#and now he needs money for schoolbooks. so he has to see that Look in her eyes. im making it weird arent i

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

lemongrab (Starts vibrating so hard i explode)

i do think pb is calm now but i dont think she likes wizards. i dont know. i dont know. and i saw how she treated lemongrab, she didn't really like him either. like. you all saw that. peps didnt want to see that he didnt want to think about it at the time, how they were treating the actual literal heir to the throne and also just how they were treating this man, he didn't realize. he didn't. and now. and . dont .get me talking about lemongrab. or i will talk. for ever

pep: you ate your brother lg: lg: you won't have that problem pep: i could eat you lg: try it

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave. 

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love. 

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.  

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one. 

Massive thank you to @augustholland​ who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries. 

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway.  Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual. 

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire. 

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well. 

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where  everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark. 

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets. 

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round. 

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered. 

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to  imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden. 

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and  they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked. 

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school. 

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence. 

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

 “Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question. 

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig. 

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer. 

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge. 

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left. 

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word. 

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs. 

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years. 

“You took me by storm,” he admits. 

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others. 

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him. 

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school. 

“Well,  I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”. 

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in. 

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest. 

This is a line you’ve never crossed before. 

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body. 

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more. 

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan. 

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine. 

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs. 

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh. 

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then - 

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two. 

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips. 

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation. 

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire. 

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair. 

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly. 

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer. 

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more. 

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you. 

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body. 

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you. 

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream. 

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you. 

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering. 

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room. 

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one. 

[lady-divine-writes]

ACITW AU one-shot - “Draining Pipes” (Rated M)

Summary: After Sebastian is accidentally exposed to Covid, Kurt convinces him to quarantine. While the rest of the city is slowly opening up, Kurt is returning to a life that resembles normal. But for Sebastian, home alone without his boyfriend, isolation is changing him. And Kurt has some concerns... (2063 words)

Notes: Yes, this is a pandemic fic, but I promise, it's funny XD

Read on AO3.

"Hi, honey! I'm home!"

"Nope. Try again."

Kurt's head snaps up so quickly he stutters a step, nearly tripping over his feet even though he'd already stopped walking. He glares at Sebastian from across the room as if the man had gotten up from his seat, strolled over, and, without a word, vomited rancid sushi all over his Manolo Blahniks. "What?"

In a tone reminiscent of one his NYADA dance teacher, Cassie July, used that made Kurt prickle from head to toe, Sebastian says, "Try. again."

"Try what again?"

"Walking through the door."

Kurt spins around to examine the doorway, searching for clues about what he could have possibly done incorrectly. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with the way I walk through the door!?"

"Every time you come home, you say, 'Hi, honey! I'm home!'"

"Yeah, and... ?"

"It's boring. Unoriginal. It harkens back to an era of television situation comedy that had no hand in influencing our generation and, frankly, regurgitating it is beneath you and your dramatic talents."

Kurt plants his hands on his hips and gawks. What the hell happened to his boyfriend while he was away? He was only gone four hours! "Have you been rifling through my old schoolbooks again? I told you, there was no Illuminati conspiracy going on at NYADA!"

"Why don't you try something different?" Sebastian counters, neither confirming nor denying Kurt's accusation. "Something a bit more, dare I say, exotic?"

"Exotic?" Kurt scrunches his nose with distaste when he says it. Of all the words in the English language, that's one of his least favorite. "What constitutes exotic in your twisted opinion?"

"I don't know. Think of something. You're the creative, not me."

"What? I... " A dozen arguments about how he's just gotten home, how exhausted he is, how travel between here and the theater was a pain in the ass because some people still don't seem to understand what 'over the mouth AND nose' means so navigating his way through the subway was like playing a game of human Tetris with potentially infected pieces and that he's never been all that good at Tetris anyway! die on his lips. 

It would be a waste of breath.

Still, Kurt doesn't know why he indulges him, but he turns on his heel and walks back out the door. After a few seconds of deep breathing in the hall to keep from screaming bloody murder, he storms back in and brightly declares, "Buenos dias, motherfucker! Como what's up?"

Seeing as the two of them speak fluent French, Spanglish is the most exotic thing he could come up with.

Sebastian nods in stoic approval. "Better. How goes life on the apocalyptic landscape?"

"I'm not selling my body for Cocoa Krispies if that's what you're asking," Kurt quips, wondering if this is how Sebastian acts at work and how no one has put the man through a window yet, partner or not.

"So what I'm hearing is you didn't bring home Cocoa Krispies."

"Nope. Sorry."

"Bitch."

"Yeah, well... " Kurt removes his shoes and socks, then sheds his coat, his messenger bag, his slacks, and his dress shirt, carefully piling them on a chair by the front door - their staging area for decontamination. While he undresses, he eyes Sebastian, not paying him an inch of mind, sitting on what has been dubbed the convalescence corner of the sofa, dressed in a soft white tee and flannel lounge pants, his laptop open on legs covered by a quilt his mother made for him when he was ten. Sebastian knows for a fact that Kurt is undressing and yet he's not leering at him, wolf-whistling under his breath or licking his lips like he's watching an Outback Steakhouse commercial. He's simply sitting in his spot, eyes glued to his laptop screen.

And Kurt loathes it.

Sebastian's attentions have been waning more and more lately, and even though it's savagely bruising Kurt's ego, he can't blame him.

Depending on how they choose to look at things, this situation could kind of, slightly, sort of be deemed Kurt's fault.

"Thank you again for doing this," Kurt says, extending an olive branch. He's been doing this so often over the past few months, he's started buying in bulk. "I can't tell you how much you keeping your distance and staying home has put my mind at ease."

Sebastian doesn't look at him when he replies: "No sweat, babe."

"I know it was just one small cough... and the kid was wearing two masks... and a face shield... "

"Hey, like you said, no need taking any chances. Right?"

"Right," Kurt agrees. And he believes it. He believed it then and he believes it now. Had the roles been reversed, Kurt would make the sacrifice, more than willing to lock himself away for the sake of curbing this disease and keeping Sebastian healthy.

But it isn't him. 

And he feels like dirt going to work three days a week, returning to something that resembles normal knowing what Sebastian is missing out on.

"It's his mother's fault for not mentioning that her little plague rat has covid before I got stuck on the elevator with them," Sebastian says, possibly trying to make Kurt feel better even though his gaze hasn't shifted.

"But quarantining for six days longer than necessary? That's above and beyond! I mean it. You deserve a medal." 

Sebastian tosses him a wink over his shoulder but he doesn't linger, giving half-naked Kurt only a brief once over. "I got you, fam. Besides, time's up tomorrow. Then... " He thousand-yard stares in the direction of the flat screen "... it's rat-hunting season."

"It hasn't been all bad, has it?" Kurt asks guiltily as Sebastian's eyes return to his laptop. He'll admit that maybe he did go a tad overboard when he'd found out Sebastian had been exposed, banishing him to one end of the penthouse and the guest bedroom, keeping him at broom handle length for the past nineteen days. 

But they were almost in the clear! And that's the part that pisses Kurt off most. 

The disease hasn't been eradicated, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. The theater started allowing small groups to return for socially distanced practices. That's a huge win for Kurt. Being away from Broadway and rehearsals and opening nights and curtain calls... it was becoming difficult for him to breathe.

Sebastian was on the brink of going back to the office a few days a week, too. It wasn't so much not being at the office that bothered him, but the peripherals - eating lunch at his favorite deli or hitting the gym before dinner. 

Sebastian had taken three tests after that fateful elevator incident, all of which came back negative, so he was confident everything would be alright. He was in the midst of planning his first in-person meeting, but Kurt balked, pointing out that there has been so much controversy over the accuracy of those tests. Sebastian offered to take three more if necessary, but regardless of the outcome, Kurt didn't feel it safe. And even though they had access to the vaccine (because money), being exposed, even minorly, pushed Sebastian's timetable for receiving his first dose back two weeks.

Kurt's father and stepmother have both received theirs, and Kurt was so looking forward to taking a trip to Ohio for a first hug in over a year. He's going to be damned if a four-foot-tall Petri dish ruins that for him!

But because of his paranoia, Kurt and Sebastian haven't touched, haven't kissed in two weeks. They tried the whole Skype sex thing from different rooms of the penthouse, aiming to recapture old college day thrills to boot, but it didn't work out the way they'd hoped. And even though they see each other every day, talk to one another, aggravate each other, throw popcorn and other food items at each other, Kurt misses Sebastian like the dickens. He misses his hugs, his warmth, his smell.

And yes, he misses the sex.

"Since I've been back to work, you've had the peace and privacy to watch those wacky pornos that your brother sends you."

"Yup," Sebastian says, typing something into his search bar that Kurt can't quite make out. "The wackiest."

"Didn't he say something about them being illegal in the contiguous 49 states?"

"Forty-eight. Tennessee turned itself around."

"It would be Tennessee."

"Always is."

"You probably haven't given your fleshjack a rest in two weeks," Kurt prods, worried over these short responses. 

"Mmph... mmm-hmm... "

Kurt starts circling the sofa when all he gets is a chuckle in response, curious if Sebastian is even listening to him. He comes up behind him, standing on a piece of painter's tape they'd put down to mark six feet so Kurt can peek over his shoulder.

And what he sees on Sebastian's screen makes absolutely no sense.

"What are you watching?"

"Drain clearing videos."

Kurt's eyes go wide. "Drain clearing? Wh-what does that mean?"

"This guy drives all over, and when he finds a street that's flooded, he takes out a rake, drags it through the water, and tries to find the blocked drain."

"Does he work for the city?"

"Nah. He's just some guy."

"And he's made a whole channel about... clearing drains."

"Yes, sir."

"And you're watching it?"

"It came up in my recommendations so I clicked one." Sebastian shakes his head, chuckling when stagnant grey water, punctuated by speckles of rain, turns into a whirlpool, rushing through thick iron bars embedded in the concrete and disappearing from view. "It's so satisfying."

"What on Earth were you watching before this that YouTube recommended it?"

"Car cleaning videos."

Kurt's left eyebrow slowly climbs up his forehead. "A-ha."

"Yup. I never realized how relaxing it is to watch a handsome guy Bissell Kool-Aid stains out of carpet. But now... it's my jam."

Kurt huffs, offended on behalf of himself and his own vigorous cleaning regimen. "It wasn't your jam when I was steam cleaning our throw rugs! And the curtains!"

"Yeah, well, things hit different when you're forced into isolation."

Kurt storms forward a step. But then he remembers. And he stops, foot hovering an inch past the sacred boundary that keeps him from venturing too close to infection. He teeters, determination creasing his brow while anxiety wrestles his shoulders back. All the while, a war wages inside his tired brain:

"Get him! You've been vaccinated!"

"It's only one dose!"

"He's not even sick!"

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do!"

"It's not worth the risk!"

"Yes... it... IS!"

"Come on!" Kurt demands, throwing himself bodily at the sofa. He grabs Sebastian's hand, a small voice screaming inside his head as if his tiny naysayer is being burned at the stake. "Come with me... NOW!"

"Where are we going?" Sebastian asks, rushing to move his computer to the side before he gets dragged off the sofa by his surprisingly strong boyfriend.

"This is an intervention."

"But you shouldn't be touching me! Or breathing my air! I have one day left!"

"You're fine! If you haven't gotten sick by now, you probably aren't going to! This is an emergency!"

"What emergency?"

"Quarantine has turned you into someone I don't recognize! Car cleaning videos? Who are you right now?"

"They're educational. It's good to learn a new skill."

Kurt barks a laugh that could shatter crystal. "Right. Like you'd ever. You'd pay highway robbery to have your ten-speed detailed!"

"Nope, because you'd do it for free."

 Kurt rolls his eyes, unwilling to entertain his boyfriend's mocking of him to ask whether or not that's code. "If you're going to ogle a man wielding a Bissell, Goddammit, it's going to be me!"

"So... are we going to clean some carpets?"

"We're going to take a shower and then have sex. A lot of sex. You're getting fucked and sucked until you're back to normal."

Sebastian snorts, delighted by his incredibly good fortune. "If you insist. But are you absolutely sure about this?"

Kurt stops short and faces Sebastian. He looks him over, making certain he doesn't seem particularly sick, and shrugs.

"We'll wear masks. Or three. I don't need to kiss you to make you cum." Kurt continues to drag Sebastian towards the bathroom as his grin grows to epic proportions.

"Kinky."

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The Weasleys stare around in amazement at the amount of money in their vault. Where there had previously been a very small pile of Silver Sickles and one single gold Galleon, there is now mounds of gold, columns of silver, and heaps of bronze.

Ginny and Hermione catch the triumphant gleam in (Y/n)'s eyes, and Ginny nudges her mother, nodding to (Y/n).

Grateful tears well in Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she sweeps some of the Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts into a bag.

. . .

Back outside on the marble steps,  Mrs. Weasley pulls (Y/n) aside before everyone splits up.

(Y/n) smiles up at the woman.

Instead of saying anything, Mrs. Weasley hugs (Y/n) tightly before letting her go, holding her at arms length.

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley murmurs, pulling (Y/n) into another hug.

"It's no big deal, Mrs. Weasley" (Y/n) says, smiling shyly. "You didn't even know me and you sent me Christmas gifts and Ron, Fred, George, and Percy have been great friends. I didn't mind helping out."

"You're a sweet girl, you know that?" Mrs. Weasley says softly, pulling (Y/n) into one last hug before letting her back off to her friends.

Percy mutters something about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny are going to Madam Malkins robe shop. Mr. Weasley is insisting on taking the elder Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," says Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouts at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and (Y/n) stroll off along the winding cobbled street. The bags of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in (Y/n)'s and Harry's pockets is clamoring to be spent, so Harry buys two strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams for him and Ron, and (Y/n) buys two salted caramel cheesecake ice creams for her and Hermione, which they slurped happily as they wander down the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazes longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione drags Harry and Ron off to buy ink and parchment while (Y/n) slides into the shop, emerging a moment later with a package which she slides into the backpack she is wearing.

An hour later, the four head towards Flourish and Blotts. They are by means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approach it, they see to their surprise a large crowd josting outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this is proclaimed by a large banner stretching across the upper windows which has (Y/n) looking disgusted:

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squeals, (Y/n) turning to look at her sister in disbelief. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seems to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stands at the door saying, "Calmly, please, ladies . . . Don't push, there . . . mind the books, now . . ."

Harry, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione squeeze inside. A long line winds right to the back of teh shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart is signing his books. The four each grab a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, (Y/n) also grabbing a few books for her to read in their freetime: Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More), Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed, as well as her new potions book for her Year 4 class Asiatic Anti-Venoms and they sneak up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys are standing with Hermione and (Y/n)'s parents.

"Oh, there you are," says Mrs. Weasley. She sounds breathless and keeps patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute . . ."

Gilderoy Lockhart comes slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart is wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matches his eyes: his pointed wizard's hat is set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man is dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emits puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash. "Out of the way, there," he snarls up at (Y/n), moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet -"

"Big deal," (Y/n) snarks, looking disgusted, her gaze fixed on the wizard at the table.

Gilderoy Lockhart had head her. He looks up. He sees (Y/n), meeting her glare - and then he sees Harry. Then he leaps to his feet and positively shouts, "It can't be Harry Potter?"

The crowd parts, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dives forward, seizes Harry's arm, and pulls him to teh front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry's face burns as Lockhart shakes his hand for the photographer, who is clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," says Lockhart, though his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

When he finally lets go of Harry's hand, Harry can hardly feel his fingers. Harry tries to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart throws an arm around his shoulders and clamps him tightly to his side. Harry catches (Y/n)'s expression and he chokes back a laugh.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart says loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge -" The crowd applauds again. "He had no idea," Lockhart continues, giving Harry a little shake that makes his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride and announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teach er at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheers and claps and Harry finds himself being presenting with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, Harry manages to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny is standing next to her hew cauldron.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" says a voice Harry has no trouble recognizing. Harry straightens up and finds himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who is wearing his usual sneer. "Famous Harry Potter," says Malfoy. "Can't even go into a book-shop without making the front page."

Word Count: 1200 words

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 49

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and  playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 49: Neither Kate nor Tommy can remain idle for very long. 

//Sorry for such a delay. School has been so tough this semester but this week is finals so I'll be back to writing in no time. I think Helen's death really took the wind out of my sails too. I still haven't really gotten over it. I take celebrity deaths so badly. 

            But by the time Tommy had returned, however, his own bride had gone missing. Alice pointed him outside again, this time on the back patio. Grateful for some time alone with her, Tommy left the rowdy party inside.

            Kate was sitting on a garden wall; her back was to the party as she overlooked Arrow House’s great lawns. Tommy shrugged off his coat and draped it over her arms.

            The soft-touch of the fabric knocked her out of her own thoughts. “Did you find Alfie?”

            “Yeah, he was out on the steps.” Tommy sat down next to her.

            “Oh good. Mabel was sure he had gotten cold feet and ran.”

            “He’s not going anywhere. Never thought I’d see that man in love. Guess I’ve seen it all now.”

            Kate laughed softly and leaned into his side. Her eyes were still lingering over the grassy hills where grasshoppers chirped and a few owls surveyed hidden in their trees. “This place is bigger than the block I grew up on in Boston.” She remarked. “I’d always grown up wondering where those great outdoors were. Where there was almost nothing for miles and miles. You couldn’t see the end of it. I thought someday I’d go out west and maybe just disappear out there.”

            “I would’ve joined you.” Tommy agreed. “I wanted to a cowboy when I was growing up.”

            Kate smiled and tried to picture young Tommy Shelby pretending to be an outlaw. In a way, he had become one. They both had. “I guess the city isn’t so bad when you’ve got people you care about there. Still, it’s nice to know that there are places where city stuff doesn’t matter.”

            Tommy knew there were things they could never escape. But there was no use destroying the illusion.

            “I was thinking if we had a boy, we could name him after John.” Kate glanced over at her husband. “Arthur and I were talking about it. I guess we could nickname him Jack to make things easier. But I thought it would be a nice honor.”

            Tommy nodded. “I think that’s a nice idea.” There was a hole in his heart that his younger brother had left. So many times, he was tempted to pick up the phone and call him. But then the realization trickled over him like cold water. Esme had taken many things but there were items Tommy still had. Letters and an old schoolbook that John had written all over. The binding was coming loose and the pages were yellowing, but Tommy would never throw it away. He had learned early on to keep little mementos of people before they were gone. He had nothing from his mother. No one did. It was almost like she never existed because there was no trace of her left. It was something he regretted and a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

            He took Kate’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “What we have girls?”

            “Then one of them will be Jacquelyn.”

            He chuckled. “You always have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

            “Well, I learned from the best.” She murmured and pulled him close for a deep kiss.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

            The day was warm as Kate stepped outside. But there were clouds coming in from the horizon. She took her time walking across the patio to the lawns. She went to stand on top of the hill that overlooked the rest of the fields on Arrow House’s land.

            There, she could spot Tommy coming from the forest trails on Blue. He had the horse on a loose rein, letting him lope across the grass. May had told Kate it was a miracle the gelding responded so well to Tommy. According to May, the horse had a fiery temper but that didn’t seem to bother Tommy in the slightest. Kate had a feeling he enjoyed the challenge. She knew he’d been itching for something to do. Between being on holiday and waiting for the due date, Tommy was getting stir-crazy. Having a young horse to focus on training was good enough of a distraction. At least for the time being.

            Blue’s hooves were heavy against the ground as he trotted up the gradual hill to Kate.

            “I thought I’d find a cowboy out here.”

            Tommy chuckled and dismounted. “Were you waiting for me long?”

            “No, I just came out. I was worried you were going to get caught in that storm coming.”

            Tommy took Blue’s reins in hand and began walking with Kate back to the stables. “A little rain doesn’t bother me.”

            “Well, I didn’t want Blue to be spooked. I think it might thunder.”

            He patted the gelding’s shoulder. “He’ll learn to get used to the noises. Warhorses always get used to the noises.”

            Kate noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “I hardly think Blue would be a warhorse. Deserves a better life than that, don’t you think?”            

            “Hm.” He nodded but didn’t seem to really hear her.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            The sky had gone completely dark by the time they reached the stables. Tommy got Blue untacked while Kate combed out his mane. But the horse was starting to pick up on the storm brewing. His nostrils flared and he tossed his head.

            “Sh, sh, easy.” Kate soothed and stroked his neck. “It’s alright.”

            Tommy took Blue off the cross ties. “He’ll settle in his stall.”

            Kate put the mane comb away and wandered to the stable doors. In an instant, it began to pour. Heavy raindrops smattered against the gravel walkway back to the house. The wind picked up and rushed through the budding trees.

            Every time it rained; Kate felt washed over with memories. She didn’t know why the weather had such an impact on her. But there was only so much she could do when the sky was putting on such a violent display.

            Tommy wrapped an arm around her waist. “Guess we’ll be stuck here for a bit.”

            “It’ll go as soon as it came.” She said quietly.

            “Want to sit?”

            “Oh, yes, that would be a good idea.” Sometimes when she was lost in her thoughts, she forgot the burden of carrying twins.

            Tommy grabbed a stool from the tack room to let her sit. Kate sighed and watched some of the rainwater trickling into the stable aisle.

            As if reading her mind, Tommy slid the doors shut. The rain was muffled and mixed with the sound of the horses stirring in their stalls. Blue poked his head out, snorting uneasily.

            “Y’know, it rained one of the last few days I was at the Moulin Rouge,” Kate said. If they were going to be stuck in the stables until the rain ebbed, she figured it would be a good idea to talk. “And I realized that sometimes the worst comes before the good.”

            Tommy sat down on a bale of hay next to her. “I’ve found that too.”

            She smiled. “So maybe with all we’ve been through so far, it opens us up for happiness the rest of our lives.”

            “Kate, I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”  

            “I know, so I guess I…” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t want to sound like an awful person saying this, but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

            Tommy reached over to lift her chin. “Tell me.”

            “I hope that during this holiday you’re taking, you’ll realize there’s more to life than clawing your way to the top.” Kate took his hand in hers. “I hope you’ll see that maybe you were destined for better things. You said how you wanted to work with horses. You have plenty of money to just do that. To retire and-” Her voice faded when she realized she was losing him.

            His blue eyes were steady on their entwined hands. “I can’t stay still, Kate.” He whispered. “Not since the war. If I stay still, if I stop moving forward…everything catches up to me.”

            Kate understood completely. When she was running from Santo all those years, she never felt safe in one spot. Physically or psychologically. If she kept moving, she felt she was steps ahead of her opponents. Steps ahead of the turmoil she’d left behind. If she kept moving, she could forget about her mother’s death. She couldn’t ask Tommy to stand still and let it all catch up to him.

            “I understand.”

            Tommy brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’ll be alright.” He promised. “The holiday will be fine. We’ll be busy soon enough.”

            Kate smiled but felt a little deflated. If only there was something she could do to help her husband. But it felt impossible.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The rain let up just enough for Tommy and Kate to hurry back to the house. Thunder rumbled across the sky and the wind tore across the countryside with a vengeance. Kate didn’t like to think she was superstitious, but she was getting an ominous feeling that she couldn’t shake.

            The windowpanes rattled after dinner from the thunder that was still getting closer. Kate retired to bed before Tommy but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she paced by the windows. There wasn’t much to see outside. It was too dark and raining too hard. But Kate she could see shadows on the lawns. A chill ran up her spine when a crack of lightning flashed across the sky.

            She gasped when she swore that she could see a menacing figure standing outside. In her panic and fear, her brain conjured up an image of Santo. The floorboards behind her creaked and she couldn’t help but let out a scream.

            “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tommy turned on the light and rushed over to her.

            So startled, Kate began to cry.

            “What’s wrong?” He pulled her close.

            “I’m just s-so scared, Tom.”

            “There’s nothing to be afraid of, love, I would never let anything bad happen to you.” Tommy kissed her temple and rubbed her back. “What spooked you?”

            But Kate was too petrified to answer. Every roll of thunder and every flash of lightning made her shake. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. “I-I’m just scared.”  It was scarce, the number of times Kate admitted to being afraid of anything. No one needed to know her fears. If they did, she was certain they would just use those fears against her. Some sort of manipulative tool. But there were times, like in that moment, she couldn’t contain her anxiety. There was no telling why, but so many things were coming up to the surface that night. Perhaps she had remained idle for too long as well.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

Tag list: @radical-gecko @actorinfluence @meltingicequeen @merlettina

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[meritre24601]

Soonkki’s new story, named Apple School for now, summary attempt - chapter 1

Since I want to talk about it so badly, I’ll attempt to do a summary of at least the first chapter. I’m not even finished translating it but I’ll add to the summary as I move forward. Please note that my Korean is very basic and I heavily rely on the translator Papago. So I may not be accurate at some places.

If you find a more accurate English source, please don’t hesitate to share. :)

Let’s get started. While  out girl, Mi-ae fights beans (she dislikes them) her mom tells her that an aquintance is going to move into their neighborhood. Mi-ae calls that person unnie aka big sis so she is likely not very much older than she is. Mi-ae’s mom tells her that there is a boy as well and she remembers the family from a previous trip to the countryside. She asks her mom why they move to their neighborhood but her mom scolds her for not eating the beans instead.

She seems to like romance comics but she’s not interested in an article titled My childhood friend suddenly looks like a man (My personal thoughts: this may connect to issues Miae is going to go through as a teen, growing up) She gets  the first issue of a comic and happily runs off. On her way to school she sees another old aquitance a boy who is the same age as her and used to live in the building next to her home. She remembers her elementary school days, how this boy called her names (Scarlet Hwang, according to the translator), ruined their game and kept picking on her, calling her small. He even shot her while she looked at the sky with binoculars. (It’s a hobby of hers) And as you can clearly see, Mi-ae doesn’t just meekly take it at this point but rushes out screaming she’s going to pay it back today and her parents are chasing after her. She narrates that the two of them weren’t on good terms.

The parents apologize and acknowledge their kid did wrong (Both kid’s parents) using formal language. Miae proudly tells her father that she won. After that her mom wanted a word with her daughter but Miae knows her and ran already off, with her mom after her and her father trying to hold back her mom, telling her not to get upset. And the shoes, Miae should run with her shoes on her feet. Miae narrates that this girl was good at running. She became a middle school student whose name is... and that’s when that guy calls out her name and tells her he wants to talk to her. He says he’s moving to Seoul and there is one last thing he wanted to confess. And that is... he used to like her. Miae doesn’t feel anything, just wants to go home quickly to read her new comic and even she is surprised that she didn’t feel anything. Next in her comic, there is also a confession, with the exact same words. The small section is titled this is differnt - a confession in a comic book and in real life although the words are the same, are different. Miae’s mom asks if she’s studying and she says yes - she’s hiding her comic behind a schoolbook. She remembers she always had friends from around. Some moved away, some transferred to a different school (and the class cried no matter if they were colose to that kid or not) and the promise to exchange letters didn’t really seem to work out. Her mom even wants her to throw away that bunch of letters he has (those were given as a farewell gift, I think)

The boy screams Take care to her as he’s leaving. Next, it is explained how entrance exams for high scool were introduced, not everywhere but at many places, to set a standard and ease tha burden of constant studying for the kids. Miae will soon be in her thirdyear that is the last in middle school so she’ll have to take the exam, too. She’s jealous of the boy who just moved, since in Seoul she would have to take the exam. (I got this wrong, first, I think then she only needs to worry about one exam and not care for her grades all year) She’s whining to her parents to move to Seoul, too. But her dad has to leave, offering to bring chicken on the way home (and Miae gets distracted by it) and her mom gives her the usual answer, asking her if it’s a joke and telling Miae would have to earn the money herselfand that she should study instead. Miae says she can’t Her mom tops her advice to her with telling Miae to do something about her hair (that’s why she has bangs after that panel). She moans and thinks she hates to be a middle school student. The next part is possibly her imagination, she imagines how her parents would act when the time comes to prepare for the exam. her mom aims for a high ranked school and her dad has brought her mock exams and books to hep her study.Miae lets out her frustration outside with the help of a skipping rope and she is screaming.She can’t do anything about those difficulties.

At school her friend , Lee Yoon Hee tells her she signed up for an academy (I think she means cram school, to prepare them for their last year and stuff) and tells Miae she should come as well but of course Miae doesn’t want to, saying they study 6 hours a day at school and after that, they should go to an academy to study more is crazy. Her friend replies she wants to go to college. Miae than notices that their break is almos over and runs over to the staffroom to get back a comicbook - she likely got caught reading it dutring class and the teacher took it from her. He scolds her while giving it back, telling her that she’ll be in her last year soon and she needs to do better if she wants to go to high school and such. On her way back she sees Kim Chul who is accompanied by his mom. The mom tells him the usual things like he should straighten his clothes. Miae stares at him and even saying out loud how big he is. There is gossip from students like what high school he is from based on his uniform (they like it better then their own uniform) and why his face is bruised. Miae  overhears someone talking in the staffroom (door’s not yet closed) that the school uniform was the right size for him right when he bought it. She’s jealous and wants to be tall as well and have a uniform that fits her perfectly (I assume they buy bigger ones than their exact sizes so they won’t have to buy a new one becuse of growing too much). She complains that she likely won’t grow taller and that her mom doesn’t let her do anything to the uniform. Then she realizes she has to hurry back to class. Then she stops for a moment and remembers her mother telling her about him transferring to her school and that is why they are moving to their neighborhood. Some older memories come up, too, with Miae chasing after a boy and screaming let’s go together. She then realizes that the boy from the memory and the one he just saw are the same person (Kim Chul but she doesn’t think abut his name)

End of chapter 1

[ladywhistledcwn]

you’re already home where you feel loved

a shirbert soulmate au (ao3)

-

Gilbert Blythe had grown up his entire life hearing he was special. Everyday someone told him something that apparently made him special, it ranged from the fact that he was good at sports to the fact that he was thoughtful. He used to believe them. At first it was hard too, he didn't understand why someone who was supposedly special had lost his mother before ever getting to know her. But then the years passed and he got used to hearing his name accompanied by a smile. 'Gilbert!' the boys would shout when he entered the schoolhouse or when he made the winning score at the game. 'Hi, Gilbert!' the girls would wave at him before erupting into a fit of giggles. 'Oh, Gilbert!' the older ladies would coo at him after church service. All of this made him puff out his chest and snicker when his father would tease him by calling him 'Avonlea's golden boy'.

Then his father got sick and he stopped feeling special. People no longer grinned after saying his name, they looked at him with sad eyes that made him want to scream. And so a part of him was glad when his father asked him to travel throughout Canada. When he got off the train in Alberta he actually breathed out a sigh of relief. He was no longer the golden boy, he was no longer special, he was no one. And as the days went by thoughts of himself ceased to fill his mind, his only concern was his father and spending every minute he could with him.

Gilbert tried not to think about the fact that his father's skin became paler, and his coughs more frequent and he wheezed in his sleep. He focused on the fact that his only family was still here. He focused on the conversations they had by the fireplace in their small cabin in the mountains, and listened intently to every word that was said. He spoke frequently of Gilbert's mother, so much so that Gilbert could picture her in his mind. He could even see the curly black tendrils that would escape her bun, his father had told him that putting those tendrils behind her ear was a pastime of his.

"Were you and mom...?" Gilbert asked his father one day. The older man immediately knew what his son was referring to.

"No." He answered curtly. "That's why you're special, Gil" He softened his voice.

The word irked him now that he hadn't heard it in almost two years. He didn't think there was anything special about the small dark mark he wore on his skin, just below his ribcage. When he was five years old he asked his father about it, little Gilbert thought it was a smudge of dirt that wouldn't go away, even after many baths. And that's when he heard the word soulmate for the first time. His father explained that not everyone was born with these marks, and that made him special (the beginning of the bothersome word for him). And so Gilbert came to understand that someone, somewhere had the exact same mark on their skin, and that person was his perfect pair.

He never spoke about his mark, he didn't want to draw even more attention to himself. Not even when they read stories about soulmates in school or when Mrs. Lynde announced at the church picnic that she didn't believe there was actually such a thing as soulmate marks. "Just something that a novelist came up with and we all believed." she had scoffed.

"I don't think having a birthmark makes me special, dad". Gilbert rebuffed.

"It's more than that and you know it."

After that he changed the subject.

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Three weeks before their two year anniversary of leaving Avonlea, his father's condition worsened. The strain on his chest became so much he could barely leave his bed without erupting into a debilitating coughing fit. They no longer spoke as much, speaking was hard for his father. So Gilbert read to him. Before that he wouldn't've called himself a lover of literature per se. He had read all his schoolbooks back when he went to school (oh how he missed it) but he never really opened a book unless it was for an assignment. His father on the other hand, loved poetry. "These poems helped me convince your mother to marry me, you know." His father chuckled at some faraway memory.

He appreciated poetry because it made him feel connected to his parents but the little books would often include mentions of little black marks too similar to his own and he felt his cheeks redden at the thought of ever feeling what these poets describe. So, when he heard the soft breaths of his father's indicating he had fallen asleep, he closed the little book and contented himself with watching the leaves fall from his window.

Two weeks before their two year anniversary of leaving Avonlea his father uttered four words that filled him with dread. "Let's go home, Gil." It wasn't the thought of returning to Avonlea that filled him with dread but what the fact meant. It meant his father didn't think he had much time left. His doctor didn't either. But Gilbert did, even as his father became more ill he held on to the stubborn hope that they had all the time in the world together.

A week before their two year anniversary of leaving Avonlea, they returned. Their orchard had managed to survive without any care for two years, and apples littered the ground beneath the trees. That Sunday they sat in front of the fireplace as they had done countless times before. "Are you excited for school tomorrow?" His father asked.

Gilbert furrowed his brow in confusion, he hadn't been to school in two years and he wasn't planning on going now. "I'm not going to school, I'm staying here and taking care of you and taking care of the orchard."

"Nonsense, Gil. Your job is not to take care of me, you should be going to school."

"I haven't been to school in two years, why should I start going now when I'm clearly needed here." Gilbert started becoming irate, though he tried not to show it. While he had missed going to school while they were traveling he wouldn't give up spending time with his father for the world, even more so now that his condition had worsened. There was also the subject of money to consider. His father never spoke of it but Gilbert knew the meagre savings they had lived of off while traveling had ran out and now that his father couldn't work Gilbert saw it was his responsibility to take care of the farm.

"Now we're home. Don't worry about me, Gil. I've written a letter to Mrs. Kincannon and she'll help out around here while you're at school." Gilbert wasn't happy with the decision, but he knew there was no changing his father's mind. That night Gilbert dusted off his old slate and gathered his things.

A nasty thought started to creep up on him. He started thinking of how behind he actually was, how he would go to school tomorrow and sit near the front of the classroom with the younger kids when he should be in the back studying for his Queen's entrance exams. He shook the thought away, he would've gladly missed 4 years of schooling for his father. Instead he thought of the positives, of all the things he would learn and the fun he would have (school would still be fun, right? He wasn't quite sure.) and drifted off with thoughts of tomorrow.

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Anne Shirley tried not to dwell on the sad aspects of life. She liked to smile at the sun and smell flowers and read. Oh how she liked to read. It was as if she could escape herself for a brief moment, and become someone else. She could be a princess, or a fair maiden, she didn't really care who she was, as long as she wasn't herself. She couldn't recall a time before she could read, she didn't even remember how she learned how to read. She figured her life only really began when she opened her first book.

She learned many things from books, her favorite fact being the existence of soulmates. The first time she read the term was in a romance novel, she figured it was a wonderful idea but not something grounded in reality, like mermaids. But then the term kept popping up in different books and would stay with her even after the books were closed. The day she read the word in a dictionary she gasped and jumped for joy. This was it, the sign that she needed. 'Soulmates: a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner, characterized by the same birthmark on both persons'. That was the sign that meant that she would be happy someday, because there was someone out there who was ideally suited for her.

After learning this Anne developed the habit of stroking her left ankle whenever she felt particularly unhappy, because there, beneath her stockings, lay a small dark mark. That mark comforted her whenever the girls at the orphanage were keen on taking their anger out on Anne.

But even this small comfort wouldn't last her long. One day, right when Anne had gotten out of her bath, one of the older girls came into the room. She stared at Anne from her head to toes and opened her mouth, likely to tease Anne about her skinny frame again no doubt. Instead, she closed her mouth and drew her eyes to Anne's ankle. Then the girl started to laugh, though the laughter sounded forced and didn't reach her eyes.

"So that's why. That's why you think you're better than us. Lovely Princess Cordelia has a soulmate mark." The girl scoffed. She stepped forward and grabbed Anne by one of her braids, bringing her face close to hers. All Anne could do was try not to yelp at the pain. "Let me teach you something you'll never learn from your books, dear little Cordelia. That mark means nothing. You think you'll meet your soulmate? Fat chance. Soulmates aren't for girls like you. No one will ever love you, you'll be smart to remember that." And with that the girl threw Anne against the wall, she was unable to contain her pain at the blow. The older girl only laughed and left the room. After that Anne got back into the tub and scrubbed at her ankle as hard as she could, but the mark stayed. She tried not to look at it after that and decided to only read books with no mention of the horrid word.

Life went on. Anne left the orphanage and returned a handful of times before a mistake was made that would change Anne's life forever. She was sent to live with the Cuthbert's.

Anne's life there had its ups and downs but she was so sublimely happy that she hadn't thought of her mark at all. Until the school spelling bee where it was her against the insufferable Gilbert Blythe. "Spell Soulmate, Blythe." Mr. Phillips had instructed and Anne's breath caught in her throat. Surprisingly the boy wonder misspelled the word.

"Should've added the 'E'." He said to her afterwards, but she could barely register his words, her mind had returned to the orphanage. To that day when the older girl had told her no one would ever love her.

That night Diana stayed over at Green Gables and Anne couldn't help but confide in her dearest bosom friend what was plaguing her. When the candle was blown away and the moonlight couldn't come through the curtains and Anne could hide her shame.

"She was wrong. You know that, right Anne?" Diana had reassured her.

"I don't know that she was, Di." Anne replied, her voice trembling.

"She was, because I love you." Diana had turned to look at Anne.

"You do?" Diana merely nodded. And Anne finally realized that the older girl had been wrong. Maybe she was right in the fact that Anne would never experience romantic love. But she was loved. She was loved by Diana and Marilla and Matthew and that was enough for her.  

-

Anne was now 14 ('Soon to be 15!' she would announce to everyone whenever she could) and had been living in Avonlea for a year. She no longer dreaded going to school, she would skip down the stairs every morning and nearly race to the school. She loved being around Miss Stacy, and in the short time she had been teaching them Anne had realized that she wanted to be exactly like her when she grew up. When Anne and Diana arrived at the school the only person there other than Miss Stacy was Gilbert.

A lot had changed since she lost that spelling competition to him. His father had died and he left Avonlea for nearly a year. During that time she found herself looking at his empty desk and wishing he was there. At first she told herself that the only reason she wanted him back was so Ruby would stop crying during lunch time. Then Ruby actually did stop crying (she still talked about him, mind you) so Anne told herself she only wanted him to return so she could have an educational rival again. Eventually, she admitted to herself that she didn't really have a reason to want him back, she just missed him.

He finally came back and she really couldn't find a reason to hate him anymore. Though she still found him insufferable, this time for another reason entirely. He had always been good at school but now he had found his calling and didn't pay attention to anything that wasn't school related. He never sat with their fellow classmates during lunch or played with the boys, it was always just his nose in a book (Anne would never admit that her main issue with that was that he also wasn't paying attention to her).

Anne warmly greeted everyone with a general 'Good morning!' when she arrived, to which Gilbert merely lifted his palm in a wave, his eyes never once leaving his book. Anne rolled her eyes and took her seat. The other students started to file in and class quickly began.

A small tap on her shoulder distracted Anne from the lesson, it was Ruby. The girl handed her a note, her hand practically shaking in excitement. It could never mean something good when Ruby Gillis was this level of excited. 'Stay after school, we're playing a game. - Josie P.' the note read. Anne immediately shook her head no, she remembered the disaster that was the last game Josie Pye suggested and Anne didn't really find herself in the mood to be humiliated.

'Come on, Anne.' Ruby mouthed, Anne merely shook her head again.

A little while later the afternoon bell rang and everyone gathered their things, but instead of heading out the door like they usually did, they gathered in the back of the classroom and sat in a circle. It seemed Anne and Ruby weren't the only ones who received a note. Nevertheless, Anne headed out the door but before she was able to leave Ruby blocked the exit.

"Anne, please stay. Please please please. Gilbert's also staying and you know he never stays for these types of things. Come on, Anne." Ruby pleaded. Anne merely groaned and turned around.

"I just want it to be known, Ruby, that the only reason I'm doing this is because I know you'll complain about it for the next 10 days if I don't stay."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" Ruby jumped up and down and hugged Anne. Anne chuckled.

The girls reached the circle and it seemed the game had already started.

"What are we playing?" Ruby said as she sat down.

"Truth or dare." Josie replied with a smirk. Anne had to stifle another groan. Now Josie Pye had two different options for torture. She either made Anne answer an embarrassing question or she made Anne perform an embarrassing act. She was already regretting caving to Ruby's pleas.

The game went in typical truth or dare fashion. 'Who do you like?' and 'Who do you have a crush on?' being the two most popular questions. Anne had already made up her mind to choose dare when it was her turn. She guessed if Josie did ask her about her crush she could just say the truth. She didn't have a crush on anyone. But she had a feeling Josie would find a way to twist her answer into something everyone else would laugh at.

And Gilbert was sitting in front of her pretending he wasn't looking at her (Anne was also pretending she didn't notice his stares) and the last thing she wanted was a repeat of the spin the bottle fiasco in front of him.

"Truth or dare, Anne?" Josie asked her.

"Dare." Anne immediately replied.

Josie had a dare at the ready, because of course she did. "I dare you to walk across the schoolhouse roof."

The circle erupted in a chorus of 'oohs' and 'ah's' with a couple of people expressing their disapproval at the dare but not enough to make Josie take it back. The only person who stayed completely silent was Gilbert, he barely even reacted. 'He thinks I can't do it' Anne thought. 'Well I'll show him' and with that last thought she stood up and walked out of the classroom, everyone else hot on her trail.

She could do this, she climbed trees all the time. She even jumped out of her bedroom window once, and while the fall hurt a little bit, it wasn't anything she didn't get over. But as she looked up at the roof her heart started beating a little bit faster. She hadn't ever climbed a tree that high, and her bedroom window wasn't that high up either.

"Are you gonna be a scaredy cat, Anne?" Josie taunted her.

"Cut it out, Josie." Gilbert stepped in, to everyone's shock. He took a few steps forward until he was close to Anne, who had already started climbing the ladder. 'Why was there even a ladder here?' Anne thought. 'This really is an accident waiting to happen.'

Gilbert wrapped his hand around her leg, preventing her from continuing the climb. At the death stare she gave him he let go of her leg, but he didn't leave to join the others who were standing at the other side of the schoolhouse waiting to see Anne walk across the roof.

"You don't have to do this, Anne. It's just a stupid dare." Gilbert said, his eyes staring into hers and she found herself unable to look away. She hated when that happened because staring into Gilbert's eyes made her heart beat faster than the thought of walking across the schoolhouse roof ever did.

"Anne Shirley Cuthbert doesn't back out of a dare." Anne managed to get out with shaky breath. She tore her gaze away from his and continued to climb the ladder. When she finally got on the roof she found it hard to breath. Her classmates below looked awfully small and the steep roof wasn't the most stable surface. 'Here goes nothing' she thought as she took the first step.

She only managed to take two more steps before she lost her footing and fell. The fall so sudden she didn't have time to register anything but the searing pain on her ankle. Hot tears came to her eyes as she tried not to make any noise that would expose her injury.

All the other students ran to her, asking if she was okay but none of them knew what to do in the situation. All Diana could think to do was hold her best friends hand and yell at someone to get Matthew in Green Gables. Anne wasn't paying attention to her classmates, her attention too focused on her breathing. If she focused on her breath she wouldn't be able to focus on the pain on her ankle and the tears on her face.

Suddenly she saw a face in front of her, stopping her from counting her 11th breath since the fall. It was Gilbert. Under any other circumstance Anne would be annoyed and embarrassed if Gilbert saw her like this, breathing erratically and crying. But she remember that Gilbert wanted to be a doctor and that all he ever did was read medical texts and maybe he could help her in some way.

"Anne... Anne!" He snapped his fingers in front of her face to make her pay attention to him. She made a mental note to tell him later to never do that again. Anne looked at him, scared to open her mouth in fear that a sob would come out. "Anne, where does it hurt?" Gilbert asked her, his instincts kicking in.

"My ankle." Her voice cracked.

As Gilbert ran his hands through both her ankles she knew something was horribly wrong, she had twisted her ankle before and that pain was nothing compared to what she felt now.

"I think it might be broken, can I take off your boot?" Gilbert asked her, concern marring his features. Anne nodded.

Gilbert went on to unlace her boot and take it off, her stockings that had already pooled around her ankle going with it. "It's definitely broken, we need to get a doctor."

"Matthew's on his way." Diana added.

Gilbert continued moving around her ankle when suddenly he gave a small gasp. Anne hadn't dared look down in fear that maybe she would see bone sticking out where it shouldn't but she quickly realized what Gilbert had gasped at. Her mark. That exposure made her feel more vulnerable than all the shed tears.

"Gilbert let go of me." Anne had found it within her to stop crying and though the pain was still there the way Gilbert was looking at her made her want to run away. Alas, she could not do that. The next best thing was at least trying to hide her vulnerability. "Gilbert let go of me NOW!" She forcefully expressed when Gilbert still held on to her ankle. The boy jerked back as if he had been burned.

At that moment Matthew arrived on his buggy, and everyone forgot about Anne's outburst in favor of helping her get on the cart.

Four hours later Anne sat in the parlor in Green Gables. Her leg in a cast and her crutches leaning against the wall. She was no longer in pain but was plagued by a foul mood. Marilla had given her quite a verbal thrashing  about her recklessness and though she cried and cried Matthew had not come to her aid. She now sat staring out the window, incredibly bored. Her evening took a more exciting turn when she stopped the figure of Gilbert Blythe walking up to her front door. She wished she could go back to being bored and avoid any conversation Gilbert came here to have.

He heard him greet Marilla and exchange platitudes with her until finally he appeared before her, standing in the doorway.

"It's late, Gilbert." Anne said by way of greeting.

"I know, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Well, now you've seen me. I'm fine." Anne knew her tone was harsh but couldn't do anything to stop it. Maybe if she was rude enough he wouldn't ask what he actually wanted to.

"I'm glad. Anne I wanted to ask about what I saw on your ankle." He finally expressed.

Anne inhaled once trying to weigh her decisions on the spot. She could tell him it was exactly what he thought it was. But this would lead to two possible outlooks. Either he congratulates her for being lucky and moves on. Or he resents her for it, as many kids in the orphanage did, and he treats her differently. However delicate and sometimes somewhat tense their relationship was, she couldn't risk losing it. Not with him. So she chose to protect it, and herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, the only thing you could've seen was my broken ankle." She puffed out.

Gilbert looked at her, in that special way of his that made her feel much too vulnerable. So she raised her eyebrows in silent question, 'Well?'.

"I guess my panic made me see things that weren't there. Sorry about that." He finally broke his gaze and turned to leave.

"Gilbert!" Anne suddenly blurted out. "Thank you." She said, she was honestly grateful that he was there that afternoon. He hadn't done anything but worry but looking back on it, his presence was a comfort.

"I'll always be there for you, Anne-girl." He looked down with a sheepish half smile and she did the same to try to hide the color that rose to her cheeks. They said their goodbyes and she watched him leave as she had watched him come.

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It was a scorching summer and everyone in the group was grateful that yesterday was the last day of school, the oppressive heat in the classroom not letting them concentrate. They were all having a picnic by Anne's dear Lake of Shining Water's when Moody came up with the idea and all the other boys immediately agreed because not even Ruby's delicious lemonade could help appease their suffering. One by one the boys unlaced their shoes, took off their shirts, and jumped in the lake. The girls didn't know whether to run, shriek, or jump in. So they simply laughed.

"Oh my mother would certainly faint if she saw this scene." Ruby squeaked, her excitement far outweighing her fear of her mother's reaction.

"You'll survive a scolding, Ruby. It's our last summer in Avonlea before we go off to Queens, we should take advantage of every second." Anne laid with her head on Diana's lap as she saw the scene that unfolded before her. The sun reflecting on the lake, the tall grass swaying in the breeze, her best friend running her hands through her hair. Avonlea was a treasure to Anne and she savored every sight, every smell, every touch. She had made it her goal this summer to have as many adventures as possible, she figured she already wasted last summer sitting in her parlor, her leg weighed down by her cast, she wasn't going to waste her last summer as a girl. Next summer she'd be a woman, a student of Queen's college.

"You're absolutely right, Anne." Ruby stood up, catching everyone's attention. Ruby started to unbutton her dress when all the girls stood up as well, trying to stop her.

"That's really not what I meant at all, Ruby." Anne pleaded.

"Take it from me, your reputation is a delicate thing. Don't tarnish it for an afternoon of fun." Josie tried to redo Ruby's buttons but the girl shook her off.

"I want to live, girls." Ruby proclaimed, standing only in her underthings. "Besides, this isn't too different to what the boys are wearing." She giggled, and with that final statement she ran to the lake and jumped. Ruby had grown bolder by the day ever since she showed up on the first day of school after winter break that year and announced to the girls that she was 'now officially over Gilbert Blythe.' All the boys stood still for a second, not being quite sure what to do, until Ruby splashed Moody's face and it was like nothing had changed at all. They all continued with their splashing and yelling and laughing.

All the girls had ran to the lakeside to get a closer look. Tillie and Jane shared a look. "Oh what the hell." The girls chorused before taking off their shoes and jumping in as well. They still wore their dresses, not feeling quite as adventurous as Ruby.

"It seems everyone has truly lost their minds. I'm going home. Diana, you coming?" Josie asked. Before Diana could answer Gilbert came out of the lake and sat down on a nearby rock. It was everything Anne could do to look anywhere but Gilbert's naked torso.

"You girls coming in?" Gilbert's teasing smile adorned his face. She had become quite fond of that little smile. Sometimes during their many study sessions she would pretend she still didn't understand a geometry question, just to see that little smile while he explained for the third time. She was also guilty of making up homework just so she would have an excuse for Marilla to let her go to Gilbert's house. Not that she often needed one, the Blythe's and the Lacroix's and the Cuthbert's had practically become one family. The use of the front door had been forgone and Bash had taken to calling Anne 'Aunty Anne' whenever he talked to Delphine about her.

"Certainly not." Josie huffed and took off.

"What about you, Carrots? Aren't you jumping in?" Gilbert knew exactly what he was doing, that nickname never failed to make her smile. She didn't really remember when it stopped irking her and started making her smile. She supposed it was late last year, she was feeding Delphine while Gilbert and Bash worked outside. She was also trying to surprise them with dinner. It seemed she got a bit too carried away playing with little Delly that her stew started pouring over, by the time she got to the stove the stew jumped and exploded all over her, her clothes, and the kitchen floor. Only Delphine was safe, as she laughed at the mess from the other side of the kitchen. 'What on God's Earth did you get yourself into this time, Carrots?' He had been unable to hide his smile and she had been unable to keep herself from bursting into laughter.

"Wouldn't you just love that?" They joked like that often. She had come to know a side of Gilbert that she didn't think a lot of people knew, and she absolutely loved. No one could argue that Gilbert Blythe wasn't the perfect gentleman, and entirely too selfless. But not a lot of people could say that he was funny. Anne could. Gilbert joked about himself all the time, self deprecating and self-adulating in the same amount. ('I mean I don't even know why all the girls in Avonlea are head over heels for you' she had said while they picked apples. He stopped and looked at her 'I mean, have you seen me, Carrots? Seriously?' She burst out laughing at that.)

So she had taken to joking around with him in the same way. ('Gil, I think we need to talk about your obsession with me.' She said to him when he arrived unannounced at Green Gables for the fourth day in a row. 'You wish. The conversation we should be having is about my obsession with Marilla's cream puffs.') Sometimes a joke wouldn't perform as intended and the air between them would became heavy with things unsaid. She would never tell him that when he joked about how she loved his hair, he was right. And he would never tell her that she actually was his main reason for going to Green Gables.

"I would." He dropped the teasing smile and looked at her solemnly. It reminded her of the way he looked at her right before she walked the schoolhouse roof and like she did that day, she felt the need to interrupt his gaze. She took all of him in, from his pants rolled up to the knee, to his wet curls sticking to his forehead. She noticed his broad shoulders and her gaze lowered, to a tiny dark mark just below his ribcage. She felt dizzy.

"I need to go." Anne didn't wait for anyone's response and just started walking as fast as she could. She could hear Diana running after her and calling her name but she couldn't bring herself to stop or the slow her pace.

Finally Diana caught up to her. "Hey, what was that all about? What happened to taking advantage of every second in Avonlea?"

"I-I couldn't stay there, Diana. I-I saw him and I saw something I shouldn't've seen, I'm not even sure what it is that I even saw but what if it is what I think it is an-"

"Slow down, Anne. Tell me what's going on." Diana tried to calm her friend.

When Anne felt she had put enough distance between her and the lake she stopped walking and turned to Diana. "You saw that birthmark Gilbert had?"

"Yeah, it looked like a soulmate mark but I'm not sure, I didn't take a good look."

"I don't know what it is, Di. But I have the exact same mark on my ankle." Anne silently pleaded for her friend to understand what she was trying to say, she didn't have the strength to say it out loud. When understanding finally etched itself on Diana's face, Anne started walking again.

"You have a soulmate mark on your ankle, Anne. You've told me about it and I've seen it. I know it's not a birthmark."

Anne couldn't form thoughts coherent enough for a reply so she just kept on walking. "Does this mean that you and Gilbert are soulmates?" Diana asked.

"I don't know what any of this means, Di." Anne finally saw Green Gables coming up the hill and said goodbye to her friend.

That night Anne poured over every romance novel she could find, including the ones she swore off years ago, and all of them had their main characters having some sort of grand revelation but Anne didn't feel any differently than she did yesterday. She loved spending time with Gilbert, that was much obvious. She couldn't say she didn't find him handsome, he's an objectively handsome boy... or man, she guessed. She could even admit (if only to herself) to having a small crush on Gilbert. But love? That was something else entirely. How was she to know what love was? But love was what she was supposed to feel for her soulmate. She had to feel it even without seeing the marks. And she had known Gilbert for a long time, if he really was her soulmate she should've felt something akin to the books by now.

Anne finally got her mind to quiet down nearing 4 in the morning, only to be woken up by the sun a couple of hours later. She begged Marilla to let her stay home from church that Sunday but Marilla would not relent. "Are you sick?" Marilla help a hand to Anne's forehead.

"...No." "Then you will go to church and thank the Lord for your health. Go get changed."

Anne did thank God when they got to the church, she thanked him because Gilbert hadn't been there when they got there, so she didn't have to talk to him. She still didn't know what to say to him 'Hey, I think we might be soulmates but we also might not be because I don't think I'm in love with you'. That probably wouldn't work. She also could pretend she didn't even see his mark and go back to normal but she didn't think that was a possibility anymore. She didn't know how to be around him anymore.

After church Marilla usually stuck around to talk to Bash and Mrs. Lynde but Anne took the opportunity to hop on the buggy with Matthew, Gilbert looking at her retreating figure in confusion.

The following day the Queen's study group was meeting at the schoolhouse to go over the topics for the entrance exam and Anne had already devised a plan for avoiding Gilbert. She spent the entire morning helping everyone else and when Gilbert asked her to read over his essay she quickly lied and told him she was too busy. This went on for the next few days. Anne had only gone four days without properly talking to him and she already missed him. She told herself this was a good thing, she had to get used to not being around him, they weren't going to be together at Queen's.

Anne tried to go a fifth day without talking to him but he made it impossible. Anne had been in the kitchen, trying to make bread, when Gilbert burst in through the kitchen door. Anne wasn't at all surprised, Marilla had assured Gilbert there was no need for him to knock anymore and he had listened to her. At the time it warmed her heart to see him come in with such familiarity, as if he was entering his own home. Now it only reminded her that she couldn't even look a mess in her house. Which she certainly did now. Flour covered every inch of her, it was caught in her braids, and in her dress, and on her face.

"I know you like to think you live here but you don't so try knocking next time." Anne kept on kneading her dough as she said this.

Gilbert was taken aback at her harshness, but persisted. "Sorry... It's just... You've been avoiding me, Anne. Why?"

"I haven't been doing anything, I've just been busy. Do you need anything or did you just come here to tell me you need attention?" Anne tried her hardest to keep her voice steely. She knew he would notice if she faltered, and if she faltered she would have to tell him the real reason she wasn't talking to him. She wasn't ready for that.

"Can we not do this right now, Anne?" Gilbert sighed.

"Do what?"

"This thing where you try to push me away. I'm tired of it from last year, and this time I'm not leaving so there's no point in trying." He moved closer to her. "You know you can tell me anything. What's going on with you?" His hands covered hers, stopping her from continuing with her kneading.

Her breath caught in her throat. "I can't talk about it right now, Gil." Her facade had been broken.

"I understand that. Tell me when you're ready. Just please don't keep avoiding me, I missed my best friend." He wrapped her arms around her and Anne felt like crying, though she didn't really know why.

"You're all covered in flour now." Her voice cracked. She held back her tears but the lump in her throat kept getting bigger.

"That's alright." He said softly. "I guess I'll just have to help you with this bread now." And that's what he did. They spent the rest of the afternoon baking, few words exchanged between them. He had gone to see her because she wasn't talking to him but standing there in the kitchen, her hand brushing against his as they worked the dough, he realized it wasn't just the conversation he missed. He missed the connection. They had somehow become a unit, there was no Gilbert without Anne.

As he walked back to his house his mind wandered to the day she broke her ankle after falling from the schoolhouse roof. He had told himself that he had imagined it. That whatever he had seen on her ankle that day was not a mark identical to his. It was just wishful thinking. If they were soulmates it would explain why he had felt so drawn to her since they met.

He rubbed the side of his face remembering the bruise that had formed there after she hit him with her slate that first day they met. Even though she tried her hardest to push him away, all he wanted was her attention. This need he had for her went on, even after he left Avonlea. Anne was the last thing on his mind after his father died but he would get struck by the though 'What is Anne doing right now?' as he shoveled coal or snuck into the upper deck to gaze upon the horizon.

Working on the ship taught him a lot. After seeing a lot of the world he figured there was more to life than worrying about a certain red headed girl ignoring him, he focused solely on his future. Until his brother got married, then he figured his future could wait. And he hadn't regretted that decision once. He thought of all the things he would've missed if he had left. He wouldn't've been there for all of Delly's firsts. He wouldn't've been able to get to know Mary before she left them, in the year he had with her he had cared for her as a sister, or maybe a surrogate mother. He wouldn't've gotten as close as he had with Anne.

Anne become a fixture of his life. He knew her, in a way that maybe he didn't know anyone else, maybe only Bash. She was his closest friend. And he always left it at that, friends. But sometimes when he saw her in a certain light or when she would laugh so hard her eyes would close, he felt a tug at his chest and wondered if what he felt for her was more than friendship. But then she would finish a sentence of his without even thinking about it and he would go back to being sure, they were friends. He had never heard of romantic partners having a relationship like theirs. What they had was special, and couldn't be sullied by adding anything more to it.

When he got home he found Bash with Delphine on his hip, trying to stir some soup. "Come on let me do that." Gilbert said, taking the spoon from his hand.

Bash tried to tell him about his day in the orchard but the words didn't seem to stick, his mind still hung up on Anne. "Where's you head at, Blythe? You haven't heard a word I've said." Bash protested.

"Sorry, Bash... I just... Can I ask you something?" He forgot about the soup and sat in the chair across from Bash. Bash nodded. "Were you and Mary soulmates?" Gilbert asked.

A rueful smile crossed Bash's face. It no longer hurt him to talk about Mary the way it once did. He missed her but now he wouldn't weep whenever he thought of her. "We were. Though we didn't find out until our wedding night. It didn't matter to us anyway, it was just a happy surprise."

"Didn't you at least have a feeling that she was your soulmate before you married her?"

"No, I just knew I loved her. And I would've continued to love her even if she wasn't my soulmate. Had I met a woman the next day with a matching mark the end result would still be the same. Mary was my person." Bash answered.

"How did you know you loved her? How could you be sure it was love and not anything else?" Gilbert continued with his questions.

"It just felt right, you know? I was eating dinner in her house and talking to her and I just felt at ease, and I knew that's what I wanted to do and how I wanted to feel for the rest of my life. That make sense, Blythe?"

Gilbert just nodded. It did make sense.

"Anything you wanna tell me?" Bash asked, his usual teasing smirk coming back to his face.

"Nope." Was all that Gilbert replied before standing up and returning his attentions to the soup.

-----

Anne knew she needed to make sense of her feelings. Whenever she was unsure of something she usually talked to Gilbert about it, but obviously that wasn't an option with the topic at hand. She tried talking to Diana, and while her bosom friend had tried to help her, she was a bit out of her depths, never having experienced anything close to what Anne was describing.

Anne decided to talk to someone who she knew would have answers. After the Queen's study group was dismissed, Anne decided to stay behind to talk to Miss Stacy.

"What can I help you with, Anne?" Miss Stacy sat on her desk while Anne leaned on the desk behind her.

She wasn't sure how to approach the subject so she decided to just jump right in. "You were friends with your husband, right?"

Miss Stacy was taken aback at the question but not much surprised anymore when it came to Anne. "I was." She chuckled a bit. "He was my best friend." Miss Stacy continued.

"How did you know you wanted to stop being his friend and wanted to become his wife?" Anne asked, earning a laugh from the teacher.

"It doesn't work like that, Anne! He was always my friend, especially when we got married. I believe friendship is the most important aspect of a marriage. Oh I had so much fun with my darling." Miss Stacy's smile only got wider as she continued to speak.

"Then how do you know when your feelings for someone are... romantical?"

"I know the answer I'm about to give you is probably going to be most unsatisfactory, but it is the truth. You just know. If you're confused now there will come a moment when you'll just know. You'll know whether this person is simply a good friend, or more than that." Miss Stacy was right, her answer did not satisfy Anne but she wanted an answer and an answer she was given.

"Thank you, Miss Stacy." The teacher went on to embrace her favorite student in a hug.

"I'll miss you when you're at Queen's." She whispered in Anne's ear.

"I'll miss you too." Anne replied.

Before Anne could exit the schoolhouse Miss Stacy called her for one last thing. "If it helps, I do think whoever is giving you these confusing feelings, is also having some confusing feelings of his own." She had noticed a certain Blythe boy moping around her classroom for a few days when a certain redhead wasn't talking to him.

Anne pretended she didn't know what Miss Stacy was talking about and left.

Anne still needed to think, so she went to her favorite thinking place. The cliff. She sat on the edge as the tall grass tickled her legs and wind mussed her braids. It wasn't long before she heard steps coming toward her. She smiled at the sound, how funny it was that she could tell exactly who it was just by the sound of his steps. He took a seat next to her.

"Marilla told me you'd be here." Gilbert said.

"Think of the devil..." Anne smiled at him.

"You thinking about me, Carrots?" Gilbert mirrored her expression.

"I was merely thinking, something you never let me do. I knew it wouldn't be long until you showed up here."

Gilbert suddenly turned serious. "I can leave if you want."

Anne shook her head. "You know your presence is always welcome by me, Gil."

He nodded. "So what were you thinking about?" He asked her.

Anne thought of a multitude of lies she could tell him but she decided to just tell him the truth. The moment was so peaceful she thought nothing could ruin it.

"I think we might be soulmates." She turned to look at him. His expression didn't change and he didn't say anything. He just sat there waiting for her to continue.

"You're not surprised?" She asked him.

He shook his head. "I had a feeling. I wasn't really sure, I'm still not, but I thought we might be. That day you broke your ankle, I could've sworn I saw your soulmate mark but it was so quick, and you pulled away, and there were other things to think about, I figured I imagined it. But then you started avoiding me after seeing my mark and I started thinking about it again." Anne opened her mouth to protest but Gilbert replied before she could even speak. "I know you saw my mark, Anne. I saw you checking me out at the lake."

Anne burst out laughing at this. "I was not checking you out!"

"You kind of were." Gilbert laughed. "But anyway, whether we are soulmates or not it doesn't really matter." He continued.

"Why not?" She asked.

"Because it won't change how I feel about you." He replied earnestly. He gazed at her in a way he had done many times, but looking at him now, she was sure his eyes held the answer to the question she was about to ask.

"How do you feel about me?"

"I love you." He said without hesitation. "And I'll continue to love you in any way you'll let me. If friendship is all you'll allow then I'll love you like a best friend until you no longer stand the sight of me. Though I'll probably still keep on loving you after that. Or if you'll allow it, I'll love you like a husband. I just want to be with you, Anne."

She understood Miss Stacy then. She knew in that moment she loved him. She couldn't imagine a life where Gilbert Blythe wasn't there to tease her and comfort her. She couldn't imagine ever wanting to be with someone the way she always wanted to be with him.

"I want to be with you too, Gil. Always. I love you." She said softly.

Gilbert didn't waste another moment after that, he closed the space between them and kissed her. It wasn't passionate, as they kept breaking the kiss to smile, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

They sat there, staring at the horizon. Anne's head on Gilbert's chest, his arms wrapped around her. It was as if Anne found the missing key. This was the only thing missing between them.

"Even though it doesn't matter, I do think we need to resolve the whole soulmate issue." Anne said, breaking their silence. "Let me see your mark." She said, tugging at his suspenders.

"Anne Shirley Cuthbert are you trying to get me to take my clothes off? Just what do you think Marilla would say?" He feigned shock.

"Oh come on, Gil!" She laughed. "Here I'll go first." She unlaced her boot and took off her stocking, the action reminding her of that fateful day outside the schoolhouse. Gilbert followed her lead and tugged his shirt over his head.

She inspected his mark and inspected hers. She ran her fingers over his mark and over hers and he did the same. Then Anne did something very uncharacteristic of her. She squealed. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, the force of it making them both tumble to the ground. She went on to pepper him with kisses wherever she could. His cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and finally a peck to his lips.

"I'm really glad it's you, Anne-girl." Gilbert said against her hair.

"There could never be anyone for me but you, Gilbert." She kissed him again. She would probably have trouble not kissing him after today.

But Gilbert was usually was the voice of reason between the pair and today was no different. He realized if anyone were to stumble upon them, that person would stumble upon quite a scene. Anne laying on top of him, kissing him, missing a shoe and a stocking, and Gilbert below her, kissing her, missing a shirt. "I should probably put my shirt back on."

"I'm becoming a fan of this shirtless Gilbert." Anne said sitting up. Gilbert only gave her a look.

A few hours later Gilbert dropped Anne off at Green Gables. She felt like she was walking on air.

"What's gotten into you, child?" Marilla chastised her when she took too long to set the table for dinner.

"Oh Marilla I'm in love." Anne said when they were all at the table. Matthew choked a little bit on his water but a few pats on the back from Anne and he was fine.

"I'm happy for you, Anne. But you must keep your head, your chores can't be ignored just because you're daydreaming." Marilla reminded her.

"Yes, Marilla. Oh but aren't you going to ask me who I'm in love with?" Anne continued.

Marilla scoffed. "I've seen you two making eyes at each other enough times right here in this very table to not know it's Gilbert Blythe making you crazy."

"We're soulmates."

Marillas eyes widened at that. "You are?" She asked. Anne nodded.

Marilla held out her hand over the table and squeezed Anne's hand. Matthew gave a kiss to Anne's temple and she felt oh so grateful for her parents.

Back at the Blythe-Lacroix homestead Gilbert was having a similar conversation.

"Hey, Bash. Guess what?" Gilbert said as soon as he opened the door. Gilbert nearly skipped on his way home from Green Gables and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Bash raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer. "I found out who my soulmate is today." Gilbert revealed.

Bash's face made quick work into turning his frown into a smirk. "Oh really? And who, pray tell, is the unlucky gal?" Bash had placed both his hands on the table, ready to get up from his seat any minute now.

Gilbert decided wait a few seconds before answering, it was his turn to torture Bash a little bit. "... Anne Shirley Cuthbert."

Bash sprung out of his seat and began doing his little dance. All Gilbert could do was roll his eyes. "Nearly three years later, Blythe. I was right all along. So you figured out part one, she's your soulmate, have you figured out part two yet?"

"What's part two?" Gilbert asked.

"Figuring out you're in love with her." Bash replied.

"Ah, it seems I figured out part two before I figured out part one." At that Bash let out another whoop and engulfed Gilbert in a hug.

"I'm happy for you, brother. You found the one, now don't mess it up."

"Why do you always have to add that little bit of venom." Gilbert complained, though he wasn't at all upset. He embraced Bash's teasing, it reminded him that the man that he had met in the most unexpected of places, really had become his brother.

"It's my job, Blythe." Bash laughed and left to get Delphine from her crib, doing his little dance every step of the way.

----------

The next morning while Anne was having breakfast there was a knock on the door. "Gilbert Blythe since when do you knock?" She heard Marilla say. She quickly gulped down her milk and went to the door.

"Anne reminded me the other day I need to mind my manners." Gilbert said, eyes piercing straight into Anne's. "Marilla may I walk Anne to the school for our Queen's study session?" Gilbert continued.

Both Anne and Marilla were shocked and rendered speechless. Gilbert had never asked for Marilla's permission for anything regarding Anne, he would simply show up and ask if she was there.

"Well I guess you'll have to ask her." Marilla said. She returned to the dinning room after that, not wanting to be witness to another round of youthful gazing between the new couple.

Anne raised her eyebrow at her Gilbert. "What's with all this newfound formality?" She asked him.

"Just wanted to begin our courtship the proper way. May I walk you to the school, Anne?"

Anne rolled her eyes at him. "You may. Let me get my things."

Once they were on the path to the school, walking the same way they had done dozens of times. Anne holding on to the crook of his elbow, letting go every once in a while to pick a flower or stroke a leaf, and Gilbert holding both of their books, she asked him a question. "What's all this about a courtship now?"

"After yesterday's events I thought we should start making things a little more... serious. I mean you're 16 and we've been lucky enough until now to have been friends this close and not have any rumors spread." Gilbert explained.

"It's just courtships are so stiff and formal and there's so many rules, you know we'd need to get a chaperone if we were to follow the rules correctly. And you're right, I am 16, much too young to be dealing with anything as serious as a courtship."

Gilbert stiffened at her explanation. "Does that mean you want to go back to just being friends?"

"No! It means I want us to be the same us we've always been. With a few new things thrown in." To make her point she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

"You're incorrigible, Carrots." Gilbert murmured against her lips.

---------

Anne's time that summer was divided between spending time with Diana and studying for the Queen's entrance exam with Gilbert. And the day had finally arrived, in a few minutes she would be taking her exam.

Diana had gone over to Green Gables that morning to wish her luck and try to settle her nerves. It saddened Anne to think that Diana wouldn't be accompanying her in this new adventure, but she knew that distance wouldn't weaken their friendship. Diana was her kindred spirit and Anne always thought of her as her second soulmate, even before she knew who her actual soulmate was.

Now she sat in the examination room, her paper in front of her. Gilbert sat on the other side of the room and offered her a reassuring smile. 'You've got this.' He mouthed. In a surprising turn of events Anne had decided when she woke up that she did not want to speak with Gilbert until after the exam. If he tried to study some more it would only make her more nervous and if they talked about something else it would only distract her.

When the examiner finally let them turn their papers all thoughts of Gilbert or Diana or anything else left her mind. And all she focused on were the answers to the questions on that paper. She recalled every single one of Miss Stacy's lessons and every equation written on her slate, and every late night study session. And somehow her nerves left her. She finished the exam and stood up and left, Gilbert's eyes following her as she moved.

A few minutes later Gilbert joined her at the bench she was sitting, right outside of the building where they had taken the exam. They were the only two that had finished.

"How did you do?" They both asked simultaneously.

"I think I did fine, but we'll just have to see." Anne answered.

"You're the smartest girl in school, Anne. I'm sure you did great. I think I did alright, but like you said, we'll just have to see."

"You're the smartest boy in school, Gil. I'm sure you did great." Anne reassured him, a smile on her face.

A month later they both found out. All the students gathered in the school for the last time to find out their exam results. Not for the first time that summer, Anne felt quite nostalgic standing there. Avonlea had become her whole life, and if she had managed to pass this exam, in a few weeks she would be leaving.

"Anne!" Ruby's voice brought Anne out of her reverie. "You and Gilbert tied for first place!" Her friend informed her.

"We did?!" Anne asked, nearly jumping for joy. She had a feeling she had passed the test but never in a million years would she had thought she would get first place. Well, tied for first place, but that was a technicality.

In that moment Gilbert grabbed her from behind and twirled her around. "Guess all those study sessions paid off, huh?"

The pair had decided they wouldn't follow the traditional courting rules, and while everyone around them was initially shocked at they way they behaved (and Anne had received many a scolding from Mrs. Lynde) they eventually moved on, another small town gossip taking everyone by storm.

"And here I thought those were just an excuse so you could spend time with me." She teased.

"Two birds one stone, Carrots." Gilbert said, making her laugh. Anne's laugh was one of Gilbert's favorite sounds, all he ever wanted to do was make her laugh.

Moody Spurgeon, klutz with a heart of gold, had decided that this was a momentous occasion, and they couldn't ignore it. "Come on, guys! This is the last time we will ever be together like this, we have to do something to commemorate it." He said once they had all learned their results and left the schoolhouse.

Anne had stayed a few minutes. She wanted to say goodbye to the place that had seen her grow up, a place that had seen her cry and laugh, the place where she officially met her soulmate. But most importantly, she wanted to say goodbye to Miss Stacy. Anne told Miss Stacy how much of an inspiration she was to her and Anne had shed a few tears when the older woman held her close and told her she was her favorite student.

"I'm so glad I met you, Anne Shirley Cuthbert." The teacher told her as she wiped her tears away. They had said their goodbyes and Anne waved as Muriel Stacy sped off in her motorbike.

"Okay, everyone. Let's meet by the lake in an hour, I'll bring the moonshine." Moody was giddy and his mood was quickly becoming contagious so everyone decided to do as Moody said. A couple of the girls went home to get some blankets, and Charlie Sloane headed off somewhere to get another bottle of moonshine, much to Anne's surprised. 'Guess people never stop surprising you.' She thought.

"I have to say I am a bit excited to see you under the effects of Moody's moonshine." Gilbert said. He and Anne walked hand in hand towards the lake.

"I have to say you'll be disappointed. Drunk Anne just happens to talk a bit more and laugh a bit more."

Gilbert looked at her in shock. "You've been drunk?! Does Marilla know about this?"

"Oh unfortunately she does, she was witness to the mess. Have I not told you this story?" Anne said, Gilbert shook his head. Anne went on to tell him all about that time when she and Diana, at the tender age of 13, got drunk on wine, thinking it was raspberry cordial. Gilbert laughed as she told him repeatedly "It was not on purpose, Gil. I genuinely thought thought it was raspberry cordial!"

These were the moments he cherished more than anything. Just talking to Anne. He wanted to know her completely. He wanted to know every embarrassing memory and every strange thought, all of it delighted him.

"What about you, huh? I have a hard time believing Mr. Global and Bookish here didn't have at least a sip of something while traveling the world." Anne asked him.

"The first time I drank some of Bash's rum I threw up. The second time I also threw up, granted it was after three glasses but still. In the morning Bash told me I tried to join a band that was playing in the street, I don't know how to play any instrument. After that I thought it best if my short-lived relationship with alcohol came to an end." Anne laughed trying to imagine 16 year old Gilbert attempting to play the drums. She made a mental note to ask Bash to tell her the extended version of that story sometime.

An hour and a half later all the classmates sat around the many blankets provided by the girls. They all reminisced and told stories while the second bottle of moonshine was passed around, the first one lay forgotten in a corner of one of the blankets, it was empty. 'You guys remember when we hopped a freight to save Miss Stacy?' 'Or when Prissy nearly married Mr. Phillips, what was that about?' Jane scrunched her nose up at that. 'Or who could forget when Gilbert came back from traveling around Canada only to be greeted by a slap in the face with Anne's slate?' Anne blushed at the memory, or maybe she blushed at Gilbert's kiss to her cheek.

It was nearing twilight, fireflies flew around them, and the breeze was blowing in a way that could only mean summer was coming to an end. But Anne felt warm all over. She couldn't tell if it was from the many layers of blankets around her, the many many sips of moonshine she had taken, or simply Gilbert's arms around her. But even her heart felt warm. In that moment she felt so content. Her best friend lay next to her, Diana's head near Anne's feet. The girls had called upon Diana to join their farewell gathering and the girl nearly drank half of the first bottle with a grimace. "The wine was much better, wasn't it Anne?" Diana said to her, even though her speech was slurred, she spoke in soft tones.

"Yes it was, Diana." Anne replied.

The conversation in the group had faded out, people opting to speak in smaller groups or simply just enjoy the sunset, not speaking at all. The alcohol hadn't made them wild and rowdy, like Moody had predicted, but rather slow and lazy. It felt as though the slightest movement of Anne's body required enormous amount of strength, so the wisest choice seemed to not move at all. Her head was against Gilbert's chest, his steady heartbeat in her ears, like the sweetest melody. Anne chuckled at the sound of Diana's soft snores, it seems she was the first fallen soldier. But no one made a move to wake her. She moved her eyes forward and saw Ruby in a similar position, her eyes were closed and Anne couldn't tell whether she was asleep or not. The difference between her and Diana being that Ruby laid with her head on Moody's lap. That day at the lake was only the beginning of something.

Anne's childhood hadn't been perfect but that moment of complete tranquility and immeasurable happiness seemed to make up for every single tear she ever shed. She was now ready for the future.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Boys & Girls (Sriracha, Part 40.)

Series description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: Family life suited you both and what was better, this time it was going to work out for real.

A/N: And we are officially back in business with ma boi Jim. Also, greatly inspired by Jim Croce since Hopper really loved his music.

Warnings: Weepnig and whining messes on the end of the chapter.

Word count: 4K

Tagging: @nemodoren @missdictatorme @ysljordy @creedslove​ @hopperlover​

Series master list: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

Even if the things were slowly settling down, with you and Jim being definitely in the honeymoon phase again and not being engaged for some unknown reason, it still took some to make all the things right again. You needed to help Jim with making a new ID, you had quite a long scrum with the bank and authorities to even believe that Jim is really and Jim just for him to get a hold on his former conto with the money you both saved over the time. You didn't have access to the money since James was the account holder - but at the end of February, you finally were allowed to use the money and you started to look for a new home - it was incredibly awkward that you both had to live at your parents’ house no matter how many times your ma told you it’s fine.

Jim started to visit a therapist and group therapy sessions in a nearby town and so far, it was doing him justice. He felt better to know some more Vietnam veterans who've been through the same thing he was through - these men had gone through. He called his former colleague Rosario Delgado to ask her about her well being - it was almost ten years since the New York incident and she stopped sending him Christmas postcards. James was trying to get his life together; he wanted to sort everything out after almost twenty years. And he was doing good.

You proceeded to study at the university, still having your old part-time job at the bistro, being there at least three days a week. Jim’s salary of a police officer wasnt bad, not at all, but it still was a downgrade from his Chief salary. It wasn’t that you suddenly were on the edge of poverty, especially with your savings, but you felt the missing money - especially when you were looking for a flat in the downtown. But in the end, you hadn't settled down on a flat; you chose a small house which was still significantly closer to the downtown than the suburban houses.

It was nice - this wasn’t his trail or his cabin where he had already been moved in; this was the first time when you chose, paid, and started to live on a place together. This was the fresh start drawing a flat line behind the Hawkins Lab incident, behind Russia, behind both Vietnam and New York - with endless love, Jim was leaving Sara and Diane behind.

The first few weeks in the house were the best - you hadn't got any TV, any couch, not even a bed or a wardrobe. You had only one mattress on the floor where you were sleeping, a few kitchen appliances, boxed with all of your stuff, and an old gramophone. You couldn't count the running shower which was already there. When you weren't at work or school, you were painting the walls on your own since you didn't exactly have the money to pay a professional painter.

"This is supposed to be a pomelo orange? Are you sure about that? Haven't you took a different bucket on accident?" - Jim yelled at you while you were swabbing a room you decided to have a living room in. You stopped your work and swiped the sweat off your forehead, listening to Jim Croce’s Operator. You unpacked each of James’ Jim Croce vinyl records and moved it into your new place as well, usually listening to Croce while you were working.

James was looking healthier and healthier with each passing month - he gained a few pounds, you couldn't see his ribs anymore, he let his hair grow and his significant ’83 beard was back again. He was looking hot, especially in an unbuttoned shirt and a new Jim Croce shirt you ordered him for his name day - which was more than three months away, but you loved it so much that you couldn't stop yourself.

He was standing there looking at the wall, the orange paint was all over his body, but not on his shirt as he held the paint roller in his palm. Yeah, you could see what he was talking about - it was more peachy than a pomelo, but you liked it nonetheless. - "Maybe it’ll be looking better once it dries up, hm?" - You whispered and hugged him from behind slowly. You were still careful with the touches and freaking him out, but it was undeniable that it got better. Gently, you kissed his shoulder and smiled at the work he had done.

"It looks great Hopper." - You nodded with a grin. He circled his palms around yours and swayed his hips in the rhythm of the song. You did so as well. Slowly, he turned around to face you, smiling down on you. You smiled back, expecting a kiss - only to have the paint rolled all over your face. You closed your eyes and grunted angrily.

"Oh yea, I can see the pomelo color now. I think you were rite. Why don't you have more clothes in this color? It suits you." - Jim grinned before he pressed his face to yours so some of the paint pressed on his skin too.

"This was unnecessary - so now, I will angrily continue the things I was up to before you called out." - You said with fake drama in your voice, being the drama queen you always were. You had already put your arms from his hips, pulling away, when he leaned in for a kiss. You felt the paint on your tongue, which was indeed disgusting.

"It was completely necessary, in my defense, miss Y/L/N." - James yelled at you after a while. You chuckled, yelling back at him why he thinks so, continuing with cleaning up the room. - "Isn't that obvious? My girlfriend now has to take a shower before the paint settles down in her hair and since I have it on my face too, you know that does that mean." - Jim suddenly stood up the doorframe, watching you on the floor trying to clean up the fucking wooden floor.

A burst of unbelieving laughter came out of your lips as you watched him. - "This is a genius move for a dumbass like you, Hopper, I gotta say. But you'll have to play Speedball Tucker if you want to see me undressing." - You stood up and bit your lip, having Jim already walking to the gramophone.

"Why is it that this song does things to you?" - Jim asked and stopped the music to put in Life & Times by Croce. You shrugged your shoulders with a nasty smile, already unbuttoning the first buttons.

"I don't know. Maybe it’s because you hum it all the time? But play me You Don't Mess Around With Jim in the bed and I'll show you things you haven't seen yet." - Your short snort resonated through the living room as you turned around to walk to the bathroom. - "You sure will." - Jim snorted back, already throwing his shirt on the floor.

Eleven was over her heels when she came to visit Hawkins on spring break with Joyce. While Joyce was staying at your mum’s, her sons were at Wheelers’, Eleven was staying at your place in her room - it was also the only room which was finished - she had a bed there, a bookshelf for schoolbooks and comic books, a large table you bought on a flea market with a chair in the pair and you told her that she can have some posters and as many photo frames as she wants to. It still needed small touches, but it also meant one thing. It was a silent promise that soon enough, you'll be a family again.

In the end, you decided to put up some of Sara's photos. You knew it was really important Jim, but you needed to talk him down into it. You loved one of the photos from her kindergarten which you put up in the kitchen. When Joyce saw that you hung the picture up, her eyes teared up as she smiled. It also sparkled a rather interesting conversation between you and James.

"How was it like?" - You asked when you were preparing dinner. Jim was sitting at the improvised table; you still had an empty living room, hall and the master bedroom was consisting of the mattress only. He looked up from a detective novel he was reading, looking up at you.

"What? You mean seducin' you? I'm a piece of cake so you gave in pretty easily." - He grinned, having a smile from ear to ear. It was around five p.m. and Eleven was soon about to come home. Tomorrow, you had a family dinner at Enzo's in the plan - Mike was supposed to come, Aiden and Lena drove from New Orleans in the evening.

"Hold your horses. A) you're wrong because I'm a sex bomb and you were all over the place from me and b) no, I don't mean this... I mean... How was it like to have such a small baby girl?" - You answered from concentrating on having the pepper perfectly cut. Hopper closed the book, holding the page with his fingers. His eyes widened and cheeks filled when he slowly inhaled some air.

"It's somethin' you can't even describe. It's fillin' up to the bottom of your soul, you more than love every second of it. When the child hugs you, you just feel sorta warm next to your heart. You only want them to be safe and happy every day, you'd do every little thin' just to see them smile." - Hopper got out with noticeable pauses - he wasn't good with his words, but you could hear that he means every letter of what he had said.

"That sounds just... Lovely." - You sighed and let's be honest, the smile on your face was freaking James out. He was watching you without looking away. - "What would you say..." - You bit your lip and looked Jim in the eyes. Hopper's eyes widened almost unnoticeable.

"If you'd have a chance to do it again?" - You whispered and at that moment, Eleven entered the house, so panicked Hopper didn't have a chance to answer. Playfully, you rose your eyebrows happily and turned back to the pepper. - "Just think about it, yeah?"

Of course, this was about to come. You were young, your thirties were almost six years away and one day, this question was about to come his way. Kids. You never talked about having kids - you already had one. But not about really settling down to have a real family life. With small kids.

Was James even ready to try it again? Or was he simply too old to raise a kid? Or two of them? Sure, you'll soon be done with university and your parents would help you with every little thing you'd ask them, yet James couldn't forget that this was Hawkins in Indiana. This place was dangerous. Especially for James Hopper.

But you said it out loud. That you want to have kids. Sure, El was your kid, your baby girl and you'd kick ass to anyone who'd try to harm her. But there was an itsy bitsy thing - you didn't give birth to her which could do a lot. You proclaimed her as your rightful kid, you were written down in her birth certificate.

James was out of the world for both the following evening and he was even more stressed out the other day when you were supposed to go to Enzo's.

Your question had pulled some damn switch inside of him; he wasn't able to properly fall asleep the whole night thinking about the kid thingy. The only thing James could say for sure was that if you'd have a girl, she would look like an angel; because you were one. But that wasnt all.

"Are you having nightmares or what's wrong with you?" - You mumbled from somewhere under your blanket. You mostly were doing that during winter and in the early spring - only your head could be seen because your whole body was curled up under the blanket to keep you warm. You moved around a bit before Jim could register your face.

"Should somethin’ be wrong with me?" - James hummed and brought you closer to warm you up. You were as cold as ice. Carefully, you wrapped your leg around his waist, leaving out a long sigh.

"You're turning around all the time and make the mattress move. Something on your mind, Hop?" - You yawned and put your temple on his shoulder, closing your eyes again. You were smiling without realizing; just smelling him and feeling him close was making you happy. And you fell asleep again almost immediately.

Jim wanted to ask you to marry him on the family, this time, he made sure he adhered to the traditions - first, earlier that day when he was dropping El at your parents’ house before she was supposed to see Mike, he talked with your father. Both he and Molly couldn't understand why did he cancel the engagement in the first place, just to ask them.

He did the best to tell them that he's now trying to turn his life around, starting from a literal zero - he contacted his old colleagues like Rosario and Vietnam comrades, he said goodbye to Sara, bought the house with you and renovated it. James just wanted a new life and he wanted to start it in the right way with you by his side. That was what made your dad give him his blessing.

On top of that, you were controlling how much did he smoke and how much Tuinal did he take - it wasn’t meant in a bad way and James knew that - he was just fucking grateful that you took the role of his guardian angel. You couldn't be described any other way than being a guardian angel.

But if he proposes to you, then marries you... Kids were just the next step, right? When Jim finally fell asleep, it was while he held your waist and tried to think about what would it look like. James was almost forty-four years old. He would be sixty when the kid would be sixteen, sixty-four when they would be twenty. Which was horrifying and more than that. He was thirty when Sara was born which was an ideal age in his opinion. He was thirty-seven when she died. Would he be even able to be a good dad? Jim thought that he was in a fairly good condition, thanks to his police work, but a kid...  

The other evening, Jim put on his best shirt and tuxedo, looking at himself in the mirror as he was adjusting the small details - this tuxedo he had at the first family dinner in your house. Eleven peaked into the room before she entered.

She was a grown-up since the last time James had seen her - she had longer hair, she was more tanned, taller and even her face seemed to be more adult. James admired that Eleven was always an adult in some way. Ever since Jim met her, in some things, she was drastically more matured than kids her age - she knew things people her age didn't have a single idea about. Yet now it seemed that her personality had deepened even more than before.

Eleven had a nice dress on and you helped her put her hair in a messy bun. She smiled at James and checked that the door is closed.

"Are you okay?" - She asked excitedly. Right at the moment, you were in the living room with Mike and you two were chatting while drinking some lemonade you made. He was supposed to make you occupied while Eleven went to check up on Hopper.

"How can I be okay?" - Hopper said with an unnerved laugher and went to sit down on your bed. Eleven laughed as well and sat next to him; she hugged his shoulder and shook him a bit.

"Mom said yes before and she loves you. She will say yes again, I'm sure." - Eleven smiled and put her temple on Jim's shoulder, letting him kiss the back of her head. She could now speak as kids her age did. Eleven was talking fluently, without hesitation, but yes, sometimes she still thought about how to put a sentence in a certain way. - "Grandpa said yes too, he knows you two should be together."

"How did you come to that conclusion, kiddo? Hm?" - Jim chuckled at her words. He knew what Eleven was trying to tell him, but it was too adorable not to make fun of.

"I've heard that in a movie I was watching with Joyce and Will." - She smiled and at that moment, they both turned their heads to the door, hearing as you called out for them. It was time to go. Eleven got up first, giving her palm to Hopper to help him get up. - "You can do it. Its just one question."

"Geez, you're a smart one, kiddo." - Hopper chuckled, following her out of the room. You and Mike were waiting under the staircase. Even if Jim saw you before and he knew how would you look like, he was wonderstruck when he saw you in your blue dress with your hair styled masterfully.

"What were you two up to, huh?" - You asked both of them, tying up his tie again, properly this time. - "Are you having secrets again?" - You joked, making Eleven smile innocently as she stood up next to Mike and entwined her elbow with his. After taking too many photos and embarrassing the hell out of Mike, Jim laid in with his dad jokes that time, yo rode to the restaurant.

Mike on the backseat was visibly sweating. He always thought that Eleven has Hopper and you - he forgot that you have a brother and parents. If he was worried about something, it was that he won't make a good first impression. Which would embarrass him to death? Yet, you were telling the whole time that he's perfectly fine. It was strange to realize that Aiden was only six years older than them. That wasn’t too much. And you weren't much older either.

Seeing your family gather around one table was a thing that made you so happy, that smiled didn't leave your face the whole afternoon. Mike, in the end, was happy too - he and Eleven befriended your cousin Andrea who was at their age, so these three had so many to talk about and so did you, the adults sitting there. The food in Enzo’s was delicious and this time, you hadn't got any surprise which would make faint. Even the fine wine you loved so much was ordered and Jim offered that this time, he would drive home - which meant that you had nothing to be worried or angry about.

Everyone shut up when a man stood up from the chair he was sitting on and you were looking at him with awe. Your palm circled Jims as you watched your younger brother getting himself to propose to his girlfriend. Which was kinda scaring Jim, since that was his plan that evening?

The things Aiden told her were one of the sweetest you had ever head. With a contained smile, you leaned to James’ shoulder, watching Aiden getting on his knee with a face that was showing his emotions. He was lost over the heels for Lena, his heart was surely beating for her. You didn't notice your dad having intense eye contact with Jim since he was waiting for the older man to do the exact thing his son had just done.

And you asked what's wrong when Jim took a deep breath in, trying not to faint. He was stressed. He was facing stress. The last time he was doing this was behind a locked door to his office. Not in a restaurant, let alone your family being present.

"Jim, are you having a heart attack?" - You put your palms on his jaws, looking at his reddened cheeks and completely sweaty forehead. Hopper shook his head, having his eyes widening with each passing second. It was now or never situation. Naturally, everyone was extra-surprised when Hopper suddenly stood up as well and exhaled loudly.

It didn't take you too much time to figure out what's happening there. You had seen him this nervous once already and boy oh boy, here it was again. It was nice and you knew that most likely, he had encouraged himself for weeks before he was ready to get on that damn knee again.

"My dear Y/N." - He started, watching your father as if the man would tell him what should he say next - and the funniest part was that your father watched him as well in the same way. Then Jim’s palm took a hold on the back of your chair, the man leaning down a bit. The guests inside Enzo’s were nervous. One proposal was a classic, but two at once? That was extraordinary.

"I want... To... Tell you..." - Jim started slowly as he tried to get his self-confidence back. You nodded and caught his other palm to show him that he's fine. Nothing could ruin his moment. - "I love you. Very much. And that I know you hadn't got it exactly easy with me past couple of months. And neither of the people had it easy with us. It's just how it is, and I'm grateful for everything you've been willing to give me - family, a new home, the feeling of being safe, and useful. You made me see a million things I haven't seen before meeting you and I have to thank you and your family for that." - Jim looked around nervously, having you still smiling in front of him.

Joyce surely wrote this speech too. She was a mister of romantic words full of love, which wasn’t exactly Hopper’s area. He was more about showing love than telling the words yet you liked that about him. This was just Joyce’s work.

"And for that, I would be honored," - Was the part where he got on his knees finally and this time, it felt like a proposal for a wedding. Not some Hopper’s ’I would be up for marriage if you want to’. This looked like a real ’Do you want to spend the rest of your life by my side?’, which brought happy tears to your eyes. - "If you'd like to become my wife and have me by your side until the day we both get old and wrinkly."

That was maybe the best Hopper could get out of himself, but let's be honest, it left you a whining and nodding mess, since you couldn't say a single word at that moment. The last thing you remembered clearly from that evening was when Hopper gently picked you up from the ground when you had the ring on, weeping here and there as well.

[iwrite-sometimes]

Family is thicker than blood

Chapter 2

Rk 400 was a detective prototype designed to assist the DPD with any cases they have, so he didn’t know why he was being taken to a private residence to be a house android. When he meets his little charge, a boy named Connor, he will have to do things he wasn’t programed to do. But as he learns all the horrors the boy has to go through at the hands of his mother, he will feel things he was never meant to feel.

Chapter 1 here

AO3

Life at the Stern house started early. Hank had to wake Connor up and get him ready at 5 o’clock. They had to be fast because the boy was meant to do his morning reading at 5:30. He had to fix breakfast for 6:30 and the kid had to be quick, as he had his first lesson at 7 o’clock. Amanda wasn’t kidding when she said the boy was on a tight schedule, though Hank doubted that woman could make a joke even if her life depended on it.

His detective program was a little more advanced in comparison to the other two, it was clear that he had used it before even if he didn’t have any sort of memory of the time. He assumed he had worked for the DPD at one time, according to the conversation he heard in the lab but any memories he had from that time were gone.

They weren’t able to erase his original purpose, so his ‘personality’ was still there. Hank was meant to blend with police and law enforcement officers. He was meant to be a detective, so he was programmed to be observant, pay attention things others normally ignored and take care of any case that was handed to him. He was a little gruff, some might describe, both in appearance and in his way of being. But that, in a strange way, blended well with the new programs they had installed. He could see this kid was obviously being shaped to be some sort of trophy child, and Hank would do what he could to make his life a little easier. Maybe he could be a friend to the boy, he had seemed awfully quiet last night, but again it was pretty late when he arrived so maybe Connor was just tired.

All of these thoughts went by Hank’s mind while he headed up the stairs to Connor’s room. The poor boy was bound to be cranky, he had gotten at most 6 hours of sleep. Not nearly enough for a child so young, his program supplied. Well, nothing to do. Orders were orders and the kid was probably used to it by now. Maybe in one of his free periods during the day, Hank could fit a little nap or something. He was homeschooled, by the looks of it, so he had some free hours during his day.

Reaching the room at the far back of a long corridor, he saw a little name plate with neat cursive writing attached to the door. Niles & Connor. This is it. Hank gently pulled the door open and saw a simple room. The walls were a soft blue with white carpeted floors. There were two small twin beds on either side of the room just under a big window. Matching desks where near the beds, facing the wall. One of them was packed with books and neatly organized writing supplies. Hank couldn’t see any color pens or children books on either desk, and that made him think that perhaps this was his older brother’s room and Connor had moved elsewhere. He was about to leave when he saw slight movement from the bed on the right. A tiny head peeking out of the covers and what looked like the ear of a plush toy. So this was Connor’s room. The android took a moment longer to inspect the area. There were no toys, the other bed was neatly made and it was clear that no one had slept there for some time. The desk was similar to the bed, there were a few schoolbooks and some pens, but not much else.

From his database, Hank knew that children were often messy. He had expected to find clothes on the floor, books and toys scattered around. Hell, he expected to at least find one colored pencil or crayon, but no. This room looked like a guest room or an adult’s one, but definitely not like a child’s bedroom. Maybe Niles was a lot older than Connor and he didn’t want a childish room, Connor appeared to be quiet and meek enough to go along with anything he was told. Plus, it was obvious his mother favored his older brother.

Shaking his head, Hank approached the little bed. This kid was adorable, tousled brown locks going everywhere, a little pout on his lips, freckles all over his face and thin arms clinging to what looked like a dog plush. Well, at least he had one toy, for the looks of it.

The android gently placed his hand in Connor’s shoulder and gave it a little shake.

“Connor. Wake up, kid.” He kept his voice soft, as to not frighten the boy. The only reaction he got was a weak whine and a little frown on his face. He wished he could let him sleep a little more, but he had to wake up if he was going to make it to his morning reading (why such a young child needed to spend an hour reading at 5 in the morning was beyond Hank).

“C’mon kid, time to get up.” He said a little louder with another shake. Connor turned a little and hugged his dog closer while scrunching up his little face, but didn’t wake up otherwise. “I know you are tired, kid. I promise to try and squeeze a little nap later today, but your mom will be waiting for you in the library in a few, so we nee-”

As soon as Hank mentioned the boy’s mother, he sprung up with amazing speed for someone who had been peacefully asleep mere seconds ago. The kid’s eyes were wide open, scanning the room frantically before falling on the android in front of him. Fear changed to apprehension as he hugged his plush a little closer.

“Hey, it’s ok. We have time. C’mon I’ll help you get dressed and take you to the library.”

Connor blinked up at him owlishly and said nothing. After a beat, he got off the bed and put his dog on the opposite bed. The plush was obviously well loved, a soft St. Bernard dog with big brown eyes that reminded Hank of Connor. Hank noticed that the kid’s pajamas were huge for him. They fell off his little frame and swallowed him whole. Strange. Amanda was clearly not lacking in the money department, so the android couldn’t thing of a reason why the kid had clothes that were obviously not his size. Pushing his thoughts aside for now, he looked back at the toy.

“He’s cute, what’s his name? Or is it a she?” He tried to make conversation with the kid, but as of now, he hadn’t heard a single word come out of his mouth. He really wanted to think the boy was shy and wary of him, being new and all, instead of all the other suggestions that his detective program was giving him.

Connor looked at him for a moment longer before rubbing the sleep of his eyes with tiny fists and turning towards his bed. He climbed it again, and Hank was about to tell him he couldn’t go back to sleep when he realized the kid was beginning to make his bed. The boy was really short, so it was a fit watching him wrestle with the sheets like that.

“It’s ok. Why don’t you go and use the restroom while I do that for you? Then I’ll help you get ready.” Hank moved to pick the child off the bed when he turned to look at the android and rapidly shook his head. The fear he saw when he woke up was back again, it was really unusual. He could see that it was a lost battle, and if he wasn’t careful the kid would freak out.

“How about I help you? You will do everything yourself, but it’ll be easier and faster that way.” Hank moved slowly, as to warn the kid of his intentions. He picked the boy gently and helped him while he fixed his bed. God, this kid weighted almost nothing. Especially since the android was designed to have a bulkier built and could lift heavy things, the boy felt like nothing in his arms.

Once they were done, Hank placed Connor on the floor. The boy had a strange expression on his face, one he couldn’t identify. He looked at Hank for a moment longer before heading to the bathroom, leaving the android standing in the middle of the room. There was something off with this kid, he didn’t fit any of the standards of children his age according to his database, well, at least not his caretaker database. But it was something more, some deeper knowledge like something buried deep in his core. His investigative program was raising up some warnings, but they were in the background and quickly dismissed by a strange code he hadn’t seen before.

He headed to the wardrobe and found a lot of black slacks and white shirts. It looked like a uniform. There were some socks and undergarments in a drawer, some pajamas, coats and sweaters, all in greys, whites and blacks. The only color in here was some blue sweaters that were too warm to wear at this time of year. What a dull attire for a 6-year-old. He picked up some pants, underwear and shirt. He placed them on the bed just in time for Connor to come out looking just as sleepy as before. He gently helped the kid change and then combed his hair. His little curls gave him a really soft and childish look, it didn’t go along with his careful pose and fearful eyes. Hank finished placing the shoes on his tiny feet and helped him hop off the bed.

“All set! Ready to do some reading?” His fake-cheery voice sounded ridiculous even in his ears. As expected, Connor remained quiet and looked up at him. He approached the bed and picked up his plush dog before standing next to Hank. He carefully reached to take the android’s big hand and Hank was quick to hold it. Together, they left towards the boy’s first lesson of the day.

———————————————————————————————————–

Library really was the only word to describe the huge room they were in. Walls covered with printed copies of thousands of books. That was a rarity these days, most books were digital and it was very hard to find a printed copy of anything. There were cozy looking couches against the walls and a fireplace in the corner. A table with some open books and sheets of paper where on top of the table in the middle of the room. Amanda was sitting in one of the chairs, facing the door.

“Go begin the breakfast, Hendrik. Come Connor, let’s begin.” She regarded the boy as he walked up the table, head down and back straight. He placed his plush in the chair and sat next to it.

Hank left the room and went to prepare the food.

Every interaction he saw between Connor and Amanda was even stranger than the last. The woman obviously cared about the kid’s education, if the sheer amount of classes was anything to go by, but she didn’t seem to care for anything else. Hank couldn’t avoid but to be wary of that, he had been programed with the purpose to investigate and aid the police force, and that involved all types of cases, some including children. He didn’t have the memories of his time as a police android, but his database was all there. Pair that with the new programs and all of these mother-son interactions were enough to raise some warnings.

What also worried him was the fact that Connor hadn’t talked at all, not even a word. He wondered if the child was non-verbal and that’s why Amanda chose to have him be home-schooled instead of going to the same school as his brother. He started putting all the information he had gathered so far and see if his program might bring any sort of warnings of the treatment of the woman to Connor.

>>Gather more data to form conclusion.

Yeah, of course. He hadn’t seen anything that might raise a red flag. Yet.

Hank shook his head. The strange code was back and all his thoughts on the matter disappeared. He reached the kitchen and grabbed the tablet that had the menu of the week.

The food this woman wanted him to make was just as plain and boring as everything else in this house. Jesus, this kid ate the same food old people were getting at a hospital. Plain oatmeal. No milk or sugar, just water and oatmeal. Some barley crackers and a glass of water. This ain’t right. Hank looked again, trying to see if maybe she had a separate menu for Connor, something a little more flavorful than this. But no, that was it. All of the meals on the menu was the same, the occasional fruit was thrown here and there, but that’s about it. This is ridiculous, the kid gets no sleep and now he gets no food. What is his woman’s deal? His processor was going crazy, trying to make sense of what was happening. Something inside him was telling him things in this place were seriously fucked up. Then, his vision went back and he froze.

It was only a second, not enough for anyone to notice but himself. Something seemed to jolt him out of that train of thought and he suffered a quick reboot. His eye components came back online and he found himself looking at a tablet in his hands. What was he doing again? Ah, breakfast, right. Better get that done.

Without another thought, Hank began the task of preparing the food. His movements were precise, calculated. He was done in no time and started to clean up and get the table ready. Just as he was placing the water at the table, Amanda and Connor entered the kitchen.

Amanda moved fluidly as she sat at the head of the table and grabbed the little honey container and sweetened her food. She was wearing a similar white outfit with some green fabric over one shoulder that Hank didn’t know the name of and didn’t bother looking it up. Then he turned his sight to Connor and his processor seemed to stop.

The boy was standing near the door; it was clear he had been crying. His little arms were holding his dog close to his chest and he was trembling slightly.

“Connor.” Amanda’s voice was sharp and cold, not even caring her son was crying in the doorway. “I do not have all day for you to stand there like an imbecile. Eat, I won’t have you be late to your first lesson.”

Tears ran down his flushed cheeks as he walked to the table. He sat down and placed his plush in his lap, but made no move to start eating. One tiny hand raised and grabbed is ear, he was trying to calm down, to stop crying, and the look of this little boy, silently crying and obviously distressed in the middle of a cold dining room did something to Hank’s thirium pump.

He tried approaching the crying child, only for a pointed look from Amanda to stop him.

“Stop this ridiculous behavior this instant! You will eat your breakfast and freshen up to be ready for class, or the consequences will be severe. Have I made myself clear, Connor?”

The child nodded quickly, struggling to control his breathing and took the spoon with a shaky hand. He began to eat, still highly upset about whatever happened before breakfast but scared of his mother’s threat. Amanda resumed eating, and the only sound that could be heard was the cling of spoons against plates and the distressed breathing of the little boy.

Connor lifted his head and spared a quick glance at Hank, and when the android could finally see his face clearly, he felt his thirium freeze. One of Connor’s cheeks was redder than the other, slightly swollen and irritated. There was no way that could happen from crying, it looked as if the boy had been slapped. Hard.

“Don’t you have other chores, Rk400?” Amanda was looking at him with eyes that dared him to say something.

“Of course, ma’am. I will continue. Enjoy your breakfast.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth but his body was already moving to comply with his tasks.

———————————————————————————————————–

The rest of the morning went by, Hank took care of the house and discovered that the detective part of him had a word or two to say about chores, none of them good. Connor never left the room where he had his classes. Apparently, the kid had his lessons in a small office-like room near the library. He met with his tutors online and didn’t leave the room at all. Hank doubted the kid new other children, with the way his schedule was. It was strange that Connor didn’t take any sort of breaks or snack times, especially since kids his age didn’t have a big attention span, but as he had learned until now, Connor was a different boy.

Lunch was just a plain soup thing that had probably no taste at all and he had to serve it when Amanda came home after work. She arrived a little after midday, looking just as prim and proper as ever. She glanced at the android in the kitchen and went to fetch Connor. They took way longer than was necessary, considering the kid should be done with class already, but when they returned Hank expected the kid to be in the same state as he was this morning. Oh, how wrong he was.

His cheek was still red and puffy, it stood out even more considering the kid’s face was completely pale. Probably starving Hank hoped assumed. His little hand was clinging to his ear again while the other held his plush close. He looked upset, but Hank was coming to think this was a constant for the boy. He looked like a prisoner walking to his death. For once, he wasn’t looking down, but his eyes were looking straight ahead but not really looking at anything.

Hank’s program told him that some crazy shit was about to happen. He felt something like dread go through him. He could see some software instability warnings out of the corner of his eye, but he pushed them away. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it. Something in the back of his processor was screaming at him, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

Connor sat down, placing his dog between the chair and his back and went back to grabbing his ear. Nobody moved until Amanda picked up her spoon and began eating. The boy didn’t move, just staring at his soup with the same terrified yet resigned look on his face. Amanda gave the boy a sharp look and he flinched, letting his ear go and grabbing the spoon. He began eating mechanically.

Hank knew the woman was going to dismiss him, so he left towards the kitchen to clean up and adjusted his hearing processors so he could listen what was going on. For a long time, all he could hear were the sounds of plates and spoons making contact. Maybe he had overreacted. Maybe Connor was just hungry and tired.

“So, Connor. I talked to your teachers.” Hank had never heard the woman so displeased before. Maybe he was just full of shit.

“It looks like you are doing an adequate job in most classes. Not that anything less was expected of you, obviously. You clearly need more time studying, adequate is not acceptable like I have already told you but you seemed to keep forgetting.”

Connor’s breath hitched a little. It was the only reaction the boy had and the silence returned for a little.

“Ms. Clark, your history teacher, had some interesting comments today. She seems to think you are doing good in her class. However, there was a little, shall we say, inconvenient today. Care to tell me what happened, Connor?”

Hank could see a little of the dining room from the kitchen, just enough to see Connor’s hand drop the spoon and grab his ear again. Amanda continue eating, as if nothing was wrong. The boy didn’t say anything, but Hank could see him opening and closing his mouth, trying to form words through the panic he was in. Small sounds came out of the boy, but Amanda continued like he had answered her.

“You were sleeping in class. Sleeping, Connor. I do not know how you can pay attention if you are asleep, but I doubt you have that capacity.” The hell. It’s obvious the kid was gonna fall asleep, he was exhausted! Can’t she see that? Hank couldn’t understand how someone could be so blind as to not see this little boy being beyond tired. His schedule was too full; the pressure was simply stupid to place in someone so young! But she didn’t stop.

“I don’t think you understand the amount of time and resources you make me spend on your education. But to waste another one’s time on top of it? Was it not enough for you to already affect your brother’s progress so much that now you have to waste a teacher’s time as well?” Connor’s breath hitched, he looked like he was about to start crying and was trying his best to remain quiet.

“Or is that your objective, hum? Do you wish to hinder your brother’s progress? Is that why your performance is constantly disappointing? Are you actively holding your brother back?” Connor was shaking his head madly. He couldn’t hold his tears anymore and were now running down his cheeks.

The silence that followed was thick with the panic the little boy was in. He looked in the midst of a panic attack, rocking back and forth in his chair while never letting go of his ear. Hank was beyond worried, a 6-year-old was about to have a panic attack and his mother was just sitting there, berating him. The fuck is wrong with this bitch! Hank was about to go in there, do something, fuck he was ready to grab the child and calm him down before he had a massive breakdown. This is ridiculous, this qualifies as mental abuse, I don’t give a fuck.

>>DO NOT INTERVENE

A red wall showed in his vision showing that order she had given him the other day, he raised a fist to smash that shit to pieces. Before he could make contact with anything, Hank’s ear processors filled with static, it was so loud he could feel it damaging them. He couldn’t move, he was frozen in place and then. Nothing. All his processors went offline and he was left where he was standing.

A reboot started a few seconds later. The android could feel his senses coming back online. Finally, his eyes and ears components activated and he could see Amanda and Connor had finished eating. He didn’t know why the reboot had happened, this glitch was weird. He hoped he didn’t have to go back to Cyberlife so soon after being fixed.

Dismissing that thought, Hank moved to stand near the table and await further instructions.

“Come, Connor. I will help you with your homework this afternoon. You will have some garden time later.”

Amanda got up and started walking. Connor didn’t look very happy on the prospect of having his mother help him with his work, but he got up and grabbed his plush anyway. He quickly glanced at the android with careful eyes. Hank gave the kid a little smile but got no reaction as Connor turned and went after his mother.

Part of the afternoon went by in the same way. Amanda left at one point, probably went back to work while Hank took care of the cleaning. He was done with everything inside and the only thing he had left to do before dinner was the garden. His instructions told him not to come close to the rose wall in the middle of the garden, so he went to a little corner near the porch surrounded by flowers and some shade and started to work there. No more than 5 minutes had passed when he heard the door gently open and close and footsteps approach him. Amanda was gone, and judging by the sound of the steps, Connor had come to have some ‘outside time’ like his schedule said. Hank turned and saw as the kid warily made his way to the android and sat in the porch near where he was tending to the flowers.

“Hey, there kiddo. Come to play in the garden for a while?” Connor just stared at him. He was holding his faithful stuffed companion and a large book on the other hand. Was-was he going to read in the garden? Hadn’t he been reading the entire day? He had some games he could play with the kid, they were all here in his database, but he couldn’t do much with how his relationship with the boy was at the moment.

He decided to try a different approach. Looking at the plush, Hank tried to put the most mock-serious voice he could and began a conversation.

“Hello there, Mister Dog. How are ya today?” While talking to the toy, he continued working on the flowers. Connor hadn’t said anything, but his eyes held a little interest now.

“Hmm, yeah. Weather’s nice today, right? You must be happy to be outside for a while.” Hank made some pauses where the plush supposedly the plush was ‘answering’ him.

“Me? I’m just doin’ some gardening. You know, planting things and stuff like that.”

Connor moved a little closer, clearly interested in the conversation he was having with his stuffed friend.

“Plant candy? Well I don’t know, Mr. Dog. I guess we could try to plant some chocolate and see if we can grow a chocolate tree, what do ya think? Think Connor might like that?”

Hank turned to look at the kid and dog with a face of mock-surprise. He gasped a little and said “A jelly bean tree? Yeah, we could plant a jelly bean and grow a huge tree. Then we would live there and eat candy all day. Sounds like a blast if you ask me.”

A little giggle came out of Connor hearing the ridiculous voice he was putting. Bingo.

“Oh, Connor! There you are kiddo. Was beginning to think the cat got your tongue.” Connor did a little head tilt to the side, God this kid was a puppy in another life. Then he poked his tongue out as to check if it was still there. Hank chuckled and came to sit near the kid.

“What you got there?” He asked pointing to the big book the kid was carrying. It looked like those big old picture encyclopedia type things.

Connor perked a little and placed his dog between himself and the android. Exited hands grabbed the book and showed the android what it was. It was indeed a picture encyclopedia. The language was far too complex to be a kid edition but Connor didn’t seem deterred. He eagerly opened it showing Hank all the different pictures it had. It was full of fishes and sea life creatures. Connor stopped at a page, a big pictured of a Dwarf gourami along with some basic facts on the species were on display. The kid looked up at Hank, a small smile in his face while looking at the picture of the fish.

“You like fish?” He was asking an obvious questions, he knew that. But maybe this would get the kid to talk to him a little. Connor nodded his head excitedly.

“Are they your favorite animal?” The boy thought for a little before shaking his head. He was about to ask another thing when Connor picked his plush up and showed him to Hank.

“Yeah, dogs are the best. I like them, too.” A little glitch came in his vision, but he shook his head and it went away.

Connor was looking at him again with a strange expression on his face. He got up and headed to the door to go back inside. Damn. Well, that was progress, at least he wasn’t so wary of Hank anymore. He got the kid to giggle, so that felt like a success in his book.

Hank headed to finish working on the stupid flowers when he heard Connor approach him again. He stood right in front of the android and without a word thrusted a photo in the android’s hands and ran back inside. He had no idea what just happened but once he looked at the photo his thirium pump seemed to skip a beat.

It was a photo in one of those little digital picture frames. He could see himself in the middle of the picture. It looked like it was taken in a park. Connor was clinging to his neck with one arm at his right. The dog plush in hand and a big smile on his face. Hank smiled a little, the kid looked genuinely happy for once. At his left was another child. Hugging him in a similar fashion Connor was. The kid was a cardboard copy of Connor only with icy blue eyes. He looked older than Connor, that was obvious, but his scans showed the kid to be 8 years old. It looked like this kid had gotten all the size Connor didn’t. He was tall, but had an equally big smile on his face and looked like he was taking the selfie. Hank couldn’t erase the smile of his face. They all looked so happy, and he couldn’t remember any of this. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a little notification

>>Connor Stern: Warm.

[alindakb]

Letters to my Parents - Thursday 5 Augustus 1993 - by Alinda

Thursday 5 Augustus 1993

Dear mom and dad,

I ran away from home yesterday. Don’t get mad, please. It’s just that Aunt Marge came to visit. She’s a horrible person. And I kind of lost my temper when she insulted you both. The week had started off so good. On the night of my birthday, I received a letter from Draco, the first one this summer. He was okay and still allowed to go to Hogwarts the coming school year. He said it had helped that Hermione hadn’t had enough time to study for her exams, making it possible for him to become the top of our class. It had helped his mother to convince his father. Not that they are on speaking turns. Draco says they are fighting all the time. He hides away in his wing of the house (I still can’t believe he has his own wing, I’m already glad I finally have my own room) to avoid them the best he can.

Included with Draco’s letter was my first ever birthday card. I placed it on my bedside table while I read his letter. But I was interrupted a couple of times. Firstly by Hedwig who came back with a birthday card from Hermione. She’s in France, enjoying her holiday by learning about the local history of witchcraft. A little later Ron’s family owl Errol showed up with a card from Ron. He is in Egypt with his family after they won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Ron is also getting a new wand next year, which is good because that broken wand of his causes more problems than it solves.

I also received a card from Greg. His family didn’t go on holiday, says they haven’t for years. Not since his brother died anyway. I still need to ask him about that and tell him I’m sorry. My trying to kill myself brought back a lot of nasty memories for him. He told me he’s been to visit Draco once this holiday and that Draco looks to be doing okay. He only talks about me all the time now I’m not around him. Greg begged me to tell him to stop obsessing about me so they can talk about Quidditch and stuff.

Hagrid send me a card that included a present. And off course, it was no ordinary present. I hadn’t even unwrapped it fully when the parcel quivered and started to snap loudly. I took my lamp and raised it over my head so I could strike if it was necessary and then pulled off the rest of the wrapping paper. A large book fell out of it with a beautiful green cover. Before the book scuttled sideways and then fell off the bed with a loud clunk I could read the title, written in golden letters. The monster book of Monsters it said. The book hid under my desk. When I tried to grab it, it snapped shut on my hand. When it tried to escape I jumped on it and then held it closed with a belt tightly buckled around it.

Together with Hagrid’s package came also my Hogwarts letter for the coming year. It was the normal stuff, informing me that the school year will start on the 1st of September and a list with the books and supplies I will need. But it also included a permission form to visit Hogsmeade. That made me a little sad because there was no way Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia were going to sign it for me.

By then it was already two o’clock when I could sit down in peace with my flashlight and the letter Draco had sent me. I read it a couple of times until I almost knew every word by heart. As I said, he’s hiding out in his own wing. He finished all his homework in the first week of the holiday and is now reading this interesting book about potions. He misses me a lot, says it’s weird to sleep alone in his massive bed. His mother is taking him to Diagon Alley to get his supplies the Sunday before school starts and he hopes I can go that day as well, so we can finally see each other again. He misses kissing me. And to be honest, so do I. His lips are always so soft. I dream about them at night.

The next morning Aunt Marge came to visit. You know I’ve told you about her before. She’s Uncle Vernon’s sister, the one and only bulldog breeder. She was the one that beat me with her walking stick on Dudley’s fifth birthday to stop me from winning musical statues. And a few years later she gave me dog biscuits for Christmas. And the year before I went to Hogwarts I accidentally (and maybe a little bit on purpose) I stepped on the tail of her favourite dog. The beast had chased me into a tree and Aunt Marge didn’t call him off until long after midnight. And now that nightmare was visiting again, for a whole week. It was the worst birthday present I ever got from the Dursleys.

So for an entire week, I had to pretend that I went to St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, was not allowed to do any ‘funny’ stuff and I was to keep a civil tongue when talking to her. I woke up Hedwig as soon as Uncle Vernon left to tell her to go stay at the Weasley’s for a week, that it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay with Aunt Marge around. I’m sure one of her dogs would go after her. After that, I made sure all my cards and letters from friends, just like my schoolbooks were put away safely.

And it was a nightmare, from start to finish. First, she said that if I had been dropped on her doorstep she would have sent me straight to an orphanage. Then Uncle Vernon made me pretend that they use the cane at St. Brutus to please Aunt Marge, who assumed straight away that I probably got beaten all the time. The next couple of days Aunt Marge made sure I stayed close so she could compare me to Dudley and to boom out suggestions for my improvement.

On the third day of her visit, she crossed a line. She told Uncle Vernon that it was not his fault that I turned out o be an unsatisfactory person. That if there was something rotten on the inside, there was nothing anyone can do. I had to fight tears when she said that, it reminded me of all the bullying that I had received in my first and the start of second year at Hogwarts. She continued by comparing me to her breeding dogs. She said that if there was something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup. I got so upset when she said that. I could feel my magic flare through me and Aunt Marge her wineglass exploded in her hands. It didn’t seem to bother her at all, she thought she had just squeezed it too hard. I fled the room after that, afraid I would get another warning from the Ministry about using magic outside of school.

The warning never came, but the insults from Aunt Marge continued. And then yesterday, just after dinner when Aunt Marge was hammered from the wine she turned on me again. Told me I had a mean, runty look, just like some dogs. And then she told us that she had Colonel Fubster drown one of her dogs last year because it was weak. I looked down at my hands when she continued, small tears falling from my eyes. She went on, explaining it all comes down o blood and that Aunt Petunia’s sister was a bad egg. That she was stupid to run off with a wastrel and that I was the result of that. She then asked what you did for a living, dad and Uncle Vernon said you were unemployed. And then Aunt Marge just went on, saying you were a no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger and I just snapped. I pushed my chair back, stood up and screamed at her that you were not. She laughed at me, joked about the tears I was shedding and then she suggested that you died because you were driving drunk I couldn’t take it and yelled that you didn’t die in a car crash. This made Aunt Marge angry, she, of course, doesn’t know the truth and still believes you dying in a car crash is the trued. She called me a nasty little liar, an insolent, ungrateful little something. She couldn’t finish her sentence, her body was swelling, her face expanded, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech. Then the buttons from her tweed jacket burst. She just kept swelling. I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t stop it. I was so angry. I’ve never been that angry before, it scared me a little.

I don’t know what happened to Aunt Marge after that, I ran out of the room towards the cupboard under the stairs. The door burst open before I reached it. I think I did that too with my magic. I took my trunk out of the cupboard and then raced upstairs to grab the pillowcase with my books, letters and birthday cards. I sprinted back down and placed the pillowcase in my trunk. At that moment Uncle Vernon came into the hallway and ordered me to come back and put her right. I don’t know why, but I wanted to hurt Uncle Vernon at that moment. I grabbed my wand and pointed it at him. For a couple of seconds, I wanted to jinx him, to hurt him and punish him like he used to punish me. And then I thought of Draco and how disappointed he would be if I wouldn’t show up at school because I was in jail. And I thought of you, knowing you wouldn’t want me to hurt anyone. So I just opened the door behind me and left without saying a word.

It took me a while to calm down. Dragging along my heavy trunk helped with that. When I reached Magnolia Crescent I collapsed onto a low wall. It didn’t take long before I started to panic then. I was sure I would get expelled from Hogwarts because I did magic and even harmed a Muggle doing so. I was afraid I was going to get arrested, or outlawed from the wizarding world. And that made me think of Draco, and how I would have to leave him if that was true. I couldn’t force Draco to leave the wizarding world, he knows nothing about Muggles and their ways. I started to cry again, wishing I could be with Draco at that moment. I needed him more than ever.

After another while, I decided that since I would already get expelled I would just use some more magic to bewitch the trunk to make it feather-light. That way I could tie it to my broomstick, cover myself with the invisibility cloak and then fly to London to get my money from Gringotts and start my life as an outcast. I opened my trunk to look for the cloak when I felt like someone was watching me. I looked at the black alleyway behind me, even used a Lumos to see it better. And that is when I saw it, a hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes. It scared me to death. I stepped backwards, I hit my trunk and tripped. My wand slipped out of my hand and then there was this massive bang sound and I was surrounded by blinding lights.

I yelled and rolled back onto the pavement, just before a purple triple-decker bus stopped beside me. The name ‘The Knight Bus’ was spelt in gold lettering over the windshield. A conductor leapt out of the bus and introduced himself as Stan Shunpike. He spoke loudly into the thin air until he noticed that I was sitting on the ground. I got back up, looked for the massive black dog I had seen only moments before, but it was gone.

It turns out the Knight Bus can take stranded wizards and witches anywhere they need. I didn’t want to put too much attention on me so I pretended my name was Greg Goyle. I’m sure Greg won’t mind, I’m sure he will find this story funny once Draco tells him when he goes back to school. It would take me 14 Sickles to get to Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, so I looked for my last coins and paid Stan. He helped me get my trunk into the bus and off we were. Stan wanted to know why I wanted to go to the Malfoy’s and I told him that I knew Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts and that I was going to stay with them for a while because my mother wasn’t feeling well. Luckily they believed my story and didn’t ask any other questions.

The Knight Bus doesn’t have normal seats, instead, it’s filled with half a dozen brass bedsteads. Once I set down on mine the bus took off with another loud bang. It threw me back flat on my bed because of the speed of the bus. I felt really nervous on the bus. The driver, Ernie wasn’t a very good one. We kept mounting the pavement, only the bus didn’t hit anything. Everything jumped out of the way of the bus as it approached and back into position once it had passed.

I couldn’t sleep, so I took the Daily Prophet that Stan offered me. On the front page was a large photo of Sirius Black, an escaped prisoner. I had also seen him on the Muggle news. It turns out he murdered thirteen people with a single curse twelve years ago. He looked just like a vampire in the picture. Stan saw me looking and told me that Black had been a big supporter of Voldemort. And once Voldemort was gone and he was cornered In the middle of a street he blasted half the street apart, killing one wizard and a dozen Muggles. And after that, he just stood there and laughed, like it was one big joke. It seems that this Black is off his head. And he’s the first one ever to break out of Azkaban.

After all the other wizards and witches had left the bus we came to a stop on a small country road. Stan said we were at Malfoy Manor. When I got out I could see a large hedge stretching in both directions. In front of us was a gravel driveway, and the large hedge curved with it and continued alongside the driveway. I took my trunk and started my way up this driveway until I reached a large iron gate. The gate contorted into a face and asked me if I knew what time it was. I told it, that I was sorry for bothering him that late, but that I really needed to speak to Draco Malfoy. The gate informed me that the young master Draco had already gone to bed and that I would have to come back after sunrise. I tried to convince the gate that I had nowhere to go, but it wouldn’t let me pass. After a while, the face disappeared and I was stranded in front of the gate. I set down on my trunk and tried to think of a way to let Draco know that I was at his house. No good ideas came to mind and after a while, I felt stupid for even thinking I could just rock up at Malfoy Manor and that everything would be okay. Draco’s father hates me after all and me showing up, as a criminal, won’t help matters much for Draco.

I decided to turn around, walk back to the road and call for the Knight Bus again and go to London. I could wait till morning and then get my money and disappear. I would write to Draco and tell him what happened and maybe meet up with him somewhere to say goodbye.

Just as I started walking someone stepped through the gates. I looked around and saw Draco’s mother Narcissa standing with her arms folded around her. She was wearing a long black jacket and a purple scarf. She asked me if I was leafing already and pointed out that Draco would be very disappointed when he would hear I didn’t even stay to say hello in the morning. I couldn’t help myself, I started crying again at that point. All the tension and fear leaping out of me at once. Draco’s mother was very kind, she hugged me and told me it was all going to be okay. She guided me through the gates, it was very weird, they didn’t open at all, just turned into some black smoke and were back being a solid gate once we passed it. The rest of the driveway was shielded by the large hedge all the way up to the house. It was dark, so I couldn’t see it properly, but I knew it was larger than any house I’ve ever seen before. I hope I get to see it a bit better later today, but for now, I’m stuck in Draco’s wing to make sure that his father doesn’t see me.

Narcissa brought me to a room on the first floor that held a bed and some other small furniture. She order a house elf to get me something to drink and eat and then made sure I told her what had happened. She told me I could sleep here for now, but that it wasn’t wise to keep me at the manor since Lucius still didn’t approve of me and Draco’s relationship. She told me Draco was only two doors away, asleep in his own bed. I can’t believe how kind Narcissa is, she insisted I call her that, that miss Malfoy makes her sound old. And I like it when she smiles at me, it reminds me of Draco’s smiles.

Once Narcissa had left me alone to sleep I crept out of the room to find Draco’s bedroom. It wasn’t hard at all and I was stunned by how big it was. Draco has a king-sized bed. It’s fairly simple, just a bed base with a mattress on top of it. Now that I’ve seen it in the light of day it really looks amazing. It has two simple black boxes next to it as bedside tables and a large desk stands on the other side of the room. One of his walls is filled with Quidditch posters and the picture of us together that Dean made for him is really stuck underneath Draco’s pillow. And Draco has a walk-in closet filled with all his clothes. Oh, and he has a massive en suite bathroom with a massive bath and a cabinet filled with all his crazy hair products.

Of course, Draco was really surprised to see me sneak into his room yesterday, but he didn’t hesitate for one moment, he just lifted his blanket and let me crawl into bed with him. He asked me if he was dreaming. I told him I was really here. Then he asked me why I was at his house and I told him that I had run away and that I was afraid that I won’t be going back to Hogwarts because I did magic. Draco said it would be okay, that the Ministry would understand that it was an accident and that I shouldn’t worry. He kissed me then and that made my worries ebb away. I fell asleep in his arm and woke up with him staring at me. It was really nice.

Narcissa came to look for us in the early morning and wasn’t even upset when she found me in her son’s bed. She told us to stay in Draco’s wing until Lucius would have left for the day. She told us the elves would bring us breakfast and now we’re just waiting for it to arrive. Draco keeps asking me when I’m going to put my book down and pay him some attention. I told him I had to tell you all about what happened and he stopped complaining after that. He’s reading a book right now, his hand entwined with mine on the bed. I’m really happy I’m here now and somehow I’m not that worried anymore about what is going to happen next.

I will let you both know as soon as I do what is going to happen now. If I get expelled or not and if I can stay here for the rest of the summer. I really hope I can.

Love you,

Harry James Potter

[scullyy]

Days With You / Chapter Four

Title: Days With You / Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

Pairing: Clementine x Louis

Word Count: 3091

Summary: As the Ericson gang try to readjust to the start of their university life, Louis and Clementine spend their time between classes together and this time he has a surprise in store.

A/N: Eek sorry for the wait, I've had a lot on my plate lately. Enjoy :))

-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Clementine slammed her hand against the raging alarm clock beside her ear, a louder groan escaping her. The thin curtain did nothing to hide away the beaming sun, however, Clem didn't have the energy to appreciate the morning rays just yet.

"Remind me why I joined an early morning class," Violet mumbled from above, the top bunk creaked as she tossed and turned. "You think the professor will notice if I don't show up?" She threw a leg over the side of her bed, flinching at the chilly air.

"No, but you won't hear the end of it from Brody," Clementine pulled herself out of the warm bed, her feet tingling from the cold floor. She reached out for her favourite (and only) denim jacket and flung it over her shoulder. "You ready for the day?"

Violet hopped off her bunk and wandered to her side of the closet. "I never am and never will be," Her section was an absolute mess compared to Clem's, jackets and shirts were all piled together into a leaning tower of fabric. "And I have to sit with Brody for two hours hearing all about how much she wants to go to the beach. As if we have the time for that now."

"Says the girl who wants to go to the Grand Canyon."

Violet threw a sock at Clem. "We've never been to the Grand Canyon before! It might be fun if we had the money."

Clementine eagerly sculled down the rest of her water, her body jolting awake in response. "We all know Louis does." She bopped along to the tune playing over her radio as both girls dressed for the day. Clem adorned her signature hat as Violet placed her pin over her lilac sweater.

"Let's kick some ass." The blonde girl bumped fists with her best friend, if she could fake enough energy to get through class she could get through anything.

-

"Too tired to kick any more ass," Violet threw her to-go coffee cup in the bin, it wasn't enough to prepare her for the class she had to suffer through. Choosing a 9 am lecture was a terrible decision on her part. "Never listen to Brody ever again." She yawned, stretching her arms out to the sky. It wasn't so bad, Louis and Marlon were in the same boat and did make for some good company...sometimes. Violet caught Louis's eye as she wandered to their table in the courtyard. He waved at her with so much glee it almost made her sick. How could he be so chipper so early?

As she walked closer their mumbled conversation turned into actual words. "And they were roommates."

Louis gasped. "Oh my god, they were roommates."

"What are you two crumbs talking about?" Violet threw herself onto the spare chair beside Marlon, not bothered to hide her distaste at his hair. It somehow seemed worse today.

"Why isn't it my favourite 5′4″ chicken nugget. We're just super keen to start this fantastic school year," Louis clasped his hands together. "I cannot wait to wake up early again and sit in a two-hour lecture." His voice was drenched in sarcasm, despite being a morning person. The getting out of bed part was the most difficult task.

Violet scanned the courtyard, her eyes on the prowl for her classmate. "Is Brody here yet?"

Marlon's head perked up suddenly, ignoring the chuckle from Louis. "She texted me saying she was going into the library to print some stuff. I think it has to do with the extracurricular activities."

"Our sweet Brody, such a diligent worker." Louis sighed. Even in high school, Brody was one of the top students, always working hard and trying to get others involved in whatever fundraiser she had organised.

Violet scoffed, her chipped nails tapping the wooden table. "She said she'd meet me here before class." Her eyes scanned the courtyard, all the students seemed to have a grey cloud over their heads. She could relate. Violet's eyes landed on two familiar faces making their way over to the group, a devilish grin overcame her face. "Louis, don't look now but right behind you is somehow who has the power to destroy you." She chuckled, teasing her friends was the highlight of her day.

Of course, Louis turned around and was greeted by Aasim and Clementine locked in conversation. "I mean, Aasim is cute and all but Clem is the one I have my eyes on," He turned his body to Clem and opened his arms to her. "Oh my darlin-"

Clementine quickly slammed her hand over his mouth. "No," She whispered. "Not this early." There was a playful smirk on her lips though.

Louis pulled her in closer, their noses touching. "Alright, can I have my mouth back now?" His warm breath sent shivers down her arm.

"Sure," She retracted her hand slowly, knowing Louis he would still try and pull some stunt.

Violet made a loud and grotesque gag. "C'mon guys, I don't need this gross shit so early in the morning."

Louis poked his tongue out at her, a mighty retaliation. "What brings you here so early Clem? Your class isn't for another hour."

"I told Aasim I'd help him with the school newspaper," Clementine adjusted the strap of his satchel. "Your class starts in ten minutes doesn't it?"

Louis nodded. "It sure does, I just wanted to see you before I had to leave," He turned over to Marlon and poked his shoulder. "You ready to go or are you gonna keep looking around for Brody?"

Marlon threw a punch to his shoulder. "Yeah, we can go. For the record, I was not-"

Violet held her hand right up to his face. "I'll save you the energy, yes you were," She gave him a gentle push as the boys wandered off to their lecture hall. "Seriously what is taking Brody so long?"

Marlon threw an arm over the shoulder of his best mate. "Ready to face the music?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. You have any plans after class?"

Marlon smirked, flashing his pearly whites to the strangers that walked by. "Yup, I got so many places to be," It remained silent between the two as they entered their hall, with Louis raising his eyebrows at that comment. "What? Television counts as a place."

-

"I do not miss those chairs," Louis shoved his schoolbooks back into his satchel, only adding to the mess inside.  "Who are you talking to Louis?" He asked himself. Marlon had zipped off the second class ended, the boy caught sight of Violet and more importantly Brody walking across the courtyard and felt the need to catch up with them. "So much for television."

Louis pushed his booted feet across the grass and pulled his phone out, seeing a few messages from Clementine.

I'll be in the library after class if you wanna meet me there :)

It's really boring here

Help

                                                            Don't worry Clem, I'll be there in a flash!

The library wasn't far from his lecture hall, the grand building hovered over the smaller classrooms, Louis wasn't so sure why it had to be so big. He pushed the door open slowly, trying to minimise the creaking sound that came with the old entrance, it always echoed throughout the dismal space.

                                                                         Where have you parked m'lady?

Parked? You've watched that movie Clueless too many times, I'm by the horror section

Alas, there she was, hunched over her textbook. Her nose was slightly scrunched and the tip of her tongue was hanging from her mouth, after being her friend for so long Louis could immediately tell that she was in deep thought. Ethics was one of her main passions, being able to study it was a dream, albeit a difficult one to achieve

"You look cute when you're thinking," He leaned against the side of her chair, interrupting her reading. "Already studying I see." Clementine was that kid in high school who got good grades in all classes, she even bumped up Louis from a C+ to an A- in Geography.

"I'm just making a summary of today's lesson, thanks for meeting me here," She leaned up and pecked his cheek. "How was your lecture?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Does a book full of little sketches count as hard work?" He didn't appreciate Clementine's stone-cold stare. "What? I just need a break."

"Already?" She slammed her textbook shut, as much as it annoyed her to admit, Louis was right. Having to understand ethics and moral values wasn't easy so early in the morning.

He extended his hand out to her. "Care to join me?" His voice was smooth like silk and Clementine felt herself giving in to his request almost too easily.

"Okay," She gripped her books beneath her arm and grabbed onto Louis's warm hand tightly. "So, where are we running off to this time?"

Louis ran his thumb over her hand, admiring how soft it was against his calloused ones. "I know we usually go to that small diner but I thought this time we could go somewhere new. Broaden our horizon!" He announced bravely.

Together they weaved their way through the hoard of students, Clementine's mind was running wild with all the possibilities of what was about to happen. Knowing Louis it would be nothing short of magical. He took her far past the school to a small park, a few young children scattered by.

Clementine stood unimpressed by the sight. "I hate to break it to you, but this swingset isn't new."

"Now now Clemmy, we're not there yet," He continued with the march, heading closer a long line of trees. The thick wall of leaves proved to be a challenge to squeeze through, Clementine flinched as stray twigs scratched her hands. "Sometimes you gotta continue past the danger to find what you're looking for."

Once through the cascading trees, the duo was happily greeted with a glimmering pond, with daisies and smaller fern trees lining the calm body of water. Sunlight peaked through the trees, bouncing along the pond as if it were made of diamonds.

"Louis," She whispered. "This is so..so.." Clementine was utterly speechless.

He tip-toed down to the water's edge and sat beside the quiet stream, patting the spot beside him. "I thought you'd like it. I've known about this place for a while, but now that you're my girlfriend I want to share it with you."

She eagerly sat next to him, rather closely, and admired the view all around her. "How did you find this place?" The park was a common hangout spot for her and Violet, the rusty swingset had heard many of their rants and laughs.

"I was looking after Rosie one day when she chased a cat through these trees," Louis dipped his index finger into the water, surprisingly it wasn't that cold. "She received extra belly rubs that day."

Clementine leaned her head against his shoulder, she always found peace by his side. "After that long ass class I just had, this is just what I need." She grabbed a pebble from her side and flicked it across the water, bringing out a bemused expression from Louis.

He looked between the sunken pebble and Clem rapidly. "I've never been able to figure out how to do that."

"You just gotta swish and flick," Lee had taught her how to do it on a camping trip when she was eleven, it was one of her best memories. "Is there a reason you dragged me out here? Besides the view."

Louis bounced up and down like an excited baby. "Yes! I figured now that uni has started again and we might not get a chance to go on a date for a while, I thought we could-dammit!" His attempt at sliding his boots off in one swift motion failed as the lace had been tied up too tightly. Soon enough he resorted to yanking them off his feet. Louis quickly composed himself, so much for trying to look cool. "Have one now. Care to join me for a swim?"

Clementine sat up straight and tried not to oggle at Louis as he lifted his shirt up. "It's winter Lou, we'll freeze our asses off."

He set his shoes and shirt beside a patch of daisies. "I've done this before, it's totally fine. Tell you what, I promise we'll keep it short and sweet so we can get back to our classes," Louis climbed atop a nearby rock and dived into the water, splashing Clem's feet. "See?" He couldn't let on that the tips of his toes were beginning to feel cold, not when he could see the temptation to jump in her eyes.

"Well there is nothing wrong with short and sweet," She couldn't stop herself from winking at him. "But close your eyes!"

Louis turned his back to her to provide extra security, if his mother taught him anything it was how to respect a girl. He could hear the thump of shoes being thrown onto the soil, followed by the scuffle of her denim jacket.

Clementine rolled her jeans up to her knees, thankful that she decided to leave a singlet top on beneath her shirt. "You can look now," She called out. Her big toe made contact with the water first and her body immediately recoiled. "You said it wasn't cold!"

"It's not that bad, you'll get used to it," Louis trudged over to her and gently took her hand, guiding her until the water hit her shoulders. "Feeling better?" Once she gained confidence he let her go, smiling at how she bobbed around in the water. She was luckily tall enough to balance on her tiptoes.

Clementine tied her hair up into a petite bun. "It's alright, except I can't feel my toes," She gazed up at him, her smile falling at how distracted he was by her hair. "Louis?"

He couldn't help it, she never usually tied her hair up this way. Little pigtails had become her signature style, it was fun to flick them and watch the little curls bounce around lightly-

"Louis!"

Oops, busted. "Yes, my darling Clementine?" He feigned an innocent smile, acting as if he hadn't been staring at her for the past ten seconds, fangirling over her hair.

She crossed her arms tightly, an expression that could match the face of Death adorned her. "Are you even listening to me?" Clementine already knew the answer to that question, he had a glazed look in his eyes.

"I am, it's just..." How could he explain to her how beautiful she was? What words in the English language could perfectly describe the way her eyes crease when she smirks? What could possibly begin to fathom her little giggle? Or the way her smile could light up an entire city? "You're cute."

It seemed to be enough, the giggle that erupted from her sent his heart into a spiral. "You have got to be kidding me." Clementine pushed him away but he grabbed ahold of her hand and pulled her in close, their lips barely touching.

"What? I'm just speaking the god's honest," He whispered in her ear, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing to attention. She wasn't sure if it was because of how cold she was getting or if it was the sublime power of Louis's voice.

Possibly both.

He could see the small goosebumps forming along her arms. "You getting cold?" His answer came in the form of a shiver and the chattering of teeth. "Alrighty, I told you I'd make this quick. Let's head out."

Clementine trudged back to the shore, her arms wrapped around her body. Louis quickly wrapped his thick coat around her. "You need it more than I do." She eagerly snuggled into the fuzzy lining.

Louis placed her hat rightfully atop her head, completing the outfit. "Did you have fun?"

She jumped up to his cheek and pecked it softly once again. "I did, thanks for showing me this place." Clementine didn't want to say goodbye to this slice of paradise, but the real world beckons. They made their way through the army of trees and ignored the glares from some of the nearby parents as they emerged. Even some of the students stared once they made it back to their campus.

"We probably should have made a better effort to dry off." Clementine held onto the jacket with an iron grip, she could feel specks of water dripping down her back slowly.

Louis whistled at Marlon, who had his headphones yanked off by Mitch. He raised an eyebrow at the state Clem and Louis were in. "Where have you two been?"

Violet pointed at the obvious water droplets falling from their hair. "Why are you two soaking?" This was a new sight. She reached for her phone carefully, a photo opportunity like this doesn't come around very often. "Say cheese lovebirds!"

The flash caught them both off guard. It took Clementine a couple seconds to realise what had just happened. "Are you fucking serious Vi?" She stood her ground yet Violet seemed more focus on showing everyone else the photo.

Louis rubbed his eyes, all he could see were a bunch of spots. "Hey, remember when I had corneas?"

Mitch wiggled his eyebrows. "Dude seriously, where have you been?" His phone buzzed in his hand as Violet sent him her copy of the photo, a repressed snort escaped him.

"Drop it, Mitch. We just went for a quick swim." Clem snapped. She secured her hat and marched past her friends, ignoring their whistles and giggles. They all turned their heads to Louis in unison, awaiting a more exciting answer.

Louis tried to decipher what his strange friends were doing. "What? She's being honest."

"Did you sneak into the school's pool?" Aasim crossed his arms, the swim room was always kept under lock in key. If Louis had snuck in somehow that would be too much power for the man to have.

"No, I took her somewhere...secret." Louis headed back to his dorm room, his lips turned into a tight smile as he checked the text bubble on his phone. Even if Clementine didn't think so, that surprise photo had become one of his favourites.

                                                                                                               Thanks Vi

[mystery-star]

To pretend - George Weasley

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warnings: None

Words: 2066

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

You looked up from the schoolbook when something hit your head. Angrily you shot up and looked around to see the Weasley twins, two of your best friends, standing next to a bookshelf and grinning at you. You threw them a questioning look and they ordered you to follow. With a sigh you closed your book and did so.

“What’s the matter?” you asked when you left the library.

“We need your help”

“Did you pull a prank on Umbridge or Snape? Then there’s nothing I can do since then you’re pretty much dead”

“No. We need your help for something that still is to come”

“What’s the plan?”

“Well you know, Bill and Fleur they’re like… very close”

“And since we believe she’s not interested in him”

“And he thinks were too idiotic to get a girlfriend before he does”

“We have this bet going on. If he gets a girlfriend first, we have to pay him two Galleons.”

“If one of us has one first, we get the money”

“And now you want me, one of your only female friends, to play your girlfriend?”

“Exactly” both replied. You felt all the blood rushing to your head, since you’ve got what felt like the biggest crush ever on George Weasley.

“We’ll offer you six Sickles”

“A-alright. Tell me what I have to do” you want to know with your heart bumping against your chest.

“Well, we thought, you could play George’s girlfriend since Bill would fall for that easier”

“Since I’m the more romantic one as he said himself” this couldn’t possibly happen. It just couldn’t.

“But what you have to do, not so much. We’re writing mum that he’s got someone and you’ll have to write stuff like love letters for the first part of the holidays”

“No big deal, also normal letters work”

“Maybe some nicknames, hearts, perfume or whatever you fancy.”

“In return, you’ll receive such letters as well.”

“And as we know mum, she will invite you over in the holidays.”

“If she invites your parents as well, just say they can’t”

“However, once you’re at the burrow, the real show starts”

“We haven’t planned that so far because we need to know how far you’re willing to go”

“It has to be at least either cuddling, holding hands or small pecks on the cheek”

“Unfortunately, as soon as we got the money from Bill, the two of you will break up. Sad story, hearts broken, but believe me, it will be better that way”

“Can you live with that?” both asked. You didn’t even hesitate a second.

“Of course!”

The holiday started soon and by now, the three of you had come up with more details, as for example, the story how you got together or the reason why you two would separate again. The last of them were written in letters, disguised as love letters. Somehow you couldn’t believe that you could at least pretend to be George’s girlfriend and get the change to cuddle him. As the twins had planned, Molly allowed you to stay with them for about one week at the end of the holiday so that you could go to Hogwarts with them. Your parents knew nothing of the prank and just thought you’d visit your friends. The more time passed the more nervous you got. Somehow you feared you could give yourself away or something else. Maybe you should have accepted their offer to practice before it was serious.

Finally, the day when you got to the Burrow arrived and you were first greeted by Mrs Weasley. Then the twins came and George pushed his brother out of the way to get to you. Even though it wasn’t the first time you hugged him, butterflies were everywhere. Before he let you go, George gave you a short kiss on the cheek which made you smile. Now it was Fred’s turn to push his brother away, but unlike him, he slapped your arm.

“Hope he’ll stop complaining now” he said instead of a greeting.

“Did he?” you ask perplexed.

“Once or twice a day. How much he misses you and stuff. You know him” the smile grew broader and you pinched George’s nose.

“Of course I do. But I can’t say I missed you and all your shenanigans” then you pulled away from your friends to greet their siblings. Mr Weasley was still at work and so was Bill. Inside, Molly urged all of you to take place at the table and as you wanted to sit down in an empty chair, you were heaved onto George’s lap.

“Oh come on” you muttered under your breath and could hear him chuckle.

“I guess that’s the disadvantage of dating my brother. He’s too romantic” the three of you had agreed that Fred would play his role as the somewhat jealous and disgusted brother, switching between trying to flirt with you or express his discontent at your antics.

“I don’t see anything bad there, Freddie” he replied and gave you another kiss on the cheek.

“Aw look how cute, she’s blushing!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed “The two of you are really in love” you could have sworn that this made you even redder in the face and your fake-boyfriend was confronted with similar problems.

When Bill arrived at home, he was mustering George and you closely. Surely, he had to double check if the love was real. That made you a bit nervous and you hoped he wouldn’t notice. To your relief he seemed satisfied after about ten minutes and either played it cool or he fell for it.

Later that evening, your friends told you they finally had their money from Bill and gave you your promised share of it. With a sickening feeling in your stomach you pouched it and gave them a grin.

“You know, I’m quite happy that today all will be over” Fred told you on the second last evening at their home, when you had planned to break up. “It’s getting too much with you two” Although you chuckled, you felt bad because you knew that now it would all end. Even if it wasn’t real it felt like it was and you wished you could still cuddle or occasionally peck your crush. Truth be told, you got somehow used to act like the two of you were a couple.

“I suppose you should go to Ginny’s room, so that we can have a nice argument afterwards” George suggested, rubbing his hands and when you got up, you almost gave him a kiss on the cheek. When you reached the girl’s room, you broke down. You didn’t want that it all ended and you wished there was another way. After a while you started crying and you still were, when the door opened and your “still-boyfriend” entered. He looked at you frowning and his mien lit up. “I see you’re giving it more closeness to reality. Just start yelling, whenever you’re ready” only that didn’t happen and you didn’t even look up. It took George about five seconds to notice. “Oh shit, that’s real” he whispered and sat down beside you. Without thinking you clutched his shirt. “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He asked.

“I-I can’t tell you”

“Do you want me to get Fred?”

“Why him?”

“Well… you know, we both think that you like him more”

“What?” You exclaim and looked up “That’s not true!”

“No need to justify yourself. That’s why we decided it would be best if you played my girlfriend, it would probably make it better for you”

“What are you talking about?”

“About you having a crush on my twin.”

“What? How did you get this idea?”

“We know you, you know Now tell, why are you crying? Is it because of him?”

“No. It’s… please don’t laugh or be mad”

“Me? Not being serious?” he laughed. “Go on”

“Okay. To be honest, I don’t want that it ends. Our fake-relationship I mean. It felt so real” for some seconds he was silent.

“So you wish it was real?” slowly you nod.

“But I see, this won’t be happening, since…” he shushed you.

“There was another reason we chose I would be the one pretending to be your boyfriend…”

“Because it isn’t like Fred being all cute and stuff?” he chuckled

“You’re right, however, that’s not the reason I’m talking about. Because, to be honest, I did it for the same reasons why you agreed; I wanted to know, how it would feel having you as my girlfriend” your head shot up.

“This means, you-you love me? Or are you joking again?”

“Does it feel like a joke to you?”

“Dunno. Not quite though”

“Because it is none. I’d never make fun of your feelings. Or mine” you smiled again.

“Means the fight will only be temporarily and we get together again, but this time for real?”

“Actually, I thought about we wouldn’t even break up. After all, no one knew it wasn’t real before. Except Fred”

“Whom we could prank” both of you shared a conspiratorial look and then laughed.

“So… as we’re officially together…”

“Oh, are we?” You said.

“I guess so”

“Okay. What did you want?”

“A kiss” you sighed and lowered your head.

“I… don’t know how you kiss”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“No, I swear, I only just got goodnight kisses, small pecks but no real kisses”

“Then let’s change that now. If you want though I mean, after all I want your first kiss to be something special for you” you felt blood rushing to your head and you look into his eyes.

“What if I do it wrong?”

“You can’t do anything wrong”

“Sure?”

“Yes” slowly he moved closer to you and you could feel your heart bumping against your chest. Suddenly his lips were on yours and you almost flinched away, but he cupped your face so you stayed. Although you had read fiction where you learned that almost each female ‘kissed back’, you had no idea how to do that, therefore you did nothing. All too soon George pulled away and grinned at you. “Not too bad for the first time” he said before kissing you again. This time, he gently bit your lip, what made you gasp and he immediately took advantage of that. A muffled sound escaped your throat and you let go of his shirt and ran your finger through his hair, pulling him even closer. Your boyfriend smiled and then left your lips. “Not too bad either. Leaving aside the fact you let me do all the work” you huffed in annoyance and hit his chest.

“And you said I could do nothing wrong”

“Seems I was wrong” he placed another, gentle but loving peck on your lips. “Again?” this time you were the one to start the kiss and tried to do more than the last times. Just as you thought you had figured it out, the door opened and Ginny walked in.

“Oh come on” she moaned and then she pointed at the younger twin “You! Get out of my room now. No boys allowed here!” her brother just laughed, but stood up and helped you up as well. “Alright, go look for another place for such stuff”

“How about we go to your and Fred’s room?” you suggested.

“Sounds like a plan” you entered their room shortly after the redhead and met Fred’s questioning look.

“I may not be a dating expert, but usually after two people had an argument they don’t spend time together for a while”

“Well, we decided it would be a bit too obvious if we set an end to it now already”

“Fair enough. So how long do I have to stand your behaviour?”

“Don’t know” his twin stated and sat down on his bed. Before you could take a seat as well, he pulled you into his lap.

“Woah, no need to be lovey-dovey around me. Just act normal, guys” George and you shared a look.

“Alright” George replied and turned you around on his lap. Taking the hint you leaned down to kiss him and you could imagine Fred’s look.

“No.” he simply said. “No way”

“Jealous?” George asked after you stopped kissing.

“Me? Jealous? Never.”

“Good” and again his lips were on yours.

“Honestly? Get yourself a room… another room!”

[catescher]

Common mistakes in Worldbuilding (Part 1)

Okay, first off: This is advice and personal. With that, I mean that this isn’t ironclad and it’s stuff that annoys me. Furthermore, this is geared to Fantasy, simply because it’s the genre I’m most familiar with. Some of it is also applicable to Sci-Fi, but I won’t guarantee everything. And please keep in mind - I was, am and will be guilty of all those points.

Alright. Mistakes in Worldbuilding. I won’t say that those grievances I will present you in the following entry are the devil but you should know what you’re doing when you’re doing something. Just saying.

Also, some of these complaints/rants/thoughts/whatever you might call them sometimes contradict each other. Sue me.

This is a two-parter, because, as it turns out, I have a lot to say on some topics. More will follow early next week.

Rules and Research

Photo by freddie marriage on Unsplash

A) DID NOT DO THEIR RESEARCH

Sorry. Major pet peeve incoming.

Also, please sit down and listen, especially those who say research is not necessary because Fantasy World.

For God’s sake, research is important. Even in Fantasy.

But why?

Say, you have a monarchy and a lot of political stuff going on. You know, fun stuff: assassination, rebellions, revolts, revolutions, and so on. But, and here is the question: How would that influence the king/queen/emperor for example? Is there an heir already lined up? Is there a council, does the monarch actually have power and is not a figurehead? How is the monarch legitimated? Mandate of the Heavens (Chinese Emperors), a descendant of a god (Japanese Tenno, founding date isn’t correct by the way), elected (Germanic Tribes or certain persons of influence in the Holy Roman Empire who voted for the Emperor) or simple power (tyrannis)? Absolute power for the monarch or is he kept in check by a constitution, the people or a parliament? How is it decided who inherits the throne?

And all of that above, as well as politicians, monarch’s parents, and even more people and offices would play a part in a plot about a rebellion against a monarch. But for all those nuances to feel real, whether the rebellion, the monarch or even both are justified in their actions, you need to do a bloody lot of research. Not to mention things like race, gender, and everything you (hopefully) haven’t experienced such as war, a specific sickness, mental sickness, and so on.

I mean, it’s not just worldbuilding. Research makes for a better story overall, even if it is only some minor detail.

Photo by Alex Iby on Unsplash

B) MAGIC AND WHATNOT

So… Magic. Fantasy world. Goes together like peanut butter and chocolate.

Or at least it should.

I mean, does magic influence your world somehow? You have magic floating around, so how is it making life easier or harder or different?

Consider magic-based transportation methods, teleportation for example. Why bother using airplanes or cars if you can just click your heels and be wherever you want to be? So you need to think about it in terms of economy and practicality: Is it a service that costs a shit ton of money? Can only few beings/persons use it? Does it have limits when it comes to distance? Why doesn’t everyone use it? You’ll need to keep that in mind when not only building your world but also while writing your story as in “Why wouldn’t the Big Bad simply teleport to the McGuffin’s location and destroy it before it destroys him?”.

On a related note: Magic should have rules. Brandon Sanderson wrote about it for example. How it looks like in his books I can’t say, I have yet to read any of his books.

But still: Do your characters only need to snap their fingers and can break reality? If they can, why haven’t they revived everyone the Dark Lord killed? This is why you need rules for your magic, to not resurrect someone if you want to - or, at least, not without an appropriate price to pay.

Let’s call it a drama-preserving handicap. Otherwise, your book would be over in a paragraph with a powerful wizard.

But overall from my experience in writing? Restricting magic from becoming too overpowered it feels better or more real- as much as a world with magic can be.

Photo by Joel & Jasmin Førestbird on Unsplash

C) THE WORLD’S RULES AND MORALITIES

On a related note: What kind of rules do your world/society have? Do they have any, for example, morality? Sure they do.

What I mean with this is that outside of magic, your world has specific rules or phenomena. I mentioned resurrection above and to continue this line of thought, are there rules and laws against it? Why are they in place?

An example for not only resurrection but also against using powers to create gold, is in the manga Fullmetal Alchemist in which it is forbidden to use alchemy to turn other stuff into gold. Why? Because it would crash the economy because gold would become worthless if too much of it would exist. A rule that makes sense when someone just has to clap his hands to have some gold on his hands.

How about societal rules? Political Rules? Unspoken laws everyone adheres to because of immense social or religious repercussions?

On a related note: Even if you based your world on a medieval European One (wherever you may choose exactly) does not mean it should inherit its rules completely. With that I mean that a sexist culture can exist in your world but making a reboot of what we commonly view the Middle Ages as so it’s basically an alternative history version of it? Come on, guys, we are writers! We are supposed to be creative!

As for a slightly different topic: What do you call a French Braid if there are no French in your world? Serious question - how do you describe it or how do you call it otherwise? Same thing with other similar named concepts or objects. I mean, do you still call it Braille if it is in another world with no Mister Braille to create it? How do you describe it? Calling it Braille still sounds weird to me.

Perfection and Flaws

Photo by Simone Hutsch on Unsplash

A) UTOPIAS

Of course, your world can be perfect. No bad things ever happen, no racism, sexism, or xenophobia, no wars and if there is a war it’s against someone who deserves it. The king is just, it has a stable economy and everyone lives happily ever after.

Sounds great. Utopian.

Seriously, give me a break. This is boring. A utopian society won’t exist, for fuck’s sake. Humans are too flawed for that. I’m not running around screaming realism all the time (I hope) but this won’t fly for me. Also, it takes a lot out of the conflict - why would there be conflict if the world is so great? No matter the world, the political system or the society - for someone there is going to be a flaw in it. There will be injustice. There will be bitterness. There will be rebels. There will be people who defend the status quo.

Photo by Phil Goodwin on Unsplash

B) A PERFECT HISTORY

History seems pretty clear-cut if you open a history book at times. But in truth, it is a mess. Take school books about WWII for example - depending on the country the book is from it might tell a completely different story with a different focus on certain events. Some Japanese schoolbooks at times, for example, leave out or whitewash certain events during WWII which are barely in use. With certain events, I refer to the hideous war crimes Japan committed to make it clear. Germans, however… let’s just say I had about one school year worth of learning about the Third Reich in history alone, not to mention other subjects. Still seems like a miracle they haven’t managed to cover it in Maths as well.

In any case, how history is represented can be vastly different, it’s not always clear-cut and one true version. Sometimes, three people have six different opinions about one historical event.

This is for the retrospect. Now for the actual happening history and events.

Take one event - be it a new law being introduced or a conflict happening - and people will have different opinions on it depending on their personal worldviews, religion and who they are. They will comment on it, protest it if they want to or full-heartedly support it for a reason or another. Furthermore, event A does not necessarily lead to event B and then to War Z. It’s not linear or single-minded.

Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash

C) DETAILS MATTER

Details such as a nomadic tribe living in wooden huts in the desert. I hope you see what I mean.

To spell it out:

1) They are nomads. Nomads don’t settle for long, so they don’t need stationary buildings.

2) It’s a desert. No wood, or at least not enough to justify building wooden huts.

Okay, this what it is: It doesn’t make sense. Nomads are more likely to have a tent or something easy to move around than a “normal” building. You need to keep a lot of details in mind, how they live. You need to pay attention to this kinda stuff.

Another detail that is often missed out on relates to stuff like basic economy or infrastructure. Who makes the food they eat? Why does it seem that everyone eats the same no matter if they are in a desert or on top of a mountain? Details like that matter a lot because the reader can suspend their disbelieves only for so long.

On a side note, conservation of detail is annoying but it’s important. If you established a rule in your world - such as revenants being killed by nailing them with silver in the heart - you can’t just go ahead and use iron or behead them. If you need to break established rules, you need to know your rules and then break them consciously.

[17mounteens]

Sugar (Seungkwan) { 1 / 5 }

S U G A R

» Seungkwan x reader » Genre: fluff, smut (will be mentioned on top of every chapter it’s in; not in this one), sugar daddy AU » A/N: I’ve been plagued by this fic idea for a very long time, so I hereby present sugar daddy!Seungkwan without too much of the daddy. There’ll be five chapters and the lengths will most likely vary, but they should all be at least 3k words. I’m also not sure about the pace they’ll be out at, but either way, I hope you guys enjoy this 💕 

» If you’re using the tumblr app and can’t see the scenario, which is under a “keep reading”, please try opening the post in your phone’s internet browser (or a computer)! 💕

» 4,193 words

» As it turned out, joking about how you should just “get a sugar daddy” to help you pay your tuition and other expenses was about to become reality. -- “You do realize no one’s going to pick you up if you’re not willing to give some, right?”

» Chapters: 1 ; 2

Although more than familiar with the saying ”desperate times call for desperate measures”, never had you ever dared to think that one day you’d resort to measures as desperate as you were about to.

As it turned out, joking about how you should just “get a sugar daddy” to help you pay your tuition and other expenses was about to become reality.

“You’re really doing it?” your friend as well as your roommate asked as they stood behind you, eating a yoghurt while you created your profile. You were adding some appealing pictures of yourself, some information about yourself, and when those were done, you wrote about what you were like and what you were looking for - and what you were not looking for.

“It’s a joke,” you said, almost laughing, unable to stop your hands from shaking a little. Biting your lip, you typed away what you did and did not wish for. ��...Kinda.”

“Kinda?” your friend asked, and you could hear the quirked eyebrow.

Shrugging, you turned to look at them. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll figure out something else, but if it does, then… I’ll see how it is.”

“I see,” they hummed and continued looking at your screen, interested to see what you were telling about yourself.

...not looking for a sexual relationship.

“You do realize no one’s going to pick you up if you’re not willing to give some, right?” your friend asked, giving you a meaningful look, and you looked at them with a small pout.

“I’m sure there’s someone,” you insisted, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were right. As much as it did make sense to you, why would anyone actually pay only for your company? Then again, you didn’t want to get the money from sex, so you figured you’d stand your ground. Sighing, you shut your laptop. “But we’ll see. I’m not giving up.”

“I’m not telling you to,” your friend chirped and finished the yoghurt they were eating before leaving to throw the trash away. “Tell me how it goes, yeah?”

“I will,” you hummed and took out your books, knowing more than well that you had a lot of studying to do.

Not that you’d be able to focus, however, when all you could do was think about the profile you had just created, wondering if there actually was someone willing to pay you for spending time with them.

Don’t get your hopes up, no one’s that dumb, you thought to yourself while humming, trying to push it all out of your mind.

…

A few days later, without a single contact yet a lot of views on your profile, you were still trying to remain hopeful, as much as your friend insisted on it being futile. Regardless, you refused to give up.

Having decided on taking a refreshing shower in the early afternoon, you were brought back to the reality from your shower thoughts when your roommate knocked on the door.

“What is it?” you asked while rinsing your hair, and turned the shower down a bit so that you could hear them.

“Just thought you’d be interested to know you got a notification from that site,” they said, playfulness all over their voice. Your eyes widened and you could feel your heart jump to your throat.

So someone was dumb enough.

“Why are you looking at my phone anyway?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but failed at doing so as you took some soap to wash yourself with.

“It was there, I couldn’t just not see it,” your friend insisted before giggling. “Anyway, I think you should hurry up, Mr. ‘Boovely’ says he’s seen your profile and is interested in… and then it cuts off. Bummer.”

“Put that phone away!” you almost shrieked and hurried to wash and rinse yourself before stepping out of the shower, haphazardly wrapping your towel around yourself before opening the bathroom door.

“Only if you ask nicely,” your friend teased you, holding your phone up in the air.

“I won’t hesitate to drop your phone into the toilet if you don’t give my phone to me now,” you deadpanned at them, and it was within a few seconds that you got your phone, and with the newfound peace of mind, you could adjust your towel a little and move to your bed.

Indeed, there was a notification about a private message from someone who went by the nickname “Boovely”, at which you raised your eyebrow a little.

Too curious for your own good - but to be honest, the few days you had had to simply wait to be contacted, as you didn’t want to contact anyone, had been torturous - you clicked the notification open.

Boovely Hi, I came across your profile, and I would be interested in talking with you, maybe even meeting you. I don’t exactly do this a lot, but based on your profile I think we could both benefit from this. I hope to hear from you soon.

With your eyes still wider than normal, you clicked on his profile picture, which you didn’t let yourself look at properly, just to see what he had on his profile. Besides all the personal information, such as his age, occupation and drinking habits, you scrolled down to what you were interested in.

What I’m looking for. Someone to spend time with, mainly. Work keeps me too busy to date, but I would like to spend time with someone I got along with, and in exchange for that I’d love to offer meals, clothes, money… if things go well, that is. Other than that I’m open to everything; my main priority or main wish is to simply find good company for when it gets lonely.

“He really,” you mumbled to yourself and slowly moved your gaze to your friend, who was staring at you expectantly. “He doesn’t want sex.”

Your friend nearly gawked at that. “Are you sure he knows that you don’t, either?”

“It says on my profile that I’m not particularly up for it it,” you said and inspected more of his profile, almost scared to go through his photos.

“Okay, but is he cute?” your friend asked and moved to sit next to you, which was just about all the mental support you needed.

“Why would someone cute resort to thi--” you stopped talking when you saw the photos, the first one showing a brightly smiling young man with his hair dyed dirty blonde. Swallowing, you nodded slowly, your voice small when you spoke. “He’s very cute.”

“And you’re sure he’s rich?”

“He’s a vice president, I don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” you muttered, too mesmerized by the pictures you were seeing. Some of them were gorgeous selfies, but there was a particular mirror selfie you couldn’t stop staring at, where his hair was slightly styled and he was wearing a burgundy suit with a neat white shirt. His expression was serious, and he looked stunning.

“Yeah, but a vice president of a successful company is very different from a vice president of a newly started business,” your friend hummed and stood up, stretching a little before picking up their bag. “But he’s attractive, and seeing him once wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe more than once,” you mumbled to yourself, and once you had made sure you had seen every bit of Boovely’s profile as well as that none of it irked you in any way, you returned to the private message.

Y/U/N Hi, I’m actually surprised someone would contact me! I checked out your profile, too, and I think it would be a good idea to talk a little, indeed. As you can see from my profile, I’m looking to fund my studies a bit better, and judging from yours, I’d imagine you could help me. What else should I know about you?

You had planned on doing many things that day, you really had, but you found yourself glued to your phone irregularly regularly as you learned more about Boovely; nothing incredibly personal, but little bits here and there, mostly regarding what he did and what you both enjoyed doing and were looking for.

And naturally, you also made sure he wasn’t just the vice president of any “newly started business”, and were instead told that he’d gladly pay well over two four thousand won for one dinner. Needless to say, you hoped things would work out.

Closer to ten in the evening, your phone buzzed again, and you put your schoolbook aside: your earlier chatting had been a bit on and off since he was working, but he had said he’d have more time later in the evening, which you guessed was now.

Boovely Would you like to go out for dinner on Thursday? We can see how things go face to face.

Y/U/N Thursday is good. What time?

Boovely Is seven okay? Do you know where The Lounge is, or should I pick you up?

A grin spread to your lips.

Y/U/N Seven works, and I know where it is, but I never turn a ride down.

You got back a laughing emoji, followed by yet another message.

Boovely I think we’ll get along. But yeah, just tell me where and I’ll be there. Good night, Y/U/N.

Y/U/N Good night, Boovely. ;)

Already giddy about the upcoming meeting, which you considered a date, and with it being Sunday, you excused yourself from studying for the rest of the night and instead relaxed while waiting for your roommate to get back so that you could tell them about what had happened.

They were just as disbelieving as you were, but cheered you on nevertheless.

“Hell, if this will solve your money problems, that’s brilliant.”

…

Days passed and you talked with Boovely for a while every day, until Thursday came around and you were standing by a landmark you had agreed on, dressed as neatly as you could, waiting for either a message or a fancier-looking car; mostly the former, really, since most of the cars were on that side.

Feeling your phone buzz, you immediately looked at it, your heart beating fast in your chest already with how nervous you were.

Boovely I’m here now. I’ll open the window so that you’ll recognize the car.

You looked around curiously, and as soon as you saw a car window go down, a nervous yet excited smile climbed to your lips and you hurried there. The car was a bit longer than normal, and mostly reminded you of a smaller-scale limousine.

“Hi,” you said, hardly recognizing your own voice, as you opened the door and were met with the man you had only seen in pictures.

He smiled at you, and you were taken aback by how soft his voice was. “Hi, and sorry if I’m late. There was a bit of traffic.”

“It’s okay,” you rushed to say, waving your hand to say that it was okay while taking a seat in the car and pulling the door shut behind yourself. The inside of the car reminded you of a limousine, too, and it made you excited. The man looked at you warmly, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you put the seatbelt on.

“We can go,” he said to the driver and turned to look at you, inspecting you carefully before sticking out his hand. “My name is Seungkwan.”

A bit taken aback, you took his hand into yours and squeezed it lightly. “I’m…”

Seungkwan shook his head. “You don’t have to tell yet, if you don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed with a small smile and held your cheek with your free hand as he slowly let go of your other one. “I’m very new to this, and just… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, and all you could do was hope he was actually as understanding as he seemed to be. “I bet you have a pretty name, though.”

“You can judge for yourself when I tell you,” you grinned, and got a laugh from Seungkwan, which, much to your relief, sounded nervous.

It was obvious you weren’t the only one new to it all, and that if anything made you feel more at ease, besides the fact that your first impression of him was nothing but positive.

The car ride to the restaurant wasn’t too long, and you were surprised at how easy it was. You had feared it would be awkward or unpleasant in other ways, yet there you were, talking with Seungkwan like it was your nth time meeting. In all honesty a lot of that was thanks to him being fairly good with words and keeping up the conversation, but it also helped you to do the same.

Somehow he was able to help you relax in a situation that had you a nervous wreck, and you were actually feeling at ease rather soon.

“We’ve arrived,” the driver said, and Seungkwan turned to you with a smile.

“Let’s get up, shall we,” he said and motioned to the door next to you, and you got out of the car with him following suit. The two of you then began walking to the entrance of the hotel the restaurant was in, and Seungkwan looked at you warmly. “Have you been here before?”

You turned to look at him, smiling a little. The restaurant, as well as the whole hotel was pricey, and so far off your budget. Chuckling, you shook your head.  “I’ve only been able to admire the menu online.”

“Then it’s about time,” he hummed, his smile widening, and opened the door for you, after which the two of you walked to the elevators and took one to the 24th floor. 

A smile made its way to your lips as you watched Seungkwan fix his hair and suit with the help of the mirror in the elevator, and you chuckled softly. “You look fine.”

"Thanks,” he grinned and looked at carefully. Seungkwan licked his lips and tried to sound casual as he spoke. “You look really good, too.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, eagerly accepting the compliment, you did your best to keep your cool. “And that’s not just you returning a compliment?”

“No; that was the first thing I thought of when I saw you earlier,” he said meaningfully and laughed at your surprised expression, and it was about then that the elevator doors opened and he motioned for you to exit first.

While he walked straight to the receptionist to both tell that you had arrived and get you showed to your reserved table, you looked around in wonder.

The restaurant was big and fairly high-end, and all in all just very beautiful. Like something you’d seen a lot in movies; you imagined it was a popular place for proposals and romantic dinners.

You jolted when you felt a hand on your shoulder, and Seungkwan chuckled softly. “Sorry for startling you, but we’re about to go to our table.”

“Oh, right,” you smiled, your cheeks heating up a little as the hand on your shoulder remained there for a while more before you two followed the receptionist to the table, where two menus, a bottle of champagne and glasses already waited. Even while sitting down, you couldn’t help but look around. “This place is so cool…”

“It’s one of my favorites,” Seungkwan said as he sat down and got his chair close enough to the table. “If all goes well, I can bring you here again.”

Moving your gaze from the fancy chandeliers and ceiling windows to Seungkwan’s genuine, glinting eyes, your eyes widened a little. “Really?”

“Of course,” he assured you with a smile, and it was then that you concluded that there was something incredibly friendly about his smile that you really liked. It made you feel warm and welcome, in a way, which wasn’t necessarily something you felt frequently. As you forgot most of your surroundings while being distracted by his smile, Seungkwan chuckled and opened his menu. “Let’s see what to eat.”

You nodded readily and opened your menu, too, and held back a groan at all the delicious options - somehow they had managed to have almost all of your favorite foods in one menu, and they all cost more than what you would ever want to pay for food.

You moved your gaze slowly to Seungkwan. “Um…”

He chuckled and moved his gaze up, too, grinning when your gazes met. “I’m paying, of course, so just order whatever your heart desires.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, smiling widely and slightly thinking about how that kind of gave you more pressure to be ‘good company’, but you didn’t mind - and besides, he didn’t seem too turned off by you at all. You concluded that you would be fine.

Seungkwan smiled at the apparent excitement on your face before returning his gaze to his menu. Soon the two of you got to order, and were then left alone again.

He took his wine glass and turned it a little in his hand, with a smile playing on his lips. “So, should we talk about this?”

“Ah, yes,” you said with a nod when you realized what he meant, and smiled at the male on the other side of the table. “Some rules or something?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Seungkwan chuckled and looked at you warmly, which made you feel at ease. “Just, you know… what we want or don’t want from this relationship, if you can call it that.”

“A relationship of a kind, yeah,” you agreed and licked your lips as you thought about it. What did you want, and what did you not…

“I think we’ve established that neither of us is looking for a sexual relationship?” he asked, taking a sip of his wine while looking at you expectantly, and you nodded, although you found yourself a lot less repulsed by the thought than you had while creating your profile.

Principles were principles, but...

“...But never say never,” you said meaningfully and took a sip of your wine, too, practically attempting to hide behind the glass. Seungkwan blinked a few times, his eyebrows rising, and you hurried to speak before he got to ask any questions. “But what about you?”

He chuckled and placed his glass down. “Something like this, I guess? Going out, being together… And honestly I… miss some intimacy, so later if you’re okay with it, maybe we could also… I don’t know…”

“Cuddle?” you asked with a quirked eyebrow, unable to keep a wide smile from taking over your face when Seungkwan, with the meekest expression and pursed lips, nodded. “I think that’d be nice.”

The way his face lit up at your words was something you almost wished you could’ve taken a picture of, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the relief and gratefulness apparent on his face.

“But only if you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he reassured you, and the genuity in his words and expression warmed your heart.

“Of course,” you smiled and reached for his hand on the table, placing your hand on top of it. “At the moment I don’t see why I wouldn’t feel comfortable, but we’ll see.”

“Yes,” Seungkwan smiled and blinked, realizing something. “Oh, yeah, and the money. Do you think five hundred thousand per meeting is enough, or..?”

You gawked at him, your jaw dropping a little as you stared into his eyes, utterly confused. Shaking your head, you sat up more straight and let go of his hand while doing so. “No, no, that’s way too much, I could never… You mentioned four hundred thousand earlier, didn’t you? How about that?”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “Usually people don’t turn down money, but if you’re sure about it…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then four hundred thousand is good,” Seungkwan said with a nod, grinning. “And it won’t include the presents.”

You sighed quietly at his words, unable to shake off the feeling that being so one-sidedly pampered felt just… odd. “Please don’t go too overboard.”

“I can try, but I can’t promise,” he sing-sang and smiled at the waiter as they brought your meals, and you looked at your food excitedly. It looked delicious, and smelled even better.

The two of you started eating in silence, but little by little you started talking again.

Seungkwan squinted a little, tilting his head with a lopsided smile on his face. “So, what made you create a profile there?”

“Oh, that,” you hummed with a quiet chuckle and took a sip of your wine. “I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it, really… I just needed money, and finding a part-time job has been difficult, and so I kind of thought that I might as well just… go for it, you know? And then you sent me a message, and here we are.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling and lips stretching to a wide smile, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“In that case I’m all the more glad I contacted you,” Seungkwan stated, looking into your eyes with his own ones glinting almost playfully. “You’ll get the money, and I’ll get to enjoy your company - and hopefully mine won’t completely bore you, either.”

You snorted at his remark and shook your head. “Absolutely not, I think you’re great. I could’ve had a much worse luck, you know.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of creeps out there,” he said, cringing a little, and you nodded with a similar expression on your face.

“I think the fact that I’m not willing to sleep with them helped a lot, though,” you noted with a grin, and Seungkwan agreed with you, snorting a little.

As you returned to your food, he continued looking at you with a small smile on his lips. He had gotten lucky to find you.

The rest of the dinner was just as pleasant as the beginning of the date had been, and you even got dessert after the main course. Seungkwan told you a bit about his life - about how he had moved from Jeju to Seoul when he had been younger, and now, ten years later, was the vice president of a flourishing company - as well as the things he enjoyed doing. A bit more courageous now, you also told him bits about yourself: about your major, future plans, dreams… and he listened to you intently, eagerly taking in everything you told him about yourself.

The more you learnt about each other, the more appealing you found the other.

Not much after you had both finished the dessert, the two of you started leaving the restaurant, and Seungkwan offered to get you a taxi, to which he didn’t allow you say no. He also gave you four hundred thousand won plus the money he guessed you’d need for your trip home.

As the two of you waited for the taxi, standing side by side and talking quietly, you chuckled suddenly. He raised his eyebrows and looked at you curiously, and you looked into his eyes playfully.

“It’s been a really nice evening, so…” you began, grinning at the confusion on Seungkwan’s face. “...my name is Y/N.”

He melted into a bright smile, and you felt his hand on your lower back. “I knew you had a pretty name.”

“How could you have known,” you teased him a little and got the slightest bit closer to him, excusing it with that the wind was freezing and being close to him meant warmth.

“I could feel it,” Seungkwan joked and nodded to the road. “I think that’s your taxi.”

“Oh, that should be it,” you said, feeling almost disappointed that you had to part your ways with him.

“Well,” Seungkwan started, moving his hand higher on your back and grinning when you looked at him curiously. “Thank you for the night.”

And with that, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek that made your eyes widen in surprise, your skin get to goosebumps and your heart skip a beat.

He stayed there so that he could whisper to your ear. “I’ll see you again, Y/N.”

With a gentle smile on his face, Seungkwan pulled back and looked at you playfully, with a hint of smugness, before starting to walk to his car, which left you standing there, dumbfounded and with your cheeks practically on fire.

“See you,” you mumbled, looking at his back figure until he got into his car, and with a quick shake of your head, you also got into the taxi that was waiting for you.

All the way home, you were unable to stop thinking about the way his soft lips had felt against your skin, not to mention the low voice with which he had whispered to your ear. The stack of cash in your purse was in your mind, too, and you could still hardly believe that you had just been paid for dining with someone.

Although unsure about what you had gotten yourself into, you were more than eager to find out.

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[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story)- Chapter Thirty: Power

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Power

“Well, she didn’t say no.” Nine spins around in her chair as the call disconnects, turning back to Lana and Theron still sitting on the couch. “Not that I fault her lack of enthusiasm. We are going to blow the roof off the place, after all.”

Theron shrugs. “It’s Nar Shaddaa, and we’ll be thirty floors up from the access point. Hook up some backup generators and I doubt anyone’ll notice beyond the power flicker.”

“We’ll work out the details once we’re there. Lana, you’re still all right with leading the drop team? I’ve got a feeling you’ll work better with Veeroa and her people than Theron.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lana says, attention still on the datapad on her lap. “Korriban taught her all its worst lessons, but I’m quite familiar with the type. Properly aimed, she’ll be useful. You’re sure we can trust this Sia’hla, though?”

She stands up, licking her lips. Her throat’s dry from so much talking; she could use a drink. “I’m sure. We go back a long way, she and I.”

“Is this her- with you?” When Lana holds up the datapad she can’t really see it at this distance, takes a few steps toward the couch as Theron turns his head to look and-

Oh, Void, that got on to the Holonet?

“Years and years ago, but yes. She’s a dancer, though I assume she’s largely retired now if she’s running her own place,” she says, watching herself on the little screen, the two of them draped artfully over each other, spinning circles around the pole in the center of the stage. Was she really ever that young? That was- oh, stars, that was right before Hunter. “She knew what I was- it was unavoidable, given how we met. I’d use her as a reference for undercover work, like here.” She points at the audience, sitting in shadow. “That Devaronian in the front row was about two hours away from the business end of my knife.”

“You had way more fun on the job than I used to,” Theron murmurs. “Ex of yours, I’m guessing?”

“What? No. That would have been- she would have felt obligated. The last thing she needed back then was someone else taking advantage of her.”

Both of them raise eyebrows at that, but Theron’s the only one who responds. “You know I don’t care, right? It was just a question.”

“I know.”

(They’ve been honest with each other on that front. Not in detail- neither of them were much for jealousy and that sort of comparison was vulgar, frankly; she may be many things but vulgar isn’t one- but what’s the point in lying? It’s all in the past, in any case.)

“What kind of leverage do you have on her?” Lana sets the pad down on the table. “She kept your identity secret this long, apparently, but if she goes running to the Hutts- or worse, the Zakuulans-”

“It’s not as though she’s sitting there with my dossier in hand. She never even knew my real name- stars, Kaliyo never even knew my real name. We always used aliases, even back then. But she’s not going to nark on us.”  

Rubbing her temples, Lana leans back into the cushions. “I know she’s a friend, Nine-”

“Force, I thought I was paranoid.” She perches on the back of the couch, just in between them, as Theron nods agreement and she nudges her elbow lightly into his neck; he makes a face at her. “She won’t. Trust me.”

“You’re that certain?”

She sighs. “Did your family have slaves, Lana? When you were a child, before you went to Korriban?”

“Droids, mostly. But yes, a few- though I don’t really remember them. I had a nanny. She was the one who told my parents when she found me floating my schoolbooks across the room to my desk.” Lana lowers her hands. “Why?”

“What about later?”

“I was a research strategist, Nine, before I was Arkous’ advisor- hardly wealthy. And even if I could have afforded slaves, do you honestly think I would have wanted them?”

With a tilt of her head, she tucks her feet up beneath her, carefully balanced, while Theron shifts his silent attention back and forth between them. “No, I suppose not. But your masters all had them, and their masters.”

“Yes, they did. All of them. It was just-” Lana pauses, glances down and then back up, chewing on her lower lip. “The system was what it was. You know that better than most.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know- and all bought from Hutt space, of course. One can’t simply force the conquered into servitude any longer, so we have the syndicates to do our dirty work for us. Have you ever visited the slave market on Nar Shaddaa?”

Theron makes a noise, low and angry in his throat- he’s been there, then- but Lana only shakes her head. “No. Never. What’s your point?”

“I spent a lot of time there-” she turns a little more toward her- “in the early years of my career. No monitoring permitted, so it was one of the best places to work a first meeting with an informant assuming you don’t mind watching crying children being sold for the cost of a decent meal.”

Lana shifts, uneasy, as her hands curl into tight fists.

“Sia’hla was a slave when I met her. Belan, her owner, ran a cantina-slash-whorehouse as a front for the Hutt cartel, but he’d been feeding us intel on the side for years. I took over as his handler on my first tour there- back before I was made Cipher.” She remembers that posting far too well; those were memories she would have gladly let the Empire take if they had wanted them. “He was scum. I’d have put a round through his head if it were up to me, but my orders were to keep him talking.”

“I had a few contacts like that,” Theron says quietly, “down in the undercity. Lots of things that are illegal in Republic space get a little less so when you stop seeing daylight.”

She looks toward him for a moment, a tiny little nod. “And Sia was his favorite, which just meant that he used her by turns as a dancer, a bedslave and a punching bag depending on his mood. The bruises were fairly hard to miss.”

“She shot him, she said? Sounds like he more than deserved it.” Theron again. Lana’s still silent, still listening.

“He got greedy- started skimming credits off our take, and unlike my predecessor I actually audited his books. When I showed up at his place to call him out on it I think he knew what was coming. He was beating the shit out of her, and I couldn’t-” she frowns. She had, though. All of them had, over and over again, all pretending one good deed could somehow make up for thousands of old sins- “I couldn’t just stand there and watch her die. I pulled him off, but he hit me with a stunner and I woke up an hour later in a cell, collared, bound, and bleeding.”

Theron’s hand rests against her back, a small comfort; she leans into his touch.

Lip curling into a scowl, Lana finally speaks. “Did he really think he’d get away with it? Greed’s one thing, but trying to sell an Imperial agent into slavery? He wouldn’t have survived the week.”

“I don’t know whether he planned to sell me or just have a bit of sport and then kill me, but thankfully I didn’t have to find out. When I missed my check-in with Kaliyo she came searching. She found him with a hole through his back and Sia, shaking like a leaf, holding my rifle.”

“Good for her.”

“I paid out her contract on the spot with the money we were going to recoup from him. I bought all of their contracts, all ten of his girls. ‘liyo and I pulled the collars off their necks and got them the fuck out of that place. The oldest one was twenty, I think. Sia’hla was seventeen.” She pushes up off the couch, back onto her feet, restless, needing to pace, to drown out the memory of their fear with the sounds of her footsteps. She’d given them the rest of the money, too- her handler’d been pissed and it wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but what more could she have done? Taking them back to the Empire would have gotten them all sold again at best and shot at worst. “She’d worn that collar since she was eleven years old. She still has the scars from it under that expensive dress you just saw. And you know why she finally worked up the nerve to turn on him?”

Lana closes her eyes, presses her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Because you made him stop.”

“Because I made him stop. Because I was the only one, out of every single person who set foot in that place, who ever did. So my point, since you asked, is that we can trust her. It’s got nothing to do with leverage. It’s-”

She stops, then, in the middle of the room. Theron’s watching her with something like pride in his eyes when Lana lets her hands fall and rises, stepping around the edge of the sitting area to meet her where she stands.

“Yes,” Lana says, “I understand. I’ll let Veeroa know we’re ready to move. When do you want to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ve still got an apartment there we can use as a staging area and we’ll take Nightshrike. It’ll only be five of us traveling: Theron climbing with me, you with the topside team, Kaliyo on demolitions and for slicing- Tee-Seven, I suppose? SCORPIO’s still on that Gravestone project. That’ll leave Senya and Koth-” typing a quick message on her comm while she talks, she sends it on its way to both of them- “to take over command duties while we’re gone, and they’ll need a briefing. And I ought to eat something at some point, but-”

“I’ll grab food and meet you in the War Room.” Theron hops over the back of the couch. He never did like to go the long way ‘round. “And caf, yeah?”

“And caf. See you there.”

He taps at the door panel, barely waiting for it to open before he’s gone into the hallway.

“Can I ask you a strange question, Nine?” Lana’s datapad’s still sitting on the table and she leans far across to retrieve it, looking down at the screen again. When she cranes her neck to look, too, the video’s paused; in that frozen moment the two of them are turned in profile to the camera, backs arched until her hair and Sia’hla’s lekku brush the stage floor, held upright only by the counterweight of their bodies wound around each other. “All that horror- and she stayed on Nar Shaddaa, dancing. Why didn’t she leave?”

“I asked her that, too… it was what she knew how to do, she said. At first it was- therapeutic. Familiar. I didn’t quite understand it at the time but it seemed to keep her calm, so-” she shrugs. She understands it now, of course. Oh, Void, does she understand it now. “And she was good at it. We made ten thousand credits in tips on that dance alone, but that wasn’t even the point. Every eye in that room was on her. In that world, that’s power, and you hold on to power when you find it.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re Sith. Of course you don’t.”

Lana frowns. “That’s unfair, Nine. You honestly think that being Sith means I don’t know what it means to be afraid? To feel powerless?”

“Not afraid. We all know afraid. But powerless... you could bounce me off the ceiling with a wave of your hand, Lana. You could have called me into your office five years ago and lopped my head off and not a single person there would dare meet your eye- the only question you’d have been asked was who was going to get my job. Call it relative, if you like, but compared to the rest of us you started out a hundred paces ahead.” She reaches out toward the screen. “A thousand ahead of someone like her.”

“Is that what you want, too? Power?”

(For a moment the world goes still and silent and she can feel Valkorion in the back of head, a dull throb that reminds her of nothing so much as the impatient tap tap tap of a finger on a tabletop, waiting, waiting-

Is it?)

When she blinks he’s gone.

“Back then I would have said yes.”

“What about now?”

“Power’s only useful when you’re playing the game,” she says, “and I’m so tired of games. But I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Lana tucks the datapad away and, wordless, rests her other hand carefully on her shoulder. At first she thinks she’s trying to read her, but no- there’s nothing, not even a whisper of pressure, only silence. They’ve never been very good at apologizing, her or Lana; sometimes the quiet’s as close as they get.

She understands, though. None of them had a choice this time around, not when the other options were yield or die.

“Did you ever think about what you’d do when you retired?” Changing the subject, letting her go, Lana starts to move toward the door. They’ve got meetings, still, and packing and planning, before the morning comes. “Before all this happened, I mean."

“Not really, no. I always assumed I wouldn’t live that long.”

***

She’ll need to do some shopping once they get to Nar Shaddaa, but by half past one in the morning her bag is packed and ready and she sets it by the door. Time to sleep, then. With any luck she’ll manage four or five hours before their planned departure.

Twenty minutes later she sits up in bed, sweating and shaky, gasping for breath.

Only a dream, she tells herself. It was only a dream.

When she tries to settle herself, though, closing her eyes again, she’s right back in the moment: her fingernails scrabbling desperately on gloved hands as they tighten, digging into her exposed throat- this was supposed to be a training exercise i haven’t even got a weapon oh i can’t breathe it hurts i can’t - and she does the only thing she can, whips her head back hard until she feels something behind her give way with a sharp crunch and-

She throws off the blankets and springs out of bed.

“Fuck off, old man.” Her voice comes out a rasp in the darkness. “I’ve lived through worse than you. If you really want me to let you help, you need to work on your people skills.”

Valkorion doesn’t respond.

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, she stoops to pick up her shirt and trousers from the floor, dresses quickly, steps into her shoes. No sleep? Fine. She’ll get some more caf and read through the operational plan again. May as well do something useful.

The lower living quarters are quiet when she steps off the lift, doors shut and lights dimmed; she pads softly down the hallway toward the mess, finding that similarly empty save a few guards eating before morning watch begins. Nodding to them, she searches the shelf for an empty carafe- forget cups, she’s going to need more than that- and fills it to the brim.

She makes it halfway back down the corridor before a door slides open behind her. She turns out of reflex, looking back over her shoulder as a shadow-outlined figure leans against the doorframe-

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Theron says, barefoot in sleeping clothes, frowning down at her hands still clutching the carafe. “That doesn’t look like sleeping to me.”

“Yes, well-” still hoarse. So much for just a dream. She clears her throat, once and then again- “someone had other ideas. I’ll nap tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Another nightmare?”

“Another memory. A very old one. And I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I’ve been packing.” He gestures back toward his room. “But I might need to shop when we get there. I forgot my only other jacket’s got a hole through it, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to let me wear my red one.”

She smiles a little, trying not to laugh. He never did like armor, but stars, the man’s attached to that damned thing. “You would be correct. We’ll go together- I need to pick up a couple of things, too.”

“Okay. But back to my original point: you need to sleep. You look-” a pause. Whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it. Instead, he takes her by the wrist and pulls her gently through the doorway; she doesn’t resist. “It didn’t seem this bad the last few nights.”

“It wasn’t. A few nightmares, but-”

Compared to the corridor his room’s so bright, the lights still on and his bag sitting half-full on his still-made bed, and she has to squint against the glare. When she can see properly again, Theron’s staring at her, mouth half-open.

“What the hell?” He lets go of her arm, raises his fingertips to her throat as she pulls away reflexively. “Your neck-”

“What are you talking about?”

These rooms really are small- she’s spent so little time in his quarters, or Lana’s, that she’s never realized it before, but it only takes them three steps to make it across to the ‘fresher cubicle and he slides the door open, turns her to face the mirror above the sink and-

She blanches and that only makes the bruises stand out more, two handprints fanned out in livid purple on her skin, and when she lifts her own hand to the marks they match, precise, down to the shallow scratches left by her nails.

(For a moment she isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

Worse, she thinks.)

“It was a dream,” she whispers. “It was-”

He takes the caf pot from her grip, sets it down on the sink and then wraps both arms around her, just holding on tight.

“We should talk to Lana. Or Senya, or somebody- but this is crazy, Nine. I didn’t think he could do this.”

“Let them rest, for now. A few hours won’t matter.” Eyes closed, she sags back against him, fatigue finally crashing over her like so many waves. “I doubt there’s anything we can do, in any case.”

“There has to be something.” He turns her around and she rises onto tiptoes as he lifts her, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms around her waist. “You can’t not sleep.”

No, she supposes she can’t.

A few steps take them back out into the little room; Theron sets her down on the bed. Shoving a few pieces of kit into his bag before he digs into a side pocket, he moves it onto the floor and then sits, too, flipping the cap off a tube of bacta gel with a loud click. “Let’s at least get something on those bruises.”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, of course, and he knows it as well as she does- he doesn’t even say anything, just coats both palms in the gel and starts to work it slowly into her skin, careful not to use both hands at once, careful not to curl too tightly around her neck. Even so she has to fight her instincts, forcing herself to stay still, to not push him away.

He’s helping. He’s helping.

She breathes.

“That should help a little.” The last of the bacta absorbed into the bruises, Theron wipes his hands on the blanket as the tightness in her throat eases. “You want me to walk you back up to your room?”

Instead of answering she flops over backward, staring up at the ceiling. “After Corellia,” she says, counting the tiles above their heads- one, two, three, four. She used to do the same thing in her cabin. It had twenty-five and one-third tiles in four rows, wall to wall, an imprecision that always irritated her- “I had nightmares for months. Lokin made me take medication so I’d sleep. I hated it… have you ever used ryll?”

He nods, hand on her hair, smoothing it down with gentle strokes. “Once, when I was a lot younger. Didn’t agree with me.”

“Me either. The meds made me feel the same way- slow, stupid, half-floating. Like me, with all the edges filed off. But I didn’t dream.”

“That doesn’t sound like an answer,” Theron says.

More tiles- five, six, seven. She keeps counting; there’s a false sort of peace in mindless tasks, but a false peace is better than nothing. “It’s a bad answer. But if he can get to me that easily when I’m dreaming-”

“We’ll find another way.”  

“Maybe.”

“We will. C’mere.” He slips one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her slightly until he can slide into the space between her head and the wall. “He wants at you, he’s going to have to get through me first.”

She thinks of Ziost, then, and flinches. “Don’t say that. He’ll get ideas. And I should get up- people will talk come morning, if-”

“Let ‘em.”

“You say that now.”

Despite his caution his knee nudges into her upper back and she shifts position as he mumbles an apology. “Pretty sure we’re not breaking any rules, are we?”

“No. But-”

Theron takes one of her hands in his, presses his mouth against the back of it, a kiss and a guidance both, pulling her up and along the bed. “Don’t worry about them, okay? Just try to sleep. If you start thrashing around too much, I’ll wake up and shake you out of it.”

“So neither of us sleep? That’s not much of an answer, either.”

“You didn’t dream as much the last few nights, right? It’s better than nothing.”

“True.” Theron’s settled back onto the bed, wedging pillows behind him; she curls her knees into her body, turning, until she’s stretched out beside him with her head against his chest. “Although I think I like my bed better.”

“More room, definitely. If you want, we can still go-”

She closes her eyes. “No. This is good.”

***

(The rest of the night passes, lulled into sleep by the rhythm of their breathing and the sound of his heart, and she does not dream.

It’s something.)

***

They’re a day out from landing- not that it matters, with an entire file full of false identities he can use; it’s not like any of them will be clearing customs with their real names- when she finally remembers to ask.

“So.” She spins around in the copilot’s chair, turning toward him, hands folded in her lap. “Theron, what exactly did you do to get yourself barred from Nar Shaddaa?”

He looks up from plotting their last few jumps with a shrug and a teasing grin. “Guess.”

“Public nudity- no, done that one, doesn’t merit a ban. Tried to carve a chunk out of Karagga’s statue?”

“Gold’s not my color,” he says. “Try again.”

“Sliced the slot machines at Club Vertica?”

Theron yawns. “There are way easier ways to make money that don’t involve getting your kneecaps broken by a very large Gamorrean. Nope.”

“Frankly, I’ve got no idea.” She stretches out one leg, taps the toe of her shoe against his thigh until he grabs at her foot, pinning it against the arm of the chair. “I’ve broken about every law on that trash heap of a moon, which is to say all three of them, and the most I ever had to do was send a gift basket full of credits. Tell me.”

“It’s way more fun making you guess.”

“I hate guessing-games.”

He tugs at one end of her shoelace. “Public nudity? Really?”

“It made for a very memorable alibi. I’m not ticklish, by the way, so don’t get any ideas.” That makes him stop, knot halfway undone, and she winks.

“You really want to know?” Abandoning the shoelace, he wraps his hand around her ankle, runs his thumb along the curve of her calf instead.

“I’m also-” she stretches out her other leg, batting at his hand- “not that easily distracted. Tell me.”

“Back in the SIS we used to swap ident cards sometime- it was easier to remember a name you knew, so we’d just transpose pictures. If someone got caught, you could prove you were off-planet pretty easily- the card must be a forgery, right? Give another false card as backup and everyone gets out easy.”

She tilts her head. Makes sense, but- “Your excuse is that someone else got busted using your ident as a cover?”

“I’ve been running on fakes since I left the SIS, so I didn’t even realize it’d happened until the other week. I was checking how much damage my fath-” he catches himself- “Jace had done to my clearances when it came up on the report.”

“Do you know who it was?”

Theron rolls his eyes. “Three guesses.”

“That little shit.” The minute he said it she knew exactly who it had to be- she doesn’t know that many other SIS agents by name and most of the ones she did are ones she’s killed- and when he grins she knows she’s right.

“It was a couple years ago, to be fair. Everyone was running scared back then, even after the surrender, and I’d already split for Wild Space. I can’t blame him that much.”

He does have a point. “Okay, then, what did Balkar do to get you kicked out of Hutt Space?”

“Vandalism.”

“No, seriously. What did he-” she flicks her feet again, perched on the edge of her chair, spanning the gap between them, and then yelps as he reaches forward off his seat and grabs her behind both knees. She pushes off, launching herself across, laughing, and when she lands on him he’s laughing, too.

“When you crash a pleasure barge into a moon,” Theron says, muffled against her chest, “apparently they consider that vandalism.”

***

Their first day on Nar Shaddaa is a surprise in three ways.

Her apartment’s untouched, first of all, her clothes still in the closets and even the maintenance droid still waiting patiently at the front entrance when they all pile out of the hovercab. She hadn’t expected that. She wasn’t paying rent on it, granted (the benefits of winning one’s housing), and the paperwork was under an alias- one couldn’t exactly sign contracts as Cipher Nine and not expect to attract attention- but she thought someone would have noticed she hadn’t set foot in the place in years.

It’s wartime, though. There must be a great many apartments sitting empty nowadays.

Second, Theron’s far less fussy than she’d thought he’d be when they go shopping. He draws the line at a printed shirt, but she talks him into new trousers, shirts and, miracle of miracles, a sleek black jacket.

(“I don’t even look like myself,” he says, turning in front of the mirror. “Are you sure about this one?”

“That’s rather the point.” She considers a moment, then turns to the salesgirl. “Though I’d go a size down on the jacket, don’t you think? Oversized seems to be the style, but-”

She could roll the girl’s tongue back up into her mouth, probably. Quite right- he looks delicious in proper clothing. “Oh, yes. That one’s definitely too big. Let me check in back.”)

It doesn’t take her long to dress for the evening. Half her old outfits will have to go, of course;  the saber scar makes that much clear. But most of them still fit, and after a few minutes she’s doing up the back of a high-necked minidress and slipping her feet into her second-favorite pair of heels.

“If you’re not wearing that blue one,” Kaliyo says from across the room, “can I have it?"

She throws it backward over her shoulder. “All yours, if you think it’ll still fit you. It’s been a while since you’ve borrowed my clothes.”

“It got over that ass of yours. It’ll work just fine on me.” Kaliyo snaps back, teasing, and it’s just like the old days for a second; she smiles to herself as she pulls a pair of earrings out of their box. “Come zip me, yeah?”

Lana speaks up from somewhere deep inside the larger closet. “I still don’t see why I have to change at all. My robes are fine.”

“For a nightclub? We’re walking in the front door: we’ve got to blend in. What would you normally wear?”

“You say that as though you’re assuming I normally go out. It’s a planning meeting tonight, not a party.” Accompanied by the sound of hangers clattering, she can barely see yellow eyes behind a row of dresses. “Don’t you own any trousers, Nine?”

“Of course I own trousers. Look to your left.” She points for emphasis.

More clattering, rather a lot of hopping, and a disgusted sigh- “How do you even- ugh. Never mind. Hold on.”

Kaliyo’s standing in front of the mirror on the far side of the room, the dress hanging loose around her chest until Nine goes across to her, drawing the zipper up along her spine. “If you want us to pick something out for you-”

“Oh, honestly. I can dress myself.” Lana steps out from between the shelves, and-

“Well, damn.” Kaliyo whistles. “Look at the legs on you, Beniko.”

Now that’s a surprise.

Rolling her eyes, a pair of shoes dangling from her fingertips, Lana gestures toward the door. “We’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

***

Author's Note: Another one gone to weird places on me, hence the change of title.

A difficult few weeks, life-wise, and some of that probably bled in here. Hopefully back in the groove now for the next chapter?

[gukyi]

interconnection | myg

⇒ summary: you can never trust anything in the wizarding world. not even your own goddamn journal. 

⇒ {hogwarts!au}

⇒ pairing: yoongi x female reader

⇒ word count: 8k

⇒ genre: fluff

⇒ a/n: all poetry in y/n’s journal written by yours truly! obviously, anything written in yoongi’s journal is written by him. also, i know the word count’s pretty short in comparison to my seokjin fic, but a majority of this fic is in messaging format, which explains both the great physical length and the shorter word count. inspired by this drarry fic, which rocks and u should read. edit (04.20.18): the poems in this fic are now formatted strangely because tumblr mobile took away the foundation for this entire piece: the indent. thanks, tumblr mobile, for absolutely nothing.

“all art is quite useless.” — wilde, 1890.

The first thing your mother bought you in Diagon Alley, age eleven, was a worn, brown leather journal, its pages tinted and stained but empty nonetheless. She got it off of the highest shelf in the top corner of the crowded bookstore, stretching her arms and legs to reach it, the last of its kind.

“What’s this for?” You asked as she placed it in your open, waiting palms.

“For you to write in while at Hogwarts,” she said. “I find that words always seem to have a better way of flowing when on paper rather than out loud. Don’t you?”

“I dunno,” you responded, shrugging your little shoulders as you placed the journal in your cauldron along with the rest of your required schoolbooks. “Isn’t it dumb to keep a journal?”

“Only if you treat it as such,” your mother replied, as sage as she always was. “Come, let’s get you a wand.”

With the mention of a wand, your mind wandered far from the beaten leather journal in your cauldron as you skipped out of Flourish and Blott’s, unaware of how significant the journal would end up being in your later years at Hogwarts.

When you first opened the journal on your first night at Hogwarts as an empty-minded eleven-year-old, the blank pages frightened you. A world of words only you could come up with was millions of miles away, and staring at the tan pages wasn’t going to make it come closer. That night, you shut the journal roughly, cursing your mother who wasted her money on a journal that would never be put to use.

Six years later, eleven-year-old you wouldn’t know that journal like you do now, know the feeling of its worn pages and smooth, wrinkling leather, what you have become so keenly familiar with over the years. Sure, this journal doesn’t hold your deepest, darkest secrets nor your wildest dreams directly, but the allusions never end, forever continuing on in each poem you write.

You’ve always been a fan of poetry, ever since your mother taught you about the greatest works of the great poets as a child. Wordsworth, Poe, Keats. They are names you know, names you admire. There was never anything spectacular about Wizard poets, not when everything is easy and everything is simply done with magic. No, people like Poe and Keats and Wordsworth wrote about life like it was a struggle, like there was always something you were missing in it. In a sense, there always is.

Perhaps your Muggleborn background is another factor in your love for poetry, but verse knows no blood status and even the greatest Wizards need to sit down and read a little bit of Eliot once in awhile, you think.

The poetry you write is mundane, nothing compared to the greats that they were, but it is home and it is an odyssey all the same, the words flowing off the page and smeared from how frantic you were when you wrote them.

You cart the notebook around with you wherever you go, knowing that keeping it in the confines of the common room will likely lead to its exposure one way or another. Gryffindors were never really good at keeping out of other people’s business. The journal is as precious to you as your wand, never letting it out of your sight.

It’s not uncommon for students to keep a journal, especially for their first couple years as they adjust to the school, to the sleepless nights and forbidden hallways. What is uncommon is the fact that you’re fast approaching graduation, merely a few months left before you’re thrust into the real world and treated like adults with responsibilities and taxes, and the journal has never left your side, staying with you through every standardized test and every Hogsmeade visit. You are, dare you say, the last of your year to hold onto something as menial as a diary.

“Are you going to keep writing in that after Hogwarts?”

You look up at the sound of the voice, knowing that it’s directed towards you. Your fingers are still holding onto the pages of your open journal, lying on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, as you pause, mid-browse.

“This?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I want to keep it as my school journal. A specific time in my life.”

“But surely, if you’ve written in it for so long, you might as well want to keep going?”

“I feel like seven years is a pretty substantial amount of time to write in a journal.”

“You’ve never run out of room?” Another friend butts in, her potions homework forgotten in front of her. No wonder she’s failing the class; she lets herself get too distracted.

“I asked the librarian for spells to add pages.”

“Oh,” they say.

“Yeah,” you say.

Your journal is not often the topic of conversation between you and your friends. Your friends have long known that the journal is not theirs to look through, so they don’t bother asking, but occasionally they will have questions as they see you scribbling down something before your next class period. It’s strange to see you writing in it so out in the open like you do sometimes, since you often reserve your writing time for when you are curled up in the common room, sitting by the fire as you guard the pages from view. Inspiration, however, strikes at the most inopportune moments.

“What do you write about?” They ask you whenever they catch you jotting something down.

“Art. Love. Work. Emotions. You. Me.”

“Us?”

“All of us.”

“That’s lots of people.”

“Not everybody. Just people that interest me.”

“Who interests you?”

“Those that don’t try to.”

If there’s one thing that your friends complain about, it’s the fact that, whenever you do talk about your journal, your sentences become clipped, fragments of full phrases lacking in conjunctions. It’s not that you don’t want to make your sentences, well, actual sentences, it’s just that you never really want to say too much about your journal. It is yours, after all.

“Well, who are you writing about now?”

“I don’t know.”

Truth is, you don’t. The boy that’s caught your attention this time is nothing but a stranger, someone you’ve never spoken to, a face lost in the sea of students. From his build, he doesn’t look to be much younger than you, meaning he might even be in your year. He’s got platinum bleached hair, the mop the only thing you can make out as he snoozes on some textbook. Next to him is a boy a couple years younger—you recognize him, he’s the Quidditch commentator for most of the matches—prodding him gently with his pointer finger. The platinum boy does not budge.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“You’re a real mystery, you know that, Y/N? A goddamn mystery,” one of your friends comments, scoffing.

You chuckle to yourself, closing your journal and smiling. “I sure hope so.”

he sleeps to forget or, maybe he sleeps to remember but in his dreams he is somewhere and nowhere and he is everything  and nothing all at once. zzzz… his brain says do not let me leave… for i am finally at peace.

You had originally believed that after writing about a person, a stranger, in your journal, you’d go on to forget about them, but that doesn’t seem to be the case this time. Since you wrote that single poem about the platinum-haired boy, fast asleep on a textbook in the Great Hall, you can’t help but notice him everywhere you turn. He’s in the library, in the hallways, in the bleachers of the Quidditch field. It’s his hair—or maybe it’s that soft, hazy smile he has permanently etched onto his lips—that makes him stick out, makes him so easy to spot even in the oceans of students that surround the both of you.

He’s in your year, you’ve found out that much, but you can hardly remember anything about him. You don’t remember him on the train, nor at the Sorting Ceremony, nor in any of your classes. It is only now that he’s left a mark on you, made a wrinkle in your brain that you can’t seem to forget about.

If you were brave, you would speak to him. If you were brave, or daring, or unafraid, you would approach him and say hello, introduce yourself. But you are none of those things, and so all he is is another boy you’ve written about, another student lost in the haze.

Perhaps in a perfect world.

Though, you suppose, if it was a perfect world, you would never have anything interesting to write about.

Shit begins to hit, pelt, the fan while you are eating supper in the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends as your journal lays forgotten on the sidelines, open to a blank page as you happily chat about nothing and everything in particular.

“How’s tutoring going?” You ask your one friend, the one who’s not doing so hot in potions.

“It’s going,” she jokes. “I have a good tutor, I’m just shit at applying myself.”

“Story of my life,” you chuckle.

The chatter goes on like this, friendly banter between buddies as you swallow down the meal in front of you. This is the only time after classes end that you actually get to spend socializing, before you bury yourself under layers and layers of schoolwork. It’s just another night, the days always flowing by like clockwork, no variation with each passing hour.

It’s just another night, until your ridiculously clumsy self somehow manages to elbow a discarded cup of tea, knocking it onto its side and spilling its contents all over your opened journal.

“Oh no,” you declare, not even making to try and clean up the mess, watching the liquid stain your blank pages with futility.

“Y/N! Aren’t you gonna do something?” Your friends exclaim, watching as you stare helplessly at the mess beside you.

“Me? What?”

“Y/N!”

It’s then that you finally come to, shaking your head as the panic overtakes you. You stand up quickly, rushed as you dart to the closest napkin, dabbing it on the spill to soak up whatever hasn’t already damaged your journal.

Your friends are all the help, gathering the disregarded Daily Prophets from that morning and running over. Once you’ve let the tea take its toll, you place your relatively damp journal on top of the newspaper to dry, pushing it down the table so it can get the most air, away from your scraggle of friends as you continue to chat as if the whole incident lay forgotten.

You’re knee deep into a conversation about whether having dragon heartstring or unicorn hair is more beneficial to doing transfiguration, you, a firm believer that dragon heartstring reigns supreme, when a foreign voice invades your discussion.

“Do you write all this stuff?”

You whip your head around to find a Gryffindor by the name of Namjoon, holding your dangling journal between his thumb and his pointer fingers as he shuffles through the pages with his other hand. You can see the tea dripping slowly from the corner of the cover to the newspaper below it. You recognize Namjoon quite well, he’s a tutor, sort of a know-it-all as far as you’re concerned.

“What?” You snap, beginning to feel yourself seethe.

“Do you write this stuff? It’s really good, you know. Very interesting,” he comments like it’s nobody’s fucking business. The problem is, it is very much your goddamn business.

“Were you raised in a barn?” You ask incredulously, rushing up to him and snatching your journal from his fingertips. “Who on this godforsaken Earth taught you that it was perfectly fine to fish through someone else’s journal?”

Namjoon merely smirks, and it makes you frown, disgust lacing your features. “So it is yours, eh, Y/N? Didn’t know you were so deep.”

“Stuff it, Namjoon. I never fucking asked,” you say. Namjoon’s gotten absolutely unbearable, ever since his Head Boy friend graduated last year, leaving him to completely his own devices without anyone to keep him in check. You miss that Head Boy. He was nice.

“But your journal did. I mean, it was lying out in the open, far away from any person who displayed any signs of ownership. It was practically begging to be read.”

“You’re a goddamn piece of shit,” you spit, and he chuckles at your comeback. “Go shove a textbook up your ass.”

“Not a fan of people reading your writing, I get it,” Namjoon says, hands up in surrender as he begins to back away, the cheeky smile still drawn on his face. “I, for one, think you are an excellent writer, Y/N. You should let people read your stuff. They’d like it.”

“Not a chance.”

He walks away, leaving you breathless and boiling.

“He’s such a tool,” your friend says, hand rubbing your arm to calm you down. “That’s why I didn’t want him as my tutor. I couldn’t stand being around him.”

“I think Y/N needs some time to calm down. Look at her. She’s practically overheating.”

Your friend pulls your journal from where you’re clutching it to your chest, smiling awkwardly as she places it back down on the newspaper, pushing it over to where you sit so you can have a better eye on it.

You’re never dealing with this again.

You spend the rest of the night shuffling through the innumerable books in the library, desperate to find a spell that will prevent anyone besides you to fish through your personal, private journal. Anything to prevent the Namjoon Situation from ever happening again. God, what an asshole. Has he never heard of respect? Personal space?

Admittedly, doing this instead of your homework is a terrible move on your part, because not only are there no spells designed to resolve this type of predicament—which you find outrageous, especially because aren’t wizards supposed to come up with solutions to every problem? That’s why they have magic, obviously—your search takes up a good few hours hunting through the table of contents of each library book that piques your interest, and by the time it’s nearing curfew and you’ve collected a grand total of zero spells, all of your homework lays incomplete on your bed, begging to be finished. But you are determined, and the librarian is trying to shuffle the last scraggle of students out of the room so they don’t miss their curfew, so you merely pick up the pace.

You and the librarian are mutual friends at best, since she’s always helping you out with your journal and recommending her favorite wizard poets, but when she peeks her head down the aisle and sees you frantically shuffling through a dusty old thing, she hisses.

“Ms. Y/L/N! Do you know what time it is?”

And just as it so happens, that dusty old thing that your fingers speedily flip the pages of happens to have the one spell you think will work, a little scrawled piece of handwriting that sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison to the rest of the book’s printed text. At least someone tried.

“Can I take this, Professor?” You ask hurriedly as she walks over to you, a hand on your back as she gently shoves you towards the exit.

“Yes, sure, whatever,” she waves off your request, waiting until you’re outside the library before she brutally shuts the door in your face, but you couldn’t care less.

You’ve finally found what you’re looking for.

The door to your common room creaks closed, and then the curfew bells sound, echoing along the stone walls as you sigh a breath of relief, grateful you and Filch will not be meeting in the darkness of the empty hallways tonight. Most of the other students in your house are also lounging around in the main lobby of the common room, chatting amongst themselves or struggling to work in the quietest place they can find, which isn’t very quiet to begin with—Gryffindors, to put it nicely, don’t know how to shut the fuck up—anyway. You’re pleased about this, because this means you can go straight up to your dormitory without anyone bothering you, perform this slightly sketchy spell on your journal, and begin the daunting task of finishing all the homework you refrained from doing.

“Y/N!”

You whip your head to the source of the sound and see Namjoon waving you down, nursing a bottle of Felix Felicis in his hand, a telltale sign that you should avoid him tonight. If he’s awful when he’s sober, imagine how much of a nightmare he is drunk.

In hindsight, turning around was an abysmal idea, because now Namjoon knows you’ve acknowledged him, and he’s going to capitalize off of it.

You keep walking, pushing through the conglomerations of students and making for your dormitory, hoping he won’t try to engage you any further.

There’s a hand grabbing onto the sleeve of your robe, and you’d rather die than have another conversation with him, but you look at him regardless.

“Can I help you?” You ask, trying to make your voice sound as ticked off as possible.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Namjoon says, and suddenly, you’re starting to like drunk Namjoon a lot better than sober Namjoon. “I didn’t know. My friend schooled me on it.”

“Cool, apology accepted,” you spit quickly, desperate to get his grubby fingers off of the edge of your sleeve and your body up to your bedroom, where your journal waits to be protected. “Leave me alone?” Even though it comes out as a question, it’s more of an order.

Namjoon is much easier to get rid of tonight than he normally is. He backs away from you, leaving you with a pleasantly friendly smile as he makes his way towards where he was chatting with his friends, letting you scurry up to your room in peace.

Once there, you grab your journal from where it was locked up in your trunk and place it on the floor in the middle of the dormitory, since you would like to avoid lighting yourself or your bed aflame should this spell go horribly wrong, thank you very much. Shuffling back to the page in the book with the scrawled little handwriting in faded quill ink, you hold out your wand tentatively. For some reason, your hands are shaking. The professors always told you never to perform spells not taught to you, and only use the ones from a trustworthy adult or a renowned book. Well, you’re already in your last year, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You know you have to get this spell over and done with, especially because you can’t have someone walking in and seeing you screeching unfamiliar magic at your inanimate journal, so you take a deep breath, focus all your energy on the journal, and read out the words written on the page, loud and clear. A burst of purple light flies out from the end of your want, hitting the journal square in the center of the cover. For a mere moment, the journal looks to be levitating, sparkles flickering around it, before it hits the floor with a thud, like nothing happened to it in the first place.

You shut the book in your hands, throwing it on your bed carelessly as you step towards the journal, hand stretched out to grab it but the rest of your body as far away from it as you can go, just in case you happen to electrocute yourself or something. That’d suck.

When your fingers finally gloss over the leather and nothing happens, you smile to yourself, pleased. Picking your journal up and making your way back to your bed, you quickly finger through the pages, and all of your poetry seems to be perfectly in tact.

One of the other girls that shares your dormitory traipses up the stairs, significantly worn out, and you rush towards her, journal in hand.

“Hey,” you say, catching her by surprise. “Could you open this for me?”

She doesn’t even question your request—no wonder why, people ask some strange favors in this school—and does what you ask, opening the journal with no effort as all. However, before you let yourself deflate in disappointment that the spell was simply a dud, you see that all of the pages before her are blank, your words erased entirely, like they were never written in the first place.

“Is that it?” She asks you, holding your notebook out in front of you.

You take it gladly, smiling to yourself. No more Nosy Namjoon, as far as you’re concerned. “Yes, thank you.”

Only the next day do you learn why teachers always told you never to use spells not taught to you properly. You’ve been spending the whole day boasting to your friends that you found a spell that makes your journal your journal, for your eyes only, letting them bubble with friend-anger and envy, anger at the fact that now they, truly, won’t be able to snoop through your journal (though it’s not like they were evil enough to be planning on doing that), and envy at the fact that you solved your issue with a single wave of your wand, easy as that.

You’re skipping around campus, very delighted with yourself and your superior problem-solving skills—that’s what being a witch is all about, right?—when you look around for a bit too long and make eye contact with the boy with platinum hair, the one that is incessantly present in your brain, seeing him sitting on a log in the courtyard, writing his homework, probably. He looks up at the same time that you look at him, and you stop in the middle of the hallway you’ve been happily gamboling down, and you stare at each other.

It’s actually not staring. It’s more like, gazing. You gaze at each other, and he doesn’t make a move and neither do you, but you’re finally meeting his eyes for the first time and even though he’s so far away it looks like he’s lived a lifetime—no, several—already, aged and wise and experienced. It looks like he has the secrets of the universe hiding out in his irises, his pupils, and he’s waiting to find someone to share them with.

You’re a bit more daring today, so you wave, cracking an awkward smile as you raise your hand, shaking it ever so slightly. A small, puny little smile grows on his, or maybe you’re just imagining it, but that’s all you see before you turn, skipping off to the library, where you have a feeling you know what your next poem is going to be on.

the universe. it is not in the sky where it should belong but rather it rests in the eyes of a boy who is too young, too innocent to have seen such a lifetime before him and every time he blinks he sees another story, another tragic end and he hopes that the next time he closes his eyes this story will be a happy ever after.

And now, the realization that you should usually always listen to your professors because they tend to know what’s best for you soon comes to fruition, because you’re about to close your journal, when you see handwriting that does not belong to you, scrawling itself on the bottom of the page where you wrote your poem about the boy.

nice poem

Excuse me?

[you] WHO ARE YOU

[stranger] WHO ARE YOU

[you] WHY ARE YOU IN MY JOURNAL

[stranger] WHY ARE YOU IN MINE

[you] ???? this is my journal???

[stranger] i believe this is my journal.

[you] i fuckin hate wizards.

[stranger] are you a muggle?

[you] no, i just hate us.

[stranger] relatable.

You’ve filled up nearly an entire new page, but you’re noticing your words fading as you write them, disappearing into thin air on the parchment in front of you, like invisible ink, but only backwards. Every word that pops up onto the page from whoever is on the other end of your weirdly transcendent journal disintegrates about ten seconds after you’ve read it, the speech literally sinking into the paper.

[you] how did you get into my journal?

[stranger] pretty sure this is still my journal.

[you] but i can see you writing.

[stranger] well, i can see yours.

[you] this makes no sense. how can you see my writing when you don’t have my journal?

[stranger] it’s not like i know.

[you] i literally cast a spell on my journal so people wouldn’t be able to read it.

[stranger] and how trustworthy is said spell?.

[you] …

[stranger] well, that explains that.

[you] are you judging me behind a goddamn journal cover?????????

[stranger] i’m not not judging you.

[you] can you read what else i’ve written?

[stranger] i can see your poems, if that’s what you’re asking.

For fucks sake. This is all totally against anything and everything you wanted from Sketchy Book Spell. You don’t know if the Namjoon incident is worse or better than this, a random stranger that you can’t even visualize, access to every single thing you’ve written down in your duration of Hogwarts attendance.

[stranger] can you see my stuff?

[you] you write?

[stranger] can’t you see it??

You flip backwards a couple of pages, and printed right where your poems used to reside are words that do not belong to you. It looks like poetry, when you see it from a first glance, artsy and cut off and short, but when you investigate a little further, it’s not poetry. It’s lyrics. The stranger writes lyrics, and holy shit, they are good.

give me some drinks, i want to get drunk today please don’t stop me anything will be fine alcohol is a luxury for a bum but i can’t stand it sober everyone else is running why am i the only one here

You suppose that in exchange for inadvertently sharing your entire life story in the form of verse, it would only make sense for the person on the other end to have their private lyrics revealed. Neither of you are getting much out of this, other than a nice, jovial chat.

[you] i can.

[stranger] guess it goes both ways then.

[you] yes, i guess it does.

[stranger] do you know how to fix this?.

[you] no, i found the spell that caused this in the first place in an old book.

[stranger] okay, but wouldn’t that book have the counterspell?

[you] no, someone wrote in the spell at the bottom of the page.

[stranger] didn’t your mother ever tell you not to use spells not put in print?

[you] i’m not very good at following rules.

[stranger] clearly.

[you] hey! it’s not like i WANTED this to happen.

[stranger] well, it happened.

[you] no shit sherlock.

[stranger] so can you fix this?

[you] i’ve never been very good at solving problems.

[stranger] ?

[you] that’s literally why i have a journal. because i can’t solve my problems.

[stranger] so you write about them instead?

[you] yes.

[stranger] i do that too.

[you] do you mind telling me why you write the lyrics you do?

[stranger] what goes on in my mind isn’t necessarily stuff other people want to hear.

[you] i have the opposite problem. everyone wants to see what i put in this thing.

[stranger] and that’s why you cast that spell?

[you] precisely.

[stranger] well, no one else can see it except me.

[you] i don’t know if i prefer that.

[stranger] you’ve read my lyrics. i won’t judge you.

[you] i won’t judge you, either.

[stranger] do you trust me?

[you] i’m not sure.

[stranger] i trust you.

It’s not like you can get any more personal with whoever is on the other end of your messaging journals.

[you] i guess i trust you too.

[stranger] i’m suga.

[you] i’m Y/N.

[suga] nice to meet you, Y/N.

[you] nice to meet you too, suga.

And for some strange reason, as you sit in the quietest corner of the Gryffindor common room, scribbling away on your journal, wasting ink as you watch it disappear on the page before you, you feel like whoever this Suga person may be, you are comfortable with them. It’s as if you were meant to share your writing with them all along.

Keeping the majority of your identities offers some sort of security blanket between the two of you, a safe haven, where neither of you have to specifically worry about the other finding out who you are, or where you are, or why it was you who chose to write in your respective journals. When Suga doesn’t know who you are, and you don’t know who they are, it’s easier, because you feel like you can say anything without worrying about repercussions.

[suga] i never asked you,

[you] hmm?

[suga] are you a she?

[you] do i seem like a she?

[suga] your words definitely read like one, not to be gender stereotypical. i don’t mind if you’re a he, or a they, for that matter.

[you] you read well.

[suga] so i’m right? you’re a she?

[you] got it.

[suga] i’m a he. in case you wanted to know.

[you] i didn’t, but thank you for telling me.

[suga] i’ll tell you anything you want to know.

You’ve refrained from informing your friends that the reason you’ve been so engaged with your journal recently is because there is a mystery man on the other end, responding to you like he’s know you his whole life. You don’t really think they need to know this.

What your friends have noticed is your particular affinity for trying to sneak glances at a certain boy, because they know you and they watch you look around each room you enter, like you’re searching for someone. You’re not exactly very good at being discreet, especially when it comes to the boy with the platinum hair and hazy smile.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” A hand waves in front of your face, snapping you out of your mindless trance. When you look down, the inked quill in your hand has drawn a squiggly line all across one of the blank pages of your journal, but this time, it vanishes.

“What?”

“Were you looking at someone?” Your friend asks, an eyebrow raised in something that looks like curiosity and excitement.

“I think so!” Another chimes in. “I think it was him.” She points towards the boy, who’s currently sitting quietly, a quill pointing towards his textbook. He’s surrounded by other boys, all from different houses, and they’re chatting away, tossing bits of food at each other.

“Jungkook? Isn’t he the commentator?”

“No, not him, the Slytherin boy.”

“Yoongi?”

Yoongi. The boy finally has a name. You glance up at the mention of his name, smiling to yourself as you think about him. There is something that makes him stick, something about him that keeps him afloat in your mind, refusing to sink.

“Aha!” One of your friends shriek, making some of the younger students in the Great Hall look towards you, trying to find the source of the exclamation. “You do like him, don’t you?”

Your cheeks heat up furiously, and you scowl, bested by your friends. “No comment.”

“I knew it!”

No point in trying to dig yourself out now. The only thing that you can do is prevent yourself from getting buried any further. “I’ve never even spoken to him before.”

“That’s ridiculous,” your friend says, at the same time another one speaks, saying, “That’s understandable.”

“Why?”

“He’s a quiet kid. He’s in our year, but I never notice him anywhere. He’s always writing something down—doing homework, probably—he’s got fantastic grades—or sitting amongst his friends, that rowdy group of boys from all different years and houses,” your friend explains, and suddenly it all makes sense, why you never see him. It looks to you like he doesn’t want to be seen for whatever reason he may have.

“Trust you to have a crush on him,” your other friend jokes, nudging you with her shoulder as she smirks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act exactly like him,” your friend spells it out for you. “You’re quiet unless you’re with friends, and you’re always writing shit down in that spell-ridden journal of yours.”

“Don’t bring my journal into this,” you say, hugging the book to your chest tightly, like a security guard.

“All I’m saying is that you should go talk to him.”

Like that’s going to happen.

[you] how old are you?

[suga] eighteen. you?

[you] 17.

[suga] you write well for a seventeen-year-old.

[you] you write well for an eighteen-year old.

[suga] do i, now?

[you] i don’t know what it is, but you write like you’ve already lived a life, and you’re looking back on it.

[suga] like a sad old person?

[you] yes.

[suga] -_-

[you] i’m kidding! you just seem sage. mature mind for an immature body.

[suga] that’s one way to put it. who’s the boy you keep writing about?

You were going to get there eventually. Yoongi, whoever he is, has become somewhat of a recurring character in your poems, the same platinum boy who keeps making a comeback in your writing as he slowly overtakes each crevice in your brain.

[you] just some boy.

[suga] doesn’t seem like ‘just some boy’ to me.

[you] my friends think i have a crush on him. how juvenile.

[suga] do you?

[you] not you too!

[suga] i just wanted to know! it doesn’t seem like you do. it just seems like you’re interested in who he is.

[you] at least you’re not as persistent as they are.

[suga] your poems don’t exactly scream ‘unrequited love with fellow schoolboy’ to me, if it’s any consolation.

[you] at least you’re on my side.

[suga] you haven’t given me a reason not to be.

[you] i don’t know how i feel about him. he just won’t get out of my head.

[suga] in a bad way or a good way?

[you] both? neither? god, i don’t know.

[suga] judging by your poetry about said boy, it must be in a good way. you don’t really write about boys and universes if you’re thinking that they’re a piece of shit.

[you] yes you can! what if i had written something like ‘i wish the universe eats you up so i don’t have to see you again’? that’s not very positive.

[suga] haha i guess you can, then.

[you] i mean, you’re right, i’m not bothered in the slightest with his presence in my head. it’s quite comforting, actually.

[suga] let me guess, you’ve never talked to him?

[you] HOW CAN YOU TELL?

[suga] not hard to. if you had spoken to him, you would’ve written something else, something about his voice. maybe his lips.

[you] what are you, some sort of psychoanalytical journal whisperer?

[suga] shit, you’ve revealed my true identity. i hide out in worn leather journals so innocent, unsuspecting schoolgirls like yourself can come chat to me, then i take their souls and make myself immortal by consuming them.

[you] creep.

[suga] haha. listen, i don’t really know who this boy is, but i, for one, think he’d be lucky to chat to someone like you.

[you] you do?

[suga] you’re witty, sarcastic, well-spoken. i don’t see why any boy would turn down a conversation with you.

[you] thanks, suga.

[suga] hey, i might be a serial killer whose primary method of soul-extraction is via journal, but i’m always here to help.

And alright, so maybe you’ve never met Suga before, but revealing all of your concerns with your crush-not-crush on Yoongi to him doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world. In fact, you just might take Suga up on his advice. He seems to know what he’s talking about.

Your subsequent interaction with Yoongi happens the day after Suga told you to actually talk to him, and he’ll be very pleased to know you do just that. Your friends were right—he is always writing something down, even as he’s lying flat on the lawn of the courtyard, textbooks and scrolls of parchment decorating the area around his strewn-out hair, inkwells and used quills among the mix. He looks, for one thing, irrevocably photogenic, and a little bubble of envy pops in your brain. How dare he always look good. That is Not Allowed.

You tentatively approach him, journal resting in your hand by your side, almost blending into your black robes if it weren’t for the difference in the fabric. He’s craning his neck as he writes something down, in some sort of notebook, as he occasionally glances to the side, stretching to see the tiny little font in the textbook to his left. It looks like the most uncomfortable position you could ever somehow warp your body into, but for some reason, he looks perfectly fine.

“Hello.”

Yoongi shoots up, quickly shutting his notebook as he turns to you, eyes blown impossibly wide. Clearly, he’s not used to people talking to him.

“Hi,” he says, short and sweet.

“I’m Y/N.”

“I know.”

It makes absolute sense that he would know who you are, but not you him. It just seems so cliche, how you’ve hardly noticed him throughout your schooling but he’s already seen you in the hallways, his classes, a name easily put to the face.

“Oh, of course you do,” you say awkwardly, chuckling to yourself as you fiddle with the journal in your hands, switching it between your left and your right so you don’t look stiff as a statue.

“Can I, uh, help you?” Yoongi asks. His voice is a little rough, but still smooth, like ice cream with cookie bits crushed into it.

“Me? No, I just wanted to say hello, you know. Get to know you,” you reply, your hand gestures wildly out of control. It seems that you can’t keep still in front of him, fidgeting and squirming like an impatient child, desperate for some sugar.

“Oh,” Yoongi says, hands behind him, propping his body up. “Well, I’m Yoongi.”

“I know.”

Yoongi grins to himself. “Glad we’re on a first-name basis, then, Y/N.” He motions to the journal getting tossed back and forth between your hands, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“This? Oh, um, just homework. You have one too, don’t you?” You say, desperately trying to get the conversation off of your journal. You don’t really want to discuss it with him, especially not when there are poems inside of it about him.

He looks to where you’re pointing, the black book beside him, and he chuckles awkwardly, a forced laugh. “Guess we got one thing in common, then.”

“I’m sure we have more in common than that,” you insist.

Yoongi begins to gather up all of his belongings, shoving them into one uneven pile, quills and parchment alike, holding it with both of his hands, his little black book sitting neatly on top. He looks at you, grinning a smile that’s gummy and sweet. “I guess we’ll have to find out about that, won’t we, Y/N?”

With the last word tucked under his tongue, he’s off, walking in the opposite direction from where he was facing you, leaving you embarrassingly breathless in the middle of the courtyard.

That night, when you open up your journal to write down your thoughts of the day, you see that Suga has already beaten you to it, claiming a fresh page for a new batch of lyrics, as beautifully wistful as always.

the awkwardness was only for a moment, i touched you again even though i was gone for a long time without repulsion, you accepted me without you there’s nothing after the dawn, two of us we welcomed the morning together don’t let go of my hand forever, i won’t let go of you again either

You decide to add to the mix, letting the words leave your brain and engrave themselves on the page before you, soft and gentle.

his grin he may have the universe written amongst his eyes but his grin oh, his grin it has hell and heaven all across the outline of his lips. it’s lopsided, like he knows something i don’t, and of course he does, after all, there are nebulas in his irises, comets on the inside of his eyelids, a galaxy painted across his vision, and i see stars.

It’s only a matter of time before Suga opens his journal to see your addition to the mix, sappy words of love, making the both of you terribly hopeless, terribly romantic.

[suga] i take it you spoke to him?

[you] what gave it away?

[suga] all the universe references. i feel like i’m reading a young adult romance novel.

[you] you sort of are, aren’t you?

[suga] it’s a very well-written young adult romance novel. lots of verse, little prose. i’m not good with prose.

[you] is that why you’re a lyricist?

[suga] one of the reasons.

[you] why else?

[suga] to hide behind my words.

[you] hmm?

[suga] i’m a new person when i’m writing. i’ve created an identity for myself.

[you] am i currently speaking with this identity?

[suga] you are.

[you] you’re fascinating.

[suga] that’s the last word you’d use to describe me if you knew who i really was.

[you] i already find it fascinating that you, whoever you decide ‘you’ is, have channeled such emotion into your lyrics that you’ve shaped a new persona out of it. that takes true dedication.

[suga] it’s more of an escape, actually.

[you] tomayto tomahto.

[suga] did you realize halfway through writing that that you couldn’t necessarily emphasize the different enunciations via written text?

[you] maybe.

[suga] you’re fascinating, also. how’s the boy?

[you] don’t tell my friends, but i think they’re right.

[suga] i kind of already figured they were.

[you] hey!

[suga] it’s not hard to tell. only a person in love would start comparing their lover’s body parts to falling meteors.

[you] did my poem scream ‘unrequited love on fellow schoolboy’ to you? well, what do you suppose said person in love should do about it, love expert?

[suga] love expert, huh?

[you] you seem to know what you’re talking about. ever dated someone, suga?

[suga] can’t say i have, but i could offer you some words of wisdom.

[you] fire away.

[suga] do your best.

[you] my best?

[suga] i can’t imagine why this boy wouldn’t want to talk to you. there’s no reason why he would avoid you.

[you] isn’t there?

[suga] no. there isn’t.

With great practice, your conversations with Yoongi slowly transition from awkward, empty small talk to mindless chatter you don’t mind listening to, not when you find yourself lost in the haze of his voice as it settles around you, invading your senses. Listening to him speak is like listening to the white noise in The Three Broomsticks, soothing and peaceful. It is so difficult not to drown in the sound.

“How long have you known about me?” You ask him one day as you’re secretly camping out in the Slytherin common room, completely immune to the confused and snarky looks the other Slytherins are sending your way, you, a Gryffindor with that obnoxious red collar of yours.

Yoongi tilts his head back on the edge of the couch, revealing that beautifully smooth neckline that you want to do things to, but you won’t mention that. “Since first year, I suppose. I remember your name.” He looks at you, a cheeky smile on his face. “You didn’t remember me, though.”

“Hey! You were a quiet kid,” you defend yourself.

Yoongi chuckles heartily at your indignation.

Perhaps this is crossing the line, but every marker has been blurred over the past few weeks that you’ve been talking, the border between you two nothing more than fuzz, so you reach over, twirling a bit of his platinum bangs in between your fingers. “When’d you do your hair?”

“This summer. Can’t you see my roots?” He asks, tipping his head forward to reveal the most beautiful blend of ivy black and lightning blonde atop his head.

“It looks good.”

“I need to dye my hair again,” Yoongi huffs. “What color should I do?”

“Green? Like your robes?” You suggest jokingly, and he scrunches his nose up at the thought of him, with bright green locks.

“Maybe not. How about pink, like yours?” He contemplates.

“My robes aren’t pink.”

“Close enough.”

“You’d match all the Gryffindors,” you remind him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’d just want to match you.” When you look at him, his cheeks are tinted the same shade of pink you’d imagine would decorate his hair, a soft rose color that makes him glow in the morning, afternoon, and evening.

[you] is suga the only identity you’ll allow me the pleasure of meeting?

[suga] i wouldn’t exactly call it pleasure.

[you] i find it pleasurable. you’re wonderful to talk to.

[suga] i feel like you’ve become too trustworthy of me.

[you] maybe you’re right. i mean, i haven’t heard of many pedophiles who write crushing lyrics about loneliness and the loss of youth, but you never know. you could be a serial killer.

[suga] and you’re making jokes about it?

[you] you’re not a serial killer, suga, though it would be nice to know who the person holding the quill is.

[suga] i’m not so sure you’d like to know.

[you] what’s not to like?

[suga] most things.

[you] you say you’ve created an identity for yourself, but i highly doubt that identity varies much from who you really are. we don’t have to meet or anything. i’d just like to know who you are.

[suga] i feel like meeting is the only way we could do this.

[you] i’m in school, i can’t just up and leave. i don’t even know where you are.

[suga] i’m in school, too.

[you] are you, now? where?

[suga] i don’t imagine i make it difficult to guess.

[you] let’s see. you write in english, which could mean nothing considering lots of foreign schools are teaching english anyway, but you write lyrics in english, which means you have a greater understanding of the language, so you’re a native speaker. this could put you in america, england, or australia, for the most part. if you said you were in school as any sort of consolation, then that means us meeting isn’t at all implausible, which places you in england, at hogwarts. and judging by that, you definitely know who i am.

[suga] who’s the sherlock now?

You wish you could say it would surprise you that you’ve narrowed it down so well, and that the very person you’ve been messaging via journal has known you this entire time, but it doesn’t. And in the dusty crevices of your brain, there lies a sneaking suspicion as to who you’ve been speaking to, and it both excites and terrifies you.

[you] where do you want to meet, fellow hogwarts student?

[suga] the courtyard?

Suspicion confirmed. Guess you are quite the Sherlock, after all.

When you turn the corner of the hallway and the courtyard comes into view, a certain platinum-haired boy with unruly roots and a lopsided smile catches your eye as he sits on the ledge of the wall, foot tapping on the ground to some imaginary song, probably one of his own. You walk up to him happily, your arms swinging by your side, the journal resting in your hands.

He sees you, too, and he stands up when you near him, mouth open to offer some sort of explanation, but you beat him to it.

“Suga, huh?” You say somewhat loudly, your voice unwavering, filled to the brim with confidence.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, the same look he had on his face when you approached him but a few weeks prior. “You knew?”

“Not until yesterday,” you admit. “But I had a feeling.”

“What gave it away?”

You grin. “I hate to break it to you, Yoongi, but you and Suga speak the same way, an aura of concern and disregard lacing your words. If you were trying to run from the police by hiding under a different name, you’d be absolute shit at it.”

“Wow, thanks for telling me that,” Yoongi says, chuckling. “I guess I better work on my soul-sucking tactics.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Can I—can I see that, for a second?” Yoongi asks, motioning to the journal in your hands.

You hold it out for him, and when he takes it from you and opens it up to compare it with his, sure enough, your messages, poems, and lyrics cover the pages of both of your journals, the scrawl completely mirrored. He gives it back to you almost instantly, shoving it into your outstretched hands as he fumbles in the pockets of his robes, pulling out a quill with a bit of dry ink on the end. Quickly, he flips his journal open to a clean page, untouched by the both of you, and wets the end of his quill with his tongue. When you look down at that exact same page, you watch him draw on one page, curving the line to reveal half of a heart, split right down the middle where the books are bound.

“May I?” You ask in response, and he lets you grab hold of the quill in his hand. You look down, finishing the heart out on the opposite page, and the both of you look down at your respective journals, watching the ink fizzle into the journal like it was never there in the first place.

“Good to know we’re both on the same page,” Yoongi jokes, shooting his beautifully gummy smile your way, making your cheeks heat up at the sight.

You shut your journal and hold out your hand, a symbol of peace, friendship, romance, or all of the above. He takes it gladly. “Haven’t we always been?”

When you go back to your dormitory that night, you open up your journal to find a message from your one and only, written in the same spot where that heart once was.

[yoongi] i love you.

[you] i love you, too.

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