#i can't believe this is finally done

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[elisenel]

Something catches Blitz' eye in the toy garage and Fizz can't help but lend a hand to his bestie 🤲

[asfodeltide]

[heyimkana]

What if I say Husband!Jinwoo from Pillow Talk sounds like this in bed 😵‍💫

[jellyala]

“The Holy Shepherd”

Do you all have time to talk about our lord and savior Saint Vanilla Cookie??? 🙂

Beasts Ancients au belongs to 👉 @cuppajj

[lesiasmadness]

In the spirit of the holiday, I present to you: the worst ship.

Clean versions under the cut in case you'd somehow want them

[lateasalways]

The Righteous Gemstones - 4.01: Prelude

[holographings]

IT'S HERE!!!

The digital English translation of my first published comic is up and available for purchase!

The comic "Break what fate builds", draws inspiration from historical events from the 12th century and motifs from the Byzantine Empire that ruled these areas. Through the characters' eyes, this story focuses on the relationship of young people within the Balkan & their home, distortions of identity, things long lost and much more.

You can get the digital version of Volume 1 here (available in both English and Macedonian) <3

see you for volume 2!!!

[joeypotterdaily]

366/366 days of joey potter 6x24- ...must come to an end

[misc-obeyme]

Belphegor keeps his pain buried so deep, even he isn't fully aware of it. An undercurrent forever replaying the moment his sister died, as he watched her bleed from his place of safety in his twin's arms. The endless scream that lingers beneath his soul, the one that started as he fell and saw his brothers fall beside him. The heartbreaking howl that pierced high above it all when he felt his fingers close around your throat.

It's easy to act like he doesn't care. He holds it all in and sleeps it all away, never confronting the guilt, the shame, the confusion. It's better that way. His brothers will look after him still. They wake him up when he falls asleep at school or dinner, they carry him to his bed when he's dozed off somewhere unusual.

And you… you seem to think that his pact is enough. That he belongs to you now in a way that makes up for what he did to you. You could forgive him over and over again, but that can't change the way he shoves everything aside. Nobody ever bothered to ask him if he forgave himself.

It still surprises him sometimes, when you smile at him. When you take his hand as if that hand never hurt you. The most unexpected moments when you fall asleep in his arms, cozy and safe.

How could you ever trust him again? How can he trust himself with you?

Belphie loves you so much it hurts. It's like a tangled heartbeat that thuds through every other sound of suffering that's always pulsing through his fallen soul.

He knows he can never take back what he's already done. And he also knows he can never give up the way your love seems to fight for him inside himself, beating back every memory, every hurt, every nightmare.

The truth of his past will always be there, waiting to overtake him, to force him into a slumber that will help him forget. And yet Belphie finds that he can put it off a little longer than he used to. He would rather be awake with you because every time you say his name, a tiny piece of that pain heals.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[croquettish]

Fandom: KCD

Pairing: Hansry

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,296

Hans is nine years old the first time he hears the tale of Lancelot and Galehaut from a wandering French minstrel.

Chapter 1/5

[neversetyoufree]

She can't keep getting away with this

[yallthemwitches]

Chapter 7: Seventh Year

He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. Maybe it was unintentional, but his thumb gives a slow caress to her cheek.   “I know I’m an idiot—I don’t deserve anything more than what you have already given me for the past six years— hell, I definitely don’t deserve the second chance back in fifth—but I want you to know, need you to really understand that I have been so foolishly in love with you since the moment I met you.”

Ah, the final chapter! Read under the cut or on AO3! 🥺

A single letter arrives the third day into summer: a drawing of a headstone in a billowing thunderstorm. There is no caption, but there is an epigraph: 

Here lies James Fleamont Potter: willing killed by Lily Marie Evans

She sends his owl back empty handed. 

The summer passes in a single grey blur: she goes to work at the corner pub, comes home, stares at the ceiling. It’s a monotonous hellscape of a life, but it’s still better than being back at school—facing him.  

She doesn’t escape though, not totally. In her dreams he returns again and again. Many of them are just memories, though warped and made bizarre by the saturation of the light or blurry fuzz of the images. Others he shifts through the many versions of himself throughout the years as though searching for a frequency—his height, hair length, slope of his neck changing in milliseconds as he walks alongside her on some unknown path in the forest. She knows when the dream is about to end when the antlers begin to grow—slow and cumbersome from the top of his head. 

“I’m still waiting.”

When not busy with work, her days are spent mostly convincing herself it was all just a fault in judgement. She didn’t ever actually fancy him, not truly. He had simply tricked her again, lulled her in with his beaming smile and warm, enveloping presence until a third year version of herself took hold. She does her best to wrap everything about him—his laugh, his smile, his smell— all into a little box to be shelved in the back of her brain and for a while, it works.

Never, never does she allow herself to think of the night before holiday, because she knows how easy it would be to relapse if she does— the rejected blankets on the cold stone floor, the soft buzz of weed in her veins, the warmth of his hands as they slide under her skirt, whimpers so soft they could have been the wind…

She keeps it all mostly at bay, until another letter arrives.

Due to your outstanding achievements in academic and social standings, your professors and I are pleased to offer you the prestigious position of Head Girl for the 1977-78 school year. Please find your badge attached and a list of duties required upon arriving in September.

It’s laughable how much she can read between the lines: It’s charity. 

She isn’t a fool—Dumbledore might keep them sequestered within the walls of his fortress, but there was a war going on outside and it was finding its way through the cracks. She had to hand it to him—it was smart on his part. Dumbledore might continue to refuse a position in the ministry, but he was no stranger to politics. The end of the letter made that more than apparent:

Fellow Gryffindor, James Potter, will serve as Head Boy alongside you to share in the duties and expectations that come with the position. I highly recommend reaching out over the holidays to prepare for your upcoming posts. I look forward to working with you both in the next coming months.

Best Regards,

Albus Dumbledore

It produces an actual laugh, deep and hateful and cold. Of course he chose a pureblood, a boy with a quidditch pitch, a boy who fits in, a boy who will become something in this world because he is destined for it—and you, the token muggleborn. There was no better optics.

“What’s that?” Petunia scrunches her nose at the badge weighing heavy in her hand. She tosses it across the table, letting it skitter to a halt for her sister to see. 

“It’s your dream come true—I’ve been promoted to head freak.”

Turns out one of the many duties of being ‘head freak’ was receiving an onslaught of correspondence that she is neither prepared nor willing to answer. 

“ I just heard the news—James Potter??? Head Boy??? (Congrats by the way!)”

“It’s karma babe—Dumbledore is fucking with you, that or the universe is trying to tell you something….”

“EVANS. Everyone has gone nutter. Prongs is MIA—first mentally and now (as of an hour ago) physically. Seeing as you are his keeper now (see: Head Girl) I am not-so-kindly requesting you to FIX IT.”

“Fix it.” If only it were that easy. 

“There’s a deer in the garden,” her dad says from the window. Lily looks up, leaving Sirius’ letter to lay open like a cadaver in her lap. Her dad pulls back the curtain further and a rush of sunlight pours in. 

“Mighty rack on it too. Can’t say I’ve seen that kind of wildlife around here since the factory went in? Have you?”

It takes a second to register his words.

Rack meaning antlers. Growing, twisting, closing in—no, creating a cage. Protecting. Golden eyes piercing back. 

“No, I haven’t.”

She doesn’t respond to anyone—folding up each parchment into one big lump of words. When she attempts to shove them in her pocket, she finds the space already occupied. A note from a lifetime ago. 

“ I’ll always pick you!” 

She stares into the eyes of flobberworm James on the page, half hoping it will animate and explain itself. 

“No, you won’t.”

She goes to work, comes home, stares at the ceiling—but a letter from James never comes.The quaffle was in her court so it shouldn’t feel so much like a rejection, but it does. It twists deep in her stomach. 

Nobody could ever love a freak like you. 

She turns her eyes away from the ceiling and scans her bedroom. Letters litter the floor, some from the avalanche this morning, others from a past James she isn’t quite sure ever existed. 

You’re being stupid. This isn’t about fancying him anymore. Grow up. 

With much effort, she drags herself across the room to the table and pulls out a fresh piece of parchment. 

Dear James Potter, 

She stares at the page and a full minute passes. 

How are you?

Congratulations on getting Head Boy.

I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or snog your face off or strangle MYSELF for wanting the latter so badly it hurts.

With a wave of frustration, she throws her pen down and pushes the parchment off the table to mingle with all the rest on the floor. Scrubbing her face, she reaches for a fresh parchment before freezing, her gaze shooting outside the window.

Devil’s Snare winds up her stomach and into her throat to cut off all air supply. She must be dreaming—going fucking nutter—there was no other bloody explanation for it. 

James Potter is in the garden. 

He doesn’t notice her and she doesn’t wait for him to look up, rushing out her bedroom and down the stairs. When she wrenches open the door the sound startles him, his eyes jumping up wide and bright. His hand instinctively runs through his hair and it hits her how long it’s been since she’s seen the tick. “I got over it,” he had shrugged one of their many days studying last year—back in the short period they called each other friends. “ You said you hated it, so I stopped.”

“Alright Evans?”

His eyes flit over her from head to toe, a small blush forming on his temples. It makes her very aware of the short, muggle dress she had thrown on that morning. A small half-smile threatens on his lips.

“Ah, muggle style wins again.”

The way he says it—low and tight, barely above a whisper—makes every stitch of common sense in her want to unwind.

The backdrop of Cokeworth and the smell of toiled earth does not mesh well with the world she has built around him for seven years. At school, it was easy to be guarded, stone walls giving way to stony dispositions, but here, among the dregs of her mum’s garden?

Her floodgates are open and the water is rising fast. 

“How did you get here?”

She can hear how shaky her voice is, cold and hard in the summer warmth. If he notices, he ignores it—stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning his attention elsewhere.

“Lavender by the gate—it’s good luck, you know.” He nods his head over to the creaking metal fence in front of their house. Her mum had said the same thing back when her condition was just a big word on a piece of paper. How dare he know. 

“We have a garden too but it’s only for potions ingredients—Dad insists on growing his own, the uptight sod,” James continues, averting his gaze. If she didn’t already know this dance of his, she would find it laughable. Here we go: his specialty. Deflect, joke, talk in circles. How predictable, how infuriatingly—”

“So, I’m sure you saw I was made Head Boy.”

—straight forward?

“I did,” she stutters, taken aback, “but I don’t see how that warrants a house call.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been answering my letters.”

It hits hard and fast, stinging on impact. She had expected a lot of things from him when they would finally have to meet again, but pain and resentment on his part was not one of them. 

“I’d hardly call some silly drawing a letter.”

“You used to.” His eyes narrow, steely and cold.

“Well, this time there was nothing to say, so drop it.”

She wants to sound sure of herself, but it comes out warped and cracked, like the records they used to listen to on the dorm room floor—like the one that played when…when…

No No No No. Don’t go there, never there…

“I think you should leave.”

It’s not the tears blurring her vision that make the words stick in her throat, but the look on his face as she says them. Pale and helpless and deliberately not James. The James she knows is a ball of light, an endless force of energy ringing laughter through the halls—not, some beaten boy standing in the polluted haze of the moon.

He scrubs his face, knocking his glasses askew. 

“Please. I just need—”

“No.”

“ Merlin, I’m being serious I—”

“I said no. Goodbye Potter.” She twists on her feet and her heels dig into the soil, breath coming painful and shallow from her windpipe.

“I am going to decline the Head Position—I wanted you to hear it from me.”

It pierces sharp and hot into her heart. She spins back towards him to find him still frozen in place. Suddenly, the urge to run, wrap her arms around him and tell him to stay passes over her like a chill.

“Why.”

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

“Yeah, sure. A pureblood not deserving it .” 

She can see the anger rise in his shoulders, his brow knitting into a tight line. Good, show me something Potter.

“What are you talking about? You of all people should know that—”

He stops abruptly, letting out an exasperated sigh. His steeled reserve drops. 

“Look—Dumbledore is nutter for giving me this badge and we both know it. I’ve been a bloody nightmare to them for years—they could have picked anyone else, honestly anyone , and they would have made more sense.”

She snorts. “Never took you to be the self deprecating type.”

It awards her a joyless laugh. 

“Sure you have—I’m the biggest wanker of them all. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

Anger twists in her veins, propelling her back towards him as though ready to strike. She waits for him to recoil, perhaps search for his wand, but he just watches her return, the ends of his untidy hair catching glints of moonlight and quickening her heart.

It’s not until she’s standing back in front of him that she notices something warm and damp pattering onto the skin of her folded arms. His face immediately softens and she can tell he wants to rush forward and wipe the tears from her cheeks, but he won’t and she won’t let him. 

“ Lils,” he pleads, eyes dragging across her tear stained face, “I’m doing this for you.”  

“Do not call me that,” she hisses, wiping her cheek impatiently, “You have no right. And don’t give me that, you have no idea what I want. I don’t care if you are bloody Head Boy or dead at the bottom of the lake at this point I—”

He lets out a strangled cry, turning away from her to clench at his hair. When he turns back, he wipes his eyes, a glassy sheen now coating his irises. 

“You’re right, Evans,” he says, making no effort to smile. “I don’t know—so enlighten me. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” 

A jolt of electricity runs up her spine, threatening her nervous system to short circuit. How many times over the years had he said those words and when did he actually start meaning them?

All of them—every single bloody time.

It unlatches the box that kept the memories of him at bay and suddenly the images seep through like ink on a canvas. James past and present float through her vision like beautiful, wonderful, infuriating ghosts. 

“Be Head Boy or don’t, I don’t care,” her voice breaks, a choking noise bubbling up. “—but stop playing all these games with me because…because I won’t be able to survive it—really Potter. I mean it. I know you are an arrogant prick and probably get your rocks off watching me wallow and make a fool of myself after you like I’m still bloody thirteen, but I’m not some plaything you can just toss around and take the piss whenever you—”

He closes the distance between them so fast, she hardly registers it, both hands cupping her face and demanding her attention. 

“So it wasn’t the drugs. You meant to kiss me.” 

The heat rises so fast it scorches her cheeks. 

“I wish I had never done it.”

“But at the time—you wanted to.”

She wiggles under his hands but he doesn’t let her go, eyes wild and determined. 

Vulnerable. She’s far too vulnerable. 

“What does it matter?” She gasps, tears falling between his fingers, “Like I said, it's all one big game for you. The lads probably got into your head that it was a good idea to—what did they call it?—’pop your muggleborn cherry’ so you decided to entertain my pathetic little relapse and snog me just to say that—”

“Is that really what you think of me?” He cuts her off, nostrils flaring, “Lily, I don’t know what reality you are in but you’ve got this all wrong. I don’t know how I could have made myself any more clear…”

The memories boil over again—every moment he has ever shown her kindness or, god forbid, attraction being shrouded by some other, sinister inner voice. 

“Well, you aren’t being clear!” She screams, finally wrenching his hands off her face. “One day you are giving me foot touches under the table, writing me little letters… and the next you recoil from me in your bloody bed !”

There’s a beat of silence, then James lets out a laugh so unhinged and feral she takes a step back.

“Fucking Hell, you are delusional.”

An insult sits at the top of her tongue but he keeps laughing, all of the tension in his shoulders melting away. He looks completely mad, keeled over with his hair tousled and glasses barely hanging on to his ears. 

“Evans,” he pants, trying to catch his breath, “Me recoiling from you? That was out of self preservation.” 

His words sink to the bottom of her stomach, setting off the flutter of a thousand little snitches. 

“If you had even gotten close—pressed up against me even slightly— I would have made a fool of myself, you’d have felt me make a fool of myself. Merlin, I’m embarrassed just saying it.”

Oh. Oh.  A flush streaks across her face and neck, trying her best to not linger on what it implies—

“Do you get it?” He gasps, finally righting himself and raking a hand through his hair, “Please don’t make me elaborate on the fickle anatomy of a teenage boy, Evans. I’m standing on your bloody doorstep…”

It’s not possible. He’s taking the piss…

Like aligning tiny intricate puzzle pieces, one clicks together with another. 

“But Elodie…Slughorn's party—” she stammers, her whole inside churning, “I know she asked you—Christ, she asked me if she could…”

He looks as though he has been slapped, eyes wide and body leaning back. When he recovers, he speaks slowly.

“Lily…I went to Slughorn’s party looking for you.”

“Rubbish.”

“Fucking honest,” he stammers, eyes getting more bright by the syllable.

“Elodie did ask me, but I turned her down. I went because you had been so weird about wanting me to go in the library—” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes and taking a deep, shoulder clenching breath. 

“—And yes, maybe I was hopeful that you had been trying to ask me…you know, just in a real bloody confusing kind of way.”

Another click of a piece, but instead of making it easier to decipher, it makes everything turn belly up. Years worth of interactions with him racing past her eyes, now at an angle she hadn’t considered before.

But you’re a muggleborn. A freak. No one could love you. Just a plaything to take the piss out of. The sirens begin in her head and they are deafening, making it hard to even think.

“James,” she murmurs, eyes stinging again, “It's too much. I think you should leave.”

Something flashes across his face and his eyes darken, jaw tightening in indignance. 

“Sorry, but no. Not until you get it.”

He walks towards her, slow and somewhat unsure of himself. It’s a jarring visual—James being hesitant. Ever since she has met him, he has thrown himself into everything with such gusto and trust. Now, he steps deliberately, like dodging a thousand trip wires waiting to unlock a trap door. 

She should run—rush back inside the house and slam the door, leaving the beautiful curve of his jaw, and the square of his shoulders and the moonlight in his hair out in the street. But by the time she is ready to dart, his hand reaches back up to her cheek, rooting her to the spot. 

“I want to propose something to you but I need you to give me the floor again.” His words echo from fifth year, ringing as steady and warm as they did back in the forest. 

“I want you to stop over thinking things—get out of that brilliant, freaky, fucking fantastic brain of yours and listen to me— and really listen because I don’t think I will be able to say it again—so will you humor me? Please?”

Another stab from the past. Just like in his dorm, he’s not asking, he’s begging. She doesn’t know what to say, feeling the heat of his hand and sharp stare of his eyes lulling her away like in a trance. Eventually, she feels herself nod. 

He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. Maybe it was unintentional, but his thumb gives a slow caress to her cheek. 

“I know I’m an idiot—I don’t deserve anything more than what you have already given me for the past six years— hell, I definitely don’t deserve the second chance back in fifth—but I want you to know, need you to really understand that I have been so foolishly in love with you since the moment I met you.”

There is no air. No sound. They are hovering untethered in a void. 

“I didn’t really understand what the feeling was until probably fifth year—and even then I did an utter shite job showing you—but, again, I need you to know that there isn’t a day that passes where you aren’t on my mind, where just the thought of your hair or the color of your eyes or the way you hold a bloody quill doesn’t make me want to implode with a happiness that I certainly, certainly have no right to feel.”

It’s a sadness she has never seen on him before. One that cuts to the bone.

“If you still hate me and want nothing to do with me after this, I swear I will never bother you again, but I just really needed you to know—and it’s not a joke, not me trying to take the piss or play games with you like you constantly seem to think. I am obsessed with you and honestly at this point I wish you would just be cruel about it and go on and tell me to fuck off—”

She lurches forward on her toes, slotting his mouth against hers before he can continue to spiral any further. His lips move soft and warm just as she remembers and a small gasp of Lils drifts into the air. Unlike the time in the dorm, his hands move slow like drifting through water, down her neck and back, savoring each centimeter they drop until they wind around her waist to pull her in deeper. Only after the fact, maybe days or months later will she realize that all the noise and voices that usually plagued her brain have vanished. The silence is so delectable.

When they finally come up for air, it makes her laugh—a real, raw one that tilts her head back and cuts through the night. Eventually she realizes he had started to laugh too, pressing his forehead against hers and kissing the lingering vibration away.

“Merlin, your laugh,” he groans into the crook of her neck, pressing an impossibly large smile into her skin. “I’m addicted to it—how did it take you this long to understand I’m hopeless for you. Seriously, just take me out of my misery…”

It makes her laugh again, but this time he catches it, his lips sweeter than anything she could ever imagine. 

“Don’t worry, I will.”

* * * * *

Of all her seven years of Hogwarts, she has never noticed how intimidating the double doors to the Great Hall are. Have they always been this big? This…terrifying?

“Evans— you’re doing it again. Let me in.” 

She feels the press of warm and familiar lips into her cheek, lingering by her ear just to make her skin prickle like he knows it will. Arse.

“It’s going to be fine—dare I say, even brilliant.”

She snorts and he rewards her with another kiss to the neck—something she’s grown very fond of in their final stolen weeks of summer. 

“Says the boy who is so chuffed about showing off he could die.”

James flashes her a smile, beaming from ear to ear. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he cradles her to his chest, leaning his chin in the crook of her neck. 

“Give jabs all you want, Evans. I am chuffed—but hopefully I don’t die anytime soon because I have big plans for us…namely some that involve that comfy looking couch back in the Heads’ office…”

Heat rises to her cheeks and his smile grows wider than humanly possible.

“ Stop,” she groans, reaching up to tug at his hair, “We are seconds away from shepherding loads of first years to their common rooms…becoming role models… .You can’t be bringing up things like…like…”

“Hm, like what?” He wiggles his fingers against her stomach, making her squirm against him. 

“Nevermind—you’re impossible,” she sighs, resigning herself. He continues to feather kisses up her neck, finding her pressure point and nuzzling his nose. She can’t even pretend she doesn’t like it.

“James?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me again how this year is going to go.”

He hums against her skin, then pulls up—eyes wide and shining and full of an adoration no one has ever shown her in her life.

“Well–” he tsks, holding her with both arms around the stomach and swaying her playfully. 

“Upon walking through these doors I will swoop you into a romantic kiss and the whole school will cheer.”

“Alright, territorial. ”

“Then,” He continues ignoring her, “We will become the best Head Boy and Girl this school has ever seen: catch wannabe death eater pricks...dole out detentions...make use of our ability to stay out after curfew to snog….”

“Funny, that last one wasn’t on the duties sheet.”

He gives a small growl and she reaches up to give his chin a shake, kissing the bicep that wraps around her. 

“Oh, it was definitely on there—and anyways, don’t hate me for trying to make up for lost time.”

She spins around, burrowing her hands into his hair and his response to it is blinding—her bright star that will never go out. 

“Let's get through the welcome feast first,” she says, peppering his cheek with kisses. His arms tighten around her, a hum of satisfaction escaping his lips. 

“Whatever you want, Evans.”

When they turn to enter, James’ face is still beaming and she wonders if he has broken the record for happiness. He reaches out and takes her hand, and she knows her eyes must be bright and brimming with a word that has hung on her lips all summer-love.

As the door opens she waits for an outpouring of thoughts, the chanting of mudblood…the gasp of her kind ever being associated with his…the sound of her sister’s voice or Severus’ or even just her own telling her that she will never never be good enough. 

But she is enough. He thinks she’s enough. And with a squeeze of his hand, it all goes silent.

[bratprinceofexy]

Atonement, Rebirth

[becausebuckley]

my wishes come true (whenever i'm with you) | buddie | only one bed | 3.6k

buck and eddie have to share a bed in a hotel. for @flufftober day 31, make a wish!

“You okay?” Buck whispers into the darkness. There's a pause before Eddie responds, his voice low and a bit hesitant. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I’m not really used to sharing a bed with someone anymore, you know? It’s been a while.” Buck’s heart skips a beat at the admission. He knew this, of course, but hearing Eddie say it out loud makes it more real somehow. He swallows hard, gathering his courage before speaking. “Yeah, I get that,” he says softly. “It’s been a while for me too. But it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Having someone there?” “It is,” Eddie says. “I- I always liked that. With Shannon, sure, but also with you, during quarantine. It feels safer.” “I feel safer, too.” Buck’s voice drops down to a whisper. There's a moment of stillness, and then Eddie moves closer, his knee accidentally bumping against Buck’s thigh. “Sorry,” Eddie murmurs, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he stays there, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin barrier of their pants.

read the full fic on ao3 here!

[cementcornfield]

Dinner on me forever 🙃