaxed as they headed further into the city. They just had to go around the block and they’d be at his place in no time. They just-

Cole startled as people began to yell and scream out of nowhere. He looked up to where they were pointing, stumbling back as large metal poles rained down from the tower under construction and-

He heard the sickening squelch and the cut of cry of pain that followed, looking in time to see Zane fall over, one of the poles going straight through his chest and abdomen, Cole’s scream lost over the ringing and clanging pipes as they fell over each other and settled, blood from the deep cut on his cheek not even registering to him through his shock. He rushed towards Zane as he struggled for breath, the only thing now leaving Cole’s mouth being a constant stream of ‘This can’t be happening’-

But then he saw the green figure again, almost completely transparent and looking exactly like him grin wide at him.

“This is the real thing!” They laughed and Cole’s head throbbed and spun as his vision began to fade out.

He looked towards Zane desperately, the latter pushing himself up with one hand, blood trickling down from the corner of his lips. He wasn’t sure if he saw right but…

It looked as if he was smiling…

_______

Cole jolted awake again, heart pounding hard against his chest again as his body was washed in cold sweat. That- It happened again! It wasn’t a dream! His breathing picked up dramatically as panic engulfed him. He had to get to him! Had to save him! Before it was too late- again! He pushed himself out of bed, quickly grabbing his clothes and putting them on before shooting Zane a quick text to hurry and meet him at the park. He didn’t even take his jacket.

____

“Cole! What happened? Are you-”

“No time!” Cole yelled, grabbing him by the arm and taking off running, staying away from the crosswalk and the city this time, heading out to the over ground train station situated near the edge of the city. He had to get him away, had to save him! He couldn’t let him die again! Not again!

“Cole! Cole slow down! At least tell me where we’re going!” Zane yelled as he struggled to keep up with his pace but Cole wouldn’t answer him.

Couldn’t. He was winded from panic and from running still but he couldn’t stop. Refused to. They both panted once they finally reached the high rise train station, Cole pulling him to the top of the stairs that held the small station itself.

He panted heavily as he reached the top- only to gasp once he saw that green version of himself again, grinning widely at him. Maybe it was the exhaust ion, or the shock- or both- but his hold on Zane’s hand slipped and Cole watched horrified as Zane fell back down the high flight of stairs. He tumbled all the way to the bottom, falling hard on his back with his head tilted at an awkward angle along with a leg and arm of his, blood running from the corner of his lips. Cole stared down at his still form as he laid there, the snow coming down now and clinging to the lashes of his wide open, lifeless eyes. He screamed as his vision began to fade.

_____

It was an endless cycle. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he kept having to watch Zane die. Over and over and over again, he had to watch him die. It’s been decades of this and Cole had long lost his sanity. All he wanted, all he wanted was to protect him. To save him. That’s all he wanted. Zane didn’t deserve this. Deserves life. To live. He doesn't deserve to die as he does. All of his deaths were horrible and bloody in the worst ways. He hated it so much. Hated being not able to actually do something to stop this.

Cole woke up sobbing. He couldn’t watch him die another time. Couldn’t take it. Couldn’t stand it. He sat up sluggishly, not bothering to wipe the tears away from his face that had a haunted expression etched deep. Somewhere between his last few deaths and now, he began to realise something. He got dressed as he always does, not caring enough to put on his jacket and answered Zane’s text. He can’t prevent Zane’s death, no matter how much they ran from it, no matter how much they hid from it… He gave Zane a tired smile once he met him at the park again as they always do for the past few decades.

Of course the blond immediately began fussing over his appearance, attempting to give him his jacket- but Cole stopped him, placing a large hand on his shoulder so he couldn’t take it off.

“Please Cole, talk to me. What’s going on?” Zane whispered as he looked up at him, blue eyes filling with tears and Cole sighed softly, pressing his forehead against Zane’s.

“I’ve always wanted to ask…” Cole whispered, looking down into Zane’s tear-filled eyes, swiping the tears away with his thumbs once they escaped. “Could I… Could I-”

Zane hadn’t let him finish, reaching up instead to cup his cheeks and pull him down against his lips, his chapped cold ones slotting perfectly against his thinner, warmer ones. Cole cupped the back of Zane’s head as he deepened the kiss, pressing his body flush against him as he kissed him as if the world was ending, as if his world was ending. They didn’t have long before something would come and steal Zane away from him yet again. The knowledge of that had Cole reluctantly pulling back from his lips, looking down at him fondly as Zane’s eyes fluttered open.

“I love you Zane.” He breathed against his lips and Zane’s eyes widened with surprise before tears filled them. “Let’s go to a shop nearby. They have great hot cocoa to get us warmed up.” Cole told him with a smile before Zane could ask again what was wrong.

“Cole-”

“Come on.” Cole grinned, taking his hand and walking towards the crosswalk not too far away.

Zane reluctantly went, hot tears falling down his cheeks. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like anything about Cole behaviour but… He reached up to touch his lips. That was the first time he ever kissed him… He even said… Zane swallowed down a sob as it came.

“Cole.” Zane says as he pulled away from his hand, walking around to face him as he walked still. “Cole I l-” His eyes widened once a step back resulted in him sliding backwards on ice, his eyes widened as he noticed a speeding truck heading right for him.

A large hand suddenly grabbed him then, pulling back towards the sidewalk as Cole himself darted out to take his place. Zane’s eyes widened as he whirled around, just in time to see the truck slam into him, the spray of blood from the hit dyeing his pale skin and hair red as he stared, horrified.

Cole saw his horrified expression, saw his own body twisted and mangled from the impact as he landed heavily on the road, his body sliding quite the distance away, smearing blood along the streets as it did. He could see that green version of himself standing near by, that version of himself that always laughed at his failed attempts and told him “Serves you right” watching him as his vision began to fade, sizzling tears rolling down his cheeks. He smiled as he began to go numb, his heart long stopped. If this was what it meant to save Zane, so be it.

Zane covered his mouth with blood smeared hands as he sobbed, shaking from the shock of it, his body feeling as if it were on the verge of collapse. He shook his head then darted for him, feeling his vision begin to go dark as he reached a hand out to him, that mechanical version of himself standing nearby with his head hung.

“Cole!” Zane sobbed, not sure if he was even running anymore. “I lov-”

______

Zane woke up with tears in his eyes. He blinked at the ceiling, the warm liquid falling down the sides of his face. He felt a weight in his palm. His phone. He held it up and looked at the time and date.

December 19th, 10:37am.

He set his phone aside before he sat up slowly, resting his head against the side of his window right next to his bed. More tears rolled down his cheek as he looked outside, a snowflake drifting down slowly just outside his window. He watched it as it did, shimmering in the pale light of day like the untouchable, fragile gem it was. Zane placed a hand on the glass of his window, his lips trembling as he did.

“I… I failed this time too…” He whispered to himself before he broke, hunching over as he sobbed.

The blue, mechanical figure of himself walked towards his bed, grinning wide in the face of his misery.

___________________________ (This fic was heavily inspired by Heat-Haze Days, that Volcaloid song and this fan video for it. It just popped up in my Youtube playlist and I couldn't not. Did I hurt myself writing this? Yes. Was it worth it? Also yes. As for the ghost and nindroid thing, I know they represent the Heat Haze in the video but here, I like to think of them as the evidence of their mind break. They're that little part of their consciousness that thinks they deserve this somehow given a more physical form. Ghost Cole ended up crying at the end to symbolize Cole morning for himself, the agony of death however, being nowhere near what he feels watching the love of his life dying over and over again. Anyways enough of my rambling! Thanks for reading!)

[bornpariah-a]

@inquistior​ :  After visiting the library to gather the reading that Solas has assigned him, Hal returns a few minutes later to place a fresh cup of in the place of the mug that had gone cold on whatever desk Dorian has chosen for the day. He leaves it while the mage is busy with one of the researchers, and slips away with nothing but a stifled smiled.

        ❝   ——— Very well, tell Lord Alexius that we’ve made some headway,   ❞   ignoring the dull ache that thudded through him at the mention of his old mentor’s name is easy enough, considering that it occurs at least thrice per week. The first several times he had half forgotten that Alexius is no longer a Magister, anymore. Not really.   ❝   However, his idea of amplifying magickal energies using Fade touched crystals is incredibly dangerous, there have been plenty of studies regarding that if he bothered to read any,   ❞   the mage he’s speaking to ——— Dylan, perhaps, or maybe it was Dianah, something with a d he’d recall in several minutes when the conversation was over and he could straighten out his mind once more ——— gives him a deadpan stare, as if to say that I’m not a messenger and why are you utilizing me as one, to which Dorian simply stares back, brow quirked.   ❝   Well? We haven’t got all day, do we?   ❞

        Things like that are precisely why he isn’t especially popular, though popularity is hardly something that he worries about, is it? Not anymore, that is, so far removed from his own society and entrenched in another which abhors him as a rule, thereby making him thoroughly unpopular with no real means of fixing such a thing if he cares to. But, that’s neither here nor there.

        He exhales a sigh, chest rising and falling dramatically, rubbing his forehead as he makes it way back to his commandeered desk, his standard wards shimmering as he goes, feeling ever so slightly different, a sign of someone having passed through them in his absence. A cursory glance his papers and books inform him that they are entirely untouched, not a page out of order, though he runs his fingers lightly over the long dried ink, besides. It takes several moments for him to scan the whole of the area, only to land on an extra tea cup, which he truly should have noticed in the first place, and likely would’ve if he weren’t so preoccupied with ensuring that his work hadn’t been tampered with in the meantime. Steam is rising from it, unlike its abandoned sibling lying, forlorn and cold, on the table beside, though they are both clearly the same type of tea. He tilts his head, regarding it with blatant suspicion.

        It’s not as though he’s expecting to be poisoned, but given his upbringing and the ire he earns down south by breathing it wouldn’t surprise him if someone foolhardy were to TRY in spite of his position in the Inquisition. And it’s one of several options which pop into his head all at once, barraging him with an array of possibilities which he discards one after another. Dorian stares at it for several moments too long before waving his hand over it, magick stretching to check for any unsavory additions to it. It’s not stripweed tea, he knows as much by smell alone ( and it would take an impressive amount of digging for most anyone to figure out that he’s highly allergic, thus it would have to be random chance to give him a drink which would outright kill him ) and after several moments he’s determined that it’s simply tea. His favorite brew, made perfectly and left waiting for him : innocuous.

        Which, truly, only leaves so many options : Cole, trying to make his day better, a scenario which is somewhat likely were it not for the fact that he knows that Cole is preoccupied today, though he still wouldn’t put it past him ——— a secret admirer, more likely than Cole in the grand scheme of things, given that he is Dorian Pavus, after all, but who in their right mind would court him by leaving tea lying around for him lest they knew that he had a bad habit of letting his own go cold ——— or, Maker forbid, the Inquisitor.

        Yet, that’s the only option remaining, isn’t it? Dorian is something of a fan of LOGIC and while he half denies the origin of this gift ( could this be considered a gift? ) it’s simply a thoroughly Halwn Trevelyan thing to do, to pass through and leave him his favorite tea, freshly brewed and ready for him to drink at any given time, and leave without a word. It’s ——— absurd and foolish and foolhardy, utterly ridiculous in the grand scheme of things, to take time out of the day in order to LEAVE HIM SOMETHING, never mind to take note of exactly what he likes and precisely how he likes it : blazing hot, though just beneath the threshold of burning the leaves.

        It ——— feels like courting.

        The thought rests oddly in his mind, abrupt and intrusive as he stares at the cup of tea as though it has thoroughly offended him by its mere existence, which is also ridiculous. Though not nearly so much as Halwn leaving him his favorite tea, as if he has hoarded this information within his mind, keeping stock of the things that Dorian likes. He picks up the teacup gingerly as he heads over into his alcove proper, flipping open the rarely used log book, eyes skimming what little is there and ——— well. The neatly signed Halwn Trevelyan rather answers that question, doesn’t it?

        Of course he would leave Dorian his favorite tea AND check out a book properly like a civilized person, all without instruction nor Dorian watching over him to make sure that it was all correct.

        Slowly, the cup raises and he pauses with the porcelain pressed against his lower lip, abruptly far too aware of his own heart beat, the cup steam warm against his mouth. It feels ——— far too private, almost SALACIOUS, and he feels no small measure of frustration rearing its head, scratching against his sternum as he tips the cup and drinks it.

        Perfect. Naturally.

        Dorian stares at it for several moments longer, mind bizarrely blank for several moments, the only remnant of his being alive the fact that his heart is thudding in his chest and his lungs continue to expand with each breath that he takes. A moment passes / and then another / and another before he downs the whole cup in one go ( an odd behavior, for him, rather erratic, but the tea has mostly cooled by now anyways and there’s no sense wasting it, now is there? ) and sets the empty cup on top of the log book, turning sharply on his heel and making his way towards the kitchens.

        Several looks are directed his way as he blustered into the rooms, oven hot and stifling as he glances around at the various bowls and instruments and ——— ah. There. An apple lifts from the bowl and drifts towards him as everyone in the kitchens stares at him and he smiles brilliantly,   ❝   My apologies, I was feeling a bit peckish... do excuse me,   ❞   he bows shallowly as he turns out of the room and the apple falls into his hand and he makes his way, at a perfectly normal pace, back to his alcove. The apple is thrown several times, absently, always landing perfectly back in his hand, and he gives Solas a passing wave before ducking into the stairwell, making his way back up and pushing open the window of his alcove, leaning out a bit, eyes scanning the area.

        He’s not especially hard to find, never is, speaking to someone or other, or rather being spoken to, likely having been waylaid on his way to some destination, and Dorian simply watches him for a moment. He can’t see him particularly well at this distance nor angle, what with the Inquisitor turned primarily away from him, but for a moment he can admire the slope of his shoulders and the way his hair catches the light and that’s all fine and well, basic PHYSICAL ATTRACTION is simple enough, isn’t it? Something to be worked out, if both parties agree to it, and that’s that. The problem is ———

        THE PROBLEM IS : a tea cup left beside the papers that he had been writing upon, everything else left untouched but for the log book that no one bothers to use having been written in perfectly to his standards ( reasonable standards, mind you ) with not a thing out of place, excessively thoughtful and mindful, a teacup pressed to his lips, the contents perfectly brewed albeit somewhat chilled due to time alone. The whole of that? A problem. A rather major one, at that.

        His mouth thins and he has half a mind to eat the apple himself but ——— no, instead the Veil ripples as he tugs at Halwn’s elbow and watches as the man shifts, not quite starting, as he looks around for the source of it all. Dorian knows he’ll look up here ——— Halwn’s not subtle and that’s a problem, as well ——— and the moment that their eyes meet he flings the apple with carefully applied magick. Luckily he had plenty of target practice in his youth, and the trajectory is utterly perfect, bearing in mind wind and whatnot. Surprise, he thinks, flits across the man’s face as he compulsively catches the object catapulting towards him, staring at it for several moments. Dorian leans against the window frame, arms crossed.

        They look at each other again ——— they always do and that’s part of the problem, as fucking well ——— and Dorian gives his widest, most charming smile, accompanied by a jaunty wave.   ❝   My thanks, Inquisitor !!    ❞   he shouts, subtle manipulation of the Veil allowing his voice to carry without him having to shout too loudly. People are looking, of course they are, and while he’s partial to giving a show, there’s no need to go overboard.

        And, he departs from the sill, closing the windows without fully gauging Halwn’s reaction, irritated by speed of his heart, pulsing against his chest. He could imagine it, anyways : the slight widening of his eyes, the softening of his jaw, that specific form of gentleness descending upon him. Dorian doesn’t need to see it at all, and hasn’t the faintest clue what he would do if he had.

[im-a-fading-star]

lost at sea

you know, i have died a lot sooner than you or i might think. the thing is, you haven’t found my body. you’re not going to be able to. im describing the area and what i remember when i woke up outside of it being carried by a floating hospital bed, as if i were just as weightless within a dream, but you will never be able to find it. i will elaborate for you on that later.

my body is locked inside of a lighthouse tower, and the rainfall that occurred two days ago has dried out the landscape back to its barren core. the sand doesn’t even glisten within sunlight, it’s dreaded and nearly gray from what looks like centuries of being untouched. there are only two palm trees with wilted leaves and black roots that carry no life, no fruit to bare.

i can see fine out of the lighthouse window to what it looks like, just as i could without a window. its clear enough to feel like you’re not dreaming, but unconscious enough to feel like you are. it looks like it would’ve been populated long ago. the ocean still whispers, lush and loudly with its waves. there is no sea life though. no seashells or the echoes of a baby dolphin.

it looks like what once would’ve been a beach that i’d have been to with my family before their bodies too started decaying, now with the scenery of sand and ocean losing colors. it symbolizes my entire being - the memories are in front of me now, but they’re more dull and lifeless than before. this is where i always wanted to be.

i may have never been here, but i miss it anyways, you know? i feel like if i were here before what i assume would be the civilization fallout and the erasure of all humanity, it would be happier. i wouldn’t feel dead here - like one gravestone among a century spanning miles across earth. that’s where this is, and that’s what it is - but i’ve been given my own place to rot. the solitude i’ve always wanted is right here. its not exactly what i bargained for, but it’s the rules of the monkey’s paw. i felt no need to elaborate further on my anguish, i just wanted to be alone - to die alone.

now that i regret it, however, i wasn’t told that there was going to be another path - that this was a trap for the animal who dared follow the trail of alluring nutriments. i was too naive in my own pain to remember you. and i’m sorry. i did bring myself to my dying place, so technically, this is a suicide letter? i’m still not even sure. it’s not that i wanted to die, you know. i just wanted to disappear. but when i got what i wanted, i didn’t anticipate everything being ripped away from me except the memories of them. starving for them - like the meal in front of you that you just can’t reach through a wall and you’ve been malnourished for so, so long. and it’s all you have to look forward to before you die. its so cold out there, and its so warm in there with the fireplace, and oh god, why did i lock myself out? i don’t even remember what hunger feels like anymore.

i don’t remember what anything feels like anymore, really. i know this probably isn’t where my child self wanted to go to in the future - she would’ve been praying to some god out there that her soul wouldn’t be damned to purgatory so it wouldn’t lead up to this. now that i’m here though, and i have all the time in this timeless, grey dimension that lacks any appealing scenery, isn’t this what i deserve? all those times i’ve spent my life living just as a human would, taking more than i ever give out, taking advantage of anyone in my way, crying tears for nothing when i should’ve sucked it up - should’ve been stronger. all of that potential was wasted. i wish i went to where all my potential could be, dumped in the trash. not stranded in the midst of a nostalgic memory bucket - but then again, i’ve spent most of my life doing that.

so this is where i am now. i don’t physically feel what the steel floor of the lighthouse feels like. the light that populated it simply passes through my eyes like its not even a light - that its just part of the scenery. i don’t know what light or dark even is, because time doesn’t change here. the storms are occasional, but the lighthouse is never touched or budged an inch. nothing ever toppled, nothing ever moved, i never moved. i don’t want to move.

i wanted a dream i could never wake up from, and i got what i earned. i’m not allowed to fly with the birds above our overarching Mother Earth. no. i’m allowed to be buried more than 6 feet under. i don’t even have the luxury of a spider crawling on the back of my hand to keep me company. not a cockroach - not a scent, or a sensation, any new sights or anything new to hear except the same 3 sounds of the weather. thunder hardly even strikes here, not even on a blue moon. its just a feeling of numbed pain in different intervals. not even the memory of you brings any life to me anymore, because all i’m going to have are the memories of you.

where i live now isn’t with you anymore. that time where you came home from a long day of work to pet our 2 year old dog who was happy to see you on his hind legs and then laid in bed with me for the rest of the evening? neither of us knew it was gonna be our last. i just remember the warm sensation of you, but the shit i took for granted was wishing that i were dead and to free you of your burdens. i didnt a god was out there was analyzing all of my sins that would bring me to the perfect ‘resting place’.

you see, you can’t come here to save me. because this place does not exist, and i long to be where i don’t exist. this isn’t how i want to die particularly, but this is a glimpse into the future - and it looks like its the only way my bastard soul is headed towards. what is with you now physically is laying her head at the dinner table, the gaze that of a dying person in a ward who wanted to be deceased long ago. but maybe she was. the point is, you cant get her back, because this is what her mind and soul are accustomed to from now on.

the body is still with you, making dinner, but staring at nothing - because nothing is possessing her except fragmented memories and regurgitated speeches with you. my spirit lurks in the spirit of our childhood beach 20,000 years later in a grey wasteland that is no longer human, trapped like rapunzel but never able to be free. its my status quo where i feel null and devoid of everything to ever want to feel again - to lose you first and to suffer any more heartbreak than my fragile soul is ever able to handle.

i’m sorry that i can’t hear your thoughts, that i don’t know where you are now or how you’re coping, but i’m gone now, and staying gone is all i feel like i want to be. i love you, darling. i love you and the rest of the family that lives with us or checks in with us, who maintained their happy and healthy lives as they should. i hope you’re still able to in your materialistic and beautiful earth, while i’m stranded beyond our mortal plane where no soul has possibly ever gone, unless they were as bad as me. 

i’m in the doubling point lighthouse, and i won’t come back.

[myherorp]

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on villain, noface.

get to know them !

faceclaim: krystal jung, actress

name: go horang

villain name: noface

gender & pronouns: female, she/her

age: 26

association: sister anarchy

occupation: nurse at a private clinic

reputation: true to her codename, noface is never not seen with a mask on—hiding most everything but her eyes. she’s notoriously prickly as a person and runs a rather short fuse. namely, she seldom works with anyone outside of sister anarchy and even then, shows more teeth than necessary when partnering up. as a villain, she’s quite noncommittal to the “villain handbook” with little interest in taking cities and more of a preference in watching things burn.

the quirk !

quirk name: abyss (no return)

quirk description: in layman’s terms, noface’s body is a gateway to a pocket universe that only she can access. by “opening the gate” to the pocket dimension, she can either black holes that suck up everything in its path or simple portals.

abilities: 

black hole creation/manipulation: noface is able to create and manipulate black holes of various sizes, be it on her person or in her general vicinity. said black holes will suck in and disintegrate anything (matter, energy, light) in its path at an atomic level. at her level of proficiency, she is able to control the danger level of her black holes—from level 1, a stagnant black hole with no end (and will only suck in things it comes in contact with) to level 10, which is high suction levels and no means to escape (lest she closes it). she is able to mold said black holes into various shapes, though namely spheres and disks.

void form: noface can render her body “void”, in which her body (head down) is “eaten” by her quirk and basically becomes a homogenous form of a human-sized black hole. which then makes her invulnerable to most attacks.

void sphere: able to mold black holes into manageable “void spheres” the size of baseballs, noface can manipulate said spheres up to a certain range. unprovoked, they simply float about harmlessly—once it touches any sort of matter, the sphere “pops” and turns into a mini black hole that grows with the more matter it sucks in.

personal void: being that it is her own pocket universe, noface is able to store items and/or beings in it and retrieve them later as she wishes. the portal to the void itself tends to be difficult to access/create and the only way seems to be to reach through a small ping-pong “hole” on her abdomen.

weaknesses: 

black hole creation/manipulation: it takes about 3 seconds for noface to open a black hole via touch (i.e. if she’s touching any matter, like a wall or a person) and 6 seconds from a distance (i.e. couple feet away). although this also depends heavily on size. opening the gate for a small hole as defense takes less than a second. the higher level of danger/suction, the longer it takes to open. the range of which the latter is possible goes as far as 60ft away. black holes opened by noface must be closed by noface, otherwise it will continue to suck up anything in its path. at the moment, she is only able to simultaneously open 4 high suction black holes without backlash. the more she pushes to create black holes, the more it eats at her energy and puts her quirk at risk of instability, possibly rendering her unable to close any of the black holes she’s created . it is also to note that pushed to the limit, the miniature doorway on her abdomen also tears and grows in size—running the risk of sucking herself in through the hole.

void form: noface is unable to fully render her body “void” as her head must always remain for her to be able to properly control the form. this leaves her vulnerable (and thus, she wears a mask composed of a tough alloy to protect her weak spot). this form can only be held for 10 minutes tops. and though it will suck in/disintegrate any attack, there is a limit to how much before the hole gets unstable and she is forced to revert from the form.

void sphere: the spheres she creates are infinite, though the more noface creates, the lesser the effectiveness of the spheres. the standard range is 60ft, but for personal comfort, noface usually opts to plant them in the 20ft-30ft category. using them as tripwire and keeping others at a distance; like a sort of active minefield.

personal void: the pocket universe is limitless, though entirely unsuitable for any living beings. noface mainly uses it for “storage” (though questionable, since everything just floats aimlessly, anything “stored” is quite difficult to dig out) and cannot hide in it either, as, again, she would not survive in it.

mutation: on noface’s body (lower left abdomen precisely) is a “living” black hole the size of a ping-pong. its suction and danger level is low, but tends to grow over a long duration of use of her quirk. she usually keeps it taped up to keep from it tearing into her favorite tops.

the history !

triggers: murder

the world exists in black and white. right and wrong. good and evil. often times the lines would blur, darkest blacks smear and corrode purest whites into varying blotches of grey. go horang lives in this exact world, where black distorts white and good lingers in evil.

the gos is an inspired tale. long winded story about star-crossed lovers of different affinities that’s managed to find each other in the harsh reality of the world. a cautionary tale of a villain and a hero. how their love fostered the birth of something that’s neither one or the other. how their love, idealized, cannot withstand the tests of time and morality. and the creature they bore, known as go horang, forever teeters precariously between white and black.

little monster. dad coins the name for her fondly. not because of her appearance or quirk, but because of her nastier, feistier personality points. young horang stands to be selfish and harsh as they come, festering poor relations with her classmates in grade school. not that it could be helped—to, have a “reformed” villain for a dad in the age of heroes. evil is evil, no matter how hard you try to do good. horang wished she understood the concept better then.

mom reigns with an iron fist. horang doesn’t see it in her younger years, but as she grows it’s easy to note the power imbalance. to see the extent dad goes to placate her. the power she has in the household. the black/evil she tries so hard to purge. in her husband, her daughter, her. the teachings she tries to engrain in her early on—stay prim, proper, good.

for the most part, horang is. was. for the most part, from birth to ages 12-14, she tried her best (barring complications of incidents where she’d lost her temper) to be the perfect daughter. to, like dad carefully explained time and time again, cater to mom’s demands. after all she gave up being a hero to be with me. but, what does that have to do with me, dad?

her quirk develops late compared to most, though that too, needs to be taken into account of the nature of her quirk. evidently, she had been unknowingly opening and closing the gates, generating tiny black holes that had been sucking up minor trinkets before evaporating. it wasn’t until the open “hole” developed on her abdomen was her quirk confirmed. and with it—differing reactions.

disappointment is inevitable. at the end of the day, horang is more like her dad than mom would’ve liked. down to quirks, which seems to be a spinoff of dad’s gravity quirk rather than mom’s energy quirk. and though till this day, she isn’t entirely sure of how things came to be—to completely fall apart so badly. how their self-proclaimed worth giving everything up for love backfired in the faces of the entire family.

horang can’t claim to know, can’t say she had been focused on the gradual decay of their love at home when she’s fixated with school. making it through, without any incidents that are too harrowing was a feat on its own. though, with her acceptance into u.y, things gradually slowed within the go house. with her being the glue that barely held things together.

u.y is a blur. daughter of a villain is a moniker horang carries on her back. it alienates her, though not so much as the semester continues. she makes friends, yes. but reserves are held there always. judgement is quick to be passed should any conflict arises. and the finger is always pointed at someone with bad blood pumping through her veins. year two, after failing to acquire her provisional hero license, horang returns home to years of broken trust, jaded love and quiet resentment blowing up in the living room. then, she makes a choice.

you can’t undo evil. certain lines aren’t meant to be crossed, certain sins are better left untouched, certain urges are supposed to be ignored. patricide is one. by the time horang realizes it’s too far (it’s not what she wants), she stands a trembling figure over pools of rich red. and by then horang realizes, a tough lesson as ever to learn—there is no white and black. there is no permanent good, no hero without any wrong. no villain without any good. go horang lives predominantly in grey. predominantly damned when she forces mom’s hand to join her in sin, to smear her whites with blobs of black the moment her quirk eats dad whole; rendering his existence to none and mom’s pride as a hero utterly diminished when she decides to cover it up for the daughter who saved her.

from there, it’s a steep decline. it’s three more months in u.y before she transfers out. three more months of mom being unable to look at her before she moves out. it’s a couple months (post graduation) of sidekick-ing before calling it quits. it’s the beckoning of new friends before committing her first second crime. it’s the couple after before it gets easier and easier. it’s the invitation to a sisterhood before she realizes—just as mom’s predicted—she’s exactly like her dad.

the personality !

seemingly unapproachable, the vibes that horang gives off is one of someone scorned, someone guarded and bitter. she’s intimidating as a person from gaze alone, though it doesn’t help that her tongue is exceptionally sharp (and so, she’s semi-unpleasant if she particularly loathes a person); and throughout the years has completely ditched the “good girl” teachings mom’s engrained in her. she has a preference for “weird” things, likes to collect bugs etc and has a semi-obsessive personality when it comes to things that she likes (things she must have). her sense of humor is more crude than most, being especially aggressive when it comes to competitions of any kind. not liked to be looked down at, she especially loses her temper when anybody talks down to her. all this, though, mostly comes from years of being talked down to by kids her age while being told to “be the better person” from her mom. though she currently works in a private clinic as a “cover”, her normal everyday persona is not much different with her coming off as cold to her coworkers.

[mysticmylifeisamess-enger]

Misguided Ghosts

Pairing: Jihyun/Reader (though mostly centered on Jihyun)

Word count: 2,319

Summary: Jihyun’s moving day and he still had one room left to pack.

A/N: This authors note is going to be a little long and very sentimental, so you can either skip this or bear with me. When I started this piece was around the time my grandparent’s house was being sold. My grandpa passed away in late July and my grandma couldn’t live there alone, so she had to let go of the place they called home for over 20 years, their first piece of property since immigrating to the states. This was a place I went to every holiday, new years, easters, birthdays, weekends and even within the weekdays because I grew up very close to it. 

At first, my grandma offered the house to my mom to finally have some stability after years, and my mom considered it. Around October, I finally went there after months of avoiding it. I didn’t want to see it empty or renovated but the inevitable happened where I had to go and I took one look around and the first thing I said to my mom was “we can’t stay here.” It was a place that held so many memories, so much had happened there, and I knew that it was supposed to stay like that. 

This piece took me months to write and I didn’t want my hard work to be in vein so I’ve decided to post it.

The place Jihyun had called home for so many years had started to feel less like one the emptier it got--Boxes taking the place of end tables, picture frames, and decor that he carefully chose when first moving in. The walls that once hung paintings and photographs were now an empty stretch of white throughout, outlined by what was once there. His house became a hectic mess of bubble wrap, packing peanuts, and cardboard that he wasn’t sure he’d see the end of.

Though, as moving day came around, that mess seemed much more bearable than before. Maybe it was the thought of moving into the city or your gracious offer to help, but it lifted a weight off his shoulders nonetheless. The thought of living in a new environment, somewhere to start fresh, with the love of his life excited him. A place to breath new life into, to find his muse, and to make entirely his own.

It was, in every definition, a new beginning. His chance to start over and properly learn from his mistakes. He wanted to wake up early in the mornings; brew some coffee and have the scent waft through the house. To pour himself some and sit out on the porch as he watched the sun rise over the horizon. His thoughts would roam as he took in the crisp, cold air before his feet padded along the wood floors to his art studio. He’d want to sit and create for hours, letting his brush dance along the canvas, until your presence brought him out of his trance, giving you a ‘good morning’ kiss at noon.

He wanted that for the rest of his life, for years to come when you two start a family and grow old together. And he knew from the moment he came back that this wasn’t the right place for it.

At this point, every space had been emptied, as if no one was here to begin with. But he knew fully well that wasn’t the case as he found himself lingering in every doorway with an almost wistful look on his face, nostalgic waves at the thought of every memory that sat behind each wall. He could almost see what sat there before, recalling memory after memory that took place in each room. The more memories he looked back on, the more he realized that it should stay exactly like that: a memory.

It used to seem so perfect but coming back to it after two years felt different. What was once a place he had built to be away from the world, to be completely alone with his love and to focus on his photography work now became a monument to everything he wasn’t. He outgrew every aspect of this home and it showed in every small detail. The cracks and chips that decorated through the walls and creases told a story he wouldn’t want to relive. A story that shaped who he is, but was so close to breaking him entirely.

There still remained one room almost untouched. One that he knew full well he had to go in and pack up sooner or later, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Every time he was about to open that door and walk in to box everything up, something in him told him not to. His home office was a space he couldn’t stay in long since coming back, as it held an unnerving air. A place he once spent hours in became a vacant, uninhabited room. And inevitably, he had to go in and do what he’d avoided for over a month.

As he made his way to it, he felt the pit in his stomach tighten, as if he was nervous to see just what lies behind it. His hand gripped the door handle, taking in a deep breath as he turned it, opening to a room that was kept in the same shape he last left it in. A room that remained uncared for over two years, evident in the dust and cobwebs that sat on every surface.

Old cameras and prints scattered the desk haphazardly, as if someone was trying to uncover some sort of mystery. Large framed pictures hung on the wall--though they all seemed outdated--an image that no longer held any truth. The plants and cacti he carefully decorated throughout the room had either dried up and withered away or stood tall and unfazed by the negligence. He smiled to himself to see them stand the test of time, wondering just how they could have remained when its surroundings and conditions were so harsh.

Setting down the cardboard box in his hand, he quickly went to clearing the drawers, opening the top one of his desk to find all sorts of knick-knacks that got shoved in there. Unused sticky notes and pencils littered throughout; books he hadn’t opened in years, even before leaving.

And shoved right in the back was a shoebox.

There was no label on it, but he knew just what they were. Upon opening, he saw all the polaroids he expected to find. The smiles and laughs captured in them, the seemingly laid back vibe they had, and the common long, blonde hair that was all too familiar.

Though the one that stood out among the pile of memories was one that looked perfect at first glance. A picture of himself and his then-fiancé, smiling at the camera as they held up their ring fingers to show the promise of their commitment for one another. The physical evidence that they were made for one another. Or so he thought.

It was a portrayal of their highest point, the happiest moment in that relationship, but it didn’t show just how truly despondent he was. The longer he stared at it, the more hints of sorrow he could see on himself. The pained smile that was wider than ever, but completely forced. The eyes that always had a spark of joy in them seem to have dwindled down to nothing.

For the longest time, he thought that was love. He thought that that’s exactly what he deserved, what he needed to go through in order to find the peace within it.

Putting down the photo, he felt a shiver down his spine from the chilling aura this box contained. He sat it atop the desk as he continued to rummage through the drawer, not yet set on keeping it or not. His attention went back to what was in front of him, the scattered mess that made him wonder if past Jihyun just dumped everything in here. He could only hope to be more organized in his new place.

Taking out a few more things, he found a small pile of cards that sat right at the bottom. The design that showed was all too familiar, a simple black print made to look like the aperture of a camera contrasting the white background. A simple logo he designed when starting his career.

He picked one up out of the pile, turning it over to see his old contact information and minimalist design. Along with it, a name and occupation he hadn’t even thought about in a while.

‘V, photographer.’

A name, a simple letter, that he hid behind for years like a mask that didn’t quite fit. It was his way of separating his identity of ‘Jihyun,’ cutting ties with his past to pursue photography under the guise of ‘V.’

Looking at the card, he could almost recall every time he spent hours editing just one picture to perfect it, only to move onto the next photo with the same intent. He never truly realized how to love his work until it was a brush in his hand instead of a lens.

He put the cards down along with the polaroids, continuing on to rummage through the next drawer. Upon opening, he only saw one thing that sat right in there. An old pair of dark-tinted glasses that he hadn’t used since he had surgery.

The lenses were covered in dust, wiping them off as he examined them. To him, this was a reminder of a time he refused to get better. When he let his self-loathing get the best of him and disregarded his own health in the process. He set them down with the rest, looking over the pile one more time with a thoughtful look.

Everything that sat there was the evidence of his growth, but he couldn’t help but feel nauseous at the sight. It was a showcase of every way he was different now, every step of his journey to self recovery led him to look at this differently.

It was as if another person had worked here, someone whose self-doubt and insecurities were reflected in every corner of the room. Someone who tried so hard to paint this perfect image, that strived to be an artist but never let themselves get there. The ache in his heart only seemed to get heavier at the thought that this person, who once was himself, now haunts this room. They cling onto every piece, hoping and praying that things will go back to the way they were. Someone who desperately tried to make it all right on their own, stubbornly carrying the burdens of others on their shoulders until it crushed them underneath.

Jihyun was so lost in these thoughts that he didn’t notice the cautious steps approaching him from behind. Inching closer, you could see how stiff his shoulders were, knowing that his face had to be holding those same taut lines. His tense demeanor thick in the air, feeling it cut through you as you crossed the room.

You placed your hands gently on his shoulders, feeling him relax under your touch as they ran down his back. Before he could turn around, you pressed flush against him as your arms wrapped around his middle, holding him tight as your head buried in the middle of his back. His own hands found yours, dragging them up to meet his lips as he pressed a few short kisses to them.

For once, the silence in the room felt comfortable. This gentle reminder brought him back to his current reality--the one that had a bright future ahead and let him know he wasn’t alone this time. Everything that sat in front of him no longer had any ties to what he was currently feeling. The smile on his face widened at the way your fingers toyed with his own, playing with the band on his left hand for a short second before they went back to holding him close.

“Your box is empty, is everything alright?” you asked, head coming around to lean against his arm and look up at him.

“I’m fine,” he said with a small chuckle, eyes meeting your own, “I’m just having a harder time cleaning this than I thought.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I guess it’s just harder to accept what I’ve been denying myself for years. All those times I could have changed, but it took years before I would allow myself that.” He paused, taking in a deep breath before gazing back down at the desk, “I just wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you again, only glancing from the side to see your face in deep thought before you spoke again.

“But it’s not like that anymore. You can look forward to the rest of your life and allow yourself that happiness you were seeking, and I’ll be here to help with that.” You smiled, coming around to face him, “You’re no longer alone on this journey, okay?”

A fond smile graced his face, leaning forward to press his lips to your temple in silent reassurance. Hearing it said out loud, vocalized by you, solidified his gut feeling that he was doing the right thing. And he knew just what to do now.

“All of this,” you motioned to the mess on his desk, “is in your past. And you can choose to let it have a hold on you, or learn to grow from it.”

His eyes followed the movement of your hands, landing back on the work before him with an intense gaze. You noticed the pensive look on his face, pushing yourself off the desk as you placed a quick peck on his cheek.

“I’ll let you finish up in here,” you said, turning on your heel towards the door, “In the meantime, do you want me to make you some tea?”

��You still haven’t packed the kitchen? The moving truck will be here any minute,” he said in mock exasperation, following it with a small chuckle.

“Says the one who is barely one drawer into their office,” you mused as you made your way down the hall, leaving Jihyun alone once again.

He could feel his shoulders release, as if you took whatever strain was on him and out of the room with you. The breath of fresh air and clarity was more than he could have asked for, looking to the pile once more before picking everything up. Holding it all felt heavier than it looked, though he knew not for physical reasons.

He turned to look at the empty box behind him, thinking for a second before he walked over to the trash bin beside his desk and all at once, dropping everything in. All the polaroids, cards and glasses he held onto for years and he simply let them go.

They no longer had a hold on him, no true ties to who he is now. He could now leave his past where it belonged. And with that, he felt the ghost in the room disappear, as if it finally found peace and could move on.

[pollylynn]

“No. It was always just her.” —Ziff Falgrad, Watershed (5 x 24)

Title: Link by Link Rating: T WC: 1000

She is trying to think of nothing, to focus and navigate this experience, opportunity, crossroads. She is trying to filter out noise, factors, complications, eyes forward, ears trained on whatever else is out there.

She is trying to think of nothing, but she thinks, of all things, of Lee Travis’s string of paper dolls. With her elbows drawn in against her body and her spine rigid in an attempt to make herself small enough for an an airplane middle seat to contain her, she thinks about their sharp lines and perfect symmetry unfolding in a shaft of light through a filthy window. She feels like those paper dolls, like countless versions of the same story, each incomplete, held together by the most fragile points of contact.

There is the razor-cut outline on the end, with only one hand to hold. That’s the version on the plane, there and back. It’s the iteration of her that Stack saw in the ten seconds he could see anything about her. It’s the version that stood before a wall of windows in tailored navy anonymity and matched Freedman’s handshake pump for bone-crushing pump. It’s who Gates sees—a meant to be doing, an if only, an I would have killed for. It’s the version of her who wasn’t lying when she told Freedman she knew why she was there.

And then there’s the version of her who is lying at every turn. The version who won’t call it lying. She’s in the middle, and she parses and litigates every syllable that does and does not come out of her mouth. It is nothing, and her phone was off. It’s not a lie, it’s an omission, an nobody—not a soul alive—tells everyone everything. And anyway, this is a long shot, it’s seeing what’s out there, it’s not courting drama every second of her life, and it is her life—her life—and how dare he try to make it about them?

She—that particular two-dimensional rendition—has tight hold of the hands on either side of her. She white-knuckles it with fatalism. She has already decided that talking about it, about them, about where they are going, what they are, could, should, would be is, at best, a pointless exercise. She has already decided that talking about any of it will be a bad thing.

It’s a version of her creased with age and faded with waiting. She has watched with sinister eagerness for him to be all that he’s always seemed to be. She has kept—still keeps—a sharp lookout for every foible and misstep—his, hers, theirs. She hisses I told you so and It won’t be long now in the dark of night. She has kept an eye out for the exact moment their partnership—their soul-deep friendship—begins to rot and crack and crumble to miserable pieces and then to nothing, punishment for the sin of reaching out for more.

She is the version that has long since decided that someone always leaves, and it’s her turn. Her turn, and she must choose, he will make her choose, and even if he doesn’t, he will hate her.  She is the version in black and white that clamors It’s one or the other, one or the other, one or the other. Someone always leaves.

In between, there are too many versions to count, every one flat and glossy with a razor-cut outline. There’s the one Lanie treads lightly with, though it’s more than she deserves in her adolescent absurdity. The one that Esposito extends a hand toward again and again, though it’s neither in his nature nor in hers to keep trying when they both know she’ll slap it away every time.

There’s the one whose heart breaks at every sweet moment with Castle that feels like the last bell tolling—every time they finish each other’s sentences, and he smiles at her like he knows her mind, her heart, her soul in its entirety. And there’s the one who knows that her dad means to shock her to the core—to shock her out of this black spiral of her own making—when he tells her that she hides in her work, that she always does this, that she’ll have to live with it—with Castle hating her. She knows exactly what he’s doing, what they are all trying to do, and none of it is of any use to her at all.

At the far end, with only one hand to hold, there is a Kate under glass. She is a story high up on a shelf with an uncracked spine. She is shut up tight between tantalizing, untouchable silver covers. She is a Kate who could have been more if not for that January night, and the Kate who has wanted to be more since the day she met him. She is a Kate who has been silenced, neglected, deferred, denied, and she is pounding her fists against the glass, even now.

She is a Kate wracked with sorrow when her dad says that her mother would be proud, because she knows that’s not entirely true. She knows her mother would have loved, forgiven, poked and prodded and held her through all of this, and in the end, she would have said in her crisp, no-nonsense way, Katie, what’s this all about? Why would you do this to yourself?  

She is the Kate. The woman who could have both–and–more–all if only every version stretching out from the center, every other hand linked to hand linked to hand weren’t some kind of coward.

She is the Kate he sees, has always seen, will always see, no matter what happens next.

She is the Kate he has come to meet. The one he calls out for, down on one knee with a ring in his hand. Whatever happens, whatever you decide, Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?

A/N: Not gonna lie, this was a very tough slog that involved me roaming the house looking for my copy of Hitchcock/Truffaut at 3 AM. I know it’s a lousy ending, but it’s an ending, and I thank you all for reading.

images via homeofthenutty

[vore-yeol]

Growing Friendship (Sehun/Growth)

Warning: There is giant and tiny interactions within this story. If you are uncomfortable with this content feel free to blacklist some of the tags!

My phone was silent, had been for a moment too long. I fiddled with the simple piece of plastic and mechanical chips for the thousandth time waiting for another message from Sehun but it never came. I knew I shouldn‘t have been nervous, Sehun had the tendency to be fashionably late, and that didn‘t change with texting. 

I couldn‘t fight the bundle of nerves that settled in my gut and unlocked my phone again scrolling through our chat history. The last message had been from me asking if he wanted me to bring anything more to the hangout, it had been left unanswered for thirty minutes and I had already begun my journey by foot to his place. 

I pocketed the phone and wandered into his neighborhood. The crisp white houses stood in perfect lines on each side of the cracked black street, they framed Sehun’s house at the very end like his place was the epitome of cookie cutter glory. I smiled despite the heavy pit that settled in the bottom of my gut. 

It really wasn‘t normal for him to ignore my texts for this long. His house seemed fine though, it seemed intact and his black and sleek car sat in the driveway untouched. Everything looked fine. So I made my way towards the building that was essentially my second home. The closer I came the more my body felt heavier and my stomach felt lighter in comparison. It was tingling, like I had just downed a bottle of coke and mentos. But I had done no such thing, in fact I had come over so we could meet up and eat out for lunch. 

I paused at the edge of his yard and looked around, everything seemed normal. Nothing was out of place though the slim blades of grass were a little overgrown but that was typical. He wasn‘t exactly known for having a green thumb. 

I breathed in letting the abandoned cool of morning sink into my lungs, and the heat of the coming afternoon feather itself out upon my exposed skin. I took one step into his yard and repeated till I was finally upon his clean and bare porch. I looked around still feeling that strange tingle prick my skin and trickle down my spine. Nothing was off. 

My fingers reached up and curled against the white wood of his door. The sound resonated and nothing came back in return. My stomach sat heavy inside of me. I knocked again, this time calling his name out. Nothing.  “Sehun!” I shouted his name feeling my patience and nervousness twisting into a fragile anger. “This isn‘t funny! Answer the damn door!”

This time something responded. It wasn‘t his voice though, something shook the ground. It shook the house. It was the otherworldly sound of foundation splintering. My heart stopped in my chest, what the hell was that? I raised my fist, noticing only then the way it shook precariously. I hesitated. Unsure if knocking was safe if I knocked too hard what if the place fell apart entirely? I let my head shift, gaze scanning the neighborhood but everything else seemed fine. Nothing was wrong. But that shake couldn‘t have been my imagination.

Fear sat curdled in my gut, I felt ill with nerves. But that sickening crack set me entirely on edge-I didn‘t know whether I should run or burst in to make sure Sehun was ok and safe. His house shaking and creaking like that was not by any means normal. My hand still shook in its loose fist, the other rested by my side held in a tighter version of its twin. I squeezed my eyes shut, ignored the way my body screamed at me to run and knocked again.

This time a groan greeted me. It sounded like Sehun but it was off. It was off again. It sounded too large, too big. He didn‘t shout or scream, it was just inherently loud. I swallowed my trepidation and convinced myself he needed me that that groan was a cry for help even if it sounded wrong. I stepped back and braced myself, I silently encouraged myself that this was the right thing to do. I charged and slammed into the door with all my weight, it took a second go before the door finally opened and I went sprawling on the ground.

I could already feel the bruises beginning to form on my body from the impact. I groaned and closed my eyes for a moment. I let the swirling darkness sooth my nerves, I had already made it into his house now all I needed to do was find him and check on him. Before I could force my eyes open and do just that a surprised gasp caught my attention.

My eyes snapped open, and I tilted my head up to see where the sound had come from—what greeted me was something from nightmares. Sehun was staring at me, but he wasn’t normal. His body was too big, too large, it took up most of the hallway I now lay on the floor of. His limbs were bent awkwardly in an attempt to fit into the too small space, but the floor was sinking under his weight. The floor boards had splintered and cracked in half in a futile attempt to support his new found weight and size. The plastered walls were cracked and falling apart, the ceiling was sending spurts of choking white dust down upon the floor. His large brown eyes stared at me, his lips that were barely smaller than the length of my body were parted in shock at the sight of me. 

Blood rushed from my face, it slammed into the heels of my feet. Tears sprung to my eyes immediately, fear slammed into me full throttle and flung me backwards away from him. My hands and body still in shock at what I was staring at struggled to find the edge of the hallway so I could escape this. My blood ran cold, all heat was sapped from my body when I realized the door had slammed shut behind my entrance. I was trapped.

I blinked countless times, hoping to erase what I was seeing—this had to be some cruel prank or a trick of the light. But no matter how many times I blinked he was still there, and too big. This wasn’t humanly possible, but he just stared back at me for a moment. My ears were ringing, my heart pounding, my body frozen. The tears that pricked the corners of my eyes slipped out and slid down my icy cheeks, dampening the loose fit of my t-shirt. 

“Kristy, It’s—” he began, but I screamed instead. I cut him off. Terror came for my lungs, it squeezed the air from me so violently that I couldn‘t choke of the grating sound. He spoke. He spoke, and it was Sehun’s familiar deep tone. This was real. 

He flinched back as though I was the scary one in this situation. I couldn’t fathom thinking I was scary given how huge he was right now. His lips twisted into a subtle frown and his eyes opened again when my voice had gone hoarse and shut off. He stared at me and I felt myself shrink further back, I could’ve sworn my spine had pressed through my skin and was now adhered to the wood of his front door. 

“Kristy, I,” he paused as if trying to grasp onto something logical to say in this situation. But my eyes were focused on his lips and how every time he opened them to speak all I could picture was him forcing me past them. Sealing me to a dark and dank fate that ended in acidic damnation.

“I don’t know what happened,” he pauses. I still can’t believe this is him. My heart feels glued to my rib cage, my head feels light and my vision seems to swim. This can’t be real. This is a dream. As if to throw away suspicion his fingers twitch and come near me, I scream and push further back into the smooth wood of his front door. He immediately pulls back as though the sound was a jab to his heart.

“Kristy please, you fell hard,” I can’t fathom speaking right now. My voice is gone, trapped in my throat and locked inside my head. Even if I wanted to say something to him I couldn’t, my throat closed with a shaky swallow. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. This had to be a dream, not a dream, a nightmare. I had fallen asleep on my couch and just happened to be thinking of Sehun. My sick twisted mind was doing this, this wasn’t a reality-it was fake.

“Kristy,” he said my name again and more tears streaked down my face. I opened my eyes feeling wholly shaken. This wasn’t real. Yet the dark brown eyes I had known my whole life were staring right at me. That scar he had from when I pushed him a little too hard as children still adorned his cheek. This was Sehun. “Kristy please, I genuinely don‘t know what happened, and you fell hard just let me look at you.”

I shook my head in adamant protest. Despite this his fingers that were longer than me reached out, and I let out another shrill cry. He flinched back again, this time his eyes stayed shut longer. He pulled his hand back, knocking some loose plaster onto the ground-I watched for a moment as the dust upon it flew up in a white cloud before settling onto the newly disheveled ground. I heard his shaky inhale, my eyes snapped back to him. 

His eyes were still closed, those long lashes fanned out over his cheeks. His lips curled in then let out, the bottom lip visibly shaking. A weird groan lashed out from the walls of the house and I realized it wasn’t the house-it was him. His whole body seemed to expand in that moment. The ceiling cracked, the veins from earlier expanding and spilling more choked dust upon the already wrecked hallway. One of the walls gave way crumbling upon his growing form, I sealed my lips, and closed my eyes hoping his sudden growth and expansion would stop before he got any closer to me.

It took a moment for the sound to calm and that‘s when I heard it-the beginnings of a sniffle. Then the withered breaths of someone on the brink of tears, a hissed in breath filled the space and I couldn’t keep my eyes closed any longer. 

Once I opened them I saw the way he was coated in a thick layer of white, the way bits of his skin were beginning to bruise and swell. I saw the way he sat uncomfortably, scared to wreak more havoc. His bottom lip trembled and then a single fat tear rolled down his cheek and wavered on his chin before staining his jeans which seemed to have grown with him. 

My heart clenched, and I suddenly felt a cool shame wash over me. What was I doing? Sehun was my childhood friend. My best buddy. We had gone through thick and thin together, I could remember when he stood up to my bullies after they had dubbed me an idiot for not being able to read super well. Sehun had always been by my side, even through real rough situations. Yet, here I was, screaming in terror as he went through an incredibly rough one. Instead of helping him like I should or comforting him-he was comforting me and I was screaming in fear. 

He was in pain. In a confusing situation and I was being a massive dick. I swallowed hard, ignoring the chalky dust that seemed to now coat my insides and slowly forced myself onto shaky legs. He deserved to have a friend in this moment, no matter how large he was-I took a step forward and watched as his eyes peeled open. My little movement created a subtle creak, and he heard it. 

My heart broke seeing the whites of his eyes lined in watery red. I felt horrid, absolutely horrid. He watched on, his lips parted in shock as I slowly made my way across the cramped and falling apart hallway to him. His large hands now rested awkwardly beside me, and instead of crawling into his lap I let my fingers stretch out, albeit shakily, and touch the palm of his hand. I felt something slither inside me at the contact. I had to reassure myself that this was Sehun. He wouldn’t hurt me. I moved closer, feeling incomprehensibly small as I could see the lines and crevices in his palm too clearly now. His skin was rough and startingly warm. 

I pushed closer, letting my whole body touch to his hand. I let my miniscule fingers squeeze the skin gently, hoping he could feel the small action. I attempted to give him some sort of affection at my size and he seemed to eat it up with a cautious happiness. No more tears fell, his features were frozen stiff except for the corners of his massive lips were beginning to turn up. 

“I’m,” I spoke the word feeling as though it wasn’t even my voice. “I‘m sorry.”  It took a moment, his fingers then twitched and I couldn‘t control my reaction. My whole body tensed, my eyes snapped shut quickly and before I could react and apologize for it he let his hand relax. 

“I-it’s ok,” he whispered the words as best he could. “I know it’s scary…I don’t even know how to react to it.”

I inhaled slowly and turned my head to look up at him, making sure my body was pressed against his palm to show trust and support. “How did this even happen?”

His body shifted in an attempt to shrug, “I don’t know. I woke up feeling a little ill then I just began to grow. It keeps happening in random spurts but I can feel it.” His eyes squeezed shut again, and I braced myself for another—knowing this one would be far more destructive than the last. This place couldn’t hold him for long. But nothing happened. He let out a labored breath.

“What do you mean you can feel it? 

He tries to shrug again. " Like I am holding back right now and when I can’t I grow but I can pull it back in again to stop it.” The words were chopped and broken, punctuated once more by harsh breaths. He was struggling to hold on to it. He had no clue how big he would get if he just let go, the thought sent my stomach plummeting through the floor. 

Oh god…how big would he get?

I didn‘t want to think about it, but it was also clear that holding back was hard and being trapped in this small space was painful. I closed my eyes, settling on a decision. Settling on something I may regret but felt was also necessary. I had to sit on it for a moment, think about how gentle he was being right now with me. Think about all the times he showed kindness to those smaller than him whether it be animals or people. He wasn’t a cruel person, and I had to believe that no matter how big he got he would never hurt someone. He would never hurt me.

I let out a breath and looked up at him, looked right into those giant chocolate orbs and whispered firmly, “Let go.” 

It took a moment for my words to process. He stared at me for a second, eyes blown wide and lips parted in shock. His large fingers wrapped gently around me and I let him hold me. The warmth he exuded was actually comforting. He pulled me in close to his hunched over and bent chest, I could hear the way his heart erratically beat into his chest and then something in his tense body shifted. I closed my eyes and felt it all change.