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stuckwith-harry · 3 years ago

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cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

#i never posted it in obnoxious long text post form so :-)#here we are.#hinny #hp #fanfiction #cried out

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fleckcmscott · 3 years ago

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

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Confessions On Drugs - Finn Shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I’m sorry in advance for any possible mistakes. I may have changed your request up a bit but I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 3216

Summary: After being shot, you’re high on pain relief medication and accidentally confess your love for Finn in the presence of the entire Shelby family.

Being shot was not fun. In fact, it hurt like hell. Well, at least you thought it did. You were currently so high on pain relief medication that you could barely remember your own name, but you guessed that it had hurt, or else you wouldn’t have been where you currently were, lying in the hospital bed surrounded by the very family that had raised and taken care of you your entire life.

“How you feeling, (Y/N)?” John asked where he sat at your left side, watching you with amused eyes as you played with the rings on his fingers.

Your eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, giving it every ounce of your focus to turn all of the metal rings the same way. “Like I was shot in the chest.” You answered without ever looking away from his hand. “But I feel like I’m floating on clouds. Am I floating on clouds? Am I high?”

John chuckled, and the others with him. He nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, you’re pretty high.”

Your eyes instantly shot open and just like that, his rings were as good as forgotten, your attention instead turning to look around at the people standing around your bed. But the only face you could really make out was John’s, the others’ being too far away and only appearing a blurry mess.

“On cocaine?” You questioned, bewildered, before you turned angry, your eyes narrowing again. “I bet it was Finn who gave it to me, wasn’t it? Might as well paint his nose white with all the snow he’s been snorting.”

Everyone exchanged a look, eyes twinkling with amusement and lips tugging slightly at your sudden outburst.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer and leaning against the wall right beside your bedside table. “Why the sudden hostility against Finn?” He questioned. “Aren’t you best friends?”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall back into your pillow, staring into the ceiling as you answered. “It’s complicated.”

Finn, who was standing at the very back beside Isaiah and Polly, frowned, and spoke up before he could help himself. “Complicated?”

He was confused, to say the least. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest about your retort about the cocaine, as you had spent the past year pestering him about his drug abuse and trying your very best to get him to quit it. But when had your relationship gone from a normal one to ‘complicated’?

You only ignored his question, however, keeping your eyes glued to the chipped ceiling, talking to Tommy. “Do you want to know a secret?”

The man raised his eyebrows even higher at this, nodding his head slightly and taking a drag from his cigarette. “Sure.”

You hummed, bringing your hands up into the air and inspecting them, wriggling your fingers a few times before starting to trace the lines in your palm. “You know Finn?” You asked. “Your brother Finn?”

Everyone exchanged glances, but Tommy’s eyes were stuck on you. “Yes. What about Finn?”

“I hate him.”

When those three words slipped out of your lips, everyone was shocked, and Finn most so of them all, his entire posture growing rigid and his eyes hardening at what he was hearing.

Tommy was speechless for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and asked. “Why?”

“Eyes.” You answered simply, without even missing a beat. “Those damn eyes fucked me over. They fuck me over every day. It’s infuriating.”

You let out another dramatic sigh, still absentmindedly tracing the inside of your hand. “I can’t decide if I want to punch him in the face or have his babies, you know? Have you ever had that problem?”

Now this was what really shocked them. It had been a shock in itself to hear you utter the words “hate” and “Finn” in the same context, as they knew how close you were. But now, now they realized they might be on the way to an actual proclamation of love.

Tommy, now being shocked and slightly taken aback from the surprise and anticipation they were all feeling, lowered his hand holding the cigarette slowly, putting all of his attention on you. “I can’t say I have, but it sounds tough.”

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head lazily. “It’s the toughest.” You confirmed, narrowing your eyes as you thought. “I should just punch him while we make babies.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and John, Isaiah and Arthur were all now snorting at the back of their throats and having to use every last muscle in their body in a desperate attempt to keep their laughter in.

And it only got harder to do so when a look of horror struck your face, finally realizing what you had just said. “No, wait.” You quickly corrected yourself. “I’m not that kinky.”

“You like his eyes, eh?” Arthur joined in then, leaning forward in his own chair and smiling smugly at you, not that you could see it as you were still focusing on your hand.

A simple sigh escaped your mouth. “Yeah.” You drawled sadly, sighing again.

“What else do you like?” John asked, and you answered without missing a beat.

“Cheese.”

“No-“ He chuckled, shaking his head. “What else do you like about Finn.”

“John-“ Finn began protesting, now a whole flustered mess where he stood, Isaiah silently laughing and looking as if he was on the verge of crying.

But he was ignored, as you had already started talking again.

“I don’t know.” Yet another dramatic sigh. “His face, I guess. His cute, stupid face. He’s tall, which is pretty hot. And he’s got nice hair, and freckles. Yeah, I like his freckles. He’s really cute and it’s ruining my life because I think about kissing him all the time. Whenever I look at him he’s just so cute and perfect, that little shit.”

You narrowed your eyes toward the end, starting to mutter about what a little shit he was under your breath while everyone was now silently teasing Finn.

“Does he know you feel this way?” John asked in a shaky voice, his entire body trembling with the way he was trying his hardest to not laugh out loud.

“Of course not.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, to which he raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Have you met him?” You quickly responded with another scoff. “He’s too busy fucking whores, doing drugs and sticking his head so far up his own ass to listen to anyone but himself. He’s on the top of the world.”

You then made a face, starting to imitate Finn in a deeper but at the same time very ridiculous voice. “I’m a Shelby I can do this. I’m a Peaky Blinder I can do that.”

Polly, Aberama, Michael and Esme who had all been pretty natural up until this point were now having to try their hardest to keep calm, as well, and Isaiah, John and Arthur were practically dying, silently clapping their thighs and laughing quietly.

Isaiah was slapping Finn’s back repeatedly, and with every hit, he only blushed further and further.

“I’d be his if he asked, though.” You continued, too caught up in your own mind to even realize what was going on around you, or who you were even talking to in the first place. “Even though he’s a complete asshole. I’m 99.9% sure he doesn’t like me like that, but I mean, I’ll be fine. As long as he stays single.”

You shrugged naturally, and with the way John and Arthur were now both holding their fisted hands in front of their mouths to hold any sounds in, Tommy picked the subject back up.

“And you don’t think he knows about your feelings?”

You hummed, blinking droopily and finally letting your arms fall back to your sides, moving your attention back to the ceiling. “No, I know he doesn’t.” You answered, shaking your head.

“How can you be so sure?” Tommy asked, and you hummed again, smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth repeatedly, which only added to the humour of the situation.

“He’s very loyal and sweet, but also very dumb.” You answered, seemingly without a single doubt in your mind. “Sometimes, I don’t even know if he’s got any functioning brain cells.”

And that’s when they couldn’t hold back their laughter anymore, Arthur, Isaiah and John howling out and triggering everyone else. The three of them had to bend over and slap their legs where they stood and sat, laughing so hard it could probably be heard all the way out to the street.

Polly crossed her arms, shaking her head at their antics, but she laughed too, as did everyone else but on a much lower level. Tommy joined in on the laughter, too, watching you fondly as you reacted by turning and narrowing your eyes at them.

“Why are you laughing? Are you making fun of me?” You rushed out angrily, pointing a finger at them. “I’m friends with the Peaky Blinders you know, they’ll cut your eyes out if I ask them to so you better not be.”

Polly shook her head and abandoned her spot at the back of the room, coming over to your bed. “No, we’re not laughing at you, love.” She assured you, and you turned your attention to her, calming down slightly. “We’re laughing at something else. How about you get some sleep, yeah? You need all the rest you can get.”

She gently pushed you back into the bed, smiling fondly at your pissed off expression all while starting to tuck you in under your blanket.

“Fine.” You snapped back, crossing your arms over your bandaged chest but nonetheless letting her adjust the blanket over your body so that you were comfortable. “I guess I am pretty tired.” You muttered.

After making sure you were situated in your bed, Polly turned to the others and slapped John and Arthur on their heads, motioning for them to get up. “Alright, that’s enough fun for today. Let’s not torture your brother too much, yeah?” She said, waving a hand in Finn’s direction, but as everyone turned and got a glimpse of his bright red face, their laughing only intensified.

But nonetheless, Polly managed to get them all out of the room, making sure Finn was going to be alright as he told her he would be staying by your side until you woke up again, before leaving to go back home herself.

Once she was gone, Finn finally allowed himself to take the chair at your side that John had previously been occupying, sitting himself down with an exhausted and flustered sigh, watching your peaceful face as you had already fallen asleep.

He took your hand in his carefully, and soon lulled off to sleep himself.

You weren’t sure for how long you were asleep, but when your eyes fluttered open again, sunshine was shining in through the window as opposed to the moonlight that had been illuminating the room before you fell asleep.

The first thing you noticed upon awaking was the slightly stinging pain shooting out from your chest and the way your head was spinning slightly, and the second thing you noticed was a warm hand limply clasped in your own.

Slowly, you turned your head to the side, and a soft smile automatically made its way onto your lips when finding Finn sleeping soundly beside you in a chair, his hair hanging in front of his eyes slightly.

Your thumb automatically caressed the back of his hand and he twitched slightly in his sleep at the small touch. You stared at him for another moment, before gently pulling your hand away from his and starting to sit yourself up, the aching in your back getting to much and telling you it was time to stretch your stiff limbs.

As you moved, however, Finn instantly woke up, more or less shooting out of his chair, eyes searching the room in panic before finally landing on you, struggling to sit up.

“No, you should lay down.” He was quick to protest, attempting to push you back down by your shoulders.

You met his eyes and smiled lazily. “I really need to stretch my legs.”

He looked at you for a moment, but soon nodded, and helped you sit up the rest of the way, watching as you slowly brought your legs over the edge of the bed, stretching them out.

He sank back down into his chair, leaning his elbows on his thighs, but not once looking away from you as you rolled your neck and stretched out your stiff muscles.

Feeling his stare burning into the side of your face, you turned your attention away from your legs and gave him a look.

“What?” You chuckled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you-“ He hesitated. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

You raised an eyebrow to a start, but once you caught sight of the seemingly nervous expression on his face, you frowned, shaking head. “No. Why?”

He stared sheepishly at you, briefly glancing down at his lap and you instantly brought your hands to cover your face, catching on to what this was about. “I said some stupid shit, didn’t I?”

“You said some very… interesting things, yeah.” He agreed, and your heart instantly picked up speed, anxiety starting to settle in your stomach.

“What did I say?”

“I-“ He hesitated again, and you removed your hand from your face, giving him a desperate look.

“Come on, please tell me. Put me out of my misery.”

His eyelashes fluttered, a habit off his whenever he was nervous. He swallowed slightly, leaning back into his chair and grabbing a hold of the armrests. “You talked about me.” He finally told you. “About… having feelings for me.”

Terror instantly struck your face, your eyes widening and your entire body growing hot with shame. “What else did I do?” You asked, your voice now trembling, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to know the answer.

But now that the conversation was started, Finn’s answer came pretty quickly.

“You insulted my intellect on more than one occasion.” He told you, the corner of his lips tugging slightly. “Called me braindead, an asshole, questioned whether or not I had any working braincells, among other things.”

When hearing this, your eyes widened to the size of saucers, guilt instantly filling your entire body. “Oh, my God.” You said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Are you sure?” Finn chuckled, but judging by the faint blush dusting his cheeks, he was just trying to lighten up the mood, in reality just as bashful as you were.

“Of course I’m sure.” You answered, shaking your head. “You might be… special. But you’re not an idiot. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me.”

You raised your hands to your face again, attempting to hide your shame.

“So you didn’t mean any of it?” Finn asked, and you shook your head, voice coming out slightly muffled against the palms of your hands.

“No, of course not, Finn.” You said sincerely. “I was high on pain medication. I would never call you stupid. I don’t think that at all.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” He sighed. “I was talking about your feelings. For me. Was that just the drugs talking, too?”

With a sigh of your own, you slowly brought your face back out of your hands and gave him a hesitant look, feeling your ears burning hot with embarrassment. “I guess that depends on what I said.”

You watched as his eyelashes fluttered again, and you could feel your heart thumping violently inside your chest as he spoke. “You, uh, said you liked my eyes, my hair, my freckles.” He swallowed, chuckling slightly. “That my height was hot and that you… wanted to have my babies. Among many other things.”

“I-“ You couldn’t find the right words, looking down and shaking your head slightly. What was the point in denying the truth behind his, your, words, if they had already been confessed? You would have hoped your true feelings would never be discovered, but you guessed there was on going back now.

You sighed. “Well, I… I guess that’s pretty accurate.” You answered quietly, looking down at your hands and tugging slightly at the sleeves of your hospital gown. “I mean, you’re a Shelby, aren’t you? It’s no secret that the Shelbys are good looking.”

“(Y/N).” He said sternly, and upon glancing up at him through your lashes, you found he was looking at you with an equally as stern expression.

You gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, shit.” You cursed, falling back against the bed, squeezing your eyes shut and reaching your hands up to pull through your knotted hair. “Yes. Yes, I do have feelings for you and I have for a long time.” You finally confirmed, your heart feeling as if it was about to jump out of your chest at this point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked seriously, and all you could do was shake your head.

“Because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

He was quiet for a moment, and in that moment, all you could think was this is it. This is where he tells me how weird I am for having feelings for him and cuts all ties with me.

But then you heard the ruffling of his clothes, as if he was moving, and only a second later, you felt a warm hand carefully sliding onto your bare knee, followed by his voice. “You wouldn’t have.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your heartbeat picked up even more speed at the feeling of his skin against yours, your entire body starting to tingle. You opened your eyes and brought your hands away from your hair, slowly pushing yourself back up on the bed, eyes looking into his uncertainly.

“You mean you-?”

He shrugged his shoulders and gave you a playful smirk. “You’re an asshole and sometimes I wonder whether or not you actually have any functioning braincells, but I guess you’re pretty cute, too.”

Your eyes widened to a start, not understanding what he was getting at, but when his playful smirk widened, you instantly realized he was mocking you and your shock quickly turned into shame again.

“I still can’t believe I said all of those things.” You muttered, bringing your hand back up to hide your blushing face.

The sound of the chair dragging against the floor could be heard, and soon, Finn had removed your hand from your face, taking both of yours into his.

Upon opening your eyes again, you found that he was now only centimeters away from your face, the realization taking your breath away.

“You also said you wanted to kiss me.” He revealed, not even trying to hide the way he was looking at your lips.

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. “Did I?” You asked, your voice barely even audible.

But he heard you, nodding his head. “You did.” He confirmed, finally tearing his eyes away from your lips, instead looking up to meet your gaze.

And then he leaned in and kissed you.

#finn shelby #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcannon #tommy shelby #john shelby #michael gray #arthur shelby x reader #polly gray #aberama gold #isaiah jesus

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eagehaunting · 4 years ago

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Mystery March 2021 day 20: The future

Lewis and Arthur had been gone for far too long. Sage narrows her eyes and marches down the sandy sidewalk toward the edge of town. The two were supposed to be back before sun down. Now the sunset was casting the desert town in reds and dark blues, and yet both of her boys were still missing. The moment she spots them, she’ll have their necks. Nor will they have desert- that should be enough for Lewis to avoid staying out too late, but she wasn’t sure about Arthur...

Sage sighs, peering past a house to the edge of town, leading into the vast desert littered with shrubs. Sage freezes with a gasp, eyes wide in shock. Her voice crushed in her throat until Sage found it in herself and ripped it out to yell.

“What in the good heavens do you think you’re doing?”

Lewis and Arthur, a dozen or so yards away, had been diving at one another. Now frozen, the scrawny boy twists around halfway in-front of his larger friend. Lewis had met her gaze in something akin to dread, knowing exactly what would happen.

Both teenager clutching blades in their grasp.

Steam that was normally reserved for the snotty employee and the even more unbearable customer boiled into her shoulders faster than the wind on a stormy night did.

Her jaw set, Sage marches toward them before she felt the sand in her shoes.

Arthur’s the first to start scrambling, running into Lewis before lewis grabs him and stands him straight. Arthur accepts defeat. Both boys stood as stiff as boards, sweat rolling down their chins. Only Arthur made the motion to hide his knife.

Sage shoves her palm in-front of Arthur, muscle stiff and nearly twitching, “Hand that over.”

The blade is set onto hers with a timid shake.

“You too, Lewis.”

He doesn’t hesitate in dropping the handle in her palm. “S-sorry, Mam-“

She holds up a hand, silencing him. Lewis lowers his head.

The blades were scratched to hell and back, with chips in the curve and some blood staining the shiny dark purple. The other had a red-orange gradient, with expertly crafted designs etched into it. A stark contrast to the more crude designs in the darker one.

Inhaling deeply, Sage looks down at her sons. “Why the blood?”

Arthur fidgets, before holding up his arm. There’s a small cut amongst a patch of hairless skin. “I-I wanted to show Lewis how sharp they were.”

“By shaving.”

“M-mhm.” His arm falls tightly to his side and he rubs it tensely. Lewis shrinks back when her eyes land on him.

Both faces contorted with a mix of guilt and tension.

Sage sighs, allowing the boiling to simmer until it was manageable. “Where did you get the knives?”

Arthur fidgets again, head lowering into his shoulders as he opts to stare at the ground beside her. “Me.”

“Hm?”

“I-I got them. They-“ he swallows tensely and nods his head to the left. “M-my unc- Lances friend is a blacksmith, he... t-took me to his Sm-smithery place and showed me how to make swords and stuff. So...” he whistles, scanning the ground until he lands on Lewis’s shadow. “I made one for Lew and a few other friends.”

Typical. Sage wish she could say she was surprised, but how could she? Arthur got many gifts for Lewis over the years, along with the promise to teach him how to defend himself. But how could she simply accept that it included knife fights?

“Why were you two fighting then?”

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but Lewis clears his throat first, “I wanted him to show me how to throw and catch knives! And we got carried away. I’m sorry mami.” With that he lets his head fall, waiting for a smack to the side of the head.

Sage raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Lewis’s shoulders tense, realizing what he’s about to say. “For the future...”

“The future?”

“Like-! Uh.. when we’re older and travel? I want to keep Artie and Vivi safe. So ... knives.”

#mystery march 2021 #msa #mystery skulls animated #lewis pepper #arthur kingsmen #Sage pepper #eage fanfic #Sage is mrs pepper btw #and the boys are KIDSSS

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

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All in the Family

Chapter 133: The Second War Begins

They all found themselves blinking in stark contrast of the lazy morning sun from moments ago to a heavy orb of late afternoon beating down on them all. Alice got a particularly painful landing, smashing face first into something hot and metal, Lily found herself scattered painfully in a pile of woodchips, and Frank was somehow twisted up in a lone swing set, the other already broken. Regulus was perched ungainly on the very highest peak of the playground, the sign visible to him at the end of the road from his view trailing this as Magnolia Park.

Peter, Lupin, and Potter were visible scattered around the street as well, his friend having smacked against the chain link fence and had the mark on his face to prove it. Lupin was still dazedly in the street right in front of where one of those muggle contraptions could run over him, or fly over him if it was anything like Arthur's. Potter was looking curiously around at all the Muggle dwellings, but bypassed them as he ducked his head around the corner and immediately took to his feet, ignoring the bleeding palms of his hands for landing on the sidewalk like that as he called after Sirius. He couldn't see his brother in the alleyway but kept his balance on his wooden perch and tipped his head up to the sun anyways, enjoying the view and thinking to himself for now.

If they'd been born Muggles, would they have ever done something as simple as play at a park together before? He'd never wanted to be one before, it was base traitorous to his species he was sure to even entertain the thought, and besides, those Dursleys proved enough Muggles were no better about being scum than some wizards. What Evans had said still lingered in him though, what he'd give just to play a game at a place like this.

Sirius had been the only one to land in the shade of the alleyway and so was already brushing himself off and back on his feet the fastest, but he could see from his crooked vantage that nobody was dying, not even Regulus who seemed in no danger of falling, so he'd happily kept himself out of the way for now, leaning against the cool wall and wondering if this was the exact spot Harry had once fended off the dementors and gotten his first sight of him so long ago as he still turned everything over while James and Remus quickly joined him anyways.

"I'm fine," he told them both before they could even ask, and he really meant it this time. He told them in detail and made sure to meet both of their eyes as often as he could so they'd believe him, "I'm exhausted, and depressed as hell it came to this, and still pretty pissed all things considered, but we'll be fine."

James only studied him for a moment before relief flooded him and he seemed to take him at word. Remus though was studying him intently, a question on his lips he kept suppressing by pursing them up and glancing guiltily at James.

He had an idea what this was going to be about and so saved Moony the awkwardness of stopping their fooling around before James even did know about it. "Give us a moment, yeah?"

Prongs looked surprised at the dismissal, but not particularly offended, appraising the two for a moment before shrugging and jogging off towards Peter. Sirius watched him go, never having felt more love in his life for his brother, James still trusted him after everything. He met Peter's eyes and flashed him a genuine smile, who'd been standing on the edge of the grass. Sirius couldn't deny he was a bit glad he hadn't come over though, he really was too tired to deal with anything else right now and that swirl of emotions he couldn't avoid when he did head over there after this. He had a lot of cleanup to do.

Surprised, but willing when Remus took his hand and took him deeper into the alley out of sight of the park entirely, they could go no farther back onto the other street from the barrier once more. He braced himself, telling himself he would not hold it against Moony for cutting this off now that he'd had a reality check and that hadn't been helping, so he was fairly surprised when Remus leaned in and kissed him fiercely instead.

Sirius hummed in pleasure at how very alive he felt, the warm bricks on his back, Remus's fingers trailing lightly up his neck and hovering there, pulling him in closer and feeling very secure in how utterly good this still felt. The book finally started though, and the two sprung apart like the guilty party they still were as Evans read The Second War Begins.

"I'm, surprised," Sirius admitted quietly, the burning pain of Harry suffering through the various stages of grief only slightly easier to get through as he rubbed his thumb against Remus's bottom lip in silent question.

"Of course, you idiot," he scoffed in return, before he seemed to check himself and looked at Sirius steadily. "Look, I know we started this for the wrong reasons, but um, I've been wanting to do that this whole time, and I should have, but, I've been a coward. Look, you should know, I-"

"Think we should tell James," Sirius thought he was agreeing. Remus pulled back though and Sirius let his hand fall in surprise as he surmised, "that's, not what you were going to say?" It only just occurred to him he hadn't told Moony of his more recent conviction to even do so and probably should mention it to him first. "I know I said we'd wait until we got out of this mess, but come on Remus. You know he's no more going to be one of those pureblood arseholes who frowns upon shirt-lifters than I am. He should know why we keep buggering off."

"I just, like my business private, you know that," he muttered, no longer looking directly at him.

Sirius flushed and leaned farther into the mortar now with shame, but Remus quickly corrected, "not that I'm accusing- look Sirius let's move past that Snape shit for the last time, honestly. The arsehole is not worth the breath wasted."

"And we'll be discreet," Sirius more than happily agreed, taking Remus's hand and hoping he was caving. "Won't tell anyone else obviously, none of their bloody business, not even Peter if you don't want."

Remus still looked a tad panicked, so Sirius altered, "not next time everyone falls asleep, I'm too exhausted to stay up myself, but the one after that then?" Let him get used to the idea at least beforehand, that felt like a kind compromise anyways.

"Okay," it did seem to ease him up, he released a breath anyways and squeezed Sirius's fingers. He still tensed his shoulders though and looked like he was building himself up to say something, but then leaned in and kissed him again, with somehow even more enthusiasm than before.

He was very convinced Moony was just worried about being caught now, and hadn't the blood left in the right places to worry about such a thing as his fingers frisked lower.

"Down boy," Remus pulled back with a chuckle, leaving Sirius a panting and flustered mess. "Can't stay like this forever now," his smile was odd.

Sirius huffed and glared at the neighboring houses. "Think any of those will open for us? I'd curl up on that grass for a lie down if I wasn't worried Evans would shove those wood chips under my nails, and you know how I'd sleep even better." He still had his hand very suggestively in place.

Remus placed his hands on either side of the wall and pressed their foreheads together but seemed unwilling to do anything else, as if suspended in place. Sirius sighed but finally forced himself to be the one to pull away, ducking under his arm and jogging back out into the street to check himself. Remus already knew it hadn't worked though when he yelled at the top of his lungs, "no bed and breakfast for us, but thanks for stopping to check Evans!"

It was all too easy to picture in his head, Sirius jogging over to James's side like nothing had happened, the two still able to keep each other's spirits up through Harry's miserable coping, as if hoping their laughter would echo through time for him.

'You should have just asked,' Remus continued, accusing himself now that Sirius was long gone and it would be even weirder and more noticeable if he called him back. 'He's not a bloody mind reader!' It did matter to him though, what exactly Sirius wanted to say to James. That the two were just off shagging, or that maybe it was something more? He had time now at least, not much but some to get up the nerve and ask later.

Sirius certainly hadn't made it seem like it was going to be any such thing that full moon day he'd screwed all this up, but things had changed since then. They'd been through a lot dealing with these books and mostly each other, and he was positive enough in the enthusiasm Padfoot still showed just now his reluctance back in the Centaur's home had just been his abysmal way of dealing with this future and shutting down, which Remus should have stepped in and helped him with like Prongs had!

The hell was the matter with him, too cowardly to comfort him when he needed it but dragging him off like this at a convenient time? Or was it all just wistful thinking on his part he could have even made a difference, maybe only James really could have gotten through to him in that moment, it's not like he'd done anyone any good in this future after all.

He knew what a hypocrite he was being too, doing exactly what Sirius just had and trying to put it all off for later and avoid really talking to him. He wouldn't let it build up so bad he'd have a bloody breakdown over it though, he quickly promised himself. He just had to ask, and accept whatever Sirius's answer was, nothing else was required on his part. If Sirius didn't reciprocate he couldn't force anything to happen otherwise regardless.

Pushing himself off the wall and still cursing Prongs for these stupid too-tight pants, he leaned in the shadows for now and watched with a smile as his prediction had been exactly right.

Sirius had gone right over to James, and there was that air around him all the Marauders knew so well as he smiled at his best mate and instigated, "want to play king of the castle?" With his head cocked suspiciously in Regulus's direction.

"I'm game," James promised at once, turning back to Peter and only feeling slightly bad he already forgot whatever he'd been saying about magnolias and their plant properties. "Want to team up with him?" He offered in form of apologizing by letting them play start and including Regulus without protest.

Peter couldn't have looked more surprised if James had just blotted out the sun, but he grinned and said, "yes," at once. Hopping the fence and quickly scaling the playground nearly up to Regulus and explaining quickly while the two were already silently counting down the head-start they'd given.

Lily sighed as Potter began laughing again of all things while Harry was boarding the train once more to a home that didn't want him, now with no options left in the world even if the Order did arrive in some form of collective presence. She finally understood though, watching them play some deranged game that seemed to have no rules as the four shot spells at each other with no clear endgame to her. James Potter, much like his best friend, would never pass up an opportunity for a laugh if it was available, and she was really starting to see how that was okay as she caught herself smiling for the infectious noise and holding off far longer than was needed to on the last sentence as the park teemed with life.

HPHPHPHP

As always, please feel free to guess future chapter locations, as well as what you're looking forward to seeing them react to. I have them all planned out at least in principle, but it'll greatly amuse me to see your guesses.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #OotP #Marauders #HP #Wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #Peter Pettigrew

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years ago

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What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 16

Wordcount: 4, 869 Rating: M for strong language, moderate sexual references, violence, and gore The reader is referred to as she/her. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve. Why else did he make you?" Chapter synopsis: And you never considered yourself trigger-happy. But the shots have been fired. They're dead before you can interrogate them. Allen is eager to convince you it was the right thing to do, but even he can't deny the horrors that will follow. The war rages on. Alfred stays ignorant for the meantime, and you revel in his bliss of it. You share one last peaceful night with him before the fearful unknown.

16 - Nothing breaks like a heart

The reader is referred to as she/her.

An ear-splitting bang echoed in the pool room. Blood and small chunks of flesh landed on the tiled floor in a splat. Tearing his hand away with a shaky gasp, he held the wrist and hunched over to writhe in agony. "Ergh... Fuck!" He spluttered, feeling a violent tremble seize his wounded hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He lifted his head to glare at you with the utmost betrayal. "What the hell did you do that for?!"

A sizely hole formed in his palm. The exposed flesh was still oozing out blood like a full sponge, dripping onto the ground in generous puddles. A whole section of his bone was missing. And you did it. You shot Alfred. You paled in horror for a few moments, but as he panted before you with tears streaming down his red and enflamed face, it became apparent that your guilt was unfounded.

"What I did that for? You aren't Alfred!" You exasperated, raising the gun shakily to point it between his fearful eyes. "You're a clone!"

A sour flavor was left in your mouth as you spat out the word. His origins were no mystery.

Nobody else could have been responsible or capable of such a heinous crime. To grow an abomination from whatever DNA was left in their lab. You only imagined them to be created for one purpose, and one purpose only. To torment, kill, and replace Alfred. As the thoughts raced through your head, you tightened your finger around the trigger—"Wait, wait! Don't shoot!" He begged, throwing his arms up.

"I know you're freaking out right now, but I have no idea what's going on either!"

Gritting your teeth at his excuse, you were determined to not let it get to you. But it was easier said than done. "Shut up! Don't think for a second you can fool me!" Despite the cutting conviction of your voice, you took on a terrified expression at the thought of shooting him. "I'm gonna do it. You're nothing but a freak of nature! And you'll never... Never..."

As you trailed off, you realized you indeed couldn't pull the trigger.

Not when the barrel was aimed at a face that looked just like Alfred's.

It was contorted with so much fear and despair, pleading silently for you to not hurt him. The fact that he was a spitting image of him made it even harder. How he moved, talked, acted—seeing it chipped away your resolve, leaving you all but paralyzed. The gun was left juddering furiously in your hands in light clacks, holding him hostage at the moment before death.

"Please. Please don't do it." He whispered, bringing his hands down to shield himself. "You gotta help me, (F/N). I don't know how, but I woke up in this body. That's... That's all that happened."

How painfully familiar it sounded.

I woke up in this body.

The similarities were so uncanny, it was cruel. Giving your head a quick shake, your lips quivered as you uttered this.

"You're lying. You're not real."

Creases formed between his brows. "I'm not lying! And I am real! I'll prove it to you, I swear! We went through so much shit together, like uh—" He pointed at you and laughed nervously as he sifted through the scanty archives of his memories. "—I kidnapped you. Ha! See? I know something! That's how we met! And you hated my guts at first."

You swallowed thickly as uncertainty slowly overwhelmed you. If he could remember that, he had to be real, right? No. You had to fend off the feeling. "That's not good enough!" Your finger stayed on the trigger, and the barrel, on him.

He tensed up as panic caught him in a chokehold. "Okay, okay! Well, er..." His heart was pounding harder and harder with every second he failed to say something. "... Oh! Remember the time I nearly got murdered by a cult leader? He had a whole kabuki mask get-up and everything—just like, like Professor Callaghan from Big Hero 6. You know that movie right?"

You sucked in a sharp breath. The title didn't ring any bells, but what he said had you second-guessing yourself. Was he not lying after all? Lowering the gun at that, your motion was slowed by slight hesitance. "... How... How do you know those things?" You asked faintly. "What are you?"

Before he could formulate an answer, footsteps thudded down the hall. Your thoughts came to a complete standstill.

Then, you heard a voice.

"(F/N)!" They shouted. Was it Allen? Your heart sank when you realized you couldn’t tell—it sounded too similar to Alfred. Or were you just imagining things? The sheer amount of panic was too incapacitating that you couldn't think.

So you did the unthinkable.

Raising the gun once more, you fired a shot into his abdomen.

The second you let the bullet fly, you regretted it.

Both your ears rang as the next few moments occurred in silence. And they would unfold in painstakingly slow motion. Dropping the gun to the ground in a soundless clatter, you watched him stumble back a few steps with his eyes popping out of his skull. Blood was spreading around the flaps of his kimono from a new hole in his chest. But the gore couldn't compare to his look of betrayal.

Of a heartbreak so deep, it destroyed you.

"Oh my God..." You raised both hands to your mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap. "I just—I just killed—" Tears streamed relentlessly down to your chin as you stood frozen.

"(F/N)! I heard gunshots. What the fuck happened?!" Allen appeared in the doorway. His loud voice derailed your train of thoughts, forcing you to turn to the man. When you did, your heart clenched at the realization you made a mistake. It wasn't him. Alfred was never down the hall, and you panicked.

He never even had a chance to explain himself.

When Allen caught sight of the corpse by your feet, he dug his hands through his hair. Terror ran deep in his expression as he processed what he was seeing. "Shit, (F/N)." His nose scrunched up in shock. Never did he imagine the day would come where you would take someone's life. At least, not so soon.

But it arrived as an unwelcome surprise, unexpected and uninvited. "Did you kill that guy?"

You nodded profusely as a sob racked your body.

He scrambled over and shielded you from the grotesque scene. "Hey, hey, hey! Don’t feel bad! I’ve killed loads of people too, so welcome to the club!" The man rambled frantically, rubbing away your tears with his fingers. But who was he to tell you these things when he felt his own tears come?

"I’m sure he deserved it, and you were just protecting yourself, so don’t worry!" Allen forced a wide, manic smile.

His efforts to console you were in vain as you cried even harder. Pulling you into his chest, he rested his chin on your head that trembled to your coughs. "I'm so sorry..." Allen screwed his eyes shut and squeezed you tighter. "... I’m sorry I left you by yourself. This is my fault, not yours. It's my fault."

The string of apologies he spewed out was on your behalf, but he meant them with every fiber of his being. He had failed to protect the single most valuable thing to him.

And the blatant lie he forced you to accept was the last resort to preserve it. But it was time that stopped. "No, I killed him." You asserted shakily. He had nothing to do with this, and his eagerness to shoulder the blame only rubbed more salt into the wound. If you let him have his way, you would never live it down.

Without removing yourself from the hug, you pointed at the motionless body with your head turned away. "Look at him. I could never lie."

Allen lingered his gaze on you before obliging, albeit reluctantly. Nearing the corpse cautiously, he kicked its chest to roll it over. It revealed the dead man’s face in all its glory. Alfred’s face.

"..."

What the fuck.

When he thought he couldn’t be any more disgusted by the tyranny of technology, he was proved wrong yet again. This was clearly your father’s doing. And it was a declaration of war. But perhaps, it was just the continuation of the one that never ended.

Arthur was completely shit-faced downstairs. Slamming his beer mug down on the counter after he downed the whole thing, he gasped.

"Bwah! That hits the spot." His cheeks and ears were redder than a tomato, a stark contrast to his companion who was stone-cold sober.

Alfred raised a brow. "Sure looks like it. Dude, you gotta lay off the booze. You’re gonna regret it first thing tomorrow." Once he sighed that out, he rested his cheek on his hand. Then, he glowered at the hallway where you and Allen disappeared to.

"How long does it take to piss? They’ve been gone for ages. Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? I don’t fucking know," The mechanic let out a low chuckle and slapped him on the back. The force made his torso bounce, much to his annoyance. "What’s your deal?"

The other hummed mischievously. "I was just thinking about what you said." Arthur squinted almost suggestively, causing Alfred to do the same, but only out of being appalled. "Maybe... Maybe they aren’t pissing. Since they’re gone for so long at the bathrooms at that—so maybe, urgh... They’re doing the nasty together." The Brit practically howled with laughter, having figured he was probably right.

It was a plausible assumption. As he humored the suggestion Alfred heated up more severely than his intoxicated friend. You having sex with Allen? His chest whirred and nostrils flared. He'd never been this enraged before, but behind the mask of anger was a deep hurt and toxic kind of jealousy.

"Shut up! You’re drunk and slurring your words. You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, brother. But the only time I’m this honest is when I’m drunk, so."

Alfred’s eyes went round. Without a moment’s hesitation, he shot out of his stool and made a beeline to the hall. Before he could make it far, he bumped right into the very subjects of his conversation. Much to his relief, they were in no state that indicated they did anything sexual by nature; you were in his arms and fast asleep. Not that he was happy about it. "Woah. She's out like a light."

"Yeah, so keep your voice down." The other grumbled, bouncing you lightly. "I think it's about time we head home. How drunk is he?"

The blonde blinked. He wasn't expecting him to catch on so quickly. "Off his ass. He's red as."

Allen clicked his tongue and brushed past him. "Called it." Alfred would have dismissed it as something he always did. But since he was carrying you, it made him feel like an extra. So when the man walked off, he followed with a scowl. "Can you get a cab? I'm gonna sit in the corner for a bit."

And sit in the corner he did, laying your body across his lap so you could rest. Alfred narrowed his eyes into a dark glare, lingering on the sight as the club music pounded away in his ears. And he told him to keep his voice down? "Yeah, I'll call you a damn cab."

You pretended to be asleep the whole ride back to Arthur's. It was easy with Allen's shoulder at a perfect height for your face to bury in. For half an hour, you were stuck in that position. There, you listened to the symphony of a trip home from the club: the automated voice of the taxi A.I and the drunken warbles of an intoxicated friend. Without seeing it, you could feel Alfred watching you for the whole duration of the ordeal.

Fortunately, you could escape any interaction with him as Allen carried you to the bathroom upon arriving.

"Oi, where are you taking her?"

The redhead kicked the door open. "What does it look like?"

"Shouldn't you wake her up, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit breathing down my neck, already."

"Dude—"

The door locked. Setting you down on your feet, you held onto his arms to regain your balance. Once you did, you glanced up at him with the utmost panic. "I can't face him." Digging two hands through your hair, you let out a shaky gasp—"Oh my god, I don't know what to do! I shot him, Allen. I fucking shot him! What's he gonna think of me when he finds out?"

He sighed and gripped your shoulders firmly. With his brows furrowed in a stern expression, he corrected you. "You didn't shoot him. You shot another version of him." Allen couldn't stress that enough. But there were many things he needed to shed a light on in this emergency bathroom meeting. "And it was kinda my fault that happened. If I was there, I woulda' shot him for you."

"That's not the point, here! And it's never gonna be your fault. It's mine, and mine alone. End of story." You swiped a hand across his face for emphasis. While he groaned in dismay, a brief pause followed as you regained your breath.

At least an hour had passed, but you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

"I can't believe I did that. I don't even know how I could! I panicked. I thought Alfred was coming down the hall, but—"

"—but it was me. Doll-" Allen exasperated, dragging out the pet name. "-you can't blame yourself for what you did. Shit happens. And who says what you did was wrong, huh? You probably just saved us all from a bloodbath. And you know that!" Rocking you gently back and forth to shake some sense into you, he leaned in to peer into your wide eyes staring into space.

"That's why you shot him. You did the right thing."

As he blurted that out, the memory replayed in your head again and again like a broken record. Intrusive thoughts were a bitch. And there was one particular detail of the event that you would never forget. "Was it the right thing to do, though?" You murmured, lowering your doubtful gaze to the tiled floor. The betrayal in his eyes was so genuine, you came to regret everything you've done.

"What if he was real like he said?"

You were asking some hard-hitting questions, that was for sure. Everything else was shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he was real. Cuz' he's dead."

Allen's expression morphed into a dark glower.

"But if he was still alive, there'd be two of him, and not for long. They'd kill each other, for sure. I mean, if I found out there was a second-rate version of me farting around out there, I'd kill that poser for sport. Hunt him down like game." Lifting up your chin so you'd look at him, he flashed a grin.

"So don't feel bad. You killed him and saved Alfred the trouble."

Softening your gaze at that, you pulled him into another hug. Allen was always amazing at comforting you in the direst of situations.

"... Maybe you're right."

He chuckled and patted your back. "I'm always right."

But there was still one concern he could never address.

If your father made a clone of Alfred, a real and legitimate copy, there was no saying he could make another. Hell, you even expected him to. He could keep churning him out so long as he had his DNA. The only way to end this threat was quick to cross your mind, but you didn't want to think about it.

You would have to kill your father.

Allen figured. But today suffered enough bloodshed.

Before he left the bathroom for you to use, he held onto your cheek.

Flickering his striking scarlet eyes over your troubled expression, he caught you in a quiet gaze. You could easily translate the untold fondness he watched you with. We can still run away together.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Then, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It never crossed your mind the first time he brought it up earlier tonight, but you finally understood what he really meant by running away. Allen wanted to share his life with you. Heat flurried in your chest as you considered the idea.

Tears threatened to return once you realized how much you wanted to do it, just not with him. The desire was there, but it happened to be stronger for someone else.

Alfred had been waiting outside with his back against the wall, arms crossed with a frown. It only deepened when Allen walked out.

"What're you lookin' at?" The redhead mumbled.

"... Nothing. Just wondering why you two spend so much time in the bathroom together." Alfred pointed out, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. He would have been jumping for joy if it weren't for wanting to look serious. "What were you doing with her in the penthouse?"

The other felt a spell of irritation hit him. It was always jealousy with this one, wasn't it? But he couldn't be a hypocrite. "None a'ya business, bub." He hummed, slotting the cancer stick in between his teeth. A sly smirk widened his lips as he saw the blonde tense up. "You saw how tired she was. So don't even think about it."

Don't even think about it, he'd said. How come everything coming out of his mouth sounded like a euphemism for sex? Don't keep her up with stupid conversations would've sounded better. Alfred huffed and stormed back to the guest room. Or was it just his mind that was in the gutter? He blamed Arthur for even bringing it up.

Hanging his clothes on a chair, he curled up under the covers. His chest was whirring again, and the discomfort was akin to something you've gone through before. Separation anxiety. When you did show up ten minutes later, he rolled over to the door to watch your form. Hearing the fabric shuffle in your direction made your heart skip in panic.

He was awake.

"Arthur's puking his guts out, so if you hear coughing, it's him."

Hopefully, some light-hearted banter could keep you from acting up. But that was easier said than done.

The blanket lifted briefly so you could get under it. Once you got comfortable, he didn't hesitate to pull you in by the waist to spoon you. Ever since he saw you sleep in the club, and on Allen no less, he'd been dying to do this. "... I tried telling him." He murmured into your ear. "But I've slept through worse. You flop and roll a lot."

The feeling of his breath on your neck and the sound of his husky voice made your heart ache. Every night was spent like this, warm and snug in his arms, but tonight was different. Inside, you were still agonizing over what you had done to him, even if it wasn't exactly him. So to feel his chest rise against your back, then his legs rub against yours, you just couldn't take it—it was all too much.

Rolling over to him, you caught his neck in your arms and pulled it down for a tight squeeze. What you uttered next captured your deepest and most inexplicable desire. To truly be alone with him.

"I can't take it here anymore." You muttered furiously, hugging him around his neck to start crushing him.

He let out a shaky breath at the sudden pressure.

"Hey, hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"I can't calm down. I need to talk to you. Alone." Sitting up at that, you pulled him along. It came especially easy as he stood up, eager to understand your spontaneity. "And in someplace that's not here. There's just... Too many people. Four is too many."

Alfred lit up, but his growing smile did his emotions no justice. He was ecstatic. Things were always simpler when it was just the two of you. Maybe you were finally getting sick of these cramped living conditions, the scrutiny. At least, he knew he was. So it was almost as if you read his mind. "Okaay. Are we going on a midnight adventure?" He piped.

But then again, you always seemed to be walking on the same wavelength as him.

He followed you around the room like a puppy as you collected some things—your jacket, then Alfred's phone to shoot Allen a text. We're off to the nearest no-tell motel to talk. We'll be back in the morning. Setting the device onto the desk, you threw him his belongings. His gun and trusty coil of tools. Catching them wordlessly, he shot you a quizzical look. "Well, aren't you mysterious? Where are we going?"

Little did he know, your decision to leave the house for the night had only so much to do with random selfish impulses. From the outside, it looked exactly like that. Up and going without a care in the world, without care for Allen, and becoming unreachable for the next several hours. But after what happened, you just needed time to recalibrate.

"Where we always used to go." You threw your jacket on. Dragging him out into the hall, he caught a brief glimpse of Arthur passed out over the toilet before he found himself in the garage.

Handing him his key, you opened the car door next to the driver's seat. "We have to be quick before Allen tries to stop us."

The said man was sitting on the roof when he heard the rumbling of the garage door. Immediately after the sound stopped, a car sped out of it with an aggressive vroom and disappeared into the night. Narrowing his eyes at the rear window, he stood up and tossed his cigarette over the edge. Where the hell were you going this late at night? And with Alfred, no less?

He could feel hot jealousy prick him all over again. But it was warped with a harrowing kind of sadness. No matter what he did or what he said, he couldn't seem to get in between you two. Allen sat back down and lit up another cigarette. Giving that a few puffs, he surrounded his head in a cloud of grey smoke. Maybe he did know you for too long.

For eight years, he'd been a brotherly figure in your life. Now, he was afraid that was all he was ever going to be.

~~~

Parking the car in the courtyard after the most thrilling joyride, you pulled Alfred into the reception to book a room. Given his inhumane strength, your efforts to drag him down the hall were to no avail. Peering down at you with a warm smile, his face contorted with an amused look as you tugged at his arm as hard as you could. "Easy there, tiger. This is a motel, not a five-star hotel."

Between two walls littered with cracks was a dimly lit interior. Everything smelt like vomit, piss, and alcohol to boot, and yet, you were bounding beside him in excitement. "I know! But doesn't this feel nostalgic? We lived in these places for ages." You exasperated, scanning a keycard to unlock the door.

Alfred didn't think he was a sentimental person, but hearing you reminisce the past so fondly was enough to change his smile into a bittersweet one. "I guess." He couldn’t remember everything like you, but for now, he could pretend he did. "Motels are economic and discrete, so where was a better place to go?"

Once you both got inside, he felt your hand let go of his. For a moment, he felt just the smallest dash of loneliness—it was the emptiness of not feeling you somewhere where you should have been. Fortunately, it faded when you gleamed at him while you explored the room with child-like curiosity.

"I think I did a pretty good job at converting you." Alfred mused.

You flopped onto the bed to lie on your back. "Converting me to what?"

The mattress dipped to your right, so you rolled over to face him. "To a commoner. Or maybe something lower than that." He grinned devilishly. And for that comment, he would earn a strong shove on his chest. Despite nearly falling off the edge, he merely scooted back in. "I've never seen someone this happy staying in a dump like this."

"Don't give yourself too much credit. I just miss it." Pausing briefly at that, a small smile spread to your lips when you saw his, wide and as endearing as ever. If there was one thing you wanted to see before you died, it was this. Alfred's warm smile. As you lingered on the thought, you realized you were completely smitten with him.

But most importantly, at peace.

This was exactly why you even dragged him here in the first place. For some quality alone time, backtracking, and a good, long talk without interruptions. "I'd know all about dumps." You murmured, reaching out to play with a lock of his sandy blonde hair. "Zao and I tend to find our best friends in them."

He chuckled airily. "Is this me?"

"... Well, sure. But I was talking about Allen."

Things got dark pretty fast.

You both laughed it off. He didn't have great memories of motels, but laying here with you reminded him of what you said about them. A lot of good things happened in these tiny rooms, apparently. And they were what you two talked about until three AM in the morning, standing together out on the balcony. From here, the heart of the city could be seen, from the aerial roads of spinners in the distance to the endless hills of skyscrapers and blinking lights.

"I was thinking," Alfred murmured quietly, turning his head to you. The right side of his face reflected the glow of the city. But it couldn't quite compare to the hope that lit up his eyes, as subtle as it was. "Is everything finally over?"

You turned to him, gaze softened. For just tonight, you would let him bask in his ignorance. And yourself, in his hold. "Not yet." You whispered. The feeling of his hand on your waist was a feeling you could get used to. Reaching out to his other one on the railing, you guided it to your side so he could hold you properly.

Alfred squeezed you eagerly, pressing closer to your body.

Taking his face into your hands, you gave him one last gesture of untold affection. It was a culmination of raw emotion free from your own better judgment. A means to communicate without talking.

You pressed your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

At that very space in time, a singular thought occurred to both of you—I wish this moment would last forever.

"But we'll make it... Just like we always do."

What would you do if I killed you?

Nothing, because I'd be dead.

What if you survived? Or left behind a soul?

Then I'll come back and find you.

The club was still pounding away, much like the headache in his skull. Sucking in a sharp breath, he suffered the worst wake-up call in his short life—he was still bleeding, and in terrible pain. He shakily felt around his wound while hyperventilating on the ground. How he hadn't kicked the bucket yet was beyond him.

"Get your ass up already. I know you're not dead." A man growled in disdain, giving the body on the ground a light kick.

"Gh—!" He let out a pained gasp and clung onto the ground for dear life. It had been years since he felt this alive—ironically, it was when he was inches away from death.

His perpetrator had their dark eyes fixated on him like a stain on the floor. Their pupils were as red as the blood his victim bathed in. But they always had a strong stomach for gore. "What am I gonna say when the owner finds out I'm the reason you even got in here? You're bleeding into the pool." They murmured, raising his leg to keep tormenting the other like a new hobby.

With a few more kicks, the body rolled onto its back.

"Ugh... Fuck... How am I not dead?" He coughed in agony.

The other shrugged, flicking their ponytail over their shoulder. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve." As cryptic as that sounded, it was nothing but the truth. He had more to his life than dying in a nightclub. Dying could be a part of it, but this couldn't be the location to do it, nor could it be by your hand—the closest kin to his creator.

"Why else did he make you?"

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

Text

In Love & War (3/3)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to comment on this story and even kinder in their patience for how long it took to complete. I’ve never struggled so much to write anything, and I might still be staring at an unfinished draft if it weren’t for the help of the most incredible, @navirosera, who listened patiently to my ranting, raving, and complaining and provided the spark to help me finish. I really can’t thank you enough.

I have posted the remaining part of the chapter at the bottom so it’s in its proper place. If you’ve already read the first part of this, just keep scrolling till it looks new.

Part 3: Quatervois

You hold your left hand up against the glass of the window. The setting sun catches the diamond of your ring, creating lines of rainbow light. It gives the impression your whole hand is sparkling. You smile. It's only a modest sized diamond set against a pale gold band. But it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Something out there I should be jealous of?"

Arms encircle your waist. A warm body presses against you from behind.

"'Out there'"?" you echo playfully. "Oh, I suppose there is a lovely ocean view. I hadn't noticed."

Felix rests his chin on your shoulder to see what's caught your attention.

"You know, I really ought to get you another one. Something better. With a diamond you can actually see."

You spin around in Felix's arms.

"Don't you dare. I love it. It's perfect."

Felix glances at your hand now resting against his chest. He frowns at the ring slightly.

"Hardly perfect. It's ridiculously small. It barely counts as an engagement ring."

You wrinkle your nose at him. "Then why did you pick it in the first place?"

A hot blush creeps up Felix's cheeks, a sight you find intensely amusing.

"There's a face I don't see often,” you laugh softly.

A change comes over Felix. His eyes widen, and he leans away from you, dropping his arms. He peers into your face intently as if he's seen something he doesn't like. You’re worried you must have offended him.

"I wasn't poking fun," you assure him soothingly. You close the distance he’s created between you, reaching up to take his still heated cheek in your palm. "I like it. Makes you look younger."

Felix's eyes soften. "Do I look old then?"

"Far too old for me." You shake your head in mock concern. "What my friends will say when they discover I've eloped with my prefect, I can't imagine." Your face suddenly clouds. "Why did we elope? Was there a reason? I mean, it was lovely little chapel, but it would have been nice to have my friends there. And Mrs Weasley will be so disappointed when she finds out.”

Felix swallows. “The war, remember?” He hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Everyone choosing sides. We didn't want them to be uncomfortable."

"Oh. Right."

On some level you're aware this doesn't make sense. But the vibrations against your throat send lightning through your body. The answer no longer seems important. You run your hands through Felix's hair as he places hot, slow kisses up your neck, under your chin. When he reaches your lips he murmurs against them: "Let me buy you a new ring. Please."

You shake your head. Your nose nuzzles his with each small movement. "No. This is the one I want."

You’re at a loss for how this sweet statement could cause your new husband to look so unhappy.

"Not again! That's the second time this week!"

The sudden exclamation startles you from your reverie. You lift your head from its resting place against your hand. You’re in the Burrow's kitchen with an irate Mrs Weasley, not a villa in Nice with Felix. The sun setting outside the window had brought the memory back.

Mrs Weasley wads the offensive letter up and throws it into the fire.

"I mean really, and at the last minute, too. So inconsiderate. I suppose that sort of thing is acceptable in France, but you'd think manners would be the same everywhere, wouldn't you? Pass me that cutting board, dear."

You rise from your chair and reach up to pull the cutting board from a high shelf. You could easily retrieve it with magic, but you need the distraction. It's precisely the reason you've moved to the Burrow. Mrs Weasley's strict regimen of conversation and domestic work keeps your mind from wandering. Most of the time.

You offer Mrs Weasley the cutting board, then lean against the counter. You force yourself to pay attention to her diatribe.

“I'm sure it's a phase, but I do hope it will pass soon. Once he grows out of that hair and that earring," Mrs Weasley shudders. "And that's really the most telling, isn't it? Any woman who likes that sort of thing can’t possibly be any good. You don't approve of it, surely?"

You look up from where your gaze has fallen to your hand and shake your head vigorously.

Her opinions safely confirmed, Mrs Weasley returns to the cutting board. She directs her wand to a veritable army of knives that begin dicing vegetables with gusto. "Like I say, very telling. Bill never used to be like this. He would never have dreamed of sending an owl last minute saying he wouldn't be at dinner. I mean really! What if we'd had something important to discuss? What if-"

You stare at the ring on your finger. It's the same one from your memory: a single, small diamond, a band of pale gold. Humble, but an auror's salary isn’t high. And this is definitely the ring Talbott had given you.

You relish the ability to call this memory to mind. You, dusting the curtains in your cheery flat when Talbott suddenly appears behind you. He presses a small blue box wordlessly into your hands. Your heart stops when you open it.

Talbott isn't one for material gifts. You never ask them of him. You had intended, once you were married, to find a simple wedding band to indicate your new status. For Talbott to think of it himself means more than you can say in words. Instead, you spend a long, fervid night showing him.

You close your eyes, savouring the echoes of bliss reverberating through your body. Until a question wheedles its way in like a leech.

Why would Felix have pretended the ring was his? Even for a second? It didn't fit Felix's extravagant style at all. He hadn't been happy with it, that much is clear from your newly remembered honeymoon scene. So why didn't he remove it after obliviating you? Replace it with another?

The inconsistency bothers you. Against your better judgment, you tentatively prod your brain for an explanation. But while your memories from before the fateful spell all seem to be intact, the days immediately after remain fuzzy.

"...talking about visiting her family, and it's much too soon for that. Imagine going all the way to France for a girl he's really only known a short time. I didn't meet Arthur's family until..."

You shake your head firmly, clearing it of unwanted thoughts. You'll never understand what Felix did. You're not supposed to be thinking about him, anyway. You straighten, and interrupt Mrs Weasley mid-sentence.

"Can I do something to help, Mrs Weasley?"

"Oh," Mrs Weasley stops abruptly. "Well, I really only have the potatoes left to mash, and that’s just -"

"I'll do it.”

You walk to the sink before Mrs Weasley can argue. A pot of peeled and boiled potatoes waits expectantly. You tap the masher with your wand and set it to work with vigour. You can feel Mrs Weasley's eyes on you, but you keeps yours fixed to the sink.

After a moment, Mrs Weasley returns to her knives, now scraping the diced vegetables into a bowl. "You know, I was thinking," she says in an airy, would-be-casual voice that instantly puts you on your guard. "I'd planned for four, and it would be a shame to let all this extra food go to waste. Why not invite your young man to dinner?"

The masher spins wildly in the pot, spilling potatoes over the side before you can correct it. Mrs Weasley continues as though she hasn’t noticed.

"It's been some time since you last saw him. And goodness knows, he looks like he could use a solid meal. What he must be eating without anyone to take care of him..."

You remember the assorted debris of take-away strewn about your old flat's kitchen table. A short stab of pain punctures your lungs. Imagining Talbott alone in the ruins of the home you once shared robs you of air.

"Y/N, the masher!"

"What?"

You look up to find the masher dancing across the counter, trailing potato in its wake. You break the enchantment and return it to the pot, then reach for a dish towel. You try to mop up the soggy potato droppings, but your vision is blurred by tears.

The dish towel is plucked gently from your fingers. You look up through wet eyes to find Mrs Weasley peering at you in concern.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to press. I understand if you need more time to-"

"It's not that, Mrs Weasley," you say, through sniffs. "I just...I... I miss him. I miss everything."

"You know, dear," Mrs Weasley says delicately, "Arthur and I have had our fair share of rows. Why, I remember one in our seventh year, nearly ended us. I couldn't eat a bite for weeks. But, there's never a problem two people can't solve if they're just willing to talk through it."

You sigh heavily, wiping your hand across your eyes. You let yourself sink into a kitchen chair.

"Talbott doesn't talk, Mrs Weasley. I'm the one who always solves these sorts of problems. I've never minded, but this time...this time I just don't know how."

Mrs Weasley flicks her wand at the masher. It resumes its duties at a more stately pace, and she draws the chair next to yours.

"Talbott is a good man, dear. A bit strange, and - well, I do admit, I'd rather hoped you and Charlie would...well...that doesn't matter now - what I mean to say is Talbott loves you. I'm sure he doesn't expect everything to be just the way it was all at once. But you have to start somewhere or it'll never come right."

You worry your lip between your teeth. You don’t know what Talbott thinks of you right now, and you’re afraid to find out. But Mrs Weasley's arguments chip away at your fear. You do want to see him again. And Talbott is unlikely to come find you himself.

"I suppose I might...send him an owl."

Mrs Weasley's smile is so bright it hurts to look at it.

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I'm so thrilled. Here, let me do it. You go get dressed!"

"What?"

"Well, you can't let him see you in that!"

You look down at your clothes: an old house dress of Mrs Weasley's and a jumper of Charlie's, both extremely baggy.

"Mrs Weasley, Talbott's seen me in just about everything."

"Yes, well, a little bit of effort never hurt. In fact, why don't I pop down to Diagon Alley before the shops close and pick up some of those delightful little cakes he liked so much last Christmas. I'll send the owl on the way. Now go!"

It's useless to argue with Mrs Weasley when she's in this state. You climb the stairs, listening to her chatter to herself as she pulls on a travelling shawl. For the first time in days, you manage a weak smile.

You spend a few minutes prodding your wand across an old summer dress from Mrs Weasley's school days. You've never excelled at the sort of charms Andre used to transform clothes into something magical, but you do your best. The end result, if not exactly fashionable, doesn't look as though two of you might fit in it. You run a brush through the tangled knots in your hair, and, after a minute's debate, decide in favour of lipstick.

You feel distinctly foolish.

It makes no sense to be dressing yourself up to meet the man you've lived with since you left school. Even less so to be this self-conscious about it. But Mrs Weasley's excitement has apparently infected you. Your stomach is full of swarming butterflies. It reminds you of your very first date with Talbott.

You cross to the looking-glass and inspect yourself critically. While you may feel like a teenager again, your reflection shows quite a bit more wear. Your face is pinched and wan, like someone recovering from a long illness. You lean in closer, practicing a smile. Something moves in the corner of the glass.

You whirl around, fumbling for your wand. The room is empty. It must have a been a trick of the light. Instinct puts you on your guard, however, and you inspect the room again, more slowly. As your eyes pass the window, you catch a glimpse of something moving in the yard. You blink, and look again, unwilling to believe your eyes.

Felix is picking his way across the long grass, surveying the Burrow with a mixture of distaste and apprehension.

Your brain stalls. Thoughts peter out as soon as they begin. You don't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.

Felix glances up. You know he can see your silhouette in the window. It's in the way his rich brown eyes suddenly catch fire.

"Y/N, I know you're there," Felix calls softly. "I just want to talk to you. Please."

A battle begins inside you. Part of you wants to hurl a curse out the window at Felix. Part of you wants to hide under the bed. But neither of these are in charge of your feet. You're walking out of the room and down the stairs before your brain catches up to what you're doing. It stops you just before you reach the kitchen door. You can't really be considering this. Felix has proven exactly what he's capable of. Walking out there to him is like walking into a snake pit.

Only this time, you know. You're prepared. You're not the girl of a year ago, naively believing she could be just friends with a Rosier. Nor are you his thrall. Your head is as clear as it's ever been. And you have things you want to say. You clench your hand firmly around your wand, and step outside.

You keep your eyes on your feet as you walk. Just taking even steps requires considerable effort. You stop when you see Felix's shoes. It's several seconds before you're able to raise your gaze to his, and then it takes all your self-control to keep your jaw from dropping.

You've never seen Felix this worse for wear. His robes are so rumpled he might have slept in them. His hair is untidy, his nails unclean. There are circles under his eyes as dark as bruises.

Pity, and something else you refuse to name, well up inside your throat. The desire to put your arms around him, to stroke his cheek or straighten his hair, anything to fix his face into something less pained, is overwhelming. You hate yourself for it. You quickly recite every terrible thing Felix has done in your head. But you've never been able to stay angry with Felix when he looks at you like that.

"Y/N." Felix says your name like a prayer. You will your heart not to break. You keep your voice as expressionless as possible.

"What do you want?"

"I - I just want to talk," Felix repeats. "To ex-explain." His impassive mask slips as he stutters. For some reason, this display of nerves inspires you with confidence.

"I already heard your explanations. What else could you possibly have to say?"

Felix rubs his palms against his trousers.

'That wasn't - I mean - I didn't get to...to say everything I needed to. It was all so..." You don't think you've ever seen Felix so lost for words. You grip your wand tighter to stop your hand reaching for him. "I didn't get to explain myself clearly. Explain what happened. Why I...I did what I did."

At these words, your desire erupts into rage. It's almost a relief to finally feel it. You let it boil your blood, vibrate in your limbs. You clench your fist around your wand so tight your knuckles turn white. As if the immensity of Felix's crimes could be summed up in a few simple words.

"You mean, why you obliviated me? Why you erased Talbott from my memories and ruined both our lives?" The bitterness that's festered inside you for weeks spews forth like lava. "You lied to me, Felix! You let me feel like I was going mad! You forced me to marry you, and then kept me locked in your house like a-"

"But I didn't!" Felix's cry is anguished. It only fuels your fury.

"How...dare you! How can you really think I'm that stupid? That I would fall for that? I remember everything Felix! I heard you admit it, and I know I'm not insane. Denying what you've done won't change anything, it just makes you look pathetic.”

Felix flinches as if your word were a curse.

"I'm not denying what I did. I did...obliviate you. And I did lie. But...I didn't force you to marry me."

"Just because you didn't hold a wand to my head doesn't mean I wasn't forced. You can't get out of this on semantics."

"I'm not trying to get out of anything," Felix says quickly. He looks up, staring at a point just near your ear. "Look, I made you forget him...Talbott. I thought...without him to worry about or pressuring you to stay...I could convince you to run. Go visit your relatives in America. But I-I don't know...maybe the spell went wrong. I've never used a memory charm before. But you seemed to forget everything. You weren't sure who you were, or where you were. I was terrified."

Felix takes a step closer. You know you should stop him, but you're hooked to his words. Your anger flounders as you struggle to find this memory, to prove Felix is lying yet again. But all you remember is Felix's wand pointed at you...then nothing.

"I didn't know what to do," Felix continues. "I couldn't just leave you there, or - or send you to another country while you didn't even know your own name. So I...I took you home. With me. I thought...maybe I could figure out a way to undo it. Or something. I don't know, I never had to find out. When you woke the next morning, you were better. Or at least, you knew who you were and who I was. But...I suppose the spell had worked because you didn't remember...Talbott." Felix's fingers twist at his sides. "But then you - you saw the ring and you asked if... we were...engaged."

You look down at the diamond ring on your hand. Something in the way it catches the light reminds you of a moment in the Rosier kitchen: leaning against the butcher's table, your head pounding, a fog across your senses; Felix standing in front of you, as nervous as he is now. You hear your voice ask a question, and you hear Felix's response...

"I didn't know what to say! I didn't know how to explain the ring without mentioning Talbott, and I didn't know what else you remembered or-or how you felt about me. I just...I wanted you. I've always wanted you, so I...I said-"

" 'Only if you want to be'."

Felix's eyes meet yours. There's a soft, eager light in them, as if the memory is something he cherishes.

"You...remember that?"

'I didn't until just now."

You stare at the Felix in front of you, but your mind is faraway. Back in the kitchen, watching Felix wait for your answer. You stood there, your aching mind picking through its tangled memories, sorting through all your moments with Felix. The way he'd always been there for you at school. The way his seriousness made you laugh, and his little touches made you shiver. The decision was as easy as breathing.

"I said, yes," you whisper into the air.

Felix says nothing. He only nods.

The emotions writhing within you evaporate. Anger, desire, everything you've felt toward Felix is suddenly missing. Wind blows, and it sounds like a foreign language. The world around you is as unfamiliar and threatening as a different planet. You don't know how to exist in it. You can only stand, frozen and unsure.

After a minute of silence, Felix continues.

"I know I shouldn't have let you believe it, or - or let it go as far as I did. I should have sent you to America, like I meant to. But... I couldn't help it. I love you. I always have." Felix's hand jerks oddly, as if he meant to take yours before thinking better of it."I told myself it was better this way. That you were safer with me. But...you were right. I did it for myself, and I - I'm sorry. I know it doesn't fix anything, but I am. And, I want...to make it up to you."

This time, Felix lets his hand reach for yours. You make no move to stop him. He strokes your limp fingers delicately, as if they were made of glass.

"I made a mistake, and I - I hate what it's done to you. But I love you, Y/N. You can't pretend I don't. And if you'll let me, I'll spend my life making it up to you."

You can only stare. Your brain has forgotten how to form words. Felix is just beginning to look concerned, when the door to the Burrow's kitchen opens with a bang. The sound breaks your spell, and you rip your hand away.

"Get - off - my - land!"

Mr Weasley marches across the grass toward you, Mrs Weasley and Talbott in his wake. Mr Weasley's wand is stretched out in front of him, but Talbott gets there first. He sends a quick, silent hex flying across the yard. Felix has no time to block it. He throws himself to the ground to avoid the red light, then rolls into a crouch, wand at the ready.

"Come inside, Y/N, quickly!" Mrs Weasley grabs your arm and yanks you away. You let her drag you back toward the Burrow. Your legs are too weak to walk on their own. You watch Talbott hurl spell after spell at Felix, who blocks them as he beats a hasty retreat. He reaches the edge of the Weasley property, and with a last glance in your direction, disapparates.

"Sit here, dear. Let me make a cup of tea." Mrs Weasley pushes you into a chair. "I should never have left you alone, I can't believe I-"

Her prattle is interrupted by the slam of the kitchen door. Talbott tumbles inside, breathing heavily, still clutching his wand. His head swivels until he finds you.

"Why was he here?"

It's the first time in weeks you've stared into Talbott's yellow-gold eyes. They're flashing like you've never seen. You search for your voice. Your brain is still racing.

"What was he doing here, Y/N?"

Talbott stalks closer, his movements rigid. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You have no frame of reference for Talbott angry with you.

Mrs Weasley clears her throat. "Now really, Talbott, I don't think that's-"

"He just...came to talk." Your voice is a low rasp, but it cuts cleanly through Mrs Weasley's protests.

"To talk?"

"Yes."

A feral sort of growl escapes Talbott's throat. He turns, kneading the back of his neck viciously. He paces to the kitchen door, then back again, like a caged animal. It's almost frightening. But you're sick of feeling confusion and fear, and you're sick of feeling sorry. You'd rather be angry some more. You stand, letting the rage you couldn't finish venting on Felix flow through you again.

"So you talked?” Talbott spits the words, each syllable tight and clipped. "You talked to him after everything he's done? After you know what he is? He's a Death Eater, Y/N, and a liar. That's who you want to talk to?”

"At least he cared enough to come find me - unlike you." Your words shock Talbott into stillness. “I just disappear, you get some letter that doesn't even sound like me, and you just write me off as lost?"

Talbott is rooted to the floor. He can't move, even as you advance on him.

"What Felix did was terrible, Talbott. But he did it because he loves me."

"You want me to do something terrible to prove I love you?"

"I just want you to do something!"

Talbott's nostrils flare. His upper lip twitches like he's holding back a sneer.

"So, you'd like me better if I were more like Felix Rosier? If I kidnapped you? Cast spells on you to make you do what I want, like a puppet?"

"I wasn't a puppet!" Your vision blurs red, and you lose all control of your tongue. “Felix didn't force me to marry him, Talbott, I wanted to! When I didn't remember you anymore, I realised I was in love with him and I wanted to be with him. That's what he came for. To remind me of that."

The ghost of your words lingers in the kitchen for several minutes, each as long as years. Talbott's face is entirely blank. Mrs Weasley's hands are clapped over her mouth in horror. You don't care. Saying it out loud releases a weight from your shoulders. It leaves you light-headed and exhausted.

"So...you do love him."

It isn't a question. Talbott's voice is resigned. Guilt tugs at your heart, but you can't really feel it. You're too tired to feel much of anything.

"I don't know. I don't know...anything anymore." You fall into the nearest chair. You drop your head into your hands, your eyelids heavy. "I feel like I'm two different people. Like I've lived two different lives. I was happy in both of them, but... I don't know which one I am now. Maybe neither. I don't know how to choose."

Talbott blinks. It draws curtains over his molten eyes.

"You don't have to choose."

He turns and walks away from you, without a backward glance.

There's no reunion dinner that night. Mrs Weasley sends you straight up to bed. You hear her and Mr Weasley conversing in low tones into the wee hours of the morning. You pull the pillow over your head. You don't want to hear what they're saying about you.

It's two days before you're ready to rejoin the rest of the world. Another before you can eat and drink again properly. One more day, and you're participating in conversation, if only to nod or say, "Of course, Mrs Weasley." By the end of the week, you're as close to normal as you were before Felix's unexpected visit.

The days don't bring you any closer to an answer, but they do bring you further from heartache. You find it's easier to turn your mind from memories of Felix now you've confessed your love out loud. It's as if the feeling has lost power over you. Each day, the loss of him hurts slightly less.

The hardest part of your life now is how little you can do for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's task for you reminds you unpleasantly of your school days: to lay low and let others handle it. You would happily ignore this if you thought you might be useful, but the truth is, you don't know how to help. There's no mystery to solve, no secrets to uncover. Just ones to protect.

Still, you attend each meeting, week after week. You help Mrs Weasley with the dinner beforehand and the cleaning afterward. You pay attention to the news that's shared. You contribute what insight your experiences offer.

But mostly you watch Talbott.

Talbott attends almost every meeting, but you never speak and he never approaches. He sits as close to the door as he can manage, and bolts the moment the meeting ends. He's careful never to turn his eyes on you. You watch him just the same. It’s so long since you’ve been in his presence without something horrible happening. Every movement he makes is mesmerizing, the way it always was at school. His sharp nods, his slow blinks, the tapping of his finger against the table you're sure he's unaware of.

You miss Talbott, you realise. Or maybe you just miss the part of your life he represents; the life you built together. The damage done to it seems irreparable. Though you spend many nights wracking your brain, you can think of no way to fix it.

Talbott may choose to ignore your eyes on him, but Mrs Weasley does not. She, at least, is not content to watch and wonder. She renews her encouragements that the two of you talk. She attempts to seat you together at meetings. You deflect her machinations as best you can, but Mrs Weasley won't be thwarted forever.

One evening she insists on arriving at Grimmauld Place earlier than usual. "It's a large meeting tonight, dear," she explains, a little too airily, "so we'll need to start dinner early. And I promised Sirius I would take a look at the drawing room curtains, he thinks the doxies are moving back in."

Sirius is sitting at the end of the kitchen table when the two of you enter. You call a soft greeting, but he merely lifts a hand and grunts. He's staring at a notebook on the table in front of him, as if waiting for words to appear in it. You light a fire with your wand and set water to boil, then begin chopping onions.

As you work, you notice Mrs Weasley shoot furtive glances at the clock. Her attitude is strangely expectant. Something about her nervous energy raises your hackles. When the doorbell clangs, you have a sneaking suspicion who it might be.

"I'll get it!" she says with entirely too much enthusiasm. You narrow your eyes at her as she leaves.

"Bit early, isn't it?" grumbles Sirius. You don't reply. You're listening hard to catch the sounds from the floor above. You hear the front door open, and the murmur of low voices. Your heart stutters as you recognise them both. Mrs Weasley returns to the kitchen with a stiff Talbott in tow. Her face is practically glowing.

"I'm so sorry, dear, Arthur must have got the times mixed up! The meeting's not for another half hour. We're just getting dinner ready, but there's a good bit to do. Perhaps you might be willing to pitch in?"

Talbott stops moving when he notices you. His head darts about the room, searching for an escape. There's a twinge of heartache at seeing him so desperate to get away from you. You turn back to the onions, face burning.

You hear Talbott mumble something about not being much good in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley ignores this entirely.

"Oh, just a bit of slicing. Nothing too difficult! A simple severing charm will work if you're uncomfortable with a knife."

Mrs Weasley drops a cutting board and several loaves of bread on the table. Even with your eyes down, you can see Talbott's hands in your peripheral vision. You wield your knife with extra care, worried you might sever one of your own jittery fingers.

The only sound in the room is the dull thud of blades on wood. After a minute, Mrs Weasley speaks into the awkward silence.

"Well, while I have you two here, I think I'll just pop upstairs and take a look at those curtains. Sirius," she calls, and you hear Sirius stir. "Why don't you show me which room they're in?"

"It's the curtains in the drawing room, Molly."

"Why don't you show me," Mrs Weasley says slowly behind a clenched smile. You can't see her face, but you're sure her eyes are boring into Sirius. He must have taken the hint. You hear his chair being pushed back hastily.

"Oh! Right, of course. I'll show you."

You close your eyes in a plea for patience. You're not sure whether you want to laugh or cry or throw an onion at Mrs Weasley's retreating back. When you open them again, Talbott is watching you. He looks away as soon as your eyes meet.

How long has it been since you were this close to Talbott? Close enough that you could reach across and touch his cheek, if you wanted. If you were still allowed.

Something changes in the room. It takes you a minute to realise what. The sporadic sound of Talbott's knife has stopped. You glance up and find him staring at your hand. You see thoughts race behind his molten eyes.

"What's wrong?" you ask softly, and feel instantly foolish. What isn't wrong in Talbott's life at the moment? You don't expect him to answer, but after a quick gulp he says, "Your ring." He nods at the naked skin of your fourth finger.

Your blush is almost painful. It's been so long since you wore your engagement ring, you've actually forgotten to miss it.

"I...took it off. It didn't feel right...under the circumstances."

Talbott doesn't reply. His head moves in something that might be a nod or a twitch. His eyes return to his cutting board.

You work in silence. A silence you grow quickly to hate. It feels ridiculous to be this uncomfortable around the man you've known for years, a man you know better than anyone else. You used to be able to read his silences so well, interpret meaning from his every change in posture. But you suppose you're both different people now. Each unsure what the other is thinking.

The tension reminds you of something. When you remember what it is, you can't stop a small chuckle. Talbott's head jerks up, eyes registering alarm.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Talbott only blinks.

"At the start of third year?" you remind him. "When I decided I wanted to become an animagus, and Tulip said I ought to talk to you?"

"I remember," Talbott says. After a beat he adds, "Why?"

"I was just thinking...I think that's the last time I was this nervous to talk to you."

Talbott's eyes shed some of their armor. You catch a glimpse of the man you remember underneath.

"Why were you nervous to talk to me?"

"You were so...intimidating." You smile. It's a rusty, disused expression on your face now. "And you looked like the last thing in the world you wanted to do was talk to me. I was sure you must not like me for some reason."

It had taken so much courage to seat yourself at the Ravenclaw table that day. You'd defeated a cursed vault, battled yetis and werewolves, and Talbott's piercing gaze had made you more nervous than any of them.

You return to chopping, but Talbott remains still.

"I did like you. I'd fancied you since first year."

The knife slices cleanly through the pad of your finger. Drops of blood sprinkle the onions, but you barely notice. You're looking at Talbott in wonder.

"You never told me that."

"Your finger." Talbott nods at your bleeding hand.

"Why did you never tell me that?"

Talbott doesn't answer. He walks around the table toward you. Your heart beats louder with each step. He pries the knife from your suddenly clenched fist, and takes your bleeding hand in his. He taps his wand to your wound and murmurs a spell. The skin seals back up flawlessly. Talbott returns his wand to his pocket, but he doesn't release your hand.

Your gaze is drawn to his face by an impulse you can't control. Talbott's molten eyes are on your mouth. You watch his lips part, his tongue wet them nervously. But he doesn't speak. He doesn't move. You recognise the symptoms. You know he's trapped in his head. There's no parchment or quill to hand, but that tradition really belongs to two different people.

You lean in to Talbott's face until your lips are a breath apart. You pause, waiting for permission. Talbott hesitates, and your heart stops. Then he closes the narrow space between you. Your lips meet, then meet again. You had forgotten what it feels like to kiss Talbott, or maybe it was never like this before. Your lips tingle, and your skin crawls with desire to be touched. Talbott's mouth is careful, almost reluctant, as if he's sure you'll be gone in a moment. You want to promise him you won't be, but neither of you could believe that now.

When Talbott doesn't draw you to him the way you're used to, you pull away. You search his face for answers. Yellow-gold eyes meet yours, begging for something you don't understand. You've always been the one to figure out the next move, but this time you need his help.

"Talbott." Your voice is a whisper. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Talbott murmurs. He closes his eyes so you can't see him think.

"I don't know how to fix this," you admit softly.

You lower your gaze to your hands. Your fingers are still twined together.

"Maybe you can't."

You look up, your heart horribly still. "Is that...what you want?"

Talbott untangles his fingers from yours.

"I want you to be happy. Even...if that's not with me."

You don't know what to say. You open your mouth hoping the right words will appear on their own, when he kitchen door bangs open.

Talbott jumps away from you as if hexed. You look up, expecting to see Mrs Weasley.

It's Professor Snape. By itself, this isn't unusual. Snape is a member of the Order, and he attends every meeting he cannot avoid. It isn't his presence that's cause for concern, it's his unfamiliar expression: one of pale fear. A look you've never seen on the forbidding Professor. The implication leaves you cold. If something has happened to worry Snape...

"What's wrong, Professor?" you ask.

"Potter," and even Snape's voice is missing its usual sneer. "Where is Black?"

You must look ridiculous, you think to yourself, sprinting through the Ministry for Magic alongside Talbott and Sirius in a sundress of all things. At school, there was always time to dress carefully before running into danger. But Harry Potter and his friends are trapped in the Department of Mysteries, and you're determined to help, no matter what you're wearing.

"What are they doing here?" Mad-Eye Moody addresses Talbott as the three of you reach the lifts. "They can't be here. They're not aurors."

Both you and Sirius begin to argue at once. Your recitation of all the dark wizards and dangerous creatures you've defeated is drowned by Sirius' roars of, "I'm his godfather!" Your words reverberate through the huge, empty chamber until Moody slams his staff against the ground for silence.

"There's no time. Just get in!"

The four of you squeeze into the lift where Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Tonks are already waiting. The small space throbs with tension as the lift makes its impassively slow descent.

"Isn't there another way?" Sirius barks, slapping his wand against his leg.

"No," says Kingsley shortly.

Moody shuffles about to fix his normal, beady eye on you.

"Seeing as neither of you are aurors, and you ought not to be here in the first-"

"I am Harry's godfather!"

"Then make him your responsibility!" Moody snaps at Sirius. "You, Remus, and Y/N: find the students and get them out. Leave the Death Eaters to us."

You give a sharp nod. Talbott shifts uncomfortably next to you.

The lift finally settles. Your party is out and running before the doors click shut behind you. Moody leads the way through the Department of Mysteries labyrinth, a strange instrument in the hand not holding his wand apparently providing him directions.

"This way!" he calls, leading the group through another door.

Adrenaline courses through you as you run. It's a feeling as familiar as your old school robes. This is your element. For the first time in so long, you’re unburdened by confusion or indecision. When you burst through a door to find black-robed figures surrounding two students, you know exactly what to do.

In front of you, the aurors advance on the Death Eaters. Their spells fill the room with light and sound. You wait until the Death Eaters have turned to face this new threat, then descend toward the dark-haired boys, yanking them into a crouch behind a stone step.

"Where are the others?"

You have to shout to be heard over the noise of the duelling around you. The boy with glasses - Harry Potter, you realise by the scar - rips his eyes away from the fight.

"Up there! They're still in that other room." He gestures at a different door than the one you entered through. "The girls are all unconscious, I think. And Ron - one of those brain things got him. You have to help them!"

You twist around, searching for Sirius or Lupin. Sirius is a few rows down, a wide grin on his face as he duels. Lupin, you don't see at all. You cast about for threats, but the boys don't appear to be in immediate danger.

"Stay here," you order them, feeling a bit of a hypocrite. "Wands out, heads down."

Keeping your body low to minimise your target, you sprint up the stairs. None of the Death Eaters have a glance to spare for you, and you make it to the door unmolested. Before you push through it, you can't help but look back, scanning the fight for yellow-gold eyes.

Talbott is dueling a Death Eater nearly twice his girth. You watch, transfixed. You've never seen Talbott move like this. He's usually twitchy, better in the air than on his feet. Now, as he duels, his movements are smooth and precise. He twists to avoid a purple spell, then spins back, sending a stunner of his own. It catches the Death Eater in the chest, and he drops instantly. In spite of everything, you grin.

As if able to feel your gaze, Talbott's eyes find yours across the room. You nod your head at the door to indicate your direction. Then, with a last look at Talbott, you hurtle through.

Desks and shelves and heavy tables indicate the room is some sort of office. Only every single piece of furniture is now overturned or collapsed. You step with caution, but still manage to slip. The floor is slick with liquid. You notice strange, jelly-like objects floating in the shallow pools - the brains Harry Potter had mentioned? You take care to avoid them as you search for signs of the students.

"Hello?" you call softly. There's no answer.

You reach the middle of the room and survey your surroundings. There's a door just ahead; another to the side. You're considering which is more likely when you hear shallow breathing nearby. You ready your wand, then hesitate. It could be one of the students, hiding from you. Ron or Ginny would know you right away, but not the others.

"It's alright," you call again. "I'm here to get you out. I'm a friend. I'm with the Order."

"Well, hello, Friend with the Order."

You whirl around. A tall figure in a black hood emerges from behind a fallen cabinet. Without pause for thought you yell, "Stupefy!" but he easily sidesteps the spell. You cast a quick shield charm, blocking his return attack, then steady yourself for another. But the Death Eater hesitates. His hood flicks to a space over your left shoulder. On instinct, you dive to the side. Red sparks explode through the air where your body had been, thrown by a second Death Eater behind you. His spell hits the other masked figure in the arm and he howls in rage and pain.

"Watch where you're aiming!" he snarls, clutching his injury.

You use the second's distraction to throw yourself behind a desk. You lean back against it, breathing through your nose and thinking past your racing heartbeat. The wreckage of furniture forms an almost unbroken wall for several metres. If you can just make it around without them noticing...

One of the Death Eaters shouts a curse. Red light slams your hiding spot into the wall with a crash. But you're already two desks away, flat against the floor and crawling carefully. Your dress snags as you press close to the wall of splintered wood.

"Just kill her!"

"Rosier said not to kill until we're sure Malfoy has the prophecy. You want to go back to the Dark Lord empty-handed?"

"That's the students, not the Order members.'

These words make your heart stutter horribly. Your hand slips on the wet floor.

"Over there!"

Heavy footfalls sound nearby. You straighten, but only make it to your knees before two hooded figures loom over the desk. There's time to aim a stunning spell at only one. The Death Eater you hit drops instantly, but your stomach still clenches in dread. The other's wand is pointed at your face and his spell is already half voiced.

"Avada-"

You throw yourself flat, your only hope that the spell might miss. You hold your breath, waiting for bright green light.

But the rest of the curse never comes. There’s the thud of a body hitting the floor. Then rapid footsteps. You roll over quickly, wand at the ready.

"Y/N?"

Felix's black hood is thrown back. His rich brown eyes gaze down at you, swimming in fear and relief. You squeeze your own shut to stop yourself staring. It's been so long since you've seen that expression, you'd forgotten how much you missed it. Or maybe you've never been so glad to see it. You take in large gulps of air, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you alright? What are you doing here?“

Felix's panicked words remind your of your mission. You push yourself up with a groan, skin smarting where it's smacked the hard floor. Felix bends hastily, holding out a hand. You hesitate for only a second before letting him pull you to your feet.

It's a moment before either of you can speak. Felix inspects you from head to toe, presumably searching for injuries. You straighten your dress, trying to hide your blush. You wish you were wearing something more substantial.

"I...thank you...I guess," you say at last, to your shoes. You're not quite ready to look Felix in the face.

Felix doesn't answer. You lift your gaze, head buzzing with nerves, and catch him staring at your hand.

"You're...not wearing your ring," Felix says haltingly. An eager light flickers briefly in his eyes. "Are you and Talbott...not-"

Your face contorts in annoyance. You cross your arms to hide your hand.

"Is this really the time?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Felix answers, "No. No it's not." Hints of concern reform on his features. "Y/N, you have to go. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere,” you insist hotly. “Not until I find the other students."

"They're safe. Relatively. As safe as I could manage. If the aurors hurry, they can get them out in time.”

"What do you mean, as safe as you can manage?"

"We have them rounded up in another room," Felix explains rapidly, eyes darting nervously to the doors. "I convinced the others we could use them as leverage, so they're not about to be killed. I'll make sure the aurors finds them, I promise. Just trust me."

At the word We, you can't suppress a shiver. It isn't the pleasant sort of shiver Felix usually inspires.

"Trust you?" you repeat, adjusting your grip on your wand. "You're a Death Eater, Felix."

Felix makes a noise of exasperation. He shuffles in place, as if desperate to be gone.

"That doesn't mean I want students to be killed. I'm not a murderer."

"How could I know? You've already proven you're more than willing to lie to me when it suits you."

"That was to keep you safe! " Felix almost shouts in frustration. "Exactly what I'm trying to do now!"

He makes a sudden movement as if to grab your shoulders. You jump back, wand lifting on instinct. Felix freezes. He eyes your wand, and perhaps you're only imagining hurt in the lines of his face. When he speaks again, his words are fast and strained.

"Y/N, I made a mistake. An awful mistake, and I'm paying for it every day I'm not with you. Every day I wake up and realise I have - have nothing." Felix's voice cracks briefly. "I know I deserve that. I deserve for you not to trust me. But you have to believe that all I want in the world is get you out of here alive."

You wish you didn't believe him. It would make everything so much easier. But in spite of his crimes, your instinct about Felix hasn't changed. You can't imagine him ever doing anything to hurt you. On purpose, anyway.

"If that's true," you say softly, "Then help me get the students out. Because I'm not going anywhere until I do."

It's clear from Felix's grimace how much he dislikes this plan. He runs desperate fingers through his hair, searching for cracks in your resolute expression. But your face remains firm. Felix is finally forced to sigh.

"Alright. Follow me."

Felix leads you through the twisting labyrinth of rooms and corridors, most showing evidence of a fight. Doors are splintered or hang off hinges, and you have to watch your feet to avoid scattered piles of broken glass. You're just beginning to be concerned about how far in you are when Felix stops outside a heavy, un-battered door. A low mutter of voices carries from inside.

"Stay here," Felix whispers. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, "Please. There are guards. I'll need to get rid of them."

"I can help," you whisper back, but Felix shakes his head. Only your desire to find the students quickly keeps you from further protests. Reluctantly, you lean against the wall out of sight of the door. Felix readjusts his black hood before sweeping into the room.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you press your ear to the jam. You can hear Felix's footsteps walking away, his voice mingling with the others. You lean in closer, trying to make out the words, until a deafening bang from inside makes you flinch. You hear footsteps again, this time coming closer, running fast across hard floor. You grip the doorknob but hesitate, unsure whether to intervene.

Someone shouts an incantation. There's a heavy thud, and a voice cries out in pain. Felix's voice. Without thinking, you grab the handle and fling the door wide.

It takes you only a second to locate Felix, hood askew and blood dripping from his face, on the floor in the middle of the dimly lit room. Another hooded figure looms over him, wand out and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

Your jet of light hits the Death Eater square in the chest. Without waiting to watch him fall, you swing your wand from side to side, searching for enemies. But the only other robed figure you see lies prone beside a door set into the opposite wall.

Felix groans. You step forward quickly, holding out your hand and helping him struggle to his feet. There's a long, clean gash down the side of his face. You're surprised at how sick the sight of the wound makes you.

"Are you alright?"

"I - yes, of course. That was..." Felix rubs the back of his neck, not quite able to meet your eye. "Thank you."

You're saved from thinking up a reply by a muffled cry from behind. Three girls and a boy, all dressed in Hogwarts robes, are huddled against the wall as if thrown there, each trussed up in snaking, black cords. Only one is awake and struggling.

"Ginny!"

You skirt the fallen Death Eater and drop to the ground, using your wand to sever Ginny's bonds. As soon as you tug the cord out of her mouth, Ginny croaks, "Y/N, he's one of them! He's a Death Eater, too!"

You follow her frantic gaze to Felix, standing awkwardly in the background.

"It's alright, Ginny. He's a friend."

Felix blinks, and for a moment his face is filled with the soft joy you love so much to see. Then a door slams.

Felix whirls around, wand raised, and you're on your feet only a second later. But no attack comes; no spells fly. You glance between the doors on either end of the room, but no new hooded figures appear. Instinct suddenly chills your blood and you scan the floor instead.

"Where's...the other one?" you ask haltingly.

Felix's eyes widen as he understands. He shoots a panicked look at the place where the Death Eater had fallen, but his body is nowhere to be seen. Felix sprints to the far door, pressing his ear against it.

"He...must have gone to get the others."

Felix runs his wand across the door frame, sealing it with a squelch. You turn back to Ginny, struggling to stand on what looks like a broken ankle. You mutter, "Episkey" and watch the swelling in the ankle subside, then inspect the other three students. It isn't immediately clear what's wrong with them, but none react when you attempt to use magic to wake them.

"We'll have to carry them," you tell Felix, at your side once more. "You take Ron and I'll get the taller girl. Ginny, do you think you could carry the blonde one? She looks the lightest."

"This isn't going to work." Something in Felix's voice makes your skin crawl.

"Why not?”

"It’s too late. The rest of the Death Eaters will be here in minutes. Even if we use magic to carry them, we'll never make it to the lifts in time."

A leaden weight sinks in your stomach. There's too much truth in Felix's words for you to deny. You cast about for counterpoints, solutions, some sort of foolproof plan, but your brain comes up short.

"Well," you say, forcing yourself to breathe through your panic, "We'll just have to try. Maybe there's somewhere we can hide, or-"

A second slam in as many minutes almost shatters your brittle nerves. You fumble with your wand, aiming it at the door nearest you this time, and almost drop it when you recognise the intruders.

"Talbott," you breathe in relief. "Tonks, Lupin, thank Merlin! The students are here and we've got to get them out. Now. Death Eaters are on the way..."

But Talbott's face steals the words from your lips. He's staring at Felix with eyes so molten they might be made of fire. When he speaks, his voice thrums with suppressed hatred.

"Drop it." Talbott gives a curt nod at Felix's half-raised wand.

Felix's gaze flicks warily from Talbott to Tonks, her wand also lifted, to Lupin, ignoring the stand-off and kneeling to inspect the unconscious students. You notice all three are pale and grim-faced, and you wonder what else has happened. But there isn't time for questions now.

"I said, drop it!"

"Talbott, wait!" You step quickly in between the two men. "Felix led me here. He was keeping the students safe."

Talbott doesn't even blink. If it weren't for his reply, you'd wonder if he heard you at all.

"One half-decent act doesn't make him any less of a Death Eater."

"But he isn't helping the Death Eaters, he's helping us! Helping me. He saved my life from a Death Eater that-"

"This isn't about you!" Flame flickers in Talbott's eyes. "This isn't about us. This is my job. We're rounding up all the Death Eaters. You'll have to plead his case to Mad-Eye, if that's what you want."

The thought of trying to convince Mad-Eye Moody to give Felix a second chance makes you blanch. You open your mouth to argue, but this time it's Felix who cuts you off.

"You won't have to worry about in any of that in a minute. A dozen powerful wizards are on their way through that door." Felix jerks his head toward the other end of the room. "I highly doubt you'll be able to round them all up just the three of you."

Talbott spares a wary glance at the far door.

"He's right," Tonks chimes in, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "Let's get the students out first, then come back with Mad-Eye and the others."

Tonks lowers her wand, and moves to help Lupin with the unconscious teenagers. Lupin has already lifted the taller, bushy-haired girl over his shoulder, and uses his wand to levitate the unconscious Ron. Tonks mirrors his spell on the small, blonde girl. She wraps her free arm around Ginny to help keep weight of her still-tender ankle.

"We'll never make it at that pace," Felix says darkly, eyeing the careful way Lupin manoeuvres Ron toward the door. "They'll catch us up before we're halfway to the lifts."

"You're not going anywhere until you drop your wand!" Talbott tries to point his wand around you at Felix, but you move with him, blocking his view. Behind you, Felix snorts.

"And leave myself unarmed when they all surge in at any second? I've betrayed them! They'll spare me about as much mercy as they will you."

A soft sound from the far end of the room suddenly stops your heart. All three of you fall silent as you watch the doorknob turn slowly. It rotates each way once, then stills. You hold your breath, braced for another loud slam, but the door remains closed.

"Tonks," you say into the trembling silence, "You and Lupin, take the students and go."

Lupin is two steps ahead of you. He has Ron through the door already, and waits impatiently for Tonks. But Tonks looks from you to Talbott uncertainly.

"I think...we ought to stick together."

"We'll be right behind you," you say. "We'll give you time to get to the lifts." You try to smile reassuringly, but your mouth doesn't remember how. You can only hope you sound more confident than you look.

Tonks continues to hesitate, until a hard thud on the opposite door makes her and Ginny both jump.

"Come on!" Lupin calls from the other room. Tonks shoots a final, unsure look at Talbott before forcing the eerily floating blonde student ahead of her through the door.

Another thud, then the sound of voices echoes from the other side of the room. The doorknob rattles again, violently this time. The noise seems to shake Talbott from his unswervable anger. His wand wavers before finally abandoning Felix for the far door, his eyes reflecting frantic thought.

"What spell did you use on the door?" you ask Felix, your voice betraying your nerves. Felix's answer is equally unsteady.

"It's a variation on an imperturbable charm. But it's not impenetrable. With enough of them, they can break the spell." Felix's head snaps toward you, mouth set in a thin, grim line. "Y/N, you need to leave. Now. Go with the others."

"That's ridiculous, we stand a better chance with three of us.“

"He's right." Both you and Felix look at Talbott in shock. For the first time since entering the room, Talbott meets your gaze. "You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," you argue, holding Talbott's eyes. You're close enough that you can watch the fire in them melt into liquid, like a churning yellow-gold ocean.

"Please, Y/N, go." And there's a pain in Talbott's voice like you've never heard. "I can't lose you. Not again."

Your heart breaks gently at Talbott's confession. Exactly as it had when he first managed to pen those words. You wish you could promise him something, anything to assuage his fear. But the far door is shaking now. You've run out of time. You take a breath, steeling yourself for a last stand, the way you have so many times before. Facing death is nothing new for you, but you don't want anything to be left unsaid if it comes.

"Talbott." You close the distance between you in short, measured steps, as though worried he might fly away. "I did get lost...but I found my way back. You led me back. And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. I - I promise." Your fingers brush Talbott's softly, asking permission. "Whatever happens, happens to both of us."

Talbott's fingers close around yours on instinct. He grips your hand tightly, all his attention on you as if there were nothing else in the room.

"Do you mean that?"

You can only nod, your words exhausted. But he sees the answer in the spark of your eye.

"Y/N." Talbott releases your hand to reach for your face. He strokes your cheek in careful wonder like he's forgotten how. You close your eyes, reveling in his touch.

"Go."

The word startles both of you. Talbott let his hand fall abruptly. You turn to face Felix, unable to hide a slight blush. Talbott's mere touch has made you so dizzy you can't comprehend Felix's meaning right away.

"What?"

"Go. Both of you, go." Something has changed in Felix’s voice. It's no longer nervous. It's no longer anything. It's empty and lifeless, like the voice of a corpse. "I'll distract them. Tell them some story. Buy you enough time to get to the lifts."

You shake your head slowly. "No...Felix, that's...there must be some other-"

Felix takes your chin delicately in his hand, and your voice trails away. You feel Talbott shift beside you, but Felix moves no closer. His empty eyes merely wander your face, as if trying to memorise each part of it.

"Y/N. Let me do this. For you. I-" His voice cracks like dead leaves. "I never meant to hurt you."

The pounding on the far door intensifies. The heavy wood splinters, and light pokes through from the other side. If anything else can be seen, your vision is too blurry to catch it. You close your hand around Felix's, trying to blink back the tears. There's so much you want to say to him. To this man who handles you so delicately, looks at you like treasure, loves you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. But you aren't sure there are words to explain how you feel. You can only nod, and say inadequately, "I know."

Felix releases your face, then locks eyes with Talbott.

"Keep her safe."

Talbott's jaw tenses once before he manages a short nod. He grasps your hand again and tugs you gently toward the door.

You take a last look at Felix Rosier, watching you walk away from him.

"Go," he says once more.

Felix turns to face the oncoming noise. And you turn and run the other way, Talbott at your side.

You don't stop running until you reach the lifts. Talbott guides you back through the labyrinth of rooms, never loosing his grip on your fingers. There's no sign of Tonks, Lupin, and the students, and you can only hope distantly that they've made it out alright. Once inside the lift, you throw yourself against the wall. Your breathing comes in short, painful gasps and hot tears still threaten the corners of your eyes.

"Are you alright?" Talbott's voice is so quiet you almost miss it under the sound of blood pounding in yours ears.

You glance up at Talbott, blinking through your tears. He stands stock still, eyes alert and tense. You choke back a mad laugh. It reminds you forcibly of teenaged Talbott: the awkward, anxious boy you fell in love with almost instantly, whose stillness hid such depths and inspired the best in you.

"Yes," you answer honestly, wiping your eyes. "I'm - I'm alright." You take a shuddering breath, trying to settle your swirling thoughts. "Talbott... I-"

There's no time to worry about finding the right words. Talbott takes your face in his hands and stops you with a kiss like wildfire. He clutches you to him, dragging his hands across you artlessly, trying to pull you into him until you occupy the same space. It's a closeness you've craved for so long, and your hands are no less wild. You can never have enough of this. Enough of him.

You tear your lips away, gasping for breath, but Talbott won’t release you. You're forced to speak against his neck as he clings to you for life.

"Talbott, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You repeat the words over and over. You can't think of anything else to say. Talbott's head shakes where its pressed against yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"What?"

You struggle to ease Talbott’s hold on you just enough so you can meet his molten eyes.

"You've always come after me. All the time I've known you, our whole lives - I run and you come find me. And the one time you needed me to come find you, I didn't. I was...too afraid." Talbott tangles his fingers in your hair, closing the fraction of space between you again, until his forehead rests against yours. "But this time, I promise...I won't let you go. Not ever again."

For once, it's you that can’t give your thoughts voice. When the lift doors open, you and Talbott are still clasped together, speaking softly in a language that communicates feeling better than words ever could.

Epilogue

"Good morning," you whisper huskily in your husband's ear.

He groans without opening his eyes. You giggle softly, trailing breathy, teasing kisses up his neck, under his chin. His lips part, inviting yours into a lazy, lingering kiss. When you pull away, his eyes remain firmly shut.

"You're sleepy this morning," you murmur.

Talbott cracks an eye. "You know, some people sleep in on their honeymoon."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. Some people even enjoy it."

You trace his collarbone with a finger. You can hear Talbott's breath catch.

"Strange. I enjoy my waking life a lot more than dreams."

Talbott stirs, at your touch or your words. He rolls you over in his arms until you're pinned beneath him. You revel in the sensation of being very slightly crushed by the body you adore.

"What's so great about it, then?" Talbott asks in dry amusement. "The smell of the sea, or the sound of the waves, or the room service that means we never actually have to get out of bed?"

You grin, and shake your head against the pillow. "None of the above."

"Really?"

"Really." You trail your fingernails lightly up and down Talbott's back, savouring the feel of his warm skin. Talbott shudders under your hands. He locks eyes with you, his molten, yellow-gold stare saying everything you love to hear. He leans down to murmur against your lips:

"What then?"

You smile. Your mouth meets Talbott's and you say in between tantalising kisses:

"I'm Mrs Talbott Winger. I'm your wife. I'm on my honeymoon - in the middle of a war, where we're being constantly hunted - but...I'm with you. So I'm better than safe."

Talbott's only response is another kiss, but you know exactly what he means.

#felix rosier #talbott winger #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier reader insert #Talbott winger reader insert #Talbott winger x mc #felix rosier fanfiction #talbott winger fanfiction #hphm fanfiction #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery fanfic #juniper windsong #reader insert #love triangle #dark!

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discotenny · 5 years ago

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Corner Store [1]

Description: Arthur Kirkland has owned and run a corner store for the past 15 years. He is determined to go through the rest of his life with minimal change. However, when he takes notice of three high school boys, his world gets turned around as he tries to piece back his life in a way that he thinks it's supposed to be. Word Count: 2,104 Warnings: Obsessive behavior, underlying issues, panic attack Characters in Chapter: Arthur Kirkland [Britain], Francis Bonnefoy[France], Alfred Jones[USA], Gilbert Beilschmidt[Prussia], Matthias Nillson[Denmark], Abel Sinterniklaas[Netherlands] Characters Mentioned: Peter Kirkland[Sealand], Toumas Nillson[Finland], Matthew Bonnefoy[Canada], Elizabeta Héderváry[Hungary], Ivan Braginsky[Russia]. Yao Wang[China], Lukas Nillson[Norway] Ship/s Mentioned: RusAme[Alfred & Ivan] AU: !Corner Store AU! !Human AU!

I know I know, this is a far division from the usual content I post on this blog haha. For those not in the loop[literally everyone who follows me], this is for a project and fandom dedicated to Hetalia! While it has had its ups and downs it remains an important part in my life for introducing me to this website + helping me discover writing for fandom lol. My part of the project is two chapters of a story idea I’ve had in my mind for a while. Also, consider this my official return from my [short] hiatus! -Mod Ioten <3

The coffee wasn’t in the right place. Nothing bothered Arthur more than when his store was out of order. An itch crept up into his hand, something that always appeared when anything wasn’t in its place. Several cans of instant coffee were right next to the bags of chips, but they were supposed to be in between the tea and coffee creamer. He used to personally stock the shelves, but lately there were some issues he had to deal with at home and he had to hire someone to help him out. No matter how much he didn’t want to. Francis still had a lot to learn, but he did bring in more business; customers seem entranced by his charm, something Arthur didn’t understand. “Francis!” Arthur called, picking up a can. The Frenchman strutted in from the other side of the store holding a broom.

“Oui?” He gave a sly smile, and Arthur couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“You put some of the coffee in the snack shelf while they’re supposed to go on the shelf above it.” Arthur began to move the cans, one by one to the correct shelf. Turning to his employee he asked, “Did you restock the milk yet? We ran out of whole and 2% yesterday.”

“You only had 2% in the back, no whole coming in until tomorrow,” Francis replied, sweeping the floor around them. Sighing, he stopped and looked up. “Mon ami, have you ever considered getting an air freshener around here? I’m tired of coming in and smelling dust, plastic, and prepackaged food.” Francis frowned, kicking a cobweb that nestled itself under the shelves.

Arthur scoffed in reply, “It smells perfectly fine here. No one has complained so far, and no one ever will because the store smells fine.” Francis gave him a weak smile.

“If you insist….”

Francis continued to sweep the floor, and Arthur finished fixing the shelves. Taking a step back, he smiled proudly at his work; despite how meaningless it may seem. Everything was in order, and the itchy feeling in his palm was gone. Checking down at his watch, there were twenty minutes until school ended for the nearby high school. Though Francis would be checking out soon to pick up one of his sons, and Arthur could always handle the influx of customers that came in at the time. Whether it be the high schoolers themselves, teachers, or random people who just happened to stop by, people would always come by the shop. Getting behind the counter, Arthur got himself comfortable for the afternoon rush. He took out one of the newspapers he sold.

He tried to focus on the horrible news in the paper, yet Arthur’s cynical mind drifted to his customers. No one came in yet, no one ever came in at this time. The store stayed silent with the exception of the soft music coming from the radio that drowned out the pouring rain. But the same set of customers would soon come in once the final bell rang. The same three boys, always buying relatively the same items. One of them, Alfred, was Francis’ stepson. Despite not being blood-related, Arthur could see that Francis cared deeply about him. Alfred was a decent enough kid, a little too eccentric for Arthur’s liking, but he reminded him of his own son. Arthur was moderately familiar with Matthias, as Arthur used to tutor his younger brother, Lukas. Gilbert, Arthur only saw when he came in with Alfred and Matthias.

Arthur moved his arm to check his watch again. Five minutes before the school bell rang. Humming quietly to himself, he took a look around the shop. For the past 15 years, this is where he’s been. Such simplicity, and yet it meant so much to him. It was absolutely, positively, completely perfect the way everything looked.

He looked up from his paper to look at the window beside him. The clouds looked angry, and the rain got heavier and heavier to signify a storm approaching. People were walking down the sidewalk, and he could hear commotion making its way towards the store. The chime of a bell, signifying a customer entering, made Arthur unconsciously smile. Shuffling could be heard, and Arthur took a sip of his tea as wet footsteps approached the counter. “This will be all,” the low mumble was almost barely audible, but Arthur could recognize the person just by the items they bought. Never buying the same thing, Abel always bought the off-brand items due to how cheap they were. Tea biscuits, lightbulbs, and canned asparagus were his purchases for today.

“If you looked next to the eggs we had some herbs for sale,” Arthur hummed. “Some celery was there as well.” The aura around Abel stiffened, and the large Dutchman tried his best to resist the temptation Arthur laid out. No matter how much he wanted to say otherwise, his soft spot for his rabbit outweighed his yearning for cash.

Abel shakily sighed, “Is that so?” He had to keep his eyes from drifting away to the open-air fridge. Arthur felt a smile creep onto his face, keeping his head down as to not let his customer see.

“Yeah, and Yao usually sells them for more than double our prices,” The words fell out of Arthur’s mouth smoothly, preying on the fact that the Dutchman couldn’t resist the best deal possible. The air between them was cold, Abel’s stiff stature slowly cracking away with every word that Arthur said. It was a battle that occurred between them often, Arthur usually winning.

“Kip has been behaving nicely....” Abel muttered, reluctantly letting his shoulders relax. Giving out a breath, he gave into Arthur’s tactics. With a short cough, he let Arthur have his win, “I will buy a stalk.”

Looking up, smiling as if he wasn’t already gleaming, Arthur replied, “Perfect! I’ll add the price of the stalk to your total and you can be on your way.”

Abel grunted, aggressively grabbing the paper bag Arthur pushed his way. As he walked out, he could hear the shop owner telling him that he’ll see him later, and he just raised his hand in reaction.

The smile never wavered even as Abel left his shop. There were a few customers that would make their trip to the counter once they were finished. Arthur’s attention, however, was on the trio of highschoolers that followed in after Abel left. “I don’t know how I failed that chemistry quiz, my grade’s totally down the shitter!” Alfred groaned loudly as he struggled to close his umbrella, it resisting no matter how hard he tried to pull it into place. “How the hell does Francis work this thing.” He yelped as the umbrella snapped down once he clicked the button.

“It’s ‘cause you were staring at Ivan the whole study period yesterday, that hunk of a Russian keeps distracting you,” Matthias teased, walking to the sweets aisle. The other two boys followed, Alfred quickly grabbing a bottle of soda from the freezer.

“Hey, Mattie told me to get some milk before I came home, I’ll be at the counter,” With a peace sign, Alfred departed from the trio.

Gilbert scanned the shelves for his desired treat; a bag of Haribo gummy bears. And although he looked up and down the shelves, his favorite candy wasn’t to be seen. “Hey store man!” He yelled, and Arthur piped up.

“Yes?” Arthur got up from his seat and walked towards the isle the voice was coming from.

The German pointed to the empty hook which once held what he was looking for, “Do you have any gummy bears available?”

Arthur thought back to earlier today, where one girl bought the rest of his gummy bear stock. “Ah, I’m sorry about that. Earlier today a young lady came in and purchased my supply. We won’t be getting more until Friday I’m afraid.”

Gilbert stared at him for a moment, processing what the store owner said. “By any chance…” He mumbled, and Arthur almost couldn’t hear, “Was the girl wearing a flower pin with pink and orange carnations? And was she wearing one of these uniforms?” Gilbert tugged at his uniform with a blank expression.

“She did! Do you know her from school?” Arthur questioned, fighting a sickening smile that threatened to creep onto his cheeks.

The boy’s blank expression turned to one of anger. Matthias started laughing at him from behind, and Gilbert turned around to tell him to shut up. “She’s our- uh- friend!” Matthias butt in, grabbing Gilbert’s shoulder with his empty hand. In the other, he held a bag of black licorice, one that Arthur recognized immediately.

“Lovely, if you still want your bag of gummies, I might have a couple of those gummy roles made by the same company,” Hook, line, and sinker.

The greyish haired male’s attention perked immediately, and Arthur couldn’t help the smile that approached his face. “I suppose that would do…”

“Excellent!” Arthur waved his hand to symbolize that the boys needed to follow him to the counter.

“Yo Mr. Kirkland! No red milk today?” Alfred asked as Arthur got closer to the counter.

“Red milk?” Arthur had to think for a while about Alfred’s choice of words, “ Ah, whole milk. We ran out yesterday and your father could only find 2%,” Arthur gave the signature smile that he learned to give whenever childlike ignorance was at play. “I can check Alfred out first. If you boys want to buy anything else just let me know,” He slipped himself behind the counter and took the milk and soda from Alfred.

“The weather’s getting pretty bad…” Matthias muttered, taking a glance towards his friends.

Gilbert sighed and looked out the window, “Ja, news says that the storm won’t let up until like three in the morning. Do you just wanna grab a bus or something??”

A loud crack suddenly made its way into everyone’s ears. Gilbert and Matthias’ eyes quickly darted towards Alfred, who was visibly sweating despite the cold weather. Alfred took a big gulp of air, and gripped the side of the counter tightly as he tried to steady himself; failing as his body slowly sunk closer to the ground. “You okay man?” Matthias grabbed his shoulders and tried to bring him up.

Alfred looked at the ground sickly, attempting to steady his breath and contain the tears that threatened to leak out. “I-I’m uh-” his speech started to stutter, something Arthur never saw from the energetic American. His palm started to itch a little bit. “I’m- I’m fine,” he assured. “I’m fine,” Alfred repeated again, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of the same thing.

Arthur had to grab his wrist tightly so he wouldn’t begin to scratch his hand, “Are you sure? I can give you so-”

“I’ll call Toumas so he can give us a ride home safely. Is it okay if we wait here a little bit Mr. Kirkland?” Matthias asked, getting his phone out and putting the bag of licorice on the counter. “I’ll pay for Alfred’s stuff. Can you get him, Gil? I’ll buy your stuff too.”

Gilbert nodded and grabbed Alfred, pulling him to the side despite the protests. “Of course, I have a couple customers still needing to pay though, so once you pay make your way into the back exit.”

Matthias nodded, and looked behind him, muttering a small apology to the people politely waiting for them to finish. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Kirkland. Alfred uh- doesn’t deal very well with storms.”

Arthur nodded understandingly and separately bagged the three boy’s groceries. Matthias made his way towards his two friends, grabbing the bags and thanking Arthur profusely. Despite trying to grab Alfred’s shoulders again, he pushed both of them away, insisting he didn’t need to be helped.

Bringing his phone closer to his ear, Arthur could make out tiny bits of conversation from the Dane’s side. “Hej Toumas! Can you give Gil and Al a ride home? We’re stuck in the storm at the corner store near the school…. No, not the grocery run by Mr. Wang, the one run by Lukas’ tutor…. Yeah, that one. Ten minutes? Alright, I’ll tell the guys, thanks Toumas!”

The Dane clicked off his phone and gave a thumbs up to Arthur. He smiled back and centered his attention on the lady waiting at the counter. “My apologies for the long wait ma’am, those boys needed assistance.”

The itch in Arthur’s palm didn’t go away until long after the trio left.

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victoodles · 5 years ago

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Lady Luck

i’m back to live out my low honor arthur fantasies because i’m too scared to actually play him. find on AO3!

“C’mere darling.” Arthur’s voice is as smooth as the whiskey he’s sampling, lined with the same warmth. The type that starts at your cheeks and spreads down to your fingertips after a few sips. It’s alluring, as always, and your feet carry you without a second thought.

Arthur’s gathered around one of the many makeshift tables with a few of the other men: John, Bill, Lenny, and Uncle. It’s a quiet evening, one that doesn’t call for money to be robbed or men to be shot. So during this lull, they spend their time gambling at apropos of nothing. Why steal from strangers when they can empty each other’s pockets just as easily?

It seems Arthur is currently the most successful poker tycoon, an impressive pile of wooden chips resting just in front of him. It’s just a hunch, but something tells you that his streak won’t be beat anytime soon.

“Mister Morgan,” you greet, blushing slightly at the wolffish grin that crosses his face from his name. You’re well acquainted with his preferences, what sparks his moods like flint. It’s a song and dance he’s taught you many times now, the steps are muscle memory.

Arthur reaches out for you and takes your hand in his, an idle thumb tracing your wrist. “Why don’t you sit with me?” He asks, patting his thigh with his free hand. It’s posed as a request, but he knows you could never deny him of anything. “Watch me bleed these fools for all they got,” he adds with a snicker earning eye rolls and groans from those he’s mocking.

“Come on Arthur, don’t embarrass us in front of the lady!” Lenny pleads, his defeat apparent on his face.

“This is a men’s game, Arthur. Leave your woman out of it.” Bill barks but quickly swallows his remaining choice comments when he sees the ferocious glare Arthur directs at him. Arthur’s bad side is the last place anyone wants to be.

“Shut up Williamson,” John laughs, “let her stay. Arthur’s reign of terror will end soon and she’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”

“We’ll see about that, Marston.” Arthur responds coolly, turning his attention back to you.”Well darlin’?” He asks you again.

Don’t keep him waiting.

You smile shyly and nod; Arthur spares no time pulling you into his lap. A soft whisper of praise is purred against the shell of your ear. and a shiver wracks you on queue.

“Well ain’t Arthur a lucky duck,” Uncle says with a lecherous whistle. “We’re doomed now fellas, Arthur’s got himself a pretty lil’ Lady Luck.”

“Careful Uncle, or I’ll personally put you in an early grave,” Arthur warns. Uncle just retorts to the threat with a raspberry. The chatter is quickly ceased and their attention is returned to the game at large.

Arthur uses one arm to hold his cards while the other is wrapped snugly around your waist, settling you comfortably into his lap. You hope the dim light of the kerosene lamp masks the pink adorning your cheeks. It doesn’t, and Arthur notices. It’s only amplified as his hand sneakily travels down to your rear, palming it eagerly just below the table’s view.

You fight to contain a yelp of surprise when Arthur starts to move your hips against him. He quickly silences you with a well placed pinch to your bottom, stopping his movements briefly. You know better than to voice your displeasure.

Although he isn’t shy to unconventionally displaying his affections, there’s an added excitement when he expects you to hide it from the rest of the gang. Another familiar game of his with a memorized set of rules.

Stay quiet, win a prize.

You bite your lip, mentally preparing yourself before you wrap your arms around his neck.

Check.

Arthur taps his knuckles against the wood, passing his turn on to Bill beside him. While Bill mulls over his strategy, Arthur resumes his ministrations. He uses your hips to trace subtle circles with your rear against his lap.

Bill follows Arthur with a check as well. Uncle and Lenny regretfully have to fold. They can’t afford to be bankrupt by Arthur - again. John checks and deals another card.

Raise.

Arthur makes things interesting in the form of forty cents, earning him a few scoffs of disbelief. He looks down at his cards confidently and then to you.

“A kiss for good luck?” He presents his cheek to you and you concede to his wishes with a giggle, gifting him a chaste kiss. Arthur rewards you in kind with an upward thrust of his hips, disguised as a seating readjustment.

A heat forms in your stomach as you feel the hard ridge of his erection on the underside of your thighs. The friction is pleasant, nipping just underneath your skin and enveloping you in a pleasurable haze.

It sends that same heat fluttering lower, lower, and lower.

A moan bubbles up in your throat, begging to be set free. You hold it back and Arthur chuckles darkly as you grip his shirt a little tighter than before. His laughter rumbles in his chest like thunder as he generously pairs a swivel of your hips with another well calculated “adjustment”.

Another cycle of turns weans the competition, eliminating Bill from the pot. John turns the final card upward on the table and regards his hand with a wry smile.

Proceed with caution if you want to go up against the wolf.

“All in, Morgan.” John growls as he pushes his remaining chips into the center. The table goes eerily silent as the onlookers go back and forth between the two outlaws. They unanimously think that John Marston is a fool for challenging Arthur Morgan.

“Oh so you’re finally ready to play with the big boys huh?” Arthur taunts, pulling you as close to him as possible before taking your chin in his hand.

“All in.” Arthur follows John’s poor attempt at one-upmanship as he pushes his own chips into the pile before turning to face you.

Arthur calls for a hungrier kiss this time to quell the adrenaline surging through his nerves. His lips move against yours and you can taste the whiskey on them still, further intoxicating you. You gasp into his mouth as he bites at your bottom lip before he retreats to handle this unfinished business.

The gentle sting and the press of his cock against the building pressure in your belly is a spectacular promise of more to come. But first he has to remind an insolent boy who’s top dog around here.

Breath is held as John reveals his hand with gusto, a simper spread across his scarred face.

Full House.

Arthur gives John an unimpressed look, disregarding the hand he was previously pleased as punch about. Immediately, John senses the trouble he’s soon to be knee deep in.

“That all you got Johnny?” Arthur jabs, feigning boredom. Any defensive rebuttal dies on John’s tongue as Arthur nonchalantly tosses his own hand onto the table for all to witness.

Royal Flush.

Arthur takes all.

You’re so giddy with excitement, all the protesting discordance is mere background noise. Your focus is primarily on Arthur, basking in his victorious, golden glow.

Win fun games, win fun prizes.

“Gentleman.” Arthur addresses everyone as he stands, sweeping you into his arms with ease. He doesn’t attempt to hide the hand that eagerly finds purchase on your rear once more. You try to contain your squeal of delight but it seems Arthur is keen to hearing it.

Arthur regards his winnings tepidly; this was never about the prospect of taking a meager amount of pocket change.

“I’ll be taking my winnings and retiring for the evening.” Arthur begins to head back to the manor of Shady Belle, leaving a seething and significantly poorer John behind. The hand on your bottom is soft (for now). Arthur thinks you’re in for a well deserved reward.

“And John,” Arthur regards the loser once more. “You can bring my money to my room in a few hours.”

#vic's fics!#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #low honor arthur morgan #he's so NASTY #but i love him so much

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salutmonmec · 5 years ago

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EVEN THE DEAD DESERVE A SONG

an Elu Hunger Games AU

ao3 link

Lucas has been in love with the same boy since he was five years old.

Now, he will be forced to fight him to the death.

What a fucking nightmare.

CHAPTER 5: BABY, YOU’RE LIKE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“FUCK!”

Lucas’ vision blurs as he tries to jerk away, but Alexia’s surprisingly strong hands have a vice grip around his left leg, rubbing lotion in furiously before Lucas can kick her in the face. She lets him go as she turns to throw away the wax strip.

“That was the last one, you’re fine!”

“I think I’m bleeding.” He examines his leg for any sign of injury, positive that she ripped all the skin off.

“Oh shut up, why are boys always such drama queens?”

Arthur laughs as he sweeps up the bits of Lucas’ hair from the floor where he gave him a haircut earlier. Alexia smirks at him, freckled cheeks flushing. “I’m serious! You never hear the girls complain.”

Lucas slowly sits up on the padded table, groaning. He shoots Alexia a glare.

“I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Alexia raises her eyebrows at him. “That’s sort of the point.”

Lucas’ mouth twitches up into a small smile as he slides off the table, stretching his legs out. He bounces on his feet, rubbing them together. He feels like a newborn seal. He turns to glance at himself in the mirror. His black tie-back gown is all rumpled, but his legs, much to his surprise, don’t look too strange. The lack of hair makes his muscles stand out more. He’s not complaining.

Arthur sets down the broom and walks over to stand next to Lucas in front of the mirror, turning to pick at some pieces of his freshly trimmed hair. He hadn’t cut too much off, leaving it on the longer side, styling it into a side part that tamed a bit of the ridiculous volume. Arthur runs his fingers through it, breaking apart some of the gelled pieces, letting some strands fall softly across Lucas’ forehead. He sighs, tilting his head and looking into the mirror with a frown.

“Of course your hair looks perfect now, right before we have to style it for the parade.” Arthur purses his lips, hands settling on his hips. He looks at Alexia over his shoulder. “Do you know when Imane’s getting here?”

Alexia shrugs casually as she wipes down the waxing table. “I think soon? The fittings usually take a while.”

Right on cue, a knock on the door startles them all a bit. A Peacekeeper opens it, backing up to reveal a woman who Lucas assumes is Imane. Her face is serious, dark eyes rimmed with black liner, gold eyeshadow a stark contrast to her brown skin. Her hair is wrapped up in a black headscarf, ears glistening with multiple piercings. She’s wearing a baby blue high-necked sweater, tucked into flowy, high-waisted black pants. Pretty and supremely intimidating, all at once. She walks over to greet Arthur and Alexia, the ends of her pant legs flitting upward to reveal spiky gold boots, sharp enough to do some serious damage with a kick. Lucas swallows down a nervous gulp.

After quick hugs and greetings, Arthur and Alexia shuffle their way out the door, throwing Lucas a wave and mouthing see you later. He sends them a small smile before turning his attention to Imane, who is standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He pushes down his nerves, walking up to her with a hand out to shake.

“I’m Lucas.”

Her face warms with an amused smile, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

“You don’t think it’s my job to already know your name, Lucas?”

He meets her brown eyes, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, sure.” He pauses, moving to lean his back against the waxing table, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you’re paid to find out everything you can about me.”

Imane smirks, hands settling back down on her hips. “Is that so?”

“Make me feel comfortable, spill my guts out to you, all the while you listen and report back everything. So everyone in the Capitol knows who to place their bets on.” He knows he should probably just shut up, but it’s been a long morning. His legs can attest to that. “Isn’t that how this whole thing works?”

Imane shrugs, bracelets on her wrists jingling as she moves. Her amused expression turns serious, eyebrows lowering to furrow over her eyes. “Sure, they’re paying me. A big, fat paycheck actually.”

Lucas narrows his eyes at her questioningly. She meets his stare head-on.

“Doesn’t mean I’m here to work for them.” She steps closer, lifting a finger to push lightly into his collarbone.

“I’m here to work for you.”

Lucas almost barks out a laugh, but he holds back, breath whooshing out in an unamused huff.

“Pretty sure I have no say in any of this.”

Imane smirks. “Maybe not.”

Lucas looks away, a small smile pushing its way onto his lips. At least she’s honest.

He turns back to her, uncrossing his arms to lean back on his hands. “Arthur said this is your first year. Is this how they punish the newbies? Assign them to District 12? God knows I would have no idea how to make mining look good.”

Imane lets out a bright laugh, breaking through the tension in the room. Lucas smiles with her, feeling the pressure in his chest loosen slightly. She moves next to him, mirroring his lean as her giggles die out. She turns to look at him, grinning. “Believe it or not, I actually chose this.”

Lucas snorts before he can stop himself. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Maybe black is my favorite color?” She shrugs again, a smile still twitching on her lips. “Maybe I like a challenge?” She pauses, turning her head towards him, meeting his eyes. The smile is replaced by something softer, her eyes wide and warm. “Or maybe I just have a soft spot for underdogs.”

He breaks the eye contact, looking straight ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. His chest tightens as reality creeps its way back in. “Underdog implies that we have some kind of chance.”

Imane sighs, looking forward, rocking back on her palms. It’s a minute before she speaks, a heavy silence falling between them.

“I’m not here to make you look pretty Lucas.” He brings his hands forward, presses his nails into his palms, trying to quell his sudden anxiety. “I’m not here to turn you into a Capitol play-thing.” She turns towards him, expression fierce. “I’m here to make you look like a competitor.”

His head snaps up to meet her gaze, and she nods, giving an answer to a question he had no idea he was asking. She pushes off the table, moving to stand in front of him. “You’re smart Lucas, anyone who spends ten minutes in a room with you could figure that out. And… rumor has it that you have other skills as well.” Imane gestures a bangled hand to the corner of the room, where covered outfits hang on a rack. “The outfits? The look? I have the easy job. I make sure you’re noticed. The rest is up to you.”

He inhales deeply as the dark voice in his head makes its presence known.

Do you really think you can handle that?

He grits his teeth, shoving the voice back where it belongs.

I don’t have a choice.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and Imane moves to sit back next to him. She hesitates, before lightly laying her arm across Lucas’ shoulders, pulling him gently into her side. His eyes burn as he tries for a smile.

“Guess there is no avoiding the frilly costumes, huh?”

He feels Imane shake with a silent chuckle, air whistling out her nose as her face slowly breaks out in a soft grin. She rubs his back lightly before hopping up and walking over to the clothing rack, unzipping the garment bags in a flourish.

“Who said anything about frilly?”

----

Three motherfucking hours.

He’s tired. He’s thirsty. His foot itches, but he can’t scratch it without messing up the pins that Imane is currently painstakingly placing around the hem of his pants. Maybe this is the actual games, how long you can sit still without going mentally insa-

“OW!”

“Shit sorry!”

Imane carefully places the pin she just stabbed him with into the hem, patting his leg reassuringly. She gestures for him to remove them. “Last adjustment, I promise.”

Lucas wiggles the tight black pants off, careful not to poke himself again. Arthur and Alexia burst their way into the room, a huge stack of hair and makeup supplies tipping out of their hands and onto the table. Lucas looks on, concerned. What are you going to do to me?

Imane had covered up the single mirror in the room, saying that it was more fun for the final reveal to be a surprise. Lucas on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

----

“Are you ready Lucas?”

Arthur and Alexia are practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on their toes on either side of the covered mirror. Their energy makes Lucas smile, but he can’t ignore the fact that he feels slightly ridiculous. His feet are clad in thick-soled lace-up black boots that have to make him at least three inches taller. The leather had been rubbed with black powder, mattifying the finish, like he had been walking through one of the coal mines. He thought they looked cool, but he can’t ignore the fact that every step feels like he has bricks strapped to his feet. The rest of the outfit is black as well, a somewhat simple pant and shirt set. The pants are skin-tight, but made of a thick, ruched fabric that mimics the ridged texture of rock. Surprisingly soft, though. The shirt is matte black silk, thin enough to make Lucas feel almost naked. The neckline is low and wide, exposing his collarbone, while the hem skims the top of his thighs, asymmetrical and flowing. The back has a single shiny silk panel that runs down his spine, and trails behind him a bit as he walks. The sleeves are tight, hitting him at his wrists. Alexia had taken time to paint his nails black, which he already accidentally chipped when trying to drink from a glass of water. She would have smacked him on the back of the head, if Arthur hadn’t just finished styling his hair.

As for his face and hair, he had no idea. Alexia had come at him with handfuls of black makeup. He has a feeling that he looks like a little kid that got into a finger paint set while his parents weren’t paying attention.

Let’s just get this over with.

He nods at them, and they tug the sheet down off the mirror.

…

Holy shit.

The breath he didn’t know he was holding whooshes out, eyes wide as he stares at his reflection. A thin band of black covers his face from temple to temple, running across his eyes, contrasting with the blue and tempering the child-like roundness into something more… adult. Below that, a black handprint had been pressed to the left side of his cheek and jaw, smearing down across his throat and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He reaches up a tentative hand to touch it, still not quite sure that he was actually looking at himself. The sides of his hair are softly slicked back, black paint mixing with it at his temples. The top is a mop of tamed waves, which had been painstakingly styled to fall subtly over the right side of his forehead.

He looks… older. Almost feral. Like he would have no problem burying an axe in someone’s back. I guess that’s the point.

Alexia squeals, clapping her hands in joy as she jumps over to stand beside him. Imane walks over and brushes an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder, smirking, clearly pleased with herself. Arthur is practically beaming at him, which quickly turns into a frown as he shoos Alexia’s hands away from his handiwork. Alexia laughs, twirling away from Arthur to give Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek. His cheeks blush furiously before he can process what happened.

“You look amazing!”

“The black makes your eyes look so blue.”

“What can I say, I’m a genius.” Imane gives a dramatic bow as Arthur and Alexia clap loudly, laughing and hollering. Lucas drags his eyes away from his reflection, smirking to himself.

“So what now?”

Imane smiles at him. “We go grab Eliott, and Daphné will come to escort you over to where the other tributes are being lined up for the parade.” She turns away to start packing up her supplies.

Eliott. Oh, fuck.

He shuffles over to help, grabbing her measuring tape and bringing it over. “So, uh, what’s Eliott wearing? For the parade, I mean?”

Imane shoots him a strange look out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t comment on the clear stutter in his voice. “The same thing. Idriss and I wanted you to look like a team.”

Lucas nods, pursing his lips. “Okay.” Shit.

She gives him a questioning look. “Is that not okay with you?”

He blanks, scrambling for words. “No, no, it’s fin-”

A knock on the door saves him, and Manon pokes her head inside. “Everyone ready to head out over here?”

Imane smiles at her, gathering her supplies up in her arms. “Yes, ma’am.” Arthur and Alexia head out into the hallway first, Lucas and Imane following behind. The door slams behind him, and he takes a slow breath before turning to look down the hallway, but that he could never be prepared for what was waiting for him.

Eliott was standing casually, conversing with a tall dark-skinned man that Lucas could only guess was Idriss. The all-black ensemble contrasts starkly with his pale skin, making the moles and freckles scattered around stand-out sharply against his neck and jaw. The thigh-skimming hemline of the shirt makes his legs look a mile-long, the wide-neck highlighting the surprising broadness of his shoulders. Lucas’ eyes roam up his right arm, the silk clinging to his lean muscles, and his heart jumps into his throat, pressure moving through his stomach to someplace lower.

Jesus, get it together.

He has a handprint mark mirroring Lucas’ twisting across his throat, the black makeup bending sensually over his collarbone. The band across his eyes makes him look like a sort of dark fantasy prince, his normally messy hair combed back away from his face, tame and tightly controlled. He looks like a stranger, intimidating and cold. Eliott turns his face toward him, noticing the influx of people coming out into the hallway. His grey eyes find Lucas and they widen, a slow, bright smile breaking across his face. Suddenly, he’s Eliott again. Lucas tilts his head, matching his grin with a shy one of his own.

Idriss turns to chat with Alexia, freeing up Eliott, and Lucas walks slowly over, holding his gaze. Eliott bites his lip, eyes moving languidly up and down Lucas’ body. A shiver moves through his spine under the intensity of his stare. Is he…?

He reaches him after what feels like an eternity, cheeks aflame with the heat of a thousand suns. He swallows down his nerves, plastering a smirk on his face. He keeps his voice low, so Eliott has to lean down a bit to hear him.

“Please tell me they waxed you too.”

Eliott bursts out laughing, reaching down to lift up the edge of his pant leg. Perfectly smooth. Lucas snorts, shaking his head. He glances back at Eliott, who is still grinning, eyes crinkled up into half-moons, swallowed up into the line of black. Lucas can’t help but stare.

“Of course you manage to pull this,” he gestures at his own outfit, “nonsense off.” He huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “Me on the other hand… on a scale of 1-10, how fucking ridiculous do I look?”

Eliott’s grin gets replaced by something softer, and he gazes at Lucas for an excruciating beat.

“Zero.”

“Well, that’s a lie, you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Lucas looks down at his boots, shuffling his feet, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

“You think I’d lie about something like that?”

His head snaps up so fast he gives himself whiplash, turning back towards Eliott with wide eyes. Eliott had leaned in to say the words, and Lucas almost goes cross-eyed with the effort to not stare directly at his lips. Eliott huffs out a quiet laugh, breath tickling Lucas’ face, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Lucas’ lips pull up into a small smile at the sight. Eliott Demaury. Blushing.

The sound of clacking heels makes Eliott look up, eyes focusing on something behind Lucas. He turns around to see Daphné strutting her way down the hallway, all done up in a brand new red dress, the huge collar folding back around her chin like a giant flower. Lucas coughs into his hand to suppress a laugh, which makes Eliott grin down at his feet. She pushes past everyone, coming up to pull the boys into a tight hug, squealing like a dying animal.

“Don’t you two look fabulous! So…” She shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words, “... dark!” Lucas catches Imane grinning into her hand behind her. He smirks.

“Thanks Daphné.”

She flashes him a bright smile, patting his cheek like a little kid. She spins around, just as quickly. “Alright, off we go boys!”

She starts walking back the way she came, Lucas and Eliott falling into place behind her. Lucas turns to wave at Imane, who winks at him while Arthur and Alexia grin and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles to himself, turning back to face forward, matching Eliott’s stride. He can feel Eliott’s eyes on him, and it takes all his strength not to turn and meet his gaze. Keep it cool, Lucas. They walk in silence the entire way to the parade grounds, Lucas occasionally allowing himself a glance at the beautiful boy next to him. He catches Eliott sending him a look a few times in his periphery, and he feels his skin prickle with every passing glance.

It’s going to be a long night.

#WASSUP MECS #LMAOOO #god its been a little while since ive updated #shit's been crazy #this was a fun one guys #chapter title taken from 'Electric Love' by BØRNS #now imagine lucas and eliott checking each other out while this song plays in the background #you're welcome guys #even the dead deserve a song #my fic #elu fic #elu #skam france #skamfr #skam fr #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant

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